Because I don't know where I am, I don't know what time it is back home in the city. This, in turn, really gives my internal body clock no clues as to when I'm supposed to wake up. This means that this morning, I'm up with the sun. Despite that fact, I feel rested, and a bit more ready to accept the fate of my day than I was yesterday. I roll out of my futon and pull out one of the outfits from the cabinet in the corner.
The immaculately starched linen uniform isn't my style, but it looks comfortable and functional enough. I tug my hijab off my head. It's torn and dirty. Great. I peek in the cabinet, and sure enough, a clean white replacement rests there. I hadn't seen it before, and it seems as though it appeared through some sort of magical means. I can't say that I'm surprised.
I pull on the outfit. There isn't a mirror in my room, and I turn around awkwardly to check myself out. I don't need a mirror to understand that my new apparel isn't flattering in the slightest.
I turn around, ready to head out for the day, and nearly run into Ali. He stands awkwardly in the doorway, his head bowed and his hands behind his back. I take a few steps back.
"Ali? What are you doing here?" I ask, completely surprised. He was so standoffish and uninterested yesterday that I assumed I wouldn't be seeing him again anytime soon.
"Ramin asked me if I would escort you to breakfast," is his short reply. His cheeks are tinged pink.
"I-I didn't see anything if you were wondering."
"I wasn't wondering, Ali."
"Oh." He coughs, looking anywhere but at me.
"Is there any place I could get some curtains around here?" I ask "innocently."
"There's, like, no privacy in here. You know what I mean?"
I didn't know it was possible, but Ali turns even more red than before. He clears his throat, and I think if he was given the opportunity right now, he would run away.
"I wouldn't know."
I hold back a laugh for Ali's sake. I think I'm done teasing him. "Ali?"
"Hmm?" he says, still avoiding eye contact.
"You don't have to stay here. I think I can find the way around by myself." Ali doesn't wait to thank me or say goodbye. He just turns and sprints away without looking back for even a moment. Bingo.
I watch him go. He doesn't stumble as he races through the woods, and I curse myself under my breath. I really shouldn't have let him go. I have no idea how to get where I'm supposed to be. I pull on my shoes and grab my schedule, not confident in the slightest that I'll be able to find my way. I retrace my steps from yesterday, exiting the forest and reentering the courtyard.
I follow my nose and the slow-moving train of the groggy people towards the smell of food, and I'm not disappointed. The people lead me to an open-air dining pavilion that's carved into the picturesque mountainside. Students and teachers alike eat their food while they enjoy the spectacular view. The only way to describe the scene is comfortably chaotic.
Some sit around carpets on the floor, and some sit at tables or behind counters. Food from all sorts of ethnic and cultural backgrounds sizzle and pop at different cooking stations around the pavilion, whether it be over fire, stove tops, or wood fired ovens. It's a bit of a mess, but it feels homey. This might not be so bad.
I search for a familiar face. Nasrin and Ramin are nowhere to be seen, but Ali sits at a carpet by himself, eating what looks to be a fried egg over rice. Huh. I wonder why Ali, out of all people, would be sitting by himself?
There's at least one person getting food at every station in the room, except for a little buffet line tucked in the corner. I make my way over and grab the least offensive food possible; a bagel and a packet of cream cheese. The girl behind the counter brightens up when I walk over. I might be imagining things, but I swear she tears up a bit when I take the bagel. "Thank you," she says, offering me a watery smile.
"Thank you," I reply, wearing an unsure smile of my own. I wave my bagel at her and walk away. People in this place are so weird. I walk across the pavilion and seat myself next to Ali. I nod my hello, but he glances away, either still embarrassed, or still a jerk. My guess is the latter.
I sit down and glance over my shoulder. The girl at the buffet line waves at me enthusiastically, and I shoot back a smile. "I don't recommend eating that," Ali says.
I furrow my eyebrows. "Why not?"
Ali spoons some rice into his mouth. "Because you got it from Mina."
"And that explains why I shouldn't eat it?"
Ali nods. "Mina can't do anything right. That's why her station's in the corner."
"That's ridiculous." I shove the bagel into my mouth and take a giant bite. I raise my eyebrows and make a big show of chewing and swallowing the food. "You can't mess up cooking breakfast. It's not possible. She probably didn't even make this. I bet it's store bought." Ali doesn't respond. He's probably too prideful to admit that he was wrong.
