The vast gardens were worked by the kafiri slaves and Yusuf knew they didn’t carry the mark–a crime punishable by execution. He couldn’t fathom their hostility towards taking the stupid mark; he did and it was painless enough. The mark was forced on everyone and apart from being a representation of worship to the one world religion and its leader, the Assyrian, it was just another of a sundry list of deity the Alama Masu worshipped. Besides, in itself, it was world currency and without it, no one was able to buy, sell or barter; hold a job; get married; own a house; go to school; or any list of normal day-to-day activities.
Yusuf argued vehemently in favour of the mark.
If the kafiri leaders would only relent their stubborn stand, concede to the paltry requirement and played along with the stupid game, then possibly they wouldn’t be hunted and life would be much easier, instead of being slaves and fearing execution at every turn.
But Yusuf’s cloudy arguments fell apart when it was suggested the Alama Masu were intolerant of all other ethnic groups, forcing him to reappraise his argument on the grounds of truth and agreeing, ‘maybe the kafiri were better off as they were’.
Fearing the decline of his workforce and losing the secrets of the coveted grey crystals, he turned a blind eye to the kafiri stubbornness and allowed them to escape the obligation of taking the Assyrian’s mark; an obligation they painted as betrayal to their God and a stumbling block to ever finding eternal salvation.
Intrigued by their protests, he was astounded by the kafiri God’s stance of worshiping Him alone, whereas the Alama Masu worshipped every possible entity known and there was room for all. But no matter how he tried to convince the kafiri otherwise, the kafiri would not worship anyone or anything other than their own Lord God Jehovah and would rather die than defile themselves with idols.
Another vexing threat raised its head to Yusuf’s business and reputation with the palace. Most of the Alama Masu knew there were still large hordes of kafiri hidden somewhere in their world, but finding them proved to be a substantial bother.
It was suggested more than once by Malhalem’s warriors when they returned empty-handed after a raid, someone among their own ranks was a sympathiser, having a vested interest in the kafiri and were assisting them to remain invisible. Yusuf worried, the absence of the mark was a dead giveaway and led to constant raids, checking the slave population for proof they indeed were Alama Masu.
In return for shelter from Malhalem, the vassal ruler of Baal Malii, and a small portion of food, the kafiri would work as slaves to Yusuf clothed in the same uniform every Alama Masu wore, giving them some immunity to suspicious eyes.
It was a marriage of convenience. Yusuf got cheap and extremely efficient labour–the secret blending of the grey crystals–and the kafiri had something of a steady home among the Alama Masu, without the forbidden mark. Whereas outside of Baal Malii, there was only the desolate ruins to live in and no food or water, sun or soil that would support growing anything. Yusuf knew the kafiri faced a desperate situation: accept his terms or die a horrible death, leaving him clearly the victor.
To some extent, Yusuf suspected Malhalem knew of his business alliance with the kafiri, but because Yusuf’s produce was the finest, cheapest and most reliable, supplying the palace with outstanding grey crystals, Malhalem turned a blind eye. But occasionally, to save face with his people and to show he was up to their demands to rid Baal Malii of the kafiri, Malhalem raided the shelters and stole the best of the kafiri women, abusing them maliciously and then executing them before a blood lusting crowd of Alama Masu.
The raids, however, were predictable and when one was suspected, the kafiri would hide their women and pray in earnest for Jehovah to send the Raiders and save the lives of His precious daughters.
Women were considered chattels among the Alama Masu and had no value; they expected the kafiri carried the same sentiment, attacking the valueless women and leaving the men to carry on the tedious work in the fields unharmed and continue supplying the palace with the quality grey food crystals.
In Malhalem’s twisted mind, he was doing the slaves a favour, and taking nothing of value in his raids, an action he was sure would be appreciated by the kafiri men. But Malhalem was intolerant to all kafiri if he suspected any hint of defiance to his rule emanating from the kafiri patriarchs.
