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    Veil of Secrets
    Veil of Secrets
    Veil of Secrets
    Ebook192 pages2 hours

    Veil of Secrets

    By Zimbell House Publishing, Sammi Cox, E W Farnsworth and

    ()

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    About this ebook

    The Veil of Secrets will entertain you with seven charming short stories by five emerging writers hailing from the United Kingdom, Italy, and America. 

    These stories are a fictional peek inside the walls of a Sultan’s harem. From a Sultan’s foolish pursuit of fairies for his personal pleasure, to a young girls arrival in a strange culture, even the emergence of a concubine spy ring, each tale is engaging.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherZimbell House Publishing
    Release dateMay 24, 2016
    ISBN9781942818793
    Veil of Secrets
    Author

    Zimbell House Publishing

    Zimbell House Publishing is dedicated to promoting new writers. To enable us to do this, we create themed anthologies and send out a call for submissions. These calls are updated monthly, typically we have at least four months worth on our website at any given time. To see what we are working on next, please paste this link into your browser and save it to your bookmarks: http://zimbellhousepublishing.com/contest-submissions/ All submissions are vetted by our acquisitions team. By developing these anthologies, we can promote new writers to readers across the globe. We hope we've helped you find a new favorite to follow! Are you interested in helping a particular writer's career? Write a review and mention them by name. You can post reviews on our website, or through any retailer you purchased from.  Interested in becoming a published author? Check out our website for a look behind the scenes of what it takes to bring a manuscript to a published book. http://zimbellhousepublishing.com/publishing-services/process-behind-scenes/ We hope to hear from you soon.

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      Book preview

      Veil of Secrets - Zimbell House Publishing

      This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. All characters appearing in this work are the product of the individual author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental.

      All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the written permission of the publisher.

      For permission requests, write to the publisher:

      Attention: Permissions Coordinator

      Zimbell House Publishing

      PO Box 1172

      Union Lake, Michigan 48387

      Email to: info@zimbellhousepublishing.com

      © 2016 Zimbell House Publishing

      Published in the United States by Zimbell House Publishing

      http://www.ZimbellHousePublishing.com

      All Rights Reserved

      Print ISBN: 9781942818779

      Digital ISBN: 9781942818793

      Library of Congress Control Number: 2016907260

      First Edition: May/2016

      10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3

      Acknowledgements

      ZIMBELL HOUSE PUBLISHING would like to thank all those that contributed to this anthology. We chose to showcase five unique writers to entertain us with seven fictional tales from behind the veil.

      Zimbell House would also like to thank our team, without their hard work and dedication, these anthologies would not exist.

      An Odalisque

      Michelle Monagin

      Fidan arrived at the gate of carriages—escorted by an officer of the Janissaries and five soldiers of lesser rank—ten days after she had left her home.

      She knew it was the gate of carriages because she had heard the Janissary say that was the gate she must go through to enter into the harem at the great Sultan’s palace. Otherwise, she would not have known what it was called. There were no carriages anywhere to be seen. There was only the great gate built of white marble with flowing text in some greenish-golden metal on the lintel.

      Fidan looked up at the text, wishing she could read it as her escort waited for someone to come and collect her. She could understand the language she had heard the men speaking amongst themselves, even though it was different from the language spoken in her village. Fidan had always had a talent for learning languages. Her mother had been proud of it—had often taken her along on her trading trips and asked her to translate for the trading. She had learned to speak and to sing in many different languages, and she had earned extra money by singing the ballads she had learned along the way.

      Realizing that her talent wouldn’t help her to read in a foreign language, she could feel nothing from the script. Maybe, she thought, if I could watch someone as they were writing it? She had often thought that the way she learned languages had something to do with the fact that she could often feel emotions from other people. Perhaps she could learn to read and write the written language if she could watch someone as they wrote it or while they were reading it, as they thought about the words they were reading.

