— 13 —
Aseem was held upright with his wrists and ankles bound like a crucifixion. The rope dug into his wrists and blood slowly dripped down his arms. He was barely conscious.
“You have been sentenced to die,” the guard told him.
Aseem said nothing. He had no more tears to cry.
“Since you know nothing of the rebel filth and their plans or whereabouts, you will die for our entertainment.”
Aseem said nothing. He was alone. He had been abandoned by his friends and had nothing left to give or to live for.
“When?” he asked.
“Seven days,” the guard replied with a sneer. “You will be an example at the next race for any other riders who have ideas of betrayal.”
Again, Aseem said nothing. He looked ahead with a distant, blank stare. He knew he was going to die. He thought of everything in life he wished he had done. Wished he had experienced.
His life had been so short.
Fat Zahir stumbled through the desert. The blistering sun beat down on his brown face. He sweated profusely through his robe. On his back was three days’ worth of water that would quickly be reduced to two days. Zahir had never rationed before and his thirst knew few boundaries. He carelessly drank and gulped water every half an hour, even spilling some of it in the red desert sand.
After the camel race, and his loss to Hari Kazim, Zahir had bundled up as much food and water as possible and escaped in the night. The Caid blamed him for the camel race escape and, generally, people not liked by the Caid rarely lived long. His debt, compounded by the loss to Hari Kazim, totaled more than he would earn in a year.
In a fit of desperation, he had slinked out of the camp at nightfall with no plan and nowhere to go.
He stood in the heat, then fell to his knees and started to cry. He wished he could be home with his mother and father, with none of these worries. He missed his mother’s dove casserole and cashew nut pie. He missed his father. He was not ready for responsibility. He was a grown man, yet such a child.
Like most bullies, once the façade of his toughness was broken, his true colors showed—a spoiled little boy who would run home to his parents at the first glimpse of trouble.
He was weak, and he knew it.
Continuing to stumble along, Zahir blubbered like a toddler. Looking down at the sand and feeling sorry for himself, he walked aimlessly ahead until he felt something sharp in his chest.
Looking up, he saw a rider dressed completely in beige as camouflage in the desert. The rider’s face was covered with a cloth to protect his eyes from the sand. He held a rifle with a long bayonet at the end.
“Look what came crawling in the sand,” the rider laughed.
Zahir, terrified, starting crying and blubbering even louder.
“Oh my goodness, stop your stammering,” the rider scolded Zahir, annoyed.
“Please don’t hurt me.”
“And why not? Obviously you come from the Caid’s kasbah. You’re wearing his colors.”
“I can help you,” Zahir answered.
“How?”
“I know everything about the Caid’s kasbah. I can provide you with detailed plans of every nook and corner in the kasbah. I can tell you everything you need to know about his army.”
The rider, considering this piece of information, decided to do the most logical thing. He descended from his horse, took the butt of his rifle, and hit Zahir squarely in the head, knocking him unconscious.
Next, he hog-tied Zahir’s wrists and ankles, blindfolded him, shoved the fat man up onto his horse, and started for the resistance camp.
“Do you know who this is?” Malik asked.
“He is the man who tortured us,” Tariq answered.
Zahir kneeled on the ground, a rag covered his mouth to prevent him from speaking; he was blindfolded, and his ankles and wrists were bound with a leather rope.
“Mmmmm,” he mumbled.
Malik took the rag from his mouth.
“What is it? You have thirty seconds before we end your pitiful life.” “I was the head guard at the kasbah. I can help you.” “How can you help us?” Malik asked.
“I know secret passages. Ways to get in and out of the kasbah completely undetected.”
“This sounds like a trap,” Malik heard someone say.
Malik thought about this for a moment. He motioned to the scout who found Zahir.
“Are you absolutely sure you were not followed?” he asked.
“Yes, Malik. I made sure I was alone.”
“If it’s a trap, then it’s a very bad one. We have the fat one here as a captive.”
Malik rubbed his chin and stared at Zahir. He studied him for three long minutes.
“Okay, fat one, provide us with a detailed diagram of the kasbah. Give us every bit of information, including secret passageways, exit points, ammunition depots, guard details, and anything else we ask for. If you provide us with this information, and it turns out to be valuable, your life will be spared.”
“What will happen to me then?” Zahir asked.
“We will drop you at a port city far away from here. That is the deal. Agree to it, or we slit your throat right now.”
Zahir breathed in and nodded his head.
The next eight hours was spent interrogating Zahir and obtaining more valuable information than Malik ever thought possible. Zahir explained underground tunnel systems for entering the kasbah completely undetected. He provided details on guard posts and the timing of guard changes. He explained how to enter the weapons and provisions storage areas. He told them that food arrives once every month and described the exact route of the caravan. He even provided the keys to crack the Caid’s codes.
Malik exited the tent where Zahir was held captive and spoke with Sanaa.
“Do you realize the value of the information he is providing us? We have every bit of intelligence to defeat the Caid.”
“I guess the fat man really wanted to live,” Sanaa laughed.
“Yes, he doesn’t sound like much of a soldier. I’m amazed the Caid would entrust his security to such a buffoon,” Malik said.
“But, he does have one quality. He knows how to appeal to the Caid’s ego,” Sanaa surmised.
“I’ve found that most powerful people are the most insecure with themselves. This might be the weakness we’ve been looking for in defeating the Caid.”
