Chapter 42: Chapter 41- The Cell

Camelia raise her eyelids but couldn't manage it.

Desperately trying to wake up from her deep slumber of confusion, her thoughts hazy, thinking she was waking from a intense nightmare, she moans in discomfort blinking several times. It took her longer than it should have to realize where she was.

Darkness surrounded her. A place that smelled of rats, mildew and waste. It was the smell that woke her.

Camelia's head ached as if she were hit with a baseball bat, and the throbbing in her neck stung.  Her whole body tender as though she received a good beating. A bout of nausea climbs up her throat as she tries to purse her lips together and stomp on her gag reflex.

However, something was placed around her mouth making her want to throw up even more.  When she moved to uncover her mouth she soon found her hands were bound as well as her legs with a rope so thick she felt it imprinting into her skin. Tears burned her eyelids as her fear and frustration mounted.

She fought to relax, feeling confined and chained still not understanding how she got there or where she was.  Trying to calm her racing heart to remember, she focused and gave up trying to move.

She'd been in a airplane–with Nathan Diam, bidding her a fair well with his cold stare before a syringe struck her neck.

She could tell she wasn't in a airplane anymore. She was on land, laying on a freezing stone floor, someplace void of light and sound.

Curling into a ball she fought the shivers violently wracking her body. Sweat coated her skin, shuddering from the dampness, the extreme cold and some foreign narcotic.

What had they given her?

Camelia closed her eyes and in the next instant an image of Gloriana floods her mind. She was there. Her own flesh and blood in league with one of the most dangerous men on this earth.

Damn her, she thought.

As some point Camelia slipped into unconsciousness. She awoke again some time later but succumbed once again and passed out. Door hinges creaked, waking her.

Disoriented, she glanced around blindly, sensing the haze holding her down slowly lifting.  She tried to sit up with difficulty.

Then it dawned on her, her hands and legs were bound tightly. Her mouth was so dry she tried to swallow only to realize it was muffled by a handkerchief tied tightly between her lips and behind her head silencing any protests.

A bout of nausea hit her hard as her gag reflex kicked in, again.  Her stomach flipped, having nothing inside of it to exit.  Her eyes watered, her skin heated as she wretched violently.  Taking deep labored breaths through her nose, Camelia tried to fight a wave of dizziness.

A small slit of light entered the dark room.

She quickly squeezed her shutting eyes shut, feeling as though sharp needles pierced them.  Peeling her eyes open, she squinted, her heart pounded with fear as a small shadow of a man in strange robes enters the cell and approaches her.

Producing a set of keys from his clothing. It jiggles as he slides a key into the lock on the cage. Only then Camelia realized she was put in a cramped cell—the very same ones used to trap animals.

The man opens the small door pulling her by the legs and wrenching her roughly off the floor and slid down the gag passed her lips.

A cup of water pressed against her lips rather roughly.  Camelia stayed silent, keeping the questions she yearned to ask to herself and drank greedily.  The man mumbles something intangible, missing the meaning of his words but caught the impatience in his tone.

"Who are you?"  She asked hoarsely once she satisfied her thirst.

He doesn't answer.

"What is this place?"  She stayed calm trying to reign in her rising temper and show no fear.

The man only shook his head trying to gag her once again.  Camelia strained her neck fighting him, pushing his chest with her cuffed hands.

This only angers her captor.

"Why are you keeping me here?"  She bursts out before he managed to force the gag back in place and tied the knot tighter, chafing the corners of her mouth.  Then he shoved her back hard, sending her to fall back to the floor of the prison.

She lands violently on her side, a burst of pain radiating throughout her body.  She fought the quick tingling of tears and managed to withhold them, knowing her best chance for escape required her to have a stable unemotional mind.

As Camelia watched the stranger leave her cell, she forced herself to take deep breaths through her nose, disgusted by the dirty clothed gag.  It aided her from insulting and swearing at the impatient man who would have snapped and done something worse to her.

She studied the ceiling and noticed the thin veil of moonlight shinning through a high square window covered in black iron bars.

The sounds of scraping deter her attention.  She jerks her head to the left only to watch rats scampering along the corners to find food.  Her body's first response was to strain against the tight bounds as if her strength would miraculously pull them apart.

Camelia gives up with an involuntary, disgusted shudder and scoots her bound body as far away as possible.

Once the rats catch her movements they freeze, their red eyes glowing in the darkness. They squirm and scatter in different directions to her relief.

