TROJAN

The story of Troy in a different light. (:

TROJAN

What lies beneath the sword and shield is a soul doomed forever

 

                These heroes will dominate the pages of history, their lives on ink, their victories the discussions of scholars. This battle will continue forever, preserved through the ages through thousands and thousands of quills. Their stories will leave a mark…a mark not like that of a scar, but of a wound that never heals. It is the wound the color of a rose, bright, bloody and perfectly red, glimmering in the light…a wound that will bring pride to anyone who will reach these heroes in the past through their eyes and the words in pages. But like all wounds, it is painful, even fatal. This war will be immortal, and these names will be etched in the heart of future until the end of eternity…

 

                That day, a hundred or so ships showed up. I saw that the elders were terrified, although I didn’t know why. The people bet aloud in shaking voices that the king was afraid too, but as I saw a glimpse of him atop the tower looking down on the sea, I realized that they might be wrong. King Priam’s posture and stance betrayed any, if there was, of his anguish.

                The Trojans continued to look down on the ships and fear stemmed from their expressions. I felt the terror all around me; it infused the salt-smelling air like some toxic smoke. It was so dense it was almost tangible. It made me want to cry for no reason, so I tried not to mind everything and focused my gaze towards the ship below. With a young, curious mind, I was easily distracted. I didn’t know what was going on, but at an innocent age of seven, the vast blanket of sea vessels fascinated me. The ships were immense, they carpeted the coast. Sails stood out proudly, displaying various kinds of art and color. The vessels were like bits of bronze embroidered in all shades of contrasting blue, with specks of gold as small as grains of sand that glittered in the slightest presence of light.

                I ran back to the hut, it was quite a long way. The maidens were whispering in hushed, frightened voices. As I passed by the butcher’s hut, I saw him putting back the rows of meat hanging by the small canopy. Wondering, I asked him why. He just answered me with a rather foul, ‘Go home.’ I saw the order beneath the harsh tones, discerned the hidden concern of an old man to a seven-year old girl.

                I didn’t talk to anyone else aroud me after that. I treaded the path quietly, the whispers still heard, the sight of the ships in my mind, kicking off rocks and sand with my sandals.

                ‘There are ships by the coast,’ I told my father when I arrived home.

                ‘And so they have come. The woman had indeed brought them.’

                I needed not to ask, because I knew exactly who the woman was. I just didn’t know why he named her she, the woman, the lady. He never called her by her name, Helen. I thought her name was quite good when I first heard of it, but remembering the day I saw her, the name was nothing compared to her beauty.

                That day, I walked down the road below the tower of the south gates of Troy, and there she stood above me. She was like a goddess herself, her face shone like the moon, her hair blown by the wind from the sea. I knew then that her name would live forever, but the words they would put down to describe her splendor would never suffice. But her eyes…there was sadness in her eyes. Sadness and anguish and fear. Nevertheless, I stopped discerning what could be bothering such a beautiful lady like her. I wondered whether I would grow up like her someday, because that morning, I wanted to.

                The Trojans often cursed her behind her back, calling her foul names, pertaining to her as the woman. And now father says she had brought those ships to Troy.

                ‘What’s happening, father?’ I asked.

                He looked at me and then set me on his lap. His expression was grave, wrinkled, and already aged. He was alone all this time…my mother died giving birth to me. But my father never put the blame on me; he loved me all the same.

                I was seven, but I knew I cared for him beyond anyone else.

                ‘I need not to tell you what’s happening. But no matter what happens, you must accept them, for it is the will of the gods. Any time now, I will be leaving you--’

                ‘Why?’ The thought of him leaving automatically sent tears pooling in the corners of my eyes. He talked in riddles, he didn’t tell me what was going on, and he will be leaving.

                ‘I have to. I am Trojan-born, and I have to protect this city.’

                ‘You will fight? You will be a soldier?’ I asked. ‘Are those ships our enemies?’

                ‘Yes.’

                This stopped me talking for two seconds, and then the thought of him leaving took hold of me again. ‘But you can’t possibly leave me, father. I will be alone!’ I wailed. He wiped my tears with his thumb and gazed at me intently.

                ‘You won’t be. You will stay with my sister and her husband, Adrasteia and Amon,’ he explained.

                I wanted to speak, say no, and protest, but I didn’t find my voice. I just nodded.

                ‘You are wise, child,’ he said, a sad smile forming on his face, ‘Remember: accept what happens. We cannot do anything about the flow of events but be strong. Meet people, but choose the right ones.’

