The Master and The Maiden

Chapter 1

*

A gentle breeze rattled the windows of a cottage just on the outskirts of the city, closely followed by another sharp gust of wind. This was very normal to the inhabitants of the cottage, who continued to snore peacefully. They had long-since learnt to turn a deaf ear to the sound of the rushing wind, seeping through the small crevices of the window like an eerie ghost in the semi-darkness. They merely pulled their covers higher up their necks, sinking deeper into their beds.

The city of Sana'a was usually chilly in the early hours of the morning, though mildly. It usually awoke a few hours after the Subhi (dawn) prayer, with the merchants and traders being the first to stir. A few of the almost 12,500 inhabitants were beginning to stir when an old merchant's caravans pulled up at the edge of the central market. Their leader rode to the front of the procession on his tired and worn out camel, his thobe flapping in the wind. The loose end of his keffiyeh was drawn over his face, shielding most of his face. His hardened eyes were fixed on the roads up ahead, watching.

"Is he here, Sahib?" one of his men asked. He was a stout, dumpy looking man with very little neck and an alarming amount of facial hair. His name was Kareem.

Their group consisted of eight men in total, including the leader. Each was dressed in a similar manner to the first, except the two at the rear who donned matching thagiyas. They all rode on tired-looking camels, who protested loudly as their masters urged them forward, standing in a semicircle around the first caravan.

"No, Kareem," he sighed. "It seems as though, yet again, I'll have to wait for our friend," their leader said, frowning slightly.

"Shall I tell the men to unload the caravans then?" Kareem asked, already beginning to move towards the others, with his camel protesting feebly.

"No," their leader barked, a little too harshly. "We shall wait for him. Spread out and flank the caravans. Break up into three groups, two men in each. One group should guard the rear of the caravan. Let Anshul and Fawad do that. Surya and Vijay should flank them on the right, while Ibrahim and Usman should take the left. I want you up at the front of the caravans. We shall wait for him even if he takes all day."

"But why, Sahib?" he asked, careful not to sound as though he were not willing to carry out his orders. His master had a very short temper.

"Because I said so," he barked. "Now go and do as you are told."

"As you wish, Sahib." He bowed, turning to the other men. He quickly gave out the orders in a brash tone, and the men nodded to show they understood. As they began to spread out, their leader dismounted the camel, holding the reins securely. From all indications, it looked like the camel was about to collapse due to weariness.

Trekking hundreds of miles had taken its toll on the poor beast.

Twisting the reins round his forearm, he pulled the camel aside to a nearby well, where a discarded bucket was partially filled with water. He then leaned against the side of the well, watching as the camel began to satisfy its quench. The other camels looked on longingly, for their riders were still mounted on them.

"Assalamu alaikum," an old man drawled behind him in a raspy voice. The merchant jumped, his hand automatically reaching for his sabre. The old man's eyes followed the movement, but he gave no indication that he'd noticed anything.

Just like the leader, he too had drawn his keffiyeh across his face. His jellaba was black, large and dirty with several yards of extra garment hanging at his feet. The merchant recoiled at the man's appearance. "Wa alaikum as salam," he replied reluctantly, withdrawing his hand from the weapon. The man looked harmless.

"Could you please spare some alms for a poor man?" the old man said, stretching his short, stubby hands from underneath the robe towards the merchant. “I’ve had nothing to eat in three days now, and I have nothing to feed my family with. Your kindness would be appreciated.”

The merchant furrowed his brows; he hated giving out anything. Even if he wasn't using it.

"Here you go," he grumbled reluctantly, thrusting a few silver coins in the man’s hand. He frowned and turned away as the old man began to thank him earnestly, muttering something about wretched old people.

As the old man limped away, one of the merchant's men rushed up to him, his camel protesting loudly. The beast looked ready to throw off its rider at any moment.

"Master, there's a lady here who claims she's here to see you,” he panted. "She knows."

"Did she say anything else?" he asked.

"No, Sahib. She merely demanded that you come immediately or..."

