There are times when you feel you are turning into stone. Sinking into the depths of your thoughts, hurting at the impossibility of that life which you yearn for. Bringing back a lost soul. Requiting unrequited love. Whatever it may be, such is the tragedy of a sacrifice that you understood you had to make.
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Even as the day brightens I feel that the world is still as bleak and dark as a winter night. My senses extend to the blood of my enemies but never to my soul. I have won the battle against my very heart and now it is dormant, devoid of the emotions of light: love, happiness, joy. There is nothing I fear. At least, not until now.
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"You were born into what was once a mighty kingdom ya Falaq Aulaad-e-Khalifa. It is still mighty today, but lacks the greatness it was once known for. The city wells in despair that a lack of faith brings. Their are strange toxins the Tridarians are fed, and it keeps them subdued and depressed. Any hint of rebellion is crushed within seconds. The disparity between the average man and the eleven royal families is larger than can be filled.
Long before you were born, even before my birth or the birth of my brothers, Tridari's century old rule under the House of Bakhtiar was overturned by Tawil Akram, the first born of the generation of the House of Akram. Tawil had been sent to the Persian lands for his education. He had returned a Hashshashin (assassin) blood thirsty and hungry for control.
When Tawil overthrew Sultan Bakhtiar he made sure to finish all of his kin. And so Tridari's twelve ruling Houses became eleven in just a matter of few horrendous days. This sent a ripple of horror throughout the rest, and before they knew it Tawil was too strong to be resisted.
Tawil began the tradition of sending firstborns males abroad to learn the vile arts of whom he was a master. The firstborns of the noble families were princes who would lead the regiments, while the highly skilled were their Right Hands. A more well known name for them perhaps in these parts is Generals.
The firstborns returned and taught the next cohort, on and on until Tridari's royal armies and navy was replaced with an army made of nightmarish realities. Tawil ordered his new army to spread terror across the lands surrounding his kingdom. And spread terror they did. Blood soaked the soils of the middle eastern lands. The blood even reached our wells, tainting the water a sickening colour.
I was unfortunate enough to become the first born of my family. Though we were not nobles, we were respected for the men in my family were great warriors, their skill the pride of the Hashshashin Army. When I attained manhood, I too was held along those distinguished warriors.
I was made Right Hand to His Lordship, your father when Tawil's heir, the now king, Haroun decided to launch his first conquest. Your father and I won many battles side by side, and we quickly gained recognition and respect within the wretched courts.
His Lordship had always been troubled by the darkness that had settled in Tridari. The noble families had converged to Haroun and his father with utmost loyalty- after all, under their reign they were permitted to take part in haram activities without reprehension, so long as they remained loyal- so loyal they remained. Their sons became Hashshashin soldiers and their daughters married the many princes of the Houses, and so Tawil and his son had ground their reign in iron.
You remember I mentioned the tradition of sending first borns abroad. Soon after the army had been created Tawil put a halt to this practice, fearing spies and disloyalty. Long after Tawil had passed and well into Haroun's reign, your father proposed this idea once more, using his respect as leverage. He put forth the proposition before the court in the most eloquent manner. He said they were losing the essence of the assassin arts, and that the royals ought to be more skilled lest there be any simmer of revolution. Haroun liked the idea and ordered that each royal family send forth an untrained son. Of the eleven families, seven sent forth a child. Four did not, as they did not have untrained children or daughters. They were the Houses of Akram, Hammad, Hashmi and Ibrahim.
Your father broke the unspoken rule and sent you without the king's knowledge. He sent word of the aftermath a while later, saying he'd managed to convince Haroun that he had gifted his daughter to his Right Hand who had no children of his own. When you return to the kingdom, your father will take you back I believe.
The true reason behind your father's proposition was far from the reason he put forth to the court. It was to revive the deen humanity of the Houses. He believed if the leaders of the kingdom kept the word of Allah subhanha huwa ta'ala in their hearts they could crumble this cruel reign from within and bring joy once more to the Tridarians who suffer, locked within the city walls.
That is why ya Falaq, I trained you in a way that would make you invincible before any foe. Above all, your father believed the strength of a woman is far greater than the strength of a man, for she has a heart made of both fire and ice, and can use both as her weapons."
***
In the days and weeks that followed Amaan's announcement Falaq felt the air of Taghrid begin to change so fast it was almost as if the calm they had known just moment before was nothing but an illusion of a dream.
Everywhere the townsmen were found closing their trades and packing their belongings with grimness. Some refused to accept reality and stubbornly remained determined to live life as they would.
The first caravan left for the great Berber cities. The second left for Makkah, mainly comprised of the elderly who wished to visit the Ka'aba and pray for the protection of their beloved Taghrid and to die in the haven of pilgrimage if they were to pass on their journey. More caravans were being formed.
Amaan Latif remained behind despite his demand he return to his homeland. He taught the young men and boys simple ways to defend themselves against bandits in the desert they were to cross, and how to erect tents quickly and dismantle them quickly, and how to set traps for food. Ali and Zain assisted in getting his message across, but for the most part Amaan was picking up on Taghridi very fast.