Sanaa smiled at this. There was a reason Malik was their leader. He was wise beyond his years.
Malik called the entire resistance force together around a campfire. He was sure to keep out of earshot from Zahir, who was sleeping off a large meal and coconut whiskey as reward for his confession.
“We have been provided with extremely valuable intelligence from the fat man. We have detailed plans for exactly how to enter and exit the kasbah undetected. With this information, we can plan an attack that will cripple the Caid’s forces. I will convene with our leaders on the exact details. We will plan on executing the attack in three days’ time. Prepare yourselves!” Malik ordered.
There was a considerable amount of excitement amongst the resistance fighters. For years they had eked out a meager existence fighting the Caid. Their victories were measured in tiny increments—small food raids and perhaps the killing of a foot soldier or two. This attack was an opportunity to inflict serious damage on the Caid.
Immediately, the camp was buzzing, as fighters sharpened their swords and prepared their horses. Men, women, and children all had a role to play in preparing for this attack. Nobody was spared from a detail. Everyone worked.
Tariq diligently worked at Malik’s side to help sharpen his daggers, wash his clothes, and prepare his meals for the desert ride.
“Will I be going?” Tariq asked.
“No, you’ve had enough excitement for now. You’ll be staying behind,” Malik answered.
Tariq hung his head in shame. He felt he’d proved himself as a warrior and should be included. Malik saw the change in his attitude.
“Tariq, you’re a very brave boy. What you did to escape was truly courageous. But, you’re not ready to be a soldier. You have so much training to complete. Please be patient and listen to what I say.”
“I will.”
“Good, now go see your friends and get a good night’s sleep.”
Tariq went and joined Margaret, Fez, and Jawad.
“How are you, Jawad?” Tariq asked.
Jawad had been steadily improving for days. He could eat now and could sit up. However, he still had bouts of dizziness and fatigue from the blow to his head.
Jawad just stared at Tariq.
“Jawad, please do not be upset with me. You had fallen from your ride. The Caid’s men may have killed you if they thought you were part of the escape plan.”
“I was going to be a cavalry soldier in the Caid’s army. Now what am I? A rat with a bunch of villagers,” Jawad answered.
“Jawad, you should be thankful that we saved you,” Margaret said. “I doubt the Caid would have taken such good care of you. These are very good people who just want their freedom.”
Jawad said nothing, folded his arms, and stared straight ahead.
“Suit yourself,” Margaret said and looked at Tariq and Fez.
“Quite a bit of excitement in the camp, huh?” Fez remarked.
“Yes, fat Zahir really did in the Caid this time. Too bad we can’t go,” Tariq answered, still pouting a bit from his dismissal.
“Yes, it is too bad. But, there are other ways we can provide value,” Fez answered.
“What do you mean?” Margaret asked.
“I’ve been thinking about the code that Zahir provided to us. If we can intercept the messages without the Caid’s knowledge, we can change the orders.”
“I don’t get it,” Margaret said.
“Well, let’s say a message comes from a scout that he’s found our secret camp. We could change the message to an entirely new location and ambush the Caid’s men.”
“That would be fabulous!” Margaret exclaimed.
“Yes, it would disrupt all the operations of the Caid. We could spread out his troops as we wanted, interrupt food caravans, and even give him misinformation about our size and our numbers.”
“You should discuss this with Malik.”
“I plan to in the morning.”
Throughout this banter and conversation, Tariq barely said a word.
“Tariq, what are you thinking about?” Margaret asked.
“Oh, nothing…just daydreaming.”
In fact, Tariq was thinking of something. He was thinking of Aseem being stuck in a cell. He was thinking of how he had failed his friend and of the shame it brought upon him.
But he was also thinking that he had a plan.
The next morning the camp awakened early. Fires were built and breakfast was made. Malik immediately went about diagramming a map and developing a strategy for the coming raid on the Caid’s kasbah. There was an underground tunnel that emerged just in front of the weapons storage. He could have a small band of soldiers arrive there under the cover of darkness, steal a great many weapons, and burn the remainder. He could have another band of soldiers set fire to the food warehouse to severely cripple the Caid’s rations and supplies.
He continued to think strategy and tactics when he noticed that Tariq was not at his side. This was unlike Tariq, as he had proved to be a willing and accountable apprentice.
Nor had he prepared breakfast or provided laundry.
Malik, upset at this tardiness, went about searching for Tariq. Instead, he happened upon Margaret.
“Margaret, have you seen Tariq this morning?”
“No, he was not in his bed when I woke up. I thought he was with you.”
“No, I have not seen him all morning. I don’t know where he could be.”
Malik and Margaret began scouring the camp, asking everyone if they had seen Tariq.
Nobody had.
After fifteen minutes, they stood in confusion, wondering where he could have gone.
“I found Tariq,” Fez came up to them.
“Where?”
“Here,” he said, and handed Malik a note. It read:
Dearest Malik,
You have been an inspiration to me. I cannot express my thanks enough for taking me on as an apprentice. But I have something that I must do. I left a friend in prison at the Caid’s kasbah. I must rescue him. It is my fault he is imprisoned and mine alone. Do not worry, as I will not spoil your plans.
Your humble servant,
Tariq
Malik took a moment to take in this news. As with all things, he didn’t rush to judgment or act in haste. He considered all consequences before deciding upon a course of action.
