Free The Ghosts of Anatolia by Steven E. Wilson

of it. We’ve stayed here on the farm the past two weeks to stay clear of trouble.”
    “So you haven’t heard the worst news of all. Russia declared war on the Ottoman Empire.”
    Mourad’s expression melted into dismay. “Dear God,” he muttered. “Our worst fears have come to pass. How did the people in Bitlis react to this news?”
    “Some people were jubilant, but everyone else seemed stunned. Then alarming rumors began to sweep the city.”
    “What kind of rumors?”
    “Rumors that some Armenians left to join the Russian forces in the east or that those who stayed were spying for the Russians. It felt as if the city would erupt into chaos at any moment.”
    Mourad shook his head and let out a long sigh. “Did you see any Armenian soldiers among the Ottoman forces you passed on the road?”
    “There were hundreds on the road to Bitlis. Many of them didn’t have uniforms or even a gun, but that’s also true of many of the Turks. I kept an eye out for Alek, but, unfortunately, I didn’t see him. You still haven’t heard from him?”
    “No, nothing, and Kristina gets more frantic with every passing day. Please don’t mention the news about Russia. Let me break it to her gently.”
    “I won’t say a word.”
    The farmhouse door opened and Kristina herded the younger children outside.
    Özker broke free from his father’s grasp and ran headlong across the barnyard. “Sirak, you’re walking!” he called out gleefully. “It’s wonderful to see you.”
    “I’m so happy to see you, too. Papa promised to take me to visit you soon.”
    “I’ve been so worried about you. Can you ride?”
    “I can’t ride fast like I did before, but I can ride with Papa’s help.”
    “Allah is great. My mama and I prayed for you every day.”
    Sirak smiled. “Thank you. My mama says I’m a living miracle.”
    “Guess what? We’re going to Diyarbekir, too. Can I ride in your wagon?”
    “Can he, Papa?” Sirak pleaded.
    “Of course. We’ve decided to travel together.” Mourad lifted the boys into the wagon. Then he helped Kristina and his daughters.
    Kemal led his horse to the barn and reappeared a moment later. “Are Stepannos and Mikael coming?”
    “They’re at school in Chunkoush,” Mourad replied. “It’s their first day back since Sirak got bitten.”
    Kemal’s eyes widened with surprise. “The schools in Chunkoush are still open?”
    “The American School is—at least for now. According to Vache, the others closed. We’re taking things one day at a time.”
    “We’re all taking things one day at a time,” Kemal said solemnly. He climbed up on the wagon.
    Mourad jumped into the driver’s seat, and flicking the reins, gave the mule a shout. The wagon eased away from the barn and rattled slowly down the narrow trail to the main road.
    The wagon bumped along a dirt road through the arid countryside, and traveled for nearly an hour before crossing a Roman bridge spanning a tributary of the Tigris River. They rounded a sweeping turn and the ominous basalt ramparts of the ancient city Diyarbekir sprang into view. The black stone walls and intimidating watchtowers soared above the surrounding countryside and lent the city a forbidding, medieval air.
    Sirak’s eyes were drawn to the detailed inscriptions and strange, animal-like statuettes on the façade of the nearest tower. Spotting an armed sentry atop the nearest watchtower, he squeezed Özker’s hand. The two boys locked eyes for a moment before peering back up at the soaring gate.
    Kristina wrapped her arm around Izabella and steadied herself against a sudden jolt when the wagon bumped through a muddy gully.
    Falling in line behind a caravan of donkeys, Mourad headed for the open eastern gate. Armed soldiers were posted on either side. They took no more than fleeting notice of the scores of travelers entering the ancient city.
    The wagon passed through the gate and Sirak’s senses were assaulted by clatter and stench. The noise rose from