"Or what?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Or she'll have to return to her master and ask that you should be whipped in the market later today," he finished quickly, his lips twitching slightly.

"Bring her to me at once." he ordered, glaring at the servant as though daring him to utter anything insulting again in his presence. The servant nodded, riding away quickly. The merchant dusted a few specks of dirt from the ends of his robe, adjusting his keffiyeh as another caravan rode past him into the market. He recognized their leader at once, having encountered him en route to Jordan just a fortnight earlier.

The leader gave him a curt nod, acknowledging his presence. The merchant nodded in response, furrowing his brows as he noticed the man smiling - or smirking rather- before turning into the street up ahead. He had no time to ponder over the man’s strange expression however, as his servant quickly returned with a slightly hunched over looking woman, wearing a niqab. The merchant watched her walking towards him, her head held high. There was a certain characteristic pride in her step, and the merchant didn't miss the bright golden ring on her index finger. Who ever she was, there was certainly something noble about her demeanor. As she approached, she peered down at him over her nose, regarding him as though he were a speck of dirt on her expensive new clothes.

"Aseaa ‘iilaa ‘almae alnujum fi alsama’ (I seek the brightest star in the sky)," he called before they reached him. His eyebrow was raised, and an amused expression was on his face as the woman paused, staring up at him. A muscle twitched in the merchant’s jawline.

Although he couldn't see it, the woman smiled underneath her niqab, straightening up even more, if that were possible. "Almae alnujum hu al'akthar wuduhaan eind al-fajr (The brightest star is most visible at dawn)," she replied calmly. The merchant smiled at her. She was one of them.

"The Master sends his greetings," she said, stopping a few feet away from the merchant. She pulled her robes tighter around her frail figure, as though she wanted to avoid any form of contact between her and him. "Unfortunately, he couldn't be able to make it today."

Frowning slightly, the merchant took a step back. "How do I know for sure that you are one of us?" he asked.

"Do not question me, you foolish man," she snapped. "Haven't I answered the question?"

"Answers can be learnt somewhere," he replied. Kareem shifted uncomfortably on his feet, having dismounted his steed at last.

"You and I are not equals. How dare you question the Master's advocate?" she snapped, her eyes widening in fury. The merchant visibly shrank away, his right hand wrapping around the dagger hidden away in his trousers.

"But if you still doubt me," she said, lifting up her niqab partially. The merchant nodded immediately once his eyes fell on the golden pendant set on her neck. It carried the seal of the Master, the ancient symbol of the Al'ghala family. It was a large blood-red stone, with a pair of serpents wrapped around it, as though they were joined at the tail.

"Forgive me for doubting your credibility," he said, bowing his head immediately.

Dropping the niqab, the woman regarded the merchant with contempt. "Where are they?" she asked, turning her head towards the caravans. The merchant watched her closely, his hand still wrapped around the hilt of the dagger. Something about the way she kept glancing at him made him nervous.

"In the third one," he replied, walking toward the caravans. The woman followed quietly, staring at his back. She could visibly see the outline of his hand wrapped around something underneath his robe. Most likely a dagger. She chuckled to herself. If only he knew the number of arrows that were pointed at him right now. Her eyes travelled slowly up to the cottage at the far end of the road. The window creaked slowly as another sudden gust of wind shook it on the hinges. Dalia noticed the glint of the metal tip of an arrow. The inhabitants of the cottage were now wide awake. The arrow was pointed straight at the merchant, silently waiting for her signal.

"Why couldn't the master make it?" the merchant asked nonchalantly, glancing over at his shoulder. Dalia quickly looked away, not wanting to draw attention to the cottage.

"The Master's business is his business. No one questions his actions," she replied, feeling a surge of ostentation sweeping over her. The merchant noticed a slight tone of pride in her voice every time she spoke about her master. She clearly adored him. Rightfully so. The Master's fame and power had spread far beyond the Arabian peninsula, reaching as far as the Asian continent.