“If he took a horse, which I’m sure he did, there will be no catching him. He has at least a five hour head start on us,” Malik thought out loud.
Margaret and Fez watched him. They could feel his anger and said nothing.
“Your friend is very brave. But, if he is caught we cannot rescue him. Most likely, he will be tortured and forced to reveal our plans and whereabouts. We must move the camp immediately.”
“What about the raid?’ Fez asked.
“I do not know,” Malik said and walked away.
Malik walked to a mountaintop overlooking the valley. The sun was just coming up and it was growing hot. He thought of Tariq and couldn’t help but feel a tinge of pride. It was a courageous and, yes, stupid act. But he admired that the boy was willing to risk his own life out of loyalty to his friend.
Still, if he were caught, he would ruin their entire plan for a raid. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and it rested on the shoulders of a young boy.
Tariq had taken a horse and made his way down and out of the mountain camp just before midnight, after everyone had fallen asleep. He had ridden hard to ensure he was not followed. He rode for several hours until the Caid’s kasbah appeared in the distance. Tying his horse to a prickly pear behind a string of rocks, Tariq was sure to provide plenty of water and shade for the animal. If all went well, he wouldn’t have to endure the heat of the desert sun.
Tariq had only a fifty-yard run to reach an underground entrance just outside the southern wall of the kasbah. He knew exactly where the guards were posted, thanks to Zahir. Under the cover of darkness, he was completely invisible.
Walking in the sand, he circled for twenty minutes, trying to find something that signaled an entrance to the tunnel. A door? A rope? He grew more and more frustrated. His plan depended upon finding this tunnel and moving in and out of the kasbah completely unnoticed.
As he grew more frustrated, a nagging thought entered his head.
What if this was all a trap? What if listening to Zahir lead him right into the hands of the Caid?
He would be caught, tortured, and then sentenced to die.
The escape would have been for nothing.
As these negative thoughts entered his head, his hands found something as they scurried through the sand.
An iron handle.
This was it! This was the entrance!
Tariq’s pulse quickened and he could feel himself beginning to sweat.
His fears, the same fears that prevented him from saving Aseem, now devoured his thoughts once again.
What if he was caught?
What if he couldn’t do it?
He was just a stupid orphan, never destined for anything.
Shaking his head, he pulled with all his strength, opening a wooden hatch below the sand. He saw torch with a cinder at his left. Lighting the torch, he descended down some steps to a rather large dirt tunnel. The ground was wet and muddy, and shadows danced around corners from the light of the torch. The ceiling was at least two feet above his head. There was plenty of room on the sides. It was a tunnel made for a group of people rather than an individual.
Slowly, Tariq made his way through the tunnel. He heard nothing except the splash of his own footsteps in the muddy water. He felt so alone at that moment. He missed the camp and his friends and the instruction of Malik. He missed Zijuan.
He kept moving forward.
In the shadows, he heard nothing but his own breathing and the steps below his feet. At any moment, he kept expecting a guard to capture him. The tunnel was mostly a straight line, but the torch only illuminated a few feet in front of him, so it was like walking into darkness every couple of seconds.
After ten minutes, the tunnel ended and a wooden ladder leaned straight up against a wall. Tariq extinguished the torch and tied it to the ladder.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he climbed up the ladder.
At the top, another latch was attached to a wooden hatch-type door. He used his shoulder and the weight from his legs to push up on the latch. It opened gently. One centimeter at a time, he eased it up until it was open just a tiny amount. He climbed out on his belly and closed the hatch behind him.
Just as Zahir had said, the ladder led to a storage area. All around him were crates of fabric, chairs, curtains, and anything else the Caid might need.
Tariq took out a map he had made from Zahir’s explanation of the kasbah.
There was a window to his east, and the prisoner’s quarters were only two buildings away.
It would be daylight in another hour. It didn’t give Tariq much time.
Tariq opened the window enough to slide his body out. It was a three-foot drop to the other side. He let his body scrape the side of the building until his feet hit solid ground.
Closing the window behind him, Tariq made his way along the building’s side, among the shadows. Immediately, he recognized the prisoner’s building where he had been held captive.
Looking in all directions, he didn’t see any security patrols, so he quickly ran across a pathway into the shadows of an adjacent building.
Moving along the side of the building, he was directly across the path from the prisoner’s building. There were no guards outside, but that wasn’t extraordinary. Generally, there was only one guard on the inside watching the locked prisoners—and that monkey.
Quickly, he ran across the pathway and began scaling along the wall of the prisoner’s building. He made his way to the east entrance where he knew there was a window; more importantly, he knew the window was completely open, without so much as bars or even glass to get in his way.
The window just fit his slender body. He squeezed his way through it, dropped down to a corridor, and from that point could see the entire jail.
To his right, the monkey slept on its perch. Just below the monkey, the guard slept on his chair.
Tariq stood up and scanned the jail. There were about thirty prisoners, mostly children. Tariq recognized most of them, but he could not make out Aseem. He remembered there was an isolation cell just outside the front door. It was possible Aseem would be kept there.
Placing his hand in his pocket, he took out a tiny parcel of desert herbs. One of the mothers in the tribe told him she used the herbs in her tent when her children could not sleep. It was very soothing and, when lit like incense, immediately placed them in a deep slumber.
Tariq only hoped it would also work on monkeys.