      As she thought about it, she realized that her talent could be useful, especially in these new surroundings. Fidan had always wanted a more active talent. Her twin sister, Tarana, could make animals understand her—very useful on a farm, Fidan had always thought. And her older sister, Parvana, could feel the things inside the body, and she could heal sometimes. She had always been jealous of these more active talents. But, perhaps hers would be more useful since she was going to live among foreigners.

      Fidan looked over at the Janissary officer and his men, who seemed to ignore her. She gathered that these men weren’t allowed to enter the harem. They hadn’t told her that. They hadn’t spoken directly to her at all during the trip, and she had been too uncertain of herself to try to start a conversation.

      She had noticed after a while that if the Janissary officer wanted her to know something, he would address one of his soldiers in her own language, rather than the Persian or Arabic, which she knew was spoken in the capital. He did it now, speaking to one of his men as if answering a question, although she had heard none spoken.

      They are not expecting us, he told the man in the language of her village but never looking at her. Someone is observing us from above, you see the slits there beside the inscription? That will be one of the guards of this gate. His fellow will be running off to collect one of the eunuchs or one of the family to answer the gate.

      He neither spoke to her nor looked at her, and neither did his men. She also stood silently, not looking at them, making no sign that she had heard the message, or that she knew that it was meant to reassure her. She wondered if there were some kind of rule against men and women having any conversations at all, or if it were because she was destined for the Sultan’s harem. Or, maybe, is it because I am not yet a Muslim?

      She couldn’t ask the Janissary because he was obviously not allowed to talk to her. And she was the only girl, the only Odalisque they were taking to the royal harem, so she couldn’t ask any of her fellows. She couldn’t even ask indirectly since she would have to have someone she was allowed to talk to in front of the Janissary in order to indirectly ask him a question.

      Well, she thought, repressing a sigh, I imagine I’ll be able to ask someone if they ever do come and open this gate.

      They seemed to be taking an unconscionably long time at it, although she wasn’t sure that it was not her imagination. It felt like they had been standing outside these gates for at least an hour, but she was nervous. She had noticed before that time seemed to move at different paces depending on her mood.

      Finally, she heard the bar being moved on the other side of the gate, and saw the gate begin to open. Fidan felt her heart begin to pound in her chest and her breathing speed up. She hadn’t realized she was as anxious as this. Fidan looked at the ground, deliberately restricting what she could see and ignoring the sounds around her as she concentrated on her breathing, willing it to slow, calming her heart.

      It must have taken her more than a few moments to bring herself under control because the gates were fully open when she looked up again. Fidan looked up at the lintel of the gates first, mostly to avoid looking at the men who stood inside the gates. She realized, now that they were open, and she could compare their height against something human, that three carriages stacked one on top of another would still go through these gates without reaching the top. Against this enormousness, the men below the gate looked small, indeed.

      Four of the men who stood there had dark skin—not like the men of her village who worked so much of the time out in the sun that their skin was burnt reddish-brown and rough. These men had skin that was nearly black, but it looked soft and smooth. She would have thought these men spent little of their time at any kind of hard physical labor, and less time out in the sun.

      They wore robes, somewhat like the robes of the priests in her village, only made of some smooth, rich fabric, rather than the rough wool she was used to seeing. The man in front was dressed in several layers of different shades of blue, with golden shapes embroidered into the top, darkest layer. The other men wore less elaborate robes, with fewer colors and no embroidery. The cloth was fine, however, and the colors emphasized and enhanced the deep blue-black of their skin.

      Fidan stood, frozen, so fascinated with the appearance of these men that she could not understand what they were saying. She could not even make herself listen at first. Only gradually did their words begin to seep into her awareness.

      Fortunately, she thought as she became conscious of more than their looks, they seem no more inclined to talk to me than the Janissaries were.

      She looked around and saw the fifth man in the shadow of the left-hand gate, watching her. She thought his skin could not be as dark as the others—they looked as if they would fade into the shadows rather than shining out of them as this man did. His face was a different shape, as well. The dark men had round faces which were emphasized by their hair cropped close to their heads. This man had a long face and a mane of dark brown hair waving out from his head.

