The barracks were deserted but for four—Sharan, Nadir, Rehan, and Yahya. Sharan's white coat stood out like a moon in the darkness of the closed space. His chin jutted out stiffly. He was no longer at ease, and did not enter the holding cell with the others.
The rebel lay broken and bloody on the stony ground of the holding cell with his hands bound behind his back. His knee was shot through with a steel arrowhead, and he could no longer use that leg. Blood had seeped through his clothes and all over the ground, pooling in the dips of the stone like cups of jallab. A morbid thought.
Rehan could see through the dirt and grime that the man's skin was fair and his eyes were green. Half his head was swollen from where Nadir had bludgeoned him to unconsciousness, to Rehan's immense satisfaction.
They did not enter with a clear plan of interrogation, but Rehan had studied war since he was old enough to speak. The fastest way to defeat the enemy was to break his spirit, not threaten his body. And he knew, best of all, that his critical weakness was his tendency to grow violent, so he deliberately stood further away from the rebel than the others, swathed in layers of shadow. Firm and steadfast control was his weapon here. He would not make the same mistakes again.
"Let's get the man some water. Nadir, please." Rehan waved a hand, and a perplexed Nadir unhookedd the waterskin from his belt and knelt to offer it to the rebel. The man made no move to drink.
"You do not want it?" asked Rehan. Already he was beginning to grow annoyed, but he maintained his neutral tone.
"I do not drink from the hands of usurpers and king-killers."
"This usurper is offering you life's elixir after you just tried to kill him," quipped Rehan, "but if you will not drink, then so be it."
Nadir obediently returned the waterskin to his belt and trained his sword at the rebel's neck.
"Name your conspirators, their locations, and their numbers," said Yahya.
The man leaned forward, pressing his neck into the blade. A thin sliver of blood pooled at the blade edge. "Never."
"No one is coming for you," said Rehan, "They have abandoned you to your fate. You gain nothing by hiding them."
"I preserve my loyalty, something you would never understand. You are the rebels and the dissenters!" the man screamed with what little strength he had, shooting glares at the three men.
"Your loyalty to whom, exactly? Your king is dead, his descendant sits in Al-Andalus and cowers in fear of my father's army. Is it he you answer to? Or some other stragglers we failed to pick off during the revolution?"
The man seemed to twitch at the mention of the stragglers. Lone agents, then. Still, Abd al-Rahman may have known of their plans. It was worth including in the next missive to the Caliph.
"You will never break me," spat he rebel, though there was less vigour in it than before.
Rehan finally stepped out of the shadows. "Your defiance is admirable, but unfounded." He stalked forward with long strides and stared down his nose at the man's green eyes. "I will defeat you because I am the one on the righteous path, not you and your overseers." His words, resonating and melodious, seemed like they were sounding from two voices. One a man, and one a prophet. "God stands beside the intent of the righteous,"
"No usurper is righteous!"
"We 'usurpers' brought freedom to the people of the Caliphate, something they never had under Marwan. We treat every man as our equal, the Muslimun, the Yahud, the Nasaras," Rehan pointed to Yahya, "and my Persian brothers whom you disgustingly refer to as ajam, we all live together in harmony under my family's rule. So forgive me if I don't believe you."
"Disbelievers are not our equals."
Rehan let out a long breath through his nose. "I've had quite enough of your insolence. Yahya, please finish this." Everything was conveyed in a single glance, and Yahya quickly stepped into the centre of the room with his hands extended.
"Name your conspirators, their locations, and their numbers."
The man remained silent. Yahya's brow twitched, he curled his fingers and repeated his command. "Name your conspirators, their locations, and their numbers."
"No," said the man.
"What?" Rehan looked at Yahya, then Nadir, and quickly pulled his friend aside and whispered, "Why isn't he saying anything?"
"I don't know," murmured Yahya, "I lost consciousness earlier but I don't think my powers have been affected."
"This oaf isn't strong enough to resist you. Test it on Nadir."
Yahya looked over his shoulder and locked eyes with the Reyan, slowly compelling him to pull the sword away from the rebel's neck, which he obliged without resistance. It was like brushing aside a fly.
