Daughter of Nomads

by Rosanne Hawke

  ‘Now slice me,’ Azhar instructed.

  She hesitated.

  ‘Isn’t this why you wanted to learn to fight? To hurt someone?’

  ‘Bey ya …’ she faltered. ‘Only to protect myself.’

  Azhar leaped toward her. ‘Save yourself then.’

  She screamed and held the scimitar up, but she wasn’t strong enough. In one swift move, Azhar’s scimitar deflected her blow and her wooden scimitar clattered onto the ground.

  ‘You could have killed me,’ Jahani cried.

  Azhar stood before her, breathing heavily. ‘That is what it will be like – someone is trying to kill you. And they will try again.’ His voice had risen to a shout.

  Jahani blinked back tears. He was right; they may keep trying. She couldn’t give up. Even though her arm hurt, she picked up the wooden scimitar and said, ‘Then please show me again.’

  12

  A Forest near Naran Kingdom of Kaghan

  The boy lifted her onto the pony and they both trotted into a field of flowers. A peacock cried and showed his fan, while a snow leopard followed her. Sometimes it pounced and the boy laughed. Suddenly a shadow darkened the field. The leopard jumped up at the pony and the girl fell. The boy rushed to her and picked her up in his arms. He was weeping.

  It was still dark when Jahani woke. Today they would finally be leaving the lake for Naran and she would meet her birth mother and father. Soon she would feel she belonged. Azhar had decided they should remain at the lake another week and his friend Rasheed agreed. ‘We need to lose the men following us, and let our trail go cold,’ he’d said. Jahani had been disappointed by the delay. She hated the lost feeling that had descended upon her in the wake of Hafeezah’s disclosure. But she was happy to have extra training time to learn sword and combat skills with Azhar. Still with a wooden sword, though. She longed for the day she would be able to use her own scimitar.

  She lay on the charpai listening to Azhar talking quietly with Hafeezah as she made chapattis in the other room. It must be her imagination, but the boy in her dreams was beginning to look like Azhar, with his brown hair and light coloured eyes that seemed to see right into her mind.

  Jahani shut her eyes. She would pretend she was just waking up and she wouldn’t think about Azhar. She opened her eyes and, with the power of her will, she told herself to smile.

  Jahani murmured in Anjuli’s ear, ‘Wake up, little pari.’ Since Hafeezah had told the story of the Persian prince and the pari, often Jahani had seen Anjuli twirling with her arms outstretched as if she, too, were a fairy.

  Anjuli moaned. ‘It’s still dark.’

  ‘We have to travel early.’ Jahani didn’t mention there may be armed men on the road.

  Azhar had also directed Jahani to dress as a boy for travelling. ‘Just in case they are lying in wait for us,’ he had said. ‘They are looking for a girl with red hair, not a boy.’ Taking a deep breath, she dressed in Mikal’s white shalwar qameez. Then she braided her hair, wound it around her head and held it in place with steel pins.

  The girls joined Azhar and Hafeezah at the cooking fire in the other room. Chai was boiling in a pot and the food was ready – fried eggs with chapattis – Jahani’s favourite breakfast.

  As they sat down to eat, Rasheed brought in an armful of wood for the fire. He gave a start when he saw Jahani. ‘Is that necessary?’ he asked Azhar.

  ‘I hope not, but we don’t want Jahani recognised. Here,’ he passed a cloth to Anjuli, ‘see if you can wrap this around her hair.’

  Jahani knelt down so Anjuli could reach her head. Azhar and Anjuli laughed as she attempted to twist the material numerous times.

  ‘Didn’t the men in your family wear turbans?’ Azhar asked.

  Anjuli paused, then said, ‘Ji, but not like this.’

  In the end Azhar wrapped it himself, carefully tucking under Jahani’s stray red hairs with his fingers. Jahani told herself not to notice his hands brushing against her forehead and ears.

  Finally he stepped back to check his creation. ‘You’ll need to take out your nose-ring and earrings.’

  ‘Nice turban, but Jahani doesn’t make a good boy,’ Anjuli said.

  ‘She’s tall enough,’ Rasheed said.

  ‘But she’s too pretty,’ Anjuli said, then giggled. It was good to see her happy this morning.

  Hafeezah said nothing, but her face held a shadow.

  Jahani glanced up to catch Azhar considering her. ‘So today is the day,’ he finally said.

