The Lion Hunter

I used to practice, he remembered. I was going to cross the pool in the lion pit with my shamma over my face, but then Solomon tried to eat me.



“Magus,” Telemakos said to Dawit, “however long I stare, these clear glass beads trick me like fury. Could I learn to count them by touch, the way you do?”



Dawit said indifferently, “Close your eyes and try it.”



“Tape them shut, so I don’t cheat,” Telemakos said.



Dawit unwrapped his sash and held it up. It was of heavy silk, dark blue, the ends decorated with trees embroidered in copper thread. “Come, then.”



It’s all right, it’s all right, Telemakos told himself, if I can do this here, I can do it tomorrow morning on the training ground.



But when the rough silk touched his eyelids, Telemakos fought like a cornered leopard.



Dawit did not draw back in dismayed concern like everyone else. He held on, and pulled the silk tight. Beneath the astronomer’s robes, his long limbs were strong as iron bands; he was taller and heavier than Telemakos, but his chief advantage was that he wrestled purposefully, while Telemakos struggled without knowing where he was or who he was fighting.



Dawit overpowered him. When Telemakos came to his senses, he was lying on his back on the floor, with the broken abacus beneath him, scattered beads pressing into his shoulders and spine. Dawit’s sash was fixed firmly over his eyes and crossed down around his neck. Dawit held him still, gripping the ends of the sash on either side of Telemakos’s throat, poised to subdue him further.



“Did you fight like that the first time they did this to you?”



He had not fought at all. He had let them do it. His life had depended on his willing obedience. It was a question Telemakos could not answer. He choked back a sob, twisting his head aside to try to work it free.



“You must know you cannot bear such treatment. Why did you ask me to do it?”



Telemakos hiccupped.



“Breathe,” Dawit told him. “I will hold you here until you explain yourself in a rational manner.”



“I am—” Telemakos swallowed, and managed to croak, “I wanted to practice. Tharan is to give me riding lessons, and the najashi says I must be blindfolded to improve my balance—” He broke off with a sharp cry, struggling again like a bird in a snare.



“Eh,” Dawit grunted. “You are a deal more damaged than you let on, and it was not all done by wild beasts. Were you sequestered? Or punished for seeing something you shouldn’t have? Or just tormented by other boys? Well, I see why you want to practice. I’ll help you, if you allow it. Turn around so I can tie this fast.”



He rolled Telemakos over beneath him and fixed the sash in a tight knot behind his head. Telemakos cringed, sobbing.



“Get up and stop quaking. Give me your hand.”



He helped Telemakos to his feet and guided him to one of the hanging stars. Telemakos closed his fingers around cold quartz and silver wire.



“Tell me its name,” Dawit ordered.



Telemakos stifled another sob. “How?” he gasped.



“You must find it out.”



Telemakos took a tentative step forward, holding on to the crystal star on its cotton thread. It was a small one. He found another quite close to it, took hold of the second, and let go of the first. Since the execution at al-Muza he had dreamed of scorpions but not of Hara.



“Lesath? The sting?”



“You’re guessing. Concentrate; it is only a task, a lesson you must complete.”



Telemakos thought about stars. He remembered how it had made him cry, to see them again after three months. Dawit would never see them at all anymore. Telemakos stepped sideways and found a third hanging crystal. He stood clinging to it, the wire cutting into the inside of his fingers. He tossed his head, as though he could shake free of the binding.



“Think,” the Star Master ordered. “You are not a horse, to shy at shadows and flags in the wind.”



Telemakos ground his teeth together in determination and paced out a purposeful plot of nine stars.



“The Hunter,” he said at last. “The first star was Mintaka.”



“Damnably well done. Come back to Rigel,” Dawit commanded. Telemakos made his way across the constellation, and Dawit met him. He untied the blindfold.



Telemakos sighed, simply grateful for the reprieve.



“Take the sash,” Dawit said. “Bind it on yourself this time, and find me the Polestar.”



Think about the stars, Telemakos told himself.



He gripped one end of the cloth in his teeth and wound the sash around his head. The Polestar. He tucked fast the leftover measure of silk. Think. You are not a horse. He caught hold of the nearest star and drew a deep breath.



“It’s easier when I do it myself,” he said.



“Do it yourself tomorrow.”



“They’ll want to be sure it’s tight.”



“Come here, then.”



Dawit was brutal. His long, bony fingers were quick and strong, and he would not allow Telemakos to flinch. When Telemakos wailed in desperation, “Too tight!” Dawit struck him a jarring clip across the face with the flat of his hand.



“Do you see, son of Medraut, this is how they will do it. They are used to training soldiers. They will tolerate no softness in you, and show none themselves.”



He pulled the sash free. Telemakos had time to draw one long, ragged breath before Dawit caught him from behind with one arm holding him fast by the shoulders and the other hand clapped over his eyes, blinding him again. Telemakos let out a shriek.



