The Stone Lions

by Gwen Dandridge

  Suleiman’s hung his head. “I’m sorry. You’re my pack. Of course I’ll tell you. I don’t really need the treats.” He turned his head slightly from the dish of pastries, drool dripping down his jaw.

  Tahirah sighed and shook her head before tossing him a treat. “Suleiman, here, have a pastry. I can’t stand to watch a grown dog drool.”

  It disappeared in one snap, and with a muffled bismillah, Suleiman gulped it down. “The lions were miffed at the cat. Discipline and Reason growled at him.”

  “You mean YOU,” Ara interrupted. “You were the cat.”

  “Perhaps in the strictest sense, that may have been true,” he conceded, getting up to circle uncomfortably. “Anyway, they, the lions, wanted me to use my enchanted time better. To learn and understand from each transformation.”

  “And are you?” Tahirah questioned.

  He sat down and studied his paws. “As a lizard, I learned how it feels to be powerless. As a snake, I relearned the value of life. In mouse form, I understood that size does not define spirit.” He whined again before speaking. “The cat learned that not all things can be done alone.” He wagged his tail and perked up his ears. “But dogs, dogs are great. I can see this. Allah has, in his ultimate wisdom, given us the best traits.”

  “Which are…” Tahirah encouraged.

  “Isn’t it obvious? We’re loyal to our pack and brave and joyous. A true companion. Best at work, best at—”

  “Best at modesty,” Ara said wryly, “most humble, most…”

  “You are picking on me.” Suleiman tucked his tail under his rump, his ears drooping once again. “Don’t you like me anymore?”

  Instantly ashamed, Ara leaned over and patted him on the head. “You are perfect. Whatever shape you take, I love you. I’m sorry. Everything seems to be happening too fast. I’m hiding things from Father, and I’m scared.”

  Suleiman grinned and gave her a couple of quick, understanding licks.

  Tahirah reached out and put her arm around both friends. “Speaking of which, we need to complete the next lesson. Suleiman, would you like to teach this one? I think rotation would be best.”

  He barked twice, then looked chagrined. “Sorry, when you speak many languages, it’s hard not to fall into careless habits. Actually, I would like to explain rotation.” He looked around for an example, and in turning, discovered to his wonder, his tail. He continued circling, trying to grab it. “See, here is a perfect example.”

  The girls saw nothing but a silly hound chasing his tail. “Perfect example of what?” Layla asked.

  He continued the pursuit, making an occasional half-hearted grab for it. “Rotation. I’m turning around. It’s obvious.”

  Ara turned a cartwheel while Layla did a pirouette. “You mean like that?”

  Grinning, he sat. “Yes, but now you have to look at it in slow motion to see how it’s different from a vertical reflection. Tahirah, would you pull out the tiles again?”

  She drew out four tiles and placed them before the dog. Suleiman placed a paw on the first tile. “Each of these is identical, like a translation, right?”

  “Yes, “ Ara agreed, “just as before.”

  Suleiman wagged his tail and woofed. “But now we will create rotations. We take the first one and place it so.” He nudged two tiles into place. “See how with the first tile, the blue part of the design is on the top? And then how the second is turned one hundred eighty degrees? It is rotated.” He placed a paw dead center between the two tiles. “With rotation, you pretend there is a point or hub in the center around which the object moves so that it appears to have spun.

  Now you try it.”

  Ara looked at the tiles with interest. This was a lot like a game! She turned the next tile one hundred eighty degrees and placed it beside the first two.

  Suleiman lay down beside them. “Pretend that you’re holding your paw—sorry, I mean finger—in the middle. An immovable point. That point, at your finger, must stay in place as you turn the tile around.”

  “This is the third of the four motions,” Tahirah said, joining in. “Reflection—which we also call a flip—translation or slide and now rotation,” she finished, having ticked them off on her fingers. “One of the remarkable things about rotation is that double reflections also rotate.”

  Ara looked up. “Because it looks the same upside down and right side up?”

  “Exactly. It includes a one hundred eighty degree rotation in the design, so it looks the same upside down or right side up.” Tahirah turned both tiles upside down and then back again.