The rebel smiled, then, as if he knew what he had just done.
"It can't be," hissed Yahya. "He knows."
"Could he be Nizari?"
Yahya thought of Khayzuran. "I don't know, maybe. We should discuss this with Sharan."
Rehan swore under his breath. Before Yahya could think to stop him he unsheathed his dagger and crossed the room, seized the rebel by his hair and pressed the blade hard into his chest.
"You will tell us everything," he growled.
"You have no power over me, neither does your demon." He glared at Yahya, who was now too stunned to speak. There was something obvious, something he wasn't seeing. A spy? But no one in Rey knew about him.
Unless Sharan was betraying them somehow? He couldn't nurture the thought without the back of his eyes throbbing. As his mind churned, Rehan twirled his dagger between his fingers and stood up, the picture of serenity.
"It's a real shame, I was hoping we would be done by the evening prayer. I don't like getting my hands bloody before speaking to God."
"Re—Sayyidi we don't have to—"
"Leave us," he waved him off. "Speak to Sharan, I'll join you when they call adhan."
Yahya swallowed hard and looked at Nadir, who already seemed to know where this was going. He tilted his chin down in acknowledgement. Silently, Yahya pressed the rebel again, this time giving everything he had until sweat began to bead at his brow. The man didn't move.
"As you desire, Sayyidi," he finally said, and trudged to the door. Behind him, Rehan cracked his knuckles and neck audibly.
Outside, Sharan stood with his arms crossed, posture stiff. "Well?"
Yahya led him out the barracks with a grave expression. "There's a problem, my compulsion wasn't working."
Sharan blanched. "What do you mean it wasn't working? Are you alright?"
"Yes, I'm fine, it isn't me. He wasn't responding."
A piercing scream echoed down the hall. Rehan had started pulling out nails. Ice coiled around Yahya's spine despite the blistering heat, and Sharan stared down the hall with an empty expression. "This should not be happening, what have they done?"
The door flung open, nearly falling off its hinges as Rehan burst through. "Yahya!"
The Barmakis startled, and headed for him. "What is it?"
"Look at this." Rehan thrust his palm out to reveal a small citrine studded bracelet. "He was wearing it."
Sharan looked from the bracelet to Yahya. He took the bracelet and undid the clasp, then held it around his wrist for a moment. To his shock and horror, he felt his mind quiet and nerves dampen. "That's impossible."
"So it's one of yours? I was sure of it," said Rehan excitedly. "Without this he won't be able to resist you any longer."
"How the hell did he get one of those?" asked Sharan. "I thought only our alchemists knew the recipe."
Yahya's throat tightened as mounting fear settled in his bones. "We keep the recipe such a guarded secret even my father and the Caliph don't know how to make one." He looked at Rehan. "Did he try to resist you when you took it off him?"
"No, he was... disabled by then. You think he doesn't know its significance?"
"Possibly. We need to find out where he got it. This could threaten us far more deeply than just Rey."
They returned to the cell with Sharan in tow. The room had grown dank with sweat and congealed blood, the air stifling and hot. The rebel was keeled over and clutching his torn up hand. Yahya could only see red. Quickly, he pressed him.
"Name your conspirators, their locations, and their numbers."
"Dawudal-Hak and Abu Musa lead us, their base is in east Rey but they alternate between north and east. There are more than a hundred of us, but you killed many."
Rehan's chest swelled with hope. Finally, after countless losses they were gaining ground. He only hoped this victory would last.
"How did you come into possession of this?" Yahya asked, showing him the bracelet. The rebel looked up, his bloodshot eyes tearing at the corners from his own physical strain. "One of the men gave it to me. He said never to remove it."
"Do you know what it is for?"
"Decoration? I don't know."
So, someone above him had commanded him to wear it, perhaps knowing he could come into contact with someone like Yahya. "Did any others receive such jewels? Bracelets, necklaces, rings or even earrings?"
"I think some of us got them as gifts. For our loyalty."
Suddenly, Yahya felt a throbbing pulse in his head. He was spending himself too quickly again, though this was low level compulsion fit for a child. He released the man from his hold and looked to the others. "I need a moment," he said. Normally he would have pushed through, but from the earlier spell he did not want to push the limit further, especially when they now needed him more than ever. "We can get the names and descriptions of anyone who has a talisman. It may be vague due to shadowed memory but it will be useful."
