Rumi Calendar 1314A.H. (Gregorian Calendar 1898)
“You son of a Northern Mongrel, how dare you get higher than me,” yelled prince Rashid as he and his brothers pushed the young Altan to the ground.
For his part, Altan was used to such treatment. This was the palace school where the most talented prince was supposed to be chosen as heir to the great Ottoman Empire, but despite what the history books say, those days have long since passed. Now, the only people who had “talent” were those whose mother was most influential. Even at only eight years old, Altan knew this to be fact. He clenched his tiny fists at the knowledge that each time Liwa or General Huseyin came to check on the progress of the princes, he was always mysteriously called away. He doubted that Liwa Huseyin even knew that he existed because of his brothers’ foul play.
“Are you going to say anything you mongrel,” asked Altan’s pudgy brother.
Really, it was no wonder that Altan did better than all of them. He had always had a strong body and a quick mind, even as a child, and worked hard to make up for his mother’s lack of position. Not that he was stupid enough to say anything. After all, he did have his mother to worry about and the last thing he needed was a kadinefendi or official wife causing trouble for him and his mother because she was only a hanımefendi or consort. Altan’s mother wasn’t even ranked among the İkbâls or Gözdes so she held no power even though Altan was just as much of a son of the sultan as them.
One of his other brothers added, “Say something mongrel,” but Altan only stared at them with clear golden eyes that stuck out against his olive-toned skin.
And as always when he refused to give into the temptation of fighting back, Rashid pulled back one of his pudgy fists and made to strike Altan.
“Prince Rashid, what is the meaning of this,” boomed a strong voice that halted Rashid’s fat fist in its place.
For once, Altan looked up in curiosity at this strange man who didn’t fear the wrath of a kadinefendi. Unlike the skinny instructors and half-bored fighting masters, this man looked like the embodiment of everything an Ottoman should be. He was dressed in the uniform of a janissary with military clothes of black boots, faded red parachute pants, long sleeved green tunic, gold sash, white hat, known as a börk, and sword and musket at his side. His hair was a deep black and his eyes were a strong brown. His hands were also those who had seen hardship just as Altan’s mother had taught him to look for.
“L-l-liwa Hus-s-seyin w-w-what are y-y-you doing h-here,” nervously asked Prince Rashid.
Now this was interesting. It was the first time that Altan had ever seen such an expression come across his bully of a half-brother and what’s more was that it was because of the man that they were trying to separate him from so that they never met.
“When you have a chance take it and never let your heart falter no matter what they do to you,” whispered Altan’s mother’s voice into his head.
At this memory, he smiled to himself and got up with a dignity that no other eight-year-old could ever hope to match.
He then stood up as straight as his tiny body could and without breaking eye contact, let his once small voice boom, “Greetings, Liwa Huseyin! I am Prince Altan of the House of Osman and a prince of the great Ottoman Empire!”
For his part, the general was in shock. He had all but given up on this generation because of how lazy and talentless the lot of them were, but this tiny prince, whom he had never met, was able to command his complete attention in but a moment. It was the first time he had been in complete awe of a child and the general who had been known for his cold and stoic nature smiled at the thought of what this child could do under the proper guidance once he reached manhood. But still, it was odd that he had never seen such a remarkable child before.
“Young prince, why is it that I have never seen nor heard of you before today although you have surely existed for at least seven or eight years,” asked the general.
“Liwa Huseyin, I have long since wanted to meet you, but alas have been called away to perform different duties and does not the Holy Quran say, ‘For indeed, with hardship will be ease.’”
“You can recite the Holy Quran,” asked the general in amazement.
“I could recite it in its entirety since I was six,” replied the young Altan.
Not only is he charismatic, but he has Allah in his heart and the intelligence to be able to comprehend the surahs at such a young age, thought the general.
Again the general was puzzled. Never in his wildest dreams did he believe he could come across such a talented boy, even if he was the son of the sultan. Why hadn’t he ever seen him? And although the boy had a way with words, Huseyin had been involved in politics for too long to believe that there wasn’t some hidden reason behind the boy’s words.
“L-liwa, he is only a concubine’s son of no importance,” interjected Prince Rashid.
Oh, I understand now, thought the general to himself.
Outwardly, he said, “I see. I had only come to check on your highness’ progress under his majesty’s orders. Altan was it, why don’t you head home now while I deal with the princes.”
Altan was crushed. He was sure he saw a smile grace the general’s face at his replies, yet why was he being dismissed so easily? And what’s more it was in favor of his stupid brothers! Of course, he knew better than to reveal his emotions.
“Of course, Liwa Huseyin,” replied the young boy before he grabbed his fallen school bag and made his way back into the room he shared with his mother inside the Imperial Harem.
“Altan,” cried Altan’s mother at his dirty appearance.
Instead of going straight home, he had decided to wander around in anger and got into a fight with some of the other students at the madrasa.
His clothes were rumpled and dirty from the scuffle he had and judging by the stinging in his face, he had some scratches too.
“Valida, it’s only some dirt,” replied Altan.
He then walked through the lavish room. Even if she had fallen out of favor with the sultan, she had still given birth to a son and thus was still allowed some luxuries. One of which being this room. Another being Hilda, his mother’s maid that had come with her from the North and she had appointed as her personal maid back when she was still in favor with Altan’s father.
“Tsk. It was probably that jealous bitch’s brat: Rashid,” commented Hilda.
“Hilda! You can’t speak like that,” whispered Esen harshly before her eyes darted around the room nervously.
“Altan. I named you after the red dawn not only for your hair, but also so that you may shield your heart in a wall of flame. Promise me that you won’t lose heart,” said Esen as she got down to eye level to speak to her son.
“I promise,” replied Altan.
“Relax you two. Esen, you’re a thousand times more beautiful and Altan a million times more talented, but both of you are forgotten here. I doubt the sultan himself remembers the beautiful fiery haired Esen and her clever son thanks to that old witch,” commented Hilda.
“So it would seem,” commented a very male voice from the doorway.
All three stood in shock at this newcomer, but of them, none was more surprised than young Altan for standing there was none other than Liwa Huseyin himself and with him, a young fair-haired boy about Altan’s age.
“Relax ladies, I come with a message from the sultan himself,” said Liwa Huseyin with an envelope in his hand.
He then cleared his throat and read,
“To my son who has caught this stubborn general’s eye, I hereby grant Liwa Huseyin permission to enter the Imperial Harem with the condition of only being there to tutor this son of mine. I will not know who this child is until such a time that Liwa Huseyin deems fit. Until then, I give you this chance to prove yourself as a potential heir to this great empire of ours.”
The general then handed the letter to Esan.
Scanning the letter multiple times, she said, “Yes. I recognize this script. It is definitely the Sultan Abdülhamid’s. But who is the boy?”
“Every great leader needs a right hand man. I just picked him up from the last tribute and believe that he will suit the young prince quite nicely. You will train together and be as each other sides as if you are brothers,” replied Liwa Huseyin.
Altan walked up to the boy and asked, “What’s your name?”
“I don’t have one,” answered the boy in badly accented Turkish.
“I believe it is your place to name him young prince,” interjected Liwa Huseyin.
“…Then you are Göker. ‘gök’ for ‘sky’ because of your blue eyes and ‘er’ for ‘brave man’ because I need a brave man at my side,” said Altan to the other boy.
“Göker. I am Göker,” said the young boy as he took the young prince’s hand in friendship.
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