  The dog woofed. “You forgot to mention that there cannot be a flip in a rotation.”

  The mathemagician smiled, patting his head in agreement. “That is correct. For it to be considered rotation, it can’t have a mirror in the design. It does not reflect. If it did, it could be a double reflection or possibly the seventh band symmetry which you have not yet learned.”

  Layla asked. “Could we see another example?”

  “Take these same tiles and make another rotational symmetry,” Tahirah suggested.

  Uncertain, Layla picked up a tile. “How do you start?”

  Suleiman woofed encouragingly before stuffing his nose under her arm. “You can do this. Look at all you’ve learned so far. Try.”

  She placed the first piece with the blue part facing down. The next tile she lined up exactly the same, then turned it one hundred eighty degrees to the right. Encouraged, she took the third piece and, placing it the same way as the second tile, rotated it one hundred eighty degrees yet again. The last tile she turned one hundred eighty degrees until the design cartwheeled across the floor.

  Suleiman barked in glee and ran around the room. “See, you did it!”

  Layla grinned. “I guess I did.”

  Everyone jumped at the knock on the door. Tahirah called out permission to enter. Her servant did so, then, bowing near to the floor, handed her a card on a silver tray. After dismissing her, Tahirah read the card. “The sultan requests the presence of his daughter and niece immediately in the Hall of the Kings. He wishes the dog to be brought before him.”

  She looked at the children, her eyes dark with concern. “It seems the owner of the dog has come forward.”

  Chapter 32

  Ara sputtered, “But he can’t have an owner. It’s Suleiman.” And then more thoughtfully, “This must be serious. The wazir must know it’s Suleiman in dog form.”

  Layla sat in a daze, stunned that she was being hauled before her uncle.

  Suleiman circled in the corner, whining—his ears pinned to his head and tail tucked under.

  Three guards awaited them outside Tahirah’s rooms. Tahirah positioned herself between the men and the girls, politely but firmly refusing to allow the girls to be taken to the Palace Court without her. No rope was permitted on Suleiman no matter how the guard argued. Finally, the guards agreed to wait outside while the group prepared to set off for the Hall of the Ambassadors. As they rounded up scarves, caftans and shoes, Tahirah assessed the situation. “Yes, I sense the hand of the wazir in this. He can’t be certain, nor can he prove it without divulging what he has done. We know that Suleiman doesn’t have an owner. Let us go prepared to deal with the worst possible likelihood, though perchance it is but a misunderstanding, inshallah.”

  Grabbing her caftan and trying to tidy herself up quickly, Ara muttered, “I hope that this is only Zoriah upset about finding a dog in her spotless rooms.”

  Tahirah looked over at Ara. “I also wish this is so, but the note said the owner of the dog was there. Someone thinks—or wants the sultan to think—we have their dog.”

  She captured and held each girl’s gaze. “You two must show your best side. We shall proceed carefully until we know what this is about. Whatever happens, be exceedingly polite and respectful. The sultan is in an awkward position. You know how much he loves you,” she reminded them, “but as sultan, he cannot be seen to support his daughter and niece over another of hi
s subjects. I will do as much as I can to help, but you must be seen as gracious and cooperative.”

  Ara’s eyes brimmed with tears. “He does love me, doesn’t he? Even though I spilled the dye in the Court of the Lions? He’s not spoken to me since. I know I do things I ought not, but...”

  Tahirah rushed over and held her close. “He loves you very, very much. You know this is true. You can demonstrate your love by making him proud of his daughter and by trusting him.” She gently smoothed Ara’s hair and smiled encouragingly at Layla.

  Ara wiped away her tears and rubbed her nose. “I can do this. I am a sultan’s daughter.”

  Tahirah nodded. “Remember, head high, and keep on the lookout for rotational symmetries. Time is not our friend.”

  When they stepped out into the gardens, the impassive guards again moved to grab the dog, but Tahirah stopped them with a look and a few firmly spoken words. Layla, to everyone’s surprise, sauntered along whistling. The guards, stiffly proper, kept glancing nervously at her until one of them finally broke into a grin.

