January 630 AD, Ramadan 8 AH

My bowstring creaked against my ear as I lurked in the shadows of Yazid's shed, bracing myself for impact with the intruder.

The huddled figure of Ruqayya lay slumbering some paces away from me. Blissful and unaware of the impending danger this would be criminal was about to pose.

Ever since I've known the bonds of slavery, there has been a part of me that never truly slept. Like a rabid dog laying in a ditch, some part of me is ever ready to pounce at the slightest hint of a threat.

What else was a man to do when life was turbulent and gods were capricious?

The shuffling outside the shed resumed. I squinted in the pitch darkness, steadying my breathing, rolling my shoulders back so that the blades rolled against one another. My left foot was advanced, the tension was transferred to my upper body. All I needed was to release. And the effect would be deadly.

The door creaked slightly as the robber inched it open a fraction.

One more breath.

"Hanthalah," the intruder whispered. "Hanthalah."

I raised an eyebrow. "State your business."

"I have come with revelation, my disciple."

Fucking bastard. I lowered my bow and stalked furiously to the doorway. I removed my arrow from the string and placed it against Tulayha's throat.

"Have you lost your fucking mind?" I pricked the shaft against his skin. I felt the blood grace a finger. "You sneak about in the middle of the night, trespassing my soil? Threatening my roof?"

Tulayha smirked. "Your soil and your roof? Have you forgotten that you stand slave?"

I dug the shaft deeper into his skin and more blood welled. He yelped.

"And who do you think should pay the price for that?" I whispered icily in his ear. He shivered despite himself.

"Come to my house before dawn," he said, inching away. "We have much discuss of the true nature of Allah."

"You've been schooling me on your ludicrous faith for months."

"Just come, Hanthalah. Come."

"I will join you when I can call myself a free man."

I shoved him away and shut the door behind him gently. I turned to see a smiling Ruqayya, reclining on an elbow.

"You've been awake this entire time?" I asked, incredulous.

"I'm a Bedouin, city boy," there was no trace of drowsiness to her tone. "I heard him the moment he set foot outside his house."

Under Yazid, I enjoyed a greater degree of autonomy than under his father. Mas'oud only allowed me leave of his land to fetch one thing or another from an acquaintance or a marketplace. Now, however, I could venture forth and roam the streets at leisure.

Best of all, I was allowed to join the community in prayer at the Qiblatayn mosque five times a day.

"It has been long, brothers," I whispered in 'Amr's ear as I embraced him vigorously in the mosque. People were eying us curiously. But I cared not.

"Ugly as ever," Mundhir exclaimed, squeezing me from behind. "And just as filthy as well, it seems."

"And you're even shorter than I remember," I fought back tears. "I didn't know that was possible."

And for the first time in a long while, I felt safe. I felt home.

"Who goes there?" 'Ali ibn Abu Taleb challenged the man, putting himself between the newcomer and throngs of Muslims, reclining in the mosque after dawn prayers.

The imposing man, aging yet formidable, set foot into the mosque with a dignified and haughty expression.

"Surely you would recognize your own allies?" the man barked back. "I have the honor of being 'Amr ibn Salim al-Khuza'i."

"Al salamu 'alaykum, ibn Salim," the Prophet greeted him. "What is your grievance?"

"O God, I beseech Muhammad," his tone suggested he was reciting a poem.

"Our fathers and yours have forged alliances,

We gave you the hands of our daughters and the custody of their children,

Then we embraced Islam and did not remove the hand of obedience,

So, see us victorious, may Allah grant you great victory,

And call the servants of Allah to come strong and ready for war,

And the Prophet of Allah will be ready among them in his humility,

In an army as numerous as the sea is frothy,

Quraysh broke their word,

And they have denied your affirmed truce,

But they are humiliated and few,

And they have struck us in the night,

They killed us in kneeling and prostrating,

They killed us in ground most sacred!"

There was a brief silence as everyone absorbed the meaning behind his words. It seemed evident he was upset about something concerning the truce, yet I could not quite grasp his meaning.

"Quraysh have broken the peace," 'Amr spat out in disgust at my side. "They have no word nor honor."

Muhammad kept a calm face as he replied to the tirade.

