“It’s over,” he said to Ara. “You’ve fallen right into my trap. The game has ended. Did you think a child—a girl child, at that—could best me?” He laughed, sneering at the now visible golden-maned lions pacing the room, snarling and growling, but unable to attack.
“The Alhambra’s lions cannot harm me. The last spell holds.” He laughed again. “There is no broken glide with a vertical mirror here. It’s well hidden and far, far away. There will be no breaking the spell. Your tutor, Suleiman, will remain a goat—a roasted goat perhaps—but a goat nevertheless. Even now, your father is at the mercy of the Castilian King.” Abd al-Rahmid laughed. “And you and your cousin…” He puffed himself up like a rooster. “You will serve me well as my future wives. As a kindness to you, you will remain in the Alhambra—under my protection. You should be grateful for my leniency. I’m sure with discipline you will learn to be good Muslim wives rather than palace brats.” He looked at the goat. “And Suleiman, yours will be the blood that seals the fate of the Alhambra and ends the magic forever.”
Layla looked to be too afraid for tears. Suleiman’s head hung in defeat. All around them they could hear cracking and groaning as the walls were pulled apart by the strain of the wazir’s magic. A column broke in half, and Layla cringed.
Rigid in terror and anger but unwilling to give up, Ara glared at the wazir.
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 aro
und 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.”
Tahirah lifted her head, her eyes pained. “Would that I could, but my duty to Allah pulls me from place to place. Yet I am saddened that I must leave. It is late, and there are tasks that I must complete before this evening can be put aside. Go, rest. Let us think on this further when the day breaks.”
Chapter 42
After all had left the room, Tahirah stilled her being, sheltering herself within a prayer.
The Alhambra was almost healed. The palace whispered to her and called her name. One final task to do. No longer did it shun her.
The lions were back in their places but alert and waiting, claws and teeth prepared for any intruder. Their thoughts swirled around the room, and she had to hold her mind tightly closed against the images of fangs and claws that radiated from the fountain.
The doors to the Hall of the Abencerrajes remained closed. She knew what waited for her there. She reached deep inside herself and found…Allah. Peace and harmony flooded her being. Strength to deal with the ordeal to come.
Slowly, she walked over to the doors. She felt it even before she touched them: pain, torment. The echo of a soul in horror of itself. She took a deep breath, grabbed hold of the door and pulled. The huge door creaked open, admitting her like an old friend. It was a small room, not suited to this kind of pain. A place meant for laughter and joy. Here was where the final healing of the Alhambra had to take place. She closed the door behind her.
Breathing was hard, and the agony of the evening rang in her ears and pulsed in the stone beneath her fingertips. She knew the wazir was no longer there, no longer in pain. But his memories lingered and clawed at the walls. With deliberate steps, she began the process of cleansing the room and completing the healing of the Alhambra. She retraced patterns with their magical symmetries into the walls. The Alhambra listened and breathed in the knowledge using the patterns as a structure from which to repair damage.
Tahirah placed her hands flat on the stone floor and felt the remaining symmetries heal, one after another throughout the Alhambra, as the magnificent building incorporated the mathematics into its foundations. With each healing, she felt her closeness to Allah and rejoiced in the wonder of her Sufi mat
hemagic schooling. And with each healing, the echo of the wazir’s pain and treachery lessened.
High above, moonlight illuminated the symmetry of the many windows set in geometric positions around a center top. As she stared, mesmerized by the light, it splintered and fractured. But this time, symmetries upon perfect symmetries danced before her mind’s eye, lit by the moon and the stars.
Allah had granted her a blessing beyond her wildest imaginings. Mathematics as she had never seen it swirled before her. Symmetries flashed before her eyes and replicated themselves again and again across the ceiling. Deep into the bones of the Alhambra, she followed them. Her mind delighted at the wonders. Patterns so small that her mind could hardly grasp what she was seeing. The configuration of a future world she could but guess, and all symmetries. Symmetries within symmetries, smaller than one could see, all part of the force which tied it together. Not to be understood in her lifetime, nor in a lifetime of lifetimes, but eventually in a land and time unknown to her or any of the wisest of the wise. A gift of knowledge she could never share.
Exhausted, she lay on her back, reveling in the oneness with the Alhambra and Allah, and gazed upwards at the ceiling into the comforting dark of the sky.
Chapter 43
Su’ah shook Ara awake. “You weren’t playing with beet juice again, were you? The channels of the Lion Court ran blood red, or so say the whisperings of the servants.” Her voice was laced with awe. “A guard told Maryam the stone lions came to life and killed the wazir.”
She was quiet as if stunned by her own words. “Do you know what really happened?”
Ara opened her eyes, still blurred with sleep, and sat up. Layla lay unmoving, watching them. “Su’ah,” she was solemn. “The lions did come to life. Honestly, as Allah is my witness. The wazir sent Father into a trap, but Tahirah went to warn him. And then Layla and I went into the Court of the Lions and the wazir was there and Suleiman and they fought…”
The Stone Lions Page 19