Chapter Text
I remember when I was nine years old, before my youngest sister had been born, I used to always travel over the river that marked the end of our village, and to this old, small stone building. What fascinated me were the carvings etched onto the stone of the interior of the place. My older sister, Esmet, found it three years ago when she was my age, and brought me to it when I was old enough to be willing to make the journey.
My hair reached down past my shoulders at that time. I looked no less like a girl than my sisters did. My mother would always weave a small braid into the right side of my hair, which I still continue to do myself even though my hair is now shorter.
Esmet would always press my hand against the carvings as she told the story that she interpreted was being told by the images.
There were three men with long beards and daggers in their hands, a cow and a goat behind them. Their gazes were set on the figure of a woman with long spindly limbs and dark hair that curled across the stone like black smoke. Looking back at it, I’m surprised the image never frightened me.
Esmet told me that these three men were all suitors of the woman, who was a goddess. The revering tone with which she spoke of her, I wouldn’t be surprised if she worshiped the woman herself. She told me the men were to sacrifice their cow and goat to her with their sacred daggers. I always believed this story told by her, and sometimes would even add my own ideas to it.
A year had passed with us visiting what we called our little sanctuary whenever we were bored and the timing was convenient, until our younger sister, Roya, had noticed a few of our departures. Like any little girl wanting approval from her elders whenever she could get it, she eventually told our parents.
I didn’t understand why my mother and father were filled with such rage when they found out where we had been going.
Years later, I had revisited the place on my own. As I ran my fingers over the carvings like Esmet used to have me do, I came to the conclusion that those three bearded men with their daggers probably weren’t going to use them to sacrifice to their beloved goddess. They were out to kill her. Their brows seemed to be furrowed in disgust, and a smear of red covered the stone surrounding the woman. It was almost grotesque.
Esmet and I were usually the ones to look after our two younger sisters. Roya, and then Lelah once she was born when I was ten. I believe Lelah’s birth was purely accidental. Though my mother never specifically confirmed this, she would always say how she believed her days of placing new living beings into this world was over until she got pregnant with Lelah. Our house was filled with the stench of blood after she gave birth to her. I refuse to recount the exact events of Lelah’s birth, other than that my mother was lucky to survive it.
My father was a merchant. And therefore, he was rarely ever around. Parthia was the center of trade in the Eastern world, so we always supposed he was traveling somewhere along the Silk Road. He left us not long after Lelah was born, and I don’t hold only real feelings towards him.
Whenever Roya or Lelah got into trouble, my mother would put the blame on me because I was now the man of the house. Despite her words, she had shown her independence and lack of a need for a man even before my father left for trading. Some of the people in our village didn’t even know she had a son. I was just another daughter in many of their eyes.
I think I have always been closer to Esmet than anyone else in our family. She tells me how she remembers the times when we were the only children, and our father was still around. She helped me walk, taught me how to speak, how to play different games. Of course, her favorite activity was telling me stories. She always excelled at story telling; her imagination had no limits.
Even though Esmet did all of these things for me, she never thought that I was solely her responsibility. I was just her baby brother.
Then Roya and Lelah were born, our father left, and our weakened mother couldn’t handle taking care of all four children. So we had to.
One of my favorite things to do was make jewelry. My mother had techniques for weaving string and beads together passed down from her mother and her mother’s ancestors that she taught me. I would create bracelets, necklaces, earrings, and sometimes even dolls made out of beads for my sisters. It was convenient since a man that lived near our house made beads out of jewels and clay to sell for a living. I never got out of the hobby.
Sometimes when I had too many pieces of jewelry, I would sell them in the marketplace. I would have help building the stand, and I usually sold out every time.
I met the most beautiful young men and women of my village there, I think. I suppose the marketplace is where everyone meets, and my jewelry stand certainly attracted their attention.
I remember one day, I was leaning against the stand, watching the people of the marketplace pass by, most of similar wealth as I. Then this man approached me, with a woman on his arm. Both looked wealthy, as if they were nobles passing through our humble village just to look and appreciate their rich upbringing. But all I saw in this man’s eyes was kindness, not unlike the princes Esmet and my mother would talk about in their mythological stories. That man bought a necklace the woman had picked, and paid me more than it was worth.
After he had left, I felt a feeling in my chest I hadn’t really experienced before. Even though I was almost eighteen, I had yet to spend time intimately with another. My mother never seemed concerned with getting me or Esmet married.
