Darkest Before Dawn
Page 15
Honor looked directly into the woman’s eyes, her gaze open and unflinching as her new protector secured the bag over Honor’s clothing. She dropped any pretense because it was obvious the woman knew exactly who Honor was. And she had to know why.
“Why are you helping me?” Honor asked softly in the woman’s native language. “You risk much to go against an army such as the one hunting me.”
Anger blazed in the other woman’s eyes and for a moment she was silent before she once more composed herself and the anger subsided after a few moments.
“They are an abomination,” she hissed, betraying her outward look of calm. “They do not do Allah’s work. They are not Allah’s sons. They betray every true believer, those who know the truth. They kill their own kind. They kill those who oppose them. They kill the foreigners who only seek to give aid to our people. They do not do God’s work. They do the devil’s. They want power and glory and they want to be both revered and feared. And if they aren’t stopped, not one single person, Muslim or those who follow any other religion or belief, who doesn’t embrace their sinful ways will be spared. They will not stop at the countries and regions they currently occupy and terrorize. Even now, they expand, like a plague, bringing death and destruction to all they touch. They will send loyal servants into the world and we will see a time such as no one has ever seen before. Where no place is safe. No country is safe. The entire world will know what it is like to be here, to be one of us, and live every single day in fear of dying or losing a loved one to senseless, godless violence. And then what will we do? Where will we go? And who will stop them?”
The woman took a breath, her impassioned statement so honest and earnest that the words had spilled forth, that she barely took the time to breathe as she confided her fears—the unvarnished truth—to Honor.
“They have fooled many,” the woman admitted. “They act godly. They are well versed in the Qur’an and they are masters at twisting the holy words, making them appear to mean what they do not. Many who follow them truly believe they are doing as Allah wills, that they are serving him and will be richly rewarded for their service.
“And this group operates on fear and hatred,” she said in disgust. “Once initiated into the ranks of the group, disobedience or anything that could be construed as disloyalty is considered a crime against Allah and is punishable by death. And it is not quick or merciful.”
She shuddered, sorrow touching her eyes as though she had firsthand knowledge of the things she related to Honor.
“They are used as examples in order to keep the others in line. They are praised and their egos stroked for not falling out of line and for proving their absolute dedication to their ‘cause.’ Those who don’t are tortured horribly, and others, the faithful followers, are forced to inflict the torture as a way of hardening them. It’s portrayed as an honor to be able to aid in taking the life and soul of one who has betrayed them. In the end, when the victim has reached the end of his endurance and death is imminent, he is beheaded at a group gathering and is cursed to hell, his every alleged sin related before everyone. Then and only then is his head cut off and then they celebrate . . .”
She broke off again and glanced one more at Honor, this time more than sorrow reflected in her eyes. They were awash with tears and grief. Honor understood such grief. The kind that choked you, threatened to shut you down. The kind that made you numb and almost unfeeling except for that keen sense of loss. And you embraced it because you didn’t want to feel anymore. You didn’t want to remember.
Unable to hold back, Honor reached across the short distance and laid her hand over the old woman’s and squeezed in a gesture of comfort but also solidarity. To let her know she believed as this woman did. That Honor found the things she’d related as abhorrent as the woman had.
“You lost someone to this faction,” Honor said quietly.
More tears glittered brightly in the woman’s eyes, and for a moment she dropped her gaze as though collecting herself. She placed her other hand atop Honor’s so that Honor’s hand was now sandwiched between both of hers.
“Yes. A son. He wasn’t evil. He was misguided. He thought what the group stood for, what they pretend to stand for, was right, and he had a strong sense of honor and he wanted to protect his homeland, his family. He wanted to provide for us so that his father and I would not have to work so hard any longer. By Allah, he did it for us,” she said in a stricken, pained voice full of guilt that wasn’t hers to bear, but she felt it nonetheless. And again, Honor understood that feeling. She still grappled with survivor’s guilt, of being the only one to have lived through the murderous attack on the place where she’d volunteered.
