Kingdom of Qays

03| chapter three

"Resign your post as chief."

Silence chills the air.

Hussam boils at the seam at his uncle's words. A fierce pounding starts in his ears and morphs into loud, crashing waves that resound in his head. He can hardly hear his thoughts and nearly demands Ghassan to repeat himself if only to make him eat his words. He does not, however, not when anger has robbed him of voice. His blood had run cold, his palms frigid. The urge to smother something—anything—suddenly takes over as he stews in a blinding rage.

How dare he propose such a thing? 

"What are you saying, ya sheikh? Hussam has always been the heir-apparent to the throne as the caliph of Al Qays." Abu Nawaf bellows.

His concerns take an undesired effect as Ghassan deliberately guzzles his qahwa before setting the cup down. "To undo what Hussam has done, a price must be paid. That is how diplomacy works." He shrugs, shrewd eyes twitching with delight. "It is simple. My son, Ghiyaath, shall step in and oversee matters on his behalf. Temporarily, of course."

    "That is ludicrous! Hussam is our leader!" Aabid piques, shocking the court of elders. Usually, his comrade was reserved when it came to tribal matters. And for the briefest moment, Hussam is stunned by his brazen show of support.

    "Indeed." Bakr concurs. Majid merely nods in agreement. "We cannot rewrite what fate has ordained, aعmi. Hussam is the rightful heir. That is indisputable."

More silence.

    Suddenly, his uncle Uthman clears his throat. Of his brothers, he was the natural-born peacemaker and often reserved his judgments until all evidence was bare. "What do you propose, Ya Ma'ruf?"

    His father chooses to speak up, then, eyeing his son. "At the moment? I would like for him to explain his actions."

    Hussam was no longer the beloved son who emulated his father's very existence. Nor the son entrusted with the duty as ruler of a mighty tribe, exceeding even his own father's expectations. No. He now stands as a guilty man before his father's mahkama, in a room of witnesses, awaiting trial from his father, the qadi. The opinions of other men did not bother him. However, under his father's purview, he would rather drive a stake through his heart than to witness his disappointment.

    It was that boyish fear that loosened his tongue. "Indeed, Murad was an unstable man. Arrogant and wicked. Rash in trade and vile toward his people. It is why his greed has flooded our doors, once again, with slaves. He stands among the culprits responsible for Abbas's death."

"What makes you so certain?" Ma'ruf asked.

"He could not stand the man's guts. "

"Most people could not," Ghassan declared. "Either they threatened to kill him, or he killed them."

Hussam ignored the comment. "I have studied his dealings. He's hoarded the gold that entered city ports and swayed the courts into a frenzy. It is why he was able to arrange Abbas's death." His teeth clenched at the memory." My obligation lies with my tribe, first, which is why we cannot thrive on uncertainties. We must cut out the rotted root, and Murad is rotten. His death merely ties loose ends."