When warranted and riled into anger, it didn’t take much effort on Malhalem’s part to find a sample of male kafiri to execute.
*~*~*~*
Moshe’s chipping hoe came down solidly, jarring his arms as he tried to break the surface of the hard, artificial soil and uproot the annoying ever present weeds growing unrestrained around the lush rows of synthetic beans.
His ancient back was showing its age and ached with each painful stroke, but if he wasn’t able to work, he’d be singled out by Yusuf for one of the Alama Masu’s execution raids.
He stopped for a brief respite, leaning on his blunt chipping hoe, gathering his breath and gazing with uncertainty at a fast moving figure making a beeline for his position. The figure moved like Binyamin and as he came closer, Moshe could see it was him and the alarm bells began to ring, wondering what new emergency he would describe and why he would risk such an open meeting.
Moshe had been the resistance leader ever since it was founded many years back and now because of his progressing age, he had been grooming Binyamin to take his place when Jehovah finally released him from slavery and took him home.
To meet in an open field was dangerous and frowned upon, considered only necessary in extreme situations.
As expected, Yusuf’s slave warden, housed in a tiny observation hut in the middle of the field, had seen the approaching man but his rotund frame remained seated in a chair with his massive booted feet comfortably perched against the wooden structure, exercising his eyes alone but apparently not alarmed enough by the unusual situation to disturb his comfortable position.
“Why do you risk such a meeting?!” Moshe continued to work, chipping the hard soil and chiding the breathless Binyamin as he drew up alongside the old leader.
Binyamin peered around the neat rows of synthetic beans and settled his gaze on the heavy build of the slave warden reclining his feet against the wooden structure and obviously watching the discussion.
“We have a desperate situation,” Binyamin whispered, slapping the old man on his back, feigning laughter and gesturing impressively with his hands in a academy award-winning performance.
Catching on to the charade, Moshe returned the gesture in equal exuberance. “What is the situation?”
Binyamin glanced at the overweight guard and noticed he had dropped his glare, returning his attention to the roof of the hut and much needed rest instead.
“One of the Raiders has been captured and it is rumoured to be the leader, Finn!”
Moshe’s intense glare studied Binyamin’s face in alarm. “Finn! Oh dear Jehovah, please be with your son! Have the leaders met?” Moshe whispered.
“Yes, and it has been decided to attempt a rescue,” Binyamin offered, knowing Moshe’s past resistance to internal heroics.
“This is agreed by all, then?”
Binyamin nodded slowly, unsure their leader would agree with their decision without his presence to dissuade the rescue. Moshe glanced up at the guardhouse, but continued chipping. The warden was fast asleep and appeared unconcerned.
“Then let it be. I will meet with the others to discuss their plan when I am done here. Now leave, before we are discovered by someone else!”
Binyamin was incredulous; Moshe had agreed to a strategy that went against his usual judgement. But Finn was a valuable and esteemed member of the Raiders and the resistance relied on their stealth and bravery to rescue at risk members of Jehovah’s family from the Alama Masu.
Just as Binyamin disappeared from view, another figure swaggered across the field, making a beeline for the guardhouse. In moments, the rotund and sleeping guard stood in front of a raging Yus
uf and then peered comically, like a bulging lighthouse, out across the bean fields with glaring eyes and mock concentration at each kafiri slave.
Moshe considered whether Yusuf had seen the clandestine meeting with Binyamin and decided if he had, the guard would be on his way to talk to Malhalem and his barbarous cutlass by now.
He glanced up as Yusuf pushed his way through rows of healthy artificial beans, catching at his black robe as he aimed his dark hooded features directly toward him. The old man watched his approach in his peripheral vision but kept working, wondering what Yusuf had in mind.