The older woman paused, going quiet, and the silence stretched between the two women. The mother was lost in thought as if in a distant place, lamenting decisions of long ago and likely blaming herself for not being able to stop her son. Her heart went out to this woman. A mother grieving for her son, a woman who despite her strong religious beliefs and her devout spirit felt hatred that at times she felt ashamed of. Honor was sure of it.
“What happened to him?” Honor softly prompted.
The woman took a difficult swallow and then reached for a small cup containing water and sipped to ease the dryness of her mouth and enable her to speak further.
“At first he was devout. The perfect soldier. He climbed the ranks quickly, impressing his superiors with his intellect and the fact that he was an excellent strategist. But the longer he was there, the more he saw, the more he began to understand. He began to question. First himself, because he was still reasoning out in his mind what was wrong when it had felt so right in the beginning.
“But then they grew bolder, more aggressive. Targeting the innocent for no other reason than they could. They began to expand their grip on their territory, always greedy and wanting more. Complete domination. They felt invincible, that no nation could stop them. Not even the best military forces in the world. Their plans shifted and they began to think on a much larger scale, bolstered by their many successes. They were remorseless, godless monsters who thought nothing of killing women and children. Unarmed men. Of destroying peaceful villages that had never taken up arms against another and for that matter didn’t even possess the weapons to do so. They were conquered effortlessly and every single man, woman and child was executed, the children being killed first, in front of their parents so that they felt the agony of their loss. They went down the line, killing all of the children first while their parents waited an eternity, grieving, hopeless, blaming themselves for not protecting their children. Only when the last child had been slaughtered did they start on the adults, and as with the children, they shot the women first so their husbands had to watch them die. Even worse, many were raped, right in front of their husbands, and there was nothing their husbands could do, no way for them to help. It drove them mad and when it finally came to them, they welcomed death, prayed for it and embraced it because they could no longer live with the horror of having their entire family violated and murdered right in front of their eyes.”
“You don’t have to continue,” Honor whispered, the woman’s sorrow so heavy in the room that Honor’s chest was clenched and tears burned, threatening to fall. “This hurts you far too much. I don’t want to make you relive it all over again.”
“Why are you helping me?” Honor asked softly in the woman’s native language. “You risk much to go against an army such as the one hunting me.”
Anger blazed in the other woman’s eyes and for a moment she was silent before she once more composed herself and the anger subsided after a few moments.
“They are an abomination,” she hissed, betraying her outward look of calm. “They do not do Allah’s work. They are not Allah’s sons. They betray every true believer, those who know the truth. They kill their own kind. They kill those who oppose them. They kill the foreigners who only seek to give aid to our people. They do not do God’s work. They do the devil’s. They want power and glory and they want to be both revered and feared. And if they aren’t stopped, not one single person, Muslim or those who follow any other religion or belief, who doesn’t embrace their sinful ways will be spared. They will not stop at the countries and regions they currently occupy and terrorize. Even now, they expand, like a plague, bringing death and destruction to all they touch. They will send loyal servants into the world and we will see a time such as no one has ever seen before. Where no place is safe. No country is safe. The entire world will know what it is like to be here, to be one of us, and live every single day in fear of dying or losing a loved one to senseless, godless violence. And then what will we do? Where will we go? And who will stop them?”
The woman took a breath, her impassioned statement so honest and earnest that the words had spilled forth, that she barely took the time to breathe as she confided her fears—the unvarnished truth—to Honor.
“They have fooled many,” the woman admitted. “They act godly. They are well versed in the Qur’an and they are masters at twisting the holy words, making them appear to mean what they do not. Many who follow them truly believe they are doing as Allah wills, that they are serving him and will be richly rewarded for their service.
“And this group operates on fear and hatred,” she said in disgust. “Once initiated into the ranks of the group, disobedience or anything that could be construed as disloyalty is considered a crime against Allah and is punishable by death. And it is not quick or merciful.”
She shuddered, sorrow touching her eyes as though she had firsthand knowledge of the things she related to Honor.
