Fury is Born (Book 1 of Hanthalah)

Interlude

January 628 AD, Dhul Qi'dah 6 AH

'Umar ibn al-Khattab glared at the towering dark peaks of the mountains that framed the city of Makkah. The foreboding heights were all that stood between them and pilgrimage...

Between them and conquest...

'Umar yearned for the day that Makkah would fall to Muslim blade. But today was not that day. It was a day for the lesser pilgrimage – the 'umrah.

One thousand five hundred Muslims ventured forth from Madinah, unarmed and unarmored, and gone south to Makkah – the birthplace of Islam. 'Umar growled softly as he remembered the abuse they had weathered at he hands of so-called tribesmen. A major catalyst for his own conversion was to protect his family from the avarice of the wealthy. To protect his sister.

Over there, 'Umar saw, was the hill he pointed at during the day he left for Madinah. That day, he yanked the reins of his mount forward, heavy laden with supplies, wealth and garment, and beckoned to the hill, addressing the curious polytheist spectators.

"Whoever wants to make his wife a widow and his children orphans, meet me at that hill over there," 'Umar had told them.

He was unchallenged in his evacuation of the city.

The same could not be said of many of his brethren. Some had not lived to see the day of the Hijra at all. He remembered the cries of the woman Umm 'Ammar – the first martyr of Islam. The infidels had literally torn the poor woman apart with their callous methods of torture. Her husband soon followed her in death, refusing to recant, refusing to relinquish faith.

And there were those who would bear the scars of body and mind for as long as they lived. Umm 'Ammar's son, 'Ammar, was also among the foremost victim of barbaric torture that saw his body crisscrossed with scar tissue. Bilal the Abyssinian, so sweet and calm, was paraded naked through the city by his master, tormented by passersby and children alike. Worse, Bilal's wretched master had him spread-eagled and whipped on the scorching sands. Worse still, he placed a steaming boulder upon Bilal's chest.

Yet, somehow, Bilal had weathered it all, the very image of an exemplary Muslim. And he had come through the other side stronger in faith for it. Bilal was among them now, in traditional pilgrimage clothing – a white gown draped over one shoulder while leaving the other bare. But his master was six feet below earth. Bilal killed him at Badr.

Yet, for all the sour memories 'Umar and his brethren bore of this place that had been home to their fathers and their fathers' fathers, it was a city most sacred. Makkah boasted of the Ka'aba. The cube shaped sanctuary that had been built by the Prophet Ibrahim thousands of years ago. The Ka'aba was a crucial pillar of the Islamic faith, for it was the center of two pilgrimages. The greater – hajj, which was only available once a year during the month of Dhul Hijjah.

The other was the 'umrah pilgrimage, available at all times during the year. It was the one they sought now.

But the wretched Quraysh would not pass by an opportunity to slight the followers of the righteous path. Muhammad had sent 'Uthman inside the city to negotiate with the Quraysh in order to allow them inside. Meanwhile, the rest were camped outside of the city in the area known as Hudaybiyyah.

Already, there were rumors spreading throughout the camp that 'Uthman had been murdered by the Quraysh. 'Umar studied the dark peaks looming above, blocking his view of the city beyond. 'Uthman had been gone for a long time. He bit his lower lip, praying to Allah that those damned mountains would topple and let them through.

Where are you? 'Umar wondered. What happened to 'Uthman?

'Uthman ibn 'Affan sighed, standing outside the shed of his clansman, Abu Sufyan. His own tribe. His very own clan. Refusing to meet him for so long. 'Uthman had been baking under the sun for hours.