Now Alec could make out the outline of the rider on Ziyadah’s back. The crouched figure seemed constantly to be looking backward. Then suddenly horse and rider were lost in the deep shadows of the mountain. Alec slowed the Black, wary of what he could not see.
A high timber fence rose before them and the Black stopped abruptly, throwing Alec into his windtangled mane. A moment later Alec knocked down the top bars and took his horse over the fence. Ziyadah was nowhere to be seen.
They were only a short distance from the main gate and Alec found it open. Evidently Ziyadah’s rider didn’t plan to lose him! Alec was sure of this when, a few minutes later, Ziyadah could be seen in the swirling mist less than a hundred yards away. As soon as the Black saw him he was on his way, picking up more and more speed.
Ziyadah cut across the plain where the ditches were deepest. He came upon them at full gallop, sliding down with little loss of stride. The Black followed but Alec did not push him and Ziyadah drew away.
When they reached the cover of the mountain Ziyadah had momentarily disappeared. Alec knew where he had gone, for this was where they had left him last night. He walked the Black to the base of the mountain. Ziyadah was up there, waiting for them. Alec hesitated, his eyes on the horse and rider who were no more than fifty feet above them on a narrow, rocky trail. “Come on,” he said into the Black’s ears. “I’ve changed my mind.”
Dismounting, he led his horse up the trail. It sloped into the wall of the mountain itself, which was the reason so little of it could be seen from below. It widened as they climbed and a jagged mass of black rock rose on either side.
Up and up they went, finally emerging from the folds of the mountain to follow a great precipice which jutted out over the plain below. For a moment Alec thought they had come to the end of the trail and would be cast into midair if they went any farther. But the rocky path wound its way around the end of the precipice and folded once more into the wall of the mountain. Ziyadah was nowhere to be seen.
Alec welcomed the black rock that closed in upon them again. He had no stomach for great heights. The trail grew narrower and narrower.
The wind blew in great gusts but the rain had stopped. Also, the first light of dawn had come, enabling Alec to see more of the trail. There was still no sign of Ziyadah, but he had to be just ahead.
“Careful now,” Alec warned himself. “It could happen any minute. Watch yourself.”
There was no sounds of hoofs, not even the Black’s. All sound was silenced by the wind from the upper reaches, shrieking past and wailing until the very rock seemed to vibrate.
Suddenly the trail widened and Alec walked faster, his hand on the Black’s halter, until he came to a deep cleft in the wall. It seemed to be a natural cave even though the floor was smooth. Alec peered into it. He neither saw nor heard anything, yet the Black’s head was raised high, indicating he had caught a scent. Alec knew it must be Ziyadah. Yet the Black did not snort or whistle. For reasons known only to himself Alec’s horse was quiet even though he had winded another stallion.
Alec waited for the gray light of dawn to brighten, warming his chilled body by pulling the Black close to him. There was no movement to the stallion’s head or eyes; he continued staring into the cavern. The rocky walls above changed in color from gray to pink and the morning light finally reached the trail, allowing Alec to see more of the cavern. A pale light shone deep within and he knew there was an opening on the other side!
Deciding that it was light enough for him to make his way, Alec led the Black into the cavern. With every stride the stallion’s eagerness mounted until Alec knew his blasting whistle was about to fill the air. But before it came, the stillness was shattered by the sound of a shot. The bullet whizzed close to the Black’s head!
Alec jerked his horse against the wall as the sound of the shot echoed through the cave. No other shots followed. But all at once Ziyadah was running through the opening at the opposite end of the cavern!
Alec let out a wild yell of fury before he mounted the Black and, with shoulders bent low over the stallion’s neck, shouted, “Let’s go!”
The Black swept through the cavern and out onto a narrow canyon trail, drawing closer and closer to the flying horse.
Ziyadah knew his way well, finding the smoothest part of the canyon floor and running with swift, fierce strides. The Black, following him, had his head stretched out, his teeth bared.
