The imam of the slums accepted the pouch and checked its contents.
Inside were twenty silver coins.
That was enough to build a small house in the slums—a downright fortune.
“If there’s no ti, then one must make ti, mustn’t one? What brings a noble person such as yourself to seek out soone as lowly as ?”
“You sweet-talk like your tongue’s been dipped in honey the mont soone hands you a bit of money.”
“You’ve given such a vast sum in donation to a lowly imam like . Surely Allah will bless you greatly for it. And when you are blessed, you shall be exalted accordingly.”
“A blessing from Allah, huh? Fine. Then let’s see if I can earn one. This isn’t the sort of thing I’d normally say in the middle of a crowded street, but I need your help.”
The imam imdiately stood and led Aziz into the prayer house he used as both ho and gathering place.
It was large enough to fit around fifty people if packed tightly.
Once inside, and after the doors were closed, Aziz glanced around, then spoke cautiously.
“Imam, what is your na?”
“Nagi Ali.”
“Good, Nagi. I assu you already figured out, from the mont I handed you twenty silver coins without a word, that I’ve co on behalf of soone very important.”
“Might you be able to tell who that very important person is?”
Aziz wanted to snap at Nagi for daring to ask sothing so bold after pocketing the money.
But at the sa ti, it was a natural question—he was clearly being asked to do sothing important. Of course he’d want to know who he was working for.
“But I can’t ntion Viscount Rothschild by na.”
So Aziz decided to invoke Allah instead.
“I swear on the na of Allah—I cannot reveal who they are. But if I were to offer just the tiniest of hints...”
“Yes, please...”
Aziz pointed toward the ceiling and spoke with reverent quiet, almost in a whisper.
“A very high one. The exalted, glorious, and holy one.”
“I understand perfectly... heh heh.”
Pointing upward and speaking of soone “very high” was a common euphemism for either the sovereign or a deity.
And when Aziz swore upon the na of Allah—a na no good Sultanate man would ever invoke lightly—the implication was stronger than 50,000 words.
Nagi was convinced this was the start of a golden chapter in his life.
“The Sultan himself is entrusting with sothing important!”
“Do you know what the Crusades were?”
“Is there anyone in the Sultanate who doesn’t know? The damned infidels who ought to be torn limb from limb.”
“Well, that very sa Holy Empire that led the Crusades is now split in two, waging civil war. And the Kingdom of Lyon—a fellow believer in their God—has sent a massive army to devour them.”
“Is... is that true?”
“Do you think soone who serves one so high would lie? Every word is truth.”
Nagi was quietly delighted by what he heard.
Sure, receiving a fat sum of money was great—but more than that, hearing that the vile infidels were killing each other in the na of divine retribution... That brought joy to his soul.
Even if he was practically a con man wearing the imam’s robe, he still believed in Allah.
And hearing of heretics being torn apart felt... right.
“Allahu akbar. Thank you, Allah.”
“And now, I need you to spread this teaching.”
“What teaching «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» would that be?”
“Tell them—the ti of jihad has co.”
Jihad—the sacred war to spread the faith of Mahbad.
Even to a charlatan like Nagi, the word jihad made his heart pound.
A holy war. A once-in-a-millennium chance to settle a score with the cursed infidels.
“Allah said: Those who die in jihad shall go to paradise, where they will live forever in bliss, tended to by seventy-two virgins. And those who survive will inherit the lands of the heretics and enjoy wealth and honor.”
Even in the 21st century, there were still fools who destroyed their families believing in that promise.
How much more so in a world where religion directly shaped people’s everyday lives?
“Allah has split the unbelievers Himself—He has turned them upon one another, made them kill and die by each other’s hand. Brave warriors, join the holy war that Allah has promised victory in!”
And then, as if possessed by the spirit of the mont, Aziz raised his voice and delivered an impromptu sermon.
“Wealth, glory, power, and paradise itself! All of it has been left behind in the lands of the false Holy Empire. Seek, and you shall find! Knock, and it shall be opened to you! Allah, the most rciful Father, shall grant all of this to you!”
“Just hearing it... it sounds so beautiful.”
“Here. Ten more gold coins. Use it to gather as many of the poor as you can. Stir up the crowd. Get them crying out for holy war.”
“Yes, of course.”
Nasir, a poor day laborer living in Jidda City of the Mahbad Sultanate—
Like every day, he dragged his feet, trudging toward the prayer house to hear the words of the imam he followed.
Life was hell. Day after day of hardship. But the imam’s teachings gave him comfort, however brief.
“Allahu akbar... please, save ...”
The only escape from this poverty was death. If he didn’t die, he’d never escape.
So the teachings of Imam Nagi—who preached hope beyond death—were sweet like honey to him.
He greeted others in similar conditions as they arrived.
Sa routine, sa struggle, sa pain.
“May Allah be with you, my brothers in faith. Have you all been well?”
Nagi greeted them with a grin and handed out food—matzah, an unleavened bread.
Normally, the portions were small—barely enough for a single bite each. But today, there was enough for everyone to eat their fill.
If you are reading this translation anywhere other than Novelight or SilkRoadTL, it has been stolen.
“Brothers, I may not be able to offer you at for your bellies just yet, but let this matzah satisfy you tonight.”
Nasir tore into it hungrily.
He hadn’t eaten to fullness in what felt like an eternity.
He nearly gorged himself to sickness.
“Brother Nasir, slow down. Here, have so date wine to wash it down.”
“Thank you...”
It wasn’t the best combo—date wine and matzah—but who cared? They were full. That alone was enough to make them happy.
Once everyone had eaten their fill, Imam Nagi stood and shouted:
“Allah has given us a chance!”
At the word chance, Nasir and the others perked up.
“The Holy Empire, that wicked nation that tornted and massacred our ancestors a thousand years ago, has been struck by Allah’s hamr—split in half, and now they slaughter one another. And the Kingdom of Lyon, like a ravenous wolf, has set upon them. Do you know what this ans?”
Nasir had no idea.
If he were smart enough to understand, he wouldn’t be living like this at the bottom of society.
But Nagi knew exactly the intellectual level of his audience, and so he explained slowly, gently—like to a child.
“Jihad! Allah Himself has punished them! Now is the ti to take back the lands seized by those vile heretics! The ti of the holy war is upon us!”
“Holy war...”
“Those who die in jihad will beco martyrs. They shall dwell in Allah’s palace, waited on forever by seventy-two virgins. Those who survive will be given land in the Holy Empire by the great Sultan himself. To all who live in darkness and despair—Allah has given us light!”
Nasir’s heart thundered in his chest.
If he was dood to live in misery forever, wasn’t it better to die in jihad?
Die, and be rewarded with paradise?
Live, and receive land?
This kind of opportunity might never co again.
The wicked ones are already killing each other...
Surely, this was the plan of Allah Himself.
“Allah wills it!”
And with that cry, Nasir and the others shouted in unison:
“Allah wills it!”
“Allah wills it, that you beco His sword!”
With the crowd fully riled up, Nagi gave his command:
“I will spend every coin I have to serve matzah and date wine every day. In return, you must bring others—your friends, your families, your neighbors. Tell them this: The ti of jihad has co. Tell them it’s a free al if you have to.”
Not long after that, the number of attendees at Imam Nagi’s prayer house exploded beyond recognition.
And Aziz, having spread the sa ssage through other imams, ensured that the cry of jihad reached across the entire Sultanate.
By the ti Fabio arrived, not a single person in the Sultanate hadn’t heard the call.
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