Thomas Harlan - The Gate of fire

The young man made to touch his face with his free hand. There was a scar there, too, gained from a falling timber in the Temple of Hubal as it burned. He stopped, wondering if the same bleak expression marked his face. He looked upon the Tanukh, seeing their well-worn weapons and sturdy armor. He felt the weight of his own shirt of mail and the heavy sword at his side.

Thoughts of his father, lying dead in the apse of the temple, roused themselves in his mind.

– |Mohammed looked around, seeing the lines of temples that surrounded the square, his dark eyes noting the presence of young men and children sitting on the rooftops. Matrons hung from the windows of the houses, their faces pale ovals in the shade. He felt, now that he looked out upon the sea of faces in the crowd, the pressure of their expectation. Here was nearly the whole population of the city, all waiting.

Jalal returned to his side, though some of the Tanukh were bulling their way through the crowd in search of Mohammed's flea-bitten mare. Mohammed jerked his head toward the mob of people beyond the grim line of the Tanukh and the other Sahaba.

"Are they waiting for me?"

Jalal nodded, shading his eyes with a thick-callused hand. "They have been coming for days. Many have heard that you listen to the voice of God on the mountaintop. Many have heard that you have torn down the temples of the sacred precincts and have driven out the priests. They are curious."

Frowning again, Mohammed began pacing, walking along the line of the Tanukh, looking over their armored shoulders into the eyes of the men and women waiting in the crowd. He saw men both rich and poor. Craftsmen, shepherds, potters, merchants, priests, scholars-and women and children. In this manner, he passed again around the old house and the stone. When he returned to the place just opposite the stone, he saw that the rangy, raw-boned mare was waiting. He swung up into the saddle with the ease of long practice.

In his heart, he heard the voice speaking, and he opened his mouth to let the words go forth.

"It was told to me that a band of jinn listened to the revelation of the god who speaks from the clear air." Mohammed pitched his voice to carry, sitting astride the mare. It was so quiet in the square that he was sure that many, perhaps all, could hear him. "They listened and then they said, 'We have been given guidance to the right path. We believed in this and henceforth we serve none but the merciful and compassionate one. That power that has taken no consort, begotten no children. We sought this god in the high heavens, and found our way barred by mighty wardens and fiery comets. We sat eavesdropping, but eavesdroppers find comets lying in wait for them. We cannot tell if this bodes evil to those of us who dwell upon the earth or if the great and compassionate Lord intends to guide us.'"

Mohammed paused, thinking that his throat was dry and parched. But it was not. "These jinn said, 'Some of us are righteous, while others are not, each of us follows different ways. We know that we cannot escape from the Lord of the Heavens while on earth, nor can we elude His grasp by flight. When we heard His guidance, we believed in Him and we knew this-he who believes in the merciful God shall fear neither dishonesty nor injustice.'"

While he spoke, his clear, strong voice ringing out over the great crowd, Mohammed slowly circled the old house and the black stone. The mare was content to slowly clop in a wide circle between the old house and the ring of the Tanukh. The great silence remained, so much so that Mohammed could hear the faint echo of his voice coming from the marble facings of the old temples at the edge of the square.

"Some of us who stand here are righteous men and some are not. Those who submit themselves to the way that has been revealed pursue the right path. Those who do wrong-they shall become the fuel of Hell itself."

As he said this, Mohammed shuddered, the brutal vision of Palmyra dying coming before his eyes. Now his throat was dry, and he swallowed hard, gathering his strength to continue. "If men pursue the straight path the Lord of the Wasteland will vouchsafe them abundant rain, and show them the proof of these words. He who pays no heed to the warning of the Compassionate One shall be sternly punished."

Mohammed paused and turned the horse. He stood once more before the black stone. He half turned in the saddle, looking back upon the old house with its smoke-blackened stones. "Temples," he shouted, raising his voice to be sure that all could hear. "Temples are built for God's worship; invoke in them no other god besides Him. When God's servants rise to pray to Him, a multitude will press around them. No one can protect you from God, nor can you find any refuge besides Him."

The mare turned at the nudge of Mohammed's knee, and he rode back to the edge of the crowd. He leaned on the saddle horn and searched the faces of those who pressed close. Some were weeping. Again, he thought of the dead city and the thing that had feasted within its walls. "A scourge is coming. I cannot tell whether the scourge the compassionate and merciful God has promised is imminent, or whether the Lord has set it for a far-off day. He alone has knowledge of what is hidden: His secrets He reveals to no one, save to the prophets He has chosen. He sends down guardians to walk before them and behind them, that He may ascertain if they have, indeed, delivered the messages of the Lord of the Wasteland."

Mohammed paused, meaning to speak, but his throat closed up. He tried to cough, but could not. A whispering buzz rose in his ears, and he suddenly felt his skin crawl with the invisible touch of thousands of insects. The mare reared, and Mohammed, clawing at his arms, fell heavily to the ground. The buzzing in his ears roared louder, drowning out the cries of his men and the shouting of the crowd. The sky darkened, and he tried to stand. A wind whipped across the square, blowing a wall of dust before it. Grit stung his face and eyes.

Jalal was shouting, trying to reach his chieftain's side. The wind held him back.

Mohammed staggered to his feet, standing at the center of the whirlwind. Beyond the rushing wall of air he could see the crowd surging back and forth. Many people had been knocked down and were being trampled. He felt faint, and the roaring sound in his ears was a sharp spike of pain. Enraged at the threat to the people in the plaza, his hand groped at his waist for his sword. It had fallen to the ground, torn from his belt.

He turned toward the blade, his shoulder against the rush of the wind.

A blow smashed into his back and threw him to the ground. Something flowed over him, and there was a scent of ancient dust and withered crops in his nostrils. He rolled, feeling the thick, muscular power that pressed against him. The skin of the thing, all unseen, was scaled and cold like a great serpent. A snarl of rage split his face, and Mohammed struggled, trying to pry the coils from his neck. Scales slid across his face, trying to crush his skull. His fingers clawed at it.

Hot breath washed across his face, stinking like the Pit. Mohammed cried out, feeling the air being crushed from his ribs. The sky cartwheeled above him, spinning, and a gray tunnel closed down his vision. The wind continued to roar, though he could feel his bones crack under the incredible pressure.

"O Lord of the World," he wept, feeling death close at hand. "Deliver your servant…"

Mocking laughter hissed in his ears, and then the pressure around his heart became too great.

– |Maslama was thrown down by the surge of panic. Men crashed into him, trying to flee the blast of wind that howled forth from the whirlwind. Rocks and small stones lashed the crowd, and they surged back. Maslama rolled under the feet of the stampeding people. Someone kicked him in the side of the head and then fell down, pinning him to the rough cobblestones. A roaring sound filled the air. People were screaming and shouting in fear all around. The young man, gritting his teeth against the pain that stabbed in his temple, surged up, trying to stand.