Alec’s blood ran hot with rage. He had no control over the violence which flowed between himself and his mount. He sought revenge with all his heart and soul. Never before in his life had he felt this way. His one objective was to ride down the person on Ziyadah’s back who had sought to destroy his horse.
Run, Black, run!
As the Black jumped over the snags and stones in his path, Alec had trouble keeping his seat. Never had he had less control over the Black! He realized that maddened horse was racing to kill and that there might be nothing he could do to stop him. Down steep gorges and ravines the Black followed Ziyadah, holding his long swift strides without a break. Closer and closer drew the pursuing stallion, his whistle repeating his constant challenge.
There was a slight break in Ziyadah’s smooth strides as he approached a row of low-growing bushes. He jumped, clearing the thicket easily, but his long tail caught in the thorns and this seemed to startle him. He landed hard and his first strides were short and jerky. He regained his smoothness but only for a moment; then he faltered again and this time he stumbled.
The Black had leaped over the thicket as if it hadn’t been there, bearing down upon Ziyadah with thunder rolling from his hoofs.
Alec knew he had to be careful in pulling the Black away from Ziyadah. A mistake at this speed meant certain death. His wind-blurred eyes made it difficult to gauge distances. Ziyadah was swiftly falling back. He was breaking! He swerved but the black stallion followed with a nimble, tremendous bound and reached out for him.
The rider on Ziyadah’s back turned and lifted a black-handled gun. Alec saw nothing but the barrel being leveled at his horse. He gripped with his knees and reached for the gun as the rider screamed, “Death to Shêtân! Death, death, death.” There was a horrible impact of running bodies before the gun could be fired, followed by a sickening stop as the horses rose as one, twisting upon each other and fighting in the air!
Alec saw the curve of his horse’s black mane coming back at him, then he became tangled with the rider on Ziyadah! One hand clawed at his face while the other waved the gun. It went off with a short, yellow burst of flame and a roar. Ziyadah screamed and the Black fell back. Alec tumbled to the ground, striking his head, and was enveloped in darkness.…
BLACK CURTAIN
22
“… It is ironical—is it not?—that my father should bequeath to you the devil responsible for his death? But for that, we would have destroyed him.…”
Alec well remembered her letter. He had received it long ago and only last night he had recalled it, there in Abd-al-Rahman’s room where the scent of Tabari’s perfume clung after she had passed him. Now the subtle but heady odor was strong in his nostrils.
He didn’t want to move or open his eyes. Not just yet. His skin tingled with the faster beat of his heart. What had happened to the Black? There was no sound, nothing but the smell of Tabari’s perfume. Then … then he heard it, a soft slippered foot coming closer. He waited another moment, gathering himself.
Now!
He rolled his body, striking out and toppling Tabari to the ground. Her pale eyes, staring up at him, blazed with wrath and fury. She screamed at him and tried to loosen his hold upon her shoulders.
Alec stared in fascinated horror at the change in her, holding her down even more firmly as she sought to bite him. Through blurred eyes he looked at her, wanting to know what had happened to his horse. She turned her head away.
His eyes followed hers. There were no horses to be seen in this part of the canyon. Alec shook her hard. “What have you do
ne?” he shouted, recalling the short, yellow spurt of flame from the gun. His anger drained quickly from him. If the Black was dead …
“Let me go!” she screamed, trying to kick her way free. But he would not give way until he knew what had happened to his horse.
His hard hands tightened about her shoulders. “You had no right!” he said wildly.
“No right?” she screamed back in his face. “No right, when he killed my father? For years I have planned this day! I swore revenge upon my father’s grave!”
Alec simply stared at her, unable to believe that an accident had turned this girl into a hate-filled woman. There was nothing youthful about her now. Her beauty had shrunken into ugliness. Her features quivered with her deep loathing as she said bitterly, “But for him my father would be alive. And for that he, too, is dead!”
