The Sting of the Scorpion

After days of overcoming violent desert winds of epic proportions, Tarek finds himself in a remote fortress on his way to deliver a parchment that he's guarded as the eyes in his skull. The flag of the caliphate waves with strong winds towards the East.

He must deliver the parchment to his allies within the fortress if he has any chance of clearing his name. The secret Order of Assassins are surely looking for him as they speak, but he must enter the lion's den if there's ever a chance to succeed in his revolt.

He camouflages himself with the sand and scales the walls of the tower towards his ally's quarters with his dark bladed lion's claw gloves. He makes a distinct sparrow's whistle to beckon his friend Ibn 'Abbas. He recognizes the sound and mimics the sparrow's whistle in response. “Ibn ’Abbas is that you?” He sees a large powerful trunk of an arm laden with a leather armlet, with a large scar on his right shoulder: it’s an injury from a mission Tarek completed with him a mere decade ago. Ibn ‘Abbas motions Tarek to come upstairs.

Tarek climbs in through the window as he steps into a luxurious home with Persian rugs a peasant could only dream of, of ancient warrior blades hung as artifacts from thousands of years ago, an oak desk brought in from Asia with an endless wall of parchments and books released by scholars and philosophers, scientists and mathematicians. “I see you’ve lived quite the lifestyle, my old friend.” Ibn ‘Abbas, a large man with a powerful muscular stature, seems to no longer engage in spycraft, but rather more transparent work. The scars that fanned the flames of war so many years ago, left their mark on him, serving as a reminder to anyone who dare cross him.

“That I have, Tarek.” He sighs with frustration and relief. “That I have.”

“Did you receive my message?”

“Yes. The fortress has been shooting down messenger pigeons over the past few months indiscriminately. They’ve sent me the message directly to dispose of it, and your fateful bird.”

Tarek with a short, angered breath exclaims at the audacity of the new Caliph. “What a foolish boy this new man is. He can’t hide from the world forever. The truth will be revealed soon enough.”

“Indeed he is. Educated and trained yes, but he hasn’t seen battle at all, and now his father rots in his grave with no semblance of peace.” Muses ‘Abbas.

“Tell me you didn’t forward the information to anyone else! His pride will kill us all, Ibn ’Abbas.”

“I know, but you must not backbite a fool, for he makes a mule look agreeable. You cannot beat down a wall with mere words. Your message was destroyed as soon as I read it and I had told no one. Do not doubt my words. I am still your teacher. Wars and leaders will come and go, but we will always remain to cover their poisonous words and empty promises.”

“Indeed we will, master. It’s good to see a friendly face.” They shake hands and give each other a hearty rough hug as they smile, despite the guards outside.

“Worry not. The walls are thick and the rooms are spacious. My guards outside are with us. There won’t be a single soul eavesdropping on us without my say so.”

“You mean, Othman and Haytham?” Tarek asks about his other friends.

‘Abbas nods with a smile.

“Are you the head of the order?”

“Not quite. I am the head of this branch within the fortress, but be warned, the Caliph is watching my every move. I must comply with his demands if I am to move forth unseen.” He pauses to collect himself “We must create change, Tarek.”

“How do you propose we do that, master?”

“We will formulate a resistance to appoint a new Caliph. There is a man, a scholar that has been gaining influence further North, beyond the desert. You must move ahead to find him, sight unseen.” Abbas gives him a parchment containing a map of where the scholar is thought to be. “It’s a days’ worth of a ride. I have a horse just outside of the tower with food and water provisions ready for you.”

“That would be difficult to achieve if they see you leave.” Muses Tarek.

“Indeed. That’s why you must let me arrest you, and you must promptly escape. I must continue to keep my cover. His father was a blessed man. He warned me of treachery from his adopted son, and so it did happened. He murdered his true heir, and now here we are, the spark of conflict will surely bear fruit once more, only this time with no true rhyme nor reason.”

Tarek punches ‘Abbas in the face attempting to escape as he calls for his loyal guards “Guards! Get this perpetrator now!” Haytham and Othman bust through the doors as Haytham, the swiftest of all blows a dart towards Tarek as he catches it in mid-air and runs out the window. “I want him found! Now!”

Tarek uses the grappling hook at the end of the rope he climbed on and threw it towards a building as the sandstorm picks up once again, obscuring his view as the sound of hoofs beating quickly away from the fortress are suddenly heard. As his three secret allies attempt to chase after him, they smile “Good luck, Tarek. I hope the winds find you well.”

