Rosanne Hawke is the South Australian author of twenty-five books. She lived in Pakistan and the United Arab Emirates as an aid worker for ten years. Her books include The Messenger Bird, winner of the 2013 Cornish Holyer an Gof Award for Young Adult and Children’s Literature and Taj and the Great Camel Trek, winner of the 2012 Adelaide Festival Awards for Children’s Literature and shortlisted for the 2012 NSW Premier’s Literary Awards. She is the 2015 recipient of the Nance Donkin Award; an Asialink, Carclew, Varuna and May Gibbs Fellow; and a Bard of Cornwall. She teaches creative writing at Tabor Adelaide and writes in an old Cornish farmhouse with underground rooms near Kapunda.
www.rosannehawke.com
Also by Rosanne Hawke
The Tales of Jahani (Daughter of Nomads)
The Truth about Peacock Blue
Kerenza: A New Australian
Kelsey and the Quest of the Porcelain Doll
Shahana: Through My Eyes
Killer Ute
The Keeper
Sailmaker
Mountain Wolf
The Messenger Bird
Taj and the Great Camel Trek
Marrying Ameera
The Wish Giver, with L Penner and
M Macintosh (illus.)
The Last Virgin in Year 10
Mustara, with R Ingpen (illus.)
The Collector
Soraya, the Storyteller
Yar Dil, with E Stanley (illus.)
Across the Creek
Borderland Trilogy (Re-entry, Jihad, Cameleer)
Wolfchild
Zenna Dare
A Kiss in Every Wave
For Makayla and Amelia,
princesses with swords.
Contents
Map of the Mughal Empire, 1662:
Jahani’s Journey So Far
Epigraphs
Book 2 The Tales of Jahani: The Leopard Princess
Plate 1
Plate 2
Plate 3
Plate 4
Map of the Mughal Empire, 1663: Jahani’s Journey
Main Characters
A Note about Languages
Glossary
Acknowledgements
She is a ray of the beauty of God.
—Rumi
This is love: a story untold
remembered here in pages gold.
A girl: more lovely than the moon,
in myth and legend, her truth is hewn.
Of a carpet, veils and wedding rice,
a sword, a leopard and frozen ice.
In your hands these words are sung,
O daughter of the Qurraqoram.
—Michael Hawke
1
Lalazar, Kingdom of Kaghan
Mughal Empire
First Moon of Autumn, 1662
The day turned dark as night. Ash burned the tiny child’s throat. Every direction she turned, people screamed and shoved through the crowd. Black smoke billowed through doorways and windows. She coughed and a woman held her close.
‘Move!’ a man shouted, helping them to run.
The child gasped as the smoke descended like giant black wings. Fire surrounded them, licking their clothes. The woman tripped into the flames, and the child tumbled down beside her. She howled while the man rolled them into a shawl to kill the flames. Horrified children stared until the man shouted, ‘Run to the river!’
Archers and men with swords swarmed toward them at a marching trot. The woman reached for the child’s hand, but she was swept away in the stampede. The man scooped the child into his arms and raced toward the water.
With a thud, the man fell. An arrow protruded from his thigh. He struggled to rise as the child staggered away from him. He called to her, but she was too distraught to hear. She wept for her mother and could not stop.
Jahani woke abruptly with such a feeling of desolation. Why didn’t her mother save her? She opened her eyes and sighed. She was in the nomad women’s tent – not in that dream she often had as a child living in Sherwan with Hafeezah, her foster mother. ‘Ammi,’ she whispered.
Jahani rolled over and cuddled up to her heart sister Anjuli. Nearly four moons ago, her best friend Sameela had been killed; and on that same fateful day she discovered Hafeezah wasn’t her true mother. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block out the feelings of abandonment that often swamped her. No matter what Jahani knew, she would always think of Hafeezah as her ammi.
Anjuli’s arm curled around her. ‘Are you awake, Jahani bai?’
‘Chup, quiet,’ Jahani whispered. ‘It’s too early, go back to sleep.’
