Captive moon, p.31
Captive Moon, page 31
part #3 of The Sazi Series
“You had dinner with Ahmad? You didn’t mention that to me.”
She regarded him with the tiniest bit of insult on her face, and her scent was hot metal frustration and annoyance. “Well, first, it’s none of your business, but yes—we’ve had dinner a few times since I got back to California. And second, you haven’t exactly been around to tell.”
Antoine felt a rush of air and then Ahmad’s snide voice in his ear. “I would have thought you learned that particular lesson. You can lose as much by inaction as by malice.”
Angry power raced through his body and Antoine turned and grabbed the front of Ahmad’s robes with a snarl that made the cobra hiss. “Be very careful what you start here, Antoine. I’m not certain that you fully grasp what powers I gained from my father’s death. I promised Charles I would use restraint, but—”
Antoine’s eyes narrowed. “Yes, he informed me that you can now kill by touch, though I don’t understand why, if Sargon had such a power, he didn’t use it. However, I watched what you did to Bahir when you found him hidden in the shadows, and noticed that your back is fully black now. At the time, I didn’t understand what that meant, but now I do. Perhaps you don’t fully grasp what I gained from Sargon, though. I was also forced by Charles to promise to use caution. Does the cat now have a poison bite, Ahmad? Can I too kill by touch? Shall we dance and discover who is more powerful?”
He saw the indecision in Ahmad’s eyes, the moment that Ahmad began to wonder about him. In truth, even he didn’t know what he’d gained from Sargon, nor did he plan to test any new skills without supervision by Wolven members. But Ahmad didn’t have to know that. After a moment, the snake’s eyes cleared and that insufferable smile curled his mouth again.
“My father enjoyed fighting, just as I do. Remember that he hadn’t ever been beaten in battle in thousands of years. By the time he realized that he might be in danger, Tahira had already taken the power to kill from him. If I choose to believe you—that I’m not the only recipient of his great power—then I feel it’s only fair to advise you that I know how to use that power after years of watching him. I have the skill to make the power my servant—do you?”
Tahira put a firm hand on both of their chests and pushed them apart. She gasped and then pulled suddenly reddened hands away. “Stop it, both of you! Ahmad, will you and Matty please go see if you can find our seats?”
“Right then. Even I can take a hint that wide. Let’s go grab a throw-down and gander at what they’ve put on the barbie, Ahmad,” Matty said, and swept his hand to offer Ahmad the lead. With a wicked smile, Ahmad bowed slightly to Tahira and preceded Matty toward a low platform of stone that was set up in the middle of the square.
Tahira put her hands on her hips and lowered her head in a defensive stance. “Antoine, what do you think you’re doing? This is supposed to be a tribute to my brother and hopefully a peaceful event that will show the kabile that Sazi can be warm and kind and respectful, instead of… well, trying to rip each other to shreds.”
He clenched his hands into tight fists and fought down the bile that was rising into his throat at the thought of Tahira with… Ahmad. “I don’t want you to … I mean, you can’t—” He shut his mouth when he saw her eyes narrowing, as though she knew what was going to come out of his mouth next.
Instead, he stalked back to the Jeep and opened the rear door, just for something to do. He closed his eyes and slammed his palm down on the carpeting in frustration. Ahmad was right. He’d been so occupied with his own life since they returned that he’d neglected her. He had no claim on her, and he shouldn’t be surprised that Ahmad had swooped in.
She stepped up behind him and put a light hand on his arm. “Did you know that since Sargon bit me, I’m more sensitive to poisonous bites? I swell up like I’m allergic, and everything that does bite seems to be attracted to me.”
He turned and looked at her, shaking his head. He hadn’t known, but realized he should have. She raised the sleeve of her dress to reveal an angry, swollen red mark on her forearm. “A wasp dive-bombed me at breakfast and this is what it looks like now. It’ll heal, but it’s painful. Now, look over there.” He followed her pointing arm to a small black object half-buried in the sand where they had been standing. “That’s a scorpion. Ahmad killed it while he was taunting you because it was about to climb up my leg. Ahmad knows about the insects because he’s been around to hear me talk about it.”
