Warnings: religious guilt (made up religion), angst, mature themes (18+)
A/n: No specific time period mentioned but not modern. I’ll try updating soon. Enjoy?😅
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There’s an uncharacteristic thrum in the air the following morning. News spread quickly of Aïcha’s discovery lastnight. Dahlia had forbidden her to touch him, but the older woman had sent her to get Zuri and Maya— all three women the eldest on the island— to heft the giant man inside the infirmary. She has no idea why women of a certain age are allowed to interact with or touch men when it’s deemed necessary (she always questioned why Morher Dahlia greeted the men taking supplies), but she could only stand by helplessly and watch the three women struggle with the man. Aïcha hadn’t slept; curiosity begged her to sneak out of her room and to the seldomly used infirmary. But Maya, who has medical training, was put in charge of not only taking care of him, but keeping the girls away. It wasn’t said, but Aïcha is no fool.
A hush falls over the mess hall after Mother Dahlia utters the words. Breakfast is delayed and now she sees why. The woman wishes to address them first.
“As you have all heard, an incident occurred last night. Aïcha found a man washed up on the beach and he’s here on the island.”
“Why help him? He’s a man. Shouldn’t we have tossed him to the sea for the goddess to deal with?”
Murmurs erupt after Imani’s question. Aïcha bites her lip to keep her protests to herself.
“I understand where you’re coming from, but from our observation, he survived a shipwreck. He seems to be the lone survivor too, and he could’ve been taken anywhere else, yet the waves swept him here. It has to be because Vrohza willed it.”
Aïcha clenches her fist as her heart rate spikes. That means he’s staying. There’ll be a man on the island for at least another month until the next shipment arrives.
“B-but, men bring chaos.”
“Usually, but sometimes, their chaos serves a purpose. Maybe the goddess isn’t done with him yet. I prayed about it and I feel compelled to help, so I’m obeying.”
Low chatter spreads through the room after Dahlia speaks again. Aïcha, on the other hand, remains quiet. Her feet bounce restlessly beneath the table.
“What was the purpose of his voyage in the first place? What if he is a buccaneer like the ones in the stories you tell us?” This time, it’s Sian who asks the question.
“He isn’t lucid enough to answer our questions yet; he seems to be dehydrated. When he is, we’ll interrogate him. In the meantime, if the goddess brought him here, then surely she will protect us. I am not questioning her will and neither should you.” Dahlia warns harshly.
It does the trick; nobody else wants their curiosity satisfied at the cost of possibly angering Vrohza. Breakfast is served to obviously skittish but quiet women. Aïcha is placed on kitchen duty for the rest of the day and she pouts at the fact. She hates doing the dishes and peeling vegetables. Especially now when there’s something so interesting just a few doors away that she’s forbidden to see. It makes her restless, but not enough to make her stupid.
Aïcha moves through the day like any other. She does her duty, moves to the temple for hours of worship, then back to the kitchen to help with dinner preparations. Mother Dahlia appears in the kitchen while they’re dishing out beans and root vegetables for the girls gathered in the mess hall.
“Aïcha, take two plates for both Maya and the stranger to the infirmary. Zuri and I will distribute dinner. Come right back after drop off.” The woman says sternly.
Aïcha’s adrenaline spikes so suddenly that she gets heart palpitations. Licking her lips, she nods at the woman and moves to obey. She desperately tries to keep her excitement from showing. Aïcha is mindful to move at a normal pace as she carefully strides with plates in both hands down the hallway.
“Sister Maya.” She calls softly in greeting before using her foot to kick the ajar door wider.
Inside, Aïcha freezes at the sight of the man sitting tall in one of the twin beds in the infirmary. The size of it makes him look intimidatingly bigger. Their conversation suddenly comes to a hush when they notice her presence.
“Ah, Aïcha, thanks for bringing dinner.” Maya rises from the chair a few feet away from the bed the man is occupying. She takes the dishes from her hands with a small smile.
