Daughter of Nomads

by Rosanne Hawke

  Dagar Khan jumped to his feet. ‘I don’t want to hear any more of your incompetency. You killed the wrong girl in Sherwan. I have the largest conscripted army in this part of the empire. You are supposed to be the salar, the commander! Act like it! Get more men, search properly. Kill anyone who resists or you will lose your own head.’

  Then Dagar Khan spoke quietly to Pir Zal. ‘Does the girl have some kind of help? This demon fighter perhaps?’

  The pir shook his head.

  Dagar Khan turned to the commander as he rose to his feet. ‘I am the greatest warrior, there is no demon fighter. Now pull your men together and find her!’ He clapped his hands and a door opened. ‘This time, take the girl alive.’ He took a strip of paper from his pocket. ‘And send this message by pigeon to the war lord, Muzahid Baig. I have a plan he may appreciate.’

  The army commander bowed and left.

  Dagar Khan stared out the window at the snow-topped mountains. Underneath, the Hahayul River glinted in the sunlight in contrast to the darkness of the dense forest that lined its banks.

  After a while, he turned to the pir. ‘Tell me again what you saw.’

  Obligingly the pir intoned:

  ‘Beware the woman with the leopard’s heart

  Crowned in flame beneath a bloodless sun

  The wretched daughter of a broken king

  Come to steal what was rightfully won.’

  Dagar Khan closed his eyes. The pir’s voice sent unwelcome tremors down his spine. ‘How can we stop this happening?’

  ‘Find her and kill her.’

  Dagar Khan whispered, ‘And then I will be the unquestioned ruler of these northern kingdoms.’

  10

  Jask Persia Safarid Empire

  In the middle of the night when all were asleep, Azhar snuck out and flew to Jask. It was such a glorious night that he took a detour to view the Hemalleh Mountains in Qashmir. How he loved the exhilaration of the wind and speed. Flying a carpet had long been considered arrogance and a sacrilege, as flying was a skill reserved for gods, but he enjoyed the solitude, the wind embracing him, and the rippling hum of the carpet, happy to fly. How could it be wrong? He patted the carpet and a corner curled toward him in response.

  Soon the minarets of Jask loomed in front of him and he landed gently on Kifayat’s flat roof.

  His father’s eyes lit up as he met Azhar at the outside door. ‘You have become the Eid moon, Pesar, my son.’

  Azhar smiled wearily at his father’s usual greeting. ‘I have been busy.’

  Kifayat’s manner sobered. ‘It is going well?’

  ‘We are still alive – that is something. I have left them at Lake Saiful Maluk.’

  ‘So they are safe for now.’ Kifayat put his arm around Azhar’s shoulders. ‘Come, take chai with me.’ They walked inside.

  ‘Are you sure no one suspects that I visit? Dagar Khan may have spies even as far west as Persia.’

  Kifayat inclined his head. ‘How could they know? You come under the cover of darkness and directly to my roof. Who will look at the sky?’ He chuckled. ‘My servants do not sleep in the house. It is for this very reason, so you can come freely.’ He looked keenly into Azhar’s face. ‘How is the girl?’

  Azhar hesitated. ‘She is well. But she wants to fight.’

  Kifayat stopped walking and turned to face him. ‘Fight?’

  ‘With a scimitar.’ Azhar laid a hand on his forehead, a pretence of headache.

  ‘Qhuda have mercy.’

  ‘Indeed. One day she helped me when I was fighting three men. She knocked one on the head, which evened the odds somewhat. I may even owe her my life.’

  Kifayat regarded him. ‘She sounds like her mother.’

  He led Azhar into his reading room. Azhar saw a peacock quill lying on a piece of paper filled with ink – his father had been writing.

  Kifayat reached up to a scimitar displayed on the wall.

  ‘The fabled scimitar, Shamsher? You can’t—’ Azhar began.

  ‘Why not?’ Kifayat held the curved sword in his hands. ‘We didn’t save this for us. It is hers by right. No one else alive will recognise it. Except perhaps Dagar Khan.’

  Azhar took the sword and turned it to catch the candlelight. The hilt was made of jade with garnets embedded. ‘Shamsher, the Lion’s Tail. It is beautiful, and it is light enough for her.’