He felt another stab in his chest that left him stunned. The press of the box in his pocket seemed to dig into his skin. His voice sounded flat and hollow. “So you’re saying that you’ve chosen to be with Ahmad?”
Her scent was a wash of pain and frustration that masked the sweet cherries, sandalwood, and cinnamon as she quietly said, “No, Antoine. I’m saying that I wish you had been the person to notice the scorpion and know why it should be killed.”
As her eyes began to fill with tears, she turned and walked toward the square, leaving him feeling like he’d been kicked in the stomach. He watched as every step took her farther away, and he just didn’t know what to do.
Maybe I should just leave and be done with it. She deserves someone who gives a damn about her, and apparently I don’t, or I would have been the one to notice.
He made it as far as sliding in behind the wheel and putting the key in the ignition before he remembered his conversation with Margo and the reason why he’d decided to cancel part of the tour. He remembered why it was so urgent that he find a temporary replacement for Matty and new handlers for the cats. He could have done their jobs himself, as he did before they’d joined the show.
I expected I was going to be with Tahira and planned that she would wait until I had finished business and could be with her all the time. I just assumed she knows that I love her.
“Except for the fact that I never bothered to tell her,” he snarled harshly, slamming his palm down on the steering wheel hard enough to make it vibrate. He pulled the box from his pocket, ripped off the wrapping and opened it The two-carat, canary yellow diamond solitaire ring still looked beautiful against the black velvet. But now he wondered if he should have spent the time to have it designed and made before asking for her hand. Had he lost her, as Ahmad said, by negligence?
He pulled the keys from the ignition and opened the door. Distant drums, flutes, and bells told him that the ceremony must be starting. He needed to find her, talk to her. Setting out at a fast walk, he bumped his shoulder into something. When he looked around there was nothing there.
But then Rabi appeared out of thin air, easily keeping pace with him in flowing white robes that were embroidered with silver and gold thread in geometric patterns. The soon-to-be crowned leader of the Hayalet turned his turbaned head and said casually, “So, you finally figured it out, huh? Took you long enough. We sahips can be notoriously thick-headed and slow, so Ahmad and I decided we’d better push along the process. Nice ring, by the way.”
Antoine stopped just a few feet shy of the first white plaster home with flowering cacti and plants that filled the air with sweet fragrance. “What are you talking about? Have you been listening this whole time?”
Rabi looked at him in amusement. “Tahira’s my little sister, Antoine. Of course I was listening. I could tell that you were nuts about her in the cave and afterward at the house. But you were ripping her guts out by not calling. I figured it probably wasn’t intentional, because it’s been a roller-coaster ride for me, too, for the past couple of weeks. But Tahira—well, I think part of her expected that life would just stop and you’d be so delirious in love that you’d both ride off into the sunset.”
A sad, almost bitter chuckle rose up from deep inside. “And that’s exactly what I should have done. It’s what I wanted to do.”
Rabi shrugged and pulled on Antoine’s arm to start them moving again. “Yeah, but reality bites sometimes. Anyway, when I saw you and Ahmad at each other’s throat, I cooked up a plan and he agreed to help. He really does want Tahira to be happy, and he did ask her to dinner, hoping she’d choose him.” He laughed lightly. “But then she spent the whole night asking him about you. That quashed that romance damned quick.”
Antoine shook his head in confusion. “I must have missed something along the way. What just happened here? Are you telling me that all this—the installation, inviting us, having Ahmad show up—was planned? Just to get me to realize I love her? I already knew that. It’s why I brought along a ring.”
“Not the installation,” he said. “But yeah, the rest was. It was actually Ahmad’s idea, and obviously we didn’t know about the ring. When he saw how smitten Tahira was, he suggested to me that you would respond really well to jealousy, especially if it involved him.” Rabi pushed him lightly toward the seats and then isimed so that only his voice remained. “Go. Sit with her until the formal stuff is done. I have to go dazzle everyone with my amazing powers. Just don’t leave until after my speech, because you’ll want to hear that. Oh, and if I introduce you or ask you to do anything, be a sport. I don’t know if I’m going to. It’ll depend on the mood of the crowd.”