  Tahirah laughed. Suleiman got caught up in the pleasure of the melody and, untucking his tail, pranced alongside.

  Ara grinned at her cousin before joining in with a bouncy harmony.

  Tahirah laughed again. “That’s a strange tune for you to know. How did you learn a gypsy song in the palace?”

  Layla blushed at the attention. “I heard two servants singing it last month in the kitchen. I thought it might cheer me up, and it did.”

  Tahirah looked at their little group. “I think it cheered all of us.”

  At the doorway to the Palace of the Myrtles, they hesitated and smiled assurances at one another before proceeding into the Hall of the Ambassadors. At the far end sat the sultan, grim-faced. Three veiled women in hijabs sat stiffly erect on the side benches. Layla spotted her father standing quietly to the side. She gasped upon recognizing the man talking to him but quickly recaptured her mask of poise. Two advisors stood near the sultan cloaked in brown caftans, perplexed at the uproar over one dog.

  The wazir, who stood before Layla’s father, was obviously retelling his tale, waving his hands as he spoke. He turned as their feet tapped across the stone floor. “That’s my dog,” he said loudly. “That’s my newly-purchased dog.”

  The sultan’s jaw clenched. “Abd al-Rahmid, sit down, please. We will conduct this as a fair and objective discussion. All will be questioned and, by Allah’s hand, the truth will be known.”

  The wazir made a motion toward the girls but checked himself as the guards tensed and reached for their swords. He stood rigidly in place, his eyes turned toward the girls, then fixed on the dog.

  The sultan watched, his eyebrows pulled down in a frown. “Sit, I said.”

  Eyes still on the dog, the wazir bent and folded his legs beneath him.

  Satisfied with his advisor’s compliance, the sultan addressed his daughter and company. “Thank you for coming so quickly. A matter has been brought to my attention. A matter of a dog. An almost inconsequential thing, some might say.” He looked at the wazir and shook his head. “But it has been addressed to our royal self to resolve. So it will be done, inshallah.”

  Ara bowed low. “We are your loyal subjects and strive to assist as we may.”

  A look of pride flashed across her father’s face then was gone. “We will begin. Abd al-Rahmid states that he recently purchased a dog.”

  “A dog for hunting, shaykh,” the wazir interrupted. “Purchased at great cost.”

  “At great cost,” the sultan repeated, briefly closing his eyes. “This morning, it was made known to me that a dog was found in the harem. My head advisor”—he gestured at the scowling man at his side—“stated he had lost such a dog. We now need to discover whose dog this is.”

  The wazir pointed a finger at Suleiman. “That is my dog. I would know him anywhere. I have great need of him, for we are to go hunting tomorrow.”

  The room stirred at the unseemliness of yet another outburst. Layla’s father kept his face carefully neutral, though his hand seemed to twitch nearer to his sword. The other advisors looked perplexed. It was only a dog after all, and Allah did not favor them.

  “Abd al-Rahmid, do you have proof that it belongs to you? Has the person who sold it to you come forward, or any witnesses who can verify that it is yours?”

  The wazir didn’t answer, leaving the questions to hang in the air like sharpened knives. Tahirah could sense his desperation. His eyes shifted as he searched for an answer.

  The race is on, she thought. He knows his magic is failing and time is running out. She raised her head, speaking quietly but firmly into the silence. “The dog was found by the girls while in the harem. Abd al-Rahmid could not have entered there, nor could any man. The dog appeared lost and uncared for. This I swear is true.”

  “She is but a woman, shaykh,” the wazir sputtered. “Easily mistaken and easily misled.” His voice rose yet again. “She’s a Sufi and bends Allah’s word to fit her own wishes.”

  Several people gasped. Tahirah stood quietly, serenely awaiting the sultan’s next words.

  The sultan’s eyes were hard. “Enough. She is a Sufi and a person of honor. I will not hear this again. No more outbursts or you will be reprimanded by my own hand.” His pronouncement reverberated in the great room.

  “Ara.” He said in a calmer tone, “I want you to think before you answer. Is it possible that this dog is the property of my wazir?”

