The Shepherd

[Barazi]

Prelude​

Bersehir, Neceftasi district

It almost seemed like a dream. So surreal. Changes occur almost every day around the world, but not like this. This was different. The year is 1998; a warm June breeze embraced the nation followed by the rays of an exceptionally bright sun. There were no clouds in sight either. People were happy for once. On a day like this, no cloud could shroud the happiness obviously displayed on the faces of thousands of Barazians in the streets of Bersehir. And who could blame them? It’s the ideal life to be born a Turkish-Barazian – there was nothing to worry about, there was no starvation and there was certainly no crime. Not under this regime. Yes, the people gathered around the main square of Bersehir to see the man who was able to make this all possible. The Rehber himself, Serhan Oscelik, saviour and cleanser of the Turks and founder of the leading party known as the Milliyetci was about to pay a visit and address the crowd. It was a gift really. Nobody, not even the municipal officials knew of this visit.

Among one of the admirers was Ahmed Kaya, a decorated naval soldier who had done wonders in the coup of 1992. Though Ahmed quite frequently leaves home for military training and random expeditions, he always tried to find the time to take his little boy Liev to gatherings such as this one.
The balcony of the town square was decorated with red, yellow and black – the official colours of Barazi and its flag. It was just a matter of time before the Rehber would emerge from behind those glass doors and address the public following an astonishing roar of supporters saluting their leader. Ahmed was proud today. He even wore his naval uniform as did many other soldiers in the front row with him. His wife Dilara turned to him and smiled while holding on to her son’s hand. She knelt down beside her son and pointed to the decorated platform. “Look up there Liev!” She pointed “Maybe some day you will be worthy enough to stand there like the Rehber will do today.” She encouraged him continuously – almost every day in fact. It was clear what Liev’s parents wanted for him.

The anticipation grew larger for the speech to begin. This could take some toll on a seven year old boy like Liev who was an adventurous tot and did not want to stand around waiting for some grown-up to talk to him. Though he never said this out loud. Finally Liev tugged on his father’s green and red pant leg, “May I please go now father. I told Osman that I would go to the hill this afternoon. It is now two o’clock!” He pled. His father took a deep breath and noticed his wife tilt her head to the left. He remembered what it was like to be seven and full of energy. “You may go, but...” He looked at his son with a fixed gaze of deep brown eyes, “remember where you are not to wander of to. Do you understand?”
“Yes father I know. I am not to wander off into the north woods.” He recited as if he had been preached the same thing since birth. Come to think of it, he has.
“Be careful.” Dilara worried. Liev felt like he’d been freed from prison and ran towards his friend Osman whose father was in the air force row to the left of his position. The children ran through the crowd of waving flags and cheering voices to go have fun like any child should. There was a usual spot where the children played. It was a hill to the north of the town that was unmistakable because of the single oak tree piercing from under the ground.
“I’ll race you to the oak tree!” Osman challenged his friend and laughed. Liev was always up for a challenge but moaned as his buddy ran ahead before the countdown.
“Hey that’s not fair!” He complained but then began to run twice as fast. Reaching the oak tree, the pair noticed a poster which had been nailed to their childhood shrine. It seemed like an odd place for advertisement – even the kids knew that. The picture displayed the communist emblem known as the hammer and sickle being relatively crushed by the nationalist symbol of Barazi, the ram’s horn kilim.
“Look at what they did to our tree!” Liev howled and reached out to rip it off. But before he could do so, Osman placed his hand upon his friend’s wrist.
“You’d better not.” He warned. “My dad said we can get in a lot of trouble taking down the Rehber’s pictures.”
“Why would the Rehber put it here though?” Liev didn’t quite understand and look to his friend for information. Osman was always the one with the answers to what seemed to be life’s toughest questions at the ripe age of seven.
“I don’t know. All I know is that I…we, can’t touch it.” Osman explained. This seemed reasonable for Liev. Then a cunning grin was plastered over his face.
“Do you always do what you’re told Osman?”
The boy hesitated, “Of course I don’t!” He hung his head down and peered back up, “I do what I want when I want to do it.” He explained firmly.
“Alright then…” Liev smiled and looked onward north to where the tall eastern European woods stood in all its majestic glory. “Then I suppose you’re brave enough to go to the woods with me?” He suggested. Osman talked tough, but he was never one to be the first to go somewhere where he was told never to travel to. Osman scratched his head in thought. “Thought so.” Liev shrugged. He knew his friend only too well. “I’ll just have to go by myself.” He uttered and began to walk towards the forbidden forest northward. Liev had time to take maybe five steps until Osman joined him.
“Fine, I’ll go with you. But we’re not racing there.” He laughed.

The boys had reached the threshold separating the woods and field. From a distance, they heard the crowd cheer. “Do you hear that?” Osman peered back south. “The Rehber must be there!”
“My dad said the Rehber and his min…minst…”
“Ministers?” Osman continued.
“Yes, ministers. The Rehber and his ministers have been in town for a week and nobody knew about it. My dad knows about it because of his connections to the army.” Liev explained. “Talk about a quiet guy.”
“Maybe we should go back…” Osman begged as the cheering had captivated his seven year old imagination. Liev shook his head.
“This is the closest I’ve ever been to these woods – I’m not turning back now.” He confirmed. Osman shrugged his shoulders, turned around and ran back to the square. He waved to Liev from a distance that, in his turn, walked into the woods. The boys were separated. Liev was amazed at what he saw. It was like a different world in these woods and he could not understand why his father had such ill-feelings towards it. The sun rays pierced between the leaves and branches revealing nature’s beauty within. Birds chirped and small animals ran about – it was something to see. This isn’t so bad, he thought to himself.

