The Endless Golden Dunes

Chapter 35: A Sign

HAMZA

  
They had a bit of time to talk when they were resting, eating and drinking.
  
‘What do you say we do then, captain?’ Abbas teased.
  
‘Please, Abbas, I wish that you would not call me that.’ Hamza replied.
  
‘What’s wrong with me saying that? You have gained a great position, akhi. I am quite happy for you.’
  
Abbas’s mouth twitched when he said such. He recoiled a bit, as if shocked by the simple feeling he told.
  
‘Are you all right?’ Hamza asked.
  
‘I think I am,’ Abbas replied. ‘I think I …’
  
Abbas stammered as if looking for the right word. It seemed to be on the tip of his tongue, but he couldn’t quite get it out. He shook his head.
  
‘That was a strange feeling,’ He said. ‘Almost as if a flame had suddenly erupted in me and almost immediately was quenched.’
  
Hamza didn’t know what exactly that feeling was, but he still, nonetheless, tried to comfort his comrade.
  
‘Well, maybe it’s the lack of sleep. I suggest a little rest.’
  
‘Maybe, maybe that is what I need. Perhaps …’
  
Abbas looked as if he wanted to say something more, but some invisible force stopped him. Hamza patted his back.
  
‘Go on now, give your eyes a break.’
  
He nodded and went away. When he had left, Hamza looked towards the mountains and thought that he had seen the mouth of a cave where three people with torches were. Before he could process that, the figures disappeared into the darkness of the cave.
  
Nomads. That’s what they were, or so Hamza thought at least. He couldn’t really be sure what he could barely see. What if they were Mongols?
  
The specific thought sent a shiver over his body. He hoped that was not the case. Otherwise, they all would end up with their lives lost and their corpses all stacked on top of each other in a huge hole. That wasn’t a good thought. The mere imagination of him being in a crater along with people like Abbas and Salman, dead, was enough to make Hamza’s insides turn.
  
‘Think good, Hamza, think good.’ He told himself.
  
There was still time for the isha namaz as far as Hamza could see. The moon was still not properly up and he had already prayed maghrib. What was there to do?
  
His mind was about to go towards his family when Salman appeared. He sighed in relief, thankful that he didn’t have to go to the dark parts of his mind again.
  
‘Do you need something?’ he asked the boy with an instinctive smile.
  
To his concern, he sat next to him with his hand on his head.
  
‘Are you worried about something?’ he asked.
  
‘There are many things that concern me,’ Salman replied. ‘But these are things that I can’t tell you.’
  
Hamza nodded. He had too much experience on matters like these. It was a bit strange to him that people were so unwilling to talk about their banes.es? Hamza then realized that he was being a hypocrite. How could he criticize people not speaking of their sources of distress when he denied his?
  
‘Is there anything I can help you with?’ he asked instead.
  
‘Unfortunately, no. I wish that was not the case, but it is something that I myself need to take full responsibility for.’
  
‘For how long have you been thinking of such things?’
  
‘A month now, I think. Hamza, you really do not need to worry about me. I mean, I do appreciate the fact that you are concerned for me, but there is little that you can do.’
  
Hamza laughed.
  
‘I just hope that I can bring you some sort of comfort.’
  
Salman’s frown disappeared and he smiled at Hamza.
  
‘Your family are lucky people.’
  
Now it was Hamza’s turn to frown. He had expected to be distracted from the thoughts of Zaid and Zainab, but fate always found a way.
  
‘I – I am not sure of that.’ Hamza said, making Salman knit his eyebrows.
  
‘Why do you say that? As far as I could see, there is nothing unlikeable about you. You care for people and are willing to lend a spare ear to listen to other people’s woes.’
  
‘Am I really a good person, Salman?’ and at that moment, a sudden burst of energy unlike him had taken over. ‘Tell me: what kind of “good person” would be willing to leave his family behind in a city hundreds of miles away because a ruler ordered him to? That is not what a good person does. What I should have done was argue, refused to come here. Yet where did I end up? Away from the people I love.’
  
Salman looked to be shocked at the way Hamza was speaking, but he quickly veiled his reaction. It seemed he wanted to argue, but it was as if he realized that perhaps what Hamza was saying was right, so he bowed his head.
  
‘I ... am deeply sorry for you,’ he said. ‘I don’t have a family like you do, but I sympathize with you when that horrible emotion that you are feeling is inside you. Sadness is a terrible thing indeed, but what can we do about it? It has existed since the beginning, and all that we could really do is accept it as a part of life.’
  
‘You are wise for your age, much more than I had expected. That makes me happy. Thank you, Salman, for your kind words.’
  
He felt a wave of joy ripple in him when he saw Salman smile brightly, his eyes full of wonder. It was obvious he did not receive such compliments from adults, and it made him happy to see that he was glad to experience such a thing.
  