Jahani let her mind wander back to that day in summer, which began her journey with Azhar – her mysterious protector – and Hafeezah to find her true family. They had travelled for a moon on horses over dangerous yet beautiful terrain to reach Naran, where she met her adoptive parents Baqir and Zarah. And now she was finally here with the nomads and her true birth mother, Yasmeen. She glanced at the mat next to her where Yasmeen was sleeping soundly. Jahani never would have thought she was a nomad, but she was tall and fair like them. And recently she felt as if she belonged and they accepted her. She loved riding on Chandi, her pari horse, in the open fields and mountains with the goats and sheep. Yazan, her snow leopard, filled her mind then. He was following the nomads and visited the camp at night to check on her.
Jahani smiled, hearing noises of the flocks stirring: a bleat from a sheep, a snort from a horse, and half a bray from a donkey. A bird called, and she thought of Azhar again, and his carpet. He could truly fly. That ride with him had been astonishing…
Danger! Danger!
Jahani sat up as the urgent thought dropped into her mind, scattering her memories.
Danger! There it was again.
Suddenly she realised Chandi was warning her. Jahani checked under the flap of the tent. It was before dawn and she could just see Chandi rearing near the trees, pulling madly at her rope. Jahani raced out of the tent and immediately saw that not only Chandi but all of the horses were disturbed. She ran across to Tafeeq, the nomad chieftain’s tent. He shared it with his son, Rahul, the nomad prince. She whispered urgently, ‘Uncle ji! Rahul! Uncle ji!’
Seconds later Tafeeq emerged, pulling on his long coat. ‘What is the matter?’
‘I had a dream … Then Chandi, my horse, she warned …’ Jahani faltered. Would he believe her? It was only recently that she had been able to communicate with Chandi through her thoughts. It was a rare thing to be able to do.
Tafeeq’s serious expression didn’t falter as he squinted into the darkness beyond the horses. Perhaps he was used to her mother’s dreams. Yasmeen was a pir and also Tafeeq’s sister. ‘Rahul,’ he hissed. ‘Get up, beta! Rouse the men to untie the horses and have swords at the ready. Something is amiss.’ He turned to Jahani. ‘Stay in your tent. Do not come out. Tell the other women, also.’
‘What is it?’ she asked.
‘The war lord Muzahid’s soldiers perhaps. As soon as the sun rises they will attack. Now go.’
Jahani ran back to the tent hoping that Tafeeq was wrong. Even though she had fled Muzahid on the eve of their wedding, she had thought he would never find her, especially after the nomads had dyed and plaited her red hair and dressed her in their clothing. Baqir had arranged the marriage without her consent.
She woke everyone in the tent – Anjuli first to translate in case she didn’t portray the right level of urgency. Anjuli had been Jahani’s constant companion since they’d rescued her from a burning village. It was a miracle she had survived. Fortunately for Jahani, Anjuli knew the nomads’ language, which Jahani was still learning, and helped Jahani to communicate to the women.
‘Wake up, danger,’ Jahani whispered, and the women groane
d. ‘We must be quiet,’ she added as questions flew at her. ‘Chup! There may be an attack.’
Jahani paused as Neema pulled out a sword from under her mat. Neema hadn’t wanted her there when she first came; she said Jahani was dangerous and, with a sinking heart, Jahani knew she had been right. They were all in danger now because of her.
‘What?’ Neema said.
‘Do you fight?’ Jahani asked, half in the nomad mother tongue and half in Hindustani.
Neema understood. ‘Zarur, certainly,’ she answered in the same way. So, she could speak some Hindustani. ‘This was my husband’s sword,’ Neema continued. ‘Tafeeq has never stopped me fighting. Widows often do and even some wives.’
‘Afterward, maybe you can teach me.’
Neema stared at her.
Jahani continued, ‘I have a sword, too. I can use it, but I need more practice.’
Neema made a ‘show me’ sign with her hands.
Azhar had given Jahani the sword and her charmed horse Chandi. Because Azhar was her protector and had guided Jahani on her journey, he helped her flee to the nomads. He had said to keep the sword hidden, but surely that wouldn’t relate to the nomad women in times of danger. And she didn’t want to miss this opportunity to grow closer to Neema. Jahani pulled it out of the bag.