“They are used as examples in order to keep the others in line. They are praised and their egos stroked for not falling out of line and for proving their absolute dedication to their ‘cause.’ Those who don’t are tortured horribly, and others, the faithful followers, are forced to inflict the torture as a way of hardening them. It’s portrayed as an honor to be able to aid in taking the life and soul of one who has betrayed them. In the end, when the victim has reached the end of his endurance and death is imminent, he is beheaded at a group gathering and is cursed to hell, his every alleged sin related before everyone. Then and only then is his head cut off and then they celebrate . . .”
She broke off again and glanced one more at Honor, this time more than sorrow reflected in her eyes. They were awash with tears and grief. Honor understood such grief. The kind that choked you, threatened to shut you down. The kind that made you numb and almost unfeeling except for that keen sense of loss. And you embraced it because you didn’t want to feel anymore. You didn’t want to remember.
Unable to hold back, Honor reached across the short distance and laid her hand over the old woman’s and squeezed in a gesture of comfort but also solidarity. To let her know she believed as this woman did. That Honor found the things she’d related as abhorrent as the woman had.
“You lost someone to this faction,” Honor said quietly.
More tears glittered brightly in the woman’s eyes, and for a moment she dropped her gaze as though collecting herself. She placed her other hand atop Honor’s so that Honor’s hand was now sandwiched between both of hers.
“Yes. A son. He wasn’t evil. He was misguided. He thought what the group stood for, what they pretend to stand for, was right, and he had a strong sense of honor and he wanted to protect his homeland, his family. He wanted to provide for us so that his father and I would not have to work so hard any longer. By Allah, he did it for us,” she said in a stricken, pained voice full of guilt that wasn’t hers to bear, but she felt it nonetheless. And again, Honor understood that feeling. She still grappled with survivor’s guilt, of being the only one to have lived through the murderous attack on the place where she’d volunteered.
The older woman paused, going quiet, and the silence stretched between the two women. The mother was lost in thought as if in a distant place, lamenting decisions of long ago and likely blaming herself for not being able to stop her son. Her heart went out to this woman. A mother grieving for her son, a woman who despite her strong religious beliefs and her devout spirit felt hatred that at times she felt ashamed of. Honor was sure of it.
“What happened to him?” Honor softly prompted.
The woman took a difficult swallow and then reached for a small cup containing water and sipped to ease the dryness of her mouth and enable her to speak further.
“At first he was devout. The perfect soldier. He climbed the ranks quickly, impressing his superiors with his intellect and the fact that he was an excellent strategist. But the longer he was there, the more he saw, the more he began to understand. He began to question. First himself, because he was still reasoning out in his mind what was wrong when it had felt so right in the beginning.
“But then they grew bolder, more aggressive. Targeting the innocent for no other reason than they could. They began to expand their grip on their territory, always greedy and wanting more. Complete domination. They felt invincible, that no nation could stop them. Not even the best military forces in the world. Their plans shifted and they began to think on a much larger scale, bolstered by their many successes. They were remorseless, godless monsters who thought nothing of killing women and children. Unarmed men. Of destroying peaceful villages that had never taken up arms against another and for that matter didn’t even possess the weapons to do so. They were conquered effortlessly and every single man, woman and child was executed, the children being killed first, in front of their parents so that they felt the agony of their loss. They went down the line, killing all of the children first while their parents waited an eternity, grieving, hopeless, blaming themselves for not protecting their children. Only when the last child had been slaughtered did they start on the adults, and as with the children, they shot the women first so their husbands had to watch them die. Even worse, many were raped, right in front of their husbands, and there was nothing their husbands could do, no way for them to help. It drove them mad and when it finally came to them, they welcomed death, prayed for it and embraced it because they could no longer live with the horror of having their entire family violated and murdered right in front of their eyes.”
“You don’t have to continue,” Honor whispered, the woman’s sorrow so heavy in the room that Honor’s chest was clenched and tears burned, threatening to fall. “This hurts you far too much. I don’t want to make you relive it all over again.”
