A battered carriage of simple looks rode behind two mules in a dirt road.

There was not much to discuss about the road, mules, or the carriage; except that they were all hidden in the dark sky and battering drops of rain forced their way into each with ferocity. The driver at the front of the carriage pulled the straps of the mules tighter, lest they slipped from his numbed hands and they went astray into a slimy marsh to their doom. His straw hat above the linen shirt’s collars tried hard to defend his eyes from the onslaught of cold water, and even though they were barred from contact with his body the chill wasn’t something he was accustomed to.

Over the road, slapping the mules and yelling for them to move faster, the driver saw a few dents and wheel marks on the softened road. His eyes gleamed and the speed he whipped the animals hastened. Soon a few planks of signs came to his view, two pointing east and one right on their path to the north. He tilted his head to the wooden block behind him, freed one hand from the ropes to open it and peek inside.

‘’Mister, we are near caravansary Feathertail. What would you like to do?’’

Inside the carriage lit by dim moonlight, the figure of the passenger grasped his chin with a hand. He had a yet unshaven stubble over his cheeks and around his lips. For a moment he pondered, the thundering clouds’ tremor boomed toward them.

‘’Let us stop there, the storm might stop near the dawn.’’

The driver nodded and closed the wooden block behind, then let out a sigh of relief.

‘’DEH! DEH!’’ He yelled to the mules and they sprang forward with much more power, trampling the dirt beneath their horseshoes.

*********

Half an hour passed and the thunderstorm was as fierce as ever.

Baybur listened to the drops of rain clattering to the walls of his crumbling carriage. It was old and dusty when they took out, the maintenance wasn’t done regularly. That wasn’t a fault of his, for the amount of time he needed to travel three or four days’ time worth road could be counted with a single hand. And their estate was both faraway from the Western capital and too unimportant for anything requiring admittance of himself. This was an exception, though.

The Sultan is hasty with the banquet, he thought, touching strands of blonde hair to feel the chilling cold. He was lucky that his sister forced him to wear a fur cloak and an undergarment of the same kind. It was itchy, but at least his chest wasn't as cold as his forehead was.

I’m lucky she didn’t want to come, Baybur nodded to himself, tracing the few light wounds over his pinky and ring fingers. Or many would try to take her hand.

Though they would do with or without her presence, as women hardly had a choice in their marriage, with her absence he could spew any excuse and delay the matter. But how long a yerliyya can delay? These are pashas and aghas, Baybur, they are far above you. It was moments like these that reminded Baybur how dangerous gaining the grace of a Sultan was.

Baybur closed his eyes, standing still. From the tremblings of the carriage and the new sounds approaching; Mutters, dogs’ barking, a few dozen orderly footsteps, Baybur guessed they had reached their destination. No sooner the thought came, he heard the mules in front screech. Their piercing wail sent a shiver down his spine, then a gasp from the front and a violent shake. A fierce tremor passed through the carriage and it came to an abrupt halt. Baybur rose from his seat into the air and his head crashed on the ceiling.

THUD!

‘’Ah!’’ He fell down instantly to the ground and grasped his throbbing head. A trace of swollen red appeared on his forehead, and a drop of blood slid down near his cheeks, then fell on the red gown over his shoulders. ‘’Driver!’’ He shouted, rushing to his feet, and pushed the door open. His eyes glazed to the front, then widened.

There were two men standing at the front, holding the sorry figure of the driver and pulling him out of a wide pit of mud. The few pedestrians on the way looked alarmed, a woman amidst them started shouting.

‘’Aaah! Help! The man is dying! Are there no souls to help!?’’

Baybur turned around, grasped his cloak seated on the ground and put it over his shoulders. He rushed out and with a few steps approached the men, now numbering in four, and took hold of the driver’s torso to raise. They pulled once, then twice, and the driver was out of the mud and now on their arms. Baybur held the driver from the shoulders and glanced at the pool of blood under the carriage, and at the broken legs of the mules. There was a pit almost as wide as the carriage itself where they came to a halt. Soon, with the support of the rain, the blood started filling the hole.

‘’Those ungrateful harlots!’’ A man shouted, slapping his chest. ‘’Ungrateful bastards! If I find those brats, I’ll whip their foot till they spew blood.’’

‘’Brother!’’ Baybur called out to the driver, the man didn’t respond. His right arm was bent backward, and he had a huge gash over his eyebrows. Blood trickled down. ‘’Brothers, are there any physician or medicine man here?’’

‘’There is,’’ One said, then pointed at one. ’’Come, let’s call for the physician.’’ He said, the other followed. The two with Baybur looked for a moment, then sprang forward. One went to the block of houses next to the door and started knocking on the doors, asking for help. The other grasped the legs of the driver and held him up to help Baybur. The rain intensified at the moment, and the knockings became inaudible at some point.

‘’Brother, come!’’ The man said at last, standing in front of a house, with him another man in a white trousers and green gown, a kaftan to be precise, over a shirt. They hurried over, scrambling on the mud road, and went inside with the lead of the house owner. The other stood by the door to spot the physician when he came.

The inside of the house was lit by candles, placed on iron boards nailed to the walls. They passed through two rooms, one the kitchen and the other a living room with lily embroidered carpets and soft seating cushions. The house owner hurried to another room at the back for a moment and returned with a blanket, which he laid down on the carpets.

Baybur and the man put the driver with care to the ground, house owner also put an old pillow under his head, and then all three sighed for the moment of calm.

‘’Thank you, brothers,’’ Baybur took his cloak off and laid it on the old driver, then sat by him to face the house owner. ‘’My apologies for the trouble.’’

‘’Don’t mention it, brother.’’ House owner said, glancing at his attire.

The other did the same and smiled. ‘’How could we not help a soldier in need? It must be tough enough to go battles and not have a family.’’

Baybur sighed and looked down at himself. The classic outfit of a janissary was easily recognizable here. Baggy trousers, a shirt, over it a long red coat tied to his waist with a sash. His yatagan and purses were also tied to this belt with sheath and ropes, and were it not for the absence of his headgear for sure he would be recognized instantly rather than now. But that was what made him appreciate these people now, Baybur thought. They acted without thinking who he or the driver was at first, as if the only important thing was them being humans. He didn’t even have the long mustache of the house owner or the thrifty beards of the other men.

He was not of their lineage, or their blood, or their race, but of the enemy realm’s people. The Sultanate’s army, janissaries, comprised of people like him, who were not of the Sultanate’s original people but of the invaded territories families. This was, perhaps, to ensure that no corruption from familial ties would occur, or simply because they didn’t wish to spend their own population in wars. This didn’t mean janissaries were of no importance, however. The years of funds and training spent for their sake were tremendous, and each of their tutors; from martial arts, religion, culture, music, and archery, taught them with the care of a family. And they also had families, foster families of the Sultanate’s people, who treated them like they were their own sons. His sister was included in that family.

‘’I have a family, brother,’’ He said, then slightly smiled. The other two blinked, then smiles crept over their faces as well. Baybur looked at the house owner. ‘’Don’t you have one, brother? The house seems to big for a lone man to live.’’

