The village Nasrin brings me to is as magnificent as the palace that I imagined Anahita would live in. It too has a cobblestone courtyard and is carved into a mountainside like Anahita's shrine, but that's about where the similarities end. Ancient stone dwellings and temples blend in effortlessly with stylish, modern buildings. It's hard to distinguish the living quarters from lecture halls, and sanctioned meditation areas from battle arenas. A giant fountain gurgles merrily in the middle of the courtyard, and stone benches are scattered around randomly. "Welcome to Visya!" Nasrin exclaims, her palms spread. I ignore her, eyeing the courtyard warily.685Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡz733kEkBMY
Students clad in uniforms of clean linen or other casual apparel mill about, chatting and studying. I wonder if any of them are like me. Do they feel confused and scared? Do any of them have the same powers as I do? None of them look as lost as I feel.685Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡWex3oJqnRY
I look over to Nasrin, and she gives me a reassuring nod. Oh, so she can have sympathy like a normal human being here and now, but not when we were about to meet a goddess? I shake my head. "Where are we going?" I ask.
Nasrin flips her long hair over her shoulder. "We're going to meet the guy who runs this place. I'm sure he'll have a place for you somewhere." I grab Nasrin's hand and pull her aside. I plop down onto a bench and tug her down with me.
"Nasrin, could you please just answer some of my questions? I need some answers before I just commit to whatever this new life is that you're forcing in my face." I hiss.
She furrows her eyebrows and scowls. "Why are you being so touchy, Kiana? I just answered one of your questions." I feel my shoulders slump and I let out a sigh.
"I'm sorry. It's just that I have a lot of questions right now. "Nasrin shakes a hand through her hair, visibly very stressed.
"Like what?" she asks, and I shrug.
"I don't know, how about what is this mission, or whatever it is that Anahita has in mind for me?"
Nasrin looks as if she's about to explode. She takes a deep breath. "Kiana, I really can't explain that to you that right now. It's a long story."
I clench my fists. "Okay, fine. Can you at least tell me how long I'm going to be here? " Nasrin shrugs. She opens her mouth to speak, but I cut her off. "Okay, I'm sorry, Nasrin. My real question is, do I even have the option to say no to all of this right now?"
She looks confused for a moment, but then a smile breaks across her face. She lets out a little laugh. "That's a good joke!" she giggles. She continues to chuckle, but her laugh falters when she notices my grave expression. "Oh... You're serious," she continues, completely sober.
I nod. "Nasrin, I really miss my family."
"You can't be serious right now, Kiana."
My jaw ticks angrily. "It's been crazy the last couple of days."
Nasrin shakes her head. "I can't believe you right now! You were going to go do humanitarian work in Yemen, a super dangerous place. You've just been offered an opportunity to do something good on a much bigger scale, and you're turning it down."
I bite my lip. Everything she's saying is true, but I understood what I was getting myself into before. I had studied the political climate of Yemen. I understood the threats that were there. I haven't studied Persian mythology though. There are so many unknown variables with what's being forced down my throat here. I don't even know what the problem is that I'm supposed to be solving.
"I'm not turning it down," I protest.
"Really? It sure does sound like that," Nasrin spits out. She shakes her head. "I can't believe Anahita thought you were a hero."
Ouch.
I feel a sharp pang of pain in my chest. Nasrin has taken a direct blow at my pride. "Maybe I was never trying to be a hero," I shoot back, but Nasrin has already won, and she knows it. A smug smile rests on her face and she crosses her arms over her chest. She stands and walks away, and I chase after her.
"Is there at least a phone around here I can use to call my mom?" I call out.
...
I sit in a soft leather chair behind a tidy mahogany desk. Nasrin hovers behind me, one hand tap-tap-tapping away on the back of my seat. I can't tell if it's out of anxiety, annoyance, anger, or all of the above. There's no real rhythm or pattern to the erratic thumping. I try to read her expression, but she's completely blank, so I turn around to face the man behind the desk.
He's tall and burly, built like a football player. He carries himself like an athlete too, his shoulders pressed back confidently, and his chin held high. His head is bald, but he compensates with a thick and curly beard that shoots off his chin in every direction imaginable. I have a feeling that his face is angular and sharp under that bush of a face. His eyebrows are thick too, drawn together over eyes so dark they appear to be black, and I have to admit- he is intimidating.
He must sense my discomfort. His hard features soften, and he takes a seat in the leather rolling chair behind his desk. He straightens a pen and clasps his hands together. "Hello, Kiana," he says, his voice low and raspy. He has one of those voices that is quiet but demands to be heard. One that deserves your silence and respect. I lean forward and nod my hello with a tight smile.
He smiles. "You seem nervous."
That's because I am.
