"Allahu Akbar." The four men lowered their heads and lifted their hands to their shoulders before placing them over their chests. Farhan stood in front of Amer, Riyad, and Kader. A few steps behind them, Harakat stood on her own and bowed her head in prayer.
"Allahu Akbar," Farhan repeated. The words echoed quietly between the three of them. A sniffle came from the youngest boy as he lifted his hand to wipe his nose. Kader closed his eyes and murmured the second prayer. Riyad kept his gaze locked on the soil in front of him and never letting it move even an inch forward lest his eyes catch on the white clothed body of the man who'd accepted him with open arms after his release from prison. His lips whispered the all too familiar words of supplication.
"Allahu Akbar." Thunder rumbled overhead, rolling through the darkened heavens that peered down at their silent prayer. The skies overhead had filled with clouds and a somber darkness as if the stars could not bear the witness the departure of their beloved. A droplet of rain splashed on Riyad's ear then on the dirt ahead of him, preparing the earth to accept the body of the fighter who'd dedicated himself to the freedom of his people.
"Allahu Akbar," the final call rippled between them as they gave their last requests and wishes for their departed friend. Riyad's jaw clenched at the memories of Hamza that rolled through his mind with each prayer he asked of his Lord. He'd been a selfless, kind man who opened his heart to anyone before they even asked for it. He carried on his lips a smile because he knew it was a sunnah to meet people's gaze with compassion and joy regardless of the circumstances. His will had remained strong even after he'd lost his wife and child and now, Riyad thought, he'd been reunited with them.
Perhaps, as he lay stained with the dirt and blood that he would one day reveal to his Lord in testifying against his killers, Hamza was the luckiest of them. He'd been taken from this merciless, cruel world a martyr in the name of freedom and placed in the gardens of heaven with his family.
Farhan turned his head to the side, ending the prayer with a somber tone as if he himself hated what it would bring. Behind him, the others ended their prayers and wiped the sprinkling rain from their necks.
"Let's do this, ya rijal," Farhan cleared his throat.
They all moved toward Hamza's shrouded body, eyeing the grave they'd spent the long hours of the night digging for him. Riyad stepped past Hamza's body and dropped himself into the dug ground with Farhan while Amer and Kader lifted him off the ground. Amer stumbled under the weight, realizing for the first time how much heavier a soulless body was.
"Bismillah," Riyad breathed, reaching up as Amer dropped himself onto his knees to carefully turn over Hamza's legs to him. Kader took longer to slide Hamza's head and shoulders into Farhan's grasp, taking extra care to keep him off the ground. Together, Farhan and Riyad lowered their friend's body onto the dampened ground.
Riyad rose slowly once Hamza had been placed down, catching sight of the way Farhan kept his head lowered beside his companion's ears. "Ma' al-salamah, my friend," he whispered, pressing a kiss onto his head. "God has blessed me with your acquaintance and now has blessed you with his seven heavens. You deserve nothing less. Goodbye, Hamza."
The others helped them up. When Riyad was pulled out, his gaze momentarily slipped behind them to see the girl standing alone a short distance away. Harakat's eyes were locked on the grave. Her expression sat heavy and despaired, but she never said anything nor made any move closer to any of them. Riyad was reminded of the time he'd found her conversing with Hamza in the stables, how they'd seemed to understand each other more than he'd been able to.
As they shoveled the dirt onto Hamza's body, Amer's control on his sadness seemed to weaken until he'd begun crying again by the end. Kader patted him on the shoulder but offered no words of comfort.
It was Farhan who turned toward him with a hard expression, his brows knit ever so slightly when he spoke. "Wipe your tears. You are a man," he stood before the boy.
"We are all on the path to martyrdom. We are The Resistance. Hamza is not the first nor the last of us to be killed. By God's will, we will see the victory and freedom of our people or we will die fighting for it. We are the men of this country. You and I are only pawns in a greater mission and we thank God for the honor he's bestowed upon us. Say Alhamdullilah!"
Amer wiped his tears even as more fell in their place. "Alhamdullilah."
"That's right," Farhan grabbed his shoulder and shook him. "Find solace in what Rasool Allahsaid, ya Amer. Nobody in this world dies and wishes to return except the martyr. The martyr wishes to come back and be killed a thousand times because of the honor he receives from his Lord. Hamza is a martyr so pray that God accepts his sacrifice and continue moving forward. By God's will, let us all die a death as honorable as his."