“It’s as if the wind followed with him, ‘Abbas!” marvels Haytham, a tall, lean man with a brown beard.

“Indeed, he was the best of us all.” Agrees Othman, a muscular boulder of a man with a black goatee, even larger in frame than ‘Abbas, but slower and perhaps not as strong as their leader.

Tarek gallops further away as he moves further North, away from the violent desert storms and towards a large city on an oasis, on his powerful black horse. Tarek quickly changes into civilian clothes and wears a disguise, a hat and an eyepatch, posing as a merchant. He sees a young boy running around holding books, walking outside of a school. It’s the end of classes and the children are out playing.

“Pardon me, young man. Could you help me? Where is the university?” Tarek smiles politely, his face partially hidden.

The boy points further north into the city. “It’s a mere stride, past the bazaar, and the mosque.” He points further towards the tower where the call to prayer is made each day.

“Thank You!” He tips his hat and throws a gold coin in his hand.

“Thank You, kind stranger!” the boy’s cheerful smile turns to suspicion and fear, as he hides from the strange man and calls a friend of his telling him that someone is looking for the scholar. The other child runs towards the university as well and jumps onto a merchant’s cart which is headed close to the university.

He sees the entrance to the university, where only a select few students remain. Tarek disguises himself once again, removing his eyepatch and hat, and shaves his scruffy beard in a nearby bath to appear more presentable, wearing a more scholarly form of clothing. He hears commotion outside of a nearby classroom where he sees an older man, a teacher discussing politics privately among a select few students, speaking of revolution and change and the advancement of new technologies that will ensure the prosperity of society.

Tarek hears a strange sound near the balcony of the large classroom, as he uses his monocular telescope to look for anything strange. He notices a dark figure with a crossbow, its tip smeared with a powerful white-coloured scorpion venom, designed to stop a human heart and kill quickly.

Tarek climbs further up as he wrestles the assassin knocking the crossbow out of his hand “He yells to the teacher “Get out of here! NOW!! GO!!!” The students gasp unsure of what is happening as they whisper the words “hashasheen!” Without a thought, they err on the side of caution and guard the scholar, as they run away quickly outside of the classroom.

The venomous assassin swiftly picks up the crossbow and shoots at Tarek with it, as he knocks it out of the way with his ancient scimitar, the arrow landing on the ground. “Who are you?” Tarek yells at the vicious killer.

The assassin doesn’t utter a word, but attacks Tarek even more swiftly with an aggressiveness he rarely sees, using a shorts word as he quickly spins it around in his right hand and rushes towards him. Tarek defends with a violent clash of swords as he sees a dagger also poison tipped held by the assassin concealed in his left hand.

He sweeps the killer’s legs quickly as he’s knocked down, dropping the dagger far below the balcony, but still holding the sword, as he attempts to find the arrow that was shot behind him. He sees the arrow only a mere foot behind him as he reaches for it, but the killer still on the ground grab his legs, pulling him away. He dropkicks the killer into the chest in one motion jumping up onto his feet as he backs away, allowing him to attack him once again.

The killer still with sword in hand, gets up slowly with a vile rage unlike any other. Still the killer glares with no words as Tarek taunts him, buying the scholar and his allies to run away even further. “Come on, you coward! I’m here! Fight me!”

The assassin sees he has no chance to escape. He has met his match. He grunts fiercely with approval, as he clashes swords once again with Tarek, clattering and clashing back and forth, each attempting to kill the other, as Tarek backs away enough to grasp the venom-tipped projectile.

He moves close enough to the assassin to cut off his head, as he swings and the killer ducks in time, but Tarek at nearly the exact same moment that the killer ducks under Tarek’s powerful swipe, uses the arrow with his other hand to stab downward into the killer’s back.

The killer is shocked and angered further, as he falls from the balcony far below, landing onto a table. Tarek rushes to the balcony to see his body, but there’s no longer a sign of the mysterious assassin. He sees only a broken table now.

A victory, nonetheless, the scholar is safe. Tarek aims to find him once again. He will most likely leave the city now. He must track him if he’s to find this new leader for change.

And so, Tarek journeys forth, seeking the boy that gave him directions, a student and a member of this mysterious resistance group.

The scorpion has stung the unjust, and the righteous once again prevail.