  ‘It was made by Princess Jahanara’s master of sword.’ Then Kifayat sighed. ‘Teach her to use it. Many of the Mughal empresses could fight. Emperor Akbar’s wife, by all accounts, could use a sword.’

  Azhar grinned. ‘I am sure Jahani knows that story.’

  ‘Then prepare her. Teach her all you know as if she were a boy.’

  Azhar regarded his father dubiously. ‘She may be tall enough, but she is nothing like a boy.’

  ‘For now, forget she is a girl. Her path is not an easy one, nor yours, but her life may depend on this. In the meantime, guard her life with your own.’

  ‘I am trying, Pedar, if only she will let me.’

  Kifayat took him by the arm and smiled. ‘Stay with me awhile. You can return just before dawn. No one will know you are gone.’

  11

  Lake Saiful Maluk, Kingdom of Kaghan Mughal Empire Second Moon of Summer

  Jahani woke before dawn. While the others slept, she walked along the lake’s edge. The mornings were cooler here and she wrapped her shawl tightly around her. She walked until the hut couldn’t be seen and the lake stretched before her like smooth silver paper. The mountains rose up from the lake as if cradling it, half clad with grass, their tops with snow. A slight mist clung to the water and she breathed in the fresh cool air. It was easy to imagine that paries lived in the lake and emerged at full moon.

  The beauty didn’t deter her thoughts returning to the conversation of the night before. Dagar Khan, who people called the Demon King, could be trying to kill her. She couldn’t fathom why. Who was she to him?

  She heard a whoosh above her head and ducked in fear of a huge bird swooping to protect its chicks. But when Jahani looked up nothing was there. She lowered her gaze and caught sight of a grey turban moving swiftly behind a hill ahead. Was it one of Dagar Khan’s men? The man’s body was hidden from view, but the turban was passing too fast for him to be walking. Was he running? She shivered and raced up the rise to check.

  But when she reached the crest, she spied Azhar prostrate on his carpet. He was praying. Strangely, he had a bow and quiver on his back.

  Jahani frowned. The early dawn must be playing tricks on her mind. She turned away and retraced her steps to the lake. Hafeezah’s stories of paries came back to her. How delighted Anjuli was to hear about them. Hafeezah even told Anjuli about pari horses – fairy horses that could speak to their rider’s mind and give advice in battle. Anjuli wanted one, and Jahani did, too; they could be useful on the rest of the journey to Zarah and Baqir’s, especially if Dagar Khan really was after her. If only pari horses were true.

  Jahani stared at the water inching closer to her feet. Its energy was mesmerising. Her sandalled foot moved forward as if she had no control over it. She snatched it back; the water burned her toes, it was so cold.

  ‘You rise early.’

  Jahani started. She hadn’t heard anyone behind her. She turned to find Azhar. He was stooping with the weight of his carpet rolled up across his shoulders.

  ‘Why don’t you use a smaller prayer rug?’ she asked, thinking of her own. ‘It would be lighter to carry.’

  He hesitated, regarding her.

  Jahani raised her eyebrows.

  In response, he unrolled the carpet on the ground and sat down. He indicated a space beside him as he crossed his legs. ‘Sit with me.’

  Jahani glanced around before perching on a corner of the carpet like a hen on a prickly nest. ‘Why did you take your bow and quiver to pray?’

  He spread his hands. ‘One never knows when they will be needed. From a distance a bow is more helpful than a sword.’ />
  She tipped her head to agree. ‘This is a beautiful carpet.’ It was the first time she had seen it completely unfurled. Red patterns swirled around the border and shapes of animals embellished with green dye enchanted her eyes. She’d never seen green on a carpet, and she knew some clerics would condemn the animals depicted on it, however beautiful. She touched a green-and-blue peacock and paused – the carpet was warm.

  ‘They used grape leaves to make green dye for the wool,’ Azhar said.

  She felt the strangest thrum under her hands, as if the carpet were vibrating. She shoved her tingling hands on her lap and stared wonderingly at Azhar.

  ‘Do you like it?’ He sounded as if he cared what she thought.

  She nodded. ‘Is it Persian?’

  ‘Awa. It once belonged to an ancient Persian emir, then a mir in a Qurraqoram kingdom.’

  So, it wasn’t a family heirloom. ‘Is that why you take it everywhere, because it’s valuable?’

  ‘Perhaps.’

