The Falcon's Heart

by Diana Green

  “I…I only have what I’m wearing,” Saba murmured, glancing down at her wrinkled tunic and skirt, the garnet-colored silk smudged with dust. “Unless you brought something else from my chambers?”

  The Falcon snorted. “That would be pointless. Satin and beads are no use in the desert.” She studied Saba a moment. “I suppose you can wear something of mine.”

  Saba didn’t know what to say. Was she expected to thank the Falcon for her offer? Since the outlaw had created this troublesome situation, at the very least she should provide suitable traveling clothes.

  “Come on then,” the woman said, gesturing toward the horses. “We need to get moving.”

  “May I ask where you’re taking me?”

  “Ask whatever you like. But it’s wasted breath. The only thing I’ll tell you is we’re riding till dawn, and you’d best not slow us down.”

  “Don’t I deserve better than that?” Saba pulled back her shoulders and lifted her chin. “You drugged me, ripped me from my home in the middle of the night, threw me on a horse and brought me to the middle of nowhere. I believe I’m owed some small courtesy…an explanation or an apology. Something, for what I’ve suffered at your hands.”

  The Falcon’s lips pressed into a hard line. “Don’t pretend you know about suffering, Princess. I’d bet good money, you’ve never gone hungry a day in your life. Or had to sleep in a stinking alley or work so hard your fingers bled.” Her amber eyes narrowed. “You’ve lived off the toil and taxes of the people for twenty years now. I don’t owe you anything for this little inconvenience.”

  She turned and strode to the horses, Saba following reluctantly behind. Why should the Falcon act so scornful? It wasn’t her fault she’d been born into the royal family, and there were many kinds of suffering. While she’d never been denied food and shelter, she had lived with little love and no freedom. Who could say which was worse?

  The Falcon rummaged in her saddlebags then shoved a bundle of rough-spun clothes into Saba’s hands. “Put these on with your silk. The nights out here turn cold, so you’ll want the extra layers.”

  Saba nodded, struggling into the unfamiliar garments, putting the leggings on under her skirt and the loose robe over her tunic. To her shame, she realized how rarely she’d dressed herself, with Batul or some other maid always present to assist.

  “If you don’t know how to tie the headscarf, I’ll show you,” the Falcon offered, apparently taking pity on her difficulties. “Obviously at night we don’t need cover from the sun, but the sand blows and gets into everything. You’ll be glad of protection.”

  Saba accepted her help silently, at a loss for how to speak to this daunting woman. They had nothing in common, no thread of shared experiences to build a bridge upon. Perhaps it was best if she simply kept silent and observed.

  Once she was dressed in desert clothes, her slippers replaced with boots, her head covered in a dun-colored scarf, they prepared to leave. The Falcon mounted up, swinging effortlessly into the saddle atop a beautiful dappled gray. Saba tried but found she lacked sufficient skill to haul herself onto the waiting chestnut horse. Embarrassed, she tried again and failed. It certainly wasn’t as easy as it appeared.

  “You’ll have to lift her up,” the Falcon said, exchanging a look with Makeem. “It seems the princess never learned to ride.”

  “Not a problem.” He boosted Saba into the saddle, as if she weighed no more than a child. “You’ll get the hang of things, soon enough.” He gave her an encouraging smile, easing the knot of tension in her stomach. At least one of the outlaws didn’t hate her.

  Perhaps because she lacked riding experience, or possibly to keep her from attempting escape, Makeem led Saba’s horse behind his own. With no reins to hold onto, she gripped the saddle instead, surprised by how high off the ground she was. The perspective from atop a horse proved quite different from standing on the ground looking up at one.

  As the sky darkened a full moon rose, shining like a great pearl in a sky spread with diamond stars. The desert of red and gold now turned to blue and silver, surprisingly bright in the moon’s glow, seeming to stretch to the edges of the world. Saba craned her head, looking in all directions, taking in the immensity of open space around her. It was unlike anything she’d known before, a mysterious vastness beyond human dominion.