‘’My wife and my daughter are at their uncle’s place, were they not I would have them make some coffee.’’ The house owner said.

‘’And you, brother?’’ Baybur asked the other.

‘’I’m not married, but I have an elderly father to take care of.’’

‘’A father...’’ Baybur muttered, gazing down at his hands. Years of archery and swinging sword had caused them to grow rough and coarse aside a burnt piece of flesh in the middle of his right palm. He couldn’t count how many times they turned stiff or numb or bloody. But he could remember how much his father’s did.

Was he nine at that time? His father had...

*********

A fire crackled in front of his eyes.

Baybur laid his back to a chair, a blanket over his legs, and gazed into the blazing flames. The smoke rising from the burning shadows disappeared into the air from the chimney. On the chair behind him sat his mother, knitting a new scarf for him and his father. Winter was on the horizon, after all, and if his father stopped going to the woods, they would have no income to feed on.

‘’Dear-’’ His mother called, rubbing one of her cloaked legs to his side, awakening him. He blinked, then turned his head to glance at her. ‘’It is midnight, dear, why don’t you go to sleep?’’

‘’I want to sleep by the fire,’’ He said, turning his eyes back to the flames. ‘’They are warm.’’

‘’It is dangerous,’’ A rough voice called from behind. ‘’What if you roll into the fire in your sleep?’’

‘’I won’t!’’ Baybur stood up, raising his fist. ‘’I don’t even move in my sleep. I sleep like a caterpillar!’’

‘’You do, dear, you do,’’ His mother smiled. ‘’But a certain man can’t, and he is worrying about it.’’

‘’You- aaah! Fine. Go sleep wherever you like,’’ His father muttered, faint footsteps of a shadow approached them, came before the fire, and embraced him. ‘’But don’t stay awake, alright? The march is tomorrow, don’t you want to see it?’’

‘’I want!’’ Baybur said, nodding furiously.

‘’Then be a good child and sleep.’’ He pat his head. In the meanwhile, his mother had stopped knitting and put whatever she was working on in a straw basket, then stood up. The wood creaked under their feet as his father led her to their bed. He was left behind.

Baybur gazed at their back for some time after they went into shadows. He didn’t think much before turning back and watching the dance of the fire. Crackle and crisp embers, moving shadows below and over him, the warmth that would burn him to cinders if he approached. It looked too enticing for his small mind. What if he approached it? Submerged in it? Tried to eat a mouthful? The result was all the same, he would die a painful death.

But why did it come so sweet? The thought of dying by the fire? Because it was beautiful? He didn’t think so. The little girl next door was prettier than the flame, even his thirty-some mother was. He only liked the sound of the fire, the small boom and puff every few seconds caused his heart to beat faster. His chest throbbed when the flame roared and swallowed pieces of wood. He loved the dancing shadows, moving in erratic shapes like maidens in the inns. Like the dancers on the streets, like the jesters on the courts, like the people on festive nights. If he, also, danced and drank and ate and sung, would he appear in the shadows of a flame; in the past, in the present, or in the future? Before the eyes of a young man, moving with joy and ecstasy, making hand gestures for him to join this eternal heaven of sweat and smiles. Would he do the same?

Baybur, without hesitation, sought the answer. He raised his right hand, opened the fingers wide into a claw, then shot toward one of the flames at the back urging him. His hands passed through the stone circle into the fire chamber, then a sizzling came. A rush of pain, trembling of lips, and a scream.

‘’AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH’’

*********

‘’Brother,’’ A voice called, Baybur opened his eyes wide. ‘’Brother, the physician came.’’ Baybur shook his head and looked back. A man had came with a long inky mustache, a straw hat on his head, and a basket on his hand, behind him the two men that went to seek for him.

‘’Can we carry him to my place?’’ The physician asked, turning to look at him and the house owner. ‘’He is in no immediate danger, dear brother, but treating him there would be for the better.’’ Baybur sat dazed for a moment. What need was there to wait here for him, then? Why didn’t they seek him in the first place?

‘’Of- of course,’’ Baybur nodded and stood up, moving to the driver and holding him from the legs and the torso. ‘’Lead the way, please, and thank you.’’ He nodded to the other two, who put their palms over their left chests in response.

‘’No need, brother.’’

‘’No need, brother.’’

After bidding farewell to the house owner and the remaining people, Baybur followed the running physician under the rain into dark alleys and narrow streets, and after nine minutes they were in front of a cottage with dome like ceiling. Physician took out a set of keys and fitted a small round one into the lock on the gates. He turned, the door clicked, and opened inside. ‘’Come over,’’ He urged and Baybur stepped in, the physician followed from behind and closed the gates, this time turning sideways to lock.

‘’Lay him over there, yes right there,’’ Physician pointed at a table like stone platform. Baybur laid the driver on there, then gazed at one of the chairs lying around under the shelves of enclosed herbs and medical tools. He went near one and plopped down, letting out a sigh.

‘’Can you pass me that liquid behind you?’’ The physician, now busy with playing around the wound on driver’s forehead, asked with his back to Baybur. Baybur gazed at the things laying around on the desk, and indeed there was a green liquid with some kind of specks of white light. He took it and put it in the basket of the physician. ‘’Thank you,’’ He said, then went back to work.

Baybur idled around at the same time, inspecting the shelves and the strands of grass and flower petals in the jars. There were emerald and gold colored ones for the most part, a few were crimson. Of the dozens of jars and glasses of them, however, only two were purplish. One had two stalks branching from the earth covered root, the other was a flower peduncle with three leaves.

Oh, that is what father used...

*********

‘’Fool, what did I say to you!’’ His father shouted, lifting Baybur into air. Baybur continued to groan and cry, his lips and face paled under the shadows of the flame. ‘’Woman, get me honey and the flower!’’ He walked off to the kitchen of their home and put quivering Baybur on the table.

‘’Why didn’t you listen...’’ He muttered and put his palm over Baybur’s eyes. ‘’Don’t look, just wait, son.’’

Hurried footsteps approached, then Baybur’s mother appeared in her long green gown, in her hand a bowl closed with a strap of paper. She put it next to Baybur and after grasping a serving spoon started shuffling through the wooden urns under the table. ‘’Here-’’ She exclaimed a moment later and dragged a sizeable urn to open. She pulled out the sealing cap with force and hooked a spoonful of honey, then poured it on the open palm of Baybur.

‘’Aaa-ah-a-’’

‘’Don’t close your palm, wait a second dear.’’ His mother said and grasped his fingers to hold it open. Meanwhile, his father opened the cloth covering the bowl and revealed a lustrous purple flower with three leaves on its peduncle. He crushed it between his rough hands and turned it into pieces, then rubbed them on Baybur’s palm.

Instantly, a faint tremor passed through Baybur’s body and he screamed again. His eyes snapped open from the shock. A loud knocking at their door sounded at the same instant, then a yell.

‘’Morrighan!? Cain!? What happened!?’’

‘’Answer the door,’’ Baybur’s father, Cain, said. Morrighan nodded and sped off to the entrance.

