Terrible dreams woke her up.
Camelia sat upright, gasping, her skin moist with perspiration. It took her a moment to realize she was in a dark room, all alone. Dizziness made her stagger as she stood off the mattress scrabbling across the short distance toward the light peeking from beneath the door.
Feeling around for the knob, she held her breath when she found it for but a moment, and tried the handle. It rattled, refusing to turn.
Weak, she sagged against the locked door, trembling. Tears of frustration threatened, but she forced them back. Angrily she twisted the knob. The lock held.
Feeling her way back to the bed, she found a lamp on the side table, turned it on, and found herself in a small, tidy, immaculate room. It wasn't big at all like she expected. It was small, with a plain bed, lamp and a chest in a corner.
How did I get here? She asks herself. A flashback of last nights events come back to her and she gasped in shock and looked down.
Camelia tried to feel if her femininity was forcefully penetrated passed the scant provocative, scandalous, nightdress the servants dressed her in with despair.
But she felt nothing. She felt fine. Nothing hurt.
Thank God.
She needed to get out of there before they came back and forced her to face the Sultan again. No way was she going to spend another day or night in that Godforsaken place. Her strength was returning with each passing breath, and she assaulted the door again. The lock was impossible. It needed to be broken. But first she needed to make sure nobody was waiting for her on the outside.
"Hello?" She called out softly. "Hello? Is anybody there?"
Camelia knocked twice and waited.
No answer. She closed her eyes in relief.
Using her body weight to build momentum, she lifted her leg and brought down her foot against the knob. Next, her ear pressed to the door listening. Waiting, to make sure she didn't attract any attention. She tried again after a few seconds.
Again, it doesn't budge.
Out of nowhere the sounds of keys rattling on the other side, made her eyes widen. Camelia immediately backed away as the doors open.
Holding her breath, Camelia stands across the room, her fists clenched.
What she doesn't expect is to see Nora. Her face was veiled except for her eyes. She hurriedly closed the door behind her and lifted the thin veil.
"Come, we must hurry! They will be coming for you later this afternoon!" She whispered urgently racing towards Camelia who stood there in shock.
"W-what do you mean?" She managed to ask.
"The Sultan will be summoning you!" Nora explained. "Do you not want to escape?"
"Yes, of course but why are you helping me?" Camelia asks, watching Nora place her hands over her protruding belly.
"I am too selfish to share you with Sultan Suleiman! I cannot allow you to become a favorite! Rumor has it he is highly intrigued by you! I am determined to give him the son he desperately needs. His other wives have given him nothing but girls. You must go now!"
Camelia gulped heavily. Should she trust Nora? It could be a trap.
"What if you get caught? Why would you put yourself and your baby at risk like this?"
Nora glanced over her shoulder worriedly and re-directed her attention back to Camelia.
"Did you not hear what I said?" She answers exasperated. "You are my competition. No one has held his interest so easily! You are a threat to my livelihood and that of my unborn child's! Now, quickly get dressed and leave from the door I will leave unlocked. I cannot help you from here, you must go on your own. The souk is beyond the palace walls, go past the gates and you shall be set free!"
Before Camelia could question her more, Nora turned and quickly left cautiously before closing the door behind her.
She stood there for a few seconds trying to process all Nora had said. Ridding her head of her confusion and not believing her luck, Camelia strode to the door and nudged the heavy wooden door with a finger. It slid silently open. Nora left it unlocked like she said she would.
She closed it quickly and backed away needing to come up with a plan to escape.
First, she'd need to cover herself. It would be impossible to climb, run, or swim if she needed to if she were noticed dressed in slaves garb.
A small trunk was tucked into a corner, and hoped surged through her. Within moments, Camelia was kneeling before the chest and raising the lid. Gowns, lingerie, robes, scarves and several different cloaks were inside. She held up a red abaya–a simple loose over-garment that resembled a robe-like dress. She held it away from her unfolding it.
It would cover her whole body.
Helping herself, she slips the distinctive traditional garb over her head and grabs a niqab–a veil which would aid in covering her face but her eyes, and a head scarf that would hide her hair. Facing the mirror fixed against the wall she smiles grimly. It was the first time she'd worn anything so traditional. It almost felt like a costume and the perfect disguise to help her escape unnoticed.
