The Dark Lord

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Near Iblis

Mohammed sat under the fig, legs crossed, deep in thought. Raha's visions had passed, leaving him with an unexpected clarity of vision and thought. The thirst once burning in his throat now seemed negligible, the weakness in his limbs a passing memory. The cerulean sky and white-barked trees revealed a queer flatness, as though they were painted on air. His own hands, scarred and weathered with age, stood proof of his own solidity. He looked within, seeking the singing note once perceived among the dizzying splendor of the world.

Assailed by sensation on all side, deafened by the beat of his heart, the whistle of air into his lungs, Mohammed groped for concentration. A frail voice emerged from unsure memory: He causes the night to pass into day, and the day to pass into night… He felt his mind settle, turning inward.

For a long time, he found nothing but violent, chaotic emptiness. At last, banishing all attention to the outer world, ignoring even the smooth sensation of the fig bark against his back, he found a delicate whisper of the glorious sound. Strangely, at first the trembling note was distant and faint, but as he focused and beheld, it grew in strength, a long, wavering tone, rising and falling, louder and fainter, drawn from a single source, yet infinite in its variety.

A great yearning to yield himself to dissolution came over him. Why not join with the heavenly chorus, wayward thoughts urged. There is perfect harmony and peace within the celestial gate. Enter!

"Master?" A voice spoke, penetrating his consciousness. Mohammed opened his eyes and saw before him the creature Moha. Perfect lips moved, saying: "You are emaciated, pale, near death. Please, you must pass on from this place. You must choose to go forward. Abandon this useless striving-"

"I will not," Mohammed said, his voice strong once more. Looking upon Moha's face, he was struck by the pitiful nature of the creature's disguise. How could anything so false seem beautiful after looking upon the heart of the world? When he had seen the burning stone and the glory of the unbounded universe revealed? The guardian seemed small and weak, an ivory doll, doomed to wander in half-life, among these dead things, for all time. "Only the Great and Merciful Lord may set the length of my days. When he wills they end, then they will end. Until the day he summons me into his presence, to judge the deeds of my life and dispense perfect, immutable justice, I will never abandon the straight and righteous path."

Moha's face contorted in frustration. "My lord, did you see nothing in glorious Raha's eyes? You looked upon the heart of the world-such things leave no man unchanged! You cannot lie or dissemble to me-how can you cling to pitiful life, to this decaying shell and scrap of rotting flesh, in the face of such glories? Let go, yield the illusion of mortality and pass onward!"

Mohammed shook his head. "I will not abandon striving. I will endure."

The creature flinched away from Mohammed's commanding tone.

"Please…" Moha begged. "You will suffer endless torments, you will grow old and die, weak and finally alone. How can the fleeting pleasures of a mortal life compare to what you have seen?" He stopped, groping for some convincing word.

Mohammed shook his head. Certainty burned in his heart and the sound of wind in the trees swelled, filling his limbs with strength. Hunger and thirst no longer touched him and his wizened arms and legs felt strong. "All you say is true, guardian, but I will not step aside from the straight and righteous path. I choose to live, even if I must suffer the torments of those doomed to the fiery pit."

"Foolish man!" Moha shouted in anguish. "If you must choose slow corruption, then set aside your impossible task, cease this useless struggle. Live a meritorious life in quiet! Return to your home, set your grandchildren upon your knees, speak wisely in the city council, do no evil to men, weigh honestly and in full measure in all your dealings. But do not inflict these agonies upon yourself!"

The Quraysh started to speak, but paused. Something in Moha's voice had changed and the creature now seemed smaller, wizened, reduced. The glamour of towering strength, of an undimmed flame, faded and Mohammed found his heart filled with pity for the creature trapped between life and death.

"The world," he said slowly, considering his words, "contrives against men who would follow the path of righteousness. On every side, enemies tempt and distract men from the blessing offered by the Compassionate One." Moha started to speak again, but Mohammed raised his hand, quelling the outburst.

"Lust," Mohammed said, "is the first enemy; the second a dislike for higher life; the third is hunger and thirst; the fourth is craving; the fifth is torpor and sloth; the sixth doubt; the seventh falsehood; the eighth glory; the ninth exalting oneself and despising others, the last-the last is the fear of death."

Moha flinched away from the ringing words, crouching against the ground and moaning softly.

"These are my enemies," Mohammed boomed. "No feeble man or woman can conquer them, yet only by overcoming them does one win bliss. Shame upon me if I am defeated! Better for me to die striving in battle than to live quietly in defeat!"

"You do not know the burden of such a life," Moha whispered, unable to raise his head.

"I do," Mohammed said, sharp eyes glinting. "I choose to live. Regardless of what may come."