  She tilted her head, trying not to appear too excited.

  ‘Naran is on the Kunhar River, only a five-mile journey from here. We need to travel through the forest to reach the river, so as soon as we are finished eating, we’ll leave. Mikal has gone ahead to warn Baqir and Zarah we are arriving.’

  ‘Won’t it be dangerous for him?’ Jahani asked.

  ‘They are not looking for a young man going about his business. And I hope all spies and scouts are sleeping or have slunk back to their master.’

  As they were loading their few belongings onto the horses, Jahani thought it was the ideal moment to ask for a normal saddle. Hafeezah objected, but Azhar said that dressed as a boy Jahani could ride no other way.

  Minutes later, Jahani mounted Chandi and sat comfortably in her new seat. She thought of the possible danger of Dagar Khan’s men and quickly she took her sword scabbard from the cloth bag and slipped it into the leather holder on the saddle. She looked up, but only Azhar seemed to notice her actions. His face was impassive but, as he mounted Rakhsh, she detected a muscle move in his cheek.

  Soon they were taking their leave of Rasheed’s home at Lake Saiful Maluk. Since Jahani was now a boy, Anjuli rode with Hafeezah on Sitarah. They trotted down a track away from the lake, heading across a meadow to enter a forest. The trees were startling in the pre-dawn light, as if they had been frosted in silver and had stood there for eternity. The silence was eerie; it was the time when birds were still in their nests but predators prowled. Jahani was sure her eyes caught a movement in the shadows, but when she looked again nothing was there.

  They rode for a few hours with Anjuli chatting to Hafeezah. With each passing mile, Jahani became more jittery. Surely the forest would finish soon? Naran was on the other side and Jahani could hardly wait. Before long, Anjuli fell quiet. Jahani was daydreaming about Zarah and Baqir when suddenly a thought dropped into her head.

  Danger.

  She frowned. What was that? She glanced behind her.

  Then Azhar was shouting, ‘Quick! Gallop ahead. Go!’

  As Chandi sprang forward after Hafeezah and Anjuli, Jahani saw armed men with red turbans emerging on their horses from the trees near Azhar. There were so many of them. How would he hold them back?

  But she couldn’t think of that now. She had to get Anjuli and Hafeezah to safety, then maybe she could help Azhar. Suddenly she could hear snorting beside her and a horse’s black head came into view. A rider was following her! She lashed Chandi’s reins. ‘Faster!’

  You will be safe.

  There it was again. A thought in her mind so clear it was as if it were spoken.

  I will keep you safe.

  Surely Hafeezah’s stories about pari horses weren’t true?

  Chandi lashed out at the horse to her right and bit the rider’s leg. There was a yell and the horse fell back. Chandi surged forward and quickly caught up with Hafeezah and Anjuli riding on Sitarah. Then Jahani saw another rider emerge from the trees on Hafeezah’s side. He caught Sitarah’s reins; the mare squealed and reared. Hafeezah fell backward to the ground but Anjuli held fast, her hands caught in the mare’s mane.

  ‘Hafeezah!’

  Be ready. Unsheathe Shamsher.

  ‘What?’

  Your sword. Slice! Slice!

  It sounded like Azhar teaching her by the lake. She drew her scimitar from its scabbard as Chandi galloped closer to the man. His sword was already drawn.

  ‘Come to me, lad,’ he shouted, ‘and I�
��ll show you how to fight and die like a man.’ He laughed.

  Chandi charged and Jahani held her scimitar high. It felt weightless and fitted perfectly in her hand as if they were melded. She reached the man and his sword descended, but Chandi side-stepped and it sliced through air. Jahani’s scimitar, however, made contact. The man shouted and struck back, but again Chandi moved aside as though she were dancing and he missed. Jahani turned back and saw blood pouring from the man’s arm as he prepared to strike again. She knew she wasn’t strong enough to win, even if she used both hands. The man would continue to fight while he still had breath. What could she do?

  Make the others safe.

  Jahani looked around and saw Hafeezah standing by Sitarah, one hand over her mouth, the other grasping the reins. Anjuli was still mounted, but wailing.

  She shouted to Hafeezah, ‘Mount and ride ahead.’

  Hafeezah shook her head.

  ‘Go!’ Jahani screamed as she raised her scimitar again. She had no time to check if Hafeezah had obeyed.

