Book 4 - The Fire in His Hands Read Online Free PDF Page A

them. His attention was on Nassef, who again was drifting
    aimlessly between parties, drawn both ways.
    Intuition told him that he needed Nassef. The youth could become the cornerstone of his
    future. He had to win Nassef over before he left.
    El Murid was as ambivalent about Nassef as Mustaf’s son was about El Murid. Nassef was
    bright, fearless, hard, and competent. But he had a dark streak in him that frightened the
    Disciple. Mustaf’s son contained as much potential for evil as he did for good.
    “No, I won’t defy Mustaf,” he told his imploring companions. “I’ve recovered from my
    debility. It’s time I started my travels. I’ll return in time. Carry on my work while I’m gone. Show me a model village when I return.”
    He began one of his gentle teaching sessions, trying to give them the tools they would need
    to become effective missionaries.

    He did not glance back as he rode out of El Aquila. He had only one regret: he had had no
    opportunity to present Nassef with further arguments. El Aquila had been a beginning.
    Not nearly as good a beginning as he had hoped, though. He had not been able to sway
    anyone important. Priests and temporal leaders simply refused to listen. He would have to find some way to open their ears and minds.
    He took the trail that reversed the road his father’s caravan had been traveling. He wanted
    to pause at the place where his family had died.
    His angel had told him his work would be hard, that he would be resisted by those who had
    an investment in the old ways. He had not believed. How could they refuse the Truth? It was so obvious and beautiful that it overwhelmed one.
    He was two miles east of El Aquila when he heard hoofbeats. He glanced back. Two riders
    were overtaking him. He did not immediately recognize them. He had noticed them only
    momentarily, when they had helped the stoned abbot flee the oasis. What were they doing? He
    turned his face eastward and tried to ignore them.
    His worry would not leave him. It quickly became obvious that they were trailing him. When
    he looked again he found that they were just a dozen yards behind. Naked steel appeared in their hands.
    He kicked his mount’s flanks. The white stallion surged forward, almost toppling him. He
    flung himself forward and clung to the animal’s neck with no thought of regaining control.
    The riders came after him.
    He now knew the fear he had had no time for in the ambush of his father’s caravan. He
    could not believe that the Evil One would have become so desperate so soon.
    His flight led him into and through the defile where his family had died. He swept round a
    mass of bizarrely weathered boulders.
    Riders awaited him. His mount sank to its haunches to avoid a collision. El Murid tumbled
    off. He rolled across the hard earth and scrambled for cover.
    He had no weapon. He had trusted in the protection of the Lord. . . . He began praying.
    Hooves thundered down the defile. Men shouted. Steel rang on steel. Someone moaned.
    Then it ended.
    “Come out, Micah,” someone shouted into the ensuing silence.
    He peeped between boulders. He saw two riderless horses and two bodies lying on the stony
    earth.
    Nassef loomed over them on a big black stallion. His right hand held a bloody blade. Behind
    him were another three youths from El Aquila, and Meryem and another girl.
    El Murid crept out. “Where did you come from?”
    “We decided to come with you.” Nassef swung down. Contemptuously, he wiped his blade
    on the chest of one of the dead men. “Priests. They send halfwits to do murder.”
    The brothers had not been priests themselves, only wards of the Shrine who had been cared
    for by the abbot in return for doing the donkey work around the monastery.
    “But how did you get here?” El Murid demanded.
    “Meryem saw them start after you. Some of us were arguing about what to do. That decided
    us. There’s an antelope trail that goes over the hills instead of around. I took that, riding