                ‘Why are you telling me these things, father?’

                ‘I have to.’

                My father constantly used this phrase when I asked him why-questions, so I didn’t ask again. He was a man of a few words, he often dismissed conversations. He would just let me sit on his lap, look at me, then stroke my hair. Occasionally, he would tell stories about his childhood, or about mother. Mostly, it was about my mother.  I would just keep quiet, afraid that talking might displease him.

                I remembered Helen standing above Troy in the mighty tower and wondered if her anxious eyes had anything to do with the ships in the sea. I wondered if her distant gaze could possibly have something to do with father being soldier that I have to stay with mistress Adrasteia. I searched my mind for answers, but found none. I concluded that she was not to be blamed for all these things.

                I was mistaken…gravely so.

 

                The first years of the Trojan War were blurs of happenings.

                A week after the ships showed up, the Greeks attacked outside the gates. My father rushed me to Adrasteia and Amon. I cried, seeing him worried and all, and he’s leaving.

                ‘Will you come back? Come back for me. You won’t leave forever, would you? You love me. You do! You won’t leave me alone!’ I hugged him. He didn’t let go, but he didn’t hug me back either.

                After a few seconds, he let go a bit, only so he could hold me at arms’ length. ‘I am telling you now, and I’m sure someday you’ll understand…I am not certain of coming back. Remember everything I told you, yes? Adrasteia will take care of you, be good.’ Then he knelt down until his face leveled with me, his eyes were sad, and his sadness brought more tears welling up and flowing down my cheeks. He wiped them again, and then he managed a smile.

                ‘I love you. And you will never be alone,’ he said this with such faith that I knew he’d be keeping his word. ‘No matter what happens, I’ll always be with you.’ For a moment I thought his eyes would tear up, as well, but I wasn’t sure because he stood abruptly, carried me into his arms and hugged me tight. I relished the feeling of being protected and safe in his embrace for what could possibly be the last time. When he put me down, I was still crying. He gave his last reminders to Adrasteia, and the maiden nodded. She patted my father’s shoulder consolingly; she was crying, too. Amon hugged my father brotherly. Then he looked at me again.

                ‘I love you. Always remember that,’ he told me.

                I tried to stop sobbing; he showed such a greatly determined expression that I felt the need to be strong for him. But I couldn’t, and I hated being a seven-year old.

                ‘Yes, I will father,’ I said, ‘But you must still, please, please come back.’

                He didn’t answer. He kissed my forehead, and then he stood up and started walking down the road. I was crying the whole time, but I didn’t go after him. However, when he was perhaps five meters away, I wasn’t sure what happened to me. I suddenly realized I can’t let him go, no matter what those ships might mean. I loved him, and I couldn’t live without him putting me into his lap…stroking my hair.

                I ran.

                Adrasteia managed to pull me, Amon held my hand firmly. I looked at them pleadingly, but they shook their heads. Adrasteia was still crying.

                My father was already afar, but I could still see him.

                ‘Take me with you! Just take me with you!’ I shouted at the top of my voice. He might have heard, because he stopped. But he didn’t look back. I saw him wipe his cheeks.

                ‘You will return, father! I will wait for you! I will sit on your lap again, and you will tell me stories of where you’re going! You will come back! Promise me!’ I yelled, Amon still holding my arm, afraid that I might run after him again. Father stood there, transfixed. Seconds later, he continued to walk farther away from me. I cried more.

                ‘I love you, come back for me! You should! You must…’ The last words were dissolved into sobs. He was further down the road now, and he wouldn’t hear anymore. I watched him until he was just a silhouette in the dust, crying.

                Amon let go of my hand, it fell limply to my side. Father turned right, and he was gone.

               

It was hard getting along, but after months, I managed not to cry at the mention of him. The first years were frightening. We weren’t allowed to go out, and any time of the week, someone shouts and cries about the death of a loved one. I would become weak when I hear this, then start crying again. So whenever it happened, I would close my eyes, think of my father, and imagine his return. This closed my emotions while the people around me cried, and eventually I became numb and deaf to their sobs.

                I no longer wanted to be like Helen, and she wasn’t beautiful to me anymore. Adrasteia told me of her story, of how Paris brought her to Troy, along with the enraged Greeks afterward.

                I couldn’t even remember the feel of awe when I first saw those magnificent ships.

                Staying with Adrasteia was not difficult. The chores were not heavy, I was fed well, and I slept in one of the cots in their hut. Sometimes I go to our hut, but I couldn’t stay long because I could feel his presence when I closed my eyes, then it would be gone the moment I opened them. After this, I would run to Amon and ask for news of the fate of my father.