  The man was close; she could hear his ragged breathing. This time he struck harder. Chandi parried the blow, but Jahani felt the sting of his sword on her skin. Her hand opened from the pain and the scimitar fell. The man screamed and through the haze of her pain Jahani could see her sword embedded in his leg. He pulled it out with a roar. Now he had two weapons. Jahani pulled on Chandi’s reins. There was no hope now – she would have to outrun him.

  You must get Shamsher, your sword.

  ‘But he will kill me.’

  Bey ya, he is weak now. He will drop your sword. Then you must flee. More horses are coming.

  Jahani faltered. Could she trust these thoughts? Hafeezah had sworn the stories of pari horses were true and Jahani had laughed. Now, she hoped Hafeezah was right as she faced the man.

  Chandi pawed the ground, then charged before Jahani gave the command. The two horses met and reared, hoofs flying to find a purchase on the other. Chandi kicked the other horse’s flank. The man toppled to the ground and Jahani saw terror in his eyes as he stared at her. Both weapons were airborne falling toward him.

  Take hold of Shamsher.

  Jahani held on to the reins with one hand and reached down with the other. Instantly the scimitar was in her grasp. She didn’t even recall catching it. Then Chandi was galloping through the trees in search of Hafeezah and Anjuli. Jahani’s turban had fallen off and her plait swung freely in the wind that streamed past her face. She’d never ridden so fast. The sun was rising, shining in her eyes, and she strained to see ahead. Chandi followed the path as it curved around a copse. Suddenly steel flashed in the sunlight. She pulled on the reins in panic. Horses cantered toward her; the men wore white shalwar qameezes and were armed. Surely there weren’t two groups of warriors. They must have split to ambush them. She held the scimitar high.

  Then she heard Anjuli squeal. ‘It’s Jahani! She’s safe.’

  The leader halted his mount by Chandi. ‘Put away your sword, missahiba. I am Saman Abdul, the commander of your father’s troops. I will ensure your safe passage into Naran.’

  ‘Then you must aid my guard, Azhar Sekandar,’ she urged. ‘He is fighting soldiers behind me.’ She sheathed the scimitar under Commander Saman’s curious eye.

  ‘Dagar Khan’s army?’

  ‘I do not know. Some men may be following me – be on guard.’

  ‘Captain,’ Commander Saman turned to another man, ‘take the missahiba to Naran, the road behind us is clear.’

  ‘I could be of some use,’ Jahani said.

  The commander was firm. ‘Your mother is waiting, missahiba, and your presence here will put you in danger. You could be taken hostage.’

  Jahani inclined her head. ‘Thank you for your help.’

  The commander signalled for the other men to follow.

  Jahani twisted in her saddle to watch the men galloping off. ‘Be safe,’ she murmured, but she was thinking of Azhar.

  13

  Naran Kingdom of Kaghan

  The troop finally emerged from the forest and trotted beside the Kunhar River. Jahani could see men fishing from rocks, their lines thrown in to the frothy white water. She wondered how they didn’t fall from their slippery perches. The current was so fast and noisy it was as if the river were alive. It reminded her of one of her dreams.

  Hafeezah drew Sitarah closer to Chandi. ‘How did you escape the warrior?’ Hafeezah asked.

  It was difficult enough to talk while riding let alone with the river roaring beside them. And how could Jahani explain?

  ‘I will tell you later.’ She smiled so Hafeezah wouldn’t worry, while she tried to decipher what had happened in the forest. It was almost as if Chandi and Shamsher the sword had fought for her. Azhar had given them both to her. Did he know they were charmed? She felt as though she had slid into one of Hafeezah’s fairytales. She hoped the fairytale would also keep Azhar safe.

  Hafeezah hugged Anjuli to her. ‘Ju na, thank you for saving us,’ she said to Jahani. In her eyes was a look of wonder and speculation.

  ‘It was nothing,’ Jahani said, then frowned. Wasn’t that what Azhar said over a moon ago when she thanked him for saving her life in the bazaar?

  The captain pointed out a house on a distant rise above the river. ‘There is your home.’

  In the morning sun Jahani thought it looked like a white marble palace. As they climbed closer, she could see it was a small fort and was built from white-washed stone, not marble. They rode into large stables. Jahani was hoping there would be time to compose herself before she met her parents. Her arm hurt and she was so tired she could have slept on pebbles. How excited she’d been when she woke, but now she felt she’d lived fifty summers since breakfast. She had imagined falling into her mother’s arms, home at last, but she didn’t feel like doing that now.

