This has been the most productive day I’ve ever had in NaNoWriMo–8,700 words, and I surpassed the halfway mark in word count and reached 27,536 words. I’ve done nothing except write for as many hours as I possibly could in the past five days, and, frankly, I’m exhausted. Tomorrow is a break because I’m driving a friend to DC for the day. I think that’s needed because I don’t think I can keep this pace going.
Here’s today’s excerpt, from Chapter Seven, Tools of the Trade:
“What else did they tell you about Mir Saradi?” she asked.
“He is a legend already, and many tribes have joined with him to fight the Taliban and al Qaeda. He is a Russian who came to fight for Allah, may we bless his name,” said Hawat.
Hawat told the soldiers’ stories of Mir Saradi, all heroic. Saradi rode into battle on a magnificent white horse, though she found that hard to believe, knowing Alexei’s distrust of horses.
Saradi prayed before battle, he quoted from the Quran to inspire his men, he turned the truth of the Quran against those who perverted it. He carried his Quran, in Russian, as a battle shield. He gave alms.
“They say he hunts bin Laden to avenge his murdered family,” Hawat said, “but he carries the blood vengeance for many with him.”
That Mai did believe. As in the Balkans, Afghani tribesmen would understand blood vengeance. Hawat’s effusions added to what the Talib had told her painted an interesting picture, a portrait of a man she wasn’t sure she knew, a holy warrior.
“The soldiers say they do not fear his blue eyes,” Hawat said, “because they shine with the holy light of Allah, the merciful, the compassionate…”
“Fine and good,” Mai interrupted. “Did they say where he is now?”
“He and Abdullah Ignatsiev went to Abdullah’s house here in Kabul.”
Mai went back over the condition of Atef’s body. He’d been killed less than a day before.
“Hawat, would your uncle know where this Abdullah Ignatsiev lives?” she asked.
“Of course,” Hawat boasted. “He knows everyone in Kabul.”
(c)2013 by Phyllis Anne Duncan