They nodded. "Don't worry, I'll make sure he is secured and kept alive for the time being," assured Sharan. Nadir grunted his assent.
"We can finally finish them," said Rehan. "We can finally finish this."
X
As they left the barracks, the crisp call of adhan echoed from the minarets of the blue mosque, reaching into the far distance beyond and calling Rey to prayer. The return to the residence was silent, but Yahya's mind broiled with something entirely separate to the interrogation. It was Khayzuran. Sooner or later, her presence would become known. It was only a question of whether they revealed it themselves or Rehan serendipitously discovered it, the latter being the far more dangerous and harrowing option, and far more likely now that Nadir knew about Khaya's true identity. He had to see her and discuss it, he had left it too long already.
The three parted ways at the entrance to Firaz's mansion. Rehan had to clean himself of the blood on his hands and Sharan was inclined to speak to Firaz immediately about gathering men to plan a raid on the eastern quarter as soon as possible. Yahya would join them when he was able, and the detailed interrogation of the rebel would recommence. As soon as the two of them turned down the first hall, Yahya changed direction and headed straight to Khayzuran's quarters. Her room was in a lesser frequented wing of the residence, one where the female members of diplomatic guests were normally housed, as was customary in the Caliphate. With the current climate of Rey, there were no emissaries or envoys being hosted, and so this wing was empty but for her.
He stalked through a gilded arch decorated with lavish cursive excerpts of Hadith into the diplomatic wing. Khayzuran's door was firmly closed, he knocked thrice but no answer came from within. Panic flared in his chest, and he knocked twice as hard. Suddenly the door swung open.
"Calm down," Khayzuran hissed. She was holding the folds of her headscarf together underneath her chin, and wore no veil over her nose and mouth. Yahya quickly lowered his gaze.
"Apologies, I'll wait."
A few moments later, she opened the door wearing her full face veil and allowed him in. Yahya did not waste a second on pleasantries, though he could see she was exhausted from the day's events.
"How are you? When I came to tell Sharan about the rebel, you were both unconscious."
"We are fine. Are you the one who caught the rebel?"
"Yes, with Nadir sahib's help." Khayzuran paused for a moment, then continued, "Honestly, I am worried he will tell Rehan about me. He is loyal to him, not us or Emir Sharan."
"You're right, I was worried about that too, it's why I've come. There have also been a few developments since we returned."
"You spoke to the prisoner?"
The way she said that word, with a cold sobriety, sent a chill down Yahya's spine. She would make a war general yet. "Yes, he had one of these." Yahya procured the bracelet and passed it to her. "It's like the sapphire necklace. I used to have an emerald just like it as well. He shielded himself from me by wearing it."
Khaya's eyes widened in fascination as she turned the bracelet between her fingers. "Does he know your family? I thought only you could make these. That is what Commander Tahir said."
"I thought so too, but I think they have someone powerful backing them. Someone like us."
Khaya's expression fell. She was already expending herself at her limit. If tactics like these came into force, how much help could she really be on a battlefield?
"For now, I don't know what we are going to do about it other than probe the rebel for more information on who is carrying these talismans. Rehan and Sharan are planning a raid as we speak.
But I needed to talk to you about something more important, about you."
"About me being discovered," she stated.
"I was thinking about it too, and I thought... what if I just leave?"
"Leave?"
"Go back to Baghdad quietly. I can tell people I was away to visit my family with Rehan's permission. Rehan will never find out I was here."
Yahya was silent for a long while. It was a path he hadn't considered till now, much to his own surprise. He had seen Khaya as a useful tool, hence the possibility of sending her away never surfaced. But now that the consequences of her hidden presence were becoming more real, it was perhaps the perfect play. Khaya could slip out into the Rey night with an armed caravan headed for the round city, and be safely delivered straight to the harem gates by the following week.
"It is a good plan, but are you sure it's what you want to do?" He knew how much she wanted to protect Rehan, and equally knew how important her own safety was, both to the Prince and to himself. Somehow, over the course of simply knowing her, they had become friends.
