“On the third day we decided to send you Samirah, and relied on the skill of her hands and the softness of her flesh to call you back again. Allah be praised, the long, quiet hours with her were enough to convince you, and you awoke seven hours ago—if only for a brief time. It was enough to share the elixir we have used to settle ourselves. Do you not do this as well? It seems to have worked a great benefit upon you. You rested in the arms of Samirah, and in the peace of Allah, until you made your final awakening moments ago. I have been watching you as Mukasir—the one who greets the unbeliever and welcomes him to seek another path. Forgive me if I make the assumption that you are not a follower of Islam.”
“Islam? Well… No, I don’t suppose I am, but—“
“Then it is my hope that you will place your trust in me, and that we may be friends. For you are here now, and time is very short. You do understand that, yes?”
Paul would get half way up the garden path with the man, and then loose his way as he neared the gate. “I’m very sorry,” he said. “Perhaps it was the fall, as you suggest. Three days? What could Nordhausen be thinking? Poor man. If he found his way to the cleft in the rock and saw the deep sink there—why, he probably thinks I fell to my death.” That thought sent him on another tangent. “Did you hear anyone call out from above?”
“Did we hear? I’m afraid that none may approach the Well. It is not for those who are settled. It would bring the madness, yes? We wait, and the river brings us messengers from time to time. We thought you were such a man, until we saw you. No Westerner has ever come to us this way.” He smiled with that, a genuine smile this time, bereft of the pretense that had colored his remarks earlier. It was as if he was sharing a private joke with Paul, but one that made no impression on him.
“In fact,” Jabr explained, “we expected you—at least we expected someone to brave the stream at the setting of the last moon. You were a bit untimely, and perhaps that is why you were so distressed by the fall.”
“You expected me? You mean to say you were waiting for someone here?”
“It was written,” said Jabr. “As much as anything can be written, I suppose. My Kadi told me to be very vigilant on this night at the setting of the moon. I took my prayers on the uppermost battlement, and then came down to the deep places here where we wait. Allah be praised—you were sent to us as it was foretold. Yet, we do not think you are the man we expected. We have much to talk about, my friend. We have so much more to share with one another.”
Paul passed his hand over his eyes, as if trying to rub away the confusion and bewilderment. Jabr smiled, and touched his knee with a gesture of displacement.
“Forgive me,” he said with genuine concern. “You are still gathering yourself. I know what this feels like. I will let you rest a moment, and then Samirah will return with nourishment. Tonight you will dine with her, and she will pamper you so that you can truly believe that all is well and you are whole again. Tomorrow, we will meet after morning prayer and speak once more. My Kadi will wish to see you, but have no fear. He is a wise and generous man. He will be the judge of things, and all will be well.”
Jabr gave Paul a warm nod and rose, stretching his legs a bit. “Enjoy the evening, Pa’ul Do-Rhalan. You have been very gracious to speak with me. Peace be upon you.”
He bowed low, and Paul returned his compliment, almost on instinct. “And on you,” he said haltingly, as he watched Jabr recede into the shadows. There was a quiet unlatching of a door at the back of the room, and he was gone.
Paul settled into his bedding, unaware of another set of eyes upon him as he rested. The Sami was watching from a hidden spy hole, intent upon the newcomer. The Kadi will wish to meet with you, he thought, but I will see him first. Yes, he may be wise and generous, but he is also foolish, and easily deluded. Thankfully, another is set upon the watch this night, the Sami of the Seventh Gate.
Part IV
The Assassins
“Paradise lies in the shadow of swords”
10
The Kadi bowed low, completing his morning prayer and releasing that tenuous yet vital hold on the thin spiritual line that reached out across the globe to holy Mecca. The qibla, an invisible line of direction that connected him to the very center of Islam, was a sacred meridian of the faithful, as sure and reliable as the lines that navigators used to navigate the oceans on their journeys. He took hold of that line five times each day, and this time he paused to visualize the great black-draped shine of the Ka’ba in his mind, and remember the holy black stone within that his lips had touched on during the last pilgrimage of the Hadj. The stone, it was said, fell from the heavens, a gift from Allah.
Now he sat with the sweet memories dancing in his mind, the chanting masses swirling about the squat shape of the shrine that had been built by the hand of Abraham himself. It was Jibra’el, the Angel of heaven, who had given instruction on its making. How fortunate that he had been able to fulfill his holy duty to visit that place as a young man. He was blessed by Allah, and grateful that he had been able to make the journey before the infirmities of age and time took hold of him. His experience of that moment remained a central pillar in his own life, and helped him to remain one of the rightly guided, true to the teachings of Islam.
The morning chill fingered the hem of his gown and he pulled it close, his mind drawn from the dream of the faithful to the matter that was now at hand. The Kadi was uncertain in his heart when he turned his thoughts to the man he would soon encounter. He was the third Walker that had fallen through the Well of Souls to reach this place, all predicted by the scrolls the Kadi had received from Egypt, all expected. Yet surely this was not the man intended. By all accounts and appearances, he was an unbeliever! How was it that an infidel should appear in their midst, and not the messenger he had been led to expect?
It was clear to him now that the Order was behind this. Somehow, by some means, they had uncovered yet another of the cherished hidden sanctuaries his people had long guarded. Perhaps the Sami was right to argue with him. That thought shook the Kadi more than the cold morning wind of the desert. If what the Sami said was true then the gateway in Wadi Rumm, the Valley of the Moon, had been breached! The Well of Souls had been defiled, and now an infidel was in their midst, or so it seemed. Was he an agent of the Order sent to this very place to work some mischief as the Sami argued? Where had he come from? Why was he here?
He lowered his head with the shame of his circumstance. Yet, Allah had placed this burden upon him, and he could not set it aside without just resolution. Could this be my great trial, he wondered as he stroked the long grey-white beard that fell upon his breast? He was not yet old, but he grew his beard long as the sign of his office—Kadi, the judge. It was his to preside over discernment, and make decree. A Walker was not to be dealt with lightly. He had conferred with the Sami long, throughout the night, and with some distress. The Sami was driven by his fear and hatred of the infidels. It was his to receive the initiates, to prepare the warriors of the faithful—the Fedayeen. His was the charge of the sharpened sword and the vial of poison. Therefore it was not surprising that death was on his lips from the very first when they met to consider the fate of this man.