Daggers in the Dark (Book 3 of Hanthalah)

Interlude

          "By the fig and the olive, by Mount Sinai, and by this safe city, we created man in the perfect form," 'Abdullah read out loud.

"What's that mean?" ibn Hubaysh asked, raising an eyebrow. "The safe city."

Ibn Hubaysh had been one of 'Abdullah's few childhood acquaintances. One of the only Banu Asad tribesmen not to torment him in his youth. 'Abdullah had been equally pleased and surprised to find him in Kufa.

'Abdullah sighed, leaning on the wall of the mosque, his version of the Holy Book resting on his lap.

"God here is swearing by the fig and the olive. This is in reference to the Prophet 'Isa, peace be upon him, who was born to the virgin Lady Mariam. His homeland was Palestine, also home to many figs and olives.

He swears by Mount Sinai. This is in reference to the Prophet Musa, peace be upon him, who escaped the tyranny of Pharaoh there.

Finally, He swears by the safe city. This is in reference to Makkah, the home city of the Prophet Muhammad, peace and prayers be upon him."

Ibn Hubaysh raised an eyebrow before finally nodding.

"You never read the Qur'an?" 'Abdullah asked, incredulous.

Ibn Hubaysh shook his head. "How many times have you read it?"

'Abdullah scoffed, puffing his chest with pride. "Too many to count. I've memorized it all."

In both versions, he thought bitterly. There had been many versions that differed according to dialect before the reign of the current Khalifa, 'Uthman ibn 'Affan. The Khalifa had abolished all versions but those of his tribe – the Quraysh of Makkah.

'Abdullah had grown up with among the Bedouins, the Banu Asad. He knew their version by heart. He believed that no matter the dialect, this was the unchangeable word of God. Resentment over 'Uthman's decision burned bright in 'Abdullah's heart. Frustration compounded by the fact that no one he'd met was too bothered by it.

But the past few months in Kufa in 'Iraq laid bare to 'Abdullah the true extent of 'Uthman's waning rule. The people in this fledgling city, still little more than a few tents belonging to troops and camp followers, were an increasingly disgruntled bunch.

"All you people here care about is wealth and materialism," 'Abdullah complained. "No one ever speaks of religion."

"You're in a city full of soldiers not desperate women," ibn Hubaysh replied.

"You think religion is only for women?" 'Abdullah demanded vehemently, his heartbeat racing with an elevated sense of chagrin. He could feel beads of sweat beginning to form on his forehead from the anger. "Have you any idea why you are here? Why you are warriors? This. Is. For. Allah!"

He half-screamed that last part, pounding his fist into the soil for emphasis. Panting and triggered, 'Abdullah struggled with the apathy he saw in his friend's face. He wanted to continue lecturing him on the importance of religion in one's journey, but it was not to be.

"What's that?" ibn Hubaysh perked up, listening to the sounds of commotion outside the mosque. He found his feet and bolted outside.

'Abdullah sighed, calming himself as he followed his friend to the source of the raucous.

"Once order has been restored, we can speak with one another," one man who seemed to be the center of attention said, raising his voice in an effort to be heard over the chorus of uncoordinated complaints. "I will be taking my leave."