Empires of Faith

Chapter 22: Crossroads

29 Ramadan, 1663

Muhammad, Imran, and Usama all stood around a small campfire outside their tents, gazing at the night sky. It had been a few hours since the sun had set and the night began. They were searching for the new moon to determine if their Ramadan fasting would be ended or if they would be fasting the next day. So far they had not seen any sight of the moon, and they were on the verge of giving up.

"Well, it looks like we will be fasting tomorrow too," Imran stated as he lowered his gaze from the black night sky. "Even without any clouds there seems to be no moon around."

"Alhamdulillah," Usama agreed. "I had been hoping that we would see thirty days this year. The past few years have all been twenty-nine days only."

"Yeah," Muhammad said as he took a seat on the ground. "Plus, thirty days gives us enough time to reach the island before Eid."

"You're right," Imran said, also having a seat outside his own tent. "Tomorrow morning we'll enter the port city and set sail on one of their ships In Shaa Allah across the little sea to the first of the island nations. That should take a few hours, depending on the weather. We'll spend our Eid in the company of other Muslims though Alhamdulillah, instead of out here in this desolate desert."

"We should get some sleep then," Usama suggested. "If we're leaving in the morning, it'll do us good to get some rest now. We can set out for the town right after Fajr then."

"Sounds like a plan," Imran agreed and Muhammad nodded along. "Alright, In Shaa Allah, well, I'll see you guys in the morning for Fajr. As-Salaamu Alaikum." Imran and Usama dispersed into their respective tents, leaving Muhammad alone by the fire. His eyes watched as the flames danced their hypnotic dance. Feeling the fire's warmth, Muhammad felt almost at home, but as he looked around him he saw nothing but barren sands.

He sighed. Reaching back into his tent he pulled out his leaf-bound book and a small pen. His eyes glanced at the red of the flames and the black of the sky. His mind filled with sudden inspiration, he began jotting down poetry in his little book. Loving words encoded in artful messages he would dream about giving to Munirah every night. Just like old times, he thought to himself. Some things never change...

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30 Ramadan, 1663

The day had dawned and the three travelers had reached the port city on the edge of the town. To their good fortune, the people of the town were a mostly neutral people, and thus had no issue with providing service to Muslims from another land. This, of course, came with a price and the three were charged a good amount for the travel fair. Imran agreed to cover the majority of the expenses because even though they had all brought along the same amount of money and belongings for the trip he had earned a significant amount of money doing business with the peoples of numerous towns and villages they stopped by.

With their expenses paid, the three boarded one of the larger vessels leaving the city. They loaded their supplies and, after some struggling, managed to get their animals aboard the ship as well. Then, along with several other passengers and the ship's crew, they set sail for the island nation of Daifa. Muhammad now sat on the ship's deck with his two companions. They looked around to the people accompanying them. Many of them were women and children along with a few elderly men and sickly folks.

One common thing amongst the majority was that they, like many people throughout the world, were a people who struggled for survival. They were from the lowest of the peoples, most dressed in tattered old clothing that was wearing out. Some appeared as though they hadn't had a decent meal in weeks. Some of the passengers appeared to have been faring a little better. While their clothes were old and worn as well, they had full stomachs and had a cleaner appearance. Regardless of how things were back home though, they were leaving that life behind for whatever lie in wait at Daifa Island.