Camelia was faced with one obvious fact: to find an escape would be difficult.

She didn't know where she was, or who had her or, what they were going to do to her.  Her gaze wanders back to the thick metal door of the cage and suddenly gets an idea.

She scoots toward it, lifted her legs, straining her abdominal muscles and kicked again and again, several times until her muscles protested. However her effort only dented the metal.

Even if she managed to break the small door open, it was chained with a lock.

It was no use trying.

Camelia rested her head on the cold stone floor, wishing Stefan was with her, to comfort her, to take her away from here.  Closing her eyes, she pictured his face in vivid detail.  She could clearly recall the smell of him, the feel of him.

Then it was gone, and she was left alone in her small cell.

Camelia fought back the tears burning her eyes and closed her eyes in silent prayer and waited for a miracle.

*******

She could see the gigantic structure passed the dark windows of the van.  She studied the arched doorways, arched windows, and high pillars.  As the car drew close, her gaze caught sight of two people waiting in dark robes and turbans.

Camelia was hauled by the arms by the men who transported her and offered to the men in robes.  One of them clapped his hands together and shouted something she couldn't quiet make out, too worried about what they were going to do to her next.  Two women wearing silk with only their hands and eyes visible approach and collect her as if leading a fearful child in need of doting.

They shuffle her across a cobbled courtyard, with high walls and marbled stairs.  Their dark eyes held wonder as they hurried her along a hallway, passed a high arch decorated in gold carvings.  One of the women clap her hands together much the same as the man from earlier and she came face to face with a huge room full of chattering women sitting on elegant couches and mats.

The many women rise and come towards her as ordered.

Camelia backs away instinctively as they come forward to touch her tangled hair and dirt smudged face as if they never came across someone so foreign, different than them.

By force, she was ushered and firmly led to the edge of a large pool of water lined with painted tiles.  In the next instant, she felt her clothes being removed.  The impulse to fight back and rebel sprang into her mind but she thought against it.  If she fought back it would be of no use.  Dozens of women surrounding her and she could only imagine what they would do or who they would call for to subdue her.

With no other choice, she swallowed her embarrassment and pride allowing them to rid her of her dusty, dirty clothing without a word.  Gesturing with their hands they indicated she step into the pool.  Camelia covered her exposed breasts with one arm and the other over the V of her private as if it would help her sustain some semblance of modesty.

The water warm full of scented red and pink rose petals floated on the surface as she waded into the steamy rich scented aroma and allowed herself to submerge every inch of her body but her head.  Some of the ladies discard their robes and enter the tiled pool holding loafs and pink round bars of soap.

Camelia held her breath watching them with distrusting eyes.  But all they did was smile and lifted their arms to begin gently scrubbing her body with loofas.  Other women entered and began washing her hair with a gardenia scented shampoo.  It was rinsed and washed again until it shone brightly to their standards.  Once she was completely clean she was half led, nearly carried from the pool and dried with the softest towels she had ever felt.

They then laid her face down on a couch covered in white silk.  The tangles in her hair were combed as another person began massaging perfumed oil into her skin.   The knots and the stiffness in her muscles were kneaded from her shoulders and back.  But try as they may, she was stiff and couldn't allow herself to relax.

Once they were satisfied she was fully clean and prepared they cover her with a silk blanket.  It wasn't until they left, she felt her heavy eyelids droop, forcing her to succumb into a peaceful rest.  The exotic music playing in the background lulled her senses but she refused to sleep.  She raised her head slightly and scanned her surroundings.

Women were still in the pool splashing in the warm water and chattering continuously amongst themselves. It was more than evident to her she was in a harem.  Their customs and rituals were obvious.  They were preparing her as would a slave readied to be presented for a man's pleasures.

She shudders delicately and rises mindful of the blanket, pulling it up over her chest.  She had to find a way out before she was taken to the ruler of the establishment.

A lady wearing a robe made of the finest silk comes to stand before the couch.  The heavily detailed flowers along the sleeves, bodice and hem enriched with gold.  She smiles gently at her.  A artful henna tattoo was delicately traced into the skin of her hands.  It was artistically beautiful, drawing Camelia's gaze.  The woman's hair was brown and her eyes a gentle blue.

Camelia felt a pang in her heart.  The color nearly matched the contacts Stefan wore as her bodyguard.  The urge to cover her face with her hands and weep her misfortune was becoming difficult.  But she stayed as still as the many pillars standing silently in the corners.