‘There is a tradition that my locals invented,’ Hamza kindled a conversation, grabbing Salman’s attention. ‘If two men stay a night with each other, looking at the stars, that makes them brothers. We have stayed multiple nights with each other, so that makes us two brothers. You along with Umar, Abbas, Ilyas, Adam, Ismael, and Ali. We are all brothers.’
  
‘Brothers? But isn’t that–’
  
‘I know, “brothers are blood”. I think that to be untrue, honestly.’
  
Hamza relaxed himself, preparing to tell Salman of his experiences. He was beginning to feel increasingly comfortable with sharing his thoughts and experiences. Though now most of his mind was clouded with extreme emotions, there was always a way a crack between them would form and a light of enjoyment would appear and he would be willing to talk openly to people without being worried about something else. In fact, he felt the conversations were the reason he forgot about most of his worries.
  
He continued.
  
‘I believe that brotherhood isn’t about blood, it is a bond. Of course, you can’t just see two strangers and say that they’re brothers, but you can always see two close friends and call them brothers, even if they do not have the same parents. We can say that they have the “bond of brotherhood”. This bond, Salman, is old and powerful, like the desert. You can connect these bonds to any person, but one must be careful of where he is putting his trust. We all come from Prophet Adam, and so, are automatically family.’
  
‘That is strange to think about. We all came from the same father thousands and thousands of years ago.’
  
‘It is strange, but it is also beautiful. We came from the same two people, and our fates were made by the same Hand. In fact, Salman, I believe that we are all brothers from the start, and we are simply unaware of it. But once we know one another, we are suddenly aware that we are akhis. That realization brings us closer together, and makes us one of the same. If all the world were to accept each other as brothers and sisters, we would go back to how it was when humanity started: nothing but Adam and Hawa. When everything was contained in what started it all.’
  
Hamza was a bit surprised at what he was saying. He couldn’t remember the last time he spoke in such a manner that would remind someone of the way a mystic spoke. He was being more spiritual than he ever was. ‘One hand made all fates’? ‘Bond of brotherhood’? What words he spoke! But they filled him with a peculiar feeling, a sort of blur between happiness and something akin to realization. It was a wonderful feeling, like the flight of an eagle or the traveling of a camel. What was this new feeling? It was familiar, yet never felt before. His mind was flashing images of the rest of his comrades, including Ilyas who did not speak and Adam whom he had not seen for weeks. They were all – and no other word would best describe it – akhua. Brothers. They came from the same father, and so they were that.
  
‘It comforts me that we, though different, share that in common.’ Hamza concluded, feeling as light as the air around him.
  
‘That is … strange, but I agree with the fact that it is a bit relieving to know that at the end, we are all the same in some way, but different at the same time.’
  
‘That is the beauty of creation, I think. It is not easy to find similarities between creations, but when you take away their physicalities, their mortal bindings, they are one of the same, separate notes that, when combined, create a symphony.’
  
Again, he was shocked at what he was saying. Perhaps he had spent so much time with Ali and Gregorios, he had developed a habit of speaking like a philosopher. Hamza chuckled.
  
‘My mind has traveled through strangeness and has become just as queer.’
  
‘Ali always said that the more mystical one’s mind is, the closer he is to God.’
  
‘That might be true, considering that he is so religious, but there are different ways of being close to Him. You know what? I think I do feel closer to God. Certainly not in the way I expected, but closer nonetheless.’
  
‘I do wish he was here; talking with him is always a good experience.’
  
‘True, but we shouldn’t be griefing for that. After all, I think there are other ways in which we could have meaningful conversations, even without Ali.’
  
‘True enough, but he was a good starter of conversations.’
  
‘I cannot argue with that.’
  
Hamza then remembered something.
  
‘I heard Walid made you a strategist,’ he said. ‘I forgot to congratulate you on that.’
  
‘Thank you! I suppose that makes us stand on equal grounds then?’
  
‘We are both humans, so we were already on equal grounds.’
  
Salman gave out a chuckle. Hamza tilted his head.
  
‘What?’ he asked.
  
‘I have realized the speciality of this situation. I am a strategist talking to a captain.’ Salman replied, maintaining a toothy grin.
  
‘I see nothing wrong with that.’
  
‘Ha! If you had to plan attacks, you would need to ask me for the plans themselves.’ Salman touched his chest with his index finger as if to prove his point.
  
Hamza laughed and decided that he should entertain himself a bit.
  
‘Well, I would be the one leading the men.’ He retaliated.
  
‘And I gave the men the weapons.’
  
‘I taught them how to use them.’
  
‘I told them to use them.’
  
And just like that, they had bursted into fits of laughter, unable to consistently be in-character while playing their pretending-to-be-in-a-competition game. When they had wiped their tears, they sighed and Hamza suggested that it was best to converse about something else.
  