Amer nodded, wiping more tears as Farhan tugged him forward by his neck, offering one more comforting pat on his back before moving away. Still, he remained near Hamza's grave.
Riyad shifted closer. "Say God is one."
"La illah ila Allah," Amer nodded. His gaze did not move from the loose soil as the rain fell over it. "Will it get easier? His death?"
Riyad took a deep breath, unsure how to respond. But he'd never been the kind to lie to soften the reality of a situation. "Has the death of your family gotten easier?" he asked.
Amer lifted his eyes to meet Riyad's, shaking his head.
"It will continue to hurt your heart and you should allow it to. Never let your heart harden, yaAmer. As long as our hearts remain soft and continue to be broken by the injustice against our brothers and sisters, our will to resist remains steady and strong."
The words drew a shaky sigh from Amer's lips.
Riyad remained with him until Amer finally left the side of Hamza's fresh grave, following the others back to camp. The silence brought with it the memory of every grave Riyad had stood beside then led him to the only grave he'd never been able to pray alongside.
It had been raining then too.
That evening, as droplets of rain fell from the heavens, Riyad stood on one side of the prison's courtyard while his brother met his gaze from the other. The eldest brother's gaze caught on the soldiers standing in the corner, watching him, awaiting a reaction now that they'd revealed the face of his brother. But he remained still. Any reaction of basic human emotion was defined to the Occupational Soldiers as one of weakness and cowardice. They did not see Riyad and his people as human so their pain did not resonate with their humanity. It entertained them.
Radi's eyes found his brother's over the rope they tied around his neck. For a moment, they became overrun with hope and desperation but the moment the child peered over the guarding soldiers, it seemed to click for him that his brother would not be able to save him this time. So his expression changed.
He rolled his lips into a thin line and held his brother's gaze, his eyes no longer pleading for rescue. Riyad clenched his jaw to keep his emotions from revealing themselves on his features, his chest tightening at the acceptance that soothed his younger brother's previous pout. From where he stood, Riyad could see the deep breath Radi pulled in, a flicker of nervousness fluttering over his eyes when they tightened the noose around the delicate skin of his neck.
Even as the rope pinched his skin and the cold rain wet his clothes, the little boy found comfort in his brother's presence. In that moment, Riyad did not see the young brother of his who had still not hit the age of adolescence, he saw what all the imprisoned men around him saw.
Radi was a child of their own forced to handle the complicated, difficult realities of the unjust world around him. A world that despised and wished death to him for the sin of existing within its corruption with his identity. For Radi, his existence in his land was a crime worthy of death.
And like others before him, this little boy would come to know the pain of an unjust execution before his innocent fingers learned how to tie his first pair of shoes.
Riyad opened his mouth and offered the only thing he could from his distance. He mouthed a single word. "Shahada."
Radi watched his mouth then continued peering at his brother for another moment after, as if he knew that once he uttered the words, he would not get another opportunity to look into his older brother's eyes. Then he nodded in a subtle but noticeable movement. Riyad silently watched his brother's lips move with a faint whisper too quiet to be heard around him but one that nevertheless reached the highest levels of the heavens where he would be taken.
Then a loud thud echoed from the contact of the chair with the floor and Radi's body fell, his feet swinging in front of his helpless older brother. His useless, shameful older brother.
Riyad held his composure, his teeth cracking within his mouth from the strength of his clenched jaw. He took careful breaths, ones that were not too deep lest the momentary sense of relaxation cause him to lose all control over his emotions. His lungs remained as tense as the rest of his body until he returned to his cell.
There, Riyad remained silent even after the guards no longer found amusement in snorting at his silence and mocking his situation. Once they had gone, he lifted himself from the hard bed and turned himself toward a small window acting as the only source of light in the dark, damp area. His eyes caught on the dispersing clouds and setting sun, grounding him, then Riyad lifted both of his hands beside his head and uttered two words to begin his prayer.
Once he placed his hands over one another on his chest, Riyad allowed himself another moment of silence to measure his grief and stifle his sorrows before beginning. "Alhamdu...," he paused when he felt his lips begin to tremble. He rolled them into his mouth then began again. "Alhamdulilla-."