Liev had been walking for a few minutes now and he began to get cold. The warm breeze went away and the afternoon chills had arrived. Liev grew tired and bored. He wished Osman had come with him. Finally he turned back and began to walk towards town. Dead in his tracks however, Liev froze after hearing a familiar sound. It was like a high-pitched roar, not human but that of an animal. He thought about it and realised he’d crossed paths with a lynx, though he could not yet see it. The boys stood still and began to breathe heavily. As soon as he heard the sound again, he changed his mind and began running faster and deeper into the forest. As he ran past the bushes and bugs, he always looked back to see where his hunter was. Still, there was no lynx to be seen but only heard.
He ran faster and faster – losing all sense of what was going on as he grew fatigued. Then in the midst of his sprint, he tripped over a root sticking out of the ground and fell face forward into a mucky pit at a lower level than the forest ground. Scratched and bruised, the boy poked his head up and realised the chase was over. He heard nothing. It was eerie. The mud was thick and he groaned as he realised he’d gotten some in his mouth. “Damn.” He uttered – hoping no adult was around to hear it.
The pit was vast and covered with freshly planted trees all aligned in different rows. It was a man-made garden for sure. Liev’s right leg was stuck deep within the mud. He struggled to pull himself free and found it to be unsuccessful. Then looking to his left, he saw something sparkling in the mud. He reached out and began to claw and dig for it. He’d completely abandoned getting free. All he wanted was the shiny object within. He finally got a firm grip on what he had discovered to be a diamond ring.

The wind was now blowing heavily as he grasped the diamond stud. Then to his absolute horror, Liev realised that the ring he’d been pulling on was still wrapped around the finger of its host. He instantly began to cry. As he now took focus on his surroundings, Liev saw more fingers, hands, legs and even faces – all of them mangled, cold and dead. He screamed like a boy should never scream according to the Rehber’s standards. Liev was lying in a grave. The trees were planted to hide the travesty from under. He was now panicking and desperately trying to free his leg and run away as fast as he could. Death by lynx-mauling sounded pretty good right about now. All he could see was the face of the woman whose ring he grasped and suddenly he felt someone pulling his right arm.
“Let me go!” He cried and kicked. Everything was hazy and confusing. He was then calmed by a familiar voice.
“Liev!” The voice said. He looked up drenched in mud and saw his father looking right at him with the same angry brown eyes as before. Osman, who had his finger in his mouth and who was crying, was only a few steps away.
“Daddy I…” the boy was struck on the wrist.
“I told you never to go in the forest.”

Chapter One to come

 

[Barazi]

Chapter One​

Lundenwych International Airport, Mayaland

"You can very well see that this is the busiest bloody airport in country." complained Stephen Ayres. Stephen, who had finally got his big break with the Wyvern Herald, was still complaining. "Might as well call off the whole damn trip."
Stephen had never been favoured by his boss. His attitude and, frankly, total disregard for anyone else but himself made him very unpopular among other humans in general. But the way Stephen saw it, that's what it took to be really good at your job. And his job, or his passion, is journalism. At the age of thirty three, he had a few good editorials under his belt – mostly stories that come from outside countries. Most of the time, it was about countries that regular people wouldn’t be caught dead in. He remained optimistic for this one however.

With him was Susan Ethridge of Penzance, Westseaxna. She was a brasher type of girl who was more into photo journalism. Sure, she enjoyed taking pictures of exotic sceneries in Harj to the monuments in Franken, but what she really loved was the abhorrent violent aspect of photo journalism. It took someone with strong mentality and strong stomach for the kind of things she sought to expose to the world.
“Nothing is being called off Ayres.” She groaned as she pulled her camera equipment from the metal-detector box at the airport. “How often to you get to go to places like this on such short notice?”
“I still can’t believe we’re being allowed entrance. Bram fought with the foreign ministry tooth and nail to get us over to Barazi.” The pair walked down a well-decorated airport with Mayaland flags galore and kiosks for the every day traveller. “Ah speak of the devil, Bram!” Stephen waved to his editor, you know, the one who doesn’t like him. Nigel Bram was the one in charge of the Wyvern Herald and he did his best to always keep the stories accurate and he only demanded the best from his employees and their sources. For him, sending Stephen Ayres and Susan Ethridge into Barazi was a difficult decision to make. One he hopes not to regret.

The three met in the waiting area for their 2:00pm flight to Anlayis. Nigel would not be attending, but he made sure to see them off. He had brought with him a brown leather suitcase which he’d placed beside him on the benches lined up. He opened it and retrieved three files, one for each of them.
“The main reason we’re sending you out there is for the outside world to see the beauty and cultural aspects of Barazi. That is a given.” Bram explained. “What I don’t need is anything too offensive that will spark a bloody international incident. However, I do want you to learn of life in Barazi from the aspect of the people.” Bram pulled a picture from his file and showed it to the duo. “This is the dictator of Barazi, Serhan Oscelik, and the self proclaimed Rehber. He’s been in charge since the military coup in 1992. It is now 2005, making it already a 14-year old regime. What readers want to know about is how the nation is run and how it affects the citizens. Who knows? We could be doing some good or bad.”
Stephen Ayres was a liberal. He didn’t like anything coming from the right whatsoever. He also had this personal vendetta against men in uniform. He could never really take to authority figures. The thought of going into a country full of them made his stomach turn. Susan was excited about it. No mountain too high and no prison too secure could stop her from getting what she wanted.
The voice over the intercom declared that it was departure time for the private plane to Anlayis. A small crew of translators, photographers and people of the sort were boarding with Stephen and Susan. Protection services were also involved.
“Is there anything else before we depart dear Nigel?” Stephen snidely asked.
“Yes. I would let the girl do the talking when you land.” He wittily replied.
Nigel waved them off and began to find his way out of the airport.

The plane was quite bland. You could tell it wasn’t one of those important private planes like the ones Presidents use, but more of a smaller rip-off that’ll get you there the same way, just very uncomfortably. David had the window seat and Susan was nearest to the path. All she brought with her on her carry-on was her camera.
“You really can’t leave that thing out of sight can you?”
Susan peered at him and rolled her eyes. “You say that on every trip.”
“I’m touched. You remembered.” Stephen chuckled.
“Can we please talk about something else?”
Susan got impatient with Stephen quite often. They were known as the married couple of the Wyvern Herald.
“Sounds fair. Who are we meeting in Anlayis?” He was now playing innocent. He honestly didn’t give a shit.
“Commandant Armagan Guldogan. He’s one, if not the, highest official in the Anlayis area. He will most likely be the ones responsible for us.” She explained.
“Responsible for us? We’re not really going to be babysat, are we?”
“It certainly seems that way.”
Air pockets began to shake up the plane a little, just enough to make Susan a little nervous. Stephen had brought with him the single thing in his life which he credited for his minimal success. It was his mother’s pendent which he kept wrapped around his wrist on a leather strap. It wasn’t much to look at, but it’s the last thing that remained dear to him after she passed away when he was only six. He began to rub it, and then ironically the pockets stopped.
“Maybe it’s time to call it a day. Or night. Which ever we’re in at the moment.”
Susan laughed and perched her head on the cheap pillow they gave her. He as well. It had gotten dark out and the entire crew decided to take advantage of sleep while they still could. After all, the next day they will have to give up something that maybe more precious to them than they think. Their freedom.

