Flames of Fitna (Book 4 of Hanthalah)

Interlude

7 November 656 AD / 13 Jumada al-Awwal 36 AH

"Oh no."

Umaymah hopped off her camel, attempting to unsheathe her blade in a frantic flurry of blurred fingers as she fumbled for the scabbard.

To her horror, the battlefield was already littered with the corpses of the dead or dying.

"Abdullah promised!" she screamed, her sword dropping to the ground in her hurry. "He promised!"

The sun was low in the sky, but it seemed the sun would not set only on the world.

For night was coming to 'Aisha's cause as well.

Umaymah grabbed her hilt and hefted her weapon, sprinting toward the melee with a wordless battle cry.

She was not pitting herself in a race against time so that she may salvage 'Aisha's cause. That was evidently already doomed, as the left flank of her army was routing, the cavalrymen taking flight and fleeing the field of battle.

Instead, she was making for Lady 'Aisha's camel with the litter on top. It was being swarmed with attacker, evidently fended off only by the efforts of valiant men making a desperate last stand.

"Protect the Mother!" she roared at the fleeing cavalry. "Protect our Mother!"

But the routed contingent would not heed her, or perhaps her words were drowned out by the thunder of hooves and the din of battle.

She did not falter even for a moment, the rallying point at Lady 'Aisha's camel growing ever nearer as she drew close.

"I will earn martyrdom this day!" she proclaimed, short of breath.

It was then that she caught sight of Marwan – that cursed Umayyad man. Marwan ibn al-Hakam. He was part of the fleeing contingent but he had an arrow nocked to his bow.

He wasn't aiming at 'Ali's men.

He was aiming forward.

If Umaymah had known his intentions, she would have done all she could to prevent him. But even in that, she was too late.

The bow let loose, and the arrow whizzed through the air.

It found its way in Talha's back.

Marwan just killed his own comrade, Umaymah thought with renewed horror. His tribesman of the Quraysh.

Islam was beset on by many an enemy, it seemed.

"I will die for this religion!" she roared, finally reaching her destination. "I will die for the Mother of the Believers!"

The curtains of the Mother's litter were reinforced with coats of heavy plate armor as to protect her from the earthly evils of the world. The pieces of armor were bristling with a thousand arrows each so that they resembled hedgehogs.

She took the place of a fallen man at the camel's side. She grabbed ahold of the halter with one hand, her grip firm on her hilt with the other.

She bellowed and she cursed, she swung and she ducked, she struck and lunged and parried and kicked until her voice was hoarse and her arm flared in pain at the few minutes of intense torment that seemed to go by as though months.

It seemed as though they were afflicted with hordes of enemies on all sides, a never-ending supply of foes. It seemed as though they were facing off against the savage tribes of Ya'jouj and Ma'jouj, who would break free of their prison in the end of times and wreak havoc upon the lands of the believers.

It was a day that those who believed in the one God died screaming, and those who opposed them stood tall, proud of their misguided views.

Umaymah's sword arm grew weaker by the second, and her blows more feeble by the moment. She saw fellow comrades slaughtered relentlessly all around, mighty warriors struck down as though mere flies.

She felt as though drowning, trying to stay afloat as she drenched neck-deep in her ailment, yet failing all the same.

In the midst of the overwhelming chaos, she made out the brutish warrior that was 'Ali's right hand man – Malik al-Ashtar. Scarred and towering and ugly and horrible.

He roared in a deep-throated voice that shook the ground beneath their feet and sent Lady 'Aisha's camel bleating in terror. Malik the behemoth harangued the defenders with his relentless barrage of herculean strikes, sending either splinters of wood flying or a steady stream of blood.

He ate through the lines of the defenders all on his own, skewering those who dared oppose him with a blade as cold as his heart.

Before long, the moment she dreaded was before her.

Malik had reached her.

He did not give her even a moment's respite. As soon as he made short work of the man next to her, he had hurled himself upon her exhausted self.

She barely caught his monstrous strike with the flat of her own blade in time, but the force behind the blow loosened her grip on the hilt. As soon as Malik was blocked, he bellowed gutturally again, striking down again at her.

Umaymah attempted another parry but her weapon was sent flying away, lost beneath the boots and sandals of countless warriors. She stumbled away, her grip on the camel's halter slipping.

She fell flat on her back with the inhumanely mighty warrior looming over her.

I bear witness that there is no god but Allah and I bear witness that Muhammad is the messenger of Allah, she murmured in preparation to meet her creator. Malik raised his sword high to deliver the finishing blow.

"Stop!" came the intercession of hersavior angel. "I vouch for this warrior!"