Moments later, she takes a quick peek into the hallway, making sure the door really was unguarded, and stood just inside the doorway. She was surprised the door wasn't guarded.
The servants probably didn't think she was strong nor smart enough to run away with their master being so evil. In spite of herself, Camelia smiled, closed the door behind her as if it was never disturbed and sneaked down the long tan colored marbled floor and proceeded down the hallway noiselessly.
Her courage dwindled, however, when she caught the first faint murmur of voices ahead of her. Their footsteps were quickly approaching as soon as she neared the end of the long hallway. There was no room to turn around and retreat and so Camelia hid, pressing her body in a small corner of a gold pillar molding the wall.
A moment of paralyzing fear rushed through her, threatening to break her resolve. Camelia prayed and prayed, staying as still as a statue, watching a pair of passing women dressed in traditional clothing.
That was too close.
Camelia didn't have a single plan in her mind, but she was determined not to wait until she was placed on a gold platter for the pleasures of the sultan as Nora so plainly informed her. Not only would she cruelly be used, she would be killed long after she'd begun to pray for death.
Proceeding, she stopped and looked around, spotting scantily clad women moving up and down the hall while aristocratic men talked amongst themselves, speaking in a foreign language.
Behind them two men came, dragging a half-conscious, savagely beaten man between them. Camelia held her breath as she waited for them to pass. His clothing bloodied, moans and coughs of suffering came from the prisoner's mouth. Everybody seemed not to notice and ignored the soldiers dragging a man beaten nearly to death.
Camelia instantly felt a pang of sympathy. She could just tell he was innocent. This place she was in did not abide by any modern day laws. It was a place where the guilty ran free and the innocent suffered.
Full of compassion and frustration, it took everything in her not to step forward and stop to interfere. She was never one to ignore human agony but she could do nothing to combat what was occurring and help him.
If she made it free, maybe, she could alert authorities and bring awareness to the dictator and his malicious crimes.
Taking care not to be seen as a captive, Camelia squared her shoulders, breathed deeply and bowed her head in submission passing several men and women in the busy corridor. A cart holding a pitcher of water and cups along the side of the wall stands alone. She approaches it and swipes the pitcher in her arms and continues to walk, sweeping a quick glance at the courtyard below her.
There were high walls set in place separating the palace from outsiders. Camelia paused along a iron balcony overlooking a panoramic view of the country she was trapped in. It was lined with thick cascades of white Jasmine. It's sweet smell reminded her of her mother's signature perfume. Her heart sank and she almost whimpered trying not to think how she may never see her family again.
Inhaling deeply Camelia closes her eyes letting the soft fragrance of the small flower infuse her lungs and thought of all the things the flower represented in her life.
Strength. Courage. Home.
It was as if her mother were with her, encouraging her, pushing her to stay strong and fight. Mrs. Julien St. James always believed in going forward, never back.
Searching past the high wall in the courtyard and passed the palm trees she spots the expansive turquoise sea. The glare of sun was blinding and starting to bake the skin showing on her face. Shading her eyes with a free hand from the sun, the sea stretched far beyond the distance, having no beginning and no end.
Changing the direction of her gaze they met the dry desert to the south. That too stretched on for miles. Heat waves were emitting from the sand thanks to the scorching heat. In the next instant she imagined Ali Baba and his forty thieves emerging from the distant desert on their horses, holding swords.
But it was nothing but dry, deserted and hazy.
With such a discouraging sight, nothing seemed to help lift her spirits for rescue as she scanned her eyes in three different directions with still nothing but the ocean.
She began to move again, her movements slow and cautious. The sounds of shouting and negotiating caught her attention as she advanced toward the opposition direction of the desert and sea behind her. Camelia realized the sounds were coming from what appeared to be a market.
This is what Nora meant as the souk.
The sounds became closer and closer as she continued to walk. The palace seemed to stretch with every step she took while the sun shimmered in waves thanks to the blistering heat. The stink of fish filled the air the closer she advanced.
The palace overlooked the marketplace as Camelia stopped and surveyed the distance spotting the stalls and the hustle and bustle of men and women buying exotic products in the lively souk. Vendors shouted and argued, negotiating trades while music flowed among the stalls and into the air. The smell of spices flowed from below, curling around her nose as she caught a whiff.