Alec pinned her clenched fists to her sides. “You’re sure?” he asked crazily.
“How could I have missed?” she asked, trying to pull away. But her voice had the uncertainty of a child who might have failed in something and couldn’t understand how it had come about. “However, my Ziyadah will finish him if I did not.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain,” Alec said evenly. Ziyadah could not defeat his horse in a fair fight. He saw the gun lying a few feet away. There was no need to do anything about it. Tabari would not get a chance to use it again, and he had no desire even to pick it up.
“If you let me go we can find them,” she said quietly as if inviting him to one of her afternoon teas.
“First,” he said, “tell me why.”
“I told you, I swore revenge upon my father’s grave!” Once again her voice was vicious yet she paused, her eyes laughing in her ridicule of him. “Don’t look so shocked, my young Alec. You know the ways of my people too well. A life for a life, remember?”
“But this is an animal. Your father would be ashamed,” Alec said bitterly.
“Perhaps,” she replied without anger, “but I do not think so. You see, it was he who provided me with the means to carry out my revenge.”
“The means,” Alec repeated bewilderedly. She looked like a little girl again, sincere in her defiance but at the same time insecure. “How?” he asked.
“By leaving a letter telling me that Ziyadah was alive and stabled here under the care of old Nazar.”
Alec waited for this to sink in. “Then Ziyadah hadn’t been lost after all?”
“Of course not. The story of his loss and death was a ruse to outwit my father’s enemies. He was afraid of Ziyadah being stolen.”
“By the same enemies who stole the Black later?”
She nodded her head, attempting once more to get up.
Alec let go of her and she jumped to her feet. “Had you never recovered him my father would be alive. Do you understand?” She spoke almost in a hiss.
Alec shivered as he stared at her, trying to understand. Finally he said, “Because I did recover him I too was included in your revenge. Is that it?”
“No, I used you to reach him,” she said quietly and without feeling as she turned and stalked away. “I watched you tonight until you left the house. I knew you’d follow if Ziyadah appeared, but I didn’t expect you to find his stall or me. You are too lucky, Alec Ramsay.”
Alec walked beside her in the gray dawn. “Does your husband know about you and Ziyadah?”
“Of course not. He would be—” She stopped as if only then realizing that she could no longer keep her secret from Abd-al-Rahman. “I suppose you will tell him?” Like a woman, too, she suddenly became agitated and trembling as she looked Alec straight in the eyes. “He will be displeased. Would you … would you in the memory of my father …?”
“No,” Alec said, unable to understand her girlish pleading after all the terrible things she had done. “The horse your father gave me may be dead,” he said bitterly. “Isn’t that enough reason for my telling your husband of your deceit? You didn’t train Ziyadah overnight, Tabari. How long did you come here before you rode your ‘ghost’ horse through the mountains and news of him reached your husband?”
Tabari was still trembling from head to foot and Alec almost felt sorry for her. “I came often,” she said, “usually when he thought I had gone to London.” Her face was pale. “Please …”
“No,” Alec repeated. But he said it with compassion, remembering again the girl of the desert he had known so well. He remembered her laughter as she had ridden beside him, trying to send her Jôhar past the Black. He remembered many other things. Then why couldn’t he understand the shock her father’s death had been to her? No—not when it drove her to take such brutal revenge upon a horse. But then, he reminded himself, he was not of Arab blood. There were many laws of the desert people which he would never understand.
“Tell your husband the truth,” he said finally. “If anyone forgives you it should be he. I never will.”
“Forgive me!” she exclaimed, suddenly vindictive again. “For what? For revenging the death of my father? You are a fool! I want no one’s forgiveness, not even my husband’s!”
Alec wasn’t looking at her or listening to her.
Down the canyon he could see a dusky silhouette against the morning’s grayness.
His horse was alive!
“There will be more than that for your husband to forgive,” Alec told Tabari.
