Page 53 of Axios
Peaceful.
Instead of taking shelter, I walked out into the open and allowed the rain to fall upon me. Closing my eyes, I tilted my face upward and focused on every thrumming of it on my body. How it landed on my cheek and trickled down my neck and to my bare chest. The way it soaked into my dark hair and dripped down my back.
“I know a story about the rain,” Eryx said from beside me. I hadn’t realized he’d approached. “If you wish to hear it.”
I looked at him. When wet, his golden hair darkened and the bottom of the strands curled. I touched the side of his face and brushed my thumb across his full bottom lip before withdrawing my hand, smiling.
“Tell me,” I said, craving to hear the excitement in his melodic voice as he did so.
The seasoned fighter faded during his story weaving, and I saw the soul of a poet. Perhaps in another life—the one where I would’ve been a merchant at sea—Eryx might have been a philosopher, or someone who touched people with his words as he did for me. He had a gift, just one more to add to his many talents.
“Follow me,” he spoke and touched my hand before turning and veering to the right.
I followed, admiring the way his back muscles moved under his skin as he strolled along the path. He possessed such strength, and yet, had warmth that penetrated through his green eyes in private moments, moments where we laid ourselves bare to each other, both physically and emotionally.
When I realized where he was leading me, I couldn’t help but smile.
We went to our tree and climbed up into it. The rain had picked up, but the leaves shielded us from most of it, only allowing the occasional drops to find us.
Eryx placed his back to the trunk as I straddled the branch to face him.
It was a spot we knew well, having played in that tree when we were young boys and even sharing our first kiss on the same branch we sat upon.
“Once, there was a sisterhood of nymphs called the Hyades,” he began, his tone rich and benevolent. “They were the daughters of Atlas, a Titan who rebelled against the gods and was cursed with bearing the weight of the sky on his shoulders for all eternity. He had many children, and one of them was a son called Hyas, who has a great archer. His sisters, the nymphs, adored him.”
As he talked, I placed my hand on his thigh and made circles on his skin, listening and picturing what he spoke of.
Most of his tales revolved around the gods, but so did our everyday life. Where I had grown to question the gods existence, Eryx truly believed in them. We used to share that belief, but I’d come to believe that a man made his own destiny.
If the gods did exist, they were observers at most. Watching, but not interfering.
Eryx watched my hand before lifting his gaze to meet mine. “One day, Hyas was hunting a large boar, when he was killed by the beast: a hunter gored by his intended prey. It was a tragedy. Such talent gone from this world. His sisters mourned his death. They grieved for days. Weeks. And as time passed, their tears only shed more vehemently. Their grief became too much for them to bear, and they died.”
I scrunched my face at him. “That’s awful. Why would you tell me such a story?”
He chuckled. “Always such an impulsive one you are, dear Ax. You did not allow me to finish.”
Biting my tongue, I eagerly waited for him to continue.
“Zeus, who had seen the sisters grieve for their brother, pitied them. He may be a ferocious, thunder god and king of the gods, but he sympathized with their love of family and therefore transformed them into stars, so that they may live on and light the night sky.”
He looked up before shifting his gaze back to me. “They continue to weep for their lost brother, and their tears turn to rain. However, rain waters the plants and trees and provides sustenance for the soil for our crops. It fills our streams and enriches our pastures.” He grabbed my hand and entwined our fingers. “You see, they lost a beloved sibling, but their grief brings new life.”
I sat quiet a moment. Thinking. Not only did his stories involve gods, but most dealt with death. Lessons learned through sacrifice.
“Do you not think that cruel?” I asked at last. “The sisters were finally at peace. Their sorrow had passed and they’d welcomed the sweet nothingness of death. Yet, Zeus forced them from the cloak of shadow, from numbness, and froze them in the sky to forever weep upon the land. He did not pity them. It is an eternal punishment for a wrong they did not do.”
“I had not considered that,” he said, watching me with a narrowed brow. “To me, it is a story of how good can stem from tragedy.”
“And to me, it is a story of how unjust the gods can be.”
He nodded and averted his stare. He did not say more, but I saw the deep contemplation on the planes of his handsome face. What I’d spoken affected him in some way.
I almost issued an apology; however, I did not know what I’d be apologizing for. We were so different in many aspects: beliefs, talents, intellect, and physical attributes. One of the only similarities we shared was our affection for each other.
Our hearts might have been connected, but our minds were not—other than being able to read each other’s feelings.
Once the rain stopped, we climbed down from the branch and walked to evening meal. The sun was still hidden behind the ashen clouds, but the warmth of the summer day still lingered, as did the humidity. It clung to my chest and seemed to seep inside my body, filling my lungs with a heavy vapor and weighing me down.