Antoine looked around the semicircle of kneeling people until he spotted Tahira at the front, once again wearing her head scarf and talking to Matty, who restlessly shifted beside her. There was an empty space next to her, right at the end of the row. He skirted around a small stand of pistachio trees until he was even with her row. He could smell her sorrow even over the myriad of emotions bleeding from the crowd.
“Tahira,” he said softly as he stepped next to her. She looked up with a combination of joy, hope, and worry. “Is this seat taken?”
She reached up and grabbed his hand, pulling him down beside her. He tucked his legs underneath him and knelt on the sand. “I was afraid you’d left. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just that—”
He pressed a finger to her lips. “Shhh. I’ve been an idiot, and I’m sorry. I should have spent every moment of the last two weeks telling you how I feel about you. I don’t know—maybe I thought you would know it by my scent.”
Her voice was soft, somehow fragile. She kissed his finger lightly and stared into his eyes with warmth. “Scent helps, but words are important, too. When I walked away, I nearly ran back because I realized I haven’t said it either. I’m just as much to blame.” She took a deep breath, as though steeling herself. “So, here goes. Antoine, I—”
A solid, heavy drumbeat was followed by a gong that vibrated in the air, and all of the people fell silent.
“Later,” he whispered. “It’s your brother’s moment right now.” She sighed but then nodded, and they turned their attention to a gilded chair sitting inside a heavy iron cage on the raised stone platform. There was no door that he could see, and the squares created by the iron bars would only permit something the size of a squirrel to get inside.
A stooped, elderly man in embroidered robes walked out of a tent at the edge of the crowd. Antoine realized he must be Tahira’s grandfather, the present leader of the Hayalet.
He walked with confident authority toward the throne and then clapped his hands twice. At the signal, a dozen well-muscled men armed with heavy curved scimitars approached the small cage and surrounded it on three sides, facing outward. Only the side open to the crowd remained clear.
On a second clap from the Sahip, the guards dropped into defensive position and scanned the surrounding terrain with blades extended and arms linked. There was murmuring from the crowd, and even Tahira seemed to be confused about what was happening.
The sahip forcefully said a few words in a language that wasn’t quite Turkish, and the whispering grew louder and more intense.
Tahira motioned for him, Matty, and Ahmad to move closer, and she whispered to them. “Grandfather just said that if Rabi is man enough to lead the kabile, then he should be able to defeat our best warriors to claim the throne. But even if he can defeat them, how—ohhh!” Then she smiled and smelled of amusement, leaving he and the others confused. “Just watch,” she said. “This is going to be good.”
Again the sahip spoke, the force of his voice a challenge, and Tahira translated for the three of them. “He commanded Rabi to appear and be judged on his worth to lead. Grandfather’s going all out for this.” When Antoine looked questioningly at her, she just shook her head and smiled.
Silence followed, broken only by the screech of some sort of bird on the top branch of the barren pistachio.
The sahip stood to his full height and crossed his arms over his chest. Then he pulled a scimitar to brandish in front of the crowd. Even Antoine could tell that the tone was taunting, sarcastic. The crowd cheered and laughed. A whisper from Tahira followed. “He asked if Rabi wasn’t even man enough to defeat an old king, nearly on his death bed. He told the crowd that perhaps such a coward is better off hiding in the brush like a prey animal.”
A loud voice suddenly bellowed in English, seeming to come from inside the cage. “I am far greater than a mere man and I hide from no one. I am Rabi Umar Kuric, grandson of the great Sahip Mazin, and I claim the throne of the Hayalet Kabile. None may defeat that which they cannot touch.”
He appeared on the throne in the center of the cage, his white robes shining almost blindingly in the sun against the black cloth worn by the guards. The sahip made a slashing motion across his throat and all the guards turned as one. The squares were just large enough to admit the scimitars, and the cage was narrow enough that Antoine realized the blades would meet in the middle. There would be no room for Rabi to escape being impaled. Rabi isimed suddenly, but even that wouldn’t save him.