He lit the herbs with a pocket flint, waited until a small amount of smoke began wafting up to the ceiling, and then slowly slid the lit herbs under the perch of the monkey. While waiting for a few moments, he himself began to feel drowsy; quickly he shook it off. Tariq took out a scarf and wrapped it around his face to conceal his identity and prevent the sleeping herbs from entering his nostrils.
He would have to take his chances, as he was running out of time.
Descending on his belly, Tariq saw exactly what he was looking for.
The cell keys were on a hook just to his right.
Slowly, ever so slowly, he crouched on his knees, ready to pounce and grab the keys. He wasn’t worried about the guard so much as the monkey waking up. He decided to count to three before he would grab the keys.
One.
Two.
Three.
He quickly moved up the wall with his left hand, grabbed the keys so they wouldn’t clang against one another, and just as quickly moved back to his hiding spot.
The guard and monkey didn’t make a sound.
Tariq felt his pulse throbbing in his throat. He closed his eyes and forced his breathing to slow down. He was going to hyperventilate if he didn’t relax.
He had a decision to make.
He wasn’t sure if Aseem was being held with the other prisoners. If he was not, the entire plan was for nothing.
He had a feeling.
He had a feeling that Aseem wasn’t in with the other prisoners. If the Caid discovered he had been friends with the escapees, Tariq and Fez, he may have deduced that Aseem was a co-conspirator.
The Caid would have had Aseem tortured.
Or worse. He might have executed Aseem on the spot.
Tariq didn’t even know if his friend was alive.
He decided to take one last chance.
He kneeled down and then placed his belly on the floor of the cell. It was cold and hard, but he slithered past the guard and monkey, past the prisoners, and down the hallway to the solitary cell. As he stood up, his eyes took some time to adjust as it was darker here than it had been in the jail.
That’s when he saw Aseem dangling by his wrists—asleep, or unconscious.
Tariq could scarcely believe his luck—he had found him.
Gently, he opened the door and quickly made his way to his friend.
“Aseem!” Tariq whispered.
No movement.
“Aseem!” he whispered even louder.
Still no movement.
Tariq unlocked his wrists and Aseem fell to the ground in a lump.
“Ugghhhh,” he mumbled.
“Shssshhh,” Tariq whispered.
“Ugghhhh,” he mumbled louder.
“Aseem, it’s Tariq, I’ve come to rescue you, but you must be quiet.”
Aseem slowly opened his eyes, his left eye so swollen it would barely open.
“God, do not wake me if I am dreaming,” Aseem muttered.
“This is no dream, but I need for you to walk. You’re too heavy to carry.”
Aseem, in a haze, made his way to his feet, putting all his weight on Tariq’s shoulders. Slowly, the two exited the cell, made their way up the main stairs, unlocked the gate, and emerged outside.
It was still dark outside, but they would only have about thirty to forty more minutes of darkness in which to pass undetected. Tariq led Aseem to the west wall of the prison building, where there was another window to the main cell that held the prisoners. This one, however, was covered in bars.
Tariq put Aseem down and quickly went to the window. Looking down, he saw a boy sleeping directly beneath the window.
He took the cell keys in his hand and dropped them directly on the boy’s head.
The boy awoke from his deep sleep, took a moment to see what had woken him, rubbed his head where it was sore, and finally found the keys.
In his sleep-deprived state, he couldn’t make out the meaning of two keys in his hands.
Then he heard the voice from above. It was a boy’s voice, and just a whisper.
“Those are the keys to the cell door. Free yourself and the others. You must move quickly. You only have about thirty minutes before it is light out. Head directly west to the stables. The gate next to the tower is unguarded right now. You all know how to ride. Make sure you bring water for yourselves.”
Then the voice was gone.
The boy rubbed his head, looked at the keys, and took a moment to realize what had just transpired.
This was a chance to escape!
He silently went to his friends, woke them, whispered in their ears, and had them follow him. After five minutes, all the boys were awake and crowded around the cell door.
The boy with the keys gently opened the cell door from the inside, and the rest of the boys tiptoed out the cell, up the stairs, and outside. There, they crept in single file and as instructed, ran to the stables to the west. Silently, they went to their camels, filled a canteen with water, and rode single file to the west tower. As Tariq had explained, there were no guards.
The lead boy quickly got off his camel, unhinged the bolt closing the gate, opened the gate, and quickly got back on his ride. The boys walked their camels silently through the gate. Once outside, they immediately brought them up to a full gallop to make as much space between themselves and the kasbah.
Tariq and Aseem, however, headed east, back to the tunnel.
Aseem, barely conscious, hardly knew what was happening. His feet moved more out of determination than anything else. Tariq guided them through the shadows, checking for sentries, until they were back to the building with the entrance to the tunnel.
Urging Aseem on, Tariq lifted him on top of his shoulders and then dropped him through the window onto the floor on the other side. Hoisting himself up, he also made his way through the window and then locked it from within. Winded, he managed to get Aseem to his feet once again and they made their way to the tunnel entrance. He didn’t know how Aseem could possibly make it down the steps. He was in and out of consciousness. Tariq decided to tie a rope around both his and Aseem’s waists. Tariq could just barely support his friend’s weight as they gently made it, step by step, to the tunnel floor.
