"The body follows the mind." Babatunde's voice was kind. “The mind follows the heart. Open your heart."
Kai had no strength to resist, and something deep within him craved the peace that Babatunde seemed to promise.
Together, they knelt in the damp grass. "My prayers have not been heard," Kai said. "Help me, please."
Babatunde clasped Kai's arm. "Men have divided Fatimite Islam into two paths," he said. "One of the spirit, and one of the flesh. The Ulema has taken what once was a hard but true path to Allah and bent it to the petty needs of men."
"What other way is there?" Kai asked, confused.
"When you are truly ready for the answer to that question," Babatunde replied, "you will know what to do."
Chapter Forty
There were few comments upon Kai's bruises when he bid Nandi and her party farewell the following afternoon. He mumbled a response about a "midnight ride" that had ended in a tumble. No one challenged him directly, although Shaka shook his leonine head with ill-concealed derision.
There was only one surprise among his interactions with the guests. Before mounting her horse, Nandi touched his face, a softness in her expression he had never seen before.
"If you were mine," she said, "I would heal those wounds. All your wounds."
He held her hand, unable to answer her unspoken questions. "Travel well," he said. "And write to me."
She smiled, and kissed his cheek, pausing only to whisper in his ear: "Remember our night, Kai." And grazed her cheek along his as she pulled back. He winced at the contact, but managed to maintain his smile.
Then the Zulus departed in coaches and on horseback, beginning their three-day journey home.
His sense of relief was enormous: one hurdle passed. His body was stiff and sore, and his face felt lumpy.
Kai's father did not ask him what had transpired, although his keen gaze clearly saw the damage. Instead, he put his arm around his younger son and asked him to supervise the construction of a new corral in the northern pasture.
Kai changed clothes, dreading the moment he would face the slaves again. If he saw one slack-jawed grin he might well skewer the offender . . .
Fortunately, the crew assigned him displayed no slightest sign that they knew anything about the fight with Aidan. They shouldered their tools and accompanied him quietly out to the work site.
By late afternoon Kai was immersed in the minutia of corral construction. If anything, the men on the work crew were a bit more deferential and nervous around him. They're waiting for the explosion, he thought. The knowledge that they respected his authority if not his fighting ability gave him scant comfort.
He was still directing the crew when Aidan rode up on Majii. Kai tensed. He noted that the rest of the work crew ceased their casual conversation as well.
Aidan seemed uncertain of himself, and even more so when Kai glanced at him once and then turned away. "Kai," he said. "I wanted to speak to you."
Kai did not turn around, focusing all of his attention on the crew of whites digging holes for the fence posts. "We have nothing to speak of."
An edge of desperation crept into Aidan's voice. "That's not true, Kai. Please—"
Now Kai turned. There were still bruises on his face, but the wounds in his spirit cut more deeply still. Finally Kai nodded, and the two of them took a few steps away from the others. Once they had a bit of privacy, Kai said, "What you did can't be undone."
"I love her, Kai. Can you say that?"
"I don't need to say that," Kai said coolly. "Do you realize that you could simply disappear?"
They gazed at each other, the overt charge between them surprisingly mild. On the surface, they might have been two old friends discussing the market price of beef, rather than master and slave speaking obliquely of torture and death. Aidan didn't blink. "Yes. I love her. I would marry her. Answer my question."
Kai searched his old friend's face, looking for fear, uncertainty. Lies. Fear he saw, but no uncertainty, and no lying. Kai remembered Sophia's touch, her lips, her whispers in the dark, thought of the peace he had experienced in her arms and knew that in another world, a different world, he could have found contentment there. He would have been tempted to ask her to be his. Knew in fact that he would have already, for better or for worse.
Such a union could not be, not even as second or third wife—it would be ruinous to his family name. Were he of lower birth, even a merchant, then perhaps. But the son of the Wakil? Impossible. He might have kept her for the seraglio. Perhaps even had some sort of private ceremony, bonded to her while presenting a different face to the rest of the world.