Anlayis, Yapistirmak district Barazi

Susan felt so at peace. The plane had gently rocked her to sleep and the pillow turned out to be very satisfactory. Then she was tugged awake by Stephen arm shaking her and demanding her attention.
“Hey, Susan, wake up we’re here.”
She rubbed her eyes and looked over Stephen to see the outside. It was a very sunny day, with not a single cloud in sight. It was very different from the previous day in Mayaland. The crew began to unpack the necessities first and load them into the jeep which would bring them to their board for the remainder of the trip. Stephen and Susan were the last to leave the plane and making their way down the stair to touch soil once more.
Stephen was ready to complain about the crowds and loud noises of the airport until he noticed, there was nobody around. Only tall fences with wires and armed men surrounding them. It was almost as if they’d landed in a big child-proof box.
“This is brilliant!” Stephen cried. Susan hit him on the chest.
“My God, would you not say anything please?” She firmly ordered.
Susan walked a little ahead of Stephen and made her way to the building that one would usually call an airport. But with the security and the only-militant populace, not just anybody could land here.

As they reached the east side of the building, they could here music coming from the other end of the building. Their guide was obviously waiting for them outside. They eventually followed the Turkish-language music to their destined man. The Commandant, who wore a slick black military uniform and hat with red lining, saluted them. He was two lower ranking officers who wore dark green with red lining, a standard Barazian uniform.
The Commandant had a grin on his face. He was a stout, but a tall one at that. The crew had caught up with them by this time and they all found one another very well greeted by the Milliyetci so far.
“Welcome to Barazi my arkadaş!” He welcomed with open arms. The Milliyetci had made sure to fill the area with flags, coats of arms and even pro-Barazi nationalist propaganda. They felt it added an aspect of patriotism to the nation. A nation that had been used to being knocked down, that they would not tolerate it anymore. Some say that explains why the Barazians follow Oscelik to the very last word and even breathe. The Commandant was one of those people.
“Thank you very much” Susan approached the commandant and held out her hand, hoping to get a shake out of it. A mutual agreement that says they are both professionals. The two Milliyetcis with the Commandant looked at her with a puzzled stare. The Commandant Guldogan proceeds by saluting Susan with the traditional Milliyetci fist-to-heart motion and then reaching out to shake Stephen’s hand. Not a word was uttered to Susan.
“You must be Stephen Ayres, yes?” Guldogan asked with a thick Turk accent. Stephen confirmed and firmly tried to keep his sense of humour hidden as he saw the humiliation in Susan’s eyes.
“Yes I am Mr. Guldogan, I mean, sir!” He panicked. The Commandant enjoyed the stint at looking intimidated.
“There will be none of that. Call me Armagan.” He shook his hand once more and smiled as he observed his eyes. That was also an old intimidation trick in the book. If you don’t feel intimidated when a bigger man looks at you in the eyes and smiles, then you at least feel inferior for two seconds. He then turned to the Milliyetcis with him and quickly lost his grin. All authority had come back now, and this made Stephen boil in more ways than one. “Orada ne için duruyorsun? Onların çanta alın!”
They had no idea what he’d just said, but the Milliyetci boys dropped their guns and carried Susan’s bags to the jeep.
“That really wasn’t necessary.” Stephen uttered.
“Mr. Ayres. When you are in my country, you are my responsibility.” There was a cold moment after those words were said. A slight pause and peering into one another’s facial expressions came of it, but was then broken by a seemingly cheerful Commandant, “You must be exhausted. Let me show you to your boards.”

 

[Barazi]

Chapter Two​

Azhortum, north of Anlayis

Azhortum was an old community that has always been somewhat of a haven for those who are on the run. The location of the village was a rural area somewhat in the forest and can barely be seen from far. The Milliyetci had forced most Turkmens, Orghuz and even the small Khazar minority groups in these communities away from Barazian society. Places like Azhortum were secluded, sparsely had any water and worried almost every day when Milliyetci officials passed through the village for the Gunluk tektik (Daily inspection).
Lately however, the citizens of Azhortum had a new reason to worry. Many older or feebler people have been taken away – sometimes even in broad daylight – by the Milliyetci and do not come back. There is no warning.
Zarina, a little seven year old Turkmen girl, has seen her father carried away by the Milliyetci after he could no longer work in the coal mines due to knee injuries. She has also seen her grandfather shot by firing squad after he uttered something offensive to a Milliyetci. That was their justification. Zarina’s father left behind her mother Feray, her younger bother of three years old Hakan and her grandmother Meryem. They all lived together sharing a small broken down shack with two other families, one of four and the other of six. Another thing that was special in Azhortum however, was the mosque. The Milliyetci had not reached the mosques to the north yet as a part of their systematic destruction plan, or Yikiplani. It was the only structure in the village that was actually kept up, but by the people who dared take care of a religious establishment in Barazi. Though it still stood, not many people attended the ceremony due to dear of being caught. Prayer is still done, but only for the willing who wish to risk their lives and attend. Some would actually rather die than give up their faith. The others practiced their sects at home in secrecy, be they Muslim or Jewish.