But the tears came quickly at the meaning of the word and true absence of his brother now that he was not free and alive in a faraway land, but dead. Riyad bowed his head, letting them come for a brief moment before pushing them back. He lifted his hand to wipe his eyes and took a breath. This time, he did not rush into his beginning but moved into it at a measured and cautious pace.
"Alhamdullilahi Rabbil 'aalameen," he whispered, pushing back the idea that both worlds he spoke of in his prayers now separated him from the brother he had raised and lived alongside his entire life. "Al-Rahman el-Raheem...."
That time, when the tears came, Riyad could no longer control them. Like a dam he had built up his entire life alongside his young brother that now shattered in his absence as if Radi had been the glue holding it together. His guilt and grief poured into the prayer that he could not continue. Riyad tried to pull back his tears, lifting his hand to cover his eyes and rub them away, but his hand trembled too strongly to allow him any sort of control.
Instead, as the cry of a father for his lost child and a lonely boy for the murder of only person he had, Riyad's lips let through a desperate wail that echoed throughout the cell around him and into the corridor. He dropped onto his knees, placed his hands on the ground, and pressed his forehead into the tile, crying to the only One he could. The only One who would listen.
The only One he had left.
"Riyad."
He flinched when a soft hand wrapped around his arm, pulling Riyad from his daze after he'd become trapped in the memories of his brother. He turned his head to find Harakat beside him, her eyes looking over him with a look of fond concern. She lifted her hand to wipe the raindrops from his temple and hair. "Let's go home," she whispered.
How long had he been standing here and she'd remained by his side in silence, letting the memories unfold in his mind. When she looked at him now, did she see a struggle like her own? Did she feel pity for the man who spent his days pretending like he was stronger than he was? Regardless, none of it mattered. Riyad only wanted to be beside her, comforted by her, warmed by the presence of the girl with the honey eyes.
"Don't leave me, Harakat. Without you... I have no one."
She took a deep breath, sliding her fingers lower until they settled around the back of his neck, her thumb brushing against his jaw. "Don't be afraid," she whispered, the corners of her lips lifting sweetly. Riyad continued to watch her as she wrapped her arm around his, leading them both back to the camp in the silence of the night.
When they arrived at their apartment, they found the front door already opened and Riyad's misery became replaced with an exaggerated protectiveness. His hands brushed the handles of the blades at his side, keeping Harakat behind him as they stepped in. But the sight of Kader in the bedroom drew away his raised anxiety and exchanged it for something else.
"Kader?" He asked, his brows knitting in question. What was Kader doing in their apartment and, more than that, why was he standing now in the room that belonged to Riyad's wife?
The sound of his friend's voice lifted Kader's attention off the papers he was clutching between his hands, some fallen on the floor around him, and others stuck beneath the mattress that had been moved from its place. "Riyad," he breathed in relief. "You've returned safely, thanks be to God."
But Riyad's discomfort remained even at the familiarity of his friend's voice. "What are you doing in Harakat's room?" He asked, keeping his wife behind him as she stared at the scene before her.
"I came to retrieve Amer's... it doesn't matter-."
"I believe it does."
"-these are the papers Farhan has been searching for. The plans for the upcoming raids and resistance movements. I found them here...," he motioned to the papers still beneath the bed. His brows remained knit in confusion as if he could not believe the sight before him. "They were beneath her mattress. This... this is what got Hamza killed. They knew you were going because she had these. She told them."
Harakat replied quickly. "No, I didn't."
Kader's attention snapped to her instantly like he could believe she'd spoken through the realizations he was making. "Then why did you steal these from Farhan? Why were they under your bed when you knew that he was looking for these?" He asked.
She shook her head, stepping out of Riyad's protection and beside him. "I don't know. I didn't take them," she adamantly refused the fact.
"They're right here!" Kader lifted them to show her. "Who else would have taken them if they were under your bed?"
"I don't know!" She exclaimed.
"You're out of line, Kader," Riyad spoke up.
His friend scoffed in frustration. "I am the one out of line, Riyad? We opened our camp to her. You married her to keep her safe and comfortable. She ate from our food. She stood with us as we buried Hamza as if she did not cause his death by her betrayal!" Kader flung the papers forward. They swirled in the air, some crashing against the wardrobe beside him and others falling a few inches from Harakat's feet.