"Of course," he replied, walking briskly so he could put some distance between them. He didn't feel comfortable having her walking directly behind him. Dalia noticed, chuckling to her self. One inhabitant of the cottage shifted slightly.

"Were there any, problems on the way?" she asked as they reached the caravan.

"Of course not. I do not wish to brag, but I'm highly skilled when it comes to crossing the desert. I've done it more than a hundred times." He laughed, ordering one of his men to open the caravan.

"It seems that's all you're skilled at, apparently," she muttered under her breath. The merchant didn't hear what she said, his belly still rumbling from the dying echoes of his laughter.

As soon as the locks were pulled open, Dalia quickly stepped in front of the merchant, making him yelp in a very unmasculine manner. One of his men laughed quietly.

"I prefer to check them alone," she said, climbing in nimbly.

"Um, I-I um," he began to stammer.

"Is there a problem, Siddiq?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

The merchant turned to his men, a frown on his face. They shrugged, clearly not eager to question the woman's motives.

"None at all." He forced a smile. "Please go ahead."

A few minutes passed before the woman emerged once again.

"You did well, Siddiq. The Master shall hear of your successful return. Perhaps he will consider working with you once again, if the need should arise." She smiled, stepping down softly onto the sand. "You shall be rewarded for your role in assisting the Master."

"When should I expect the payment?" he asked, chuckling in a way that made his stomach rumble once again.

"Sooner than you expect," she remarked ominously, making Siddiq furrow his brows in confusion. Something didn't feel right. He didn't fail to notice how all his men had stepped to the side. All except Kareem.

Stepping to the side, Dalia turned towards Kareem and gave him a curt nod. Siddiq turned around quickly, drawing his dagger in a flash as he quickly realised what was going on. But it was too late. Kareem's sword had pierced the small of his back, protruding through his abdomen. Siddiq crumbled to his feet, feeling the cold sting of the metal against his flesh. He cried out in horror, bewilderment seizing him. He turned to the woman, his dagger raised in his quivering hand.

"You treacherous old witch," he cried. "You betrayed me. You-You used me," he said, lunging at her. She easily stepped to the side, giving Kareem enough space to plunge his sword into Siddiq's back once more.

"Forgive me, Siddiq. But the Master believes you don't serve any purpose to him any more," she said, looking down at his quivering body. "You are a noble man, Siddiq. Foolish, but noble. You must understand that in this world, you always watch your back. Always." She smiled as he rolled over onto his back, his lips trembling. Slowly, she dropped to her knees beside him.

"Almae alnujum hu al'akthar wuduhaan eind al-fajr," she whispered as his eyes slowly drifted to her before Kareem stabbed him one last time. Siddiq didn't stir again.

“Now was that so hard?” she whispered to the lifeless corpse. Siddiq would never answer the question of course, but it amused her to imagine what his reply might be.

Straightening up, the woman nodded at Kareem once again. "Take the caravans to the place I told you about. The Master and I shall meet you there very soon. In the mean time, get rid of the body. Before people start gathering. And take care of the blood," she ordered, gesturing to the spot where Siddiq’s blood had been spilt.

"As you wish," he bowed, staring down at the body of his master.

"Are you perhaps feeling sentimental, Kareem?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Kareem shook his head quickly, moving his eyes away. "Of course not," he said, walking towards the other men. The woman watched as he gave them a few orders, and they quickly dispersed. She looked down at Siddiq's lifeless body, shaking her head slowly as the enormity of what she'd just done dawned on her.

For the first time in her life, Dalia had disobeyed Master Fareed. He never gave the order that Siddiq should be killed. But the man knew too much. If the Master couldn't see the threat for some reason, then she'd make sure that she did what was right. Leaving Siddiq alive would definitely spell trouble for Master Fareed. Now that he was gone, there was one less person who knew about the Jewels on earth.

Looking up, Dalia felt a definite chill run down her spine. She froze as her eyes met her Master’s. He was standing several stalls away, but Dalia could tell it was him; no other man in Sana'a stood as rigidly as he did. She suddenly felt her heart drop to somewhere deep in her stomach. She was in trouble. She knew it from the way he narrowed his eyes at her.

