Book 4 - The Fire in His Hands Read Free

inside. Micah
    retreated in earnest.
    Then he remembered who and what he was. The hand of the Lord had touched him. He was
    the Disciple. No one could question his righteousness.
    “Our foundling got himself an eyeful of sun.” The girl touched Micah’s shoulder. He flinched
    away.
    “Back off, Meryem. Save the games for when he can handle them.” To Micah he said, “She’s
    father’s favorite. The last born. He spoils her. She gets away with murder. Meryem. Please? The veil?”
    “Where am I?” Micah asked.
    “El Aquila,” the youth replied. “In a tent behind the hut of Mustaf abd-Racim ibn Farid el
    Habib. The Al Ghabha priests found you. You were almost dead. They turned you over to my
    father. I’m Nassef. The brat is my sister Meryem.” He sat down cross-legged facing Micah.
    “We’re supposed to take care of you.”
    He did not sound enthusiastic.
    “You were too much bother for them,” the girl said. “That’s why they gave you to Father.”
    She sounded bitter.
    “What?”
    “Our oasis is drying up. The one at the Shrine is still wet, but the abbot won’t share his
    water rights. The holy gardens flourish while the el Habib thirst.”
    Neither mentioned their sire’s pragmatic deal.
    “Did you really see an angel?” Meryem asked.
    “Yes. I did. He bore me up among the stars and showed me the lands of the earth. He came
    to me in the hour of my despair and gave me two priceless gifts: my life, and the Truth. And he bade me take the Truth to the Chosen, that they might be freed of the bondage of the past and in turn carry the Word to the infidel.”
    Nassef flashed a sarcastic look in his sister’s direction. Micah saw it plainly.
    “You too shall know the Truth, friend Nassef. You shall see the flowering of the Kingdom of
    Peace. The Lord has returned me to the living with the mission of creating his Kingdom on
    earth.”
    In ages to come there would be countless bitter words spilled over El Murid’s returned-to-
    life remarks. Did he mean a symbolic rebirth, or a literal return from the dead? He would never clarify himself.
    Nassef closed his eyes. He was four years older than this naive boy. Those years were an
    unbridgeable gulf of experience.
    He did have the manners to refrain from laughing. “Open the flap a crack, Meryem. Let the
    sun in little by little, till he can face it.”
    She did so, and said, “We should bring him something to eat. He hasn’t had any solid food
    yet.”
    “Nothing heavy. His stomach isn’t ready.” Nassef had seen victims of the desert before.
    “Help me bring it.”
    “All right. Rest easy, foundling. We’ll be right back. Think up an appetite.” He followed his sister from the tent.
    Meryem paused twenty feet away. Softly, she asked, “He really believes it, doesn’t he?”
    “About the angel? He’s crazy.”
    “I believe it, too, Nassef. In a way. Because I want to. What he says . . . I think a lot of
    people want to hear that kind of thing. I think the abbot sent him down here because he was
    afraid to listen. And that’s why Father won’t have him in the house.”
    “Meryem—”
    “What if a lot of people start listening and believing, Nassef?”
    Nassef paused thoughtfully. “It’s something to think about, isn’t it?”
    “Yes. Come on. Let’s get him something.”
    El Murid, who was still very much the boy Micah al Rhami, lay staring at the tent above
    him. He let the leak of sunshine tease his eyes. A compulsion to be on his way, to begin
    preaching, rose within him. He fought it down. He knew he had to recover completely before he began his ministry.
    But he was so impatient!
    He knew the wayward habits of the Chosen, now that the angel had opened his eyes. It was
    imperative that he bring them the Truth as soon as possible. Every life the Dark Lady harvested now meant one more soul lost to the Evil One.
    He would begin with El Aquila and Al Ghabha. When these people had been saved he would
    send them to minister to their