Neema’s eyes popped. ‘Where did you get this? Is it a relative’s?’ Her voice changed. ‘Did you steal it?’
‘Nay, it was a gift.’
‘Who gave it to you? It looks like something a queen would have with those gems on it. No ordinary person would be able to buy a sword like this.’
Jahani looked down at it, then glanced at Neema but didn’t respond.
‘Don’t worry,’ Neema said. ‘I won’t be stealing it. Cover it up again. It’s too good to use. It belongs on a wall in a rich man’s house.’
‘But I want to help you.’
‘I won’t need any help. The nomads aren’t an easy target. Our tribe is a trained army. We’ve had to be, moving around the way we do. You’d do better staying in here and keeping Yasmeen, Kamilah and Anjuli safe. And the others.’ She pointed her chin at them. Neema’s daughter Kamilah sat on a mat with her quilt tucked around her shoulders. Her eyes were wide, but she had a comforting arm around Anjuli.
Jahani asked Yasmeen and all the older women to sit on mats in the middle of the tent, so no swords could slash at them through the walls. Then she crouched by the opening. Neema knelt on the other side, half watching Jahani and half checking outside. The look on her face was stern and warned Jahani to stay inside. But Jahani stared out stubbornly.
They didn’t have long to wait. At first light, armed men in grey uniforms crept into the quiet camp. She tensed, remembering the men who had attacked them on the way to Naran. They had been dressed in brown shalwar qameezes and red turbans and were the men of Dagar Khan. So, these must be Muzahid Baig’s men – Tafeeq was right.
She watched as what seemed like hundreds of men surrounded the whole area. What had the attackers planned to do? Kill them while they slept? Still no alarm sounded. Didn’t Tafeeq and Rahul see them?
Suddenly she heard the call Rahul gave his hawk, and the nomads burst from their tents, swords raised.
The two groups of men combated in the nomads’ compound. Jahani saw Rahul momentarily fighting with a sword and his dagger at the same time. Others were slashing, their swords clashing as men fell. She closed her eyes when blood sprayed from a man’s shoulder. Some were wrestling on the ground. Jahani gasped as she spied two armed men racing toward the women’s tent. With a whirl of his sword, a nomad boy tried to stop their advance, and Neema rushed out to assist him. But their opponents were fierce and the boy was weakening, even with Neema’s help. Soon the men would reach their tent if Jahani didn’t do something. Without a moment to lose, Jahani snuck around the back of the women’s tent, untied Chandi with trembling fingers and mounted.
Help Neema, Jahani thought.
But Chandi already knew. Be ready. Raise your sword Shamsher. Chandi reared and galloped toward Neema’s opponents. Slice! Slice!
Jahani slashed down and one of the attackers fell back. The boy moved closer to Neema, and they held their ground.
Danger in tent.
Jahani twisted around and saw an armed man creeping through the flap.
Chandi galloped toward the tent, and Jahani slid to the ground just as the man was dragging out Kamilah. He had one hand over her mouth. Yasmeen was hanging onto his belt trying to stop him, but the man knocked her aside. Jahani watched in horror. She had already lost Hafeezah and Zarah, she couldn’t lose Yasmeen, too.
Chandi reared at the man; he threw Kamilah to the ground, raising his sword against the enraged horse. Jahani clenched the hilt of her sword.
Slice left before he does.
Jahani followed Chandi’s command.
Now right.
The man had one eye on Chandi as she pawed the ground like a wild dog, and he didn’t see Jahani’s blow coming until it was too late. Now he looked at her as if begging for mercy.
‘Get back in the tent,’ she shouted at Kamilah, mounting Chandi. They raced over to help Neema and the boy again as more and more men skidded into the area.
Jahani slashed right and left, following orders, but she knew it was the scimitar that was doing all the work, and Chandi who was parrying any blows.
