The Stone Lions (8 page)

“I don’t know what’s wrong with you, child,
but unless you have a fever, you can’t mope around the rest of your
life. You’re getting up right now. No more of this.” Su’ah nodded
in emphasis. “Why, it’s almost afternoon, time for Asr prayer. Now,
come here, and let’s get you tidied.” She pulled back the covers on
Ara’s bed. “By the way, where is Suleiman? I couldn’t find him all
yesterday. Just like a man, always underfoot except when you need
him. I heard talk that he was on an errand for Tahirah, but no one
seems to know where.”

Su’ah limped stiffly over to the door and
looked up and down the hallway. “He should be the one to walk you
over to the mathemagician’s rooms. She’s in the Palace of the
Partal, you know. Even though it’s inside the fortress walls, I
don’t like you wandering around by yourself. There are too many
foreigners coming and going lately. People who aren’t used to our
ways.”

“What?” Ara looked up, suddenly interested.
“What did you say about Suleiman?”

“So that’s the way of it, is it? I knew
something was upsetting you. Did you and Suleiman have a
falling-out?”

“No,” she said sadly, “we didn’t quarrel. I
just didn’t know about the errand.”
Tahirah
couldn’t have sent Suleiman on an errand
. An image of
Suleiman transformed into a lizard flashed before her. “Must I
go?”

“I can’t believe this. Last week you would
have traded me
and
Suleiman to see this
woman. Now you can’t be bothered? You
are
going, and that is that. Your father is so proud that she’s taking
an interest in you.” Su’ah turned and slapped the clothes down.
“You’re fortunate to have been unwell. Time has softened his anger.
I don’t know what he would have done if Tahirah hadn’t intervened
for you. What were you thinking? The dye in the fountain upset the
whole harem.”

“Tahirah spoke to Father about the dye?” Ara
asked, reluctantly sitting up so Su’ah could brush her hair.
Why is Tahirah involved? Is she working with the
wazir?

“She overheard him speaking to Zoriah about
you. He was plenty upset with you. You’re lucky the Sufi offered to
instruct you.” Su’ah gave Ara’s hair a final swipe with the brush.
“Bread and water for the next month was the way I heard it. Tahirah
intervened with a different plan, and he agreed.”

“What are they going to do to me?”

“You’ll hear that from the mathemagician, I
would guess,” Su’ah said, nodding sagely. She turned Ara around.
“Is that it? Have you been listening to gossip about Sufis?”

Alarms went off in Ara’s head.
Was the Sufi an evil mathemagician also? But that didn’t seem
right
. She remembered the voice that had urged her to leave
the room of broken mirrors. She’d been told her mother had loved
this teacher. Ara debated with herself for a moment before trusting
herself to speak.

“I’ll go. If Father insists, I’ll go,” she
said. “But why only me? Must I go by myself?”

“Actually, Tahirah requested that your cousin
join you. Now, let’s get you dressed.”

Ara looked over at her cousin. Layla looked
stricken, and asked, “Am I in trouble too? Are we going to be
punished?”

“You need to ask your parents that question.
It’s not my business, but you know you girls have been traipsing
around causing trouble…” Su’ah’s words drifted off.

“I didn’t do anything. I never would. What
must Mother think?” Layla sobbed.

“Child, I’m sure it will be fine.” Su’ah
patted Layla’s back soothingly. “Maybe the Sufi wants to teach you
also.”

“Noooo. I’m terrible at math. That can’t be
it at all.” Layla’s face was turning pink and splotchy.

Soon four silent servants escorted the girls
out of the Palace of the Myrtles, around the Mosque, and through a
myriad of enclosed gardens toward the Sufi’s rooms. Neither girl
spoke. They passed other children along the way. Jada ducked her
head and Hasan, trailed by his younger brothers, grinned his
encouragement. Ara felt numb.

Though it was only a few stones’ throw
distance, the journey to the Sufi’s rooms seemed to take
forever.

Ara’s mind swirled. Why does Tahirah wish to
see us?
I won’t let her hurt Layla or
Suleiman
, she swore to herself.

Layla glided beside her like a ghost, wearing
the haunted look of one condemned. Her embroidery basket was
clutched in her hands, and her knuckles were white.

Ara saw little hope for a rosy future.
Suleiman is a lizard, the wazir is evil, and I am
powerless to stop him. If only I had not been so curious. No one
would ever believe me even if I confessed what happened. And now,
even Layla is in trouble because of me.

Chapter 13

Tahirah contemplated the two tense and
unhappy children who stood in her doorway. The leggy filly of a
child with the defiant glare must be Ara. If she were a cat, that
heavy black braid of hers would be lashing back and forth. The
other girl, Layla, stared at the floor. The servants bowed out of
the room, promising to return before the next prayer.

“Good afternoon,” Tahirah began. “I greet you
in the joy of Allah. Blessed be His name.”

Layla repeated back, her voice barely
audible, “Blessed be.”

Silence.

“Perhaps you should sit down. I thought we
might have some tea and get to know each other.” How did people
speak to the young? She had no idea. This might be harder than she
expected.

Ara sat, her back straight as if prepared for
battle, with Layla close beside her. These poor girls are obviously
terrified. Tahirah picked up the ewer and poured the contents into
three cups. She passed the steaming mint tea to each of the
children before sitting down on a cushion herself. “
Bismillah
, ‘in the name of God,’ I had a tray of
baklava brought up. These are made with pistachios and Grenadian
honey. I thought you might enjoy some.”