                One day, an argument broke out in the hut. It was between me and Amon.

                ‘Has not the battle ended yet?’

                ‘Not yet…’ he mused to himself. ‘You know, sometimes I close my eyes, then somewhere I can hear the clangs of the spears and swords and shields clashing. Then silence again. This war drives me insane.’

                When he said this, he didn’t seem to be talking to me, but more to himself.

                ‘How come you are not there? Fighting?’

                ‘Adrasteia wouldn’t let me,’ he chuckled. ‘And I’m afraid I wouldn’t live to see the end of it if I face them.’

                This infuriated me greatly. I forgot all respect for the elders and I started shouting.

                ‘How dare you? My father is there, I’m not even sure if he is, for I do not know if he had crossed the line of death, and you are here talking about seeing the end of it? Be ashamed of yourself. YOU ARE A COWARD!’

                He seemed very much taken aback, but he managed to say, ‘Watch your words, young lady.’

                Before I walked out of their hut, I saw guilt in his eyes.

                I ran, not sure where to go. The usual despair and fear lingered in the dust filled atmosphere. I thought of my father…I wanted to see his eyes sparkle whenever I tell him some of my own ideas, I wanted to hear his voice, tell me stories about mother…I wanted him to wipe my tears now.

                The road was hazy with my tears. It was just gray and brown, some patches of green, and the moving shadows of frightened Trojans.

                I bumped into someone.

                ‘What do you think--?’

                When I fell, I didn’t stand up. I was so spent, so I sat there, to weak to stand. I saw him hold out his hand. When I didn’t take it, he leaned down, helped me up and held me as I cried. I suddenly felt safe…but then I remembered my father’s last embrace, then I cried even more. He just stood still.

                ‘I’m so--I’m so sorry. I was…I was…I don’t know. I’m sorry.’

                ‘Are you alright? What’s your name?’

                Hesitantly, I told him. He told me his. Then he took my hand and he led me somewhere. I didn’t know where we were going, but I didn’t protest because I found myself trusting him. He led me to a baobab tree in the north of Troy. The sound of swords and spears clashing couldn’t be heard; they battled in the south.

                ‘How old are you?’ he asked after sometime, when he was sure I wasn’t going to cry again.

                ‘Eleven.’ Then silence. I realized I should’ve asked him his age too, so I added, ‘What about you? How old are you?’

                ‘Thirteen…why were you crying?’ He was looking at me curiously. His garments were quite dirty, but I didn’t say it aloud because mine were untidy, too. The wind blew his hair from his face, and though his expression was peaceful, his eyes were haunted with the horrors of the war like everyone else.

                ‘I just miss my father,’ I said quietly.

                He nodded. He took his eyes off me and looked out. His gaze was distant.

                ‘He’s out there, too, isn’t he? He’s there…fighting for some mistake he has not done. I really detest that pretty thing Helen,’ he looked like he was talking to himself, but I listened. ‘My father himself usually cursed her, as well, when he…well, when he was still alive, that is.’

                ‘Your father died?’ This made me sad.

                ‘In the war, yes. But he died for something worth dying for, so I know he’s happy.’

                He told me stories of his childhood, of how his father left them, and of the news of his father’s death. It was all heartbreaking, but some were stories from the far long years ago that made me remember my blissful childhood memories. His voice brought with it the past, and his company made my soul rest. When the sun was nearly setting, I asked him if I could see him again. He smiled, and said, ‘I will be glad to see you again myself.’

                So the next day, and the next day, and the next day…I was with him. He was someone who understood what I was going through, and knew how to ease the pain of being alone. I came to love everything about him and this place by the baobab. It became easier to cope, to live through the day, to wait for everything to end.

                He placed flowers in my hair, held my hand when the clanks and sounds were too much, and kept me whole for the next years.

                I should have known it was all too good to be true.

The day came when the wretched war also had to take him away from me, and I knew then, learning from that with my father, that I couldn’t do anything about it. Hatred didn’t work, cursing didn’t work.

Accept the will of gods. Be strong.

I was. I was stronger when the love of my life’s time to leave came. But it didn’t mean it was less painful than that of my father’s departure. It was just, because of my newfound sense of hope and strength, more bearable for me.

‘I love you,’ he whispered to me.

‘I feel the same way,’ I said.

‘I will be coming back. I promise,’ he said, and I found myself believing again. Although these were all empty words, although my father never came back, although I never might have the chance to see him once more after this.