Nasrin walks into the room as I polish off my food and looks around. We make eye contact, and I beckon her over. She speeds over, looking around in what I'm guessing is supposed to be a casual manner, but it really just looks like she's having some sort of fit.
"What's wrong?" I ask as she approaches.
She shrugs. "Nothing, what makes you ask?"
I shrug as well. "I dunno, maybe the fact that you walked over here whipping your head back and forth like you were having a spaz attack."
Nasrin cocks and eyebrow and shakes her head. She grabs my arm and drags me away from the carpet. "You should not be sitting with Ali," she hisses under her breath.
"Why not? You people have so many rules here."
Nasrin sighs. "It isn't a rule, Kiana. It's just that... it's just that he's a creep."
My eyes widen, but only slightly. "I really don't think so."
"I don't know, Kiana. He gives me bad vibes, and I don't think I'm the only one around here that feels that way." I look back at Ali. He doesn't look any different than when I left him, his back rigid as he shovels rice into his mouth. It seems innocent enough, but somehow, I can tell he knows what we're talking about.
"Nasrin, do you think that maybe you're being a bit judgmental?"
She shrugs. "Better to be safe than sorry," she mutters as she yanks me away.
...
Nasrin and I end up in a large amphitheater with rows upon rows of dusty seats. The only other people here are some peri. We were some of the first to leave breakfast, and we're the first here. They wander around, sweeping the dust away. "Why are they doing that?" I wonder aloud.
Nasrin wipes her hands on her pants absently. "Not all peri prefer to assist heroes. They take the easier route and choose to basically be slaves here in Visya. It takes a much longer time, but it's safe, and it guarantees you a spot in paradise. Finding and helping heroes is dangerous. It can get you killed."
My heart aches for Nasrin. I can't imagine being told that you have to spend your afterlife... trying to get into the afterlife.
We find a seat in the middle of the amphitheater and sit down in silence. New recruits with visibly varying levels of confidence file in and take their places around the stadium. Not much is uttered from anybody. I glance around, sizing everyone up.
The crowd is diverse, including people from every walk of life. I see different shapes, sizes, dress, and colors. I lean over to Nasrin. "I'm not trying to be judgmental or anything, but shouldn't everyone here be... Persian, or something?"
Nasrin laughs. "Don't worry. You're not the first to have wondered that," she says, gesturing to people around the arena. "Just because you aren't Persian, it doesn't mean you can't have ties to Persian mythology. Some of these people have parents that," Nasrin coughs uncomfortably, "experimented with some... beings that may not have been entirely human."
I start to laugh. "Wait, so you're telling me that some of the people here are demigods? Ew!"
Nasrin makes a strangled choking noise, and I laugh even harder. "No, Kiana! Not the gods! Just, beings."
I fake a gag. I don't know exactly what that's supposed to mean. I take some deep breaths in an attempt to calm down.
Nasrin shakes her head. "Are you done?" I try to nod solemnly, but a smile still tugs at the corners of my mouth.
"What I was saying before you literally went crazy is that it's much more common for people to be here because of their parents. Lots of families decide to live here permanently so they can live without hiding their powers." I nod. I guess that explains some of the new recruits that look a bit more at ease. Nasrin shrugs casually and inspects her fingernails. "There are some people who possess certain magical traits passed down from their ancestors. Someone in their family did something to catch the attention of a god and got blessed with powers that amplify what attracted the god in the first place."
"I'm pretty sure I would know if my family had some sort of incredible hero in our bloodline," I say.
Nasrin shrugs. "Maybe you do or maybe you don't, but there is another way you could find yourself here."
I perk up, my interest piqued. "Oh?"
"It is rare, but some people get their talents through direct blessings from the gods. It's super uncommon though. It's basically unheard of. It hasn't happened for centuries. Your parents have to have some sort of special connection to the gods or you have to accomplish some sort of monumental heroic feat." My heart sinks.
There's no way my powers are a blessing. My parents are Iranian immigrants that run a tiny restaurant in Brooklyn. As far as I know, neither of them nor I have ever done anything extraordinary enough to have magical powers bestowed upon us by literal gods.
A few peri walk out onto the stage, interrupting our conversation. Calls for quiet echo across the crowd. They too are beautiful like Nasrin, and as I peer around at the audience, I can see that more than a few members of the crowd are completely captivated.