‘’Son, bear a moment longer.’’ Cain closed his eyes, took a deep breath, then suddenly squeezed Baybur’s palm holding the leaves.

Another scream followed.

*********

‘’Brother,’’ the physician called. Baybur averted his gaze from the herbs and looked at him. ‘’Come here, let me see your wound.’’

‘’My wound?’’ Baybur muttered, then he remembered his head. The pain went faint a while ago, so he had forgotten about it. ‘’It feels fine, brother, don’t tire yourself more.’’

‘’If it is money that worries you, fear not. I won’t charge a protector of our realm for a small treatment.’’ The physician smiled, then beckoned him to come over.

‘’Then...’’ Baybur pondered for a moment, then nodded. ‘’Thank you, brother physician.’’

Baybur stood up and approached the physician, who made him sit on the same stone platform the driver laid on. As physician shuffled through his belongings and treatment tools, Baybur snuck a peek at the driver. There were stitches above his eyebrows, hidden by a patch of leaves washed with the green liquid. His arm was also back to its normal shape somewhat, but it was common sense that not many could heal fully from a broken arm. Especially old men, and the driver was one as any men with common sense would say.

‘’Hm?’’ A flicker of pain passed above Baybur’s forehead. His focus now broken, his eyes slanted upward to see the physician pressing a piece of herb near his blonde hair. The faint pain turned into a sting, then into a pinch. He didn’t react much, only his lips opened as if to ask something. But he decided not to in the end, and waited in silence for physician to finish his work.

After a minute and a small ‘’Here you go!’’ from the physician, they were done and Baybur decided to ask.

‘’Brother physician, do you know where I can get some lodgings and a ride to the capital?’’

‘’Oh, for the Sultan’s festival?’’ The physician exclaimed. ‘’Lodgings is easy brother. I can let this old fellow rest here for the night, and down the street a few dozen steps there is a caravansary. But a ride is hard to find, I’m not sure if you can even rent a mule.’’

My luck is no good...Baybur sighed.

‘’But-’’ The physician pondered for a moment, ‘’I heard a Danishmend arrive the caravansary with a pretty wide carriage, going to the capital. I’m sure he would make a place for a soldier.’’ He smiled.

Baybur nodded, reaching with his hand to the physician’s. ‘’Thank you, brother. Bless your heart’’ They shook each other’s hands firmly, then with words of farewell and directions Baybur left the cottage.

He walked down the street, rain pouring as fierce as ever, and passed by a few pedestrians who cast him unknown gazes. It didn’t last long, as he took a turn to the right and came before a huge gateway. The caravansary was a type of building that could be considered both a tavern and a resting point for merchants, found mostly in the inner territories of the Sultanate. Few of them had been built in the extreme west where they conquered recently. The sole reason for that was the absence of established trade routes and the general lack of funds that were spent on the recent war.

The caravansaries were, after all, places where services like blacksmithing, meals, lodging, animal handling, and goods protecting were done without any payment. Religious services were, too, sometimes provided in the presence of a clergy of the primary religion. There were also areas left for cooking meals, resting the animals, storing the goods, providing lodgings for the visitors, and afore mentioned religious needs. They could be considered some kind of charity, for most of the time there would be no payment to any kind of service in the first three days and nights. Prolonged stays, of course, were frowned upon unless the compensation was made.

With such benefits, and with the trading route that extended all the way from the far east to the western lands, there were, and bound to be, many visitors. To accommodate the expected numbers, the caravansaries, like the one in front of Baybur, were built within grandiose spaces and covered with walls that not even many villages had. The gates were wide enough to let five or six camel wide merchant entourages and the central square in the middle had enough space to contain at least three hundred of them.

Baybur let out a sigh at the walls and passed through the entrance. Most of the time, caravansaries accepted admittance from the dawn to the evening. He was a bit late, however, and the storm ensured that guards were stationed beforehand under the cover of their wooden posts.

‘’Halt, brother-’’ one of the guards said, subconsciously brandishing his spear towards Baybur. His eyes, however, glazed down his yatagan strapped to the belt and a trace of wariness passed through. ‘’-you know we can’t accept people late in the night.’’

‘’I know, brother,’’ Baybur said, ‘’But it is my luck that I arrived late. I had an accident on the road, my carriage broke down and my driver got injured. I tried to move with haste, but how can a man go faster than a horse or a camel in this storm?’’ Baybur pressed his hand on his left chest to emphasize sincerity.

‘’I...understand, brother. Let me talk with the porter,’’ He said and disappeared into the caravansary, leaving Baybur alone with the other guard. The remaining man looked much friendlier and cast him a pitying smile.

‘’Brother, would you care to tell what trouble befell you?’’

‘’Those young men, brother,’’ Baybur said, sighing. ‘’And their unruly behavior.’’

The man instantly understood what he meant. ‘’The trench incidents? I would have never thought one would happen in an outpost,’’ He muttered loud enough for Baybur to hear, even amidst the rain. ‘’The injury, then?’’

‘’I admitted the driver to a physician,’’ Baybur explained, ‘’I got treated there.’’

‘’May Allah help you and others,’’ the guard sighed, ‘’It must be hard enough to run from wars into the pits of a child.’’

Baybur’s eyes shrank at the mention but he didn’t make any comments. A minute or two passed, it was hard to keep track of the time at the moment, and the guard from then came back. ‘’Get in, brother, porter said he would make a room for you upstairs.’’

‘’Thank you, you have my gratitude.’’ Baybur said and went in. He walked through the large courtyard and passed by many side rooms, most either empty or filled with the merchants’ goods, as the latter was easy to identify with a set of guards appointed at their entrance. Some, however, were reserved for the cooks and the blacksmiths, and some for the hammam and coffee house. As this was a caravansary close to the capital and near the middle of the trading route, the latter two seemed to have a bigger area than the others.

At the east and north corners of the caravansary were stairs, which Baybur climbed to the upper level. At the top of the stairs he was greeted by the man supposed to be the porter, assigned by the local authority to protect order and the people alike, and was led into an empty room with few furniture other than a ground bed.

‘’Oh, if you feel like no sleep will catch you now,’’ the porter said, wiggling his large belly, ‘’You can visit the coffee house. A danishmend is there, playing music for the still awake.’’

‘’That would be great,’’ Baybur said, clasping the hands of the porter, ‘’And thank you brother.’’

‘’Don’t mention it, brother. Not many are like you,’’ Baybur smiled at the comment. ‘’How about I lead you there? I also want to hear that stinker’s plays.’’

Stinker? Baybur thought of the name for a moment, his eyelashes trembled. That is too much of a coincidence, he thought, But no one would dare call a danishmend stinker other than him... Baybur shook his head and followed the porter’s lead after he locked the door and gave him the keys.

They descended the stairs and walked through the courtyard again, then arrived at the door of the assumed to be coffee house. The faint light of the candles seeped under the door like hands to touch their feet; and a faint, calm melody wafted to their ears. It was...hard to describe the feeling it gave. As if a mysterious realm was before them, unable to be seen and only able to be felt. The reed’s sound awakened memories no one wanted to share, it went deep down into ones’ mind, then retracted faster than it came. As if it stole a piece of your soul, and you could do nothing but hope for it to not get anymore.