  They rode at a steady pace, the Falcon and Makeem exchanging a few words, but mostly traveling in silence. Saba fell into a dreamlike state, studying the dunes, some shaped like crescents, others like stars, and still others forming long S’s curving away into the distance. Time lost meaning in this strange landscape, the warmth and regular motion of the horse lulling her toward sleep.

  Later in the night a stiff breeze picked up, hissing over the desert like a thousand snakes. The dunes seemed to smoke, as sand lifted from the ridges, carried on the wind. Saba drew her scarf tighter, squinting against the fine blowing grit. Her muscles ached, as exhaustion threatened to drag her from the horse, and she began to think the night would never end.

  Finally near dawn the wind eased. They left the rolling sand dunes and entered flat scrublands scattered with thorny bushes, sparse grass, and occasional acacia trees. A faint line of pink formed in the eastern sky, growing gradually wider and brighter, heralding sunrise. Surely the ride must be over soon!

  Up ahead, a small fire flickered in the gray light of early morning. Two rickety carts had been pulled into a V on the windward side of the camp, offering some shelter from the elements. Saba wondered if this might be their destination, though it seemed rather exposed for a bandits’ hideout.

  As they drew closer, two things became evident. These were not outlaws, but an extended family group, with children ranging in age from toddler to adolescent. Also, they were very poor. Even in the dim light, Saba noted their shabby clothes and meager possessions.

  Fewer than a dozen goats clustered by the larger cart, their brown coats blending with the shadows. A dog jumped up barking, ribs sharply visible through its spotted fur. The adults’ faces looked weathered and gaunt, their dark eyes wary.

  Where had they come from, so far out here in the wilderness? And where could they possibly be going? Beyond the camp a faint cart track led off to the southeast and northwest, proving at least a few travelers passed this way. Perhaps a village lay somewhere beyond the curve of the horizon.

  The Falcon slowed her horse and turned in the saddle, addressing Saba. “Stay mounted, and don’t speak unless I tell you. Understand?”

  Saba nodded slowly, wondering what the bandit had in mind. Surely she couldn’t mean to rob these unfortunate souls. They barely owned enough for survival and certainly carried no excess. Stealing from them would be truly despicable.

  The Falcon stopped her horse a respectful distance from the campfire and swung to the ground. She spread her arms wide, as if to show she meant no harm. Makeem remained mounted, holding the rope to Saba’s horse. He appeared relaxed, unconcerned with his leader’s intentions.

  “Greetings,” the Falcon called out. “May your steps always be sure. May you never hunger or thirst.”

  An older bearded man stepped forward from the group. “And to you, stranger,” he responded. “May your path be clear and the wind blow ever at your back.”

  The courtesy of this ritualized greeting made robbery seem unlikely. Saba released a sigh of relief. She couldn’t have stood by, without protest, and let the Falcon victimize these people. At the same time she’d rather avoid confrontation with the outlaws.

  “You are welcome to breakfast and tea with us,” the man said, gesturing toward a kettle resting in the coals at the edge of the fire.

  Saba could hardly believe her ears. What selflessness, to offer food when their supply seemed so limited. Long ago, Mari had told her of traditional desert hospitality, how people extended kindness and aid to each other, to help compensate for the harshness of the environment. This was a shining example of that principle.

  “We would be most grateful,”
the Falcon answered. “And let me offer a small gift in return for your generosity.”

  “That is not necessary,” he assured.

  “Please. I would be glad if you accept.” The Falcon opened her saddle bags and retrieved three small silver utensils and what looked like a satchel of saffron. Saba felt sure they’d been pilfered from the palace, but she couldn’t resent the thievery. This family obviously needed the items more.

  “But that is too much!” The bearded man’s eyes widened at the sight of such rich presents.

  “Not at all.” The Falcon grinned, pressing the gifts into his work-calloused hands. “Hospitality like yours is more precious than jewels.”

  “Nadiah, see here what they’ve given us,” he enthused, as a small gray-haired woman hurried over to admire the silver and saffron.

  A profusion of gratitude flooded from the family, as they gathered around, exclaiming over their good fortune. Saba couldn’t help but smile. To think, she’d assumed the Falcon meant to rob these people. How lovely to be wrong.