“Mother of God.” Dawit spat in disgust. He let go of Telemakos’s eyes, let him draw another convulsive breath, and covered his eyes again. When Telemakos at last managed to bear this treatment without struggling or crying out, Dawit once more bound his sash across Telemakos’s face.



They kept at this torturous exercise for so long that it grew dark and Telemakos did not know it.



By and by there was a clamor in the scriptorium. Telemakos, blindfolded, heard Dawit go to the door to look.



“Come and see, Morningstar,” Dawit said. Telemakos pushed the sash back from his face. The blue silk was damp with his tears and sweat. He climbed the three stairs to the upper reading room.



Three of the Scions and Athena were approaching the Great Globe Room. Shadi led the way, reluctantly, glancing over his shoulder at the laughing and chattering girls; Inas and Malika each had Athena by one hand, encouraging her to walk between them.



“Tena swing,” Telemakos heard his sister ordering in South Arabian. “Swing Tena up.”



“Not in the library, dumpling,” Inas said. “Look, there’s your brother!”



“Has he learned anything yet, do you think?” asked Malika, and laughed at her own joke.



“Come and see,” Dawit told them. “Make a light, Shadi. My apprentice is inconvenienced by flint and tinder.”



He lined the girls up, side by side, on the cushions beneath the east window. Malika hooked one arm around Athena’s middle to keep her still, while the Star Master spread a chart in Inas’s lap. “Bring the lamp here, Shadi. Inas, can you read the names? Good. Find the Polestar. There, in the center.” He stabbed a blind finger into the page at random. “When I give the word, you shall call out a name—pick those not too far off—and we shall see if the Morningstar can find them. Shadi!”



Shadi jumped. The lamp flickered. “Yes, Magus?”



“Blindfold your friend.”



Telemakos stood still. Shadi set the lamp on the windowsill, then came up behind Telemakos and fumbled to pull the sash down over his eyes. The hated cloth against Telemakos’s eyelids made his skin prick with horror, as always, but Telemakos knew it was Shadi doing it, and where he was, and why. It was no worse than getting dressed each morning. Telemakos did not shudder or make any kind of noise.



Thank God, he thought with fierce joy.



Dawit guided him to take hold of a quartz star. Telemakos said aloud, “Thank you, Magus.”



Malika was only faintly impressed that Telemakos could hunt his way across the Globe Room blindfolded. “That is what you’re here for, isn’t it?” she said dismissively. “To learn to map the sky? Show us something worth seeing.”



Telemakos turned in the direction of her voice.



“Line up,” he ordered. “The three of you, Malika, Inas, Shadi. Get in line one behind the other. Then come and stand in front of me and I’ll guess which of you it is.”



Before his accident Telemakos had been a superb tracker. These three were easy to tell by their scent alone: Inas with indigo-stained fingers, Malika with attar of jasmine in her hair, Shadi having spent the afternoon in the mews with his sparrowhawk. Telemakos could sense Athena watching from the sofa, quiet and interested, smelling of sandalwood.



They could not work out how he told them apart. He was so unerring in his identification of them, even when they approached him from behind, or switched places with one another at the last second, that they thought he must be cheating. Malika insisted they wrap Shadi’s sash over top of Dawit’s.



“Go on, then,” Telemakos said, kneeling so she could reach. “Only spare my nose and mouth, so I can breathe.”



“Enough, boy,” Dawit said gently.



“It is a game,” Telemakos answered stubbornly. “I can do it.”



He was sweating and trembling when at last he felt his way to the window and let Athena pull his head free of its various bindings. The others all came piling in around him. Telemakos, giddy with triumph and relief, let Inas and Malika tumble over him as they tried to get Shadi’s sash away from Athena. Inas started to tickle her, and Athena screamed with laughter.



“Behave,” Dawit barked suddenly. “Inas of Ma’in. You are too old for such foolishness.” He moved swiftly in the lamp-cast shadows, sure of himself. “Are you short of entertainment, like street children at a beheading? Sit still and be quiet, and I will show you my sky map.”



He began to fill the largest of his lamps, which Telemakos had never seen alight, with clear oil. The lamp held five wicks in glass globes, which were cased in a great surround of thick lenses. Like all the Star Master’s lamps, it was coated with dust, and Dawit wiped the outside of the glass quickly with his sleeve. “Shadi, light these, then sit. All of you: attend.”



The big lamp made the room brighter than it was at any time except early morning, when the sunlight flared directly through the windows.



The Star Master strode purposefully to the pulley in the corner. With one long, rattling tug on the chain and weights, he lowered the Great Globe. Dawit unhooked a catch on the side of the globe, opened a hinged panel in its dark, speckled surface, and carefully set the five-flamed lamp inside. He closed the door. The globe became a sparkling orb of pinpoint lights.



“I can’t see this anymore, but it is time the Morningstar made some use of it.” He paced back across the room to give another long tug on the pulley. “Put out the little lamp, Inas.”



The stars rose, and the domed black ceiling suddenly mirrored the night sky. Dawit put a hand on the globe and spun it slowly, and the stars turned.