"You are very beautiful."  She says.  Smoothing Camelia's damp hair back from her face.  "So pretty and so far away from home."

Camelia's eyes went wide and her jaw nearly dropped open.  Hope flittered into her heart. She was the first person she came across who spoke clear English.

"I am Nora."  She continues.  "I am one of the Sultan's favorites."

Sultan?

Camelia gulps heavily and she feels herself pale.

It felt like she stepped into a time warp. Harems?  Sultans? The only time she had seen such things were in movies.

"It appears you will be a favorite as well."  She went on.  "I have been given orders to see to your preparation for tonight.  Perhaps you will be asked to dance for His Excellency....and possibly share his bed."

Camelia bolts upright so fast Nora steps back and it wasn't until then did she notice the woman was pregnant.

"I'm not sharing a bed with anybody!"  Camelia replies fiercely.  "I will be leaving soon."

Nora did a once over, assessing Camelia with a pitying stare.  "What His Excellency wants, His Excellency gets.   Unfortunately, you will have no choice.  For if you do not go willingly, you shall be forced.  This is the way of it here."

What she meant is she will be raped if she did not cooperate.  The dread filled her insides.

"I'd rather die." Camelia says with clenched teeth.

Nora shook her head and made a tsk sound.  "This is paradise on earth.  You will be pampered with silk and gold.  You will have all the luxuries of the world at the tip your fingers.  The Master is not a bad man if he's treated properly."

"I was abducted by monsters and sold to a harem?"  Camelia declares in exasperation.  "Are all the women here slaves to your Master?"  She asks.  The lady was not from there, Camelia could tell.  The English she spoke was the biggest indicator.  Was she too once taken as a slave?

"You will be happy here as all of us are."  She starts in a detached tone.

It only confirmed her suspicions.  They were forced to become slaves to their Master at one point in time.

"I have my own apartment with a servant.  I have all the finest foods and clothing money could buy.  His Excellency is incredibly handsome and knows how to pleasure a lady if she allows it."  Nora blushes.  "But if you fight him you shall be executed."

Camelia clenches her palms tightly, feeling her fingernails dig into the skin, most likely leaving crescent moons.  The only man she wanted touching her was Stefan.

"You must be hungry.  A full stomach will help you think clearly."  Nora states, and with a quick clap a servant hurries over to obey the command.  The rumble of her stomach was loud to her ears.  She hadn't eaten for over a day.

Once she concluded giving her orders, Nora sits beside her.   "Now tell me how were you taken?"

Crossing her arms across her chest Camelia explained everything she knew about the monster who tortured her for nearly a year, and to finally catching her and abducting her forcefully.

Nora barely reacted to the story. "You were an American then?"

"I am an American." Camelia corrected. "I am going back."

Nora pats her hand as if to say, yes, yes, keep dreaming. Soon the reality will set in and your fantasy will fade...

Soon after, the servant girl returns wearing much of the same garb but simpler and plainer, carrying a polished silver tray loaded with cheese, olives, pita bread, dried dates and fig, a assortment of salted nuts and what looked like pistachio flavored gelato ice cream. The girl sets the tray on a nearby table and scoots it forward just before Camelia's knees.

"This is Turkish coffee." Nora begins, reaching for the small dish and a smaller round cup of steaming brown coffee.

The distinct smell of cardamom floated towards her nose. Camelia was more than familiar with it. Growing up in her parent's home it was a delicacy to have the drink on numerous occasion. A richly flavored coffee and nothing compared to the ordinary caffeinated drink.

Camelia's gaze travels around the room, tables held trays of finished coffee and empty cezve. The small cups were turned over into the saucer to cool while they allowed the left over grounds to dry. Superstitiously, it was said the coffee grounds were used for a method of fortune telling. The patterns left by the drying grounds allowed whoever was reading the fortune an insight of what lays ahead for one's future.

Camelia and her family rarely did it. Her grandmother Charlotte would sometimes entertain her grandchildren and pretend to see what was hidden inside their fortunate futures.

"I know what this is. I am part Lebanese from my mother's side." Taking the drink from her hands.

Nora's eyebrows rise in slight surprise. "That would explain your coloring."

Camelia shook her head. "No. My mother is fair and a very light haired woman. Not all foreigners are darkly colored. It's only a naive stereotype for those that know nothing and make assumptions based on minimal knowledge." Camelia corrects her again, irritated by such narrow mindedness. "I get my coloring from my father. He's from England."