Zarina arrived home after a long afternoon of chasing frogs down by the river to the southeast. Zarina wore a tattered shirt which pended down to her knees and old sneakers. She was a bit muddy from her ventures and bruised from past Milliyetci raids. She was used to it and it had become her way of life. To look over her shoulder at the age of six. Her mother Feray was eight-months pregnant, though she had no man. Rumours passed of her having been raped by a soldier, but of course, that theory is well-covered and would never dare reach the government.
“You are late. It is almost sundown.” Feray scolded her daughter while brining her son to the living area with the rest of the families. Her grandmother Meryem sat around on her cushion where the bunch had gathered.
“Come, sit here.” Meryem waved her over.
Feray was the last to collect herself around the circle. She had been preoccupied closing all the shutters and windows in the house as well as locking all the doors. She’s clipped blankets over the windows to ensure nobody could see inside. The elder man from one of the other families lit a variety of candles, each in different colours according to the kilims, which were the oldest symbols in Turkic culture. Then from underneath the floorboards carefully carved out under the red tapestry, Meryem retrieved several pages of the Koran, or what was left of it. The older man was to be in charge of the vocalisation as the remainder of the house knelt down to do the traditional Takbeeratul-Ihram.
It had become a peaceful environment in the village once the sun went down. Sad to say, but it was the only time some could really feel safe. During the day, they were all forced to were the fez as a way to point them out, and they are usually not welcomes anywhere where there are Barazians. This was paradise, in some ways. The prayer session had been going quite well so far. Even little Hakan was getting the hang of things.
From the corner of her eye, Zarina had noticed that a corner of one of her mother’s sheets had broken loose – revealing the top left corner of the kitchen window. As the other still prayed, Zarina quielty stood up to go place the blanket straight in its original stance. From there she peered outside and could see a glimmering light coming from the woods. She gasped and quickly stood back.
“Oh no...” she whispered to herself and then placed the blanket back. She began to run around the house frantically blowing out all the candles and sources of light.
“Zarina what it is?” Her mother worried.
“Soldiers outside.” She whispered. “They’re going into Mr. Hakim’s house.”
Men in long, black trenchcoats had made their way to Azhortum with an official officers hat to say that they belonged to thre Giulsapolis, the most pretigious and dangerous paramilitary organization in Barazi. The director of the Gilusapolis reported directly to the Rehber, only.

All the lights had been extinguished in Zarina’s home and the Koran pages placed back in the flooboards. The group gather around the window. Only a few were permitted to look outside for security reasons. Feray and the older man of the house looked outside from the corner made earlier which Zarina had taken all her effort to fix.
The Gilusapolis were seen arriving at the door of their neighbour Mr. Hakim’s house. Mr. Hakim had a wife, three daughters and a single heir son. The commanding Gilusapolis officer, clearly seen with the most decorated uniform, approached his door while two other officers placed themselves farther back yet on each side of him. They knocked and waited for an answer.
“Look over there!” The old man pointed. Feray noticed his concerns as he could see more officers surrounding Mr. Hakim’s property from the backyard. They were heavily equiped with automatic weapons. Of what caliber was unclear due to lack of sunshine. Feray turned back and placed her hands on her mother’s shoulders.
“Get the children gathered, we have to leave this instant.”
Her mother scrambled to get the young ones in a grouping and headed to the far end opf the house away from the activity outside. Feray and the other adults began to push all their furniture, whioch wasn’t much, in front of the door to secure the entrance. At the far end of the house, Feray and the other man removed an oak desk perched beside the wall revealing a tunnel leading to the backyard. The backyard was covered in thick grass and trees making it difficult for others to see. All that had to be done was get through the tunnel and head for the forest. The children began to crawl out slowly. Out of nowhere an explosion resonated the village. Mr. Hakim’s home had been cocktailed and set ablaze. The officers fired inside to finish whoever wasn’t dying. At this point, the community is in complete diaray. People are running in the streets and the officers tear through town. Their commander arrived in an army jeep before the mosque. This man was easy to distinguish due to the eye patch over the left eye.

Officers had now rached Zarina’s door. They knocked and began to yell threats of a raid if noone would answer. Soon they gave up and began to push inward. The furniture had proven to be effective as the majority of the residents managed to get out. The man of the house was the last one in the house and he found himself face to face with the officers respomnsible for the chaos. Two of them circled him and pulled him out of the burrow as he tried to escape. They set him on his knees where the third officer then executed him.
“Go around!” He ordered.
The residents of Zarina’s house had now almost passed the thick grass behind their home in order to reach the forest. The Gilusapolis had caught up with the slower of the residents. The women and children sharing the home with Zarina and her clan had not been fast enough to make it out of the yard in time. The Gilusapolis caught up with them and lynched the bunch of them. Zarina, Feray, Meryem and Hakan had been saved or blessed by Allah, as Meryem had put it. The old woman began to fall behind but realised it was safe to slow down for they were no longer being chassed.
“They must think to have killed everyone.” Zarina pointed out. She placed herself under her grandmother’s arm. “Are you alright grandmother?” She asked. The elderly woman nodded but said nothing. The family had made their way to the top pf the hill forest where they could see the blaze that had been set in Azhortum. Tears flowed on every cheek as they watched their home take to the ground along with the others.

Back in the center of Azhortum where the patched commander was positioned, the shops and almost everything else had been burnt and torn to the ground. There were bodies piled over in the streets as the officers rounded up those instantly killed in the Yikiplani raid. The reamining citizens were loaded into incoming buses to transport them to an undisclosed location. The pacthed man waved into the distance singnaling for something to come forward. An artillery unit made its way down the small main street and positioned itself before the mosque. The commander raised his right hand and waited for the queu to be in place.
“Hazir…Yangin!” after those words were ordered by the commander, the artillery war machine fired three direct hits to the base of the mosque. Two ore were fired higher to finish the job. The crest of the moon and star atop the mosque came quickly down into a pile of debrea. Milliyetcis and Gilusapolis officers entered the mess and salvage what was left of religious idols or writtings. Those that were found, were torched.
Zarina and the remaining members of her family could only watch in horror as the only symbo, of hope they’ve ever had was so quickly destroyed by a force once compared to a machine.
“Enough of this. We must go now.” Feray ordered as she wiped the tears from her cheek. She took her son by the ahnd and began marching deeper into the forest.
“Mother, where are we going?” Zarina cried.
“We will make our way towards Anlayis. Maybe someone can help us there.” She continued to cry. “And fro the sake of Allah and your lives, do not stop walking.”

The family held together as they escavaded the northern forests of Barazi. It had now become completely dark in Barazi. And quiet. Always quiet.

 

[Barazi]

Chapter Three​

Anlayis, Yapistirmak district

What Stephen Ayres had persevered to be a poor, war-torn and devastated country proved to be quite the opposite. The metropolitan area of Anlayis was quite large and very well-kept. Culture flourished across the city from the big buildings in the north and the traditional boutiques and butcheries to the south.
Stephen, Susan and their crack team of journalists and cameramen had been placed in suits – two people per room. Susan had been blessed to share a room with Stephen. Though he thought he had some sort of a chance with her, Susan always looked passed his outside and learned to detest him on the inside. They all stayed at the Parlakvadi Inn, a five-star hotel all paid for by the Barazian government and the Wyvern Herald. Stephen and Susan’s room was very big with a marble décor and red sheets as well as curtains laced with gold fabric. There were two bedrooms, one living area with a built-in Jacuzzi and a lush bathroom with a tub that could fit up to eight people. The Barazians had not come up cheap for their invited guests.