      Fidan only realized that she was staring when his smile widened and he stepped nearer to her, into the sunshine. He had a lovely smile—a smile that invited her to join in on whatever the joke was—and amber eyes that locked on hers and wouldn’t let her look away. As he came closer, she realized that he was a very young man, perhaps twenty, and only a few inches taller than she.

      You have never seen a black man from Africa before? He asked her softly in Turkish. His voice was smooth and confident but not arrogant, not demanding.

      No, she responded. Where is Africa? Do all people there look like these men? She made herself stop there, although he did not look annoyed. Her father had often scolded her for showing curiosity when he did not want to tell her or did not know the answers to her questions. She always wanted to learn more than other people wanted.

      Africa is to the south and west of here, across the sea. He spoke to her naturally, as if he thought it was a good question and she had a right to ask. Not all of her people have black skin, as do these, although most of them have darker skin than you do.

      He looked away from her eyes then, to her forehead with the wisps of her blond hair escaping from beneath her veil, and then to the tops of her cheeks. She felt her face warm, and she could see from his eyes that he noticed her blush. He did not look away though, and his smile grew wider.

      She felt confused by this man. She could feel his interest and curiosity increasing as they spoke together. She could feel his attention as a warm cloud, surrounding her, making her feel safe and at the same time breathless and just a little bit frightened. Fidan had never felt anything like this before.

      Some of her confusion must have shown on her face. She did not feel the tendril of his thoughts reaching out to her, as she would have if he were able to sense her thoughts. And yet, he answered her as if she had asked a question out loud.

      There are many books in the libraries here, which tell of the different peoples who live in the world, he told her. You must look there to find out about Abdullah and his fellows.

      Oh, she said, excited by the prospect of living in a place that had even one library. Will I be allowed to look at the books? But I do not know how to read your language.

      Fidan was frustrated by her lack of knowledge and she knew that her frustration was evident in her voice. This seemed to please him, rather than annoying him.

      You will learn, he told her with confidence. He was about to say something else when another voice called their attention to the fact that the Janissaries were leaving and the gates closing.

      My lord Murad, the voice called.

      Fidan turned and realized it was the man with the embroidery on his clothes. He was walking toward where Fidan stood with the other man, and his three satellites were following him. It took Fidan a moment to realize that he was speaking to her companion, and a moment longer to realize that he was gently chiding the younger man.

      My lord Murad, you know well that you should not be here, and that you should most especially not be speaking to one of the Sultan’s odalisques before she has even been taken to the Haseki.

      The young man, Murad, did not look chastened. Rather, he looked amused and pleased. Fidan sensed that he liked the older man and that he was liked in return.

      My lord Abdullah, I am ashamed to be caught in such a misdemeanor. He made a mocking bow to the older man and grinned as he stood up straight again. I will now go and allow Babur to defeat me at archery for my penance.

      Abdullah smiled after Murad as he walked out into the courtyard. Then he turned to Fidan, who stood silent before him. She was not sure what to think of this young man or of these other men who stood before her. She could feel, from both of them, that Abdullah was serious—that Murad should not have spoken to her. What was unclear was whether she should have spoken to him.

      She knew that Abdullah was not angry with her, so perhaps she was allowed to answer when she was spoken to. Customs were so much harder to understand than language. Perhaps because custom is thought on a deeper level than language. Maybe custom is older than language?

      Do you understand what I am saying to you? Abdullah asked Fidan as he turned back to her.

      Yes, I understand, she answered him. She did not know his title, so she did not call him anything.

      She could see that he was pleased, even if she hadn’t felt the emotion pulsing around him. She was less sure what he was pleased about since his pleasure seemed to be excessive for the answer she had given him.

      Excellent, he exclaimed. Now, normally the Valide Sultan is responsible for the odalisques. However, the Valide Sultan died last week, so the Haseki Sultan has taken charge.

      It took Fidan a moment to take in the sense of what he had just said to her, perhaps because the statements were about customs and had not been fully explained. Finally, though, she thought she understood ‘Valide Sultan’ to refer to the reigning sultan’s mother. ‘Haseki’ had something

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