The Endless Golden Dunes

Chapter 38: The Cave

ABBAS

  
They had to leave a fair amount of supplies back. Walking amongst the archers who were Arabic-speaking, Abbas had come to find that they were Zoroastrians. Abbas was reminded of his conversation with Umar.
   
‘I also heard the fire worshippers sometimes come here.’ Abbas pointed out.
  
Umar stopped for a moment and looked at Abbas. He knew that the merchant was referring to the Zoroastrians, a controversial religion as far as the caliph and the Muslims as a whole saw.
  
‘You think they live here?’ Umar asked while sheathing his sword, a hint of worry in his voice.
  
‘Are you scared of them?’
  
‘Why wouldn’t I be? For all I know, we are against them, and they might hate us. They might have sided with the Mongols to take back their religious rights, or even have all of Persia to themselves. If I were to be persecuted by the majority, I would do the same.’
  
‘But will they do it?’
  
‘God knows. I don’t.’
  
For a moment, Abbas looked at the snow capped mountains and thought of some Zoroastrains watching them from there.
  
‘The thought scares me.’
  
‘It does that to me too.’
  
Abbas laughed at the way fate had done its work. He made a note to himself to never speak of terrible things or good things lest he jinx it.
  
‘You’re laughing?’ one of them asked. ‘I would have expected a different effect.’
  
‘Just remembering something a friend told me.’
  
‘I admire that you are seeking good memories from your mind, especially after what you have witnessed.’
  
‘Oh, that.’
  
He had lit a fire, and it revealed the memories best left in the dark. The way the corpses gaped, a ghost of their last pleas, and their hands laying soulless to the ground.
  
‘I … do not want to be reminded,’ he said. ‘It feels as if I have something that I never was supposed to. So this is war? This is what happens between armies?’
  
‘I understand that reaction,’ he now looked solemn, his eyes deep. ‘I was seventeen when I fought my first skirmish. I saw blood, and I saw flesh as well as bones. I am twenty-eight now, and I still remember the first kill I did. It was a young man, around the same age as you. I had raised my sword, and managed to slice his neck, though not clean. I saw him writhing, attempting to scream, but no sound really came from him. I hadn’t witnessed death before that, and it was one of the worst experiences I ever had.’
  
The feeling came to Abbas. He felt himself edging closer to the edge of the cliff. Why now? What had there been in the man’s story which made him feel closer to Enlightenment.
  
Unfortunately, that feeling was quenched and Abbas was left to continue the talk.
  
‘But … if war is that bad, why do we fight it?’
  
He gave a hollow chuckle.
  
‘Why do you ask me? If I knew the answer, I would never be walking with you.’
  
Abbas wanted to say more, but he wagered that it was probably best to not speak of war anymore. So instead, he thought about three of his comrades. Ilyas was the only one injured, and his wounds had been somewhat severe. Last he saw him, he was lying on one of the carts, groaning in pain, and murmuring while healers had tried their best to wrap up his injuries.
  
Salman wasn’t faring any better as well. At times, he had random moments of sudden enthusiasm, and then was tired again. A fire in him was ignited and smothered immediately. Abbas had tried approaching him and making conversation with him, but had received silence as reply only.
  
And then there was Hamza who had chosen to say nothing, absolutely nothing. He didn’t dare speak to anyone, say anything about anything, or even attempted to be just a bit social. Walid had tried to have their spirits rise, but that was to no avail and he eventually gave up.
  
‘I suppose I should have expected this,’ he had said. ‘What other reaction should I have predicted?’
  
‘Just a few more miles till we reach the cave.’ The bowman next to him announced, both in Arabic and Farsi.
  
‘Cave?’ Abbas queried.
  
‘You have heard me correctly. All of us stay in caves as they are the safest dwellings in these accursed mountains. But then again, we are safe from the Abbasids like yourself.’
  
‘Oh, right. I forgot that we were – er …’
  
Abbas decided that it was best to not finish his sentence lest he wanted to anger the Zoroastrian. Luckily for him, he had laughed.
  
‘Do not worry; we will not kill you. Well, unless we have no choice to do so of course.’
  
‘Oh, thank you I suppose?’
  
‘No need. It would not be quite a fair fight. Besides, I think that we hate the Mongols more than you.’
  
‘I have no clue whether I should be glad of that or a bit concerned.’
  
‘Both, Abbas. It is only best for you to not trust us too much. If you do, then that is plain foolishness on your side. Never trust anyone for that matter. If you do, it could lead to your death, or worse things.’
  
Abbas didn’t know what the ‘worse things’ were, but he was too frightened to ask. However, he wanted to continue the conversation and so said the first thing that came into his mind.
  
‘Isn’t trusting people what makes us human?’
  
The Zoroastrian’s eyes turned grey and deep; like a well with water that was meters away from the gazes of any creature.
  
‘Other humans are what makes us human.’