“Ah, Moshe! Esteemed leader of the kafiri. I have some wonderful news for you! Tonight Malhalem has ordered a great celebration throughout Baal Malii and it appears your mighty Finn is to be the honoured guest before he is tortured and executed in the great city square at noon! This is a great victory for our people, with a holiday being ascribed to celebrate and all people have been ordered to attend. So thanks to your illustrious Finn, you will not have to work tomorrow and you can witness firsthand what happens to the enemy of the Alama Masu... isn’t that nice of Malhalem?” Yusuf turned his back on Moshe and almost skipped across the rows and out of view.
A worried frown settled across the old man’s face, but at least their intelligence concerning Finn had been confirmed. He turned back to chipping the hard ground while a thought began to form in his mind and then the thought turned into a prayer. After many hours of concentrated chipping and praying, an uneasy feeling settled over Moshe.
Something wasn’t right and Jehovah was tight-lipped to his pleas.
*~*~*~*
Chapter 31
From a position well out of sight, a small black robed figure peered across an open area and concluded it was the main city square. With a sweeping glance, the piercing eyes studied the surrounds carefully, making certain the confining hood didn’t block out potential threats concealed in his periphery vision.
The enormous tightly structured plaza was bordered on all sides by neat and decorative building fronts while small walkways between each structure led into and out of the city square, giving an intimate feel but still capable of accommodating several thousand people. In the centre of the open area, striking green grass bordered by poplar trees drew the inquisitive eye to a small music shell, obviously modified to suit a more sinister activity.
As the tiny figure scanned the dowdy black hooded pedestrians going about their business in the piazza, a comedic thought crossed his mind and he stifled a laugh. The scene appeared like a spoilt and well fed murder of crows, dancing about the rubbish bins of some fancy city but with stomachs already full, they declined to stop and investigate the treats on offer.
A commotion abruptly erupted among the busy pedestrians and a crowd gathered about the music shell stage as two burly black hooded warriors forcefully dragged a magnificent looking blonde man and imprisoned him into shackles and cuffs attached to the shell wall.
The young athlete was impressive and handsome, drawing the black hooded women like moths to a flame. They started jeering at the young man and shaking their fists, while chanting something Dramble didn’t understand.
He noticed the front rows of the gathering crowd were nearly all women and more were pouring in from all over the city square as the word spread, joining in the chant and vying for a place to study his fine features and athletic build and eager to fill their minds with images of the legendary kafiri Raider’s leader before he was executed.
A guard, situated on the stage, lunged at the unruly women with a determined swing of his boot, sending a reflexive wave of black hooded figures stumbling backwards, away from the platform and toppling on top of each other.
Dramble’s curiosity burnt unwisely, hoping to get closer to the young blonde man and establish the reason for such an unprecedented outpouring of excitement, particularly among the women. The jabbering language was confusing him too, but he knew some of the guards spoke English and his disguise positioned him to get closer, without drawing too much attention to himself.
He gently picked his way through the jostling women and in an attempt to get to the front of the fray and close to the stage, he inadvertently came into eye contact with some of the jeering proponents, peering back at him through the hooded slits with dark, hate filled eyes.
Their murderous gazes unsettled him and he was sure if the women could get to the young man, they would attack until the Raider lay shredded and lifeless.
As he pushed closer to the front, a solid wall of resistance stopped his progress until he was in the fight for his life. Ducking punches and aggravated kicks, Dramble finally wound his way to the edge of the stage and decided to wave his arms around and start jabbering too, hopefully helping him to blend in with the manic crowd.
One of the guards grabbed a handful of blonde locks and pulled the prisoner’s head down to his level, inciting a thunderous cheer from the rampaging women. Then to be heard above the din, the guard raised his voice so the captive could hear his words.
“You rescued the beautiful blonde woman so she escapes, but you sacrifice yourself instead, and now you will die in her place!”
The guard swept his hand in a semicircle in front of him and pointed out to the crowd. “See the treachery of women, Raider; they are nothing but dogs and they will thank you by spilling your blood tomorrow! But tonight, Malhalem has ordered a party and you are the honoured guest!”
