Fury is Born (Book 1 of Hanthalah)

Chapter 34

"He who enters the house of Abu Sufyan is safe. He who shuts his door is safe. He who enters the place of worship is safe."

Those were our strict orders from Muhammad himself not to initiate hostilities. However, he did call for the executions of several individuals that either wrote crass poetry or songs attacking his person. They must be cut down, even if they sought refuge in the holy ground of the Ka'aba.

The sun pounded heavy on our heads, looming high above and casting long shadows, as our march slowed to a snail's pace. We trudged through the narrow pass in the mountain, flanked by two towering black peaks to either side.

Our line of archers barely maintained formation as we eased through the choke point, into the city of Makkah itself. Throngs of infantry trailed behind, struggling in the midst of congestion.

No gates opposed us. No army stood in our path. Makkah had fallen. The gods had fallen. The Quraysh, who had long since established themselves the foremost tribe among the Arabs, was brought beneath heel.

My mood was sour, my spirits dampened. I heard tales of the great sanctuary to the gods located in Makkah from Qusayy – the Ka'aba. It was a bastion of Arab civilization and religion; a place to clear one's mind of base desire, he said, and indulge in high poetry and worship. Bloodshed was forbidden in its sacred vicinity.

Other divisions of the Muslim armies poured into the city through other passes in the mountains. We rendezvoused within.

"Allahu Akbar!" the standard bearer of our force called out as we emerged. Tied to his saddle was the rippling cloth banner with the shahada etched upon it. He immediately set forth, his horse trotting away, no doubt to enforce the Prophet's orders and harry those that would be executed.

Women kept their children close to breast, cowering away into their sheds as they studied the jubilant throngs of Muslim warriors warily.

I noticed the Quraysh women were scantily clad in comparison to those of the Muslims. There was a draping over their heads, but it was drawn back so that much of their hair was revealed. Unlike the Muslim women, those of Quraysh did not drape these veils around their necks; rather, the neck and chest were laid bare.

"Scandalous," one man gasped.

More than one averted their gazes, whispering prayers of forgiveness. Others gaped openly. Personally, I'd never seen the like. But I cared not. I was in too sour a mood to pay anyone else any heed.

Screams sounded as the select few individuals destined to die were slaughtered. The bulk of the army wove through the maze of sheds, down a slope clustered with palm trees and sculptures. The troops shattered the latter, hacking at it them with their blades. I flinched as one man kicked the severed head of Hubal.

The cloth of the Ka'aba flowed red with blood once more, the culprits besmirching sacred ground to shame the gods.

The sacred site had been as much story to me as distant cities and peoples, belonging almost to another world, detached. It had been my wish to see it the moment Qusayy spoke of it so grandly, so reverently. Perhaps to perform pilgrimage in the name of the gods.

And here I was. The stout building sat in the shade of two looming hills. It was built in the shape of a cube, swaddled in white curtains. I finally fulfilled a lifelong dream of visiting this storied, ancient sanctuary.

Tears clouded my vision, as I mused that the gods were even more fickle than I thought. They granted me my wish of laying eyes on the Ka'aba, but in circumstances most dour. In the midst of tragedy. On the day that everything true and divine would be forsaken from this land forever.