It isn't long before a blanket of silence falls over the throng. The peri in the middle is long and curvaceous, and it seems to me as though she doesn't have a single flaw. She's arguably the most beautiful of all three on the stage. Her jet-black hair is completely straight, and it falls just past her shoulder blades. Her large eyes are pure gold, and her lips are full. Her proportions are absolutely perfect. She, of course, takes the lead. "Hello, my friends," she says, her voice gentle and embracing. I'm enraptured and mesmerized, but I look over and Nasrin is rolling her eyes.
"What's wrong?" I mutter.
Nasrin shrugs. "It's nothing. I just don't really like those girls." I shrug her statement away, too absorbed in the peri's performance- I mean, speech, to really think about what Nasrin said.
"Welcome to the first day of training, everyone. My name is Bita." Bita is received with a vibrant chorus of cheers and hellos.
"I'm sure you're all a bit confused right now. Either that, or you're a bit nervous right now." The crowd murmurs its agreement. "But you guys don't need to worry! I, along with all of the other peri here, are here to make sure you have the most comfortable experience possible on your first day here as a student in Visya." I find myself nodding along to her spiel along with everyone else. Nasrin snorts and mutters something under her breath.
Bita gives us a brief synopsis of each of our courses and tells us that we'll all have a peri assigned to us to help us find our classes. I turn to Nasrin, assuming that she's my guide, but I'm met with a nasty scowl. She pokes me in the shoulder, a little bit too hard to be friendly.
"You. Are. So. Gullible."
"Ouch!" I complain, rubbing my shoulder. "What was that for?"
"You're falling for her spell, just like you did with Ramin."
"Her spell?"
Nasrin nods. "Some peri have bloodlines that are sponsored by Zantuma, the god of the tribe. Just like Ramin. They can use their speech as a manner of persuasion. Bita is the worst! You can't just let her entrance you into trusting her."
I let out a groan. "I'm sorry, Nasrin. How am I supposed to know these things? I'm trying my best here."
"No, I don't think you are, Kiana. Those girls are nasty. If you aren't a certain type of person, they'll chew you up and spit you out with no regrets. Trust me. They have nothing better to do," she spits out as stands. I catch her arm.
"Come on, Nasrin. Don't you think that you're being a little bit unreasonable? This is my first day. I'm learning."
Nasrin narrows her eyes. "You need to learn faster! If you keep letting yourself get taken advantage of, we'll never get out of here, and that's all you want, isn't it?"
I feel my jaw drop, and Nasrin takes this as her opportunity to take off. She walks away, weaving through the crowd of nervous strangers. I groan in frustration. Everyone here is so bipolar.
"Where are you going?" I call after her. She doesn't turn around. "Nasrin, stop! I need your help!" She ignores me, and then is gone. My shoulders slump dejectedly.
"Some people are just so rude, don't you think?" I turn around and Bita is hovering behind me. She smiles when our eyes meet and extends her hand towards me. I grip it firmly, but her handshake is limp and delicate. Well, this is awkward.
"I don't think Nasrin is rude," I say defensively. "She's just trying to help," I voice, pulling words from the mouth of the harsh mentor herself.
"Whatever," Bita says, clearly over the subject matter. She hands me a crinkled sheet of paper. It's a map of the village. "Here you go. I figured you might need this after that drama I just saw." She rolls her eyes with a light laugh. "I guess some people are just a little too busy in their own little worlds to notice others, huh?"
My stomach churns. My mother always says that gossip makes her sick to her stomach. I'm not entirely convinced that godly powers run in my family, but my discomfort right now must be genetics.
"Thank you," I mutter awkwardly, rubbing the back of my neck. I bite my lip. How do I make my escape without being impolite? I point over my shoulder. I'm not entirely sure that I'm pointing in the right direction, but at least now I have an out. "I-I have to get to class." Bita nods understandingly.
"Nice, to meet you Kiana," she drawls. Her tone implies that maybe, in fact, it was not so nice to meet me. I offer a false smile. I don't remember telling Bita my name, but it doesn't matter. Nothing in this place makes sense. Why wouldn't she know my name?
...
My first class was brutal. I knew it wouldn't be any fun when I stepped into the fully furnished gymnasium only to be told by the barking fitness instructor, Mr. Shirvani, to leave and only come back when wearing proper attire. I tried to tell him that there was no workout garb in my room, but he sent me back anyway, telling me to check again.
Sure enough, after I made the trek back across the entire village, there was a neatly folded set of athletic apparel waiting for me on my table. Why does it feel like this place was specially designed to make me feel stupid every five minutes?