David woke up in his own room and looked around to once more admire that large oil painting of a single Barazian soldier fighting off hundreds of Muslims and Khazars on a mountain landscape. Very exaggerated, but nonetheless, well done. Stephen rose from his bed and cleaned himself up before leaving the room. He walked into the living area and turned on the TV. Before sitting down, he stepped over to the bar fridge where he retrieved a Barazian cold-one called Bira, a smooth and popular ale in the country.
“Thank you Mr. Rehber.” Stephen whispered to himself – thinking he was all alone in the room. Little did he know, Susan was already prepared to go as she came out of the large washroom with jeans and a hot-weather appropriate top.
“Don’t you think it’s a little early to be hitting’ the sauce?” She snidely asked her male counterpart. Stephen shrugged and took another long sip.
“Maybe, but the way I see it, when we’re in a country run by that guy,” He points to the portrait of the Rehber Serhan Oscelik on the local news channel. “then you’d better take advantage of what he’s giving you for free.” He explained, trying desperately to be charming. When she rolled her eyes, he immediately responded with a “but you wouldn’t know anything about receiving for free, now would you?”
That comment made the morning very cold and uncomfortable for the other crewmembers. They were all to meet Commandant Guldogan along with a few security officers in the downstairs lobby for 8:00 am. It was now 7:43 and Stephen was rushing to get dressed. Jack Wilde, who was in charge of the video-recording aspect of the trip, knocked at the door. He and a few other utility men had been sleeping in the next room.
“Are you two almost ready?” He asked. Susan pushed herself to the door and answer yes. They both emerged from their suit sharply-dressed and ready to make an impression.

Stephen and his small company of Susan, Jack and Stuart Black were all placed in a glass elevator which would lead them directly to the commandant. Jack was a burly, bearded man who was hired to escort the group and make sure no funny business is pulled by the unpredictable Barazian government.
As the elevator progressively lowered, they could see the commandant standing below with two different armed men by his side once more. The doors were secured by more Milliyetcis as were all entrances and exits in the building.

“Ah! Good morning my friends!” The commandant called out as the doors separated. He walked over to Stephen, who was slightly more upfront towards Guldogan than the rest of the group. Susan, still somewhat insulted by their first meeting, said nothing this time. “I trust you slept well, yes?” Guldogan asked.
“Yes we did. This is a very nice establishment and we thank you for allowing us to stay here.” Ayres gallantly answered. The commandant, slightly blushing, patted him on the back and smiled.
“Good, I’m very happy to hear that. But there is no more time for rest now; you have a nation to experience today my friends!” He boasted. Stephen and Commandant Guldogan were ahead of the militants and remaining journalists as they began to make their way towards the exit. The sun was bursting with rays today, making it a good time to take pictures. Susan removed her tall-lens camera and began to quickly admire the Barazian architecture used to construct the hotel. Like most Turkic styles, larger buildings in Barazi were well-rounded and rarely cubic.
“This is beautiful.” She uttered to Jack – who in his own turn began to tape the interior.
Looking back, one of the two Milliyetcis noticed the pictures being taken and quickly turned around confronting Susan and Jack. Stuart stepped in and placed himself between the disputed parties.
“O yasak! O yasak!” the man in uniform cried. This got the attention of the entire party and some people within the lobby. And so close to the exit. The commandant approached Stuart – always smiling.
“Could you please inform the woman that there are designated areas for that type of activity? The man as well, if you would be so kind.”
Stuart was never one to be intimidated, but when you’re surrounded by men with guns and all you have is a pocket-watch, then you’d better answer to the one in charge.
“You heard the man.” Stuart warned. Susan could not believe her ears. To be referred to as the woman was demeaning to her. Stephen held up his arms in disappointment and a little in mockery of Susan.

Now outside, everyone seemed to have turned over a new leaf. The atmosphere was positive and the people seemed very happy. Posters and banners depicting the Rehber as a super-being as well as anti-religious and anti-communist propaganda were very frequent in big cities such as this one. The commandant led everyone to a bus with spacious bars between the windows. It looked very military, but it was also very safe.
“Come, come. This way.” Guldogan waved. The driver looked like someone who was very annoyed to have this kind of employment, but then quickly sat straight when he saw the hat of the commandant.
“Is this what we have to work with? Bared windows?” Susan complained to Jack with the full attention of the formerly angry Milliyetci. She peered back at him causing him to react and turn around. Everyone took their turn and stepped into the bus. The commandant was the last to enter and he looked over his shoulder before entering himself.
“Now, you may take as many pictures as you like.” He patronised Susan. Stephen found his seat beside her, of course, while Jack and Stuart stuck together. The Milliyetcis sat at the back of the bus – always armed while Kaya stood up in front. “Now, before we depart, does anyone have any questions thus far?”
“Yes actually.” Stephen waved him over. “Given the obvious sense of stability and security in this country, do you really think it’s necessary to have two men with loaded riffles following us?”
Everyone sat stunned at the question which Stephen carelessly put out there for all to ponder on. The commandant could do nothing but laugh.
“Wherever there is order, my dear friend, there is always a group of people lurking about ready to destroy a good thing. We need these men in uniform to watch over us, after all, the Milliyetci has the right on Barazians in mind at all times.”

Stephen wrote that into his booklet and was somewhat shocked at the rehearsed response, though he did not show any resentment. The driver placed the key into the ignition and the bus began to make its way down the streets of Anlayis.

 

[Barazi]

Chapter Four​

Ilkriyet, north of Anlayis

The Myradowa family held their own in the vicious wilderness of Barazi, especially at night time. The national animal and ferocious hunter, the lynx, was the most dangerous of all possible predators. Come to think of it, the second. The Gilusapolis was the prime predator for Zarina and the Myradowa family. Zarina’s little brother Hakan had begun a high fever making it difficult for the family to press on. Both women were too weak to carry him and Zarina was but a young girl. She placed his arm around her for support across the terrain, but it was all she could do to help him.
The Myradowa clan approached an outskirt community of Anlayis called Ilkriyet. Ilkriyet had a history of being devoutly pro-Milliyetci since the beginning of the coup and government overhaul. Banners of the ram’s horn symbol blew gently in the streets of the community suspended on every light post. It was clear to Feray, Zarina’s mother, that they would have to abandon any turkmen garb in order to blend in with the incredibly boisterous nationalist Barazian population.