"Certainly, you will be victorious, 'Amr ibn Salim," his voice was steady and his eyes leveled. But then he smiled.

And we knew the peace was broken.

The Arab religion hung in the balance for it.

And so, we set forth from Yathrib only days later. The intent for Muhammad's new expedition was not announced. He spoke of it to none,

Yet, it was evidently a consequential one, for Yathrib was scoured of nearly every able-bodied man off to the mosque of Quba' to the south. No one voiced their thoughts over Muhammad's plans, though many harbored more than mere expectation.

Before we marched away, I struggled to understand the consequences of this resumption of hostilities. I did not want those who shared my faith and preserved it to lose, yet Muslim victory would see my own chances of survival more favorable. So, I confided in Ruqayya, my closest friend at that stage in life.

"The Quraysh are not what they used to be, and Muhammad is on the rise," she said. "The Quraysh will perish, and with them, the religion of the Arabs."

"Surely you exaggerate," I exclaimed. "The Quraysh have long stood strong!"

It pained me to say it, but the odds did not seem to favor the survival of the Arab faith. I took comfort in the fact that it would live on in my heart. At least, that was what I told myself. Perhaps the tribes of the south would still cling to the faith of their forefathers; I tried convincing myself, but it was all but certain that the light of the gods would be extinguished within a fortnight.

"Also," she continued. "I have warned you in the past, and I am warning you again of this Tulayha. If the man remains unchecked with his deranged mind and a growing support base, it will be everyone's undoing. You would do well to start thinking of the future, rather than remaining so short-sighted, Hanthalah."

"The man commands but a few dozen supporters, and he is mad as well as incompetent. What danger can he possibly pose?"

"He is a nomad, a man of the desert," she replied. "If he goes to war, his tribesmen will follow; it is the way of the Bedouin. Men may be slow and dull of mind, yet you should beware of their incompetence. It has spelled ruin for greater states in the past."

I chuckled. "You would have a woman instead?"

She smiled. "The change would not go amiss."

By the time the Muslim army threatened to overrun Makkah, it consisted of ten thousand warriors, the largest force Muhammad had ever fielded. There were men of Yathrib, as well as Muslims from the nomadic tribes of the Najd or those who flocked from alliance with Quraysh to one with Yathrib. There were volunteers from a half-dozen other tribes that joined the force during the march. The Quraysh would stand no chance now.

The true intent of the expedition was not revealed the entire march. We stalked the plains by night, under the gaze of the moon deities, among the howling of fox and wolf, and the cacophony of hyena. It was during the day that we set up camp, always in the shelter of gorge or under the shade of a hill. The tactic was meant to keep us from prying enemy eyes. To catch our prey by surprise.

And then one day, we set up camp on a ridge overlooking the city.

Makkah was not as large as I expected; it was entrenched within jagged, rising black slopes that contrasted with the reddish sands that stretched off in all directions. I could see the venerated Ka'aba, stout and serene, far to one section of the city below.

"Every man of you will light a fire," Sa'ad ibn Abu Waqqas, commander of the archers, ordered as we settled down, chewing on a piece of roasted lamb.

Bilal had called out the adhan only minutes ago. The sky was a brilliant canvas of half a dozen hues, casting the landscape in breathtaking long shadows. After one group performed dusk prayers, they settled down again to break their fast – for it was the month of Ramadan. The second group that had been standing vigilant to protect their brothers from ambush performed their own prayers afterward.

"Every man?" one of the archers inquired after the order.

"Prophet's orders," replied Sa'ad. "And mine. Do it."

I broke my fast alone. I sparked my own fire on the edge of the ridge, allowing my legs to dangle on its side freely, as I marveled at the beauty of the setting sun. But then Tulayha spoke in my ear and I jumped at the intrusion.

"Clever tactic," he said. "Thousands of fires; suggests the illusion of a larger force than it actually is. All visible on a ridge high above, instills fear in the enemy below."

"What do you want?" I demanded.

Tulayha laughed. "It would not be unwise should you speak with your god's messenger in a tone that begets more respect."

"It will be yours when I have the freedom I was promised."

Tulayha nodded. "Freedom you will have."

Freedom, I thought. What an incredible concept. I'd forgotten what it felt like to be a man of my own.