Page 18 of Iblis' Affliction
‘It’s Christmas, Talha. Make a wish.’The liquid voiceresounded in his head, and Talha frowned.He called me by my name. He intended to kill me… The two chairs with glasses full of… what was it, blood? They were for me and her. We were supposed to sit there. Slater wouldn’t bother with meaningless decorations if he wasn’t going to kill me. That was my last feast and his farewell. Then… Why did he stop? Why didn’t he finish it?
Unable to answer this question, he stared at the weak light making its way into the chamber through a grate embedded in the ceiling at the farthest end of the chamber. It appeared to be ancient and resembled a vent grille.
He’d seen red brick like this before. Old and long, with wide cement layers, red bricks had been widely used in architecture since the Byzantine Empire. They were also used to expand some of the under city catacombs. The subterranean noises of leaking water reassured him in his conclusion, but that barely helped him figure out his location. He could be anywhere in Istanbul, but the metal door in the chamber suggested that someone had already used this place as a hideout or prison. If Slater was familiar with this place, it probably belonged to his ex-master. This thought didn’t help much, as Slater had never been good at sharing secrets, and Behçet had been the Reis of Istanbul.
The night progressing, played tricks with his exhausted mind, and every passing second aggravated the haunting feeling that Camilla was glaring at him. Dead, immobile eyes drilled his temple, boring into his skull as if blaming him for what had happened to her. The howling wind, trapped in the catacombs, echoed his thoughts in a deadly voice,“You will die here. Slater will not come. He abandoned you. He doesn’t follow you anymore.”
At some point, he started to believe it. Since they bonded, Slater had never rebelled. He’d spun out of control a few times, but it’d been a while since his wrath had been directed at Talha. Constantly testing the limits, Slater pulled many tricks out of his sleeve to kick Talha out of his comfort zone and find his weaknesses, but he hadn’t attacked him in ages.
During the endless night, Talha wrapped his fingers around the ropes multiple times and tried to break the wall rings out, but only managed to strip his forearms of skin. When the first gray light of the awakening sun sneaked into the chamber through the grate, Talha felt exhaustion taking its toll. His eyes grew heavy, lids closed, and a lucid dream washed over. Through a kaleidoscope of bright, swirling colors, Talha watched time twist, spin back, and stop at the moment he became the sole ruler of Mardin[9].
5 YEARS AGO
STANDING AT THE TOPof the rocky hill, Talha greedily sucked in the dry, heated air. The smell of sun and dust enveloped him. Absorbing into his skin, it forever imprinted the scent of his homeland into his soul. The endless sky spilled a riot of colors across the horizon, turning cirrus clouds into watercolor smudges that surrounded the reddening disk of a tired sun. Lazy beams licked the ancient city, enchanting the golden stone buildings with pink and orange, and lavished warmth throughout the boundless Mesopotamian plains.
That was his home, his empire, his strength. Every day of his life, every road he chose, and every turn he took brought him here, to the top of the hill. He’d earned it with a low whisper of a knife, his spilled blood, his fingers covered with gunpowder, and his never-resting mind.
He remembered himself being little, living in a tiny, windowless room they had called home. The two cheap kilims[10]on the stone floor worked as prayer rugs when the sun was high and as their beds during long, hunger-torturing nights. His mother worked, but the money she made from cleaning other people’s houses was never enough to keep them fed and dressed. Sometimes, when they didn’t have food for days, and the neighbors couldn’t help, his mother went out at night. The next day they always had food. On those days she never prayed. Talha had never asked where she’d gone. A fatherless family in Mardin, especially the one that ran away from their home, had little chance for a future. A woman, married by Imam[11]but not by law, held no official rights over her kids, therefore, she had no protection from the government. Even with a fake passport, she couldn’t remarry fearing Allah wouldn’t forgive polyandry. Talha had never blamed her, because he remembered his violent father, who whored his own wife out, and the broken ribs Talha received trying to defend her.
When Ejder started school, they only had one pair of shoes to share. They were too small for one and too big for another. Teachers didn’t let barefoot kids into classes, so they had to split school days. On Ejder’s school days, Talha scoured streets, looking for any kind of odd job. The legal ones hadn’t come often for a twelve-year-old kid, so he’d taken everything that promised a meal. Pick-pocketing hadn’t brought much money, so he started stealing mules, horses, goats, and camels. Rebranded and sometimes painted animals went to local smugglers, before disappearing forever from Mardin. More than often, he couldn’t find an animal to steal, so he went to old cemeteries. Unattended graves with marble tombstones were the focus of his attention. Chiseling down names, he sanded stones before reselling them.
He was thirteen when his father burst into their home. Huge as a bear, Çelik raged about the room, calling his mother names and beating her bloody. Saliva bubbling at the corners of his mouth, he wrecked what little they had. Remembering what Çelik could do and understanding that they had a slim to none chances to win in a fair fight, Talha tried to persuade him to leave but failed.
Çelik whacking Ejder against the wall and called him ‘Orospu çocugu[12]’, then hauling his mother toward the door by her hair was the last straw. Talha drew his knife. Without thinking, he jumped his father from behind and sliced Çelik’s throat before the man could reach the door. Towering over the quivering body, Talha watched his father die. Talha hadn’t felt any guilt or fear for committing a deadly sin. He’d only felt satisfaction.
