The Stone Lions (29 page)

And still the lions paced.

“Shall I tell you my plan?” he boasted.
“They, the proud and sure Sufis, forced me out of their school
spouting of love and tolerance. But I knew. I could see the fear in
their eyes.

“I was brilliant. Gifted! The best at
mathemagics. But the religious instructors were old-fashioned and
timid. They feared my power. I was sent away, disgraced. But I
remembered and studied and planned.”

He turned and paced the room as if trying to
convince himself. “The Christians, those stupid Infidels, welcomed
me. They believe they control me. But I have the power, not
them.”

A lion, as insubstantial as the air, charged
him—and passed right through. The wazir flinched. He checked
himself over, then pulled himself together with a dismissive shrug.
“Ha! My magic is strong. Not even the lions of Alhambra can
overcome it.”

Suleiman watched contemplatively, a pensive
look now upon his goat face, defeat no longer riding him.

Ara gritted her teeth with desperation and
fury. The wazir was raving. Here was a man who had abandoned Allah,
in His Wonderment, to walk alone. She shivered. How lost he must be
without Allah and his comfort. Sympathy rose up unasked and to her
surprise she felt a loosening of his control over her. Deep within,
she remembered she was the daughter of the sultan and of a
mathemagician. She had the answer to this puzzle.

She glanced at her cousin. Incomprehension
had lessened in Layla’s eyes, no longer dazzled by the wazir’s
power. Suleiman’s head was still down, but the stubbornness of a
goat is not to be ignored. Ara thought she heard him whisper, “The
last lesson.”

The lions roared as they restlessly paced
across the room. The wazir continued with a sneer. “So much for the
power of the Alhambra lions,” he said scornfully. “They are
helpless.”

Ara watched them closely before leaning to
whisper in her cousin’s ear. Layla nodded and let go of her
hand.

The wazir chortled. “Time is on my side. So
little time left before the Alhambra is delivered into my
hands.”

Layla edged slowly away from Ara. A clatter
of feet and shouting roused Abd al-Rahmid from his
self-congratulations. The sultan, Layla’s father, Tahirah and her
father’s private guards pounded on the magically-sealed arched
doorways. Ara heard her father calling to her in the midst of the
assault on the doors. Through the slick of magic, she could see
Tahirah pressing her hand against one door, trying to break though.
Her worried eyes concentrated on the girls, and Ara felt a sigh
breathe confidence in her.

The wazir frowned, pulling his sword out from
the scabbard. “An unexpected annoyance. The Infidels couldn’t take
care of so trifling a problem, even though I placed the sultan in
their hands. That Sufi witch must have aided him. No matter. They
can’t enter. My magic is binding.” He looked back at the girls and
his frown deepened. The sword hung loosely from his hand.

Ara continued, quietly stepping away from
Layla, and swallowed the bubble of her rage before speaking. “You
are right. It was childish of us to think we could win against one
so learned and skilled. We are less than worthy of your notice—two
girls and a goat. It was foolish to go against your strength and
power.”

He gave her a suspicious look before
scoffing. “What’s this? A change of heart? The sultan’s daughter
concedes a struggle she could never win?”

She avoided glancing at Layla and kept her
attention on the wazir as she slowly slid farther away from her
cousin. The steady splash from the fountain reminded her that time
was escaping.

A translation
, she
thought,
I’m moving like a translation.
A
loud groan reverberated in the room as an arched column cracked to
her right.

Suleiman remained still, tiny black hooves
riveted in place, tension and determination contained in his
compact body. He tucked his head down more, and the moonlight
reflected off the tips of his horns.

Ara took another step away from Layla, then
answered. “Not a change of heart. I acted as a child, unknowing of
your power. Not sensing the futility of my effort.”

Layla, after a number of terror-stricken
looks at the wazir, slid away step by step, putting yet more
distance between herself and Ara.