The Myradowas placed themselves by a bridge which eventually led to Ilkriyet in order to make themselves presentable. Zarina’s grandmother Meryem was in charge of disposing of the symbolic fez which was a cultural head gear which had become a twisted way of identifying a turkmen or others that aren’t considered Barazians. It brought a tear to her eye but she quickly brushed it away to remain strong for the ailing family. Her son would’ve wanted her to stay by his wife’s side during trials such as these. Trials that he never intended to bring upon his family and people.
“Zarina! Bring my Hakan’s fez.” She asked of her granddaughter. Zarina obeyed and handed it to her. Hakan was lying down for the moment as his fever had gotten the best of him. Walking in the sun had not helped at all. “Thank you.”
Meryem wrapped all items pertaining to their turkmen heritage in a knitted bag which she hand crafted herself. She never intended it to be used this way, to throw away something so precious to her and her people for the sake of her family. She tied rocks and pebbles to the bag – wrapping it with a thick rope in order to throw it over the bridge and into the stream.
“Mother, I will throw it. You rest now.” Feray ordered her as she took the bag. Feray took a deep breath and threw the material into the river. It sunk and began to roll its way down the stream where they hoped it would never be found.
“What now mother?” Zarina asked whilst tugging on her dress. Feray could only smile at her daughter’s somehow optimistic visage towards this situation. She was proud that her daughter had been taught to be strong and independent as she would have to be in Barazi.
“We must take your brother to a clinic in Ilkriyet, this is very important. Your grandmother must also rest.” She explained to her little girl. Zarina looked at her grandmother from the corner of her eye and noticed her rubbing her ankles out of angst. “But mother has a more important task for you. You have to be brave no matter what Zarina.” Her daughter’s attention had been fully captivated. “What you saw back home was… inexplicable. I don’t know how to explain to you why these things have been done to us, but they have. We must accept it. But whatever doesn’t kill us can only make us stronger. These atrocities cannot go unnoticed. That’s why I need you to go to Anlayis in search for an old friend of your fathers’. You must then tell him where we are so he can come help us. I will write you his name on your wrist so you don’t forget.” She explained with a profound sense of emotion.
“But how will he help us?” She asked. The sudden shock of a solo adventure was not something Zarina was used to outside of Azhortum.
“You will understand some day my sweet, but right now, all you need to know is that he is a good man who can help us.” She hugged her daughter and began to cry. Zarina did the same. Hakan began to cough forcing Feray to pay attention to her ailing son. “You must go now. That way.” She directed her daughter. Zarina kissed her mother and carefully made her way on to the path to Anlayis. Zarina had no more traceable piece on her that would lead to her turkmen heritage. As she was not a visible minority, blending into Anlayis would be a breeze. She understood that her mother had to stay with Hakan and Meryem. Above all, she was also pregnant and would never make it to Anlayis on foot. Sacrificing her only daughter was her only thing she could resort to. But she was bright and resourceful for a little girl on her own.
As Zarina made her way down the rocky pavement to Anlayis, the rest of the Myradowa clan proceeded towards Ilkriyet where they would hope to get some medical attention that doesn’t demand any background check.

As Zarina walked down the path which would eventually lead to Anlayis, she looked at her wrist upon-which this man’s name was written. Ahmed Kaya was his name. She felt it was strange that he was a friend of her father’s even though she’d never heard of him or met him. Now that she began to think about it, there were a lot of things about her father that she didn’t quite understand. For the most part of her recollection of him, she remembered him having many friends that neither she nor her mother was allowed to meet and associate with. He would come home at late hours of the night – sometimes beaten with her grandfather as well. She was told that they were all but simple coal miners who got involved with the Milliyetci in a negative way. But Zarina always felt that her dad and grandfather had something more to their story, but she knew that one day her mother would have to be confronted about the subject. She was tired of being put in the dark even though she was only seven.

Walking near the opening sign of Anlayis after fifty-six minutes of walking in heat gave her a boost of hope to her mission. But as she approached the sign, she noticed a well laminated poster which read that the Gilusapolis would be in the area to try and locate missing turkmens from Azhortum. It was said that more had survived and fled. This made Zarina very uneasy. She knew she would have to do everything in her power not to draw attention to herself. As she’d just finished reading this, she could feel a rumbling coming from behind her at a far-enough distance. It sounded like a motorcade, which she’d heard many times before. Black SUVs, vans and motorcycles of the Gilusapolis were making their way into Anlayis, which was already a fortified city. Zarina reacted quickly and jumped into the ditch where she’d hoped to remain unnoticed as she drove by. She kept quiet as she watched the slick police in black making their way in a fashionable line to one of the north’s important cities to search for people like her. Not having her fez on alone would be punishable by death.
As the final jeep made it’s way far enough so she could no longer see him, Zarina allowed herself to breath again as she climbed out of the ditch. Luckily it was dry. She entered Anlayis with the well being of her family as the only thought in her mind.

 

[Barazi]

Chapter Five​

Anlayis, Yapistirmak district

So far, Stephen’s idea of Barazi had been a relatively good one. As time went by and the bus passed through the heart of Anlayis and then some, he and his party would have the chance to see what an ancient people of the mountains in the east have managed to create.
The Commandant had so far shown them Anlayis’ own replica of the Birlikmelisi, which is the nation’s legislature in Kraliyet. It was smaller, but it still left a feeling of majestic beauty to the eye of the beholder.
The bus had now pulled over and stooped in a location in the center of Anlayis called Yabani Park. It was a garden with rare fauna and tall trees where you could really escape the city and be at peace. There were security officers at each corner watching as the invited party stepped off the bus for lunch and debriefing.