Closing the hatch behind him, Tariq lit the torch and began leading Aseem down the muddy tunnel floor. Almost immediately, a sense of relief and exultation came over Tariq. He had made it this far! A plan with so much risk had come off beautifully.
Now, he just had to make it back to the camp without being followed or captured.
The prison guard barely opened his eyes after a long and deep sleep. Smacking his lips, his vision slowly came into focus.
Immediately, he stood up, gasping for breaths.
All the prisoners were gone.
All of them.
The door was open and not a trace was to be seen.
Scrambling for his emergency whistle, he began blowing and blowing and ran out of the jail. Ocho the monkey screamed in disbelief as well.
Running through the kasbah, the prison guard blew his whistle over and over until finally a captain in the Caid’s army by the name of Hassan came out of his tent, sleep still in his eyes.
“What is it? What is it?” he asked.
“The prisoners. They are all gone. Every one of them,” the guard managed to stammer out.
“What?”
“They escaped last night. I don’t know how. I woke up and they were gone.”
“Where are your keys?” Captain Hassan asked.
The guard fumbled around his person, his hands finding nothing.
“I don’t have them.”
“Bloody fool, they’ve stolen your keys. I’ll put up a search party and begin scouring the area!”
Captain Hassan threw on some clothes, went to the barracks, and arranged a posse of forty soldiers. They were preparing their rides when another guard approached him.
“Sir, the slaves took their camels and headed west. We managed to track them out the gate.”
“Damn, they may have hours of a head start on us.”
Looking at his troops, he controlled his horse and brought his whip out.
“They are probably headed for the coast. We will ride at a full gallop. Hopefully, we can catch them by mid-day.”
The group of soldiers galloped through the kasbah streets, out the west gate, and began following the tracks of the escaped prisoners. It was quite easy to find the camels’ hoof prints. In the sand, there was almost no way for the prisoners to hide their tracks. It was all rolling sand dunes for a hundred miles. After that, however, the prisoners would run into some hills, then mountains, and eventually the ocean. If they rode hard, they could make it to the coast by midnight. The advantage of the cavalry was they were on horses and could ride faster than riders on camels. If the prisoners only had a one- or two-hour head start, by noon they should be in the hands of the Caid’s troops.
Tariq and Aseem made it to the end of the tunnel. Aseem, still groggy, kept mumbling incoherently. Tariq ignored him and focused only on the escape. They weren’t in the clear yet, not by any means. The kasbah would be abuzz with excitement once they learned of the prisoners’ escape. The Caid might send out a search party in all directions just as a precaution.
Climbing up the steps, Tariq opened the hatch to the outside, half expecting to find the Caid’s soldiers surrounding the two of them. Instead, he felt a cool breeze on his cheeks and heard the distant chirping of a cricket.
The horse was well hidden, standing in the shade. Tariq closed the hatch behind him and dragged Aseem to the horse. He untied the rope from his waist and managed to hoist him belly first up and over the haunch, then tied his wrists and feet to the saddle. It was a sloppy job, but Tariq hoped it would keep Aseem from falling during the ride ahead.
Finally, he carefully covered their footprints by taking a rag and wiping the sand. After three minutes, any trace of them had been erased. Tariq untied the horse, and, in a second was at a gallop, heading back to the resistance camp.
The Caid was not accustomed to being awakened at such an early hour. Generally, he liked to sleep in until noon, have his lunch and tea, and then conduct business.
It was not even seven o’clock in the morning.
“What is it?” the Caid asked.
“There has been an escape, Sire,” the Caid’s aide stammered out.
“What?”
“The prisoners have all escaped. Apparently they stole the guard’s key and escaped by camel. Captain Hassan has led a party of forty cavalry soldiers to find them. He left five minutes ago.”
The Caid sat up and rubbed the sleep from his eyes. He was accustomed to emergencies and making quick decisions.
“Bring me the head of the prison guard responsible for this.”
“Should we increase our security around the kasbah?” the aide asked.
“What for? They’ve already escaped! Besides, we are now short forty cavalry soldiers. Once the prisoners are found, we will make an example of them.”
“Yes, Sire!”
The Caid fell fast asleep. He was unconcerned with the escape of some petty criminals and child slaves. He had much bigger concerns.
Captain Hassan led the forty cavalry soldiers in pursuit of the escaped prisoners. The tracks were easy enough to follow; thirty or so camels in the desert left quite a trail.
They were flying along at a full gallop when he noticed it off to his right.
Clouds forming. In the desert, that could only mean one thing—a sandstorm.
His group wasn’t prepared to withstand a major storm. They didn’t have water provisions or tents, or anything to assist in withstanding the onslaught from that amount of sand. They would just have to ride faster in hopes of outrunning the storm.
Digging his heels in, Captain Hassan urged his horse to run even faster over the rolling dunes.
An hour ahead of the captain and his posse, the prisoners themselves rode hard. They were scared and tired and had absolutely no idea where they were going—only that it should most certainly be better than where they had been.
“How much farther do we ride?” one asked.
“Until nightfall. The Caid’s troops will be after us on horses. We must make as much time as possible.”
With that, nobody said anything else. They focused on staying on their camels and tried not to think about the fear paralyzing their little bodies. If they were caught, surely the Caid would kill, or at the very least, torture them.