The baobab towered above us; the stars twinkled serenely like nothing was happening, like he wasn’t leaving. The wind was cool, but his hand was warm. It smelled of earth and grass, and a little of blade and blood.

‘I love you,’ I just said. And though I could feel his arms around me, his lips on mine, his hand on my cheek, I knew that it would not be long before fate took him away from me.

 

The end came, and I was alone. Shortly after that wooden horse showed up at the gates, the Greeks were suddenly inside the walls. They were all around, and there was no getting out. It was a raging show of movements, and it was hot. The air smelled of blood, smoke, sweat, dust, and somehow, I could still smell grass and earth hidden beneath the deep bowels of confusing, suffocating aromas. The people ran…ran off nowhere, death catching up wherever they ended up. Impending doom towered like a giant silhouette shrouding the city, and no one could save us. The huts burned, the towers crumbled, and the sound of metal against metal that was before muffled by distance was suddenly around me, each clang like a separate explosion. Death stayed on the margins, snatching anyone within reach.

‘We are betrayed!’ Someone was shouting. ‘We are betrayed! It’s over.’

                An old man was dragging his grandson behind him, an ill-fated woman was wreathed in smoke. Crumbling, burning, toppling down…chaos. Soon, Troy would be in rubble. And I would be with my father…

                I closed my eyes. The pandemonium disappeared. The smell of death was gone, there was only grass and earth and flowers in the spring.

                My father put me on his lap, and started telling me stories of my mother in that deep, happy voice of his…

                My father tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, and he was smiling…

                We were in the kitchen, it smelled of meat stew, my father was cooking, we were  laughing over some neighbors’ petty arguments…

                I was in the north of Troy; the baobab still stood proudly and was not coiled in flames, the boy beside me young and strong…

                He was laughing, and the sound reached deep into my soul, pacifying the storms of fear and gloom…

                He was telling me he loved me, and I could feel him in my arms again…

                His hand was soft and warm in mine, his expression was peaceful, his eyes twinkling, his smile perfect…

                I opened my eyes. The screams resurfaced immediately, but I was smiling. The end was near, I could feel it, but it didn’t matter.

                I looked up. The sky was lit up with the blazing fires of the city. And then abruptly, a rock from nowhere covered my sight, and it was hurtling down…straight at me. I didn’t move, because I knew it was my time.

                Someone threw me out of the way.

                When I caught my breath, I turned around to see my savior.

                It was him. There was no mistaking those eyes…

                ‘You came back,’ I whispered, my voice drowned by the noise of Troy’s defeat.

                ‘I keep my promises,’ he said.

                His lips found mine, my hands found his. It didn’t matter if the city was betrayed by Sinon; it didn’t matter if Helen hadn’t suffered enough for what she had brought upon us. It only mattered that he came back, and he was with me till the end.

                Accept whatever happens. Be strong…

                I am, father. I’ve become strong enough.

                Meet the right people, but choose the right ones.

                He’s right here with me. I wish you could have met him.

                I’ll always be with you.

                I know that now. I can feel you, father…you have been with me all this years. You were the strength that kept me going.

                I love you. Remember that, will you?

                I love you too, father. We’ll be together now. I’m almost there…

                The end came in the form of a spear, piercing us both, driving us into the darkness. Together.

               

                ...but the nameless heroes will have no room in these pages. They’ll walk the city forever, searching for answers, searching for absolution that should have long ago been given to them. They will forever live and relive the epic battle, the battle that united their fronts and tore them apart. No one will remember them, no one will marvel at their courage. They’ll remain known as Trojans, nameless souls who fought and died and lived again.

                I was a Trojan.

                I am a Trojan.

               

 

               

 

               

Author's Note

um. i fell in love with Troy when i was fifteen. so this sort of just came to me. please review. (:

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

The myths of Troy have allowed so many powerful stories to be written. I like your story. To be young and death always so close must be hard to maintain your sanity and happiness. I like the sweet story and even with death around them. They were proud to be people of Troy. I enjoyed the story.
Coyote

[Vicky Zhuang Yi-Yin]

I am not a fan of love stories. But sometimes, it's good to deviate. And I'm glad I did when I read this in the contest. I really loved this one. It's one of those, that I'm just going to love to read again and again, and it will never feel old. I liked how this was going, the flow was excellent. I also loved the Troy theme. I enjoyed reading it, and honestly, I'm honored to give this the featured work. Please add this to the group Write, Write, Write, so I can give it the reward it deserves. Great excellent job!