Dramble’s mind couldn’t get past the warrior’s words: you rescued the beautiful blonde woman so she escapes. But as he turned the words over in his mind and peered around the gyrating black hooded women, he was more certain than ever the beautiful blonde woman could be none other than Elly.
This young man was in trouble and probably because of Elly. He most certainly knew where she was and judging by the guard’s boasting, she was safe, too.
Dramble felt an abrupt tsunami of hope washing over him, but had to think quickly. The black hoods were going to execute the blonde young man in the morning and it appeared their intention was to allow a woman to be the executioner.
*~*~*~*
Moshe’s ancient frame perched comfortably in the leader’s chair at the head of the resistance meeting. The chair had moulded and adapted over many years to the old man’s frame and bore his body image in its tattered fabric. He had planned and executed many daring rescues from this very seat; some had been great successes, but some had failed dismally and ended with dire consequences, forcing a more subdued approach to dangerous rescue bids in the old man.
Tonight, the seven leaders bristled with determination to rescue the young man who had been central to so many of the resistance escaping desperate cruelty at the hands of the Alama Masu.
Now in return, Finn needed their help.
But Moshe had an uneasy feeling that Jehovah had other plans and reluctantly, he shared his doubts with the rest of the leaders. Although Moshe tried to encourage the others to seek Jehovah first and confirm his uneasiness, they were hesitant to commit and decided there was no time for prayer, just action. Besides, it was a moral cause and Jehovah surely would back them in this noble attempt.
Moshe returned to his modest dwelling, sharing the small structure with several other kafiri families and prepared to rest his aching bones after a long, tiring day in the fields. This time he would not accompany the resistance in their plan and after so many years conducting rescues, it was time for Binyamin to show his mettle, step up to the plate and lead the small band wisely.
The thought of a holiday tomorrow would be welcomed among the resistance, until they learned of the reason.
Moshe couldn’t remember in the forty odd years he had been a slave to Yusuf ever having a day off from his toil. But as he laid his ancient bones down onto his modest bunk, sleep would not come and a growing sense of foreboding took its place instead.
He slipped out of bed and dropped to his knees in search of Jehovah’s wisdom and peace, but the longer he stayed in the Mighty One??
?s presence, the more unnerved he became.
Rising from his knees, he pulled open the wooden door to his room and ambled into the night in search of Binyamin’s dwelling, hoping to dissuade him and the others from their mission. Surrounded by familiar faces whom he loved, he stopped to ask of Binyamin but no one could direct him to his whereabouts. A gentle knock to Binyamin’s door went unheeded and Moshe could only assume the mission had already begun.
Turning from the small dwelling, he gazed across the darkened fields to the city glow some distance away and studied the colourful lights beaming out from the square. Yusuf’s excitement and his announcement of a party tonight was accurate; the lights were brighter and more colourful than he had ever seen them before, but that just added to his uneasiness.
As his gaze intensified, a sudden thought captured his attention. Maybe the Alama Masu were using Finn as bait to draw the resistance into a trap. It was obvious that the esteemed Raider was valuable to the kafiri and they would attempt anything to release their hero. The Alama Masu would then destroy the plaguing Raider and the resistance in one foul swoop.
The old man’s head drooped forward as he realised the reason for Jehovah’s silence. And instead of trusting their wise God, they were walking–unguided–into a trap.
Overcome with anguish, Moshe dropped to his knees and began to pray in earnest, begging Jehovah to forgive their disobedience and step in and save the day.
Familiar faces gathered around the elder, concerned he may be unwell, but hearing the anguished petitions to Jehovah, it soon became evident a disaster was unfolding and they joined the old man, pleading for His help.
*~*~*~*
The party atmosphere raging in the square took Dramble off guard. His hiding place had been discovered a number of times by revellers and he’d narrowly escaped becoming a fancy to some inebriated black hooded man.
Although the crowd was rowdy, the guards had kept them from harming the prisoner until the plans of the resistance had been laid bare and the trap sprung.