Fury is Born (Book 1 of Hanthalah)

Chapter 10

        It was nighttime, and so I whispered a prayer to Allah and Allat, the moon god and goddess.

        There was a gentle breeze as I strolled through the encampment of an army one thousand strong. Their tents were crude things; a simple covering of knit goat hair or carving of the hides and skins of animals such as camels and oxen draped over poles of timber that acted as makeshift pillars of sorts. These tents' rear was to the direction of the wind, sheltering the inhabitants from potential sandstorms or violent gales. To the other side, they were open to the outside world – the bustling of warriors, the neighing of horses, the bleating of camels and the crackle of campfire, the faint flickers of dying embers.

        These tents were capable of sheltering several individuals and were most common among the regular troops or the nomadic tribes that had allied themselves with the Muslims. The Bedouin.

        The great victory of the Muslims at Badr cemented the Muslims' position as a power to rival the great clans of Quraysh. It elevated their reputation among the tribes of Arabia. Following word of the crushing defeat, many Bedouin that dwelled the plains around Madinah flocked to the city to join this expanding nation of Islam, offering their swords in exchange for protection.

         In the next months, with their numbers rising and their fortunes soaring, Muhammad and his top generals marched from the city with great hosts. Tales spread of these expeditions where other neighboring nomadic tribes were subjugated either through force or treaty. And so, the nation of Islam's influence began to spread beyond the borders of Madinah.

        There were other tents in the encampment that were entirely cut off from the rest; they were of a small size and boasted of a tent flap on one side to provide a measure of privacy to the inhabitant. The Prophet himself occupied one such tent. Purple of color and pitched to the center of the camp.

        My brothers and I were among the foot archers, and we shared a tent with five others. We were under the command of Mos'ab ibn 'Umair, the first Meccan in Yathrib who cultivated a small Muslim community there prior to the Hijra, and As'ad ibn Zurarah, an early convert and one of Mos'ab's staunchest friends.

        It had taken a great deal of pleading for 'Umar to allow us to march to battle.

        "You have not yet seen ten winters, raisin head," he ruffled my flowing curls. "I would not see you die at the hands of polytheists."

        "Amr has seen eleven!" I implored him. "Besides, we have trained for this. For two years, we have trained. Three years?"

        "Eleven is too young as well," 'Umar said with a faint smile. "And you? You're eight."

        "We would be archers! I am more skilled with a bow anyway. And it's less danger."

        "It's still danger. You are not yet ready."

         I narrowed my eyes, searching for the right words.

        "You have taught us well," I said in a respectful voice, my head lowered. "You have taught us to be diligent in our faith. To be steadfast Muslims. A Muslim is a Muslim, be they eight or a hundred! You would want me to stand by idle while my brothers in faith fight for me and mine? You would want me to besmirch my faith so?"

        I looked up at him with all the feigned fervor I could muster.

        Finally, he threw his head back and barked with laughter, clutching his flat belly as he turned a deeper shade of red than he already was.