  “Well, come on you two,” the Falcon said, gesturing to Makeem and Saba. “Time for breakfast.”

  The food was plain but wholesome, goat cheese on warm flatbread, served with a strong syrupy tea. While she ate, Saba observed the family, admiring the easy affection shared between them. How different from her own kin. With the exception of her uncle Hassan, Saba’s family seemed hardly more than strangers. What would it feel like to be part of such a close-knit group, surrounded by love?

  All too soon the meal was over. Regretfully she rose, following the Falcon and Makeem toward the horses. Should she refuse to go with them and throw herself on the mercy of this family? Perhaps now was her chance to get away.

  No. Only a moment’s thought made the answer clear. There was little these people could do to help her, out here in the middle of nowhere. Asking would only place an unfair burden on their shoulders and possibly trigger a violent reaction from the outlaws. She would have to look for a different opportunity.

  “Not much farther now,” Makeem told her, as they headed south toward a line of rocky hills.

  Saba nodded, finding she no longer felt so tired. The food and tea had revived her, as did the splendor of a desert sunrise. Banners of magenta and orange blazed in the east, while to the south and north softer hues of pink tinted the morning clouds.

  Directly overhead a griffon vulture rode the air currents, wide-pinioned wings silhouetted against the luminous heavens. Saba tilted her head back watching its flight. How exhilarating it must be, to soar high in the boundless reaches of sky. Free.

  “Gazelle ahead.”

  The Falcon’s voice snapped Saba back to earth. She looked where the outlaw woman pointed and saw a grazing herd of small antelope. Their tan hides blended perfectly with the surrounding terrain, only the white stripe of their bellies and the black spikes of their horns giving them away.

  “Going to try for some fresh meat?” Makeem asked the Falcon.

  She grinned, unstrapping a bow from her gear. “It’ll taste better than travel rations, and we may be waiting a while for news from the palace.”

  Without another word she rode toward the gazelle. Saba watched amazed as the Falcon released her horse’s reins, and shot arrows into the herd. Even at top speed, she didn’t falter, and her horse seemed to know exactly where to go, maneuvering to shadow the fleeing antelope.

  Though the herd ran swift as the wind, springing in long graceful bounds, they weren’t fast enough. Two fell, their delicate legs buckling under them, bodies crumpling to the dusty ground. The rest dashed onward, lucky enough to live another day.

  “How did she do that?” Saba turned to Makeem. “I’ve never seen anyone ride so well. The horse understood her wishes, but she wasn’t holding the reins.”

  “Jehan trained that mare herself. Raised it from a foal, just like the one I’m riding.” He patted his horse’s neck. “These animals would walk through fire for her. And they can read the smallest signals, a bit of pressure from your leg, a shift in the saddle. They’re worth their weight in gold. Almost as good as those bred and trained by her father…and he was truly gifted by the gods.”

  Makeem rubbed his bristly jaw, frowning. “It was a damn shame for him to die, just for getting on the pasha’s wrong side. The world lost a fine horse master that day…and Jehan lost her only parent.”

  Saba listened with interest, beginning to understand the Falcon’s hostility toward the royal family. She was also aware Makeem used the woman’s real name. Jehan. Had he unintentionally slipped, or could this be an offer of greater trust between them?

  “How old was she when her father died?” It seemed a safe enough question.

  “Still just a girl, too young to be left alone like that, fending for herself.” Makeem looked up to see Jehan riding toward them. “Enough said, for now. She doesn’t like talking about her past.”

  “We’re going to eat well!” the Falcon called, her face lit with exhilaration. She rode up next to Makeem, nodding toward Saba’s mount. “Let’s tie the two gazelle on Jawhar, and the princess can ride with me.”

  Sharing a horse with this fierce woman seemed an alarming prospect, but what choice did Saba have? Complaining would only elicit more hostility, and for better or worse she cared about the Falcon’s opinion. The bandit leader was so different from the women she’d known in the palace. How could she not admire her?