As they walked to their respective table under a tall oak tree, Susan approached Jack, the camera man, and asked him, “What do you have so far?” Jack flipped open the picture display screen and pressed on through pictures of architecture, city life and the people in general.
“I managed to get some snaps of a few Milliyetci propaganda posters.” He whispered. “Not much, but it paints a picture of this place pretty well.” Susan shrugged and patted him on the back.
“Keep it up.” She encouraged. Stephen joined in on the conversation – watching the Commandant from afar, who in return, was doing the same thing from the steps of the bus alongside his two cronies.
“Anyone else feel like we have to get away from these people to get a good story?” He bluntly stated. Susan mouthed him to whisper his thoughts when in a militant country. “I’m sorry, but there’s something very uneasy about this place and the people we’re touring with. The bloody windows in the bus are barred for Christ’s sake.”
All the while Stuart was sitting alone lighting a cigarette and shook his head as the men in uniform circled the park. The burly Mayalander knew he could take most of these guys, and he wanted to, but wouldn’t. The party joined him.
“I’ve decided that I’ll be calling Bram once we get back to the hotel tonight. For now, we’ll simply have to humour these guys until we can get our passes without escorts.” Susan explained. The crew sat quiet and a little uncertain of this idea.
“What makes you think they will let us roam around Barazi without military escort?” Stephen shrugged, Susan rolled her eyes.
“Well, there’s enough security in the nation to begin with. Watching us won’t be very hard, I’m sure. Besides, we have Stuart for protection.” She jabbed him playfully on the shoulder. Stephen nodded to the idea. Jack kept playing with his camera. “Then we could go into the not-so decorated part of Anlayis and see what the people have to show us.” As Susan spoke, something caught jack’s eye in the distance. “What’s wrong bud?” Stephen asked. Jack pointed to the bus.
“I’m not sure, but one of our Baraturks is losing his shit.” He pointed again. Commandant Guldogan was not fully off the bus and enraged. At first, Stephen thought for sure that he’d somehow heard everything that was being said by the picnic table, but then he noticed surrounding officers all gathering with the Commandant and then bolting across the street to a family of travellers, or drifters.

“What the hell is going on?” Stuart muttered. As the police surrounded the family of drifters, vulgar tones coming from the militants resonated across the area. Things like Tutuklama Türkmen! and Lanet sıçan! Were clearly yelped as an unmarked van pulled over to where the commotion was.
The party stood up to try and see what was happening. They could see Guldogan giving out orders to capture the drifters, and they did. The women and children were dragged to the van and the one man was pressed face first on the van and booked. “My God...” Susan whispered. The Commandant was at this point walking over to the party. Susan began shaking a little and tried to keep her composure as he approached them. Stuart placed himself in front of everyone and planned on speaking with Guldogan first.
“Please my friends; there is no need for panic.” Guldogan tried to assure everyone, with a smile on his face. Stuart approached him. “Mr. Black, I can assure you hat the problem has been dealt with, the criminals arrested and placed away.” He explained.
“Criminals? What did they do?” Stuart demanded to know at this boiling point. The Commandant’s smirk went away and Stuart crossed his arms with the other three standing in awe of the blunt demand.
“They are enemies of the state which have been on the run for quite some time now. It’s best that they be locked away where they can no longer run-down our society. It’s for the security of our people, and today, for yours as well.” He leaned in towards Stuart, “Let me make a point of this right now.” He began to callously whisper to him. “You four are lucky that you were granted permission to come to Barazi. Why I wound up with you, is beyond my intelligence. What we do here, what you saw will not make its way into the Wyvern Herald. Everything you write, record and snap will be placed before a Milliyetci Council which will verify the content and decide what will seep into the view of the outside. Now, play nice.” He groaned.

Stuart was flabbergasted at the tone being taken with him from a much shorter man. All the time this is happening, Stephen has discreetly placed himself behind Jack and Susan in order to scribble a few notes on the events that have just taken place:
• women and children dragged
• man arrested
• unmarked van
• equipped officers
His hand-writing was terrible due to the strike of nerves, but he managed to get the important. Susan noticed Stephen working on this from the corner of her eye and she attempted to help block him. He’d finished quickly and packed his notepad in his back pocket with a tight belt securing it.
“Back on the bus.” Guldogan ordered with no such smile anymore. The party gathered their things and moved towards the bus. Everyone felt like they had a metaphorical tail between their legs as the intimidating officers surrounding them were showing no courtesy.

Milliyetci Base
Guzellik, Yapistirmak district

By the time the invited party returned to their hotel, word had already reached from Guldogan’s post in Anlayis to Guzellik of a disturbance coming from the invited journalists of Mayaland. A statement had been made to the Milliyetci governor of Yapistirmak Eyup “Tasko” Taskopruluzade from the desk saying that their visit to Guzellik ion the later week should be closely monitored. The statement also included the party’s willingness to not cooperate with the rules of Barazi and several attitude problems towards military personnel.
A soldier marched down the halls of the legislature in Guzellik with a telegram in his hand. He had a tall complex and a strong composure with the task of delivering the telegram to Governor Tasko. He stopped and saluted the two armed men at his oak door and they proceeded to open them for the man. Tasko stood up from behind his desk and returned salute to the one carrying the telegram. “Thank you.” He uttered as he snatched it from his hand. “You may go now.” He ordered.

The governor looked over the telegram including Guldogan’s statement and took into consideration the risk at hand here. Never in Yapistirmak has there been someone from the west, and now the ones granted entry may cause havoc among the people if left alone. That’s when Tasko decided to take matters into his own hands and perhaps have the Gilusapolis make a case on these people if things go sour from here.
Yapistirmak is the district with the largest concentration of Khazar, Turkmen and Orghuz people – mainly because they were place, or “encouraged” to go there. The very glimmer of hope such as journalists from a free country rallying them would be disastrous for the district and Tasko. He called on one of his officers to enter.
“Get me the Gilusapolis on the line.”

 

[Barazi]

Chapter Six​

Anlayis, Yapistirmak district

“Bram I’m telling you, we can’t get a decent picture on this place if we’re constantly observed by Bara Clan.” Susan – pacing – was addressing her editor back in Mayaland. Nigel Bram was on the other line, most-likely with a cigar in his mouth and a loosened tie to depict how stressed he is. “I want you to call this nation’s ministry, our ministry or the damn Commandant himself and tell him to cut us some slack. We’re perfectly capable of handling what we are paid to do on our own!” She demanded.
Stuart chuckled at the long pause form their end as he eaves dropped into Susan’s conversation. Usually when it took this long for her to say something, then she somehow got her way along the line. “Thank you.” She snidely uttered before slamming the phone back to its spot.
“Got it?” Stuart asked her – as if he didn’t know.
“I got it.” She winked and walked over to the living quarters of the hotel room. Stephen kept on flipping over his booklet to see what he’d scribbled up so far from this trip.
“So I’m assuming by your obvious smirk and your own sense of self-accomplishment that you have indeed managed a way to get us far from the men in uniform as of tomorrow?” Stephen asked Susan. Sitting down beside him she confirmed this with a simple nod. “If there’s one thing a woman is good for, it’s nagging a man until he sees things her way.” He joked. Every man in the room laughed as Susan crossed her arms and rolled her eyes. “Awe, I’m just kidding!” Stephen patted her on the head.
“Grow up.” She uttered with a playful smile.
“Tomorrow we get to hit the streets like big kids.” Jack joked. “I think it’s only fair we celebrate!” He suggested while busting open the room fridge filled with the best of Barazian liquor as well as imported beverages as well.


