The campfire crackled softly, breathing in the silence of the night like a weary soul. Their makeshift camp in the heart of the forest promised a few fleeting hours of peace. The stars shimmered in the sky, but no one looked up.
Kasim stirred the fire with a thick branch, shifting the embers as if their glow mirrored his thoughts. Nearby, Cafer carefully trimmed slender twigs he had gathered from the forest, carving each into an arrow with meticulous precision. He was silent, focused, absorbed.
Viki sat close to Balibey—not resting her head on his shoulder, but her body language suggested she found some comfort in his presence. Next to Balibey sat Murat. His back was straight, but his eyes were fixed beyond the flames, locked onto the woman before them.
She was the mysterious stranger they had rescued from the town, now sitting tensely with trembling hands pressed against her knees and her head bowed.
Murat had remained silent for a long time. At last, he broke the stillness with a calm yet steady voice:
"If you've regained a little strength," he said—not judgmental, but not soft either—"can you tell us exactly what happened in the town? Why were they trying to execute you? According to the townsfolk… you're a witch."
At that word—witch—the woman flinched. Her shoulders shook, and she looked up, eyes wide with panic.
"No!" she cried, voice breaking. "God is my witness, I'm no witch! I… I'm a devout Christian. I swear it!"
Murat studied her eyes carefully. The fear was real. But he pressed on, his tone steady:
"Then what about the animals found in your home? Gutted, dissected. Were the townspeople lying?"
This time, she hesitated. It was clear the question struck a nerve. Her eyes narrowed and dropped to the ground. After a deep breath, she nodded and spoke:
"I… I'm actually a doctor. I was conducting research, trying to find cures for illnesses. Sometimes, I experimented on animals… yes. But I had to do it in secret. The Church forbids such things. So I kept it to myself. But… they caught me."
Murat fell silent, searching for any hint of deceit. He turned to Kasim, who nodded slightly. Then Murat looked back to the woman.
"Alright," he said at last. "For now… I believe you."
Relief softened the woman's face. Gratitude flickered in her eyes. She bowed her head toward Murat and spoke in a near whisper:
"Thank you… truly, for saving me. My name is Ellie. And if it's not too bold… may I ask the names of my rescuers?"
Murat smiled.
"A pleasure, Ellie. I'm Murat, a merchant from Morea. We're heading to Bologna, for a number of reasons."
The moment Ellie heard the word Turk, her pupils widened. She froze, her face twisting in fear.
"You… you're Turks?"
Murat nodded slightly. "Yes."
The woman immediately recoiled. She fell back onto her hands and began crawling away, eyes wide in terror.
"No… no! You—Turks eat people! Is that why you saved me? To eat me later?!"
There was a stunned pause—and then, laughter. Murat chuckled, Cafer laughed so hard he dropped his bow, Kasım lowered his head with an amused sigh, and even Viki couldn't help but smile.
Murat leaned toward Ellie, still smiling.
"So this is how they speak of us around here…"
Ellie still looked frightened, but Murat's voice turned serious.
"No, Ellie. We don't eat people. And we certainly don't burn women alive just because they have red hair."Murat said it in sarcastic way.
Ellie lowered her head in shame. Her voice, though wary, had softened.
"I'm sorry. I was… terrified. That's what they told us as children. That Turks serve the devil. I grew up hearing it. But now… I'm beginning to see it isn't true."
Murat nodded. His voice carried pride, but also a weary heaviness.
"Yes… they've called us many things. The devil, among others. But remember this: our sword is sharp against oppressors—yet blind to the innocent."
As the fire's sparks drifted upward, silence fell over the group. For the first time, Ellie's eyes reflected a glimmer of trust. But questions lingered in the air. Who was this woman, truly? And why would someone with such dangerous knowledge live in a remote rural town?
Those were questions for another night. For now, they were wrapped in a rare, warming quiet.
Murat noticed Ellie was still tense, still cautious. Her eyes darted around; her posture never fully relaxed. After a pause, he turned to her gently.
"Ellie," he said, firm but kind, "you're welcome to travel with us until we reach somewhere safe. We mean you no harm. If you accept, we will protect you."
She hesitated at the offer. Her eyes fell to the ground. Then slowly, she lifted her head and replied:
"I will accept… gratefully," she said, her voice trembling, but sincere.
Murat nodded. "Very well then. Everyone, get some rest. Tomorrow, we continue south—toward Bologna."
He looked around. "I'll take the first watch."
One by one, the group began to settle in. Some stretched out on blankets, others withdrew quietly into corners of the camp. Their faces were worn, but peaceful.
Just then, Balibey approached Murat, his expression serious.
"My lord… may I speak with you?"
Murat nodded, and they stepped a few paces away into the shadows of the forest.
Balibey lowered his voice.
"My lord… you know that Hadım Ibrahim Pasha, the Governor of Rumelia, was executed while still in charge. His seat is now vacant. Rumelia is the gateway to Anatolia—and to the capital. Is it wise to leave such a post unguarded? Shouldn't we send word to Istanbul?"
Murat paused, listening intently. Then he turned to Balibey.
"Your concern is valid, Balibey. But rest assured… my mother has already considered this. Her birds are everywhere. I have no doubt word has already reached her that Ibrahim Pasha has been absent from his post for some time."
Balibey, once again, found himself in awe of Kösem Sultan's reach—and Murat's foresight. Her wisdom was like an invisible web; her awareness, unmatched.
Murat placed a hand on Balibey's shoulder.
"Go rest now."
Balibey bowed silently and stepped away. Murat returned to the fire. The flames had dimmed, and calm had settled over the camp. Night draped over them like a dark cloak, and the moon stood above—silent and watchful.
Murat now sat alone by the fire. His thoughts weighed heavily on him. It wasn't fatigue—it was something else. A kind of awareness. A kind of surrender.
He spoke—not to anyone in particular, but as though whispering to his own soul:
"Betrayal everywhere… traps in every shadow. But they do not know—Allah is the best of plotters. And if we do not stray from our path… with His help, every trap shall be undone."
As the final sparks of the fire floated into the night, Murat closed his eyes, letting his spirit drift into thought and contemplation.
The night wore on. And perhaps the strongest weapon was not the sword—but unshakable faith.