In the quiet that followed, Tahirah took a
sip of tea. “I hope that we might become friends.” The smaller girl
looked up hopefully, then focused once more on the floor. Ara was
obviously having none of it. Tahirah watched them through lowered
lashes. Neither of the girls touched the teacups.

She thought about the previous evening when
she had felt evil magic closing in on Ara and had used her power to
urge her away. The taint had left Tahirah weak. Sleep had eluded
her. She wished her inner vision had been clearer. She needed this
girl to confide in her, but how could she gain her trust? Here was
a challenge almost as difficult as proving a new theorem. She took
a deep breath and concentrated on the problem. Her magic was of
learning. This was just another mathematics problem. Though, she
thought with an inward sigh, perhaps a tangled one.

“Why did you have us brought here?” Ara
finally demanded, her arm wrapped around her cousin’s shoulder.

“To have tea and baklava with me. Is that so
unreasonable?” Tahirah replied, confused by the girl’s anger.

Ara looked around the room. There were no
mirrors, broken or not. She couldn’t figure out if the
mathemagician was good or evil. She sneaked a look at her—and was
startled by the warmth of violet eyes. Was Tahirah the one who had
warned her away in the mirrored room? She again glanced at the
mathemagician, who sat as if waiting for her answer. Well, thought
Ara, she is going to wait for a long time.

She frowned and stared at the wall behind
Tahirah. Another vertical reflection symmetry—that would be the
third. But no, it wasn’t right. One tile in the band was twisted,
so it wasn’t a perfect reflection. As she watched, the tile wiggled
and turned before her startled eyes. Now it matched the rest.
What was that?
She stared again, not sure
that she had truly seen it move.

A noise came from Layla’s embroidery basket,
then right after, another noise far away, almost like a roar. The
basket bounced. Layla dropped it and backed away. Ara grabbed it,
hugging it to herself. Tahirah looked at it in surprise.

“Arrrrrrr…Arrrrrra...” came from the
basket.

Its lid thumped up and down. They all stared.
“What have you done, child?” Tahirah asked Ara.

“I...I can’t tell you,” she stammered. The
racket from the basket was getting louder.

“As Allah is good, I think you truly must
tell me. Daughter of the harem, something is very wrong here,”
exclaimed Tahirah. Something is very wrong indeed, she thought as
she watched the basket’s lid open and a green snake, twice as long
as Layla’s arm and half as thick as her wrist, slithered out. Layla
backed up against the wall and covered her eyes with her hands.

“Oh, no,” cried Ara. “Where’s Suleiman?
Please, as Allah is merciful, let him not have been eaten by a
snake.” Ara riffled madly through the basket. Embroidery scattered
everywhere.

The snake raised its head and spoke.
“Arrrrra, I promisssssed.”

“A transformation,” whispered Tahirah in a
shocked voice and watched the snake wind its way across the floor.
“Is that Suleiman?"

“No, Suleiman is a lizard,” Ara wailed. “Not
a snake. He must have been eaten.”

“I think not,” Tahirah said carefully.
“Truly, that is your servant before us in snake form. And he calls
you. Tell me, what did Suleiman promise?”

“Nothing,” Ara said, sniffling. Then she
remembered. “Well, just a silly thing about mathematics. But what
happened to the lizard? Why did he change?” She saw her cousin
shrinking into the wall. “Layla’s afraid of snakes.”

Layla, pressed up against the wall, peered
out from between her fingers.

Reaching out her hand, Tahirah said, “I think
we are all going to have to be very brave here, Layla. Come and sit
next to me. Suleiman has been bespelled, and this will take all our
efforts to resolve.”

“I can’t.” Layla leaned farther away.

“Yes, you can. I’ll help you be brave. Don’t
think of him as a snake, but as your friend, Suleiman, who’s in
trouble and needs your help.” Tahirah’s voice enveloped the girl
like a protective hijab.

Layla, still eyeing the snake, slowly scooted
forward to sit at Tahirah’s side, and Tahirah turned to Ara. “Now,
I want you to tell me everything you know about how this happened.
I particularly want to know about this promise.”

Hesitantly at first, Ara told the story of
the wazir. She told about the frogs, the broken mirrors, the tiles
changing, and finally about Suleiman turning into a lizard. Tahirah
listened gravely with Layla tucked into her arm. The snake had
wrapped itself around Ara’s wrist like a bracelet and lay quietly
there.

“I see. This explains much. Did Suleiman
speak to you before, in his lizard shape?”

The girls looked at one another. “No, he just
lay curled in a ball,” Ara responded finally.

“And the promise?” Tahirah asked. “How did
that come to be?”

“He was teaching me band symmetry, and I made
him promise to teach me more. I remember he swore on his tribe’s
honor,” she said. “Would that mean something?”

Tahirah sat and thought. She looked at the
snake and then at Ara. “What exactly was the promise?”

“He promised to teach me all seven band
symmetries. He had just taught me vertical reflection symmetry and
sent me to find three examples before he would teach me the others.
But he promised he would once I found three examples. And they had
to be correct. Just now I saw that last one over there, but it
wasn’t right, it was twisted,” she said pointing, “and then it
changed and fixed itself.” She looked to see if Tahirah believed
her, but the mathemagician’s face gave nothing away.

“And then I asked him about the tile that I
saw change and he said it wasn’t possible. That if a tile could
change, so could he—Oh, did that have something to do with him
becoming a snake? The symmetry fixing itself?”

They all turned to look at the symmetry. It
was a reflection. The gold shapes flipped over and over across the
wall.