Riyad's eyes followed them until they slid on the floor, bouncing lightly against his feet. He'd spoken once but this time he could not. The sight of the missing documents, the plans laid out before him confirming the weapon trade that he and Hamza had carried out, forced him into silence.
Harakat's defense grew at the cruel statement. "What betrayal? I've done nothing. Your words are baseless accusations, Kader. You know that I have done nothing of this sort so how could you say such a thing?"
"I know nothing about you," Kader spat back. "All I know is that your appearance brought problems crashing onto our heads. Hamza lived happily amongst us until you showed up. Now, he is dead!"
Riyad's heart had solidified in his chest, now as heavy as lead, and dragged down his tongue so he could not speak up. Kader's words echoed distantly but still resonated in his ribcage. The despair, the self-hatred, and panic that blossomed within him and quickly overtook every inch of his thoughts was too powerful for Riyad.
All these years had passed and he'd grown. But Riyad still found himself too small for the size of the fear that engulfed him that he'd made another mistake in bringing Harakat home as he'd done before. Last time, his mistake had killed his brother. This time, they'd just buried Hamza.
His hands trembled at his sides.
Ever since then, he'd refused to trust a soul lest they do to those around him what he'd caused upon his brother. How had he been so empty minded with the girl he'd married? How had she snuck so slyly into his heart and past all the walls he'd lifted without triggering a single alarm? Once again, Riyad felt reduced to the foolish and all too trusting child he'd been.
He flinched when Kader's hand pushed past his arm. Riyad turned in his daze to see his friend's grip lock on his wife's wrist, tugging her along toward the front door. Harakat fought back, shouting at Kader as he continued shouting back.
Riyad's gaze caught on her expression. She looked taken-aback... surprised that Kader dared touch her at all, not to mention with the aggression he enlisted to force her out. She looked prepared in a way. As if she was familiar with being the target of another man's violence. But she did not look afraid. If anything, she looked enraged.
"Get off of me!" She screamed, prying Kader's fingers off her arms.
They both froze for a moment when Riyad's hand came down, his fingers locking on Kader's wrist and bringing a stop to their push-and-pull battle. "Let her go," Riyad said carefully, measuring his words and keeping his gaze lowered from both of them.
Kader did not release her. "She's a spy, Riyad. Farhan needs to-."
"Let her go." Riyad repeated, meeting Kader's gaze. "You're out of line, Kader. Whatever the accusation, you have no right to handle her like this just as you had no right to enter her room without her agreement."
His words drew a look of exasperation from his friend. "Do you hear what you're saying right now, Riyad? Have you lost your mind?"
"Regardless of her identity, Harakat is my wife and I am responsible for her as long as she remains that way. Whether or not she is a spy, I will only act according to my role as her husband so... as her husband, I am telling you to remove your hands from my wife."
Kader's eyes ignited angrily, his hold beginning to tremble in frustration before he threw her wrist. Harakat stumbled back. "You are making the same mistake, my friend," Kader whispered. "She's played her tricks on you and now you've gotten soft for her. This... is exactly what I was afraid of. You are a good person, Riyad, but too many people are not deserving of your sincerity. I am taking these papers to Farhan. He will know how to cut the poison vine from our midst."
Riyad closed the door after Kader, taking a moment to sit in the silence that settled over them. They'd buried Hamza less than an hour ago and the entire world had fallen apart already.
He turned around to face his wife, finding her holding her wrist and examining the marks Kader's hand had left on her. Riyad was not sure who was in the right, all he knew was the sight of her bruising wrist shot an uncomfortable attack onto his heart.
He took a single step forward. Let me see, he nearly said. But his mind forced his lips to press together after they'd parted to express their worry for her. No one was safe. Even with Harakat... he could not know.
The movement of her fingers paused like she'd noticed his hesitation. Slowly, the girl raised her gaze to meet his, reading his reluctance. "You believe him, don't you?" She whispered. Her tone was nervous as if she wasn't sure if she wanted him to hear her at all. "You think I'm a spy?"
Riyad took a deep breath, knowing the effects both possible answers would have on her. On her relationship with him. His mind told him to say yes, to show her that he's unaffected. But his heart protested and cried to tell her he believed her over all of them. More than anything, he did not want to see a flicker of hurt over her features caused by him.