Aïcha’s eyes swing in his direction again, fascinated by everything he is. Not only his gender, but how he looks. From the stories she heard about men, she expected all of them to look like hideous trolls. Only ugly creatures would do such heinous things, right? It made sense in her head. She can’t put a face like his to that of a murderer and a thief. Maybe she doesn’t belong on the mainlands, because she’d be easily deceived.
The man stares at her with an expression of neutrality for a few seconds, then, his intense brown eyes widen.
“You… you’re who I saw, you saved me.” He moves as if to get up but Aïcha steps back in fright with her eyes wide.
He immediately settles back down; “I don’t mean to frighten you, I only want to thank you.” He mutters gently.
His voice is not only deep, but the words are softer at the edges from his mouth. He sounds strange, but she quite likes it. Aïcha knows enough to realize he’s from a land far from here— further than the mainlands.
“That’s enough, Aïcha. Go have dinner.” Maya says sternly.
With a quick nod, Aïcha scrambles out of the room. She wonders why Mother Dahlia sent her there and allowed him to see her, but she guesses with the man trapped on the island for another month at least, they know it’d be inevitable. They can’t confine him to the infirmary till then. Aïcha ambles down the hall, trying to ignore the strange tug in her belly and the sweat on her palms.
Two tense days pass without Aïcha getting another glimpse of him though his arrival rearranges almost everything around her. They’re now all assigned a designated time to use the communal shower together with either Zuri or Mother Dahlia keeping watch. She heard the two whispering about the man using the restroom in the infirmary, but being forced to make the trek to the river that they run their own pipes from every time he needs a bath. Aïcha pretended she wasn’t eavesdropping while she scrubbed her skin raw. Before his arrival, Aïcha liked to visit the river at nights, long after the entire house was asleep. It seems that’s another part of her routine that’ll have to change. At least that’s what she tells herself. Dahlia and Zuri now also take turns guarding the bathroom door at night to ensure the man doesn’t pounce on any girl who tries to relieve herself while they’re mostly asleep. Aïcha is the only one who notices how utterly miserable Zuri has grown.
“I can’t believe there’s a man here— eating our food, existing in our presence. It doesn’t feel right.”
She ignores Imani, focusing her attention on digging into the cool soil with her fingers. When she deems it deep enough, she distributes a handful of seeds inside. They’re working on replenishing the garden in the unforgiving afternoon sun. Aïcha is already feeling irritable and she is in no mood for Imani and her holier than thou attitude.
“Right?” She insists from her right.
“Why does it even matter? We don’t even see the man. The only reason I even remember he’s here is because everyone keeps creating an elephant in a room he’s not even in.” She huffs bitterly. Aïcha isn’t being truthful, she spends a lot of time thinking about the man herself and that’s where most of her frustration stems from: not having her curiosity sated.
Imani is stupefied by her snappy tone and obvious lack of concern. Aïcha wishes she felt bad, but she’s only relieved that the woman doesn’t attempt to speak to her for the rest of their time outside.
Later that night, Aïcha sneaks past a snoring Zuri and makes a trip down to the river with a lantern in her shaky grasp. When she finds it empty, she pretends she isn’t disappointed and spends hours floating aimlessly on the water’s cool surface with the moon bathing her in its glow. Questioning the only life she knows and trying not to feel guilty for it.
Their first encounter by the river happens after her fourth try. Her feet stumble at the sound of gentle splashes. Aïcha wars with herself mentally; she’s still out of sight, she can turn around and head back inside and sleep without guilt. Instead, she creeps forward as if his presence beckons her to. She hides behind the mammee tree that’s out of season, peeking around it to stare at him. Her mouth hangs open. In hindsight, she should’ve expected to find him like this if he’s taking a bath; but she was too curious to properly think things through. His upper body is bare— maybe the rest of him is too but he’s waist deep in the water. There are notable scratches and gashes along his body with something else marring his skin. They seem to be permanent as they’re still in place after him being in contact with water so often. Unexpectedly, he turns to face her. Aïcha stiffens as they make eye contact. Her first instinct is to run and he must realize it too because he raises both his hands, palms up as if to demonstrate he’s harmless.
