From the tower, the girls watched as an eagle winged toward the palace, skimming through the newly-formed clouds. Ara heard distant trumpets. She peered down the road and saw men-at-arms riding fast. At the head, riding a big-boned chestnut mare, was the wazir. His body twisted as he searched the skies.
Please let him not see Suleiman, Ara fervently prayed. Just then the eagle dipped down through a cloud and a cry went up from one of the hunters, who pointed upwards. The bowmen loosed three arrows in rapid succession. The eagle soared above them, their barbs sailing harmlessly below.
The wazir waved his arms, cursing his men. As two archers raced on ahead, he yanked his reins back hard and flung himself to the ground, pulling out an object from his saddlebags. Light reflected off it, and Ara gasped in recognition. He raised the mirror to the sky and began chanting.
“Layla, he’s doing black mathemagics! That’s what he did before. He used a mirror just like he is now.
“Suleiman,” Ara shouted, thrusting herself half out of the window, “look out!”
The eagle veered, and the magic whooshed by in the form of a small black cloud. It hung there. Two songbirds flew through it and disappeared. Dark shadows twisted inside the cloud and feathers exploded into the air. The eagle’s eyes locked onto the wazir, bent over his mirror below.
Layla and Ara gasped as Suleiman suddenly pinned in his wings and hurtled down from the sky.
Too late, the wazir looked up and discovered that he who had been the predator was now the prey. He shrieked and flung his hands over his face.
Layla screamed.
Just before he crashed into the wazir, Suleiman pulled out of his dive and, extending his talons, grabbed the mirror. His talons raked the wazir’s hand. Blood spurted. Abd al-Rahmid shrieked as claws ripped through his flesh. His companions turned at the noise, dumbfounded.
Doubled over in pain, he shrieked at his men to kill the eagle. One man hurried to his aid, while the other notched his bow. Clutching the mirror, Suleiman flapped harder, his strong wings pumping as he tried to distance himself from the deadly arrows arching in his direction.
Layla hid her eyes behind her hands. Ara watched Suleiman fly over the palace walls, dodging arrows until he was inside the palace boundaries. She leaned over to reassure her cousin. Just then, one last arrow shot upward and nicked his tail feathers, sending him into an airborne somersault. The mirror flew out of his claws, and he spiraled down from the sky, all grace gone. By sheer strength, he managed to slow his fall to a sluggish, if wobbly, descent. From her vantage point, Ara could hear the wazir screaming at the men.
Ara turned to her cousin and saw, lit by the sun, a broken symmetry on the far wall. As the tile turned to match the others, the lions began to roar. The Alhambra itself rumbled, the palace healing—and suddenly Ara knew what would happen. She turned back to the window.
With a startled squawk, Suleiman lost what little control he had, plummeting toward the ground as he changed into a new form in mid air. Both Layla and Ara leaned out the window, aghast at the blurred vision of airborne fur and flailing legs. Falling, falling, too quickly.
Fear grabbed at Ara’s chest. She couldn’t breathe. What if he was badly hurt? What if he died?
Then Suleiman—whatever he had become—disappeared behind the stables.
The girls tore down the stairs and outside. As they rounded the back of the stables, the girls stopped. There was only a pile of hay. Suleiman was nowhere to be seen. As they looked helplessly at each other, a low moan came from within the pile. Ara yelped, and they dug frantically through the hay for their friend.
“Suleiman, can you hear me?” Layla called. “Are you hurt?”
A shaky voice responded, “I’m as well as can be expected after falling from such a height. The wind is knocked out of me though. You need to be more careful, Ara! Did you not see how high up I was?”
She dug faster. “I’m sorry, Suleiman. It was an accident.”
He coughed, sounding like he was spitting out straw from his mouth. “I only wish there was space for some discipline and caution between your curiosity and your impulsiveness.”
The girls scooped more hay to the side, digging deeper.
He coughed again, rattling around within the center of the haystack. “Well, let us go forward. Your nature can’t be changed in—”
“Hurry,” Ara interrupted, tired of the lecture. “The wazir and his men are outside the palace, but they will be upon us searching for you before we can go far. We need to get you out of here and hidden.” She tried to peer through the straw. “I didn’t mean to see the symmetry. I didn’t even know it was there. Are you sure you’re all right?”
The haystack moved. From it emerged a large pile of straw draped over spindly legs. Suleiman lifted his head, and a tangle of straw rose in the air. A small golden haystack encompassing his head and shoulders shifted around him. “I’m a lion, aren’t I? I can feel my glorious mane and tail.” He tossed his head. “I knew each transformation brought me closer to my own true self, but I never dared hope for so much. Without doubt, I am blessed. No longer must I run and hide from evil. My roar of challenge will be heard for miles. He reared back, hay flying every which way, and drew in a breath. “Bleeeat!” He stopped short. “That’s wrong. Must have a bit of straw caught in my throat.” He cleared his windpipe. “Ehh, ehhh. There, that’s better. Ahem.” He took another deep breath. “Bleeeat!”
The haystack slipped sideways, and a small black horn poked up out of the debris.
“Suleiman, I don’t think you’re a lion.”
“Not a lion? But…Ah, well, what am I then, a mighty steed or...?”
The girls looked at one another in growing dismay.
