The Tomb and the Angel
21st February, 2015
The tomb was just up ahead. The group of men piled in the Humvee whooped with delight that they had made it so far into enemy occupied territory without being shot at or otherwise hindered.
"Remember that our priority is to get Suleyman Shah's remains out of the tomb and then destroy it, so ISIL can't use it," said one of the men dressed in desert fatigues and weighed down with packs and a helmet.
"Get the remains and blow the place up, so those fuckers can't use it. Got it," replied a large, deeply tanned, muscular man with a grin.
"Berker, stop being a fucking smartass," the man who had given them the reminder said with a chiding tone, cementing his position as the unit's commanding officer.
"If I might die, I'm going in with a fucking laugh track," the large man countered, "I'm not taking any of you gloomy sons of bitches with me into the afterlife."
"Speaking like that, God isn't going to let you anywhere near him."
Berker shot the smaller man next to him a dirty look, which made the man grin, showing off his white teeth.
"Since when have you been so devout, Mehmed?"
"You could say I've become a better Muslim since starting training."
Berker barked a laugh and clapped Mehmed hard on his shoulder.
"A better Muslim?! Since when, brother?"
"You both need to shut the fuck up," the driver snapped over his shoulder, "Your fucking arguing is making it hard to steer this piece of shit."
"You can thank the fucking Americans for that one, my friend," said the youngest soldier, who appeared to be no more than twenty, "They apparently sent us their castoffs as a gesture of goodwill."
"Hey, does that look like a bump up ahead?"
"Boran, you should avoid it. It could be an IED."
"I'd like to see you try with the fucking steering on this bitch."
The commander rose from his seat and leaned around the front seat to assist in steering. But it was too late. The left front wheel of the Humvee hit the mound and there was a deafening roar as the vehicle was propelled upward into the air in flames.
Ruxandra bolted awake with a yelp before she could see all of the bloody carnage that was the aftermath of the explosion. Seeing the bloodied and burnt face as well as the blank staring eyes of the young soldier was enough to make her want to throw up and dissolve into a blubbering mess. She fumbled to turn on the light beside her bed and blindly grabbed for the small notebook and pen that she kept on the nightstand just for situations like this. She wrote down everything that she could remember in a shaky hand.
Suleyman Shah's tomb. Evacuate the remains. Destroy the tomb. Berker. Mehmed. Boran. IED in the middle of road. No survivors.
Ruxandra set down her pen and took a deep breath. She knew that she had to tell someone about what she had seen in her dream, but didn't know who to tell and how to not implicate herself as being involved with ISIL in the process. Damn her gift of foresight! She dug her fingers into her thick chestnut colored hair with a groan. She felt powerless. Saying anything would brand her as a possible terrorist or result in her being declared insane and since she was on a student visa, she'd end up being deported back to Romania either way. She flopped backwards on her bed with a sigh. Her father, a devout Muslim, had told her to pray for God's mercy in deciding matters that were out of her control. For the first time in over twelve years, for the first time since her father had left them, she resolved to go to the mosque and pray.
22nd February, 2015
Ruxandra kneeled with the women in a room of the Blue Mosque that was away from the main chamber where the men were currently kneeled in prayer. Her hair was covered with a red sequined scarf and she had made sure to wear a long sleeve shirt and jeans to cover the skin of her extremities to ensure that she wasn't barred from entering the mosque. As the voice of the imam was piped in through speakers, the women bowed in time, reciting the appropriate words. Ruxandra's tongue was clumsy as she fumbled the Arabic words in a muffled voice. Ruxandra could speak Romanian and Turkish fluently, but for some reason struggled with Arabic. Her father had identified Ruxandra's interest in religion and had tried to teach her how to recite from the Qu'ran in Arabic. He also quickly decided that Arabic was beyond her abilities at the time and had abandoned the pursuit. She couldn't help but smile at how he had ruffled her hair, lovingly called her "peanut," and sent her off to play with her older sister, Daciana. It had been over twelve years since she had seen her father. She prayed that he was alright and in good health in addition to praying for the soldiers she had seen in her dream.
21st February, 2015.
There was fire and blood everywhere. Charred and crumpled bodies lay scattered around the Humvee as his eyes stared up at the blue sky above him. His breath rattled as blood filled his lungs and he knew that he was dying. He had earned his PhD only to die completing his six months of compulsory military service. He heard a voice that was carried on the wind hit his ears that he had thought were completely deaf from the explosion.
"Oh Abraham would raise his hands and mourn this very day, for his children left the promised land in search of their own way."