"Relax," he breathes out. I lean back in my chair, allowing my tense muscles to relax. "How are you?" he asks. I'm taken aback. No one has asked me that since I left New York.
I want to lie to him. My understanding of social rules tells me to lie to him. But, somehow, I can't.
"I'm actually not feeling so well, and I really don't want to be here," I tell him. He laughs, and I laugh too.
"Thank you for your honesty," he says. I nod, feeling more at ease with each passing minute. There's a warm fireplace in the corner, and as I relax, I start to feel drowsy; so drowsy that I hardly even notice Nasrin's hand stop tapping on the back of my chair and grab hold of it tightly.
The man extends his hand to me. "My name is Ramin." I shake his hand.
"I'm Kiana," I tell him stupidly. He doesn't bother to correct me, but it still occurs to me suddenly that he already knew my name. I feel sluggish and useless, like if someone told me I had to stand up right now, I wouldn't be able to do it.
"I'm sorry you are feeling so poorly, but I'm sure you'll grow to like it here." Everything coming out of his mouth just sounds so good. I nod sleepily.
"You do want to stay here, don't you?" he asks slowly. I find myself nodding in agreement.
"Good," he says, drawing out the word. "Your situation is a bit unique, but I'm sure we could find a place for you here. You must be special for Nasrin to have brought you here."
I know I should feel pleased at his compliment, but somehow it feels backhanded, like if Nasrin brought me to the village, I'm not worth his time. I'm too woozy to care much. I glance back at Nasrin, and her nose is upturned, almost defiant. "I found her in the desert after she singlehandedly defeated a manticore," she boasts.
I point a lazy finger at her and shoot her a half-smile. "I did do that, didn't I? That was pretty cool, huh?" I ask. I close my eyes and shake my head. My tongue feels thick like cotton in my mouth.
Nasrin neglects to tell Ramin about how I almost died in the process. He nods and scratches something down on a notepad. "And what kind of powers did you use to defeat the manticore?"
I open my mouth to speak, but Nasrin cuts me off. "She can manipulate the earth," she says.
"Interesting," Ramin mutters, jotting something else down in his notebook. He tears a page out as I blink heavily and hands it to someone behind me. He rises from his chair and extends his hand. I do the same. "My good friend, Ali, here will take care of you now, Kiana. Do you mind if Nasrin and I have a word while he helps you get situated?" I shake my head.
Something along the lines of, "Of course not," slips out of my mouth.
Ramin beams. "Perfect! Come pay me a visit if you need anything," he adds. As I leave, I make eye contact with Nasrin. She looks exasperated and shoots me a look as if asking if I am okay. I send back a sarcastic thumb up. Why is she acting so psychotic? I'm fine. I barely even glance at my escort as I walk out of the room. I'm hardly even aware he's there. I'm hardly aware of anything.
We exit the building back into the courtyard and a wave of cold washes over me like when you step out of a hot shower on a cold morning. Goosebumps erupt all over my skin, and I shiver violently. I glance to my right, finally in a clear enough head-space to realize Ali is there.
He looks to be about my age- 19 or 20. He's shorter than Ramin, not much taller than me, but strong and athletic. His warm, brown jaw is sharp and angular to match. His hair is longer than the average guy, but not long enough to tie back. It's styled back with gel, but not so much that you could tell from a distance. His dark eyes are intelligent, and they look around idly, as if he knows that I need a moment to recuperate from my strange meeting with Ramin. I clear my throat awkwardly.
"Who exactly are you?" I cough out subtly. He raises an eyebrow.
"I'm Ali," he replies shortly. I perk up. He has an American accent.
"Are you from the states, Ali?" I ask, and he nods.
"I am." I grin, glad to finally have some sort of connection to this place, even if it is small. However, Ali stares forward coldly, emitting no emotion whatsoever.
"I'm from Brooklyn," I chirp, but he ignores me. "Where are you from?" His face twitches in annoyance, but he still refuses to look at me.
"It really doesn't matter," he snaps, and I cringe.
"I was just asking. You don't have to be so rude," I mumble, offended.
Ali doesn't humor me with a response. We make our way through the village— if village is the right word for this place. There's communal bathrooms and classrooms, but on our way, we also see what looks like a small grocery store and a hotel. We reach the end of the village, or whatever it is, and take a garden-variety stone path into the thick woods. Little cabins of various styles litter the lush forest, along with so many kinds of plants that I can't even count all the species I don't recognize.
It's strange how green it is here. Upon arrival it's the first thing you notice. I don't know exactly where we are in the Middle East, but the mountain range we're in is dry, the only vegetation a smattering of bushes and grass here and there. However, the mountain we're on is smack in the middle of the range, and green like a rain forest on the West Coast of the United States. It sticks out like a sore thumb, but it's strikingly beautiful, and so tranquil.