But to someone like Baybur, it was more like a cure. If he could, he would give all those memories away to the tune, to disappear into the air. For them to be swept by the wind, to travel lands and realms away, to end in the instrument of another danishmend; perhaps as another tune, or as a painting, or as a poem. That would be the greatest moment of his life.

But it wasn’t, and the melody did nothing more than tickle the surface of his mind. The case was not so like the porter, who closed his eyes, muttering the notes in a trance. Baybur didn’t disturb the man, nor reached for the door. A flicker of moment for him was an instance of enlightenment for others. He knew better than not to intervene between the self-interrogation now going through the heads of the listeners, and the investigation of the danishmend by his tunes.

Soon, the melody came to a slow end, and all noise except the roaring thunder ceased. The porter awoke from his trace, then gazed back into the eyes of the Baybur. ‘’Beautiful, isn’t it?’’ He said. ‘’I didn’t expect him to be...so expressive.’’

‘’He always is,’’ Baybur said, the trace of a smile appeared on his lips. ‘’That stinky Caner!’’ With that he moved forward, passed by the porter whose eyes widened, and opened the door.

A gust of cold wind rushed into the hall behind Baybur’s back and the candles strapped to the walls flickered, under their shadows stood a dozen people of different colors in different clothing. Some wore gowns over shirts, some colorful coats and jewels, and some only had a robe over their naked upper bodies and sticks by their sides. This was a gathering of citizens, merchants, pilgrims, and beggars. At the center, on the seating cushion like many sat, a bulky man with dark skin looked over. He held a reed flute, wore light garments of white color and a heavy green gown over it, and on top of his bald head was a yellowed taqiyah. The stink from it reached all the way here, even when the assaulting winds behind him pushed in the opposite direction.

‘’Oh my!’’ the danishmend exclaimed, revealing a pearly white set of teeth. ‘’Baybur! My dear companion!’’ He stood up from his cushion, put his reed on the coffee table next to his, well, coffee, and approached him with wide open arms. ‘’How come you are here?’’

‘’For the same reason, brother Caner,’’ Baybur’s lips extended into a warm smile and he opened his arms in response, taking the embrace of the man. They shared a hug for a moment, patting each other’s back, then parted. ‘’For the Sultan’s feast, of course. But to think we would meet here rather than the capital.’’

‘’So you expected me there?’’ Danishmend Caner asked, smiling.

‘’If not you, who would play songs for the Sultan and the Veliaht? No one is more qualified than you.’’

‘’Too much praise, brother,’’ Caner shook his head, then urged Baybur to sit alongside him on one of the empty cushions. The porter closed the door behind them and sat next to one of the merchants. As they settled down, the gathering of people looked at them with interest for some time while their conversation continued. ‘’Say, brother, what is the deal with our Sultan’s feast?’’

‘’Why ask me? I am a simple yerliyya in the west, nothing more.’’

‘’A yerliyya who cut down twenty men in Kruje? A yerliyya who escaped under the encirclement of a hundred soldiers? Not simple, brother, you are just modest,’’ Caner suddenly stopped, eyeing the surrounding people, ‘’Or that is what I would say if I didn’t know you.’’ A deep frown spread to his brows.

‘’So you’ve heard of it...’’ Baybur muttered, putting his hand over the hilt of his yatagan.

‘’Crazy idea, but at the right time,’’ Caner muttered. ‘’To destroy the legacy of an ancient empire, Sultan’s own destiny isn’t enough.’’

‘’Destiny, again?’’ Baybur’s eyes narrowed. ‘’Brother, destiny is not something we can perceive. You are supposed to be a savant more than a danishmend, how come you still persist in this belief of yours?’’

‘’Because I’m sure of it,’’ Danishmend shook his head. ‘’But forget it. I won’t mention fate or destiny, yet you are aware that it won’t be easy. How many times did our ancestors, and others’ ancestors, sieged that city? Yet it never fell, not even once. Only when struck by their brothers in religion it suffered, but even then it stood high and valiant. Those walls, those temples. Sultan is young and naive if he thinks he can take the burden of a thousand years by himself.’’

‘’Yet he isn't, right?’’ Baybur muttered. Their voices turned into whispers at this point, as this matter wasn’t one to be talked about in public. Especially for someone of the Hearths like him. If a word got out, his Hearth Agha wouldn’t let him off.

‘’He isn’t. His majesty knows he needs many people of courage and honor, and many loyal subordinates whose moral doesn’t depend on benefits but fealty. And you, dear brother, is what he seeks, I assume?’’

Both of them smiled for a moment. ‘’At least on the surface,’’ Baybur said, the frowns appeared again. ‘’But, brother Caner, how high can I rise before the Sultan openly declares his intention to Pashas and Aghas and Sanjak-beys? The merit of that failure of siege would have been not so significant in other times. But now...’’

‘’If Sultan is not desperate, ‘’ Caner pondered, ‘’You can be a Segban-bashi. He can’t avoid the rules of the hearth and seniority, however, so any higher than that is not within reach. Unless...’’

‘’Unless I become one of the Pasha’s subordinates?’’ Baybur’s gaze followed the dancing shadows of the flames. ‘’I’m willing, if it will lead me to that place.’’

‘’...I’m sure it will, Alexander. I’m sure of it.’’ Caner whispered, then they fell silent. As the silence plummeted the mood, the porter suddenly tapped on the coffee table in front of him.

‘’Dear danishmend, why not blow your and our sorrow with your reed, rather than drowning in it?’’ He said, then motioned a young man apparently belonging to the caravansary’s staff. ‘’Boil more coffee and refresh the empty cups.’’ The young man nodded and hurriedly departed, almost rushing off. It was clear he didn’t want to miss the performance about to happen.

‘’You are right, dear brother,’’ Danishmend Caner laughed, the mood turned a tad bit lighter than before. ‘’What good is emotions if they are not used? Let me play for you.’’ He picked the reed and put it near his mouth. His fingers caressed the wood and his eyes glazed over everyone present, standing on Baybur’s slight smile the longest. Then he started blowing.

*********

After a good night’s rest and a hearty breakfast, Baybur joined Danishmend Caner’s carriage to set off to the capital. He didn’t even need to ask, their relationship of almost twenty-five years was enough of a reason for Caner to take Baybur alongside him. And even if Baybur had the intention to travel by himself, Caner wouldn’t allow it.

So they sat in a slightly more luxurious carriage, pulled by two healthy black maned horses on the road to the capital. The wooden seating inside was patched with a wooly pillow sewn and nailed to the side. It gave the same comfort a ground bed would give, were it not for the small tremors every once in a while. The cause was the haul behind the carriage, an entourage of fifty-five camels carrying gold and jewels and spices from the far Southeast, following behind them. It was led by a merchant called Akram Amani, who also happened to sit alongside them in the carriage, and the reason proposed was to enjoy the company of the Danishmend and him.