"I...," he began. "I cannot believe anyone until we find the truth."
Still, his compromising response did not please the girl. Riyad saw the slightly twitch in her eyebrows at the sting of his words, but his pride and broken trust kept him from trying to soothe her hurt. "Whether or not you can believe either of us or believe him, it's the same to me. It is simply that you do not believe me," she breathed, lowering his eyes from him like she couldn't bear the sight of his betrayal.
She turned away and moved toward her room before a thought slowed her steps. After a moment's contemplation, she turned back to face Riyad. "You said I could trust you this time. You said you wouldn't make the same mistake twice," she whispered. A shadow of betrayal saddened her features before the girl scoffed. "A broken girl placed her trust in a boy she didn't realize was just as broken. How foolish of me to be surprised that you fell apart under the weight."
"Harakat," he tried, flinching at her words.
"I don't want to speak with you anymore."
The bedroom door closed between them, a wall she'd drawn once again. How long had it been since Riyad saw this side of the door? It could not have been long. Had it always been this isolating?
Riyad grabbed the key from the door and slammed it shut after himself. He raced down the stairs, each foot barely brushing over the edge of each step on his way down. He nearly crashed into Kader at the gate of the apartment in his urgency. "Farhan wants to see you," Kader said slowly, the papers no longer clutched between his hands.
Riyad had nothing to say to the man he'd normally stand and speak to for hours. The matter with Harakat had changed something between them. Riyad found it difficult to respect a man who used his strength on a woman as Kader had. So he simply stepped past him and rounded the building, heading straight for the tent where Farhan awaited him.
He was sitting in his chair when Riyad stepped in, playing tensely with the edge of a cutting knife and chewing boredly on a toothpick that sat between his lips. He placed its sharpest point into the wood of the desk and twirled it, lifting his gaze when Riyad stepped in. "Peace be upon you, ya akhi," Farhan murmured, his tone quiet and measured as he greeted Riyad. Something was unusual in his speaking.
But Riyad noticed the manner with which Farhan addressed him first. Ya akhi was far more friendly than what he was used to from Farhan, it was Hamza's word more than anyone else's. It shot a grieving arrow into Riyad's chest at the memory of every time Hamza had addressed by it: dear brother.
"Peace be upon you," Riyad replied.
"Sit. We have much to discuss."
Riyad dragged a chair from the side, twirling it lazily to keep from having to lift its wood off the ground, and placed it across from Farhan. He sat down just as Farhan reached for something on the ground. Riyad did not tense when he dropped the stack of documents onto the desk between them. He knew it was coming.
"I know how it looks, Farhan."
"Do you then?" He asked, watching Riyad over the rim of his glasses and rolling the toothpick between his fingers. There was something unfamiliar in his eyes. Something not usually seen in Farhan's gaze.
But Riyad simply spoke calmly, trying to overcome whatever mystery he likely harbored in his thoughts. "If you allow me to, I can explain what I've seen and we can approach this carefully."
"Carefully," Farhan snorted.
"For God's sake, Farhan, we do not want to wrong an innocent soul."
"Be quiet, Riyad."
"Farhan-."
Clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth, Farhan kicked his feet against the desk and plucked the toothpick from between his teeth. He threw it to the ground angrily and, just as Riyad prepared himself for the hit he expected from his leader, Farhan's hands flew to his head. His elbows met the desk's top loudly but the roughness of the contact did not shake Farhan. Instead, he could only close his eyes tightly and fight to control his breathing.
Silence fell over the space between them, only filled with Farhan's choppy breathing. Riyad could only watch in silence. "I opened my camp," Farhan breathed. "I tried my best for God's sake and His only, but I think I've made a mistake. Hamza said it was suspicious... I told Hamza to watch him for me and now-," he covered his eyes with one of his hands, his voice cracking when he spoke. "Now, Hamza's dead."
Riyad's brows knit together in confusion. "Farhan...," he began slowly, unsure. "What are you talking about, brother?"
With a deep huff, Farhan lifted his head and wiped away the redness of his eyes. His eyelashes were damp and clumped together as he peered at Riyad. "Your wife is not the spy, Riyad. Her accuser is."
