Empires of Faith

Chapter 23: Off Course

1 Shawwal, 1663

"Well," Muhammad said as he stood from the ledge of the building. "We've been here for at least an hour and still haven't gotten anything important; I think we should go back for the night."

"Yeah," Imran agreed. "And we still need to collect our belongings before someone steals them."

"I nearly forgot about that stuff," Usama said with a yawn. "All I've been able to think about is food; I'm starving."

"Yeah me too, but we still don't have any money. And now it seems we won't be getting any at all."

"I have food," Ishaq said in a low voice. "You are welcome to it if you like." The three men all turned eagerly towards him. "I will take you to it once you've gathered your belongings."

"Let's get going then," Muhammad said, picking up his spear from the rooftop and placing it in its holding place on his back. Thereafter, he, Imran, and Usama all descended the building, careful not to be spotted by any of the townspeople. Ishaq watched from up high while his new comrades went to retrieve their items. Crossing his arms, he then turned his attention back to the crowd, observing with a watchful eye.

This was only the second time since his arrival that Ishaq had seen the otherwise reclusive Baba Mustafeed. He looked on at the man speaking; he was an older man, with white hair growing in three pointed ways on his head and a thick white mustache lining his olive brown, wrinkled face. A nasally voiced escaped the man's lips as he continued on speaking, his words mystifying the listeners whilst annoying Ishaq. Nothing he had been saying at the time was particularly blameworthy, but even so, Ishaq felt a growing resentment for the man who so carelessly misguided the masses and turned them away from the very thing he proclaimed to advocate.

Soon enough, Muhammad and the others returned to the rooftop, lugging their belongings in sacks tied over their shoulders. Ishaq turned to face them and Muhammad walked up with a slight smile, while his two companions caught up breathing heavily. "So," Muhammad said to Ishaq. "Are you ready to go?"

"Follow me," Ishaq said, lowering his arms and walking to the opposite end of the building. He climbed down from the building and the others followed afterwards. On the ground, Ishaq ran into the shadows of the night with the others struggling to keep up. He led them through the city's streets, down its winding paths of twists and turns. They ran through the alleys of the lower villages and beyond the gardens of the fanciful upper towns.

At last, they arrived at an old market place, now abandoned and full of desecrated old buildings, broken and worn with time. The once flourishing market place was now home only to the many pests and vermin that inhabited the island. The four men came to a stop just before a make-shift tent pieced together with large palm tree leaves, sticks, and stones from one of the old buildings. "Is this it finally?" Imran asked, bending over and gasping for air.

"Yes," Ishaq replied calmly.

"Alhamdulillah," Muhammad said, standing up straight and trying to cover his own heavy breathing. "So this is where you've been staying? You don't have a tent or any equipment from whoever sent you?"

Ishaq remained silent as he pulled back a tattered flap to his tent and reached inside. He pulled out a medium sized clay bowl, wrapped in cloth from an old vendor's bazaar. Unwrapping the bowl, he handed it to Muhammad, who then took a scrutinizing stare at the contents before looking back at Ishaq. "What is this?" he asked.

"It's a brew I cooked in the morning for suhur," Ishaq answered.

"Alhamdulillah," Usama said, coming up to grab the bowl. "It's fresh and it smells good. Jazakallah for sharing, akhi."