Flames of Fitna (Book 4 of Hanthalah)

Interlude

Days earlier

Umaymah sighed, bowing her head. She held her chainmail and men's gown in a clutch, ready to shed her pilgrims clothing in favor of them.

It had been a tumultuous few months she spent on her own. Ever since she abandoned Father in the lands of the Armenians, she'd had no company but the presence of God, shrouding her with warmth on dark days. And guilt every other.

Both God and the Prophet had given clear instructions to maintain positive ties with one's family, especially the parents. Obeying one's parents was considered the epitome of faith. Keeping in touch with extended family a must.

Umaymah failed on both fronts.

Her conscience flooded her with guilt over Father's disapproval of her, as well as her admonishing outburst in the Roman fort. How would Allah ever forgive her after such a display of blatant disrespect of her own father?

"And your Lord has decreed that you not worship except Him, and to parents, good treatment. Whether one or both of them reach old age while with you, say not to them so much as, "uff", and do not repel them but speak to them a noble word."

The verse nagged at her, ate at her from within until her resolve withered.

And then there was the issue of 'Abdullah – her own twin. She had abandoned him too. She had received word that he had found community in Madinah. But she did not even have the courage to seek that reunion.

She stared at the cloth draping of the Ka'aba before her, aware that her 'umrah pilgrimage would do little to cleanse her sins and would contribute nothing in the way of redemption.

Umaymah had a father in Damascus, a brother in Madinah, and she herself had obtained residence in Makkah. Yet, she was a woman that did not belong. A woman without purpose, wandering and lost.

Torn.

She could not go back to Father. Would not. She was too ashamed to face 'Abdullah again – not after what she did to him. It was her duty to protect him, yet she'd tossed him away when he needed her most. When he no longer enjoyed the custody of the Banu Asad nomads. She could not stand to face him, admitting he had been right all along. Father did not care for them. He never had.

If only there was something to do, she gazed at the large cube longingly. Something to facilitate redemption. Redemption in the eyes of God first and foremost.

It was then that she found people rushing to the Sacred Mosque.

***

The complex of the Sacred Mosque – with the figure of the Ka'aba itself at its heart – was packed to the brim with more people than it had been when she performed 'umrah, Umaymah remarked with disapproval.

She had changed into a turban and man's gown hurriedly, with a chainmail shirt beneath. She clung to her sword hilt fiercely, head darting left and right, wary of discovery and subsequent dismissal on account of her sex.

But the men crammed in the venerated courtyard were not too bothered with any present within the crowd. Their gazes were fixed on the one without.

One that was, ironically, a woman.

'Aisha, a Mother of the Believers, a widow of the Prophet, sat curtained off from the rest of them behind the semicircular wall of stone in the shadow of the Ka'aba – the Lap of Isma'il, the wall was called.

The commotion died off and the murmurs ceased when the firm voice behind the wall called for silence.

"People of Makkah!" Aisha's voice carried across the vast complex. Umaymah felt a chill run down her spine. This was one of the Mothers of the Believers. In her own vicinity. She was not worthy. "A mob has gathered in Madinah. A mob of rebels from the garrison cities in al-Fustat, Kufa and Basra. A mob of rebels that include Bedouins and the slaves of the people of Madinah. The criminals have formed a coalition to conspire against our sacred ummah!"