Sleep didn’t come easily to the girls that night. Ara wanted to go back to the fountain to attempt a conversation with her lion. Maybe now he would show himself to her and speak.
Layla, terrified of the wazir, argued long and hard that if the lion wanted to talk to them, he knew where they were. Suleiman, after thoroughly investigating the room, selected a soft pillow and, purring blissfully, kneaded it with his front paws before falling asleep.
“Girls, it is almost dawn and soon time for prayers. Why are you not up and about?” To Ara, lost in restless sleep, Su’ah’s voice seemed far away. Something soft flicked across her nose. She opened her eyes slightly.
The tail swept across her face again. “Achoo,” she sneezed. Suleiman pushed the covers up a bit to poke his nose outside the blanket. He’d crawled under last night complaining of a draft.
“Are you coming down with a cold?” Su’ah asked.
Ara shoved Suleiman back under the covers. “No, something just tickled my nose. I’m fine.”
Su’ah stood gazing out the window at the brightening sky. “Looks like another beautiful morning.” She stood watching for a moment, and then said. “Why, there’s the wazir. What’s he doing?”
Ara jumped up and ran to the window to look through the honeycombed slats. “Where?” she breathed, leaning against the sill. Layla opened her eyes wide.
Su’ah pointed to a shadowy figure standing backlit by a flickering torchlight from the palace. “See, it’s him all right. What’s he doing with that cat?”
The sky was rosy with light illuminating the scene as the sun began it’s climb: a tortoise-shell cat crouched in a corner, spitting furiously. The wazir, looking disgusted, kicked at it, but it darted between his legs, escaping as the voice of the muezzin rang out. The call to prayer, Fajr. The wazir slammed his fist against the wall and then hurried away. Ara and Layla quickly got their prayer rugs and, facing Mecca, began to pray.
Praise be to God, Lord of the worlds!
The compassionate, the merciful!
King on the day of reckoning!
Thee only do we worship, and to Thee do we cry for help.
Guide Thou us on the straight path,
The path of those to whom Thou hast been gracious; with
Whom thou art not angry, and who go not astray.
From under the tousled bedcovers, Ara heard Suleiman perform his devotions.
Washed and scrubbed after their baths, the girls returned to their sleeping quarters. Su’ah had left earlier to watch over Dananir’s small son. Layla went directly to the bed, wanting to collect Suleiman before they left for breakfast.
“He’s gone,” Layla whispered. Panic lurked in her voice.
“He can’t have disappeared.” Ara grabbed the covers, looked under them, and then started searching the room. “He knows we need him to be with us when he changes, and half a day has already gone by. He’s a very smart cat. Or, at least, he was a smart tutor,” she amended.
Layla ran to the window to scan the yard below. “Where could he be?”
“I’m here,” Suleiman announced, slinking into the room. The fur on his neck stood out.
Layla rushed over to him and cradled him in her arms. “Where did you go? We were worried.”
Suleiman shivered. “I went to speak with the Lions, feline to feline. We have much in common. They are magical lions, and I am a cat transformed through magic. I hoped they might advise me on how to break this spell faster.”
“What happened?” Layla asked. “Didn’t they help?”
He wriggled, wanting to get down. “The power they hold is overwhelming. Being near them is like staring at the sun too long. Even partially bound by the wazir’s magic, they radiate. They pulse with power. They knew, of course, that I had been transformed.” He leapt to the floor and paced.
“They scolded me for wanting to change back to my human self. Me, a Turk of the tribe of Qizilbash! The lions, Wisdom and Reason, said I should take the opportunity to learn from each transformation. I was too prideful, they said.” He flashed the girls a look of indignation before twitching his tail.
Neither girl spoke, uncertain what to say. Suleiman continued pacing. Both recalled him in his human form: smart, competent but very pompous.
“What are you supposed to learn?” Ara asked.
“They said that I was wasting valuable magic by not using the time wisely, that each animal shape I turn into had lessons to teach. They were not sympathetic.” He bristled.
Suleiman continued to pace while the girls snuck quick looks at each other.
“Did they hint at what they thought you should learn?”
“Humility,” Suleiman spat. “I believe that was the first lesson.”
Ara winced. Layla considered that for a moment, then said, “What about sympathy for those who are powerless?”
“What about it?” the cat snapped.
“That was something you learned as a lizard. Maybe that’s what they meant.”
Ara looked at her cousin in amazement.
Suleiman’s tail flicked in annoyance and Ara thought he was going to dismiss Layla’s suggestion. He reached up to the weaving hanging on the loom and sharpened his claws. “Perhaps that’s true. Maybe the lions are right. There is something to learn here. I need to think on this.”
“Please, could you think about it without destroying Su’ah’s weaving?” Ara implored.
“Your pardon,” he apologized, self-consciously removing his claws from the material. “I need to go for a walk and consider Wisdom’s words.”
“But we need you here!” Ara protested. “You need to help us find the translation symmetry.” The cat stared at her and flattened his ears. Ara grasped at a thought. “Was Wisdom my lion’s name? Was he the one you spoke to?”
“Your lion didn’t stoop to introducing himself,” Suleiman huffed. “Yes, a walk is just what I need.”
“You can’t leave. It’s not safe,” Layla said, a plea in her voice.
Suleiman gave her a look that would curdle milk. “I’m a cat—I come and go as I please. I escaped through cunning yesterday—I can do it again.” He arched his back in what seemed a casual stretch before trotting toward the door. “Don’t worry, you won’t have trouble finding translation symmetries. There are too many to count in the Alhambra,” he said. “If I see the broken one, I’ll let you know.”
And he was gone.
Ara was the first to recover. “I might guess his lesson is independence,” she said.
“Now what?” Layla asked.
Ara picked up her lute and headed for the door. “We have classes to attend. I guess we continue on. We have until Asr, three hours before sunset the day after tomorrow to find this symmetry. We must wait for his return, otherwise we won’t know what he changes into.”
After an unhappy look at the door, Layla grabbed her dance clothes and calligraphy stylus and followed Ara.
Neither could look at the other. Unspoken was the fear—what if he never returned?