Nora stayed silent at her retort watching Camelia reach for the food and slowly consume from the varieties before her. Nora was right, she was hungry, feeling the nourishment flooding her bloodstream. Her previous outlook before she entered the harem, now looked substantially different. She was certain there had to be a way out and she would somehow make it back home.

Once she satisfied her hunger, a servant came forward holding a golden robe made of the same delicate material the other high ranking women in the harem wore. Gratefully, Camelia put it on right away feeling much better for covering her nudity and preserve what little modesty she could and slipped her feet into clothed, pointed tipped flats. Those too were gold. They appeared to look the same as the ones the many characters wore in the Disney movie Aladdin.

If only she had a genie in a lamp and was able to use one of her three wishes to leave the godforsaken country she was placed in. But this was no fantasy. It was real. Things people read or watch in movies was a true reality for her. She swore if she ever made it back she'd never ask for more excitement to her boring normal life ever again.

"Come I will show you our quarters. These are the baths we are in, of course. It's called the hamam." Pointing out the other pools lining all around the large one she used. Camelia was too shocked, scared and dazed to notice when she first entered. The pools came in all different sizes and lined with richly painted tiles.

There were couches everywhere as Camelia soaked in her surroundings. Thick cushions were spread on the marble floor. Dozens of women watch them pass in curiosity as Nora leads her around the harem.

"It's quite a luxury for us to bath daily unlike many American and European customs." Nora states as they walk under another archway, entering a huge room. "These are the salons. We gather here for games, socializing, sewing and entertainment that is arranged for us."

The walls were as grand as a great room in a English castle. Beautiful tapestries hung from the towering walls. Arched windows of stained glass allowed a multitude of colors to flood the room. There were women lounging on beautiful couches, legs propped up or stretched before them. They appeared to Camelia like a cluster of lazy high school girls who had nothing better to do than laugh and gossip about the latest gossip.

After the salon, Nora leads her to the spacious courtyard she had entered hours upon her arrival.

More women sat on benches, knitting or softly socializing.  Torches were lit all around the grounds to provide light. It was obvious to Camelia they did not adapt their ways to all modern life's provided luxuries. The inside of the palace was lit with electricity but the source of light for the outdoors, especially the hallways, were gas burned.

It reminded Camelia of Hawaii. When the sun went down and sunset loomed over the horizon, tiki torches were lit all round walkways providing light for tourists. The ones she'd witnessed were much the same. The air was tropical, the breeze warm, the hints of the nearby sea dousing the air.

Nora sits on a bench with one hand over her protruding belly and pats the empty space beside her. With a sigh Camelia takes her offer and slides in next to her.

"Where are we?" Camelia asks after a long stretch of silence.

"You mean this land?"

Camelia nods.

"We are on a small island off the coast of Turkey. Many do not know of it's existence. I am prohibited from telling you the name but I can tell you it's called the Secret City. Mostly merchants and natives know of it. To this day it's the only country that still uses original historical customs."

"That would explain the harems and you calling the King a Sultan. That term isn't used anymore." Camelia replies, clasping her hands together. "It would also explain why girls are abducted and taken into slavery for sex." She added bitterly.

"You must obey the laws here or you will be severely punished, sold, traded or given as a gift to some rich aristocrat of the country." Nora advised. "It's an honor to be in the presence of the Sultan. Not everybody will be invited to share his quarters and bare his children." Both hands stroke her swelling belly and Camelia's gaze couldn't help but gulp back the food threatening to rise back up her throat.

Nora had been brain washed, it was the only explanation she could think of. Taught to do nothing but spread her legs at the beck and call of the mighty Sultan and pop children out the same way they entered.

It was harsh but a reality.

"At the end of the day you are nothing but a slave." Camelia points out.

"But so are you." Nora says in a even tone.

"How is it you were brought here?  You could not have been born here?" Camelia asks despite the chill running down her spine at her words. From the looks of how she acted, Nora was a prisoner there for a very long time. Judging by her appearance she looked to be in her thirties.

Nora lifts a draped shoulder and sighs.  "My name once was Alexandra.   I was in the airport with my friends.  You see, I was sent by my parents to a special boarding school from England to France.   There were people everywhere, men, women, so many different people, I cannot remember one face.  I was separated from my friends outside the airport while locating the school bus which was to transport us.   Needless to say I was captured. The rest you can imagine without explanation."

"H-how old were you?"  Camelia's throat constricted with sympathy.

"I was fifteen."  Nora answered in a tone which held no bitterness or fright.  It sounded as though things like that happened every day.