I leave the gym class feeling sore and grumpy. No one talked to me. No one is walking with me now. I feel lonely, upset, and not to be dramatic or anything, but I also feel a bit betrayed by the only friend I have here. I trudge back to my accommodations with a gray cloud over my head and gather up my toiletries, hoping that a shower will wash away my foul mood.
I wasn't wrong. The shower is magnificent. I was scared that the communal bathrooms would be disgusting, but they are much more luxurious than I imagined. The showers are secluded and private, the floors are clean and tiled rather than musty cement like I expected. The best part of the whole experience is that my house is so far into the woods that I don't really have to share the bathroom.
I take my time, washing away the grime that's collected after a couple days of abstaining from bathing. Twigs, dirt, and other bits of earth wash down the drain as I untangle my long hair. Lovely. How did all that get in my hair? I wear a hijab!
I emerge from my shower feeling rejuvenated and optimistic. Maybe the rest of my day won't be so bad after all.
...
The classroom where I'm supposedly going to be discovering and developing my talents is unique; it's unlike any other classroom I've ever been in.
A variety of seating decorates the room. Beanbags are just as copious as traditional desks, and traditional desks are just as copious as small squares of carpet. I take a seat in a beanbag and look towards the front of the classroom where a half moon stage with a podium sits quietly, waiting for the teacher just as I am. A dusty chalkboard sits unused behind it.
Soundproofing lines the walls, and there are no windows anywhere in the room. Thick tumbling mats are scattered all over the floor, as are random objects that seem to have no correlation with one another.
A test dummy, a giant bowl of water, a humongous fishing net stretched between two poles, and other odd bits and ends dot the room. Well, this should be interesting.
After what seems like an eternity of twiddling my thumbs, a trim young man ambles in and takes his place at the podium. His brown hair sticks up in every direction, and he offers a contagious, dimpled smile. I beam back.
"How are you all today?" he asks as he surveys the classroom. His voice is deep and steady. His question is met with silence, and he gives a hearty chuckle at our reply. His kind, brown eyes crinkle at the corners as he laughs. I have a feeling that I'm going to like this class.
"That's about how I thought all of your first days would go." The room sits in a comfortable silence for a moment, and the man cracks his knuckles.
"Who here knows why they're here?" the man asks. A few hands shoot up in the air, not including my own. The man nods and jots something down on a piece of paper.
He nods at each individual student with their hand raised, listing them by name. "Savanna. Haleh. Adib and Aaron."
"Now who doesn't know why they're here?" His inquiry is met by another wave of hands in the air. The teacher goes around the room and asks us for our names. We all sit silently as he proceeds, waiting for the substance of the class to begin.
The man in front of us runs his hands through his chocolate hair. "My apologies. I know that was a bit of a slow process, but I'm old fashioned." The teacher paces across the stage. "I don't understand computers!" he exclaims with a flourish of his hand. A chuckle reverberates through the class. I crinkle my face. The man before us can't be any older than 25. It doesn't make any sense that he would be so bothered by a computer. My eyes flicker to the corner. A desk has been shoved there. A computer and a pile of wires resides there coated in a thick layer of dust. My eyes catch the teacher's, and he rolls his eyes as if to say, whoops.
"Anyway," the man continues, "Let's begin." A hand shoots up in the air before the teacher can start his lesson.
His eyebrows shoot to the heavens as if he was surprised that he was being interrupted. "Yesss?" he prompts.
The student with the question, Haleh, seems unbothered by the teacher's slight display of annoyance. She tips her chin up. "Sir, aren't you at least going to tell us your name before you begin?"
The teacher smiles slowly. "Oh, I did forget to mention that, didn't I?" He brushes off his plaid tweed blazer and straightens his bright red bowtie. "My name is James Plutarch, but you all can call me Prof."
Prof whips around and crinkles his nose at the chalkboard. "I haven't used the chalkboard since I taught this lesson at the beginning of last year," he says. He glances over his shoulder once more and evidently decides he doesn't need to use it again. The surface is covered in a layer of grime so thick, I'm not even sure if it was originally black or green. Prof procures a stool from behind the podium and takes a seat.
He rubs his hands together. "I want to help you all figure out what it is you're here for. What are you taking my class for?" He makes eye contact with me directly. "I know that most of you don't have the faintest idea." I slump down uncomfortably. Prof's eyes twinkle as if he knows this. "And this isn't a problem." He rises from his stool and begins to pace back and forth across the stage.