Baybur found it quite curious, for from what he learned this man had never met Caner or listened to his music. Instead, he, presumably, learned of their names from the fellows the night before in the morning, and their objective. After all, he seemed to be one of the feverish and venturous types, who sought deal after deal and customer after customer. Thus, a soon to be honored yerliyya whose name was recounted in coffee houses and a famed Danishmend who was the disciple of another well-regarded one was, not surprisingly, seen by him as an opportunity to get a better deal.

From where, Baybur couldn’t guess. But Caner seemed to do so, and there was also the smell of profit for his small school of arts at the old capital, so it was a fortunate transaction. So they talked, traveling inside a carriage, under the bright aquamarine of the sky and the glinting gold sunlight, and found bits of pieces of interest to further discuss.

‘’Brother Baybur,’’ the thick voice of Akram and his yet-polished pronunciation made one identify his origins easily, ’’It seems you had never been into the capital before?’’

‘’I haven’t, brother Akram,’’ he said, ‘’Our Hearth is outside the city, a few kilometers to the east so only the silhouette of the rectangular walls can be seen. Even after decades of training, I didn’t have the chance to lay my eyes on the great mosques and the baths of the capital, for my appointment was quick to the western borders.’’

‘’Being in the west is harsh, brother,’’ Akram said, ‘’I heard from friends that even normal citizens there are more miserable than our beggars. They don’t even get half a bread for a meal, they say.’’

‘’Beyond our borders? Yes,’’ Baybur said, ‘’Danishmend knows as well, perhaps better than me know, since I’m no longer at the extreme west.’’

‘’It is miserable,’’ Caner continued, ‘’Their king is not a king, and their lords are not lords. It is as if every mayor or a sanjak-bey is a king of their own land there, and each impose taxes upon taxes to the poor people. I had seen it first when my family emigrated there, an olive branch could trade for fifteen breads.’’

‘’That is indeed pitiful-’’ Akram said, opening his hands in a prayer. ‘’May Allah help those poor souls,’’ They all made the same gesture and prayed, the revolving of the wheels and the huffs of the camels dominated for a moment. Then Akram raised his gaze to look at Caner. ‘’Dear Danishmend, may I ask the reason why your family moved beyond the Thrace?’’

‘’Iskan policy,’’ Caner said, rubbing his taqiyah, ‘’To absorb people into our religion and culture, Sultan moved families like us to the recently conquered territories. Mine was the sole family in that town though.’’

‘’The same our ancestors did at the western peninsula near the strait?’’

‘’That is invasion,’’ Baybur interrupted, ‘’This was just forceful moving.’’

‘’True,’’ Danishmend sighed, looking out at the fields of grazed wheat and livingstock; Cows, oxen, sheep, goats, horses, behind the long brown fences. His eyes shrank, then widened. ‘’Where are we now?’’

‘’I suppose,’’ Akram said, looking outside, ‘’A few kilometers south of the city. The road leads to southeastern gate. The palace is at the west side of the Evros river, though. Will you take a turn?’’

‘’No, brother,’’ Danishmend said. ‘’We’ll see my teacher first, so we will bother you for some more time.’’

‘’Trouble?’’ Akram exclaimed, ran his fingers through his dusty long beard, then smiled wide to show his brilliant white teeth. ‘’It is me who is troubling you, brother, not the other way around.’’

Both Caner and Baybur smiled, the road continued to flow beneath the nails under camels’ foot and the wheels of the carriage.

*********

The current capital of the Sultanate was in a region much claimed and desired by many different forces, including the Ancient Empire and the forces at the west, who each controlled the city more than once in their history. Even before the Ancient Empire, great figures of more ancient times built their bases, cities, and military barracks here, drew and carved roads to improve the march and transportation speed, and expanded their empires from here. So the city and the surrounding region, mainly Thrace and East Macedonia, as well as Moecia brimmed with the history of many races’ and kingdoms’ ancestors.

The capital, Edirne, as a result both prospered and suffered from many hands in its life time. The late Sultan Murat lost and regained this city, and his enemies Bulgarians and their allies in the west joined this tag game of acquiring Edirne. Ancient Empire, Byzantine, was no exception to the claims, but its weakened state left the once magnificent Hegemon with no choice but to pipe down. But almost all men in the surrounding realms knew this old, dying empire still held hopes of rising from their ashes. And for sure, at least in Baybur’s opinion, they would first claim Thrace in their grasp if they had the chance to do so.

But for now Baybur went back to the main star of his thoughts, Edirne.

The city was built at the east side of the River Evros, flowing from Bulgaria and ending at the Aegean Sea, and was initially just a fort with a few households living in it. In the following times the living population increased and the families started spreading outside the fort, now called the Innercastle, and created many more neighbourhoods. The rapid expansion was followed by some wars and invasions, and at last the city of Hadripolos ended in the hands of the Murad The First, who renamed it to Edirne and made it the capital after a strange dream.

The rectangular walls of the Edirne were built long before this time, around the first and second century, as well as the trenches that were dug around the walls. The River Evros and the trenches, as well as the walls’ sturdiness gave the city both natural and anthropic defenses, and was soon declared the second capital of the Sultanate.

As Akram explained the bits of history behind the capital with the occasional intervention of the Caner, Baybur had a more clear idea of the grand city of Edirne. Now that they were not so far from the city, and he was more closer than he ever was, for rather than the blurry outline of the walls he could now see the crystal river squeezing the land and the roads around the walls. They rose as high as ten meters and ran both to the north and the east to meet with the other side of the walls.

‘’Beautiful,’’ Baybur muttered, peeking out of the carriage window with his head on the open. The soft wind grazed his cheeks and his blonde hair, its sound bothered him no more than the stomping hooves’ sounds did. Yet a more enticing, a quite unknown echo approached Baybur’s ears as they followed the path.

It was gurgling, choking; the smashing, the flowing, the slipping of the River Evros in its own body of water, and the flying droplets of water. They were not there yet, there were a few more minutes until they reached the bridge over the river connecting the roads on the other side. But Baybur, to his surprise, awaited that moment with anticipation. To him, who saw no body of water other than the puddles of rain in his hometown and his assigned province, the identification of a much majestical power of nature gave a sense of dread and intoxication.

Yet, he had never been drunk in his life, but he felt it. How his mind loosened at the roaring river’s waters, how his eyes widened and his mouth dangled open, to show his well-cleaned teeth behind the dry lips, and how his body turned limp.

Caner seemed to realize something was wrong, but not what. Though he was a friend, and a real brother to Baybur for many years, he didn’t, couldn’t, know of the instinctual reaction a drylander would have towards the source of life. If Baybur’s father was here, he would do the same. If his mother was here, she would do the same. If any of the people from their hometown, or those beyond the northwest was here, they would do the same. They would feel the same.

After all, this was what they sought for so many years.

*********

They passed through the bridge over the river and took a right, the entourage followed the road at the foot of the walls and reached the southeastern gate where they were stopped by a few guards. Akram Amani bid them farewell here, for their roads would differ very much and he had some private business with a few unmentioned, but well-known, people. He also gestured Caner and thanked him for his help and recommendations, at which Caner also replied warmly.

