Thomas Harlan - The Gate of fire

Lady Hala knelt on a padded cotton mat in her sewing room. The room was light and airy, with a high ceiling of cedarwood beams and white stucco. Stone walls closed two sides of the room, painted with pale colors. The other two sides were lined with shutters set in a wooden frame, now open, showing the tops of the orange trees that grew in the garden below. Beyond the green crown of trees were the roofs of the other buildings in the Bani Hashim compound, then the rest of the city spreading out below. Taiya poured bitter green tea into small white cups. Mohammed sat opposite her on a thick-woven Persian rug. He was staring out the window. Above the red tile roofs of the city, the sky was very blue.

"I wanted only to die," he said in a soft voice, "but this voice commanded me to live. The sound of it filled the air like the voice of a god. I could not refuse."

"Was it?" Hala sat the enameled pot of tea aside and then measured a spoonful of crystallized honey into each cup. The amber kernels swirled into the dark liquid. "Was it a god?"

Mohammed looked back at her from the window. She watched him carefully, for he had been very distant and strange-seeming since waking. A shepherd boy had found him on the mountaintop, very close to death, his body burned by the sun, his lips cracked with thirst. The shepherd had carried him down from the mountain on his back and brought him to this house, to Khadijah's house. Weeks had passed since then, and only now could he walk and stand without help. The gray in his beard and hair had deepened into narrow streaks of silver-white.

"A god? Can it be anything but a god who speaks from the air, unseen? The voice spoke of powers awake in the world. It said that I must strive against them. It commanded me to act."

Mohammed slowly picked up one of the cups and sipped from it. The tea was bitter on his tongue, but then the warm taste of honey followed. He put the cup down and met his sister-in-law's eyes directly. "I must follow that command. I will go forth into the world, with those men who will follow me and stand against the powers that I have seen."

Hala frowned, her eyes glittering over the pale umber veil that she wore when in the presence of her brother-in-law. She had spent many hours sitting by the bed where Mohammed had lain in his convalescence, waiting for him to recover, listening to his mumbled words. She knew, perhaps better than he, what had been said to him on the mountain. "Is this wise?" she asked, picking up her sewing and smoothing the cloth over her knees. "There are things that must be done here, in your home, first. The speaking of a god is not to be ignored, surely, but if you are going away, then you must settle some matters."

Mohammed scowled. He had fled his wife's house on the day of his return and gone to the mountain. Since then he had seen no one save Hala and the house servants, and that had pleased him. In all the years he had been Khadijah's husband, he had kept clear of the fierce political and clan struggles that raged among the noble houses of Makkah. Many powerful families lived in the city, or had estates in the valley, and there was constant struggle for position and eminence. He detested them-he had been a poor orphan before he had married Khadijah-for their slights against him. He looked away from Hala, his heart sinking at the thought of plunging himself into that morass.

"You have not even seen your daughter," Hala continued as she began picking out a poorly sewn seam in the dress. "You should take dinner with Roxane at her house, at least, before you go."

Mohammed sighed, and his fists clenched. He hated this. The demands of family and clan dragged at him like lead weights on a pearl diver.

"She misses you. She came every day while you were unconscious and sat with me at your bedside. That blouse? She brought it for you, sewn by her own hand."

Mohammed sighed, and his fingers picked at the edge of the shirt. "So, what matters must I resolve before you will let me go?"

Hala raised an eyebrow at the bitterness in his voice. She had long wondered if the arrangement between her sister and the wayward husband had suffered from strain. She guessed that this-the matters of the sprawling Bani Hashim clan and the intricate system of alliances and arrangements that had so delighted the subtle Khadijah-put a great fear into the merchant's heart. He was not a man who dealt well with inner fear. Too, being raised an orphan, he had not gained any taste for the business of a great sprawling family.

"No one can keep you anywhere," she replied while she threaded one of her bone needles. "But there is a question among the elders about your status now that Khadijah has left us. Some feel that you should now be chief of the Quraysh and the Bani Hashim; one you lead by blood, the other you have gained by marriage. You know, surely, that Taiya and her husband will refuse to acknowledge you as the head of the clan. They argue that since you are not of the blood of the Hashim, you cannot now be chieftain."

"And so? If old al'Uzza had begotten any sons the issue would be moot. Hala, your sister wanted to be the ruler of her house, and so it was. I do not. I was content as her husband, but the thought of ruling the rabble of sisters, daughters, and cousins is repellent. Let Taiya and her husband lead if they so choose. I will be gone soon. I will take my sword-brothers north."

Hala sighed and put down the needle. She glared at Mohammed and then smiled a little when he squirmed under her gaze. She had not put all those years sitting at Khadijah's feet to waste. "There is more than the issue of the clan at stake here. You have always had an odd status among us. Your time spent on the mountain has made you something of a holy man to some. Your long absences on the trade road have made you mysterious. Now, you have suffered a vision, and I must say that in your troubled sleep, you spoke of this often. In your sleep, you had no doubts-a God had revealed himself to you. More ears than mine and Roxane's heard your words. Even the servants of this house, loyal as they are, have been known to gossip in the marketplace."

Mohammed looked up, his face filled with dismay. "What do you say? Do all know what happened? Do they account me mad?"

"Yes, some do. Others clamor at the gate of our house each day, begging to see you, to speak to you. They say that the gods have touched you and that you will bring good luck to them, or cure their ills. This has made things worse, in the city, between the other clans and us. Some think you are trying to become the high priest of Ka'ba."

Mohammed laughed out loud, a sound both bitter and despairing. "At the Well? Do they think I seek the ill luck that befell my father and my grandfather? That warren of temples and altars is even more riven with politics and intrigue than this house! If my mother had just left the valley when old Abd died, then so much trouble would have been avoided."

"If she had done so," Hala said softly, "you would not have met Khadijah, or married her. You would not have been blessed with your daughters, or have been given the time to go about in the world, walking up and down in it and seeing all there is to see. You would still be herding sheep in the wasteland."

Mohammed stood abruptly and went to the window. He looked out over the broad, beautiful garden and the luxurious furnishings in the patio. The great House of the Bani Hashim was strong and rich, filled with servants and family. Its trade connections reached to Alexandria in distant Egypt, to Sa'na in the far south, and even over the broad ocean, to Sind and India. As its representative and emissary, he had seen lands, cities, and people that no other man of Makkah had ever laid eyes upon. He had looked upon wonders that none here, in this dry and dusty place, could name. All these things his wife had given him as he had tried to still the restlessness in his heart. "You are right," he said at last. "Time and circumstance have given me many gifts. She always carried a heavy load for me. Now the burden lies by the side of the road. I must pick it up."