  She looked directly at her father. “No, it is not.”

  “Layla. What say you?”

  She blanched but said earnestly. “Shaykh, it’s not his dog.”

  The sultan leaned back in his throne. Beside him, the wazir ground his teeth.

  “Though each of you report having had the dog such a short time,” the sultan said after considering, “I would think that the dog would remember his owner. I suggest we let the wazir call to him.”

  The wazir walked to stand large and overbearing in the center of the room. Suleiman cowered behind Ara, leaning hard against her leg.

  “Dog, come! You know your master. You must obey.” His eyes bored into Suleiman’s.

  Although he did not move a paw, Suleiman whimpered and cowered all the more.

  The wazir raised his voice. “Come, I say, or it will go hard for you.”

  Suleiman lifted his head and stared at the wazir, the source of all his pain and misery. His hackles raised while a low growl started in his throat. His teeth bared, and his body tensed for a fight. An echoing roar sounded, from where no one could tell.

  The wazir flinched, and the girls gained heart. Tahirah blinked in surprise. No one else seemed to hear. Suleiman, emboldened by the backing of a pride of lions, stood firm and continued growling, teeth still bared.

  The sultan looked curiously at the wazir. “Interesting that you try to have a discussion with a dog. The animal seems not to like you.” He shrugged. “Perhaps that is telling in itself. Still, he does not go to you.”

  He nodded to his daughter. “Ara, would you step across the room and call the dog.”

  Ara walked away from Suleiman. After an anxious moment, he bounded after her, and growled again at the wazir on his way.

  Suleiman pressed himself against Ara. She bent down to pat him and was rewarded with a quick lick of affection.

  Her father cocked his head. “It seems that it is unnecessary for you to call the dog. It obviously trusts you. But as the dog is, according to Abd al-Rahmid, newly purchased, this does not decide ownership. I need more time to think on this.”

  The wazir, sweat dotting his face, protested with a self-effacing smile. His hands clenched and unclenched. “Shaykh, you are right, but he should not be left in these women’s possession. He looks to be vicious and could harm your daughter. He needs to be returned to my hand.”

  After a long, slow stare at the wazir, the sultan spoke. “I thank my advisor for helping me make this decision. The dog will be taken to a secure lo
cation and well treated, until I have thought further on this. It seems there is more here than meets the eye.”

  Ara clung to the trembling hound as the guards approached. Her father leaned slightly forward toward her as they drew near and quietly avowed, “Upon my honor, the dog will not be harmed. I will give you an answer as quickly as possible.”

  Tahirah stepped forward to comfort both girl and dog. As the guards tied a rope around Suleiman, she turned to face the sultan, her white woolen cloak hiding none of the tension in her body. “Guard him well, as you would your most trusted servant.” Abruptly, she turned and left, as if afraid of having said too much. The two girls followed, taking backwards glances as Suleiman, surrounded by guards, was lead away.

  The sultan sat pondering the interest of so many in one small, rather ugly hound long after all had left.

  Chapter 33

  Ara and Layla were both weeping by the time they returned to Tahirah’s rooms. Tahirah closed the door and wiped her own eyes before admonishing, “We must not waste time in tears. The solution is within your power. Find the symmetries quickly before the wazir can cause Suleiman harm. Turn your sorrow and anger into something useful.”

  Layla blew her nose before asking, a catch to her voice, “But Suleiman is locked in the tower. How are we going to get him out? What will happen if he changes shape while we aren’t near?”

  “It is in the hands of Allah, the Merciful.” Tahirah closed her eyes in acceptance. “We must trust and strive onward, inshallah. The magic will not wait. Tomorrow, Suleiman will either have changed or he will be a dog forever.” She looked full in Layla’s eyes. “We have no other choice. Nor does Suleiman.”

  Ara straightened her back and sniffed loudly. “Where should we look first?”

  Tahirah shook herself before waving her hand as though to brush away a bothersome fly. “The day moves forward, and here is as good a place to start as any. It would be good when you seek rotational symmetries, to make sure that you can identify it. I’m sure you and Layla can find at least one rotational symmetry here if you put aside your fears.”