Master Fareed shook his head at Dalia. Once. The motion alone made her quiver in fear, her proud towering posture giving way to a cowering old woman. She dropped to her knees, tears beginning to pool in her eyes. She didn't regret what she did, but she knew the consequences would be dire.

Dalia tried to look up, but her eyes wouldn't leave the earth. She was shaking visibly as she heard the sound of her master’s approaching footsteps; measured and precise. Her shaking became more pronounced as he stopped just a few inches from her. Dalia bowed her head even lower, afraid of meeting his stormy-gray eyes. She instead focused her eyes on the specks of dust on her robe, drawing in air with difficulty. His silence was unnerving. It was a cold and empty silence; an ominous foretelling of the danger to come. Dalia always feared his silence more than his words.

"Where are they taking them?" Master Fareed asked quietly, his tone even and unwavering. Dalia almost looked up at him, but she winced just as her neck muscles almost caused her to do something disrespectful.

"To the hideout, just like you ordered," she whispered quietly, still cowering in fear.

"Acceptable." he replied, as quiet as before. Slowly, he stretched out his right hand, stopping right beside her left cheek. He didn't say a word, but Dalia understood. Nervously, she unhooked the pendant wrapped around her neck and placed it on the Master’s outstretched palm. He closed his long fingers around it, straightening up. Dalia didn't dare look up at him. Master Fareed drew a sharp breath, squeezing the pendant in his hands.

"A slave should not lay her hands on my family's property," he said.

"Please forgive me, Master. I only needed it so Siddiq wouldn't doubt my credibility. There was no other way for me to convince him," she replied quickly, twisting her fingers in a painful knot. Master Fareed didn't reply. He simply stared straight ahead, watching as the caravans took a right turn at the end of the road, up towards the outskirts of the market. The chilly wind blew less furiously now, as the sun was beginning to peek from the Eastern horizon. The inhabitants of the cottage had long since dispersed.

"You're forgiven for stealing from me, Dalia," Master Fareed said, turning away from her. Dalia felt relief wash over her. "Thank you, Master! Thank you!" she gushed, stooping to kiss the hem of his robes.

"I'm not done," Master Fareed said, looking over his shoulder at her as he moved away from her. "You're forgiven for stealing from me, Dalia. But you're not forgiven for disobeying my order. You shall be punished. Severely."

With that he set off briskly after the caravans, leaving Dalia crouched in terror behind him, her eyes wide in fright. The silver coins in his pockets clinked as he walked away, his back as rigid as before.

Meanwhile, at the entrance of ‎ Al-Jāmiʿ al-Kabīr bi-Ṣanʿā, a man who appeared to be in his late fifties was pacing about, waiting for someone. He glanced over at the horizon; the sun was beginning to rise. His face concealed in annoyance, he continued his short trek across the entrance of the mosque. A few people were still inside the mosque, clearly not ready to come out.

A group of people walked past him as he waited. Kabeer turned to the side, clearly not wanting to see them. They were al-mutasawilin, the beggars. Every morning they marched down to the market and begged for alms. Most of them were healthy people who just weren't ready to work for a living. A few of them paused not to far from here, conversing in hushed tones. They were probably planning which routes they would storm later that day.

If it were up to him, they would be driven out of the city immediately. They served nothing to the cause of Sana’a. Unlike Kabeer, for he had long since learnt the reward of labor.

As he continued to march slowly, another man walked by him, flashing him a smile. "Everything alright, Kabeer?" he asked.

"Yes, everything is fine. I'm just waiting for someone." He forcibly smiled back at the man. The latter nodded briskly, taking off his shoes before he entered the mosque. "You're coming for the council meeting later today, right?" he asked Kabeer.

Kabeer nodded eagerly, grumbling in an impatient manner; time was of the essence today.