"The gods are unpredictable beings, as you might expect."
I almost scoff. That's an understatement.
"They used to contact mortals all the time, whether that be to send them on missions, dole out punishment and rewards, or get... personally acquainted with them," Prof jokes.
I smirk. So Nasrin lied, demigods are a thing.
"However, mortals are unpredictable too. When the gods aren't getting the attention they feel they deserve, they give mortals the cold shoulder," Prof freezes in his tracks and turns to stare at the class, "and lots of mortals just don't care for religion like they used to."
The class shifts uneasily. Nothing like angry gods to make you feel uncomfortable. "Our ancestors were much more pious than we were. It was a lot more common for the good deeds of mortals to be noticed and rewarded."
"That's how most of you got your powers. Your ancestors possessed certain qualities that certain gods favored. Those gods blessed your predecessors with powers they felt represented those qualities, and sometimes the blessings were so powerful that they have been passed down from generation to generation."
I squirm excitedly. It gives me goosebumps to think that I have godly power coursing through my veins. The class chatters in interest.
Prof looks at the board behind him and finally decides to swipe away some of the dust with an eraser. He rummages in his pants pockets and emerges with a piece of yellow chalk, triumphant.716Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡX2k2sPp4Pp
He points at us with the chalk. "I'm sure that those of you who've grown up in the village have noticed that you gravitate towards certain types of people." Prof begins to write something on the board in large, scrawling penmanship. "This is because you gravitate towards those who share your powers. Similar personalities, similar powers."
He steps back to let us observe the board. I make out the names Geush, Vayu, and Parendi. "These are the three gods that were the most liberal with their blessings back in the day," he announces, gesturing to his writing. "Your homework assignment is to take notes about who these gods are and ponder if they relate to you in any way."
There's a rustling as people pull out paper and writing utensils. I struggle to keep up with Prof as he lists of characteristics of those blessed by each god, but I manage to compile a decent list.
"Geush is the god of animals," he begins." His favored mortals tend to be caring and loving, but unpredictable and not very book smart. Prodigies of Vayu, the God of wind, are often fun, wild, free spirits, but harsh and uncaring. Those blessed by Parendi, the god of plants and abundance, are generous, and patient, but unreliable." I scratch out a few bullet points as Prof pauses to let us catch up. "Mortals favored by Atar, the god of fire, are protective, inviting, and easy to be around, but ill-tempered with big egos," he finishes.
People murmur as they recognize themselves in the listed gods, but my frown deepens with each new set of characteristics. I didn't identify with anyone back in New York, and I don't identify with anyone here.
...
Nasrin meets with me momentarily at lunch, telling me that self-reflection hour is meant to be used as time for meditation and prayer, not as free time. She doesn't bother to say goodbye before taking off, leaving me on my own again. I had sat down with Ali before speaking with Nasrin, but he also took off as soon as I sat down with him. Whatever.
Nasrin is evidently still mad about Bita. I wonder what the history is between the two that makes Nasrin so bitter. I'll have to ask her later when she isn't giving me the silent treatment.
I eat my sandwich quickly, feeling completely and utterly alone. I was supposed to be doing charity work in Yemen right about now, but instead I'm eating a sub-par sandwich alone, surrounded by a bunch of talented kids who, frankly, don't care about me at all.
I'm feeling entirely sorry for myself when Mina flounces over, humming under her breath. "Hi, Mina," I say glumly. She doesn't seem to notice my desolate attitude.
"Hi," she chirps as she tilts her head. "How do you know my name?"
I shrug my shoulders lazily. "Ali told me yesterday."
Mina wrinkles her eyebrows. "Oh. He didn't say anything bad about me, did he? He doesn't seem to like me very much."
I shake my head and offer her a reassuring smile. "No, Mina. Don't worry about it."
She grins as if I'd told her she'd won a lifetime supply of her favorite candy. "Oh, good." She rubs her hands together anxiously.
"Kiana, I just wanted to say that I really appreciate you stopping by my line this morning. You're the first person to ever visit me over there." My heart pangs. Poor Mina.
"You shouldn't have to thank me," I reply honestly, and Mina visibly swells.
"Thank you," she whispers anyway, and sits down next to me quietly. She starts on her food, and even though she isn't saying anything, her company feels better than any gift I could receive right now.
...
Author's note
I really don't have much to say this chapter except that it's very different to it's counterpart in the first draft.
If you want to support my story and me, please share it with your friends.
Thanks for reading.