  Jahani tried to ignore her annoyance at his evasive response. Without thinking she said, ‘When we reach Naran where my parents live, will you stay there or move on to another occupation?’

  A crease formed between Azhar’s brows. Then he said softly, ‘Are you frightened to be without me?’

  ‘Why should I be?’ She said it too quickly.

  He watched her a moment. ‘I want you to know that I will always be at your service if you need me.’

  ‘But once I am in Naran, surely there will be no need …’

  He didn’t disagree with her, which she found disconcerting. To cover her surprise, she said, ‘I want to be able to protect myself, then you need not bother with me.’ She bent her head as if she were studying the carpet. There was something that frightened her but she didn’t want to voice it. What if she didn’t like her birth mother? What if Hafeezah deserted her once they arrived?

  ‘Jahani.’

  She looked up. He was holding a long object covered with a cloth bag.

  ‘This is for you.’

  She hesitated. Hafeezah wouldn’t approve of her accepting a gift from a man, even if it was Azhar. He held it out further and, before she could stop herself, she reached for it.

  She opened the bag and pulled out a scimitar in its scabbard. ‘Oh.’ Immediately she unsheathed the sword and admired the hilt crafted from green jade. She was so captivated that she didn’t notice the sharp end drawing dangerously close to her left hand.

  Swiftly Azhar leaned forward. ‘Careful.’

  Joy surged through her. ‘Where did you get this?’

  ‘From my father.’

  ‘Why do you have it now?’ Jahani was fascinated by the scimitar and didn’t think his silence strange. Her fingers followed the etched pattern on the blade. ‘It’s so elegantly curved – it looks like drawings I’ve seen of Mughal swords – but it is different as well. Are these garnets?’ She ran a finger over the jewels embedded in the hilt and scabbard.

  He inclined his head. ‘Its name is Shamsher.’

  She looked at it in surprise. ‘Why does it have a name?’

  ‘Because it is special,’ Azhar murmured. ‘Keep it hidden until the time comes to wear it openly.’

  She stared at him, confused. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I cannot tell you. But while we are here, I will give you some training in the use of scimitars.’ He looked amused and she narrowed her gaze. Was he making fun of her wish to use a weapon? It was a wish she couldn’t explain.

  Azhar stood. ‘Everyone will wake soon.’

  Jahani glanced up at him. So he did know it was inappropriate for them to be sitting alone together on the carpet. And then to give her such a gift! It was as if the lake had taken their senses. Jahani knew she shouldn’t keep it, but she ignored her sense of propriety. She had always wanted a sword for as long as she could remember. And it was as if she knew this scimitar – like they were old friends. She glanced out at the lake. Perhaps Hafeezah was right about the lake and its charms. She was growing too fanciful.

  Their morning meal consisted of fried eggs on leftover chapat­tis from the night before, heated in ghee. Afterward Hafeezah and Jahani washed the dirty dishes in the lake as Rasheed’s hens clucked in the grass nearby. The lake was now a brilliant blue. Jahani paused, distracted from her task of wiping dishes, to marvel at the white mountain peaks surrounding the lake like armoured protectors; their reflections, underwater giants. At the water’s edge, Mikal was fishing with a net. He threw it out in an effortless arc. Jahani watched the curve of it gently land on the surface. The scene made her feel as if time had ceased.

  Jahani returned to wiping dishes as Hafeezah washed. After a while, she voiced a question that had burned inside since her recent encounter with Azhar. ‘Ammi, I suspect Azhar does not tell everything in his heart. Can we truly trust him?’

  Hafeezah didn’t stop rinsing the wooden bowls. ‘I trust him, Jahani.’ Then she put down the plates and took hold of Jahani’s hands. ‘Remember the flowers in the fields of Shogrun? And I said I took you there?’

  Jahani nodded.

  Hafeezah hesitated, and then said, ‘Azhar was there, too. He looked after you even when he was a boy.’

  Jahani took back her hands. How many more surprises would there be? ‘Why didn’t you tell me? I feel foolish as if I should have known.’

  ‘Azhar thought it best not to confuse you. To just let you remember naturally.’

  Jahani narrowed her eyes. Azhar thought best? ‘I still don’t understand what is going on.’

  Hafeezah sighed and scraped a plate with a stone. ‘Nor do I.’