A few more minutes passed before a young man who appeared to be in his early twenties ran up to Kabeer, panting loudly. His jellaba billowed behind him as he stopped in front of Kabeer, who glared down at him as he folded his arms behind his back. "You're late," he said.

"Forgive me, Sahib. I came here as fast as I could. I didn't receive your message in time," he said in between breaths, shaking his head.

"Very well," Kabeer said. "Have you seen him?"

"No. I lurked around his mansion all day yesterday, and I didn't see him at all. It seems he's out of town," the young man replied.

"Alhamdulillah!" Kabeer breathed a sigh of relief. "If Fareed is anywhere close, then we're in deep trouble. What we're doing must remain as quiet and secretive as possible," he said.

"Any new development?" the young man asked, finally straightening up. He was breathing normally now.

"Yes. I've got insider news that the Jewels are coming to the city today," Kabeer said anxiously, quickly checking around to make sure no one was watching them. "My sources tell me that they're hidden in one of the caravans that will enter the city today."

"Then we shall search all of them," he said eagerly, clasping his hands together.

"No, you fool," Kabeer snapped. "If you attack one caravan, then the others will be warned that someone is onto them. They'll not enter the city today then. That will set back our plans by months; years even. This has the Master's name written all over it. It's obvious that he suspects someone is onto him, so he must have made arrangements to have multiple caravans enter the city on the same day. It would be impossible to search all of them. Besides, the odds of you getting the right one on your first pick are very slim. Attack the wrong caravan, and the rest will be alerted immediately."

"How many have entered the city so far?" the young man asked.

"Just this morning, six. A lot more are coming later today," he said.

"So what's the plan?"

Kabeer paused for a second.

"My gut tells me that the Jewels are already in the city. If the Master is wise, he'll have them enter the city at dawn, when the city is still asleep. The less people who notice the suspicious movements today, the better."

"Should I arrange for the men to storm his hideout, then?" the young man asked. "We already know the location."

"Are you insane?" Kabeer hissed as another man walked by, giving them a puzzled look. "Are you trying to announce our plans to the world? Why don't you climb to the top of the mosque and announce to everyone what we're planning to do?"

"I'm sorry, Sahib," the young man whispered, a little bit more quiet this time around.

"We can't storm the hideout. We don't have enough men. Master Fareed would have that place secured tighter than the gates of the palace. No, we cannot afford to do that. We'll lose a lot of men for nothing."

The young man stared up at his master, quietly waiting for his final verdict.

"We shall wait for a few more days before we act. Let the dust settle first. I'm sure that's what the master would do as well. After that, we shall monitor his every movement. I want at least five men tailing him at all times. Sooner or later, he'll definitely move the Jewels from wherever he kept them to his mansion. Once they're taken there, then all hope is lost. That fortress is impenetrable. We shall attack when they are being moved to his mansion"

"Master, forgive me for asking. But is what we're doing right?" the young man asked suddenly, apprehension in his voice. "I mean, isn't it considered stealing?" he added upon the murderous look Kabeer gave him.

"It's not stealing if you're taking back what rightfully belongs to you," he said. "Now do as I say."

"I shall inform the others, Sahib." The young man bowed deeply. Kabeer nodded at him, stepping aside as he dashed off in the direction from which he'd come. He drew his robe around him, turning his gaze to the Eastern horizon. The sun had risen completely. Several people were already emerging from their houses. Kabeer slipped off his shoes, stepping into the mosque. He had other things to do.

Unknown to him, every word of his conversation was heard by none other than Master Fareed. He nodded to himself as Kabeer and his companion dispersed. "You're wise, Kabeer," he whispered to himself. "Very wise indeed. But there's a huge flaw in your plan."

"Is everything alright, Master?" one of his men asked as an old looking man walked past them, shaking his head with disgust in his eyes. The Master paid no attention to him. On any other day, he might have considered the man. But today was not just any other day.

"Perfect. Everything is perfect." Master Fareed smiled to himself, joining the throng of people who were heading down to the market so early in the morning. It was a Friday after all, the market day of the city.

Among them was Noor, Kabeer's daughter.

*