Their carriage was soon out of the gate and started going down the streets. There were many wonders of architecture in Edirne, most concentrated around the west and northern sides of the city. At the neighbourhoods they passed, the most startling things were the sheer amount of hammams, coffee houses, artisan workshops, and textile shops. Further down there, near a small opening in the city stood the Old Mosque. Baybur inspected the square shape, and on it were stacked two layers of domes, a total amount of nine, and four minarets spiraling into sky from the corners. Only, at the middle of the mosque atop the domes was a rectangular structure like a bell tower’s top, which made him suspicious about its muslim origins.

They soon departed and came before a tavern, where they left the carriage and took their belongings before bidding farewell to the driver. The driver sped off into the distance, they rented a room and left their possessions there, And started walking through the streets.

The city’s geographical location not only attached a strong military influence, its existence on a rich trade route also made the city a hub of culture and, well, trade. Akram’s existence alone was a testimony to the attraction of the place. So there were no lack of vendors and people of different colors and clothing on the streets. Arguments and discussion went from place to place, sounds overlapped each other; footsteps, thick and hoarse accents, shouts and yells, or altogether different languages. All kinds of men ran over the place. People with white skins wearing light tunics coming to their knees and feathered hats atop their heads, people with black skins wearing white turbans and gowns over loose fitted shirts and trousers, and surprisingly two man with yellowish skins donning silken robes and hairpins on their waist length hair..

Baybur, or from the look of it most people on the surroundings, didn’t know of these people’s origins, but it wasn’t something different. One day an Arabian, other day a Turk, another day a Bulgarian or even English and Spanish from beyond Umayyad. No one took notice of it more than a few seconds except the foreign traders who tried to entice these seemingly alien people. And the two disappeared into the thick crowd. They passed through there again, walked for a few more minutes and the sounds slowly died off, vendors lessened and shops turned into private houses. Wooden buildings with one or two floors each, their triangle roof veiled under roof tiles of chestnut color, and occasional manors that stood above the rest with their mosque-like domes and white marble exterior.

They went past them too, the architecture around the place turned into the classic example of the nomadic Turk style and Arabic Muslim style’s mix, and at the intersection of cultural collision they stopped.

‘’It should be around here,’’ Caner muttered, inspecting the surroundings. ‘’But teacher didn’t mention exactly where it was...’’

‘’Let’s ask someone,’’ Baybur said, then without waiting for an answer came before a random door and knocked.

‘’I’m coming, Oho, Oho, Oho!’’ An old, dignified voice responded with coughs after coughs, faint and weak footsteps followed its wake and a tremor passed through the door. Then it opened inwards to reveal an old man, near fifty, who had a rather strange gown with seven hollow openings, in each different reed flutes. Baybur revealed a confused expression, Caner behind him rubbed his eyes, then shot a weird look at Baybur.

‘’This is what I call luck...’’

*********

Clasping his hand behind his back, the old man led Baybur and Caner into his home. The small hallway was paved with many ceramic vases and plates, both local and exotic, depicting the most favored materializations in the Ottoman culture; Calligraphies of Arabic words, Turkish words, half-Arabic half-Turkish words, and hand-tooled tulips, roses. There were also designs of other flowers, namely sunflowers and moonflowers, as well as rare portrayals of people. The technique used was lacking, evident from the faintly overlapping lines, caused by the mishap and miscalculation in the process of making and baking, and as a result seemed less important for Caner’s teacher, who put them fairly low in the cardboards and shelves backing the walls.

It was no more than a food for thought to Baybur and Caner, they had seen these pieces a few times since the old man had arrived at their town and took Caner as a disciple. Only, a few nice additions stood out here and there, and even then they didn’t spare more than a glance to remember, as it would be an appetizer to any further discussions.

After leaving the hallway, which looked quite longer than it was, they arrived at a main hall of simple features. Seating cushions were laid at the foot of the walls, and pillows of rather large size shouldered the hard partitions of the shelves of more ceramic and instruments. And fresh boiled water steamed on the stools in front of each, with small wooden sticks and crushed pellets of coffee beans ready to mix in.

The old man finally retracted his hands from his back and pointed at the two facing a rather large one, he made the status quo clear from the start. Baybur smiled, then gazed from the corners of his eye to Caner, who also did the same.

He never changes...

‘’Sit,’’ The old man said, then took his own seat. He grasped the cup of fresh-prepared water, poured the coffee beans, and started circling with the stick inside it. The clear transparent liquid soon transformed into brown, then the awakening smell of the heavy coffee crashed to the both. Caner and Baybur took their seats as well, clutched their own sticks and beans and followed the motion.

Dull sound of wood tapping on ceramic cup seemed to awaken some memories, then drown more of them. Baybur gazed into the shifting colors and rippling surface, then into his own eyes from the reflection, and at the two phantoms hanging beside his shoulders. How long have you been there? He asked once, blinked, then they were gone.

‘’Don’t look further,’’ the old voice appeared, then it battered Baybur’s ears and his focus shattered. His gaze flew up and met the old man’s raven black pupils. ‘’Forget about them already.’’

‘’Why should I?’’ Baybur replied, took a short sip. The heat burned the tip of his tongue for a moment, he grimaced and furrowed his brows. ‘’They give me power to pull through, Uncle Hikmet.’’

‘’And suffering,’’ Hikmet sighed, ‘’Do you remember what you did wrong? Don’t do it again.’’

‘’I won’t...’’ Hikmet scratched his beard at the response, then sighed.

‘’Caner?’’ He asked, looking at his disciple.

‘’Teacher,’’ Caner flashed a warm smile, his eyes twinkled with joy. ‘’It has been a year. I’m happy to see you again.’’

‘’And to play,’’ Hikmet added, smiling. ‘’A private play for the realm’s Pashas and Aghas and Sanjak-Bey’s, as well as the Sultan Mehmed. Aren’t we blessed?’’

‘’This will be the fourth Sultan you will be playing I assume, Uncle Hikmet?’’

‘’It will be. The first I played for Sultan Beyazıd when I was ten years old, then for Chelebi Mehmed when I started gaining fame,’’ Hikmet sipped on his coffee as well, his frail arms were trembling. ‘’Then for the Second Murad, when he came to Bursa to my workshop.’’

‘’And now you’ll play for his son,’’ Caner sighed, Baybur nodded alongside him.

‘’Outliving three Sultans is quite an achievement.’’ He added. Everyone smiled. They stood silent for a moment or two, then Hikmet started speaking again.

‘’Now that I’ve heard, you’ve had some remarkable achievement Baybur. Though it is from two years back.’’

‘’It also puzzles me how it spread this fast,’’ Baybur admitted, ‘’Uncle Hikmet, you might know something or two? Almost all eavesdroppers and gossipers have went under your hand at some point.’’

‘’You make teacher sound like those criminals, Baybur,’’ Caner laughed, ‘’But I’m also curious, teacher. Who spread it?’’

