Shadow of Death (Book 2 of Hanthalah)

Chapter 8

May 636 AD, Rabi' al-Awwal 15 AH

I listened to the cries of the seagulls and the crashing of the waves against Alexandrian shores. I felt the unrelenting gusts of wind lap at my face and tug at my clothes. My eyes darted from one spot to the other; there was the ripple of water further into the open sea, disturbed by rowers' oars or the gentle flapping of a distant fish, rising past the surface of water only to plummet and submerge again.

Yet, my focus was only on the slaughtered carrion that lay in a pool of blood and sand at my feet. I was whispering my prayers to my gods, in order for them to accept my offering and bless me with greater fortunes in the days to come.

I had slit the carrion's throat at the foot of a wooden altar crowned by my alabaster idol of Hubal. I gathered an adequate amount of its blood into a water skin, which I held before its carcass on the beach. I bathed the carcass in an abundance of pitch.

Now, I hovered over my offering, a torch in one hand, the water skin filled to bursting with blood in the other and a prayer on my lips.

Finally, I concluded my sacrifice by tossing the torch onto the carcass and began the ritual humming. I put the skin to lips and gulped the sour and metallic liquid.

The flames leapt up almost immediately, the hungry spirits of fire quickly engulfing the carcass and preparing to send it to the lofty abodes of the gods. I closed my eyes and inhaled; all I could see was Martha's terrified eyes, the absolute look of horror as I confessed unapologetic sins of a life past. A life restored.

She was looking at a stranger; a beast that inhabited the body of the man she took for a fool nearly four full years. It had only taken but a moment to trigger that beast from below the surface, only that split second in order for it to see the light and take full control of the man who had once wished for a stable domestic life. A life of the sweet laughter of children and the warm embrace of wife.

The man was dead now, and with him his dreams. Martha had always spoken of my naivety for harboring such desires. She claimed it an impossible feat for a fugitive standing auxiliary barbarian and a common whore to elevate themselves beyond such and establish a respectable status for themselves. That the elite of Alexandria would never stand for such soaring of fortunes.

As the fires cracked and roared on that beach, I supposed she was right. Such dreams belonged in the mind of a soft man, a weak individual, that knew naught of the capricious nature of this world.

Such hopes and desires could merely exist in the minds of a child, never given the chance to foment in the realm of reality. This world was one that belonged to the gods, and their iron wills sought only blood, death, fire and destruction. A man could only earn his desires through the struggle of survival. Evading one hurdle after the other and staying satisfied no matter the outcome.

Such is the reality of this life.

I would quench my newly restored desire for blood soon. The Muslim armies had grown far too troublesome to retaliate against with mediocre force. The Muslims had expanded northward and taken much of Syria from the Romans, as far north as Hims, as well as annexing Ghassanid territory.

Some of the Ghassanid tribes had taken up arms against their Roman overlords and joined the Muslim cause, but the vast majority remained loyal and were dispersed among the ranks of the Romans as auxiliary troops.

Word was that the Muslims had also encroached on Persian territory, raiding deep into the heartland of Mesopotamia, conquering the lands known to the Arabs as the Island, or simply 'Iraq.

The Romans could no longer treat this new threat as a meager band of savage raiders that spilled forth from their deserts to poach gold and food and women. A ragtag band of rogues that could easily be pushed back through the use of the lowliest of garrisons.