‘All right, so what do you want to talk about next?’ Salman asked.
  
Hamza stroked his beard. He thought desperately of what to say, and in the end, he shrugged.
  
‘I have no topics to discuss,’ he said. ‘Do you?’
  
‘Well, I was thinking about talking about E – Ilyas, but I am now thinking if that is considered gossiping.’
  
Hamza would have hoped that a conversation revolving around Ilyas wouldn’t have happened in fear that it would be considered idle talking. After all, they really did not have much context on his situation. All they knew was that he preferred to not speak to anyone and had a temper worthy of Umar. No more.
  
‘That depends on the way we talk about him. Perhaps to guess why he acts the way he does?’ Hamza suggested.
  
‘So guessing?’
  
‘Of sorts, yes.’
  
‘We can spend the entire night talking about that and not come to a mutual agreement as to why he is like that.’
  
‘Well, have we considered the fact that he might just have had a difficult household? Perhaps bad parents’
  
‘That might be the–’
  
‘NEVER DARE SAY THAT AGAIN!’
  
Ilyas’s voice came loud and unexpected, arousing some soldiers who were asleep and making them mutter curses. Rapidly, the man was approaching them.
  
‘Oh, Ilyas,’ Hamza said, wide-eyed and confused. ‘I –I didn’t you were–’
  
‘Shut up Hamza!’ Ilyas said in a voice that made Salman flinch as if he was in pain. ‘I thought of you as logical, and yet you speak of things that you do not know about!’
  
‘Ilyas, you need to–’ Salman began.
  
‘You too! You thought I didn’t hear you starting the conversation? Ha! You are a fool, Salman, a literate jahil. Your books gave you nothing except knowledge that you will never use.’
  
Hamza stood up and held out his hands as if he was trying to tame a wild horse.
  
‘Ilyas, there is no need for this; you are not in control of your body.’
  
‘I will not tolerate this.’ Came another, slightly more welcoming voice.
  
They followed the voice and saw Walid coming, every one of his steps seemingly creating earthquakes. He was back being his old self, the person who demanded authority. His face was shadowed by a storm of anger.
  
‘What is the purpose of this?’ he asked. His voice was as if he was containing an unfathomable amount of frustration and he would burst at any moment.
  
‘Well, Walid,’ began Ilyas. ‘If  you were to spare a sliver of attention, you would–’
  
Ilyas suddenly stopped. He clutched the left of his chest, where the heart was, and he fell as if about to faint, groaning in pain.
  
Walid took an immediate reaction and caught Ilyas before he fell.
  
‘What is wrong with you?’ he asked, carefully setting Ilyas in a lying position.
  
In the meanwhile, the two were paralyzed, but came to their senses when they finally realized the weight of the situation. At that point, many more had come to see what all the fuss was about.
  
‘Has someone died?’ one asked.
  
Walid checked Ilyas’s pulse. The man’s eyes were closed and he looked as if he was on his deathbed. Walid later put a finger underneath Ilyas’s nose for a double-check.
  
‘He’s still breathing,’ he informed. ‘But he is extremely cold. Salman, grab a long piece of cloth; you might find it in my tent.’
  
But there was no need for it as Ilyas immediately opened his eyes and sat up, gasping for air as if none were left.
 
‘Ah, he lives!’ came the voice of someone in the crowd.
  
Hamza bent down and tried to comfort Ilyas, patting his back to let him breathe easier.
  
‘Are you all right? What happened?’ he asked.
  
The hatred in his eyes was completely gone and was instead replaced by worrying, of … fear.
  
‘I – I …’ he stammered. ‘The voice, the face, it was … speaking. He spoke to me, he really did.’
  
‘Who spoke to you?’ asked Walid. ‘Ilyas, are you having nightmares?’
  
‘I – I don’t know. A cold lightning seemed to have – seemed to have struck me, and I – I was in this other world and – and …’
  
Ilyas was at a complete loss for words, and had difficulty making any sound except gasping and panting.
  
‘I was somewhere but nowhere at the same time.’ He finally said.
  
‘What in the world does that mean?’ Salman asked.
  
‘I have no idea myself.’
  
But Hamza felt Ilyas was hiding something. It would be impossible that he wasn’t. What was this secret of his?
  
‘I think you just need a bit of rest,’ Hamza said, ‘Really, I think some sort of fever is taking you.’
  
Without any resistance, he nodded and let two soldiers help him up to a tent.
 
'That was strange,’ Salman said. ‘It was as if he had been hit by an arrow that neither killed nor wounded him.’
  
‘Is it a bad omen?’ one of the soldiers asked.
  
‘Do not be daft;’ said Walid sternly. ‘The mere omens are but myths created by superstitious people who had nothing better to do with their lives.’
  
