Page 52 of Iblis' Affliction
“What does wali mean?” Slater shifted, his arm brushing against Talha’s sleeve.
Talha’s skin crawled from the discomfort. The hostage of his own word, he stood still, allowing the back of Slater’s hand to skid against his. “Wali is an Islamic term. It means a holy man, protector, or helper. If a grieving family has no male members left who are capable of wielding arms, they choose a man to execute their revenge. The avenger is called the wali of the slain. By accepting the honor of the blood revenge, he becomes the protector and guardian of the family.”
“Why would your men want that, Master? Sounds troublesome.”
Looking into the transparent eyes, Talha once again realized the insurmountable differences separating them. “What defines a man, Slater?”
“Power?” Slater’s immediate reply made Talha hum.
“No. Honor. Family. Responsibility. Men who join me are ready to give away their lives. They want to know that even if they die, their families will be taken care of, especially, if there are no male members left. Do you understand what I’m saying? They are loyal to me because they know I will take care of them without exception.”
“Family is a weakness.” Slater’s sweet breath touched Talha’s face. “Slater doesn’t need family.”
“You are still too young,” Talha said. “Everything could change.”
“Does it mean Master will take care of Slater?”
It took Talha all his will power not to look away from the lustful gaze. “Yes, if you are loyal.”
“Like a godfather?”
Despite the tense situation, Talha laughed. “Something like that.”
“Slater wants to go hunting with Master.” Blue eyes flared with something dark, brutal.
“You can’t.” Shrugging the reaper’s request off, Talha pushed away from the table and strode toward the double door of the Grand Hall.
“Why not? Why master can and Slater can’t?” In a blink of an eye, Slater’s body blocked his path. His facial muscles strained, eyes narrowed, and teeth glinted from under the drawn-up lip.
“Because it’s… honor killing to seek blood-revenge. Salik didn’t wrong you, so you have no right to steal revenge from the rightful claimers.”
“I can be the wali of the slain,” Slater retorted. Talha chuckled, realizing that this confirmed his suspicion about Slater’s inability to understand their culture.
“No, you can’t. It’s a tradition. You aren’t a Muslim man, you don’t believe in Allah, and you are a foreigner. You are an outsider, and most importantly, you won’t become the protector of a family. It’s a huge responsibility. No one will pick you, and even if someone does, I’ll never allow you to become a guardian of a family.” To make sure Slater took his words seriously, Talha added, “If you interrupt the Royal Game, you replace Salik.”
“Huh? Sounds fun!” The maddened glint in the depth of the blue eyes intensified.
Talha grabbed Slater’s shoulders. The thought that the reaper would hinder the Royal Game painted his world bright red. Too tired to deal with this shit, he roared, adding the clear message into his voice, “You won’t dishonor me like this. Is it clear?”
Slater’s jaw tensed, and he hissed, “Crystal, Master…”
“Good. Now go and check the mansion before you go to bed.” Pushing the reaper away, Talha marched out of the Grand Hall and headed for his bedroom.
He showered, mentally preparing himself to keep his promise. To buy more time, he shaved. Running out of excuses to stay in the bathroom, he headed to bed. Since Slater wasn’t in the room, he killed the lights and, for half of the night, he lay awake, blinking at the ceiling. The reaper never came.
PRESENT
THICK FOG STUFFED TALHA’S HEAD,and he wasn’t sure if he could hear anything with his left ear. The drumming of the blood in his temples and his cut eyebrow set nagging pain in the depth of his skull. The tiny noise in his ear didn’t let him sleep. His joints hurt from immobility, his skin, increasingly sensitive, felt every little bump of the rough floor, as maddening thirst wrenched his muscles and stretched every second into an agonizing eternity.
Lying on the floor and watching Slater’s back, Talha tried to find a single positive trait in his reaper but failed. Selfish, demanding, cruel, needy, capricious, and short-tempered, Slater had nothing good in him, yet Talha had never been able to tear his gaze away from him. It started with awareness and caution, but soon morphed into a weird captivation he couldn’t find a reason for.
A spider, landing on his face, thrust Talha out of his lethargy. Grinding his teeth, he shook his head. Hurt, annoyed, thirsty, he felt the growing need to take a leak brimming again, and that alone irritated every nerve in his body. Not willing to wait for Slater to decide his future, he kicked the reaper between his shoulder blades. Mentally preparing to face the angry outburst, he clenched his fists, but the younger man only shuffled to the wall, farther away from Talha.
“Urght-ugh!” Talha growled, but the duct tape morphed Slater’s name into something unrecognizable.
When minutes stretched and Slater didn’t spare him a glance, Talha wrapped his fingers around the ropes. Trying not to look at Camilla’s head on his right, he turned his body ninety degrees and pressed his feet against the wall at either side of the wall ring. Tugging and swaying the rope left and right, he used all his strength to loosen the stone and wrench the ring out of the wall. At some point, Slater raised his head. The gaze he granted Talha was heavy and muddy, but his attention didn’t stay on his prisoner for long. Unsteady on his feet, he got up and shuffled out of the room.
Time stretched into eternity. The chill from the ground crawled into his marrow, making every bone hurt. His wrists, sore and raw from tugging the rope, forced Talha to stop the attempts to wrench out the wall ring. Panting into the darkness, he pressed his wrist to the ground and started rubbing, hoping that the uneven floor could eventually chafe through the rope.
