Fury is Born (Book 1 of Hanthalah)

Chapter 16

          "I demand blood money," growled the chief of the Qurayza, Ka'b ibn al-Asad. "Your Muslim killed one of my finest, and I will not let this boy go unpunished."

        "The boy is of yours, not ours." Growled back Zaid ibn Haritha.

        I was on my knees in the mosque, at the feet of Muhammad, his senior advisors as well as the chief of the Qurayza. Dawood, Habib's father, was also present. Silent, sulking, clinging to the shadows.

        The rush of energy and fury that pushed me to the murder of my own cousin seemed a distant dream now. The experience was exhilarating. It felt like I was not in control of my own actions, not in control of my own body; but I did not regret a second of it.

        I smiled wryly, and almost toppled to the floor. The outburst had taken all the power out of me, leaving me drained and light-headed. I was covered in dried blood all the way down to the abdomen. My hair stuck to my temples.

        I was numb, virtually detached from reality. My stomach churned and my thoughts were muddled. Distorted. There was no sign of the beast that had reigned supreme over mind and body only minutes before.

       Only the emptiness. The numbness.

        The beast had sprung forth, vanquished the foe in a manner most savage, yet pleasant. Barbaric, yet satisfying. Now, the rage did not slink in the corner of my mind as was its habit. There was a vacancy. Its presence sorely missed. It evaporated in its entirety, leaving behind only graphic, lucid memory.

        Zaid and the Qurayza chieftain, the shaykh of my own tribe, ibn al-Asad, had dragged me to the mosque for Muhammad's verdict. Dawood had been summoned and informed of his son's demise. He stood in the corner of the room in his loose black rabbi silks. His sleek face betrayed no emotion, yet his eyes were venomous and hard, fixated on me. His hand was fidgeting at his side.

       "He is a Muslim!" exclaimed ibn al-Asad.

       "He was never a Muslim. No one knows this better than I," professed Zaid. "I have known this boy for many a year and I have been aware of the darkness within him since the very first day. He is no servant of Allah. He is the work of Shaytan, set loose upon us from the bowels of Hell to corrupt our faith."

       "You will pay me blood money for the man I lost," ibn al-Asad insisted.

       Sa'ad ibn Mu'adh, the chieftain of the Aws, stepped forward and growled.

       "Your boys besmirched the honor of my wife!" he roared. "I have ample right to demand my own justice."

       Wife? Had I been of a sound mind, perhaps I would have expressed befitting shock. Sumayya was his wife?

       Muhammad raised a hand, calling for silence.

       "I have heard you," he nodded at ibn al-Asad and Zaid. "But it is not yours to judge the fate of the boy."

         Vaguely aware of the on goings, I looked up at 'Umar, pleading.

         "I will vouch for the boy," Rasped 'Umar, without hesitation.

         Bilal paused before speaking.

         "His was always a troubled soul. I dare not accuse him of evil nor can I confirm he is not of the faith, but I cannot claim he is god-fearing, for this would be a lie. He is of the Qurayza and to the Qurayza he must return. That is my counsel."

        "So, you put up this farce to deny me the blood money that is my right?" demanded ibn al-Asad.

         "It seems as though you do not care for the life of your fallen man as much as you crave our coin." chimed in 'Ali ibn Abu Taleb.