"It isn't what I want, but it is what's best." Her eyes were half lidded and hollow as she said it. She too, had grown in the short month of being in Rey. It felt like years had already passed.
"Tomorrow we'll be busy continuing the interrogation, but I will attempt to arrange for your escape. If not tomorrow, then the following day."
Khaya nodded. "Thank you, I'll remain hidden until then."
They didn't speak for a time. Yahya opened his mouth, closed it again.
"I understand. I do," she said, and smiled. He knew because the corners of her eyes crinkled slightly. Of all the things that could have happened, he hadn't expected her to be the one consoling him tonight. "You will get through this. You both will. And I'll be there, waiting for when you come home victorious. There is nothing you both can't do when you're together."
"You speak boldly for someone who has never seen us do anything together," he quipped, stifling a laugh. "I'm not as seasoned a warrior as you may think, Khayzuran. My place has always been in the war rooms and council chambers, not on the battlefield."
"I remember reading this line during my lessons; 'attack like the fire, and be still as the mountain.' Rehan is obviously the fire, but you are the mountain. Together, you embody the path to victory. That's how I know."
Those words... Yahya knew them well. He had studied them alongside Rehan, but he had never read the statement as two separate clauses. To him, it meant the perfect warrior struck with the ferocity of fire and the immovability of a mountain; he'd never considered it could be two people moving as one.
"Thank you."
He bade her goodnight, stalked out of the room quietly and headed back up to his chambers to rest. A ways away, behind a marble pillar veined with natural rose-colored patterns, a shadow slipped away into the night. It reappeared beneath the spiral staircase leading up to the palatial chambers.
The night grew silent.
X
After a full night's rest and a nourishing meal, Yahya was back to full strength. The rebel had been bandaged and fed, and was now accepting Rehan's gracious offer of water. Firaz had joined them for the second round of interrogation, which was over relatively quickly. Yahya asked questions, Sharan penned the answers, and they discussed implications and how to proceed. Firaz was practically beaming by the time they left the barracks and returned to his hall of private audience, where his other Emirs had gathered.
They relayed to them what they knew of the leaders of the rebel movement, their precise strongholds and communication channels, and the number of hostiles they would likely face.
"This will turn into a full on war in the streets if we do not cut the head off the snake quickly and precisely," said Sharan, confidence returned and burgeoning. "We possess a detailed map of the ancient tunnels the rebels have been using to slip from our grasp, we will use this against them."
"This will require a substantial amount of men," Rehan announced, standing at the head of the ashwood table, "Whoever you can spare, I ask you to give them to me today as swords of the empire. War is bloody and brutal, but I will do everything in my power to ensure their safety, and the renewed peace of Rey."
The Emirs chattered amongst themselves. They knew of Rehan's previous military exploits well, he was among the best warriors the Abbasids had ever produced. They would find no qualm in giving their trust—and resources—to him.
"Whatever you desire, Sayyidi, it shall be yours, you have my men," said one Emir, old and gray-haired but with a gleam in his eye masking unmistakable strength.
"And mine," said another.
"And mine!" chimed others, until every man in the room was enthusiastically raising his hand.
Rehan kept his mouth closed when he smiled, lest he look too excited to be riding off to battle. Things were going well for the day, and he wanted it to stay that way. "Sharan, get a count of the men and start dividing them into squadrons. Let's finish this."
Sharan nodded, equally enthused, and immediately glided around the room to speak to each individual Emir. Firaz mirrored him from the other side, and soon they both had a list bursting with numbers, names, and locations.
"Send word."
The court revolved around Rehan like a hurricane, he its unmoving eye. They had to move quickly; it was only a matter of time before the insurgents knew their comrade hadn't been killed but captured. Well, he would be killed soon, anyway, thought Rehan.
The remainder of the day was spent in an anteroom with the map of the tunnels, where he and Yahya marked the locations mentioned by the rebel and plotted routes that would take them there.
"I reckon we go above and below, if we have the men," said Yahya.
They spent hours planning and re-planning, forming strategies and counter-strategies to account for any possibility once they were out there.
"I must retire early," said Yahya, "I don't feel at my full strength yet."