But he could never treat her as an equal, never really join with her in the eyes of men, let alone the sight of Allah. And if not, what was he thinking? Just how selfish was he?
Aidan had him trapped, twisted around his own ethics and obligations. But did that explain why his anger was fading, replaced by a deep and numbing sadness?
For the first time in years, he appreciated anew the trap he was in. Sophia had touched his heart. Perhaps he loved her, perhaps it was just the inevitable masculine need to possess and control. He was honest enough to admit that he could not be certain which. He tested his emotions by asking himself a question: Did he want Sophia to know the joy of growing old with someone who cared for her?
A thin wind blew from the east, and its chill cooled his anger even more, left him feeling distant from his own heart. In Aidan's face he saw all of the things that he could not give Sophia. Sadness swelled within him, became almost unendurable.
So be it.
"Then be with her," Kai said, offering the only gift he had to give in reward for all of Aidan's years of friendship. No, not friendship. Brotherhood. And he had just told himself another lie. He gave no gift. Aidan had earned her. "I give her back to my father. She is now merely another household servant, and may choose whom she will. You have your world. I have mine. Asslaamu alaykum."
"Waalaykum salaam." Aidan paused, perhaps hoping that Kai would bend, would throw his arms wide in embrace, that the barriers between them might fall. Kai's face was impassive, but from long years' experience Aidan knew that he had given all he was capable of. There was no more. "Thank you. I think . . . that I have work to do."
Kai nodded, not looking at Aidan as his former friend donned work gloves and began the labor of wrapping and repairing the wire, tightening, inspecting and nailing firm to the posts the endless strands of fence.
Soon Aidan was indistinguishable from the others, just another servant in service to Dar Kush, and the family of the honorable Wakil Abu Ali.
The day's work was done at last. The Wakil noted that Aidan, from long habit, had slowly taken over the supervision of the fence project, leaving Kai with less and less to do, so that ultimately the Wakil's son had mounted and returned to the house, his room, and his study.
Abu Ali found Kai immersed in his books when the bell rang across the estate grounds, and he heard the cry of "Quittin' time!" passed from throat to throat with joyful anticipation.
When the Wakil entered the room, Kai rose at once, smiling, and a brief paleness flitting across his face told Abu Ali that his son had hoped for rather a different visitor.
"Father. I didn't know you were there."
Abu Ali noted the bare walls in the small room branching from Kai's. Sophia's room. All of the furniture had already been removed. A pair of empty bookshelves sat in the middle of the floor, not yet nestled against the wall. This was to be Kai's study, and one day soon it would be a fine one. "I see you are remodeling."
Kai nodded. "Yes. I needed more room for my books."
"Study is good," he said. He had sensed his son's pain, regretting the never-ending stream of day-to-day concerns that drained his own time and energy. "I have been busy of late. Is my son well?" He came closer, studying the bruises on Kai's face. The swelling had gone down, his young warrior's resilience asserting itself, but traces yet remained. Of course, the Wakil knew w
hat had happened in Ghost Town. In fact, he was glad it had; the slaves had seen that Kai was a man of honor, a good thing once Ali assumed control of Dar Kush. They would fear Ali, and trust Kai, and in such a manner would his household endure.
Kai tried to smile, but failed. He turned away from his father, balling his fists and planting them on his desk. "How can one know what is right, arid what is wrong, Father?"
Abu Ali could clearly hear the anguish in those words, and had no easy answer for his son. He went to the window, looking out on the estate that he had inherited from his own father, that he had expanded with his own hands. The lands that would one day go to his sons as their legacy.
From the window he watched a familiar figure, his son's servant and friend Aidan, returning from.the northern pasture with a line of other slaves. He looked dusty and sweaty, but happy. They were all returning to the shantytown that was their world. Their camaraderie protected them from the grief and pain that he sometimes suspected was the lot of bondsmen. Was the lot of all men, Abu Ali thought sadly.