Tariq rode hard for three hours. Having Aseem on the back made the ride considerably slower, and he continually checked in the rear to ensure he wasn’t being followed. He had been navigating through a series of small hills and sand dunes. Now he was at the foot of the mountain. His horse began climbing, almost from memory. The trail was extremely difficult and there were no tracks to follow. In fact, Tariq had to double back many times because he forgot his way. After climbing for half an hour, he stopped briefly to rest. After drinking some water, he put some on Aseem’s lips as well, which seemed to rouse him a bit.
“Where are we?” Aseem mumbled.
“We have escaped!” Tariq replied.
“You can let me down now.”
“No, you’re too injured.”
“I’m feeling much better. Besides, the rope is cutting into my wrists.”
Tariq dismounted, took out a dagger, and cut the rope holding Aseem onto the horse. Gently, Tariq helped Aseem slide off so he could stand on his own two feet.
“How do you feel?” Tariq asked.
“Groggy and tired, but much better. I cannot believe you came back for me,” Aseem said and hugged Tariq tightly.
“It was my fault you were in prison. I couldn’t allow you to die.”
“Where are we?”
“Heading to a resistance camp—the people who rescued us the first time.”
They were on an edge that overlooked the entire desert. In the faint distance, perhaps twenty miles away, the outskirts of the Caid’s kasbah could barely be seen. Aseem and Tariq stared at it.
“I hate that place,” Aseem whispered.
“I do as well.”
“I want to destroy the Caid,” Aseem said, looking wistfully at the desert. Still not quite believing he escaped the clutches of certain death.
“We will my friend, we will.”
It was late, and getting hotter. They both took another gulp of water. Tariq looked into the sky to see the position of the sun. That’s when he saw the falcon. They were being tracked, most certainly by Malik and the resistance.
That was good. They were expected.
Captain Hassan and his group felt the heavy winds first. Each rider pulled a scarf over his face to shield his eyes from the sand being blown about. The wind, unfortunately, was coming straight into them, causing the horses to slow down. The group formed a tighter circle so the inside riders would be sheltered by the outside riders. Each rider took turns on the outside to absorb the punishment.
At once, Captain Hassan saw the prisoners. They were far off, very far off. Perhaps two or three miles, it was difficult to calculate the distance through the dunes. But it was certainly the escaped prisoners, a small group of riders like specks in the distance.
The captain’s group huddled tighter and braced themselves against the wind. The storm would be on them in ten or fifteen minutes. If only they could ride faster, they could outrun it and be on the prisoners in no time at all.
The boys were panicked. They had seen Captain Hassan and his group following their exact trail. Some were shrieking at their camels to go faster. Others simply wore shock and panic on their little faces. It seemed certain they would be captured. The older boys attempted to placate and calm the younger ones. Some of the boys were beginning to cry. They were confused and worried and absolutely scared. They didn’t want to be slaves any longer. Most of them had escaped only because they had just followed along. No one had a plan, or anything or anyone to escape to.
In their panicked state, none of them noticed the impending sandstorm.
The scout had been tracking Tariq and Aseem for over an hour since they’d reached the desert, and had watched their movements even as they left the kasbah. Malik had given orders to simply observe and not engage. He had followed them up the mountain trail, watching safely from a distance. The scout’s most important task was to ensure that the boys were not followed by the Caid’s men, in which case he was to intercept the two boys and lead them away from the camp. However, nobody from the Caid’s army followed the pair. In fact, the scout had observed the prison break and thereafter, watched the posse following the large group of slaves in the exact opposite direction from the mountains. But, nobody followed Tariq and Aseem.
Tariq was lost. He had taken a series of turns through a cavern and was completely turned around. Now he was in a tight valley with walls of red clay, thirty feet high on both sides, with no way to scale them. They needed to keep moving forward, but Tariq knew this wasn’t right. These mountains were huge and disorienting. He was worried they wouldn’t find the camp and would need to stay the night outside.
“You’re going the wrong way,” the voice said behind them, echoing in the cavern.
Tariq and Aseem froze in their tracks. Behind them, the scout stood in his desert camouflage. His face was covered by rags and his desert attire stood out against the red clay.
“Follow me, I’ll lead you to the camp,” he said.
“Who are you?” Tariq asked.
“My name is Ragga. Malik asked me to watch and wait for you. I was expecting only one. It looks like your rescue attempt was a successful one.”
Tariq smiled a bit at this.
“Don’t be happy with yourself. Malik is extremely upset with you right now. You have jeopardized the entire camp,” Ragga said sternly before turning around.
“You didn’t tell them you were going to rescue me?” Aseem asked.
“They never would have gone for it.”
The two followed Ragga, and Aseem was even more impressed with his friend than he had been before. He was banged up, injured, and his head felt like it was swimming in cobwebs. But the adrenaline of being rescued kept him awake. The realization that he wasn’t going to die motivated him and woke his senses.
The storm was upon Captain Hassan and his riders. They kept riding, trudging through the circling sands. However, visibility was extremely poor—they were only able to see about four or five feet in front of them. If they could just push through! If they could make it to the edge of the storm, they would be safe. Captain Hassan knew they were near the edge. He could see it as the storm bore down on them. Only a couple of hundred yards and they would be through. He urged his horse and his riders to push through. They could make it. He knew they could make it.
The group of boys looked back at the storm. It was only five hundred yards behind them. A giant wall of sand covered the desert. But it hadn’t reached them. They were outside the storm’s edge.