He could see sandaled feet approaching him and white fabric blowing in the wind around a pair of legs as he realized that the voice was singing.
"They kick and scream like wayward sons, and always wanting to sleep, and dream away these evil days in hopes that God can't see."
A shadow blocked the sky above him, making his eyes struggle to adjust to the sudden dimness. Once his vision had focused, he saw the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life leaning over him. Her skin was fair and her pink lips were pulled into a sad smile as she looked down at him with hazel eyes. Her dark chestnut hair blew in the desert wind as she rested a gentle hand on his stubbled cheek.
"You can change this," she said softly, "It doesn't have to end this way."
"How?" he asked weakly.
"Warn them," the woman said, "If they still want to go home, they'll listen."
"They'll think that I'm crazy."
"The only thing crazy here is ISIL," she said with the same sad smile, "And that such an important tomb must be destroyed to avoid it being tainted by extremism."
"Who are you?"
"You can think of me as your guardian angel if you want, Mehmed. And I need you to do something for me."
The woman leaned down, so that her face was nearly touching his.
"Try not to die," she said before pressing her lips gently to his.
Her lips were warm and soft against his and he wished that he wasn't dying, so that he had the strength to run his fingers through her hair. She pulled away from his lips with his blood covering her mouth. The beautiful woman wiped the blood off with the back of her hand and gave him an encouraging smile.
"I know we'll meet again," she said with a degree of certainty in her voice, "I'll be waiting."
She rose to her feet, gave him one last smile, and turned her back to him to walk away. The wind pushed her hair aside and he saw a large Hand of Fatimah between her shoulder blades. He could hear her melodic voice being carried on the wind as she walked away.
"There are chains upon your children, Lord; chains upon your children. There are chains upon your children, Lord; chains upon your children."
She walked out into the desert looking like a ghost and soon Mehmed could no longer see her, but he could still faintly hear her voice in the distance.
"Do you hear the lion roar? Awake O Sleeper! Stand with me, we'll fight the war. Awake O Sleeper!"
Mehmed bolted awake in his seat in the Humvee and grabbed the arm of the large man sitting beside him.
"You okay, brother?" Berker asked.
Mehmed didn't answer and instead turned his attention to the stretch of dirt road before them. He could see the mound coming up in the distance and quickly grabbed the arm of the driver.
"Stop the vehicle," he said.
The driver complied once he saw the grave look in his comrade's dark eyes.
"Mehmed, what the fuck is going on?" Berker asked with an irritated edge to his voice, "You're freaking me out!"
"We need to find a different road to get to the tomb. There's an IED up ahead."
"How the fuck do you know that?"
"Don't ask me how I know, just trust me that I'm right."
"Maybe the heat's getting to you, scholar?" asked the commander.
"Just trust me if you want to go home alive."
Berker was quiet for a moment before finally speaking.
"I say we find a different way to the tomb. That little mound up there is suspicious as fuck and I'm not in the mood to die today, if that's alright with everyone."
The other men quickly agreed and Boran clumsily turned the Humvee around to look for a different road to take as Mehmed and their commander looked over maps to find a new route.
25th February, 2015
Ruxandra was sitting in one of the coffee houses near the university campus where she studied when she heard a news report come on the radio.
"We have just learned that on the 21st and 22nd of February, a group of Turkish soldiers successfully entered ISIL occupied Syria, evacuated the remains of Suleyman Shah, and destroyed the tomb to prevent the extremist organization from using it. Only one soldier was killed in combat and Prime Minister Ahmet Davutoglu has stated that a new tomb will be built on a later date."
Ruxandra let out the breath she unknowingly had been holding and smiled. Her prayer had worked! Perhaps God did listen after all.
"God is great," said an older man sitting nearby.
Ruxandra nodded her head in agreement.
"God is great," she replied.
Berker clapped Mehmed on the shoulder and shook him vigorously once they had reached Ankara and decided to stop at a coffeehouse for a break.
"Brother, how did you know about the IED?" he asked, "You've been quiet about it the whole time."
Mehmed shrugged a shoulder.
"Did God tell you something when you were asleep?"
"I guess," Mehmed answered over his close cropped hair, "We were rescuing the remains of Osman I's father."
"Gotta protect the legacy of the Empire, my friend," Berker agreed, "So how did God tell you about it?"
"I saw all of us die in an explosion in a dream."
"That can't be all," Berker probed, "You've been deep in thought ever since your dream."
Mehmed sighed and shook his head at his friend. He had wanted to keep the woman a secret, but it seemed like he wouldn't give up until Mehmed talked about her.
"I saw a woman."
"Was she hot?"