The wazir’s expression hardened into
arrogance. “You should beg my forgiveness.” He raised the sword up.
“You wasted much of my time and caused me to lose face with the
Christians.” His face turned red remembering, and he trembled with
rage. “The blood of Suleiman will complete my magic.”

Two more columns snapped. The lions roared
again. The wazir’s gaze flickered to them as if to reassure himself
of their impotence before relocking on Ara.

Layla once more sidled farther away from her
cousin. The lions snarled at the wazir and passed by Layla, giving
her an approving nod. Fear crossed her face. She gulped, but she
said, her voice barely audible, “Abd al-Rahmid?”

He whirled at the sound. “What? Does the
mouse speak?”

Layla gulped, then said in a whisper, “I…I
just thought that I would—I thought—” White with fear, she began
humming the gypsy tune and, shakily at first, started the movements
of a dance.

The wazir wrinkled his forehead,
startled.

Ara signaled, quickly catching the attention
of her lion. He snarled and padded to stand before her. She
whispered in his ear.

The wazir spun around at that, and the lion
drifted away. ”Don’t play your children’s games here.” He turned
back to Layla with an evil grin. “You’ll dance for me later, don’t
worry.”

He’d only been distracted for a few moments.
Ara hoped it would be enough.

In the far distance the muezzin began the
call to prayer, the end of their time. The wazir faced her, a
gloating smile upon his face, certain that he had won. Layla
stopped humming as she too must have heard.

Behind him, the lions gathered. At their
thundering roar, the wazir whipped around. The twelve lions were
lining up, one by one in two rows. The last lion stood facing
forward, out of line, looking to Ara. A broken symmetry, created by
the magic of the Alhambra lions.

Guessing their plan, the wazir blanched and
sprang toward her.

Suleiman, head down, horns forward, charged
the wazir.

Ara waved her lion into place. She closed her
eyes, then immediately opened them.

There before her she observed the loveliest
of symmetries—twelve stone lions in a row, lion facing lion, then
two again but a glide away, until all twelve lined up, creating a
perfect glide with a vertical mirror. Then the goat rammed the
wazir, knocked the sword out of his hand, and the two collided in a
pile near her feet.

Goat and Wazir rolled across the floor in a
desperate struggle. Layla screamed. The wazir’s hands were clutched
around the goat’s neck, but the change had begun. His magic was
dissolving. Lions roared over and over, their voices rising in
fury. Tahirah’s low call of power came from the door. Guards
crashed through the entrances, and the sultan’s urgent commands
were heard over the din. Mouths agape, the girls watched the
tumbling bodies on the floor. Suleiman’s horns disappeared, his
body lengthened, hooves flattened into feet. The two opponents
tangled while fur crumbled into vapor. And still they fought.

A gasp rose from the guards. “It’s Suleiman,”
one man shouted. Suleiman reared back and with his clenched fist
struck a punishing blow. The wazir’s head slammed against the
fountain, and he slumped onto the floor.

Silence enveloped the group.

Suleiman, human once again but naked as the
day he was born, stared at the motionless body of the wazir, then
at himself. He blushed a bright red and, seizing a small floor rug,
dove behind a pillar. The wazir’s sword lay useless beside him upon
the cold stone.

The spell broken, the lions were now visible
to all, no longer translucent but made of fur, muscle and bone.
Layla ran to her father and hid her face in his caftan. The sultan,
a smear of blood across his cheek, strode across the floor to
encircle Ara in his arms. The guards clattered behind and circled
protectively around the sultan, his brother and the girls.

Shoulders high and heads lowered, twelve
lions moved to surround the downed wazir. He opened his eyes and,
with a groan, rolled slowly to his side. As the guards moved to
arrest him, the lions bared their teeth, preparing to defend their
prey. Still dazed from the blow, he shook his head and recoiled,
cowering and covering his face at the sight of thrashing tails and
snapping jaws.