  While Jehan and Makeem bound gazelle carcasses to the chestnut horse, Saba sat in the shade of an acacia tree, massaging her sore leg muscles. Already the temperature rose, as the sun climbed higher in the sky. Fan-footed geckos lay basking on nearby rocks, recovering from the chill night. One might easily think they were made of stone themselves, except for the occasional flick of a speckled tail and the slow blink of reptilian eyes.

  “Time to ride on,” the Falcon called, swinging onto her gray mare’s back.

  Saba stood reluctantly, stomach clenching. If only she could get on the horse without assistance, she’d feel less of a fool.

  “This should help with mounting,” the Falcon said, guiding her horse next to a flat-topped boulder. “Use the rock as a step, and don’t be shy about grabbing ahold of me. I won’t let you fall.” She offered a slender hand, warm and surprisingly strong.

  Heartened, Saba clambered up behind the woman without too much difficulty. The horse trotted forward, throwing her off balance. Her heart did an odd flip-flop as she grasped the outlaw’s waist and leaned closer. Their proximity felt almost intimate and surprisingly pleasant.

  “I have to admit, you’re tougher than expected.” The Falcon’s voice sounded genuinely pleased. “You lasted through the night and haven’t offered a single complaint.”

  For a moment Saba was struck speechless. Had she just received a compliment? Perhaps this was her chance to gain a better footing with the bandit leader.

  “I know you think my life has been easy,” Saba said. “But there are different kinds of hardship. I don’t complain, because I learned long ago to keep my feelings and thoughts hidden. One must be wise and endure. That is the only way to survive in the palace.”

  She paused, choosing her next words with care. “You have cause to hate my father, as do many others. But please understand…I am not proud of his rule, nor my place in the royal household. I would give anything to be someone else, leading a life of my own.” Her voice broke on the last word, a memory of Lord Sallizahn rising unbidden in her mind.

  When Jehan responded, her tone was thoughtful. “It would be unfair to blame you for your father’s crimes. You’re not responsible for his actions or the family you were born into. I suppose, in some ways, you have no more power than one of the pasha’s servants.”

  “Less, in fact,” Saba murmured. “I am his possession, kept for trading like a prize brood mare. It matters not how vile my chosen husband might be. I must serve and obey him regardless.”

  “I am sorry, Princess. No one deserves that.”

&nb
sp; The outlaw’s kind words felt like a healing balm to her spirit.

  “Please, would you call me Saba? I don’t want reminders of my royalty or my future. I’d rather pretend I’m an ordinary woman and forget all the rest…at least for a short while.”

  “Very well, Saba. Though I doubt you’d ever pass for ordinary.” The Falcon glanced back over her shoulder. “And you may call me Jehan. Since we’re no longer strangers.”

  Again, the little flip-flop of Saba’s heart. “Thank you...Jehan. I never expected to become acquainted with a famous outlaw.”

  The Falcon laughed, a rich undeniably attractive sound. “Life is full of surprises. Perhaps this excursion will broaden your horizons.”

  “I believe it already has.”

  Chapter Six

  Saba drifted near dozing, her head lolling forward against Jehan’s shoulder. For the past quarter hour, she’d worn a blindfold, so the location of the bandits’ hideout would remain secret. With her vision shrouded and the horse’s rhythmic gait rocking her, it proved difficult to resist sleep.

  The animal slowed its pace to a careful walk, the hoof beats now echoing as if in a narrow space. Saba felt the brush of rock against her elbow and sat up, alert. The air felt different, cooler and still. Where were they?

  “Almost there,” Jehan said, as the horse angled right, then left, then right again.

  “Finally!” someone cried from up ahead. It sounded like an adolescent boy, his voice uneven and cracking. “We’ve been waiting forever!”

  “A few days hardly makes ‘forever’, Zaki.” Makeem’s laughing response echoed off rock walls, much as the boy’s shout had.

  “Looks like you’ve brought us a feast of gazelle, and a surprise guest to share it.” This came from a different voice, deep but smooth, with the recognizable lilt of a Nissian accent. “Is this one our hostage?”

  “Perceptive as ever, Otenyo,” Jehan responded, twisting in the saddle to pull the blindfold from Saba’s eyes. “This is the pasha’s eldest daughter, Amira Saba.”