"Brace!" Umaymah bint Hanthalah bellowed as she yanked the massive chain toward her. Grappled to the rail of the Roman ship, the chain quivered under the strain of Umaymah and her comrades.
But the Roman ship budged. Hauled toward them like a mount yanked by its reins.
Only with an impact far deadlier.
The Roman ship raced across the waves, and Umaymah flinched, crouching behind the rail as she relinquished chain in favor of sword and shield.
The ship smashed into theirs with a deafening crash that sent splinters flying off into the air and left Umaymah's head pounding as she almost lost her footing.
The chains also connected the once disorganized Muslim ships together, forming a far more cohesive network of floating, almost stationary, vessels. The newly formed makeshift formation lent the troops a much-needed morale boost as the awe-inspiring Roman fleet charged head first into them without any apparent battle strategy or anything resembling a proper battle formation.
The Roman arrogance, Father had called it. Believing themselves bigger and better than everyone else, blind to their own faults and the threats imposed by their enemies.
A fire kindled within Umaymah's heart as she clambered over the rail and onto the enemy ship. A fire spurring her forward to cut down all Romans that barred the path of the righteous faith. To hack any and all; to prove her might.
To make Father proud.
The crew of the Muslim ship descended upon the Romans under a now pitch-black sky, with only the crackling of torchlit masts offering them any sort of illumination.
Umaymah exchanged blows with one helmeted individual, hacking at his shield relentlessly with overwhelming vigor, her sword arm never tiring, her breathing never growing ragged as splinters flew off the wooden board.
"God is great!" she bellowed beneath helm and turban, pounding one last strike that shattered the wood of the shield, the blade snagging in the gaping dent.
With terrified eyes, the Roman shivered in his panic, taking a step backward. Umaymah capitalized on his hesitation, driving her shield forward with all her might, smacking him across the face with it as the iron boss connected with his nose, knocking him over the rail, sending him crashing to the bottom of the sea with a great splash.
Umaymah felt the splattered blood trickled down her face, renewing her vigor and strengthening her faith. She picked up a discarded blade and bellowed a wordless battle cry, daring any who believed in the cross to come forth and sing the sweet sword song with her.
Her bellow coincided with the return of the rumbling sky and heavy gales that hindered her advance, tugging at her cloth, pounding against her shield as diligently as any enemy.
A Roman advanced toward her, lunging. She caught the blow on her shield and gave as good as she had taken. As she parried another strike, she lifted her leg and slammed her foot against the side of her opponent's thigh.
There was a sharp crack followed shortly by a shrill cry as he fell to one useless knee and Umaymah finished him off.
Another fell to her sword on the day of the Masts. And another, and another.
The Romans made for poor sport.
But they came in overwhelming numbers all the same. They were without end. They outnumbered them with more than double their ships.
Umaymah lost her footing as another crash sent splinters flying to the weeping sky, and with it, yet more Muslim warriors.
Thank Allah, she thought, finding her feet again and finding that one of the ships they had chained themselves with were offering support by boarding the same Roman vessel.
And she saw her father on the other side.
The fabled Hanthalah ibn Ka'b, resplendent in his war gear. His curved Persian blade held in one hand; his wicker shield decorated with cow hide on the wooden board strapped to his left. His moustaches were pointed, their tips dyed a flashing red.
For a brief moment as he paused in the midst of the carnage, their eyes met.
In the shadow of helm and turban, Umaymah thought she could see a hint of...pride in them. Acceptance?
Her heart slammed into her chest, threatening to leap off the rail and find itself at the bottom of the great sea. Her throat coiled into a knot and her vision blurred with a mixture of tears and blood.
But the moment was gone as soon as it had come, the bustling heat of battle giving either of them no respite. Hanthalah leaped overboard, and Umaymah set about overpowering Romans.
And she fought side by side with her father.
She swung and she lunged, she struck and she ducked, she kicked and she bellowed. She shattered half a dozen shields and skewered as many adversaries. Her footing was tenuous, finding the deck slick with rainwater, but the hindrance affected her enemies as well.
And she fought side by side with her father.
The sea ran with blood and the waves piled up the bodies on the shore.
And she fought side by side with her father!
But then, things went awry.
"Muhammad!" she screamed at her brother in wide-eyed horror.
