The mathemagician walked in a daze. Led by the four wives of the harem and followed at a discreet distance by her guards and handmaidens, she reached out with her senses to explore the palace walls. Danger! She could feel it in the core of her being: the magic of the Alhambra was being defiled.
“We’re so pleased to have you visit,” one woman said.
“You are too kind, alhamdulillah.” Tahirah tried to keep part of her mind on her hosts. Dark emotions whirled around her, buffeting her with fear and pain.
“This time of year is lovely with the scent of orange blossoms in the air,” another put in, pointing toward the heavily perfumed trees.
Tahirah nodded, trying to appear interested. “The Alhambra gardens are what legends are made of.”
She found it difficult to maintain a conversation while also probing the destruction of mathemagical symmetries within the walls. Someone or something had tampered with the Alhambra’s protections. She brushed her hand over one embossed tile and felt the agony seep into her body. Sweat broke out on her forehead as the pain flowed through her.
“Are you ill?” someone asked as Tahirah sagged, weakly wiping the sheen of perspiration from her forehead.
She must not voice this, not until she understood it further. Tahirah gathered herself before speaking. “It has been a long day and, while I am grateful for your company, I am no longer young. I need to bid you good day, so that I might rest from my journey.”
“Of course. How thoughtless of us.” Zoriah clapped her hands twice and the litter-bearers rushed to her side. “Please take the scholar to her rooms in the Palace of the Partal. See that she has whatever comforts the Alhambra provides.”
The women clustered together, watching their guest borne away.
Inside her small litter, Tahirah leaned back in exhaustion and contemplated the danger. The Alhambra’s magic was still holding together, but it was being pried apart layer by layer. Soon, if nothing was done, the bands of magic would stretch too tightly—then snap.
Once she reached the privacy of her chambers, she dismissed her guards and handmaidens, closing the door firmly behind them. She removed her white cloak and, folding it with trembling hands, laid it across her bed. Beginning at the door, she walked slowly around the room, fingers exploring the walls, checking and probing for any spell set to catch the unwary. Stopping occasionally to listen, she continued her slow, methodical search. As she completed her circuit, she breathed a sigh of relief. No danger lurked here. Still, she knew she must place sacred protective formulas in the room before she rested.
Tahirah chanted the words, sounding out each syllable, as she placed each magical ward—two at the door, four at the windows, and one in each corner of the room. Stars of gold, green and silver glowed, disappearing as she set each ward upon the framework of the Alhambra.
She yearned for sleep, but could not rest until she had sought out the cause of the Alhambra’s pain.
Tahirah cleansed herself in the way of the Sufi, preparing for the ordeal to come. She sat in the middle of the room, murmuring formulas, and slowly entered the realm of magic. Little by little she opened her mind to the palace, and there she drifted, inviting communion.
Nothing was as it should be; the fortress was breaking. Small fissures formed deep within the structure—but during her attempts to heal it, the very walls recoiled. She turned her mind to the Court of the Lions and called, once, twice, three times, listening for the lions to respond. But only her voice echoed back.
Hours later, she came to herself, lying stunned on the floor. The Alhambra had rejected her, fighting her and her magic, divulging nothing.
The Alhambra had been betrayed and trusted no longer.
Despite her powers, she had been unable to heal the breach. The palace cried out for help, yet rebuffed her attempts. How could she begin to heal this?
Except for her slow, even breathing, all was silent as she puzzled over this. Who had done such a thing—and why? From whom would the Alhambra take comfort? Not from an outsider or one with foreign blood, that seemed certain. The Alhambra had closed herself off from all but those born on her soil.
Tahirah stared at the ceiling, hoping for answers. Finally, as the evening drifted into night, she gathered Allah’s truth and power once again and prayed unto Him for guidance.