‘’Who other than Sultan himself?’’ Hikmet explained, then a coughing fit hit again. ‘’Oho-oho-oho-oho, Oh-’’ He took a deep breath, exhaled. ‘’I can’t get used to these,’’ He wiped off a bead of sweat, then turned to look at them both. ‘’The court has some...loose lips who let out the news of a possible new siege. Most pashas are eager for it to happen, soldiers are also quite expectant. But Hearth Aghas are troubled over the potential loss of face and manpower if they lose. Thus, Sanjak-beys also feel less assured of how their supplied money and grain will be spent.’’

‘’Ambitious Sultan’s feet will be shackled, then, if he doesn’t get enough support, so he openly created an opportunity?’’ Caner concluded.

‘’Not an opportunity,’’ Baybur said, ‘’But a chance.’’

‘’I can’t see how they are different.’’ Caner said.

‘’Opportunity means the chance to accomplish something, whereas chance is to create a circumstance that might lead to an event to turn that circumstance from possibility into substance. He still has to gather support and, for the most part, approval of people. Which is easier if you look from Sultan’s point. His holiness mohammad sallallahu aleyku vessellem’s words about constantinople’s conquest is enough of a momentum to start things.’’

‘’What follows after is a pandemonium...’’ Hikmet left the other half unspoken. ‘’Baybur, did you have to foul my mouth? Let’s talk about something else, I need to get into the mood before the feast.’’

‘’My bad, uncle Hikmet,’’ Baybur flashed an apologetic smile. ‘’Then I need to comment on the new ceramics, as of tradition...’’

*********

To satisfy the great Danishmend and Master Hikmet’s needs, and to show respect to the great artist, Sultan Mehmed had sent a comfortable carriage pulled by treasured horses from the east. He also assigned a pair of household troops, kapıkulu sipahis, to escort him without any accident, which everyone was sure that there was no chance.

Baybur and Caner also mounted the same carriage and the whole way a fervent discussion about the ceramics continued. Hikmet loved talking about his collection. They were heaped and bought from at least a dozen different places and four different kingdoms; Arabia, Byzantine, Ottoman, and from the far India, who supplied them from another place. Few belonged to the last category though, and Hikmet was pressed hard to sell most of his Byzantine sourced ceramics after a period of poverty. So he treasured the last few much more than others.

The discussion turned to the palace again, and the works of art stored inside its large halls and vaults. From the rumors, Hikmet said, although Sultan Mehmed sounded like an ambitious warmonger, his appreciation of art was almost equal to his love of sword and strategy. He had gathered many fine artisans and musicians and painters of the both Muslim and Christian world for the purposes of enriching the Edirne Palace.

When the mention of the palace passed, Baybur couldn’t help but peek out of the windows again. There, in his vision, lay the great gates of the palace and the wide square in front of it. Already many carriages crowded the entrance, some even pulled to the sides and crammed against each other to pave the way for the new incomers.

Baybur’s eyes shrank as he watched two men descend from a carriage together. One was a man with classic janissary attire, red overcoat and baggy trousers, but with a long thin moustache pointing to opposite sides. The other was a man in silk clothes and gowns, with a slight makeup to cover his black skin into a visible tan. Yet Baybur instantly recognized both.

The janissary was the Agha of his Orta, Muzaffer Agha, and the other was the Akram Amani. Why are those two together? Baybur narrowed his eyes and pulled himself back into the carriage.

‘’Akram is here,’’ he said, turning to Caner and Hikmet. ‘’And Muzaffer Agha.’’

‘’I also saw Ensar Pasha and Umeyyet Agha,’’ Caner said. ‘’And some others, I don’t remember their names.’’

‘’Don’t look much,’’ Hikmet warned, closing his eyes for a moment. ‘’They will get suspicious swift.’’

‘’Why? Does no one show curiosity towards a gathering of Sultanate’s high-rank officials?’’

‘’Certainly, but not a yerliyya and a Danishmend, while glaring right into their backs.’’

They fell silent and sat straight, a minute after the carriage came to a halt. ‘’Let’s get down,’’ Hikmet said and forced his shriveled body up to stand, grasped his Saz and reed flute, then descended from the opened doors. Baybur and Caner followed. They were greeted by an attendant of the palace, who led them inside through a wide hall. In the meantime, he started explaining about some parts of the arrangement.

The main building where the feast would be held was called the Panoramic Pavilion. The event was supposed to happen near the throne room, and for this special occasion all doors leading to the other rooms like masjids and library were sealed shut. The servants were also sent away to deal with their own matters other than those assigned to work and were given a day-off their duties, and clearly their guide was not a lucky one. The concubines, children, close relatives, and secondary wives were exempt from attempting except the Valide Sultan and Sultana as well, so there would be more of the outsiders rather than the palace’s residents. This was proven quite easily, as the moment they stepped into the room and were left alone by the guide, their eyes couldn’t spot any of the royal blood.

There were two long tables at the right and left sides of the Throne room, enough to accommodate thirty people each, and in front of the throne-with two of smaller sizes next to it- above the seven steps of stairs was three round tables, prepared for the Sultan, Sultana, and Valide Sultan. Their positions, as well as the long tables, stood empty for now.

For the first few seconds, Pashas and Aghas and the few Sanjak-Beys continued their conversations, only taking a glance at the trio inspecting the golden chandeliers and works of art hung on the walls. Yet when that initial moment passed, everyone stopped talking. Aghas’ face lit up at Baybur, Pashas’ eyes glued to the Caner, Sanjak-Beys revealed both dark and bright smiles at Hikmet. Then a quick turn of gazing between the Sultanate’s high-ranked officials broke out, only to end with the victory of two people.

‘’Muzaffer Agha,’’ Baybur cast a smile of respect at the incoming man. Muzaffer Agha pulled on his rope-like mustache and wheeled it around his finger, grinning with a set of broken teeth. ‘’I’m happy to see you today, here.’’

‘’Me too, Baybur, me too.’’ Caner trembled at Muzaffer Agha’s voice. Baybur raised a brow and cast a sidelong glance at him, only then did he wipe the beads of sweat on his forehead. His voice is terrifying, but not that much.

‘’Danishmend Hikmet, I am honored to meet you,’’ The other man came close and grasped Hikmet by hand. They looked almost the same age, except the few strands of brown passing through the other party’s hair, which revealed him to be at least a decade younger than Hikmet. ‘’And I’m delighted to see your presence here, again, Caner.’’

‘’I am more than honored, Ali Bey,’’ Caner put his palm over his left chest.

‘’And this should be the young hero?’’ Sanjak-Bey Ali looked over at Bayur, his eyes had narrowed the moment their gazes met. Baybur realized that the conversation wouldn’t, and actually wasn’t, flow with this man. From his motions and the small depreciating smile hung on his lips, it wasn’t hard to derive that he wasn’t fond of Baybur at all. For what reason? It could be anything from his background- as it was known most of the Sanjak-beys found Janissaries hard to accommodate and troublesome for their strict martial beliefs- to his achievement, which he was prepared to face repercussions. Favor of a Sultan is hard to bear, he repeated, then smiled.