Fine Arabian horses fed from buckets of water, chickens shrieked in their cages as merchants stood outside their booths coercing buyers to buy their fruit and vegetables. They could be seen in every direction. The streets were narrow and all looked the same. The souk was noisy and the best way for her to blend in and try to seek help.
If only she knew where to go once she entered the marketplace. That is, if she makes it. Wandering unprotected in the dusty streets with strangers, Pirates, and thrives lurking in the corners was no better but she was willing to take her chances.
Allahu Akbar. Ash-hadu an-la ilaha illa allah. Ash-hadu anna Muhammadan-Rasulullah. Hayya'ala salat.... (Allah is Great. I bear witness that there is no divinity but Allah. I bear witness that Muhammad is Allah's messenger. Hasten to prayer....)
Camelia stiffens and holds as still as she can.
A loud lulling voice spoke through black boxed speakers mounted all around the palace, broadcasting the call to prayer. Whoever was on the microphone chanting words that sounded more like a beautiful poem than versus from the holy book summoned the people around her into a silence of respect. The men moved as if commanded and scurry down the steps leading to the gardens and out the large tall gates.
Camelia immediately guessed they were heading to the mosque for prayers.
Taking it as her queue, she sneaks out after most of the men left. She passes the shady courtyards cobble stones, a beautiful fountain made of the finest marble in the center, countless stone benches and several elm trees. She scans her surroundings, her eyes reaching beyond the gates and took note of the servants holding empty baskets, quickly assuming they were for the purchases of goods for the palace.
She didn't know what time of the day it was but she assumed it was early afternoon as she made her way towards the sounds coming from the souk. It didn't take as long as she expected when she met with the beginning structure of the ancient walls leading to her destination. She blended as best she could into the crowd, maneuvering along the streets passing booths and merchants.
She spied chattering monkeys wearing vests and little hats eating fruit with their little hands. A group of Donkey's and Camels stand as they graze on grass and drink from buckets of water as she passes. Further down the busy street scantily clad Belly dancers danced behind thick iron bars.
They looked like birds in a fancy cage.
Camelia's eyes widen when a man lifts one of the women from her stage, tossing the man in charge a coin. One of the ladies begins belly dancing before the man exotically, pushing her bosom in his face. The stranger's toothless grin caused a rush of nausea to rise in Camelia's throat. All she could do was hold her breath and purse her lips to keep the bile down.
Keeping her head lowered, taking her surroundings in all the same, in side to side glances, she scurries in the opposite direction with her rising anxiety, finding a eerily quiet street. The alleyway was empty. The excitement of the souk blurred behind her as she hastened her brisk walk, nearly running. The glare of the sun was beating down and drenching her over heated skin.
Turning right, Camelia runs into another street and searched her surroundings finding the streets from every direction from the souk. The despair continued to sink into her bones. She was lost and didn't know what to do or where to go. The marketplace was a maze. Every which way she continued led back to the souk.
A little boy notices her and she stops in her tracks frozen in place. His skin was tanned from the scorching sun, wearing a stained shirt and pants with serval rips. He looked like a street rat that came right of the Disney movie Aladdin. He frowns as his gaze glides over her attire and back to her panic stricken eyes.
He speaks in a low voice and Camelia could barely understand from the sounds coming from the crowd behind him. She doesn't stop to listen any longer and retreats back into the shadows of the alley she came from.
The boy's heavy footsteps were heard running close behind her.
Swallowing hard, Camelia gathered her courage and forged on alone as she came to the other end of the ally, skidded around a corner and came to abrupt halt in front of a small door which looked covered by a heavy board. She went to it and with all the strength she had, using her arms and legs, she kept pushing and pushing until it was wide enough to slip through. It was a small gap but enough for her to slip her lithe body passed. Stepping quickly inside to hide she forced the board back in place, exerting more effort.
Her eyes adjust to the dark as she waits. Her chest heaved with each jagged breath she took. The smell of the small gap was moldy, dense and very, very dark. It was difficult to breathe but she steeled herself and waited in silence following any sounds coming from the narrow street.