Her father twisted his head to follow her wail.
"Abd al-Ka'aba!" Hanthalah exclaimed.
In her haste, Umaymah did not pay heed to the odd name Father called her brother by.
She rushed across the deck glossy with blood and water, the sky roaring overhead, the wind a living being acting against her.
Her brother was in peril.
With profuse guilt washing over her, she remembered that she had abandoned 'Abdullah. The one sibling that truly needed her help just for survival.
But she shoved all her insecurities away in the face of the axe looming over her brother's head. He was paying no heed to the impending danger behind him. He was focused on another enemy.
Umaymah slammed her shoulder into the Roman at her brother's back in the nick of time, sending him flying overboard with the sheer impact of the collision. She smiled at the satisfying splash that followed.
She looked back at a relieved Father, meeting his eyes again.
I love you, Father, she wanted to say.
But instead, she was met with another thunderous crash of wood against wood.
Before she was sent sprawling off her feet, she managed to get a glimpse of the ramming ship.
Why didn't it have a cross or shahada on the sail? She wondered.
How could it ram us if the fighting had been going on for hours? It would have stayed within the crowded confines of battle without opportunity for ramming.
Why were all the crewmen in black robes?
Umaymah and Muhammad were at the northern section of the ship, near the prow. And that was where another ship clashed into with its ram.
The deck split before Umaymah's eyes, partitioning the ship between the prow and the rest of the body. Water poured through the gap as she clutched her brother, for both the offer and request of support.
And they were met with the freezing waves of the Mediterranean.
***
Abu Musa's usually blaring voice of command was drowned out by the crash of waves against hulls and the flapping of sails as the wind picked up with the rising sun.
The greying sky burst with another outpour of rain as I frantically scanned the surface of the sea, afloat with a plethora of corpses, debris and large chunks of splintered wood. The water was tainted red in the aftermath of the onslaught as we gave chase to the fleeing, defeated Roman fleet.
But I was paying no heed to the rout. My one concern was for those lost. My kin and kith missing. I could not afford to lose any longer.
Not 'Abd al-Ka'aba.
"My son!" I roared, thunder rumbling in the sky to mirror my mood, the violent winds heaving the ship off course and sending me staggering across deck. "My son! No. 'Abd al-Ka'aba!"
The bloody bastards did it again. I saw them. I saw them! The black-robed bastards were aboard the ship that rammed my son and daughter overboard. I had lost sight of them since.
But the al-Khalidun vessel was nowhere in sight either. As though it had never been.
But my son!
"My son!" I bellowed, tears mingling with the piss of the gods and the blood of enemies.
I shook my head vigorously, refusing to assume for one second that 'Abd al-Ka'aba was among those corpses floating lifeless, or those sinking to the depths with the weight of their armor. I could see more washing ashore on the Anatolian coast.
"No," I gulped, pacing the unsteady wooden boards. "No. No. No!"
Another heavy gale shoved me back as our ship pounded into a particularly high wave, soaking us wet to the bone and tipping us dangerously to the side.
"Where is my son?" I shrieked in a pathetically high voice, choking on the saltwater sprayed against me.
"Dear Allah!" someone exclaimed, pointing at the racing Roman ships.
The sea had become a vitalized monster; its waves were its limbs, lashing out with them to envelop a vessel whole. The wind blew another off course with sheer force, sending it crashing into the rocks by the shore. I winced as the ship exploded into a million fragments, the screams of the dying haunting even to the ears of a veteran.
"Gods save us," I whispered, all thoughts of 'Abd al-Ka'aba and Umaymah forgotten. "The marid of the sea preserve us."
But then the sky flashed a pale blue followed by deafening thunder, and our ship tumulted and heaved, shaken to its very foundations.
I vaguely heard the distinct rasp of Abu Musa the quartermaster dishing out frantic orders, but he was abruptly cut short as the harsh winds tossed our ship sideways as though it weighed no more than a rag doll.
The sailors and oarsmen worked tirelessly to avoid unpleasant fate, but it was far too late.
Gods.
Our ship veered ever sideways at the behest of the incessant air, rushing closer to the coast.
Gods aid my soul, was the last thing I remember thinking as I clutched my stick necklace as we smashed into the dark, jagged rocks.
And the world went dark.