“Suleiman,” Layla said gently, “you have horns. I think, well, I think you’re a goat.”
The straw-covered eunuch-goat stiffened in incredulity. A short tail flicked beneath the hay. “No, that’s not right. You’re mistaken. Perhaps I’m some exotic animal you are unaware of.” He shook his head and straw flew everywhere. Two triangular eyes peered worriedly out at them. “I’m a wildebeest, mayhap. They have horns. Or maybe a dragon from the Far East—I heard of them once…”
Ara shook her head, trying to hide a smile. “A goat.”
“No.” He stamped his foot. “I’ve already had a lesson in humility. One was more than sufficient.”
Suleiman turned his head, looking in growing horror at his body, which was undeniably that of a middle-sized black goat. A small, stringy beard framed an increasingly disgusted expression upon his face. Tiny black hooves stamped a beat of frustration. “I simply won’t have it,” he declared and dove back under the straw. “I’m not coming out until I’ve changed into something suitable.”
“Suleiman, I don’t think throwing a tantrum is going to help.” Ara reached in and grabbed a horn with both hands. “Really, you have to come out. Now! We have to find a safe place for you to hide. The wazir is searching for you.”
“No, no, no!”
Layla dug into the hay and, lifting the straw off Suleiman, stared sympathetically into his eyes. “This is your last shape. We have only until midnight. Suleiman, truly we need you. By tonight, you will be back to your own most suitable form, but we must hurry.”
“But,” he insisted, backing farther into the hay, pulling Ara along, “it’s just not right.”
The clatter of men and horses on cobblestones pushed both the girls into a panic.
Ara hauled desperately at his horn. “Suleiman, you can be a live goat now or you can be a dead goat when the wazir arrives. Please, we must leave now!”
Reluctantly, Suleiman clambered out of the hay and shook himself. A quick, disgusted look reconfirmed his goat shape. “How long do I have to be a...?” He couldn’t quite bring himself to say it.
“Goat,” Ara finished for him. She pulled him along the path toward Tahirah’s. Layla put her arm across his back, wrinkling her nose at the strong goat smell.
“Hurry, I hear voices!” Ara urged.
“I’m coming.” But Suleiman dragged his feet as he noted the direction they headed. “Must we go to the Palace of the Partal? I don’t want anyone to see me in this state, particularly not Tahirah.”
Many footsteps crunched the stones on the path beyond.
Ara blanched at the nearing sounds. “No time to run.”
Frightened and miserable, Layla agreed.
Ara looked around for a safe place to hide. The stables; many dark corners, and a goat there would not be unusual. They ducked inside.
The horses nickered at the girls but snorted at Suleiman. Layla climbed the narrow ladder to the loft with Ara pushing Suleiman close behind. The building was silent but for the sound of horses chewing and the occasional rustle of a mouse.
“Maybe they are searching the gard—” Ara broke off when the big stable door creaked open. Layla shivered and edged closer to Ara.
“We’ll check the stables,” a voice called. Straw rustled below and a horse whinnied. The soldiers passed, swords drawn, poking and peering into each stall. “God’s blood, no damaged animal here,” the beefy man said in Castilian Spanish. “The Grenadan wazir is becoming stranger and stranger.”
The thin man with the bushy eyebrows removed the saddle from his horse and rubbed him briskly with his blanket. “I’ll be glad when this is over. All this sneaking around in enemy territory makes me nervous. The sultan looked at us so hard, I was certain he saw through our story.”
Layla put a trembling hand on Ara to steady her as they peered down through the slated eaves.
The other man lifted a halter from a hook. “You worry too much. Soon the trap will spring and the sultan will be caught. What do you think the king wants him for, ransom or death?”
Ara started slightly. She met Layla’s eyes, now wide with fear.
“I neither know nor care. I just have to get this map and message to the army. Our men will surround the sultan at dawn. Right when they are all crouched in devotion to their Islamic God.” He laughed.
Ara looked back at Suleiman. Her father would die. She trembled, praying to Allah that they would not succeed. She must get to Tahirah with the information and—
Suleiman’s ears perked up. “I’ve got to get that paper,” he whispered, and before the girls could grab him, he turned and stumbled down the stairs into the stable hall, chewing on a clump of hay.
“What’s that?” The thin soldier swung around, his sword grasped in both his hands.
“Just a goat, you fool, looking for food. Relax. Put the map away, we need to leave.”
The soldier placed the paper in his saddlebag, closing the flap firmly. “Get out of my way,” he yelled at the goat as both men ambled out of the doors. The moment they entered the paddock, Suleiman raced for the saddlebag and deftly opened the pocket with his teeth.
“Hurry,” Ara hissed at Layla, still climbing cautiously down the ladder.
While Suleiman frantically nosed the contents of the saddlebag, the girls stood in indecision.
Suleiman flicked his eyes at the girls and bleated, his muffled voice not to be ignored. “Run now, out the side door.” Startled, they moved to flee. He grabbed the map and tugged. A corner of the map edged out. Ara, looking over her shoulder beyond Suleiman, whispered urgently, “They’re coming back!”
He pulled harder, ripping the paper. Suleiman nosed the flap back down and galloped out the door, only half of the map clenched between his teeth.