Thomas Harlan - The Gate of fire

"The dread King Nimrud cast Ibrahim into a furnace, but his faith carried Ibrahim through in safety." Mohammed's voice rolled across the courtyard, amplified by the shape of the doorway, rising above even the hiss of flames and the groaning sound of stone and brick shifting in the terrible heat of the fire. "This flame will cleanse the heart of Zam-Zam, this sacred place."

Mohammed began walking forward, his hands held out away from his body. Hot wind rushed out of the furnace, blowing his hair and beard back.

"I hear you, O Lord of This World! I hear your voice calling me! I come to the call! I-"

Jalal tackled Mohammed from behind, crashing to the tiled floor in front of the door. The flames were rushing out only inches away. Jalal swallowed a scream as his hair caught fire and his beard began to smoke. Mohammed turned, his mouth open, but Jalal could not hear anything over the hissing roar. Something gleamed in the older man's eyes, some blue-white flame that sparked and flared like a hammer in a forge. Jalal felt the air around him shift and the heat of the flames was driven back. Mohammed pushed him away, trying to stand, but Jalal-his heart filled with a sudden unexpected fear-lunged forward and smashed his fist into the older man's face. Mohammed went down, his eyes wide in shocked surprise, and blood spattered from his nose. Jalal piled in, smashing his scarred knuckles down, and the chieftain went out like a snuffed candle. The glittering blue-white light faded and then was gone.

There was a huge cracking sound as the roof of the temple suddenly collapsed. Flames billowed out in a rush, sending smoke climbing even higher into the heavens. Jalal rolled away from the door, dragging his master-now safely unconscious-down the steps. The other Tanukh scurried up the steps to haul them away. The crowd stared up at the pillar of fire and smoke in amazement. This festival day would be remembered for a long time!

– |A rumbling sound drew Uri's attention and he turned, looking back into the temple precincts. He raised an eyebrow, seeing the huge column of black smoke that was rising from the center of the holy grounds. He lifted his chin, pointing at the distant fire, and four of his men jogged off down the narrow street with drawn swords. At his side, Khalid moved restlessly, but the Ben-Sarid chieftain shook his head slightly.

"Lord Mohammed is about a matter of his own personal business. It may require some stringent measures to flush out the man he seeks. We will wait awhile and let him deal with these matters himself."

Khalid sighed and motioned to his men, who had tensed, to stand down.

"This matter-it would be something to do with the murder of his daughter by the Bani-Hashim? His own relatives, cousins and uncles and aunts?"

Uri turned, his eyes narrowed and his forehead creased in a fierce expression. "Guest-right and hospitality were violated by these men, my young friend. The chief of this clan attempted to knife Lord Mohammed while they sat at dinner-in his own daughter-in-law's house! These Bani-Hashim dogs are without honor, and they will pay in blood for it!"

Khalid bowed slightly and raised his hands in a plea for peace. "I know this story, Lord of the Ben-Sarid! My grandmother took great and lengthy pains to explain it to me. Still, I wonder if Lord Mohammed will not bring misfortune to himself and to his house by burning down the temples of all the gods that bless Mekkah and this place with their presence."

"Huh!" Uri snorted dismissively. "There is only one god, and he cares not for graven images."

One of the Ben-Sarid ran back down the street, his cloak askew and his blade bare in his hand. "There's a riot," he shouted to the men at the gate. "Lord Mohammed has fallen!"

Uri cursed and raised his voice, shouting over the babble of the men crowding the gate. "Half of you stand at the gate, the other half with me!"

The Ben-Sarid chieftain threw his sand-cloak aside and took his sheathed sword in one hand. He and a crowd of his men jogged off down the street at a good pace. Khalid, still standing in the gateway, did not follow, but motioned to his men to dismount and join him in the shade of the gatehouse. Within minutes, all of the Ben-Sarid were gone, hurrying off to the sound of people shouting and screaming.

"Well," Khalid said, turning to his men with a feral grin, "it seems we may enter the city to pay our respects to Lord Mohammed after all."

– |A wall toppled, sending a river of bricks crashing to the ground. A line of statues came with it; the gods of Meroee and Sa'na were shattered by the collapsing wall. White marble limbs bounced across the ground, shorn from their bodies. The crowd in the courtyard, now swollen to hundreds of people, drew back in a flood. The core of the old building now stood revealed, wreathed in rushing orange flame and clouds of billowing smoke. At the edge of the square, the Tanukh had fallen back into the long, pillared arcade, forming a ring of steel around Jalal, who was carrying the unconscious Mohammed. Part of the crowd, urged on by the priests who had fled when Mohammed had broken into the temple, muttered angrily and circled outside the blades and spear points of the tribesmen.

Jalal glanced around warily. The situation was becoming ugly. The novelty of the burning temple was fast wearing off, and the realization that the foreigners had violated their holy of holies was gaining ground. A rock sailed out of the milling crowd and bounced across the walkway. Jalal stepped aside from its path. "There," he rasped to his men, "into the passage."

A narrow corridor opened on one side of the arcade, leading between two buildings. Heaps of refuse lay against the mud-brick walls, but it seemed to offer a way out of the square. Jalal hurried into the passage, turning sideways to keep from cracking Mohammed's head against the walls. More stones clattered behind him, and the mutter of the crowd rose into shouts of anger and a shrill whistling. The other Tanukh filed in quickly behind him, shields raised behind them against the rain of stones and garbage.

– |Khalid entered the square slowly, his men arrayed in a phalanx around him, weapons bared but held low and out of sight. Thousands of people crowded there now, shouting and screaming. The pyre of the old temple building burned merrily, filling the air with sharp reports as stone and brick shattered in the furnace like heat. The mob surged first this way and then that. The festival offerings lay scattered on the ground, trampled by many feet. A profusion of spears, rakes, and scythes danced above the heads of the people. Khalid held up a hand, halting his men at the end of the street. He looked around carefully, and cocked his head, listening, but he did not hear any sound of steel on steel. The noise of the crowd was enormous, echoing off of the building fronts and reverberating in the recesses of the arcade that surrounded the square. Many priests seemed to be shouting or chanting at the mob, but none of them had managed to focus the anger that was simmering in the afternoon air.

Khalid motioned with his hand, and some of his men moved ahead, into the crowd. He looked around again but could not make out the blue-and-white kaffiyeh of the Ben-Sarid anywhere. More of his men drifted past, forming a quiet wedge that pushed its way through the people milling around the square.

Another cracking sound echoed from the burning temple and another wall collapsed, spilling bricks and blazing timbers into the square. Only some inner wall still stood, wrapped in fierce yellow flame.

– |Jalal peered around the corner of the building, his cheek pressed to the rough whitewashed wall. The street beyond was empty, bounded by blank-fronted buildings and a few recessed doorways. The street itself slanted away, winding off through the two- and three-story houses. The dim sound of the mob in the temple square barely penetrated over the rooftops.