Ishtar was busy helping the towns women too. She has put her foot down before her father and demanded she aid those who were less fortunate. Some of the poorer families did not have supplies that would last them to their destination and Ishtar helped them in securing that along with her elder sisters.
She was becoming more and more drawn to Amaan too, unable to tear her eyes away from his beautiful ebony skin, unable to stop recounting his gentle yet strong toned voice. It was so sensual, so true, she felt her heart beat wildly in his presence. Ishtar knew he was the one, yet he paid her only respectful heed. He seemed to be the only man in this town not to fall to her charms, charms she had never had reason to doubt. The thought saddened her, but she tried to keep it buried in side.
On the third week since his arrival, Amaan found himself carrying the heavier burdens of a family readying themselves to flee to the caravan. Back and forth he went, effortlessly lifting loads and depositing them. His work offered him relief from his mind. He did not have to think. Just let his body act mechanically.
He was so focused on his task he almost did not notice the woman struggling to carry a rather large stone chest until she let out a large sigh and plopped down on a deserted table, wiping beads of sweat off her forehead.
Amaan allowed his gaze to settle on her, instantly recognising the face. It had gazed at him with shameless curiosity the very day he had arrived. Today, instead of the heavily jewelled robes she's worn before she was wearing rather simplistic clothing. Still not practical in the way it flowed past her ankles, but she seemed not afraid to dirty it. She hadn't noticed Amaan yet either, and he watched in amusement as she glared at the box, almost as though she were accusing it of being so heavy.
Try as he might he seemed not to be able to look away. There was something about her delicate fragility that made his heart hurt. Here was a being made of feathers, prone to being scattered in the wind at the slightest gust. How could these people allow their women to become so weak?
She suddenly caught him, and he blinked. Her eyes fluttered up and met his, as brown as his skin and just as warm.
Ishtar's heart almost stopped. There was Amaan, not ten feet away from her, his deep dark eyes settled on her figure. He was now dressed in the simple white garment of her townsmen, and his long black hair was no longer bound like that or a warrior but slightly more free. He looked even better than before. She felt her longing turn into flattered outrage - how dare he ignore her for two weeks then suddenly stare at her so shamelessly?
"Carry...?" His deep voice made goosebumps erupt across her arms.
Ishtar snorted, "carry? Hah! He thinks I'm weak! The nerve!"
Amaan stared at the girl as she muttered things under her breath. She seemed to be irritated at him, and he could not understand why but it amused him greatly.
He lifted his brows slightly, inviting her to respond to him.
She stood up abruptly and with extraordinary strength for a woman her size lifted the chest and stomped off, arms trembling under the weight but her face determined not to show it. A smile graced his face as he watched her walk past him, determinedly ignoring him. Clasping his hands behind his back he followed her with a respectable distance.
As soon as Ishtar picked up the chest she knew she'd made a terrible mistake. Her arms felt as though they were on fire. Even as she stomped past the ruffian she could feel the chest slip from her hold, only her sheer will power holding it.
It did not last long- merely steps past Amaan the chest slipped through her embrace. She closed her eyes, waiting for the ear splitting, humiliating collision of the metal with the ground.
But the crash never came.
Tentatively opening one eye first, Ishtar looked to the ground in confusion. She saw a large boot, and then her gaze travelled up to large, strong hands holding the chest, making it look small and insignificant. She dared open her other eye and looked up at Amaan. He was standing much closer to her now, and her heart pounded wildly in her chest as she realised this. She couldn't move, all she could see was him and only him. Her entire world seemed to stand before her for that moment.
Amaan had never felt what he felt at this moment before in his life. The fuel in his heart had caught alight in a way that was foreign to him. The fire of war was the only passion he had been familiar with. But now, somehow, his very soul was shook. Her eyes, her eyes that widened impossibly wide. Her lips, as full as the full summer's bloom, slightly parted to reveal pearly white teeth. The blood that rushed through her cheeks, pale yet warm, in the rush he had caused.
The feeling scared him. He could have no bondage in this doomed town.
Without a word he turned his back on her beautiful form, dumped the chest on the back of a donkey patiently watching the whole ordeal, and walked away.
***
The wind of the desert lifted its head as the darkest shadow of the night began to grow in magnitude. It flew to inspect the silent army. It weaved between the soldiers who moved mechanically through the sands. Their faces were blackened from sin, and their hearts had long since died in their chests for the wind could neither hear not feel the warmth of a human heartbeat.
It rose up above the men who's faces it had caressed. It saw such men in the hundreds, spread out in uniform lines, led by more men on horses.
The wind angered at the curse that walked atop the sands of the desert: Yet no matter how much it howled and tore at the exposed faces, the men did not stop moving and the sand could not sink their boots or wither their resolve.
The men who sat atop steeds were not deterred from the worsened weather. They had faced much worse, it was an irrelevant factor. Their eyes were fixated before them, gazing at their next battle even when it had not yet materialised.
The flags bellowed against the wind like black and red flames.
Onward.
Onward.
Onward.