  ‘But how can Azhar speak Burushaski?’

  Hafeezah shrugged. ‘He knew the language when he was young, probably because he travelled through the Qurraqoram Mountains with his father.’

  Jahani twisted the cloth in her hands. ‘What else do you think he knows?’

  Hafeezah’s glance was sharp as she handed her a bowl. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘There’s more he doesn’t say, I know it.’

  ‘What could he know? His father was Zarah and Baqir’s master of horse; he was in their employ and now Azhar is.’

  ‘How did Azhar suddenly turn up in our village?’

  Hafeezah picked up another bowl and slipped it into the water. ‘When we left your parents, Azhar and his father escorted us to Sherwan. Then they left to live in Jask. Azhar returned to Sherwan some moons ago.’

  ‘Why?’

  The clean bowl hovered midair. ‘I don’t know. To see the world perhaps?’ She handed the bowl to Jahani. ‘I’m thankful he has returned. We have needed his services.’

  Jahani sank into silence. She wished they didn’t need him. His continual presence was unsettling. When she could use that sword efficiently she wouldn’t need anyone.

  They were packing up the dishes when Azhar found them at the lake’s edge. ‘You do not need to clean dishes. Mikal is happy to do this task.’

  Hafeezah smiled up at him. ‘It is good to help.’

  ‘Kaka, I need to show Jahani something.’

  Jahani thought Hafeezah would object, but it appeared Azhar could do no wrong in her eyes. Well, Jahani wasn’t so sure.

  As they walked away from the lake, Azhar said, ‘Why don’t you bring Anjuli?’

  Appeased, she went to find the girl. Anjuli was sitting on the charpai they shared, staring out the window. ‘Anjuli? Are you feeling well?’

  She sighed. ‘Ji, yes, just thinking of my village.’

  Jahani crouched beside her. ‘It is a huge shock to leave your home and lose your family at once.’

  The girl nodded. ‘Especially my brother Shaan. He was my favourite.’

  Jahani drew her close. ‘Do you want to tell me what happened?’

  Anjuli shivered. ‘Everyone was screaming. I could hear them.’

  ‘Where were you?’ Jahani asked softly.

  ‘I went to relieve myself in the woods.’ She let out a sob. ‘And whe
n I heard the noise I didn’t come out. I hid.’

  ‘That was the best thing to do.’

  ‘But I didn’t die with them. I should have.’ Her weeping was so forlorn that Jahani cried, too. She rocked Anjuli in her arms like Hafeezah used to do to her.

  Then she said, ‘The sadness will always be with you, but perhaps you will learn to live with it. I lost a friend called Sameela. We grew up together, played and studied together. She was to be married. I think of her constantly.’ It did feel better to talk about it.

  Anjuli looked up and touched Jahani’s cheek.

  ‘Azhar said to bring you outside. Will you come?’ At the mention of Azhar, Anjuli’s face brightened. It frustrated Jahani, but at least Anjuli was happier.

  Azhar stood behind a rise out of sight from the hut and the lake’s edge. He had three wooden scimitars in his hands.

  ‘Wood?’ Jahani burst out. ‘Why use wood when I have a beautiful real scimitar? Let me fetch it.’

  ‘Bey ya, I don’t want you killing me in our first lesson.’

  Jahani scowled as he handed her one of the swords.

  ‘Scimitars are the ideal weapon for chopping or slicing the target. They can hit vital areas of the body better than many heavier swords. See this mound of mud? Try to slice it, like this.’ Azhar leaped forward, his wooden sword outstretched. A lump of the mud fell to the ground. Jahani didn’t even see the scimitar touch it.

  She also leaped forward but, when she sliced, she missed the mound altogether.

  ‘Show me again,’ she said, failing to keep the irritation from her voice. ‘But slowly this time.’

  ‘Slowly?’ he mimicked.

  She caught him winking at Anjuli and she angrily leaped for the mud again. This time it fell in half. Anjuli clapped.

  ‘You will need to practise many times,’ Azhar said. ‘For accuracy. Now, please face me. And hold the scimitar like so.’

  Jahani tried to do everything he said. She wished Sameela’s brother had kept up their sword lessons; perhaps then she wouldn’t feel so humiliated now. She gritted her teeth. She was determined to learn to do this as well as Azhar.