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Al Lixbuna, Islamic Iberia
Caliphate of Córdoba
989 AD

 

Rafiq stepped through the door of his family’s home to the sounds of Sheik Al-Musawi shouting at the top of his lungs, the servants hidden in doorways, trembling with fear as his mother held his only surviving sister tight against her as tears streaked both their faces.

It was worse than he had thought.

As the eldest son, he had a right to be at his father’s side, and decided it was best to exercise that right, as he was the only one who knew the entire truth.

“I will destroy your family! You’ll never do business in the Caliphate again!”

His father was on his knees, hands clasped in front of him, begging the powerful man, any shred of dignity he might have had, gone. “Please, sir, be reasonable. I have done nothing wrong! I have a family!”

“You raised a selfish little whore who has dishonored herself and her family, wasted my time, and humiliated me by showing everyone that death was preferable to marriage to me. I may never recover from this!”

Tears streamed from his father’s eyes and a wave of shame washed over Rafiq at the pathetic display.

And yet he didn’t blame him. He would probably do the same if the roles were reversed. Sheik Al-Musawi had the power to ruin them, and they were powerless to stop him.

His chest tightened with a thought, a last-ditch effort that could backfire horribly. “She didn’t kill herself.”

The argument immediately halted, Al-Musawi and his father, still on his knees, both turning toward him.

“What did you say?”

It was his mother, appearing in the doorway behind him, that broke the silence.

“She’s not dead. At least I don’t think she’s dead.”

His mother rushed toward him, grabbing his arm, her eyes filled with tears and hope. “Wh-what do you mean? She’s alive? My Fatima is alive?”

He was committed now, and he chastised himself vigorously for blurting out what might not even be true. And even if it were, was faking her death to escape the arranged marriage any better than committing suicide? Was it any less dishonorable?

If anything, it was more. In fact, it most certainly was. She had not only left her family to think she was dead through suicide, a sin if there ever was one, but she was giving herself to a man who wasn’t even a Muslim, without her father’s blessing.

It was shameful.

It was dishonorable.

And she should die because of it.

Yet none of those truths could save his family.

And then another, perhaps equally foolish thing gushed from his mouth. “She was kidnapped.”

“What?” It was the sheik who reacted first, his face red with rage. “By whom?”

“The Vikings. The one who you’ve been doing business with, Prince Magnus. I witnessed him arguing with her, then he tied her to something and pushed her over the cliff. They had ropes already in position, and she slid down to one of their boats. I saw the boat with my own eyes, sailing away from the shore, heading out to sea.”

His father struggled to his feet, his sorrow and fear replaced with anger. “Why is this the first we’re hearing of it? Earlier you said she had jumped.”

Rafiq turned to his father, scrambling to keep the lies straight. “I was mistaken. In my grief, I became confused, but after talking to Magnus just a short while ago, I realized his explanation for the ship being where it was made no sense, and must be a lie.”

“Explain yourself,” demanded Al-Musawi.

“Because the cliff is to the south of the port, and Magnus claimed that the ship was heading home, to the north, because they wanted to return a sick man to his family before he died.”

This calmed Al-Musawi significantly. “And what other evidence do you have?”

“Two witnesses who claimed they heard the sound of a rope pulling through a metal loop, like an anchor being dropped might sound like.”

His father nodded. “They heard this? At the cliff?”

“Yes. And I discovered a metal loop driven into the side of the cliff, right where she jumped, and it showed signs of having been recently used.” He paused for effect as he stared at each of them. “I think they had this all planned.”

“But why would she go to meet him?” It was his mother that asked the question impossible to answer.

“I’m, umm, not sure. But whatever the reason, she paid for her mistake with her freedom.”

“My poor girl!” wailed his father as he almost collapsed. Rafiq and Al-Musawi grabbed him by the arms and lowered him into a seat, his mother quickly taking over his care, snapping orders to servants.

“We must rescue her.”

Rafiq’s eyes widened at Al-Musawi’s comment.

“She is to be my wife. To do anything less would bring dishonor to my family, and that I cannot abide.”

Rafiq’s head slowly bobbed, Al-Musawi’s anger now clearly directed at the Vikings instead of his family, his impromptu lies working out beautifully so far. “That could be an expensive undertaking. They have at least six ships with a substantial head start.”

Al-Musawi sliced the air between them with his hand. “I don’t care about the expense. Commission an expedition, follow them, and kill them all if need be. I want her back.” He reached into his robes and produced a silver ring with colored glass in the center. “This was to be my engagement gift to her. It has been in my family since the days of the Prophet, peace be upon him. When you find her, give this to her as a symbol of my devotion to her.”

Rafiq took the ring and held it up, reading the engraving inside.

For Allah.

He gripped it tightly in his hand. “I shall protect it with my life, and swear I shall return my sister to your side, or die trying.”

Al-Musawi stepped closer, staring into his eyes, sending a chill rushing down Rafiq’s spine. “I’ll trust you to keep your word.”

A bead of sweat rolled down his back, fear gripping him, but he was committed now. He took a chance. “And my family?”

Al-Musawi looked about the room, then down at the patriarch. “There has been no dishonor here. You are all victims to these deceitful Vikings, as am I. Bring her back, and all will be forgiven.”

“And if I fail?”

“Then your life will be the only payment I demand of your family.”