Page 178 of Whisper
“You must carry Behroze now, Dawood. He needs a father, now more than ever.”
Behroze was a young teenager, wide-eyed and wondering, forever slipping away from his family. It was that which had saved him. He had too much curiosity in his eyes, too many questions that wanted answers. He was destined for heartbreak.
“Baba—”
“It was never Allah’s will that I leave this mountain,ibni.” ’Bu Adnan clutched his chest again. Heaved a ragged breath. His eyes were wet, burning into Dawood, twin rubies shining through the dusty depths of time, strong despite his withered frame. He reached a shaking hand for his Quran, lying in the dirt beside him, the one item he’d carried from their home. “This belongs to you, now,habibi.”
“Baba,no. We areallgetting off this mountain.”
Gunshots, in the distance. Answering fire from the ridgeline. Fighters on the ground. Military, warlord, jihadist. He couldn’t know. The sky was on fire, the mountain was falling, and his father was dying.
Again.
“Habibi.” ’Bu Adnan cupped his face. He couldn’t hide the pain, the way he curled over his chest. His ragged breaths. But he tried. For Dawood, he tried. “Take our family away from here. Keep them safe.”
“There’s nowhere safe in the world, Baba. That was it. Our home—” His throat clenched. His vision blurred. Not again,in shaa Allah, not again. “What do I do, Baba? What do I do?”
“Follow the Prophet,ibni.” ’Bu Adnan gritted his teeth. His hand clasped Dawood’s cheek, gripped his face, bruisingly tight. “You know in your heart what your path is. What it always has been. Allah laid out your life for you,habibi. You must follow the path Allah has laid out for you.”
“No…” Dawood leaned over ’Bu Adnan, pressing his forehead to his father’s. His path had once been twisted and rotten, full of darkness and pain. His path was supposed to circle that mountain endlessly, live out his days in the light with ’Bu Adnan.
Why was Allah dragging him back to the darkness? To death, and anguish, and war? “Baba, I don’t want to.”
“Allah alone is charge of our days,habibi. His will for you is laid out. And His will for me is to die.” ’Bu Adnan shuddered. “Bismillah, Allah granted me that you shall be my last sight.”
“Baba!” Dawood grabbed ’Bu Adnan with both hands, cupped his face. Held him close. “Baba—”
His father held him, and he held his father in return, as ’Bu Adnan exhaled his last breath.
He shouldn’t cry. He knew he shouldn’t. Everyone’s time on the planet was determined by Allah, and to cry over a death was to subvert Allah’s will. But tears built and tumbled from his eyes, dropped onto his Baba’s still face.
It wasn’tfair, losing everyone he loved,everyone, in his entire life.
What path was this Allah had laid for him? What point was there to this pain, this anguish, time and again? What point was there to the darkness, the rage in his soul?
Screams rose from the scrub brushes he’d hidden his people in.
Sounds of running, men bursting through the trees onto the goat path they were following. Clad in black, with fighters’ vests and jihadist masks, every man carried a rifle.
Dawood laid ’Bu Adnan down and rose. Two strides placed him between his people and the fighters. His hands clenched.
“As-salaam-alaikum.” One of the fighters made his way to Dawood. His eyes darted over Dawood’s people. “Brother, where have you come from?”
“Wa alaikum as-salaam,” Dawood grunted. “We come from up the mountain. The bombs, they drove us down.”
“Those dogs are bombing everything! The entire range! They’re trying to destroy these mountains,yallah!” He looked beyond Dawood, to ’Bu Adnan’s still body, lying in the dirt. “Subhanallah, what happened?”
“My baba. He—” Dawood couldn’t speak.
“Inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji'oon.”May Allah give him an easy and pleasant journey and shower blessings on his grave.The fighter held his hand over his heart. “He is a martyr, brother. Do not grieve. He is already in Paradise, with Allah.”
The mountain rumbled, and on the flinty peak above them, fire bloomed, a shower of earth exploding in a mushroom cloud.
“They are trying to take down the mountain!” The fighter reached for Dawood. “Come with us. We will protect you and your people.”
What could he do? The sky was falling, the world was burning, and his family was going to die if he didn’t move. He had no idea where to go, no plan, nothing but blind fear that guided them down the goat path.
Was his path, instead, to follow this man?