Rehan's eyes widened fractionally. "Yes, go. We can handle it."
Yahya bowed, something he rarely did before Rehan, and left them to continue planning late into the night.
Preparations continued early the next morning. Sharan's and Firaz's lists of men were divided into groups based on mixed abilities, physicians were called forward to take up arms, and those who agreed were fitted for basic leather armor. They numbered nearly fifty altogether, half of the force they expected to encounter, but Rehan was confident. With the narrowness of the tunnels, they could effectively funnel the rebels below and pick them off one at a time, and they had plenty of archers for above.
Sometime in the afternoon, it may have been before prayer was called, a servant scuttled around the periphery of the room and meandered his way through the droves of people to whisper a message into the Prince's ear. Rehan's expression remained neutral and continued the conversation he was having with the old Emir from yesterday's meeting. When he was able to slip away, he headed up to his chambers before anyone had the chance to detain him and firmly shut the door behind him, barring it for good measure.
"What do you have for me, zala?" His heart was already racing; he did not know what he expected to hear.
A man melted from the shadows, his namesake, and glided across the smooth tiles to him. He bowed deeply and pressed his fingers against his forehead. "Something most disturbing, Sayyidi."
Rehan's throat tightened. "Go on."
X
Khayzuran shivered from the cold. As Yahya had promised, he had arranged her safe passage on a merchant's caravan accompanied by two armed guards for good measure. She pulled her cloak tighter around her as the desert breeze picked up speed and she stalked her way around the outside of the governor's residence. Despite the midnight hour, the place was swarming with soldiers and mercenaries—called forth by the Emirs to help Rehan in his mission against the Umayyads. Khaya still wore her tunic and trousers so as not to arouse suspicion, but her short and narrow stature seemed to invite curious looks even in the low light. She quickly but carefully walked through a maze of hedges to exit the residence from the southern gate. The map in her pocket marked where she was supposed to meet the caravan master, and she clutched in her pocket to make sure it was still there. She had a skin of water, some dates, and her sapphire necklace. Nothing else could come with her.
Her breath finally eased as she exited the boundary of the residence. She looked back and found the tower shrouded in darkness. No light emanated from the balcony. She hid herself by a bush and listened, breathed, listened. There were so many people, her focus jumped from person to person, searching for that one, unmistakable heartbeat. He was surprisingly close, in one of the southern gardens away from the bustle of soldiers.
Someone stood beside him, another man, but soon he too departed and Rehan was alone again.
Khaya could have crouched there for hours and listened to him breathe, but time was slipping away. She let go of him and turned back to the road, following the paths still lit with torches at this time of night. Some people were still milling around the mosques for Tahajjud prayer, a practice Khaya herself had never engaged in.
It was after she turned off the westwards road and began heading towards the merchant's district she realized she was being followed. Footsteps behind, falling in time with hers. She quickened her pace slightly, and sure enough the man's quickened with her. She flexed her fingers and hunched forward, keeping at her current pace until the torches became less and less frequent, then burst into a run.
Khaya swerved into the first alley, where the torches had burned down to their embers, and slammed her feet into the dirt packed road, forcing her lungs to pump faster and harder. He hadn't expected her to start running, but her headstart was already closing as he chased her like a stormfront.
"You can't run from me, you bastard!"
No.
That moment of hesitation was enough to be her undoing. Her foot slipped over a dip in the road and she stumbled forward just as his arms closed around her and they tumbled to the ground. Tears filled her eyes as she resisted, but there was no strength of force in it. No point in trying.
Her veil ripped clean off in the scuffle, and in the moonlight her tears illuminated like silver threads streaming down her face as she looked into the eyes of the only man she had ever loved.
X
Author's Note:
I've used some Arabic words in this chapter: Muslimun- Muslims. Yahud- Jews. Nasaras- Christians. Ajam means 'mute' and was used as a slur for Persians (modern day Iranians)
The next chapter is about to be the most emotionally devastating thing I've ever written lol (I still have to write 1300 words for my quota today lol so let's see how it goes).
As always, please let me know what you think, and to follow my writing journey you can follow me on instagram @corporal_bookish !