"You must have been scared out of your mind, especially with being so young."

"It is true I was frightened...but I have since accustomed myself to enjoy the luxuries this lifestyle has to offer me and now my child very soon."  Nora smiles affectionately patting her belly with her hennaed hands.  "I hope to give my Master a boy to honor him and after that day comes I will be deemed worthy to be one of his many wives."

Camelia was hardly comfortable with her words and clenched her fingers in her palms.

Wife.

She definitely was not looking forward to baring any children anytime soon.  Maybe if she pleaded her case, explained to the Sultan what a mistake it was she was here, maybe he'd let her go?

******

They dressed her in dancers clothing.  A heavily detailed bra with loose beads hanging from the cups formed like a necklace over her abdomen.  They matched the top with a embellished blue panty.  One of the women wove tiny pink flowers through her hair as she braided it, allowing it to loop around her neck, passed her shoulder.  Kohl was applied to her eyes and lips colored with pink lipstick.

One of the higher servants come forward to collect her.  He was a big man with humongous muscles and a dark black beard with curled whiskers.  The pit of Camelia's stomach plummeted.  Tears brimmed her eyes.  They were tears of despair, fear and frustration.  Everything was happening too fast and completely unexpected.  Not even her vivid imagination could conjure up such things.

She might as well stop deluding herself, nobody was coming to rescue her nor would she be able to leave on her own.   The palace was heavily secured with soldiers.  She would probably never see her family ever again.

Her heart began to pound.  They walked down a wide hallway.  The floors covered with polished marble the color of sand.  Gold pillars stood a few feet apart across either side, while sconces resembling torches, light the darkness between each one.

They reach a set of gold doors where two guards stood impassively.  They wore swords, brown gladiator saddles and draped knee high togas, like ancient Greeks from long ago.  The guards opened the doors and Camelia took a deep breath.

The large, vaulted room was filled with people, cushions, rugs, and a array of trays holding cheeses, fruits of every variety and exotic food.  She looked around slowly at the women who were chatting and laughing.

It was like looking inside a genie lamp full of ladies waiting to be summoned by their next master.

The King was seated upon the dais, on a thick cushion covered in red velvet looking like the king he was in thick luxurious robes as dancers circled him in revealing clothes and small anklets with bells tied to their ankles.   There was no music present but the sound of the bells as they whirled around their King like colorful birds.

The Sultan's dark eyes narrow on her as if she were a rare piece of gold.  Sudden interest lit his black eyes.  The Sultan appeared ruthless and his taste of power evident by his black obsidian eyes.  The white turban he wore greatly reflected off his tan skin.  A small smile curls the side of his face.

He was handsome just like Nora said he would be.

"Come."  He said in heavy accented English.

Camelia's eyes widened in shock.  He spoke English.

The man who led her inside pushed her roughly towards his master.  She glanced and back and gave him a glare before redirecting her eyes on the King.  Nonetheless, without having a choice she takes a few steps forward.  Her mind raced with thousands of questions to ask him but the look in his eyes stopped her.

There was a subtle hint of a threat in his pitch black gaze.

"Turn around so I may look at you."  He commands.

She stiffens for a second and hesitantly makes a circle in front of him, her cheeks burning with embarrassment.  It took everything in her not to crumble to the floor.

"Your name?" He asks.

Camelia raised her chin.  "Camelia."  She replied, having no intention of giving her last name.  She braced herself to defend her virtue, her heart racing against her ribcage.

"Camelia."  He repeated, as though tasting the name and is assisted as he stands by two bare chested guards flanking him.   He strides leisurely, inching nearer, finally closing in on her and stops.  "Beautiful." He purrs appraisingly.

Camelia began to feel dizzy, starting to breathe at a abnormally rapid rate. The Sultan eyed her rising chest hungrily, lifting bejeweled fingers and pausing above her breasts. Her eyes narrowed fractionally following the tip of his extended index finger which boldly traced over her pouring cleavage.

The unthinkable was about to happen, she thought, her mind racing.  He meant to rape her.  She could not bare the thought.  Camelia's heart raced fast, standing still, bracing herself wanting to fight but knowing it was no use.

She was outnumbered and would probably die trying.

Camelia wavered, staggering.  Before she knew it, her eyes rolled to the back of head and her body started free falling.

The last thing her vision caught before blacking out was the shining, gold polished rings wrapped around every single one of the Sultan's thick fingers.

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-Shaz