‘’I’m a normal yerliyya, my Bey, nothing more. It was out of duty and requirement I did save the Sultan from that predicament. And most of my colleagues could do the same in the same situation.’’

‘’So if it was not required, you wouldn’t act?’’ Ali Bey skipped all over Baybur’s words as if he didn’t hear them. Hikmet and Muzaffer frowned at the bey’s response, Caner’s eyes shifted between Baybur and Ali Bey. Baybur didn’t seem perturbed as he opened his mouth to talk.

‘’Don’t take words at face value, little Ali-’’ A voice interrupted before Baybur uttered any words, the five people and the rest of the hall suddenly turned to look at the incomer. A pair of footsteps echoed from the hallway leading to the outside, then two people appeared. ‘’-The spirit of a soldier comes from duty and loyalty. If he had said otherwise, this little hero wouldn’t be a hero.’’

It was an old man that looked older than Hikmet, wrinkles seemed to race each other to fill the nooks and crannies of his face. Yet his body was built sturdier than statues of famous sculptors, the emerald gown over his white shirt had a square bulge of chest muscle sprouting outward. ‘’Oh, see Arzu! It is Danishmend Hikmet and Danishmend Caner!’’ Beside him walked a young lady wearing a dark draped skirt, on top of it a dress covering almost all parts of her arms except the part below the wrist, going down like waves of a tide. At her fluttering tendrils of nightmarish black hair, Baybur’s body turned into a stone statue. Dark...a flicker of thought passed before his eyes shrank and enlarged countless times.

Dark was the color most detested, for it was worn when mourning and executing. It was associated with blood, and death, and pain. So it was forbidden to anyone but european doctors to wear as a color, and perhaps a few old beggars starving in the streets. But she was an exception. The dark, the nightly aura, the cold beauty of it fit so well, so lovely...

Her eyes carried the trace of stars, her brows threads of a divine fishing rod baiting them to catch. Yet her tranquil expression of noble disposition didn’t let the rod rise forth with the joy of a prize. The ebony thread above the pitch-black stars continued to tremble with anticipation, and so did Baybur’s fluttering heart. And a fluttering slap to his back, which awoke him from the stupor.

Baybur let out a dry cough and looked at his side, Caner seemed to cast him a sidelong glance, carrying the trace of a smile. Baybur narrowed his eyes but said nothing, then turned to gaze at the incomers. His broken focus and stupefied expression lasted no more than a second and a half, and the perception of those around him were not as good as Caner, who was a brother of many years. So it was no surprise they didn’t notice anything more than a stop of surprise, and this man in front of them deserved a reaction as such for the sole reason of his identity, thus it was not something noteworthy.

‘’Çetin pasha!’’

‘’Çetin pasha, how auspicious!’’ Muzaffer and Ali Bey greeted the man with a small bow of their head. Çetin pasha was someone who lived through the most dangerous of the Sultanate’s times and had great contributions in the armies of Mehmed Çelebi throughout the interregnum. His wealth, although not at the peak, surpassed many and his fame more so. In the battle of Varna he acted as one of the guards of the Murad The Second, and hung the head of the King Wladyslaw on a lance in the battlefield. He was honored by many and praised by the Sultan as one of the most treasured possessions of the Sultanate.

So his standing was quite clear among these young and middle-aged pashas and Aghas. The air turned stale with respect and gazes of intrigue, yet, to Baybur’s surprise, no one cast even an interested glance at Çetin Pasha’s daughter. Some even flashed dissatisfied gazes and gazes.

‘’You’ve become older again, Hikmet,’’ Çetin Pasha said and put his hand over his left chest, greeting everyone with the nod of a head at the same time. ‘Still not as old as me though, I hope you do.’’ He laughed.

‘’May you live longer than me, Çetin pasha,’’ Hikmet smiled. ‘’Else who will protect small musicians like me?’’

‘’You or your disciple?’’ He asked and glanced at Caner, then at Baybur. ‘’Or this young hero who is apparently not one?’’ Hikmet cast another smile that was not one, so Çetin pasha nodded. ‘’Then, let us sit as well. Sultan wouldn’t be proud about keeping two bags of bones at their feet, I assume.’’

So they sat at the leftmost side of the right table, right before the eyes of the Sultan’s throne, and started speaking. Caner also squeezed in near his teacher and urged Baybur to sit alongside him. But Baybur decided not to do so for the moment. His eyes swept the hall and counted every men standing or already sitting around. He counted sixty-one people including himself. A person would have to stand up.

He gazed at Arzu, Çetin Pasha’s daughter and motioned with his hand at his revealed seat. ‘’I suppose miss would want to sit rather than stand?’’

Her eyes slightly trembled at his call, she turned to look at him for a moment. Baybur found himself getting lost between the stars under those divine rods, then with a shake of his head slipped away from the trance. He found the pasha’s daughter nodding with the trace of a smile, which disappeared as a mirage in a desert would, and moved a few steps to sit down. Caner raised his head to look at him. He showed a wry smile, yet he also seemed relieved.

The discussions slowly died off and soon a pair of servants appeared beside the gates leading outside. They bowed to the crowd and moved to the handles of the large doors, then pulled back. The gates squeaked, a sharp screech sounded, and the entrance was sealed. All sounds from outside vanished into thin air at the same instant, then three pair of footsteps rumbled throughout the palace.

Eyes flashed and twinkled, smiles appeared, clothes were checked and tidied, glances were cast at each other. Hikmet suddenly turned around and motioned Caner with his hand. ‘’Play something for the Sultan,’’ He said, Çetin Pasha looked interested at his words.

‘’Do well, Danishmend.’’ He said and laid on his seat.

Caner nodded and grasped the reed flute lying on his knees. He passed his fingers through the end and caressed the hollows on its surface. He positioned the flute, blew low enough to not make any noise, then at the exact instant the footsteps’ echo reached a peak he took a deep breath.

Then exhaled into the tube.

The melody sprang like a tiger lying for the prey, snatching with its claws at the hearts of all men inside the hall. The footsteps halted for a moment, then startled forth again. This time weak, soft. These were the steps of someone showing respect to the performance, to the soul of the Danishmend pouring his insides to tell his mind.

The strange thing, in almost everyone’s opinion, was that this melody carried no majesty. It didn’t praise the Sultan, it didn’t increase the tension, it didn’t attempt to glorify the entrance. It was a simple, low-volumed song welcoming a man of keen faith. Yet, what the sound welcomed was not the Sultan Mehmed, it was Mehmed the son of Murad and Hüma, the subject of Allah and the admirer of people.

It was a tune that seperated Sultan from the Mehmed, and in response the Sultan descended down the stairs with caution. He stopped at the feet of his throne, clasped his hands behind his back, then gazed at Caner playing the reed flute. His eyes carried a trace of frozen resentment, being scorched by the melody and blown away.

The dead silence waited restless until the last few breaths of the Caner were spent, and once it came to a halt Sultan raised both his hands.

Then he clapped.