After a short walk through the woods, we reach my accommodations. It's well kept, but my heart sinks upon closer examination. Some of the homes I've seen around here have been lavish, with electricity, three stories, and extravagant decorations.
My "home" is more of a hut, simple and stone like so many of the buildings around here. It's neat and charming, with open windows and doors and moss creeping up the walls. The land around the place is serene and untouched.
I walk inside, and the interior is just as plain as the exterior. There is no electricity or running water, only candles. A small wooden table and two chairs rest under one of the windows, and a cabinet is pushed in the corner. I pull it open. Inside is only the bare necessities. A few changes of clothes, some extra candles, toiletries, and a journal. A Japanese-style futon is pushed up against the wall along with an extra blanket, folded neatly.
I have no bags to unpack, so instead I just plop down in the chair and massage my temples. Ali offers no consolation. He just pushes a crisp piece of paper towards me from across the table.
"Here's your schedule," he says, so quiet he's nearly whispering. I look up at him, so tired that I don't have the energy to say thank you, or even be upset at him. It doesn't matter though, because Ali turns on his heel and speeds out of the room as if he'd been waiting for an eternity for an opportunity to leave. What a jerk.
I glance down at my schedule. There really isn't much on the agenda for tomorrow, except for introductory classes and a welcome assembly. I guess I'm not the only one in my boat. I flip the paper over. It has my regular daily schedule printed on the back.
First, I have I strength and endurance class. That sounds terrible. Then, I have a quick period to take a shower before a class called, Discovering and developing your talents.
Is this somewhere where you learn to become a Persian hero, or is it a platform for motivational speakers? I shake my head. The class sounds ridiculous.
After that I have lunch, followed by a combat class. Food then fighting. Sounds like I'm going to be puking up a storm in a couple of days. Following hurl-fest is Persian mythology 101, and finally, self-reflection hour and dinner.
I glance up as Nasrin saunters in, unannounced. She looks around and nods. "I thought that you might get assigned a place like this."
"Oh, yeah?" I ask bitterly.
Nasrin offers a pinched smile. "You may not like it now, Kiana, but I think you'll learn a lot from this place."
I frown. "Like what?"
"I can't just tell you. I don't even know," Nasrin says. I close my eyes. I have a major headache, and I don't have the will to press her right now. She slides into the chair across from mine.
She drums her fingers against the table, just like she did in Ramin's office. "I'm sorry for Ramin earlier," she apologizes.
I turn my head. "Why?" Ramin had been super friendly.
Nasrin leans forwards as if it's obvious as to what she's talking about. "He was manipulating you!"
I shake my head. "You have no idea what you're talking about. How could he have been manipulating me?"
"I swear, Kiana. You are going to have the hardest time in training. Ramin was messing with your head. You felt drowsy in there, didn't you?" I nod, slowly getting it. My jaw drops, and a surge of anger rushes through me.
I point an accusing finger at Nasrin. "Was he doing it to you?" I sputter out.
"Ramin only has that power over mortals."
"Wait, I'm confused. You can't die?"
She shrugs. "Peri can die in combat, but technically, we're already dead, so... I'm not completely sure of how it works. We don't age or get sick, but we can be killed. It's just impossible to tell what happens after we're killed."
This is all too much.
I bite my lip, making my mind wander anywhere but the current subject. I suddenly remember the mission. "Nasrin, what is the mission that Anahita has for us?"
She blushes sheepishly. "Well, you see, I don't actually know," she laughs out, and I blanch. She tricked me!
"What? Nasrin, no! You said... wait. When you told me that you knew what our mission was, you also said that you knew where I got my powers. Can you at least tell me that?" Nasrin gazes down at her hands, ashamed.
I shake my head in disbelief. "Get out," I articulate coolly, pointing to the door.
Nasrin's face assumes an expression of hurt. "Kiana, I'm sorry, I just wanted to help. You need to be here and lying was the only way I could get you to come."
I sigh. "It's okay, Nasrin. It's just a lot, you know? I think I just need to get some sleep," I mumble, my tone apologetic.
Nasrin nods and rises. She turns to look at me before she leaves. "I do know a bit about Anahita's mission." I perk up. "She says based off what she's learned about you, she's going to need you here. She wants you to be her eyes."
"What does that even mean? She's a goddess. Can't she just spy on Visya like she did on me using her mystical goddess powers, or whatever?" I call out, but Nasrin has already walked away.
I eye the futon against the wall. It didn't look all that appealing when I arrived, but it's starting to look more and more comfortable by the minute. I walk over and unroll it in preparation for my first full night of sleep in a long time. I need to mull things over.
...
Author's note
Fun fact: I originally didn't have a name for the village. I just referred to it as "The Village" throughout the entire story. I just couldn't think of a proper name until I did a thorough edit of the story.
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