"Berker, can you focus for once?"
"I need to know, so I can visualize what you saw."
Mehmed rolled his eyes with a sigh.
"I guess you could say she was. She looked like one of those Christian angels."
"So dressed in white and all that?"
"Yeah. She had long dark brown hair, hazel eyes, and she was fair skinned."
Berker whistled lowly at the description.
"She'd make a good subject," he said, his brain immediately switching from looking to pick up women to turning her into a figure study for an art piece.
"She had a tattoo of the Hand of Fatimah between her shoulders," Mehmed added as he remembered her walking away from him.
Berker nodded his head as he pictured the woman in his mind.
"I'll have to sketch her out," he said more to himself, "I think I could make something around her."
"She told me that I could change our fates. That it didn't have to end that way."
"Well, whoever she was, she saved us."
Mehmed knew that it was irrational for him to want to see the woman again or to hope that she was an actual, living person. But he couldn't help it. Something about her called out to him and made his chest feel tight at how he seemed to know her, but didn't know how he did.
15th June, 2015
With his compulsory military service complete, Mehmed started to work on readying his dissertation for publication. He sat at his desk, concentrating intently on the electronic document on his laptop's screen and seemed unbothered by the swatting white paws of the longhaired white cat lounging on the desk next to his laptop. The cat slapped at the backspace key after he had selected multiple lines of text to reformat. And with that an entire paragraph over Ottoman and Balkan relations was gone. He swore and immediately trained his dark gaze on the cat.
"Ece, must you always be like this when I work?"
Ece made a sound that was a mixture of a purr and a meow in response to his question. The look in her blue and green eyes told him that yes; she was obligated as a feline to hinder his work in order to gain his attention. She was obviously much more important than a published article that would advance his career.
He had hit the undo button and reformatted the paragraph before he was interrupted by a knock on his door.
Berker was standing at the door to his apartment with a large folder underneath his muscular arm.
"Brother, your angel has kept me busy for a while," he said, "You have to see what I made out of her."
Mehmed invited his friend in and shut the door behind him.
"What possessed you to draw her if you hadn't even seen her?"
"I couldn't stop thinking about her after you described her to me. Usually the only way to get something out of my head is to draw it. She turned out to be quite the project."
Berker opened the folder and carefully pulled out a large and thick piece of paper before holding it out to Mehmed.
Mehmed was floored at how accurately Berker had portrayed the woman. The piece showed her from the waist up and her back was towards the viewer. She was looking over her shoulder with a small smile curving her full lips and her hazel eyes seemed to sparkle with life as she gazed at him. Her chestnut hair was swept over her shoulder with a few long strands escaping to fall down the side of her arm. He could see the faint line of her spine underneath her Hand of Fatimah tattoo that was exposed by the plunging back of her white dress. The straps of her dress had fallen from her shoulders and rested on her arms. Her skin seemed to glow with warmth and he felt the urge to touch her.
"It looks just like her," he finally said.
Berker grinned and folded his arms over his chest proudly.
"I'm glad that I did her justice. No wonder you were quiet after seeing her. She's drop-dead gorgeous."
"She's not real," Mehmed reminded both himself and his friend.
"You don't know that for certain," Berker chided, "Just keep an eye open and observe the world around you. You might be surprised."
"There's no way that she exists. She's too beautiful to exist in a world like this."
"Crazier shit has happened, brother. If she exists, what would you do?"
Mehmed honestly didn't know. He'd probably touch her to make sure that she was real and then kiss her pretty lips in gratitude for saving his life.
"I don't know," he finally said after a moment of silence.
"I say you should marry her."
"Berker, she doesn't exist."
"You don't know that for certain, Mehmed. You owe her a great debt if she does exist."
"I'm well aware of that," he replied with a sigh.
Berker turned to leave, taking his folder with him.
"I think you should keep her, brother," he said with a glance over his shoulder, "It seems she's looking out for you."
Mehmed thanked him for the art piece and bid him farewell.
He looked back at the piece lying on his coffee table and resolved to buy a frame to hang it on the wall in order to keep it safe from Ece's mischievous paws. Ece sniffed at the paper and batted at the edge before Mehmed shooed her away. The woman's gaze met his and he could hear the sound of her singing faintly in his mind.
"Do you hear the lion roar? Awake O Sleeper! Stand with me, we'll fight the war. Awake O Sleeper!"
Author's Note
I was salty about how Mehmed the Conqueror was portrayed in Dracula Untold, so I elected to make him into something more relatable. Also there is a lack of Mehmed/OC fic, so I'm contributing; hoakey premise be damned.