Tahira didn’t seem worried, even when her grandfather uttered a rolling tiger’s roar of challenge and sliced his blade viciously through the front of the cage again and again as the guards slashed from side to side as well as diagonally. The faces of the warriors matched the stunned, confused ones in the audience and probably Antoine’s own. They pulled out their blades and waited for instruction from their leader.
There was a moment of silence and then the sahip’s sword was yanked away. In nearly a blur of moment, he flew into the air and was slammed to the ground. His throat was exposed as though it was being held against the stone. The throw hadn’t been hard enough to harm the old shifter, but it was impressive.
Rabi’s rich baritone split the air again. “And none may defend against the wind.” He made himself visible and he was on his knees over the old man, a knife blade held at his grandfather’s throat. Antoine couldn’t figure out how the trick was done. “Yield your authority or I will take it from you by force. Your time as leader of the kabile is ended, Mazin.”
Mazin sneered and spoke in slow, accented English. “You speak the language of the outsiders and live in a foreign land. How will you defend against our enemies and protect the kabile?”
Rabi pushed the blade a little deeper so the people in the front row, including Antoine and the others, could see a small stream of blood that flowed from the cut. “A sahip lives with his people. I will do as all other sahips have done before me and live here among you, learning your language and your ways. A sahip lives for his people and defends them through claw and blade. Your enemies will be my enemies—if I, and only I, deem them a threat.”
Antoine nearly leapt to his feet as he saw Mazin pull a narrow dagger from his robes. Only Tahira’s hand on his arm kept him still when the scent of anger filled the air. “Never forget that a sahip dies for his people, too!” But as he swung the dagger, Rabi disappeared and the arm swept through empty air.
“I share the powers of the legendary Khalid, who struck fear into the hearts of all who challenged him. I am Hayaleti vefa—true ghost. None may touch me unless I will it.” The voice, now a snarling bass that said he had changed to animal form, sounded from above them, and Rabi appeared on top of the cage. He let out a great, triumphant roar that vibrated Antoine’s chest and scattered the birds from the trees. Then he disappeared again. Before Antoine could blink a second time, Rabi was inside the cage as a tiger. Once more he isimed, and then there was silence for a long moment. When he appeared again, he sat regally in his white robes on the throne. It was hard not to be impressed at the show.
“Do any doubt my skills? Do any object to my rule?”
His grandfather stood up slowly, straightened his robes, and held his head high while he stared at Rabi through the cage. Then he dropped to his knees and bowed low at the edge of the iron bars, touching the stone with his forehead. Rabi nodded with his hands remaining firmly on the arms of the golden chair. It was a sign of respect to the old sahip, but it didn’t lessen his position.
Then he looked out over the villagers with cold, sure eyes—and the bearing of a king. One by one the guards bowed low, touching their foreheads to their swords. The villagers prostrated as a single wave until only Antoine, Tahira, Matty, and Ahmad remained upright.
Tahira looked at Rabi, appearing unsure about their role. While everyone was bent down, Rabi carefully mouthed the words, “You and Matty, but not Antoine and Ahmad.” Tahira nodded and tapped Matty’s arm. She signaled for him to bow with her, and then he and Ahmad were the only two left.
“You may rise.” One by one the villagers peeked up and found Rabi standing next to his grandfather on the stone. He stepped down the two steps slowly, looking from face to face sternly. “I’ve heard that some of you have questioned my judgment in inviting outsiders to my ascension. I know that most of you understand what I’m now saying, and for those who aren’t familiar with this language, I will allow others to translate my words while I speak. Basir and… Nuha, you will repeat my words to those who require in the tongue of the Hayalet until I am fluent and may speak for myself. But be warned—the esteemed Mazin and my grandmother will inform me if you speak false.” He walked slowly as though inspecting troops, but occasionally reached down to touch the head of a child and smile down warmly.
“The men with my sister are visiting sahips. The snake that you have smelled and have struggled not to attack is known as Ahmad al-Narmer. He is a great and powerful were-cobra and sahip of all the snakes in the world. He fought by my side to defeat one of his own kind, to defeat one of his own line. He is Sazi, and I call him friend.” Once again, there was murmuring from the crowd as the translators repeated his words. They cut off quickly when Rabi turned around and glared.