She was staring at him. “More?” she asked. “How could there be more?” Her puzzled eyes searched his. Finally she found her answer. “Ziyadah dead? You’re being ridiculous, Alec Ramsay.” She laughed but stopped abruptly and her eyes, following his, became wild and desperate like an animal’s at bay. A scream burst from her and she ran forward.
Alec sought to catch her arm but she wrenched herself free. He felt only deep grief for her as, with tears in his eyes, he followed her into a blurred world which held only his horse. The Black was motionless and without sound. Ziyadah lay on the ground a few feet away. The Black had not shrilled his clarion call of victory because he had not killed the other stallion. There were no marks of his hoofs or teeth on Ziyadah. There was only a bullet hole, high on the golden neck.
Great sobs racked the girl’s body as she stooped to kneel beside her horse. And only then did Alec realize how much she had loved Ziyadah. For the first time in a long while he understood her, for he would have reacted in the same way if it had been the Black who was down. Her own vindictiveness, her own gun had killed her horse and no one could change things now. Ziyadah was dead.
When Alec put his hand on her arm she made no attempt to break free. For a long while she gave vent to dreadful, heartrending sobs. Finally they died away and nothing but the shell was left of the spiteful woman who had plotted the Black’s death with such cold calculation. Now she was like a very small girl, afraid to run away, afraid to go home. She flung herself upon the ground.
The Black came to them and Alec put a hand on his wet neck. “I guess we’re going to keep a lot to ourselves,” he told his horse. “We’re going to forget there ever was a Ziyadah and that we caught up with him too late. We’re going to let Tabari tell her husband as much or as little as she pleases. It’s enough that we’re going home together.”
He lifted the girl to her feet. “Come on,” he said, “please.”
She nodded listlessly, her eyes swollen from weeping. “But I don’t like to leave him alone,” she said.
“You can come back,” he answered, “with your husband. You’ll need his help.”
“Yes, I will. I want Ziyadah buried beside the statue at the head of the road. You know the one, Alec …”
“I know,” he said, steadying her.
“My father would have wanted it that way.”
“I guess so. Now we’d better go.”
He felt the pressure of her hand as she answered, “Yes, we should. It’s a long way back.” There was no way of knowing whether she was conscious of the double meaning in her words.
“A long way,” Alec repeated, taking her
from the deep shadows of the mountain into the burnished silver light of early morning.
BLACK FLAME
23
María carefully lowered her big frame into her plane seat and had trouble getting the safety belt around her. Finally accomplishing it, she looked across at Alec and said, “Now he has a bad cold. He is like a baby always.”
Alec glanced at the closed cabin door. Angel González and his copilot had two engines turning over. A third coughed and took hold. One more to go.
Henry had his seat belt fastened. He was looking out the window at Abd-al-Rahman and Tabari, who were standing beside their carriage. The Sheikh was waving but Henry didn’t wave back.
“I guess you don’t need to tell me more if you don’t want to,” he said to Alec. “But what does she do now?”
“She’ll tell him after we’re gone,” Alec answered.
“How do you know?”
“I know her.”
“I thought you said you had trouble reading her mind.”
“That was before she lost Ziyadah.”
“That makes everything all right?”
“No, just easier for me to understand how she feels.”
“Maybe if I’d seen him …”
“It’s better that you didn’t,” Alec said. “Now you have nothing to remember.”
“As you do?”
Alec nodded. “As she does too,” he said quietly.
The fourth engine caught and Alec glanced nervously at the Black in his boxed stall. The stallion was alert to the loud noise but didn’t seem to be unduly disturbed by it.
Henry said, “Abu Ishak was a noble desert chieftain and she was his daughter. I don’t get it.”
“He was also a good hater.”
“What makes you say that?” Henry asked.
Alec smiled at María, who had unsnapped her seat belt momentarily to take a deep breath. “He had a lot of blood feuds that lasted for years.”
“That’s not unusual in the desert.”