Neema dispatched a man, and Jahani turned to see another man fall. Then one pulled on Jahani’s leg, dragging her from Chandi. Neema covered Jahani until she regained her footing, and then Jahani and Neema continued fighting back-to-back to keep the tent safe. That was until Chandi had enough: she reared and then bit a man’s raised arms. At the same time, another of Muzahid’s men ran over and beheaded Asif, the scout.
A horn sounded calling an end to the battle. As the men retreated, taking their wounded slung over horses, Jahani spotted Muzahid watching from the safety of the trees. His glance swept across the compound toward her. For a moment she trembled, waiting to be recognised, but then she remembered he had never seen her face. And besides, even though her eyes were blue, the nomad women had dyed her red hair black. She was safely hidden in her own skin.
Neema was beside her then. ‘So you can fight, after all. I saw what you did for Kamilah.’ There was a measured look in her eyes that held no malice.
Kamilah’s wail broke into her thoughts. ‘Rahul. Rahul! Where’s Rahul?’
2
Muzahid Baig’s Camp near Lalazar
Kingdom of Kaghan
The nomad prince, Rahul, woke with his head under water. He was drowning, his lungs bursting like a goat skin full of liquid. He had been fighting, hoping Jahani would be safe, then he couldn’t remember anything else. He must have been knocked out.
Suddenly Rahul was hauled to his feet and couldn’t steady himself. His hands were tied behind his back and two men held him upright. A blurred face loomed into his line of sight. He stifled a groan. It looked like Muzahid. He closed his eyes. When he opened them again, the face was clearer.
‘Muzahid,’ he said.
‘You are doublecrossing me, gypsy prince. I don’t like that. I want the girl.’
Rahul shook his head and water dribbled down his back. ‘There is no girl with red hair in our camp, so leave us alone.’
‘But there was.’ Muzahid came closer.
‘If anyone told you that for gold, they were lying,’ Rahul replied.
‘Even so, this person was sure.’
Rahul flinched at Muzahid’s tone. Muzahid had spoken like that when he captured Rahul as a boy of ten summers – as though he had just crawled out of hell. That time Muzahid had cut off his finger and sent it to Tafeeq with a ransom note.
‘If she isn’t there now, you will have to find her,’ Muzahid said.
‘Why should I? I have a tribe to look after, flocks to move.’ Rahul didn’t see the blow to his face until it was too late. Stunned into silence, he opened his mouth carefully. Was his jaw broken?
‘Why do you want her? Can’t you have any beautiful girl you want?’
‘But she is not just any beautiful girl.’
Rahul blinked at him.
‘Let’s just say that whoever has this girl holds the key to the northern kingdoms. It was Dagar Khan’s idea for me to marry her and then hand her over to him. But then I discovered what he knew and thought, why should he kill her and add her to his collection? And it won’t be this Azhar Sekander, who still smells of mother’s milk, or you, either, who wins her. It will be me. If it weren’t for Azhar abducting her, we’d be married by now.’
Rahul frowned. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘Surely you’ve heard of the red-headed shehzadi?’
‘The baby girl they say was lost in the Kingdom of Hahayul?’
Muzahid tilted his head. ‘When Dagar Khan massacred the royal family.’
‘That’s just a legend. Are you mad?’
Muzahid smiled, but Rahul knew it was fake. ‘They never found the body,’ Muzahid said.
‘How big would a two-year-old girl’s body be? It could have been under a pile of leaves. She could have fallen in the river.’
‘You seem to know a lot about it.’
‘Everyone knows this legend, but none of it is true. You are chasing a shadow.’
‘Then you will bring me her shadow. You are supposed to be the “Lord of the Mountains”. You’re constantly on the road, you can send scouts. She may be in the forest with this Azhar who has abducted her. No doubt he knows who she is and wants her for himself.’
Rahul stiffened; surely he wasn’t right about Azhar. Azhar had known Jahani since they were children, protected her like a sister, just as Rahul had. There was rivalry between them, but surely not enough to endanger Jahani?
Muzahid lowered his voice. ‘If she’s not the girl, then no harm done. She will be easily disposed of. If Dagar Khan is right, then she is worth finding. Two can play his game.’
The Leopard Princess Page 1