A slip of a girl ran out from the direction of the village, along with other women. From the quarry, from the fields and the village, the men and women of Dar Kush greeted each other with hugs and kisses and laughter. Their world. He recognized the woman Sophia, who should have been with his son, running to Aidan. They embraced, kissing lustily, then twined arms around each other and returned to the village. It seemed as natural and right as the sunset.
Abu Ali sighed, and without turning around, began to speak. "When we stand before Allah," he said, "we will have nothing but our hearts and actions to present to Him. That is the moment we prepare for. It is only in that light that we know what is right and what is wrong."
Kai's face was tortured. Abu Ali gathered his son in his arms. Kai gripped at him desperately, as might a child. "You are on the cusp," said Abu Ali. "And crossing it is always difficult, and often feels like death itself. This is the moment, this is your time. It is not sex that makes a boy a man, not feats of arms, nor wealth, nor worldly responsibility."
"What, then?" Kai's voice was muffled by his father's chest.
"The understanding that other human beings have a spirit, an essence equal in the eyes of Allah, whatever their station in life. That we must measure our actions and reactions in this world lest we pay dearly in the next. It is this measured consideration of every word and action, and their consequences, that makes a man a man. Nothing less."
His son clung to him like a child years younger, and the Wakil stroked his neck as though Kai were a panicked foal. With his whores and his studies, his casual brilliance, Kai had never had to make a truly adult decision in his entire life.
The first was always the hardest. The first left blood on the sheets.
Chapter Forty-one
6 Dhu'-Hijja 1289
(March 16, 1872)
Lake A'zam was fed by streams from the northern mountains, waters filtered through the swamp and diverted through irrigation ditches into the fields. A'zam itself birthed a waterway, dredged more deeply by human hands, leading all the way to Djibouti harbor. At the northwestern edge were the marshes, partially natural, partially created by dams further north that had reshaped the waterways a hundred years before.
And at a northeastern corner of Abu Ali's land, on the edge of the marsh, sat a small square adobe mosque, given to Babatunde by the Wakil in perpetuity in gratitude for his service. Willow trees sheltered it from curious eyes.
If one drew close to its clay walls on a night such as this, the sounds of worship would have been heard, and voices chanting: Lai Illaha! Ill Allah!"
It was a beautiful, melodic chant. Come closer, and the sound became more intense, as if the words are merely the carriers of some higher energetic. Lights flickered within the building.
This was zikr, the Sufi ceremony where prayer and motion blended together in a dancelike confluence. The tiny room was crowded with fifteen men and women who sat in a great circle, facing each other but separated into groups by gender. Most of their faces were black, with a few paler faces of Arab descent mixed in. This small, secretive group represented every Sufi for two hundred miles. While not illegal, Sufism was persecuted and suspect. Sufis had been driven off their land, jailed on trumped-up charges, murdered in midnight raids. All of that was forgotten during zikr. For these precious hours, they basked in the light of Allah.
A drum beat rhythmically, and their shoulders twisted in time to its beat. Babatunde's eyes were half-closed, his face suffused with ecstasy, as if the hands of Allah Himself were lifting him up.
"La!" he chanted, "Illaha! Ill Allah La! Illaha! Ill Allah."
There is no God but the One God, he chanted over and over again, burning the holy phrase into the minds of each and every one of his followers.
As he sang, hymns called ilahes were chanted in counterpoint by the others, creating a consistent and hypnotic rise and fall of melodies.
Then, suddenly, the music stopped.
Babatunde looked up, his eyes still fixed on a distant horizon. "All praise Allah and His most holy messenger Muhammad, peace and blessings be upon him. One comes before us today who pledges himself to the deeper mysteries, to place his heart in the hands of He who made the universe. Come forward, Kai."
There was a swift and brief disturbance in the back of the room, and the rows of worshippers parted. An elder darvish approached, Kai walking behind him with his head down, hands on the elder's shoulders. Around Kai's neck he wore the crescent medallion that Babatunde had once offered him, a symbol whose responsibilities he had merely postponed.
