Daughter of Nomads by Rosanne Hawke Page A

family?’
    She stared at the temple. ‘Gone … my mother, my brother Shaan …’ Her face folded in on itself and she buried herself in Jahani’s chest.
    Azhar and Jahani shared a glance. He looked pale. ‘Anjuli,’ he said gently. ‘Your mother’s people, do they live in a village near here?’
    She raised her head and nodded. ‘They won’t want me.’
    Jahani caught her breath at the girl’s response. Then she helped her onto Chandi and mounted behind her. For a long moment Jahani sat, unable to move, with her arms around Anjuli. Silent tears streamed down her face. All these people. It was as if everything she had felt at Sameela’s death was resurfacing. Suddenly Hafeezah was beside her, an arm around her waist.
    â€˜Can you ride?’ Hafeezah asked.
    Jahani looked at Hafeezah through her tears. ‘I’m sorry, Ammi.’ Jahani could tell Hafeezah knew she wasn’t apologising for her tears, but she still needed her as a mother.
    â€˜Come. Thank Qhuda Anjuli was saved.’
    Jahani gave a shuddering breath.
    â€˜We mustn’t linger,’ Azhar said.
    â€˜In case the men return?’ Hafeezah asked.
    Azhar glanced at Anjuli. ‘Perhaps.’
    That night they camped as far from the burning village as they could manage. There was no caravanserai to stay in and Jahani felt an unfurling in her belly. What if those men were still about? At their cooking fire they huddled together to keep warm, especially Anjuli, who was shaking from the shock. Jahani suspected that, like her, Anjuli was fearful.
    Azhar seemed lost in his thoughts. Jahani was loath to interrupt him, but she needed to know. ‘What did you mean today when you said the old ways are changing in the mountains? Emperor Akbar’s decree of tolerance?’
    Azhar sat back from the fire. ‘My father likes to keep abreast of what is happening in the mountain kingdoms and he has received news of incidents like this.’ Then he said, ‘You were brought up in a quiet village far from the main thoroughfare.’ He glanced at Hafeezah. ‘I am sure your mother chose it carefully.’
    Hafeezah broke in, ‘Sameela’s father travelled a lot but he never spoke of such things.’
    â€˜Even if he knew, he would not have burdened his family and friends,’ Azhar said.
    â€˜You told us,’ Jahani said.
    Azhar regarded her. ‘You saw it for yourself,’ he said softly.
    Jahani sat in troubled silence with Anjuli’s head on her lap. She stroked the girl’s hair and, before long, Anjuli was asleep. The world was a very different place than she had imagined in her lessons.
    Jahani leaned into Hafeezah and, after a while, she asked, ‘Do you know any stories, Azhar?’
    He blew out a breath. ‘Perhaps a story can explain when ordinary words cannot.’ Azhar frowned. ‘Well then, this is the story of the Demon King, Zahhak. Have you heard of him?’
    â€˜Sameela and I read about him in the Shahnameh , The Persian Book of Kings ,’ Jahani said.
    Azhar inclined his head and began. ‘In the early days in the land of the Arabs there was a good king called Merdas and he had a son called Zahhak. This son had ten thousand horses with golden bridles, but no one could bridle his evil disposition. One day Shaitan, the devil, told Zahhak he should be the ruler instead of his father, and he’d give him the world. So Zahhak murdered his father Merdas and was named the Demon King. No good comes from evil conduct and so two black snakes grew from the Demon King’s shoulders which he fed with human brains.’
    Azhar fell silent staring into the fire until Hafeezah gently said, ‘What happened to the Demon King?’
    He looked up as if surprised to find them there. ‘A young man called Feraydun killed him. Feraydun wasn’t yet born when the Demon King first dreamed that he was coming to slay him. The