Shadow of Death (Book 2 of Hanthalah)

Interlude

Late September 632 AD, Rajab 11 AH

"It's going to be fine," Sumayya caressed the little boy's head, attempting to calm him with a soothing voice as he shook vigorously in her arms. "It's going to be fine."

She began humming him a tranquil melody as he buried his tiny head in her chest. Her calming efforts yielded a positive effect as the boy ceased his shuddering.

But the shouting outside lingered.

Deep-throated bellows and uncouth words used in challenge, accompanied by the galloping of hooves, the nickering of horses. Sumayya and her family cowered within a mud and thatch house, biding their time until all the chaos blows over.

In truth, they were not actually her family. They were her masters. For seven years, Sumayya invested a plethora of emotion, effort and care into these individuals that took her in and gave her a place to call home.

For seven years, the woman called Layla had aided her piecemeal in relieving Sumayya of nearly all the traumas that plagued her. Layla taught her what it meant to be a lady, groomed her in the ways of etiquette and elegance. Under her wing, Sumayya flourished into a fine young woman, slender and notoriously beautiful throughout all the clans of the Banu Tamim.

"Three men have arranged meetings with Malik just this morning," Layla had once told her, combing her hair. "You are much sought after. One of them is even of a different tribe. You remind me of myself when I was your age."

But Sumayya refused all her suitors, preferring to remain under the hospitable wing of Layla and Malik. And their children, whom Sumayya had cherished as her own younger siblings. Layla and Malik, who had only ever been good to her, treating her the same way they treated their children, providing her with the same quality of food and garment and shelter and education. She could read and write now!

Now, Malik had his ear pressed against the door of the house, sword in hand. Layla held her two daughters in her arm, soothing them in her own way. She shot Sumayya a reassuring glance. The yelling outside was dwindling.

They did not know what was about to happen. It was all so confusing! The past few months had been a blur of rapid events passing by in an overwhelming rush. Too quickly for any of them to process what was happening exactly. Sumayya had lived seven blissful years with people that had only shown her utmost kindness and warmth. Seven years she had known only peace after a tumultuous life she had left behind.

But now, that was in jeopardy.

When Sumayya was bought by the chieftain Malik ibn Nuwayrah, the Banu Tamim tribe was almost entirely practitioners of idolatry. But then, one after the other, the tribes of the Najd region around Madinah were swallowed into the rising nation of Islam.

The mass conversion of Malik's clan had not troubled Sumayya. She retained her Jewish faith, though she did not consider herself overtly pious. And the clansmen tolerated her, even after their conversion to Islam. She had been wary of said conversion. She did not exactly have a pleasant past with this religion.

But her skepticism of the mass conversion was misplaced. On the contrary, it saw Malik's fortunes rise. He obtained a status of prestige – the alms tax collector from the clans of Tamim. The years had seen Malik's family and tribesmen prosper in their daily lives as well as matters of trade, especially when the star of Islam ascended to its greatest extent after the fall of Makkah. Sumayya could not wish for more.

Until news of the Muhammad's death arrived.

It was then that Sumayya's life had been thrown into upheaval. One moment, she dwelled in her warm abode, surrounded by loved ones she would gladly sacrifice herself for, and the next...well, the next, she was cowering in the corner of a random house in a strange town.