Shrouded: A Short Story

By J.L. Shojosh

Aisha, an orphaned youth from the streets of Baghdad, during the Middle Ages, seeks to raise herself from the poverty and squalor that surrounds her. Fleeing her unknown past, and her petty life of crime, the young Persian ventures off to Egypt, where she’s approached by a man who claimed to belong to a secret sect of assassins. After the convenience of free food and shelter ceded importance to the heaviness of the dark acts being asked of her, Aisha tries to escape The Order of the Hashashin. But Aisha’s story was more intertwined with The Order’s than was apparent. Will Aisha gain the freedom and life that she dreams of, and will the truth about her past shed some light and offer liberation, or will it engendered more confusion and further entrap her?

• Language: English
• Publisher: J.L. Shojosh
• Release date: Nov 18, 2020
• ISBN: 9781005433642

J.L. Shojosh

I hope to show the universal humanity inherent in all of us. There's more that we as humans have in common with one another than the differences that sometimes pit us against each other. Through stories, I hope to highlight a few of those commonalities. Love conquers all.

Book preview

Prologue

A sandstorm wreaked havoc. The suffocating, blinding and tumultuous atmosphere was exactly the kind of scene that best suited the opportunistic pickpockets of Baghdad. The central market, teeming with spices from the South, and all manner of local crafts, and textiles from Lebanon, out west, was a melting pot that allowed the most slithery of folk to fester, and linger and lurk in the shadows. Thus, as the packed street of people held onto their scarves and robes, riding out the briskly swirling sandstorm, a scrawny figure, if watched closely enough, could be seen sneaking up from behind its prey.

The shrouded figure in black fabrics seemed impervious to the battering effects of the sand, which surely sipped into the darkly cloaked character’s eyes, if not violently.

From behind, a bony arm did swift work of untying the jingling coin purses from many an unsuspecting Iberian and Egyptian tourist. Four purses were swiped this manner, and a fifth was in the cards, when a merchant had spotted the crooked figure’s attempts, only to then rebuke the oblivious victim.

Fool! Your purse flees you! The old man’s coarse words were like a dagger to the mugger’s heart.

Hey! The large bellied traveler instantly bemoaned. In a burst of panic, he’d gripped his purse, only noting the flailing black garb of a scurrying mugger, slipping through the buzzing midday market crowd.

Someone…! Halt that thief! The Iberian traveler finally yelled, though in a strange enough accent as to cause no reaction from the dully staring merchants and ambled chatting locals.

At this point, the dust was clearing up enough to have folks loosening the grip on their face scarves.

Bah!! The tourist lamented, noting that, though his purse still clung to his hip, he looked more and more the dunce, standing there, out in the open street.

***

Several yards out, the running figure in black clothing came to a panting stop. There was an alleyway, which led to nowhere respectable, as dingy and as damp as it was. Looking to see that no one paid any mind to the panting and knee clasping escapades, clearly guilty of some crime, the dark figure now calmly ebbed its way through the dank and muddy alley.

What you got there?! A grim jawed character seemingly came out of nowhere. It was just as the dark-robed thief had reached the end of the thin, smelly alley. The pickpocket, a change of events, was the one to be ruffled, gripped and smothered about, as the large grim fellow performed a full body search on the scrawny figure.

Unhand me, Ruga! A shrill voice. A woman’s, nay, a girl’s voice, had finally barked out to the bafflement of the monster.

Instantly, the dark shroud was slipped back, revealing a young girl, no older than fourteen.

That’s all that I managed to get. She’d insisted, throwing a brown flannel pouch up against the towering monster’s rocky chest.

Nay! You wish to swindle me, little cockroach? His deep and infuriated yet calm voice would reverberate through her ears, sending a cold chill down her spine.

No, no –Never: Inquire after me. I’m sure that Belkadia’s account of events will –Argh, did I not flee for my life? Crizon, the butcher –he spotted me.

Mmmm… Ruga, the muscle riddled bully would groan, suspiciously eyeing the girl before walking off in satisfaction.

Only once Ruga had turned his back on her would the scrawny sweating youth collapse her hands onto her knees. Her meetings with Ruga always seemed to knock more out of her than any dash through the dusty streets of Baghdad.

A long sigh of relief escaped her tightly clenched