None of them fully understood what was happening. They had seen Captain Hassan and his men closing in on them, and they had given in to being captured. Now? The men were gone. Blocked from view by sand.
None of them stopped. At any moment, they expected to see Captain Hassan and his men ride out of the storm to capture them. But they saw nothing and kept riding.
Ragga led Tariq and Aseem through a series of turns and dips and valleys. Tariq, if left on his own, would never have found the camp. Getting out had been easy; just head down the mountain and eventually hit sand. As much as he’d tried to memorize the way, it was impossible to find his way back.
Finally, they made it back and Ragga led the two boys into the encampment. People stood up from their fires and came out of their tents. They didn’t know what seeing the two boys and the scout meant. Had they been followed? Who was this new boy? What had happened?
Ragga led the two boys directly to Malik’s tent, where all three dismounted.
Tariq hung his head and his eyes stared at the ground. He didn’t want to confront Malik. He knew what he had done was reckless and could have endangered the entire camp.
Malik came from within the camp and stared at the two boys.
“What happened?” he asked.
“They were riding fast from the Caid’s kasbah about seven hours ago. I followed them until they were lost at Lost Dog Ridge. I led them here.”
“Were they followed?”
“No.”
Malik heaved a huge sigh of relief. He could see the worry on Tariq’s face. He should scold him and tell him how reckless and stupid he had been. He could see Tariq already realized that he had put the camp in a predicament.
“So, you must be Aseem?” Malik asked.
“Yes, sir,” Aseem quietly replied.
“You don’t look too good. We’ll get some food into you and get you bandaged up.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Tariq, what you did was foolish and stupid. You jeopardized the safety of the entire camp.”
“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that. I just wanted to save my friend.”
Malik thought about that answer before replying.
“What you did was also extremely brave and courageous. I could use more friends like you in my life. Now, the two of you go get washed up and find something to eat. Your friends were worried to death about you.”
Tariq and Aseem scampered off in search of Margaret and Fez, a little skip to their step. Tariq had expected a much harsher punishment from Malik. He suddenly felt completely exhausted, and the adrenaline from his body had now materialized into a deep numbness. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and sleep for an entire day.
Ragga went to Malik after the two boys had gone.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“A group of prisoners escaped to the west, followed by a posse of the Caid’s men. Apparently, the boy covered his tracks by having the army follow the escaped prisoners. I watched the Caid’s men ride west just after daybreak.”
Malik considered this for a moment. That was extremely smart of Tariq. Extremely smart!
“Another thing. The posse was riding right into a sandstorm. I could see it forming on the horizon.”
Malik stepped away and thought about this news for a second.
“How many riders followed the prisoners?”
“Difficult to tell, thirty or forty perhaps.”
“The Caid will be short of troops. He has already dispatched a division to the south.”
“Yes,” Ragga replied, as if reading Malik’s mind.
“But we can’t be sure if the Caid knew how the boys entered and exited the compound undetected, or if he knew about the tunnel,” Malik said.
“I wouldn’t think so. I watched the tunnel entrance after the boys escaped. Nobody emerged.”
“With the Caid short-handed and the sandstorm approaching, this would be a perfect time for a raid,” Malik thought aloud.
“It would appear so.”
“Tell everyone to prepare themselves. I want to see what happens with this storm. If it engulfs the kasbah by nightfall, we may perform the raid tonight, sooner than planned.”
The scout nodded, and went off to begin talking to the camp inhabitants. Their movements quickened, and soon, the entire camp was bustling with preparations for the raid. There was a palpable excitement in the air.
Captain Hassan and his men were completely engulfed by the sandstorm. They had been forced to stop riding and lay huddled in a circle. At first, the sand was merely an annoyance, as despite their efforts, it managed to get into their eyes and mouths. The riders coughed and spat out sand, and it took every effort to keep the horses down on the ground.
Then, gradually the ground began to rise—at first just to their elbows, and then to the tops of their bodies. The riders stood on their knees, even allowing their horses to stand. The horses, panicked, began running and bucking in the storm to no avail. Chaos ensued and the riders lost all sense of direction and discipline in the presence of so much sand. Men scratched their eyeballs until they bled. Scarves blew everywhere. The sand reached their knees and then their waists.
The men, in spite of every effort, couldn’t move. The fast-moving sand engulfed their bodies until it covered their armpits.
Then it covered their shoulders. The men screamed and held their hands over their heads. Their screams were drowned out by the swirling sands and wind. Finally, mercifully, the sand inched up and buried their faces and heads, muffling their screams.
A few minutes later, the screaming stopped altogether.
The prisoners kept riding. They continually looked back at the storm and realized it wasn’t gaining on them. In fact, they kept distancing themselves from it until it was farther and farther in the distance. They never saw Captain Hassan and his men emerge from the storm.
Relief came over the boys.
“God is looking out for us,” one of them said.
The others agreed.
The group continued to ride, trying to put as much distance as possible between themselves and the kasbah. The boys were relieved to be freed from slavery, but being lost in the desert with no home and no family didn’t feel like much of a relief. Their state of mind was more of shock than anything else. Still, not having the Caid’s troops on their backs was reason enough for a brief celebration.
“Aseem, it’s so good to see you!” Margaret said and hugged her friend.
“I can’t believe you’re here! There’s so much to tell you,” Fez said.
Aseem sat on a pillow and took a big gulp of water.