Standing protectively before Ara, the sultan
ordered the guards to move back. Layla’s father held them steady,
glancing down at his daughter in undisguised relief. While two
lions snarled in defiance at the guards, the others moved in on the
wazir. He screamed as they grabbed his arms and shoulders in their
powerful jaws, pulling him toward the enormous wooden doors of the
Hall of the Abencerrajes. He cried out again, this time to the
sultan, pleading for clemency. Tahirah stood with her head bowed in
prayer. The sultan’s face was tight with misery and anger.

The wazir’s screams became louder and
shriller as he writhed against the lions’ grip, but they pulled him
step by step toward the Fountain of the Abencerrajes. Swords out,
the guards stood their ground, glancing occasionally toward Layla’s
father for directives. Not one of them had ever seen the stone
lions alive. Layla’s father gently handed Layla to Tahirah and
faced the lions.

Four lions acted as rear-guards. Their
glowing eyes watched the crowd as they shouldered the doors closed.
The doors thudded shut, muffling the wazir’s screams.

In answer to the unspoken questions, the
sultan proclaimed, “He is theirs. The lions are the guardians of
the Alhambra. They have been ensorcelled and the Alhambra
threatened. Payment is due.” He closed his eyes as if to ward off
the pain of the wazir’s betrayal and spoke so softly Ara almost
missed it. “For myself, I would pardon him. But I have a duty to my
people.”

She peered up from the safety of her father’s
embrace as Layla whispered. “What’s going to happen? What are they
going to do?”

From behind the doors came a gurgling scream.
Then there was silence, and the water flowing from the Hall of the
Abencerrajes ran red. All around, the Alhambra’s columns repaired
themselves. The cracks in the walls sealed.

The sultan continued to hold Ara, pity etched
on his face. “The Alhambra’s lions bestow justice, not compassion.
They see into the hearts of men and act accordingly.”

He bowed his head. “It is a sad end for a man
who once had much to recommend him. Now he is in Allah’s
hands.”

As if nothing had happened, eleven lions
suddenly appeared, stone-like again in their original places around
the fountain. One space remained unfilled. The twelfth lion
approached, dragging the wazir’s caftan. He drew it through the
fountain and, when he pulled it out, the blood disappeared and the
material appeared pristine and dry. The lion set it before the
sultan, who pushed Ara behind him into the hands of Tahirah.

The lion growled. “Your loyal employee no
longer has fur. He has need of clothes.”

The sultan bowed, equal to equal, before
carefully accepting the caftan from the lion’s jaws. “It is true.
My deepest thanks go to you, your pride, and to Suleiman. You have
done a great service to me and all of Granada.”

He considered the robe for a long moment
before walking to the pillar behind which Suleiman hid, in his
nakedness. The tension in the sultan’s body slowly dissipated as he
looked at his slave. “Suleiman, might I offer you this to clothe
you. Tahirah has told me of your…changes. By your selfless acts,
you protected my daughter from the wazir, not once but many times.
You have proved yourself loyal, brave, and resourceful, and I have
need of a new advisor. I hope you will agree to wear this.”

Suleiman quickly clutched the robe, covering
himself. “Sire, you honor me more deeply than I deserve or need. I
will accept this to cover myself, but I require no other reward
than the safety of you and your family. It is my duty to protect
the Nazrids.”

Tahirah stepped forward, “Suleiman, take it.
This was meant to be. You have the courage, learning and training
to be a great advisor. You must trust yourself and your
sultan.”

Ara whispered, “Please, Suleiman. Father
needs you.”

He smiled at his charge as he stepped forth,
now cloaked from head to toe. “Ah, my student. But who will take on
the responsibility of your training, child?”

The sultan interposed. “Tahirah, as you know,
has been filling in these last few weeks.” He turned to the woman
comforting the two girls. “I know you have other responsibilities,
but would you consider staying with us longer? Granada could use a
skilled mathemagician and poetess.”