‘We’ll never know, Walid sayed. People say God communicates to us through omens.’
  
‘Say that again and my blade will know the blood of the ignorant.’
  
He was immediately silenced.
  
‘Ilyas’s unconsciousness is no sign of bad luck,’ Walid said, towards the crowd this time. ‘And I think I can safely say that our fates aren’t dependent on signs.’
  
There were mummers of hesitant agreements while Hamza wasn’t sure. The unconsciousness had been unnatural. Surely there was something … abnormal about it?
  
Hamza wanted to shake away that feeling. No. Surely that was not the case? Nonetheless, he failed to remove the lingering feeling of fear that he felt.
  
‘Go on now, the act’s over, go back to your tents.’ Walid said, shooing away the bystanders.
  
‘I suppose this could be the start of other strange happenings?’ Salman jested.
  
‘With the way things are going, I wouldn’t be surprised,’ Hamza sighed. ‘Let us just try to forget about this and try to have a good sleep for the night. I think isha is also drawing near.’
  
Salman nodded.
  
‘Best to do just that.’

ELIJAH
  
  

The soldiers left him alone after they had laid him on his bed. Still, Elijah felt that cold sensation as if he was bathed with ice. He was shivering, mumbling words that anyone listening to him wouldn’t understand.
  
‘The voice, the voice.’ He said inside his head and wanted to say it outloud, but found he was unable to.
  
Who was the person he saw in the vision?
  
It was Him.
  
He couldn’t be mistaken.
  
Limitless.
  
All-Knowing.
  
‘I am the Creator of the wind and fire, of the earth and the heavens. I have made the water to quench the fire, and the same to rage it on.’
  
That was what He had said. He. Elijah always wanted to hear Him, but surely, this was not His voice? If he, a mere mortal, was to hear it, he would surely drop dead? But then there was Moses who had heard God’s voice when he entered the cave.
  
What was God’s voice like? It wasn’t describable. Elijah had forgotten the voice itself, but not what it had made him feel. He felt like the riding wind, the roaring fire, the rushing river. He felt as if he had seen all the worlds as one. He was the seas that connected the land masses, the grass caressed by the breeze, the individual drop of rain as it fell to a single leaf. He felt every atom of the universe and knew them.
  
But was it really a voice? Was it simply the mere presence of God that made him feel as such? No, surely not? He had said something. Or had He not? Was Elijah simply thinking of what He said?
  
It was complicated. Saying without speaking? Bestowing without telling anything? That didn’t sound like God. God was intimate, was He not? He was personal.
  
Unless He was personal.
  
‘The truth is complicated, child,’ the voice said. ‘There are people who will always do the worst things against humanity, but what your job is, it is to forgive. I will say nothing further. The journey is yours, and I have simply made the path.’
  
That was all.
  
God hadn’t called Himself something like Lord of Humanity or Master of Men. What use was there of that when He already knew such? That made no sense. God wasn’t supposed to act like that, did He?
  
And there was the part about forgiveness. Forgiveness to whom? To the people who had killed his father? Never! But it was God who had told him such.
  
‘This is Satan’s whispers, surely,’ Elijah said aloud to himself. ‘He can come in like an angel of light and deceive people. That is it, that is it, that is it. Yes. Surely.’
  
He tried praying for protection against such things, but his words slipped and he mixed up simple things like ‘Father’, ‘Son’, ‘Mary’ and even the name of Christ. It was as if his tongue was knotted, cursed to never pray properly again.
  
‘O God!’ he suddenly cried out, seemingly unaware of the fact that other people might hear. ‘Why this, Lord, why this? Why do you test me like this?’
  
And he wept, wept until he thought he might go blind. God had abandoned him, surely. That was the only explanation. God had forsaken him because he couldn’t do his best to serve him.
  
‘I am sorry, I am sorry.’
  
Elijah kept repeating those words over and over again, his repetitiveness broken by the occasional hiccups that seized him. He was lost, a wanderer who went astray from the path that he was supposed to remember. He was a grain of sand in the mountains.
  
He was alone.
  
But then assurance came.
  
‘Weep not, for God is with you,’ came a voice in his head. ‘Never has there and there never will be a time when God abandons His creations. He has created them, and no matter how bad we are, He is always with us. Do you not believe he had sacrificed His Child for us? Let his blood spill like wine and his body break like bread?’
  
‘We did not deserve Christ, we did not.’ Elijah croaked.
  
‘But God thought otherwise. Listen, He is trying to lead you to a path, a path of flowers and eternal peace. Do not resist it. Let fate conceal you in its warm blanket’
  
‘What do you mean?’
  
‘Allow fate to do its job.’
  
The voice said no more and Elijah weeped again. What was fate planning?