Though Camelia strained her ears, all she heard was the distant shouts from the market and the boy's voice coming closer, it was muffled as if he were speaking to someone. Camelia holds her breath and backs away and stumbled slightly. She whips her head back, shaking, praying, trying to gather her nerves. She was too terrified to cry when her face felt a web touch her skin. Swatting it away she stood still, nearly sobbing, willing her brain not to panic.
There is no way out of this. She prayed they wouldn't check behind the board, clasping her hands against her chest in prayer and closed her eyes tightly.
Please, please don't let them find me.
The voices grew faint and faded as she waited breathlessly.
After what felt like hours, Camelia released a long sigh of relief, gathered her confidence and nudged the make-shift board covering the small opening in the wall. She peeked ahead, through the vertical crack. Nobody was waiting for her. She made her move and pushed aside the board, slipping through the small break and left the wall, entering the alley once again.
The sky was still bright with the scorching sun beating down on the tall brick walls. The humidity hit her face as a slight breeze passed by, a bead of perspiration running down her cheek.
She shut her eyes in relief, then darted past the dusty street, stealing a glance behind her as she went. Ahead, some fifty feet away, she saw a break in the street where it intersected into another path. When she reached the end, she grimaced, trying to shake off her fear and find the courage to look around the corner.
Clear.
But when she looked again, like a thief waiting in the shadows, the only thing that caught her attention was the view of the palace walls and the great wooden gate which led back to the entrance of the courtyard. The entire city was like a maze that wrapped around and back to the palace.
For a moment, Camelia could not seem to move and unexpectedly jolted in her spot.
A explosive outburst sounded in the souk behind her.
Dismayed sounds of people, shrieking and shouting was growing louder. Camelia stole a glance down the the narrow street, her stomach in knots. Clenching her fists so tightly, her nails dug into her palm, huddled against the wall, she edged inch by inch away from the commotion.
Merchants yelled. Their stands could be heard crashing and falling to the ground. The little monkey's shrieking pierced her ears. Horses screamed in terror, their hooves stomping the ground rippling like aftershocks from a earthquake. It was as if a stampede was rushing thorough the small town.
They were coming for her.
She was too terrified of the distressed sounds littering the air to think of what to do next. The breeze rose again. She smelled dust, spices and lingering Jasmine. Two choices remained. Either she slip back into the palace or go back to the souk where the chaos occurred.
She knew she couldn't remain where she was for more than a few seconds longer.
I'm trapped with no way out of this.
Mistake or not her decision was made.
But before she moved, the same boy from earlier shouts from behind her. Recognizing his voice immediately, she whips her head toward him and finds him standing and pointing at her with a garbed men dressed in black holding a raised gun aimed in her direction.
She felt her heart sink between her legs.
Without sparing the armed man another look, Camelia bolts, her long, dark hair streaming behind her. The veil hugged her body as she ran, billowing behind her back as she gained ground going back to the palace, the cobblestone courtyard coming into view.
She prayed more of her pursuers weren't down there to see her pass. Trying to act as calm as possible, Cameila marched on stiffly hoping she'd fool the soldiers and pass them as they looked into the distance at the disturbance. The sun hit her face in full blast and she lowered her eyes, focusing on her pointed shoes as she strode ahead.
She was almost there.
Someone exploded out to the intersecting path and caught her in both arms. She screamed. Over powered by the man's sheer physical strength, Camelia fought him without looking into his face. He only gripped her harder, and she shouted in pain when he jerked her arm.
With all her strength she punched him across the face, tackled free of him, tearing out of his arms, hearing ripping silk as she pulled forward. The veil gripped her head in an askew position. Without a backward glance she sprinted toward the courtyard, sobbing.
Her heart beating wildly, she stubbed her shoe on a loose brick, stumbling to the ground. Camelia scrambles up through the dust, sweat pouring from every pore of her body. The man tackled her to the ground, flattening over her and snaking his arm around her throat.
[1] "Hala tutun veya ölmek." (Hold still or you will die). The man growled, panting hard.
Camelia could not understand a word he said except for recognizing the menacing threat in his tone. Camelia rested for but a second, then started kicking, squirming, bucking and thrashing using her hands to try and scratch his face and her legs to aim a blow some place on his body.
"Let me go!" She screamed, panting hard.