After the last spasm died and the unfocused gaze froze on the ceiling, Talha’s mother brought a tin bucket brimming with water and washed away the blood before using a piece of cloth to bandage the dead throat. Ejder cried. He called Talha a murderer, and for the first time his mother slapped him, ordering him to keep quiet.
Hiding in the night, they transported the body to the local cemetery and buried it in a fresh grave, above the other body. The following night Talha couldn’t fall asleep, expecting the police to come any minute. No one came.
The next day, when Talha kneeled to pray, his mother touched his shoulder and calmly told him not to speak to Allah until he followed his path. Since that day, only Ejder prayed.
The event changed something in Talha. The man he’d feared all his life died from his hand, making him realize that no one was immortal, and no one was better than him. Also, that day taught him that his life belonged to him and only he could change it.
At fourteen, he entered the ultranationalist, neo-fascist organization, Gray Wolves. Their ideology of the superiority of the Turkish race didn’t hold his interest for long, but driven and ambitious, he understood the value of the connections he could make. He quickly sorted out the ones who fought for the idea and ones who sought profit. Looking much older than his years, he didn’t have a problem with people treating him as a kid and getting his voice heard. Flexible, he found the common language with both groups, and while the first helped him gain connections, the second brought him money. He orchestrated bribery, forgery, and sold information making him influential, and it paid well. His mother didn’t need to leave at night anymore, and Ejder transferred into the best school.
Watching people, he realized that desires ruled the world, and the one who understood people’s goals and motivations held the power. At sixteen, he left Gray Wolves and joined the biggest criminal organization in Mardin—the Sayin Group. At first, it felt like a step back. Drug-smuggling, robbery, murder—he didn’t get to choose. Small, dirty jobs became bigger, cleaner ones, as his reputation grew, his hands gained skills, and his body—muscles. At twenty-two, too many people had supported him for Talha to stay the second-in-command, so he took what belonged to him by the right of the strongest and became a new Reis of Mardin. His ‘eyes’ were everywhere, but it still took him too long to notice that his mother was suffering from leukemia.
His faith in Allah died with her, and with her, he lost his last fears, because fearing someone meant admitting their superiority. But in the godless journey his life became, he’d decided to never bow to merciless gods or human beings again.
Now he had everything. The Empire he’d built with hard work, blood, and sweat. The loyalty and support of his people and his brother. Yet, it wasn’t enough. As soon as his foot stepped on the top of the hill, he understood—he merely took the step of an ant, who had reached the top of an anthill. Dressed in golden and brown, the immense space sprawled under the endless sky. There, beyond the horizon, under foreign stars, where people obeyed different rules and spoke different languages, he was still no one.
He stretched out his arm, causing the red eye of the sun to land on his palm. Hand forming a fist, he squished it in his fingers, and strong, intoxicating power flowed through his veins, installing the idea that his destiny lay somewhere beyond this land. As if echoing his thoughts, the suddenly awoken wind stirred his hair and breathed his name. Dragging it around, it guided him north-west, calling him to follow and repeating a low, barely audible, “Talha-a-a-a”. There, between two seas, where the Blue Mosque punctured the eternal sky with minaret spires, lay the Capital of Three Empires and his future—Istanbul.
Filling his lungs with the dry air, he closed his eyes and held his breath, wondering if he would ever inhale this air again.
IT TOOK HIM THREE WEEKSto gather his army. Many of his followers stayed in Mardin, but he had enough arms and men to enter Istanbul like a rightful heir and shatter its shady world with brute power. Having flexible morality, Talha feared no man, no god. His arms were open for all kinds of criminals, from drug dealers to murderers. His influence grew as his drugs and weapons flooded the streets. But even if he’d become the main competitor of the Asani Cartel—the largest criminal organization in Istanbul—Talha knew, he’d only began his way toward the heart of Europe—London.
The long war with the Asani Cartel drowned streets with blood, exhausting their supply of bullets, money, and men, but it granted Talha control over the port and the ships, opening his road to the West. Making connections, he started shipping the guns and drugs from the Middle East to Europe. The more he earned, the more people joined him. Every time the Asani Cartel attempted to approach their boats they were greeted by a rain of bullets. Without access to open water, they withered, weakened, until finally, an envoy presented a proposition to Talha.
Behçet Asani—the leader of the Asani Cartel—offered Talha a merger.
The deal was simple. The Asani Cartel would move under the Demir Group. Splitting territories, they would keep their business but, fairly pay Talha‘taxes’. To bind the deal, Behçet Asani requested a meeting on neutral territory, under the watchful eye of Allah.
“CHECK THE BUILDING!”Giving a short order to his men, Talha stepped out of the car and checked his surroundings.So quiet…He almost believed he could hear the dust crisping under the roasting August sun. No birds chirped, no people hung around, but a black jeep parked by the main gates informed him that Behçet Asani had already arrived.
Resting his back against the car, Talha took in the reverential form of the once majestic building. The bright sun, flooding the streets, only accented the downtrodden appearance of the huge, red-stone mosque. Scarred walls, broken windows, and black moss crawling up the moist cavities, created a weirdly fascinating, post-apocalyptic feel.
“Clear. Only one man and a boy,” the reply resounded from within.