North Anlayis, Yapistirmak district

Zarina found herself all alone in the busy streets of Anlayis at night. With no supervision and nowhere to go, Zarina was a vulnerable little girl. Always being one to help out and look on the optimistic side, she pressed on down a sidewalk – hoping to find this Ahmed Kaya of which her mother spoke of. Not knowing what this man does or what he looks like, all she knew about him was that his name as scribble on her wrist.
Analayis’ nightlife was just as busy as it was during the day. Vendors, merchants, officers and people of the sort completely took over the streets at night to avoid any confrontation. Some played instruments in the streets and others sang. Light strands were tied from light pole to light pole giving Anlayis a festive feeling for the secret it hides.

Zarina wandered near a cart with small led sculptures for sale. She looked at them in amazement. She couldn’t believe how small they were and how hard they must’ve been to craft. Being a creative and curious little mind, she attempted to pick one up only to be slapped on the wrist by an old woman. “You must pay!” She said in her native tongue. Zarina stood startled at the sight of what years of smoking and a poor diet can do to you.
Zarina countered with a question directed to the old woman in Turkmen, “Do you speak Turkmen?” She innocently asked.
The old woman snorted and replied to her, “Listen little girl. I am an Orghuz, not a dirty damn Turkmen. These sculptures come all the way from Anbat and I don’t need any child’s finger prints on it! Now buy this or leave before I feed you to the Baraturks!” she ordered as she pointed the direction of exit. Zarina couldn’t believe how rude people in the city were. She’s never been used to being within the center of a largely populated area.

Going on, Zarina’s objective was to find a place to sleep for the night where she would pick up in the morning on her hunt to find Mr. Kaya. People of all shapes and sizes passed by as she tired to get someone’s attention for help. Some kept walking, others actually brushed her away. “Excuse me, I need help!” She yelped. Still, no one would. The last man she tried to get to help her fully pushed her into an alleyway and kept on walking. Zarina was now very discouraged and began to cry and she sat in a puddle.
Just as she thought she’d have to tough it out on the streets over night, as she has done before, Zarina felt a warm hand upon her shoulder. It felt as if her father had somehow come back from work like he said he would to rescue her in the streets of Anlayis. Looking up, she saw the bearded face of an older an with thick glasses and the warm smile of an inebriated uncle at a Christmas reunion.
“Come this way my child.” The old man encouraged her. Without any pressure, Zarina was led into a staircase connected to a door of what looked like a bomb-shelter. It was merely an old building, but the structure scared her a little. “You’ll be safe in here for the night.” The man reassured her as she gazed upon a cramped, cold, wet, brick room with dozens of other people.

Zarina could only see in front of her face as there were only a few candles lighting the room. She could see a light fixture hanging over the ceiling and the switch for it on the other side of the room. She turned to the old man walking behind her across the flood of people. “Why don’t you simply turn on the light?” She asked – tilting her head.
“It’s safer this way my dear.” He warmly answered her as well as pressing on her back to continue walking. They came to a corner in the room where the old man slid down the wall to make himself as comfortable as you get in parts like these. Zarina looked at the crowd in her surroundings. Most of them were groups of women and children with a single man leading them all. To where? Even they didn’t know. The old man could see Zarina was frightened and didn’t know what to think of him. She huddled her arms around her legs for warmth. The old man reached out behind him and retrieved a wool blanket for the girl. “You don’t have to be afraid of anyone here my dear.” He once more assured her. “We’re not like them.” He said.
“Why is everyone hiding in a dark room sir?” She asked after mustering up the courage to do so for five minutes. The man turned to her and tried to place himself in the mindset of a young child.
“The people you see before you in this room, my dear, are all people who have had something taken away from them. Their homes, their money and in some cases even their families.” This struck a nerve with Zarina given the mysterious nature of her fathers’ disappearance. “And when people get tired and exhausted to this point, they tend to not care where they sleep anymore. I can only wish you don’t have to suffer too long little girl.” He explained to her.
“My name is Zarina.” She held out her hand. The old man grasped it and shook.
“I am Lamarr.” He smiled. “Yefet Lamarr. And I remember when it didn’t have to be like this.” Lifting his eyebrow, he added, “You’re very sharp for a little girl. You have nerves of steel as I can see too.”
“I have to be brave. I’m looking for someone around here…” She hesitantly tried to keep her mission to herself. “But I’m not supposed to talk to strangers.” This triggered Yefet to laugh.
“My darling, of all people, you can trust a Rabbi.”
“What’s a Reb-bbi?” Zarina struggled to pronounce the man’s title. She sat quite startled as she heard “Rehber” on the first shot. Yefet laughed.
“We’re like what you would call an Imam, only for Khazar people. I am a Khazar my dear.” He smiled and nodded proudly. Zarina had heard of the small Khazar group in Barazi, but she has never met one. Both had forgotten about Zarina’s scavenger for Kaya.
“Why don’t you simply go somewhere safer? Somewhere outside of Barazi?” She asked with another tilt.
Yefet looked up almost trying to hold back the tears collecting in his eyes. “Because my girl, I am 76 years old. I can’t make it very far without physical exhaustion. And most of all, I refuse to leave. I have lived in Barazi all my life – I am a Barakhaz.” He released the tears, though immediately attempted to hold them back. “I suppose I am simply waiting for my Shepherd to gather us and take us to a better place.”

Zarina hugged the old man, curled herself up in the wool blanket and drifted off to sleep. The talk of shepherds, the feeling of wool and the warm voice of the Rabbi made Zarina’s night better than she could’ve expected it to be.