The stranger hauled her up from her crouched position and hurled her to face him, putting a knife to her throat. The man's impressive height towering over her and blocked the sun from hitting her face.
Camelia held her neck and head high, feeling a sharp blade pressing into her skin. Her chest was heaving with her deep breathes as sweat poured from her forehead, running down her cheeks. Her fear briefly forgotten, she focused on the beady kohl lined eyes of the same man who pushed her through the Sultan's room.
"You will die for your disobedience." He says in his heavy accented English.
Camelia gritted her teeth. "Rot in hell, you savage." The fury boiling in her blood.
The sharp knife pressed harder against her throat. She felt the sharp blade cutting into her skin. Blood begins to trickle from the cut skin. There was no pain thanks to the pure adrenaline running through her blood but she saw her life flash before her eyes.
This is it. This is the end.
The Sultan's people slowly trickled into the courtyard, circling them. Some of the most gigantic soldiers she had ever seen entered the circle, mutely watching with narrowed eyes.
Camelia closed her eyes in silent prayer. Her heart pounding unsteadily as she accepted her fate. She prayed Stefan would not come. She prayed her mother was safe. She prayed her siblings would never suffer like she had been for months.
The soldiers slowly began to laugh, full of pure evil and ruthlessness.
"I shall cut your head off slowly and make a example of you to all that dare challenge the crown. Once I dismember your head from your body it will stand on a stake for all to behold." He growled, Camelia watching his dark rotting teeth from behind his lips. "On your knees." He ordered.
Camelia wet her dry, chapped lips with her tongue, tasting blood and a small swelling bump on her lower lip. Her lean body didn't even twitch and stubbornly stayed unmoving.
When she didn't obey he ripped off her torn head scarf, freeing her hair, the sun beating down against her exposed head. He yanked her sweat, plastered hair, and pulled it painfully, forcing her to kneel.
She winced feeling a fire of pain in her scalp. Stars exploded in her vision. Camelia was sure he pulled a handful of her dark mane from the roots.
Gasps came from the women that obviously gathered to see the commotion. Others cried out in horror. Some cover their mouths, waiting for her impending doom.
Camelia felt herself melt under the heavy rays of the sun. Her pale face burned, her parched mouth felt as though it were on fire. She strained with all her strength to stay motionless, her knees screaming in agony against the small pebbles digging into her skin. Her chest lifted and fell in short, shallow breaths poised and ready to die, fighting the urge to throw profanities at her captor.
This wasn't the way I wanted to die. She thinks.
She wanted to live a fulfilling life. Open her own boutique like Coco Chanel and make custom designs that would make history. She wanted a big wedding she would live to tell her children about. She wanted to be a grandparent that spoiled her grandchildren rotten. She wanted to grow old with Stefan by her side with him loving her until her last breath.
She wanted a happy ending.
Not this. Not Enslaved–waiting for punishment by beheading.
Camelia swallowed her fear, internally shaken. However, she refused to show a weakness to the barbarian who was cruelly mistreating her or the bystanders who did nothing to help her, too afraid to speak. Their hushed voices spread over her, not understanding the language, Camelia closed her eyes and blocked them out.
She held onto her courage with the last of her strength. With her face reddened, and hot, she held her head high with a calm, cool poise that was pure princess.
Voices were coming from outside the palace walls again. The shouting started to grow stronger and closer.
Camelia's head throbbed, her knees hurt, the world had gone a bit dizzy, and the cut started to hurt now that the knife pressed firmly against the open flesh as more blood soaked the front of her chest. Maybe it was due to the blood loss that she was experiencing, but she could have sworn she heard her name in her head like a tickling whisper.
His voice.
My Camelia, I am here with you.
The illusion was somewhat comforting in such a moment where her life was about to end. It was a beautiful ending, she thought, as she smiled a little and closed her eyes feeling the sunlight cast over her eyelids.
Stefan, she called from deep within herself.
_______________________________________________________________________________
Intense stuff going on.
Has anyone ever been to a marketplace before in the Far East? I have and it's such a fun experience!
What do you think is going on in the souk?
Who was the boy and who's the man with him?
Thanks for voting commenting and adding to your public reading lists!
Until next time,
Shaz