  She dismounted and hugged Chandi. ‘Thank you,’ she said.

  Chandi didn’t answer, just snorted in Jahani’s face like any other horse. Had she imagined it all?

  ‘I will look after your mounts,’ the captain said.

  Anjuli raced to Jahani and hugged her. ‘I thought you’d die.’ She burst into tears. Jahani pulled her close and let her weep.

  Just then a woman rushed into the stable. ‘Jahani?’ She sounded hesitant. ‘I saw you arrive from the window.’

  Was this her mother? The woman was short and had brown eyes and dark hair wrapped around her head. Jahani stared at her slightly greying plait; it was definitely not red like her own. She was also much older than Jahani expected a mother to be.

  Hafeezah stepped forward and kissed the lady’s hand. ‘Begum Zarah, it is good to see you again,’ she said in Hindustani.

  ‘Hafeezah, shukriya, thank you.’ Zarah’s eyes were filling with tears and she couldn’t keep her gaze from Jahani.

  Hafeezah drew Jahani forward. ‘This is your mother.’

  With horror, Jahani realised she had no words. She kissed the lady’s hand and stooped to touch her feet.

  Zarah drew Jahani up to face her. ‘How you have grown. You’re much taller than me.’ She smiled but Jahani noticed her lips were trembling.

  Jahani couldn’t understand why she felt no emotion. She had looked forward to this moment for so long; why couldn’t she rejoice?

  ‘And who is this?’ said Zarah, noticing the little girl standing behind Jahani in the shadows.

  ‘Anjuli,’ Jahani said, relieved to have something to say. ‘We rescued her on the way here – her village had been destroyed.’

  Zarah shook her head. ‘Dagar Khan’s men, I don’t doubt.’

  Jahani asked, ‘What do you know of him?’

  ‘Only that his men are terrorising these kingdoms. Fealty isn’t enough for him. He wants our fear, too.’

  ‘What about my—’ Jahani hesitated, ‘—father? Is he here?’

  ‘He is away on business, but he will return in a few days.’ Zarah looked keenly at Jahani, then said sharply, ‘Why are you dressed as a boy?
And where is Azhar Sekandar? There was word he would be with you.’ Her voice rose as she spoke.

  Jahani felt so drained she could not respond.

  ‘Ji, begum,’ Hafeezah answered. ‘We were attacked in the forest. They must have suspected we were still at Lake Saiful Maluk. Azhar was fighting and he told us to save ourselves.’ She glanced at Jahani then, and Jahani shook her head slightly. She didn’t want Zarah to know her part in the battle yet.

  ‘So, this isn’t over either,’ Zarah murmured. Then she said firmly, ‘Our troops will find him. He will be safe.’

  Hafeezah inclined her head. ‘I hope so.’

  Jahani’s eyes widened in shock. The image of Azhar hurt or dead rushed into her mind and it was all she could think about.

  ‘It was Azhar’s wish to dress her as a boy,’ Hafeezah added. ‘So no one would recognise her.’

  ‘Hei!’ Zarah cried suddenly. ‘You are bleeding, beti. No wonder you look so tired. Come, I’ll see to everything. You need a bandage, food and rest.’

  Jahani clung to Hafeezah’s hand as they walked up to the house. Had anyone recognised her in the forest? She wondered when she had lost her turban. She had been seen, but by how many men? Was it just the man she fought and the man who tried to outride her? All of her father’s troops had seen her, too, but she was safe with them. And what did Zarah mean when she said ‘this isn’t over’? Dagar Khan’s rampages, or something to do with Jahani?

  ‘One of the guards will bring your things,’ Zarah said as Jahani walked inside a courtyard still clutching Hafeezah’s hand with Anjuli’s arm tight around her waist.

  The boy rode a white horse; the little girl could see him clearly this time. He wore a white turban and a green coat over his white qameez. He tipped his head and smiled at her on the pony. ‘You’re riding well,’ he said. The leopard padded at her side. ‘The snow cat likes it here,’ she said, but the boy didn’t ask how she knew. They dismounted in the field of wildflowers. The little girl rode the leopard and picked flowers for her mother until the boy said it was time to eat their pastries.