Fury is Born (Book 1 of Hanthalah)

Chapter 33

January 630 AD, Ramadan 8 AH

My bowstring creaked against my ear as I lurked in the shadows of Yazid's shed, bracing myself for impact with the intruder.

The huddled figure of Ruqayya lay slumbering some paces away from me. Blissful and unaware of the impending danger this would be criminal was about to pose.

Ever since I've known the bonds of slavery, there has been a part of me that never truly slept. Like a rabid dog laying in a ditch, some part of me is ever ready to pounce at the slightest hint of a threat.

What else was a man to do when life was turbulent and gods were capricious?

The shuffling outside the shed resumed. I squinted in the pitch darkness, steadying my breathing, rolling my shoulders back so that the blades rolled against one another. My left foot was advanced, the tension was transferred to my upper body. All I needed was to release. And the effect would be deadly.

The door creaked slightly as the robber inched it open a fraction.

One more breath.

"Hanthalah," the intruder whispered. "Hanthalah."

I raised an eyebrow. "State your business."

"I have come with revelation, my disciple."

Fucking bastard. I lowered my bow and stalked furiously to the doorway. I removed my arrow from the string and placed it against Tulayha's throat.

"Have you lost your fucking mind?" I pricked the shaft against his skin. I felt the blood grace a finger. "You sneak about in the middle of the night, trespassing my soil? Threatening my roof?"

Tulayha smirked. "Your soil and your roof? Have you forgotten that you stand slave?"

I dug the shaft deeper into his skin and more blood welled. He yelped.

"And who do you think should pay the price for that?" I whispered icily in his ear. He shivered despite himself.

"Come to my house before dawn," he said, inching away. "We have much discuss of the true nature of Allah."

"You've been schooling me on your ludicrous faith for months."

"Just come, Hanthalah. Come."

"I will join you when I can call myself a free man."

I shoved him away and shut the door behind him gently. I turned to see a smiling Ruqayya, reclining on an elbow.

"You've been awake this entire time?" I asked, incredulous.

"I'm a Bedouin, city boy," there was no trace of drowsiness to her tone. "I heard him the moment he set foot outside his house."

Under Yazid, I enjoyed a greater degree of autonomy than under his father. Mas'oud only allowed me leave of his land to fetch one thing or another from an acquaintance or a marketplace. Now, however, I could venture forth and roam the streets at leisure.

Best of all, I was allowed to join the community in prayer at the Qiblatayn mosque five times a day.

"It has been long, brothers," I whispered in 'Amr's ear as I embraced him vigorously in the mosque. People were eying us curiously. But I cared not.

"Ugly as ever," Mundhir exclaimed, squeezing me from behind. "And just as filthy as well, it seems."

"And you're even shorter than I remember," I fought back tears. "I didn't know that was possible."