Shadow of Death (Book 2 of Hanthalah)

Chapter 29

I lounged against the wall of Khalid ibn al-Waleed's house and drained another skin of beer. I cared not for who was watching. The pain of a lash was child's play next to the pain whatever god existed saw fit to dish me with since I was a boy. I thought my fortunes would change once I embraced Islam. The religion that obviously had power. The religion of the elite. The religion that belonged to those in power. It all but obliterated the Arab religion and swept away the two superpowers of the world in a whiff. Yet, it was not enough to spare me more heartache.

My vision swam and I tossed the skin away.

"You found me," I told Andronicus who was talking toward me, Ruqayya cradled in his arms. I mocked him by clapping slowly. The effort made me nauseous, so I stopped.

"Not a particularly difficult task," he eyed Khalid's home. "I do not understand what attracts you to the home of a dying man."

After the dreadful day of my arrival in Hims, I decided to linger in the city, taking up residence in Andronicus' home here. I could not bare staying at the home that belonged to Sumayya.

I did little but drink and visit Khalid ibn al-Waleed; the man was a legendary general in the ranks of the Muslims. The conqueror of 'Iraq. The man who subjugated the Arab tribes once more, almost single handedly, during the Wars of Apostasy that followed Muhammad's death. The man who did the impossible and crossed the inhospitable Syrian Desert in record time at the order of the Khalifa in order to partake in the Battle of Yarmouk. A battle where I had been present. Where I had seen firsthand the extent of the fabled general's abilities.

Yet, Khalid was dismissed from duty years prior by 'Umar ibn al-Khattab for a number of reasons. Among them was this ambiguous sin committed against Malik ibn Nuwayrah – some man 'Umar deemed a genuine Muslim, whatever that meant.

In any case, I discovered Khalid resided quietly in an unassuming home in Hims with his four wives. I suppose I visited him daily to regain a semblance of glory from better days. A reminder of what had once been. When I was certain of my future, my goals, my identity.

Now, I was lost.

I waved a hand at Andronicus. "I thought I freed you of the Romans. Show some gratitude. Fuck off, bastard."

Andronicus hefted Ruqayya in his arms. "You would abandon your own child? Someone ought take care of her. Perhaps this is the reason our Father saw fit to bring the Arab to our doorstep. Mysterious be his ways."

"Piss be upon him," I spat in Andronicus' face and giggled as the spittle trickled down his forehead.

Andronicus sighed, draped my arm over his shoulder and helped me up. I struggled, but in my state, the resistance was feeble.

Such was the nature of my life in Hims during the months following Sumayya's death. I would drown myself in a sea of beer, wallowing in self-pity, as Andronicus tried and failed to lift me up with his Christian drivel of how God always has a plan and that he loves his children. He would always stress on the latter part. I was too self-indulgent those days to pay attention to my own daughter, and it was Andronicus who took care of her.

Yet, for all Andronicus' words, I would always return to Khalid's house, breath stained with the scent of alcohol. The great general was a shell of his former self; bedridden, swaddled beneath the furs of his bed. He was much scrawnier than I remembered. His hair now a stark white and his leathery face shriveled like curdled milk, a disturbing sight. He was wasting away to this illness that consumed him. I was his only visitor; otherwise, his four wives tended to him and saw to his every need.