Babatunde noted his posture with approval. "We who love only Allah must beware of those who twist His holy word for power in this world. Who vouches for this man?"
There was a pause, in which no one spoke. Babatunde himself was forced to pierce the silence. "I myself will speak for him. He is my student, and my friend. As it has given me pleasure to see him grow from child to man, so it now is greater still to see him pass into the brotherhood of those who seek to unite man to the creator of the universe."
Kai still stood behind the elder. Now, finally, he spoke the words he had been taught. "Peace be unto you, and the mercy of Allah and His blessings, O man of the path."
"O man of the law and seeker of the law," Babatunde replied. "The Shariya are the words of Muhammad."
"Blessed be his name."
"Do you accept Allah as your God?"
"I do accept," said Kai.
"Do you accept Muhammad as His prophet?"
"I do accept."
"Do you accept all of the other prophets: Jesus, Abraham, and the others?"
"I do accept."
"Do you accept my pirs, my great teachers, as your firs?"
"I do accept."
"Do you accept my sheiks as your sheiks?"
"I do accept."
"Do you accept me as your teacher?"
"I do accept."
Babatunde joined his hands together and began to pray over Kai, evoking his lineage back to Bilal and the Prophet himself. When concluded, the Sufi raised his head. "When the Prophet's son-in-law Ali asked, 'What is the best way to reach Allah?' the Prophet answered, 'Through zikr.'"
He reached out and traced the word "Allah" over Kai's heart with his finger. Then Babatunde took Kai's hand, right to right.
"Repeat each of these back to me three times," he said softly, and Kia nodded assent.
"La illaha ill Allah," he said, and Kai repeated that precious phrase three times.
"Ya Allah." Oh God.
"Ya hiyy." Oh Alive.
"Ya haqq." The Truly Real.
"Ya Qahar." The Compeller and Dominate.
"Ya Latif." The Subtle.
Now Kai's breath stopped as Babatunde asked Kai the question that would separate him forever from other men. "The Prophet Muhammad says: 'Die before you die.' In Hadith Qutsi it is written, 'My servant hates to die, and I hate to disappoint him.' Reconcile these two."
&
nbsp; Kai paused but for a moment before repeating what had been patiently learned, and what he still only fleetingly understood. "What dies," he said, "is what that person is other than Allah. What Allah preserves is the divine essence that came with the first breath."
Babatunde's eyes shone, and he bade Kai stand.
Then the rabar, the darvish who originally led Kai into the mosque, took Kai around the circle. He shook hands with each of the men reverently, and bowed to each of the women with his hands over his heart.
When he had navigated the circle, his teacher addressed him again. "Kai," Babatunde said. "Do you witness that God is the only God, swear to profess your faith, to act in charity and piety, to keep holy the sacraments, and to protect, at cost of your own life, the inner chamber?"
"I do," Kai said.
There was a collective sigh from the assembled. Babatunde nodded in satisfaction. "Kai, greet your brothers and sisters."
Chapter Forty-two
The workweek had ended. There was music and dancing, and slave men and women from Djidade Berhar's estate had arrived to add their wishes to the festivities.
"Good day for a wedding!" a slave girl called, and received a chorus of greetings in return.
In Aidan's house, Sophia was nervous as a cat. She was surrounded by the women of the village, who were busy preparing her, sewing her into her wedding gown. Now that she had given up the comforts of the big house, and they had embraced her as one of them, it was strange to remember that there had ever been a time she had not known their companionship.
She looked down at the frilly thing as they busied themselves happily. The dress had been cobbled together from scraps donated by the Wakil, but so cleverly constructed that it might have cost fifty Alexanders.
Around her neck was a tiny silver cross, one of the very few possessions she had brought with her from her former life. She had never worn it for Kai, and never thought about the fact that she hadn't. Not until she had thought of the day of her wedding had she been consumed by the urge to wear the thumb-sized crucifix, a present from her long-dead father.
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