"What? But it was...," Riyad's confusion grew, a disbelieving snort scratching his throat as he leaned back in his seat. All at once, the pieces fell into place. The private phone calls. The mildly absurd questions. The perfectly planned 'coincidence' of his bathroom use that had landed Harakat in the grips of the untied Occupational prisoner. Then he'd attempted to blame it on the girl. On her lack of trustworthiness. "...it was Kader."
"We need to move about this carefully, Riyad. There was a reason I sent you with Hamza to Jinen. I'm sure he found something there to prove all of this. I have no doubt that's the reason they caught you on your way back and killed him," Farhan whispered. "Don't act rashly. Keep you and your wife safe until her brother comes for her tomorrow. Once she's gone, we'll make our move."
"You think he'll try something with her?" Riyad asked.
"I think he was the first to recognize her when she arrived and the fact that he has only now made a move like this means he's becoming less confident in his standing amidst us," Farhan whispered.
"Then what do we-."
They both flinched into silence with the sound of an abrupt gunshot, crackling loudly in the silent night. Riyad's heart caught in his throat, his distance from his wife suddenly far too large. Farhan's fingers gripped the handle of the knife he normally used to peel fruit. Then a pained scream echoed even louder, seeming to shake the trees surrounding them and scare the sleeping birds into the sky.
In an instant, Riyad and Farhan raced out of the tent toward the front of the apartment building. Before they could pause to wonder where the scream had come from, they saw the boy who held his leg and screamed, trying to drag himself back as another bullet ricocheted off the ground a few inches from his feet. Amer.
Riyad raced toward him, ignoring the shots coming from the Occupational vehicle racing away. Farhan remained in his place, pulling his gun from his side and shooting back one bullet after another.
"They shot me!" Amer screamed, shaking his legs in panic as Riyad dragged him back under the cover of Farhan's continuous gunfire. "They shot me in my leg!" He cried in a panic.
"Wahed Allah," Riyad tried to calm him once the bullets no longer fired and the racing vehicle was too far down the dark street to see. He dropped beside the boy. "I'm going to pull the bullet out."
Amer screamed even louder. "What?"
"It'll be better this way. Faster."
"I will," Farhan appeared above them, securing his gun back into its place. Amer lifted his hands to his mouth in horror and cried, falling back onto the ground. "Riyad."
"What?" He lifted his gaze to meet Farhan's. And while Amer cursed the men who'd shot them and their bloodlines, not a single word was exchanged between the other two. Instead, Riyad's brows knit at Farhan's silence before he finally understood the silent words in his eyes.
An entire Occupational vehicle had suddenly appeared in front of their apartment and attempted to drive away in its silence. It was not here to expose or kill them as might have been expected. It had come for one thing. And the nature of its departure, only becoming violent when they could not be caught, meant they had found what they'd wanted.
Riyad left the crying Amer on the floor with Farhan and raced up the steps. His blooded and dirtied hands slid over the rails as every part of his body propelled him up, his arms tugging him by the rails and his feet flying over four steps in between each he took only because he needed to. His lungs could not be bothered to contract too strongly, his raging heart providing him with all the energy he needed to fly up to the fourth floor.
But his heart weakened until it was no longer powerful enough when he turned the corner of the last flight and found himself faced with a door left open after he'd closed it. His breath shook. In his fear of what he might find, or what he might not find, Riyad wanted to go back down and pretend he'd never seen the door. Maybe if he did not see it, it would've remained just as he'd left it less than an hour ago.
Still, his feet propelled him forward.
One step at a time, he climbed toward the door thrown open. Every step he came closer, revealed more and more of the chaos left inside. Her bedroom door had been thrown open so he could see the bed from outside of the apartment. The chair beside the couches had fallen onto its side. It was so heavy. How had he not heard it? The floor was decorated with shards of the vase that once stood atop the corner table of the living room and the glass of the door's broken window.
Riyad paused at the door, peering down at the single slipper left of the girl who'd turned away from him before. He lowered himself to pick it off the floor, his fingers touching something wet beneath.
Riyad reached up and flicked the lights on. His breath hitched. The blood, poured over her slipper and smeared all over the ground, had blended in with the ground in the darkness. Now, he could see all of it.
They'd taken her.
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