I continued to see that man in different places in the village. I didn’t know how he kept showing up wherever I happened to be. He had curly hair, and dark sun-kissed skin that was dotted with freckles. His garments were colored with pigment you wouldn’t see in just any ordinary man’s clothes.
One day he spoke to me. It was early evening, and I had been walking through the streets leisurely like I do sometimes. We were by one of the many temples scattered around the village.
He wore a big smile on his face as he approached me. “You’re that man with the jewelry, are you not?” he said, gesturing to the earrings dangling from my ears.
I hesitated, merely staring at him for a good moment. I was almost incredulous. “I am. May I ask who you are? I assume you’re not from here.”
He laughed heartily. “You’re correct. I’ve been staying here for about a week, just to rest and stock on resources and such. I’m traveling to Greece.”
He told me his name was Arya. He was traveling to the Greek peninsula because he was half-Greek himself and wanted to go there. I suppose wealthy men can just do that, travel to wherever they want without much consequence.
I foolishly went with him to the place he had rented out for himself that night. It was irresponsible of me to not return to my family without a further warning at night. His lady, his wife, the woman I had seen him with, was already asleep when we got there.
He snuck me into a small room with a pallet pushed against the wall, woven blankets tossed over the wooden frame. There was a window that let the light of the moon in, reflecting on the surfaces of the room and our bodies.
We sat down on the pallet. He smiled at me once more. “Daniyal. You’ve lived in this town your whole life, haven’t you? All eighteen years spent in the same dull place. Don’t you wish to explore?
He placed his hands on my cheeks, and I let out a deep breath. I said nothing. He went on.
“Like your eyes…” He leaned in closer to me. I could smell the sweet scent of his skin. “They’re brown; dull. But I can see a glimmer in them, as if the color is just wanting to burst out.”
I don’t know exactly what he meant by these words. I didn’t have the power like he did, to do whatever he wished. I wasn’t allowed to explore, not after Esmet and I had been caught on our adventures to our sanctuary.
His arms moved down to my sides, before wrapping around my torso and pulling my body against his. He was warm, firm.
“You know, I left my birthplace when I was sixteen. It was my mother’s idea to travel to Greece, after I got married.” He paused, seeming to think for a moment, before he continued.
“She was from Greece, then married to my Persian father, and came here. She said her family had been tired of Roman occupation, anyway. And now I’m traveling there myself.”
He chuckled, and continued to tell me much about his early life. I was only partially paying attention. I almost envied him for his freedom and wealth, but then again, being in his arms felt nice.
I heard myself beginning to talk to him, my voice no louder than a soft murmur. “Sometimes… I would like to feel relieved of the burden of my sisters and my mother. Sometimes the responsibility is suffocating.”
He hummed softly, his fingers running through my hair. “How about I relieve some of that stress for you, hm?” he said softly.
That seems to be what everyone says before they lean in to kiss you, isn’t it? Though that was the first time I heard those words. Perhaps it does help to relieve stress at that time. But honestly, the complex feeling you get after being intimate with another isn’t any less stressful than the feeling you get after you yell at a sister for being a nuisance.
He did kiss me after that. His lips were soft, not at all unwelcoming. At that moment, I wondered if he kissed his wife the same way he did to me. It filled me with a slight sense of guilt, yet I still gave into him and his touch. My arms snaked around him, and we both ended up lying on the pallet wrapped in each other’s embrace. Things only continued from there.
Early that morning, he led me out of his place before his wife woke up. My heart felt heavy as I made my way back home. After that experience, I had the strangest feeling that I couldn’t shake away, a feeling of unfamiliarity and uncertainty.
No one paid me any mind once I arrived back home. I was exhausted and went back to sleep.
I went back to Arya’s house a few more times before he had to leave again on his path towards Greece. He made me experience things I had never felt before nor wasn’t even aware of. And he was gentle with me. I was miserable for days after he had left, for I knew the first person I had loved had left, and I would never see him again. And I never did. Although Arya was my first love he certainly wasn’t my most cherished.
About a month later, I told Esmet about him. I confessed every little detail about him to her. She responded with a mix of amusement and comfort. I still can’t remember if she ever told me anything about her lovers, if she had any. Though with the wise advice she had told me, I think she was experienced.