“It was because of Tariq—what he did was very brave.”
“How did you do it Tariq? The entire camp will be talking about your bravery!” Margaret gushed.
Tariq, not wanting any attention, shrugged his shoulders. He wasn’t expecting this sort of reception. For weeks he had felt nothing but shame, now he was just glad to have his friend back with him. In fact, he was embarrassed by the adulation.
“Yes, you’re a hero, Tariq!” Fez exclaimed.
“No, Aseem is the hero. He was tortured and scheduled to die. Please, I don’t deserve any of this praise. I’m just glad that Aseem is back with us.”
Aseem smiled at that and soon fell asleep. The buzz and rush of the escape was finally subsiding, and his body desperately needed rest. Margaret covered him with a blanket and began washing the wounds on his wrists with soap and water, then covered them with bandages.
“There’s talk we will launch an attack tonight,” Fez told Tariq.
“Really?”
“Malik feels now is the best time. There’s a sandstorm approaching the kasbah. The Caid would be caught by surprise.”
Tariq thought about this for a moment.
“It’s a good plan. The Caid wouldn’t be expecting an attack so soon. He might be disorganized.”
“How did you get into the kasbah?” Margaret asked.
“I watched and listened as fat Zahir provided detailed plans, and I made a map of the kasbah tunnels on my palm. The hard part was getting in and out of the prison without being detected.”
“That must have been scary.”
“It was. I still can’t believe we escaped. I was more worried about that stupid monkey than anything else. I think…I think that I had help.”
“What do you mean?” Margaret asked.
“I don’t know. A guardian angel or something, guiding me and looking out for me.”
“You believe in guardian angels?” Margaret asked.
“I don’t know. I just felt an incredible sense of calm, almost like someone’s voice was guiding me.”
“I believe in guardian angels,” Fez answered.
“You do?” Margaret asked.
“I believe my father is watching out for me. Sometimes, I can feel him with me. Like a calmness in me when I should be scared. I think that’s him standing with me.”
“I don’t know if my father is alive or dead,” said Margaret.
“I’m sure he is alive and is looking for you. Don’t lose faith, Margaret. If our adventures have taught us anything, it’s that the impossible isn’t nearly as impossible as we thought.”
“I hope so. I dearly miss him and the rest of my family.”
“You will be with them soon,” Fez answered, and Margaret managed a small smile in return.
Just then, the group heard a clapping sound, which was used to bring everybody around the main fire pit. Every inhabitant of the camp was soon huddled around the fire, perhaps one hundred and fifty people strong.
Malik stood in the middle, waiting for everyone to gather. After a few moments, he began to speak.
“The time has come for us to launch an attack on the Caid. We have detailed plans of the kasbah, including secret passages to get in and out without being detected. A group of fifty of us will lead a raid at dusk. We think the Caid will be caught unaware. This is an opportunity to strike a blow against our hated enemy!”
The group was completely immersed in the speech, watching Malik’s every move. Every man, woman, and child had been waiting for this opportunity.
“I want to also thank our Tariq for his incredible bravery in rescuing his friend. It was foolhardy, but showed great courage and resourcefulness. He and his friends are a welcome addition to our people.”
Tariq blushed a deep red. He had never, ever been singled out for any kind of accolade. Most adults in his life had ridiculed him or put him down. He was accustomed to being thought a kind of sneak. Now he was being hailed as a hero.
Fighters, many of them hard men with eyes of steel, smiled and congratulated Tariq. The women blessed him.
He blushed even more.
“I have already spoken with the warriors that will accompany me on the raid. The rest of you, simply prepare the camp for evacuation. We will be changing locations and meeting at a new rendezvous. If any of us is captured, it will be too dangerous to stay in our current encampment.”
The group began to disburse and Tariq went to Malik.
“Malik, am I going on the raid?” Tariq asked.
“I’m sorry, Tariq. Although what you did was extremely brave, it was also extremely lucky. You need much, much more training and to grow a bit older. Do not worry; you have an important role in assisting with moving the camp.”
“But…” Tariq started. He felt he had earned the right to participate in the raid.
“Tariq. You were lucky once. If you were to be killed or captured in this attack, I couldn’t live with myself. You have proved your valor and your bravery. Be patient—there will be many, many more chances to defeat the Caid. If we are successful in today’s raid, it will be like stepping on the toe of a lion. It will hurt the lion, and he will squeal in pain, but it will not kill him.”
Tariq shrugged his shoulders. He knew Malik was right. He had been lucky, and it would not be smart to push his luck any further.
“Okay. I will do my best to move the camp.”
“Thank you, Tariq.”
Tariq then lurched forward and hugged him, tears coming from his eyes. Malik, caught by surprise, hugged him back.
“Be careful, Malik,” Tariq said.
Tariq, who had been holding in his emotions for such a long time, suddenly felt a deep closeness to Malik—the closeness he wished he had felt with his own father. He had been searching for a father his entire life, and he now felt as if he had finally found one. The last thing he wanted was to lose him.
Malik realized Tariq was still just a boy.
“I will be very careful, Tariq. Do not worry. I will see you in a day’s time.”
Tariq released the embrace, looking at Malik with a dirty face streaked with tears.
“Now, go wash yourself and get something to eat.”
“Okay.”
Tariq went off in search of his friends and to prepare for evacuation.
It was going to be another eventful twenty-four hours.