Shadow of Death (Book 2 of Hanthalah)

Interlude

          'Amr's knees ached and he grunted heavily, struggling to rise. When he finally succeeded in the monumental task, his joints cracked and he winced.

The Khalifa had them praying furiously all night for weeks, beseeching Allah to relieve them of this punishment he saw fit to hurl upon them. After leading the task force to the outskirts of Madinah and distributing the food to those in need, 'Umar had them furnish the ground within and without the city with flowing pieces of cloth running down the streets, ringed with pillows on either side. They would feast then, a community of brothers in faith, quenching their thirst, stilling their rumbling bellies deprived of much needed succor under the gaze of a thousand stars, in the midst of crackling fires.

Then, the prayers would commence, 'Umar at their head as imam – the leader of the prayer.

Normally, 'Amr would have loved it. He would have enjoyed being in the presence of his god all night long – even though he did not approve of 'Umar's legitimacy as Khalifa, for he still believed that title belonged to 'Ali.

But now... 'Amr was ashamed. He felt naked under the gaze of Allah. He felt as though he were a hypocrite. All day long, he would commit grievous sin, indulging in secret worldly pleasures at the expense of his own soul. And then, he had the nerve to show his face before Allah in prayer!

The thought of it made his face flush red and his stomach churn. He wanted to return to Allah's good graces. He wanted to relieve himself of sin and of Shaytan's devious clutches. But he did not know how.

And that was what terrified him.

He had always found the female body utterly charmless. He had been married to the same woman for the better part of a decade. And he had never touched her. Sure, he was fond of her, but only as a companion of sorts. She did not stir his belly, nor evoke his heart into fluttering like the Nubian did. She did not occupy a spot in his mind every waking breath.

He did not feel a thing when he looked her in the eyes.

But the Nubian...

The thought of his feelings toward the large man was enough to make 'Amr shudder. What if he died right then and there? It happened. Young men, healthy as a horse, dropped dead in the streets all the time, without prior warning or disease. People died in their sleep, souls plucked away by the angel of death to be tried by the Almighty in the skies.

'And the intoxication of death came with truth; that is what you were trying to avoid.'

The memory of the verse conjured tears in 'Amr's eyes. It was a reminder from God that death was at the doorstep. Unpredictable. It could come at any time, in any place, if Allah wills it. And then, nothing else would it matter. It would not matter how many cattle you own. Or how many coins you have stashed. How many wives you have taken to person. Your good looks will not save you, and neither will the support and love of all the peoples of the world.

All that matters is you died a sinner. A man who lay with another man.

'Amr walked the streets of Madinah in the pitch darkness, hours before dawn prayers, shaking with sobs. The guilt. The guilt. It was too much. He just wanted to curl up in a corner and scream. Scream like the helpless individual he was.

"Why?" he shrieked, stopping in his tracks. He spread his arms and raised his head to speak to God. "Why have you done this to me? I have only ever wanted to obey you. To love you! Why have you cursed me?"

'Amr waited several seconds, staring at the sky bereft of any stars. A sky as dark as his soul. A color to match his mood. And no response came. 'Amr shrieked in agony again, falling to his knees and burying his sobbing face in his hands.

What have I done to deserve this? This....pain.

There was the sound of approaching sandals, then. 'Amr scampered back to his feet, dabbing furiously at his still wet eyes.

Oh no.

Ziyad grunted. The man was tall, comely and broad of chest. Another of 'Amr's...sins. The only other one, really. His first...

"I'm not even going to ask what that was," he said, looking 'Amr up and down.

"Ziyad...I did not know you were here."

Ziyad was a tribesman of the Banu Sulaym, a nomad. A Bedouin. There had been an influx of nomads scurrying to Madinah in wake of the recent misfortunes. But Ziyad had been in Palestine, taking part in the conquests. His presence there was one of the many catalysts 'Amr had chosen to return to Madinah to serve God and Caliphate.

"You thought you could get away from me," Ziyad looked him up and down again, a keen hunger in his eyes. 'Amr cringed away from the sight. It made him feel as though he were a textile in a market. An object.

'Amr did not respond.

Ziyad outstretched his hand. "Give me what we agreed upon."

With a resolve, 'Amr shook his head vigorously.

Ziyad smirked. "Need I remind you what I would do if you do not cooperate? What the Khalifa will do?"

"If you tell him, you go down with me."

Ziyad nodded. "I will. But are you willing to take that risk? Would you die without repentance? Would you assign yourself a life of anguish on earth and in the hereafter?"

'Amr did not reply.

"And it's not just that you will die. If my memory serves correctly, the Khalifa has advisors in matters such as this. 'Ali burns people like you and I alive. 'Uthman would counsel throwing us off the highest building in the city or crushing you beneath a wall. But the final say is in the hands of the man who calls himself Commander of the Believers. Do you know what he might do?"

'Amr hesitated before replying. "He'll stone us."

"Now, you don't want that. You want to repent first. Now, give me what I need. Or I will spoil the Khalifa's precious prayers with the riveting tale of romance we shared in Fahl. And Damascus. And Hims."

Ziyad heaved with laughter then, a harsh and humorless sound.

'Amr imagined what his final moments would be like, trapped in the earth, with only his head exposed to the pounding sun overhead. He winced at the thought of the stones that would follow. Banged against his head.

And that wouldn't be the end of it. Far from it. Only the beginning. It would be the start of a journey to burn for all of eternity. 'Amr could not even wrap his head around the concept of eternity. Forever. Without end. The idea was entirely incomprehensible to him. Terrifying, all the same it was, shaking him to his very core.

Finally, he nodded and dug his hand inside his garments. He conjured three dirhams – silver coins minted in the fashion of the Romans. The spoils of war. His earnings that he had won through blood, tears and sweat.

Ziyad grinned widely. "I accept your generous donation. May Allah be pleased with you."

Ziyad kissed the coins, graced them against his forehead and raised them to the sky before turning on his heels and walking away. Before long, he was lost to the darkness.

May He be pleased with me, 'Amr echoed with despair.