“Please don’t run, I won’t hurt you.” His voice rumbles softly over the breeze.
“Mother Dahlia says men are dangerous.” She eyes him like a deer caught in headlights.
He chuckles but it’s without humor; “I guess I can’t argue against that.”
“So it’s true, your kind is a danger to us?”
“What’s your name?” He eyes her curiously.
She hesitates for a few seconds before whispering; “Aïcha.”
“Aïcha,” he tests her name on his tongue. His accent curves around it so beautifully;
“Well, Aïcha, men are dangerous. Men are responsible for most if not all the horrors that’s befallen the earth. Men kill and steal and rape…” he frowns as if ashamed.
“I don’t know, I guess we’re selfish creatures.”
“And you, are you like that?” She eyes him warily.
“I try not to be. I’ve never intentionally harmed anyone and I plan to keep it that way. My mother would come back from the dead and give me a beating if I did.”
Aïcha bites her lip to contain her smile but he notices. His amusement shows in the crinkle of his under eyes even if his mouth doesn’t move an inch.
His features harden a fraction. “I’m a merchant. My crew and I were sailing to exchange goods when pirates came aboard. They killed my crew, stole my things and took me hostage. They wanted ransom money from my family back home. But the storm hit. Wrecked the ship, I think they all got killed but I was somehow lucky enough to survive it.”
Aïcha gasps softly; “Mother Dahlia was right.” She glances in the direction of the sea that’s concealed by bushes from so deep within the island.
“She said the storm was necessary— it was our goddess punishing men who deserved it. Those pirates caused the storm.”
Virgil nods slowly, looking unconvinced. “Right. If only she had sent the storm a day earlier to get them before they killed my friends.”
At Aïcha’s scandalous gasp, all amusement slips from his face.
“The goddess shouldn’t be mocked, especially not in the presence of her servants.” It lacks conviction but at least she said it.
“I meant no offense. I just…” he scans her expression carefully;
She desperately wants to ask him what he meant to say even though she knows it would be something blasphemous. Aïcha swallows tightly and decides to change the conversation instead.
“The markings on your arm, what are they?”
He holds his hand up under the moonlight to give her a clearer look. “Tattoos. They use ink and needles to make permanent markings on the skin.”
He shrugs. “I’d say sentiment but to tell you the truth, half of them have no deep meaning. Just my use of free will.”
Something cold passes through her body when he utters that phrase: free will. The concept seems so foreign at the moment that it makes her eyes water.
“Oh. And that strap on your wrist?”
“A watch. It tells the time.” He looks as if tempted to approach but thinks better of it.
“The shorter hand shows the hour and the longer shows the minute. The face is broken but it still works and I’m grateful. It’s my mother’s last gift to me.”
“Oh. I’m sorry about your mother. I’ll do a special prayer for her soul at the temple tomorrow.”
He smiles softly. “Thank you, Aïcha.”
“How old are you?” She whispers.
He gulps heavily at her response but doesn’t comment otherwise.
“Virgil. You aren’t from the mainlands, are you? You sound different than the rest of us from there.”
“I… I’m guessing the mainland is the country closest to here so no. I’m from a country that’s almost on the other side of the world— Holland. We speak many languages there, but my mother tongue is different. That's why I have an accent.”
She blinks at him in awe. “What’s it like in Holland? Do you have an island for servants of Vrohza as well?”
Virgil shakes his head with something akin to pity on his face; “No, Aïcha. In fact, your goddess is a new concept for me. In Holland, we have different religions but none require isolating women from their families and society.”
“Oh…” she casts her gaze downward.
“In Holland, there are restaurants, those are places you go to eat food; and pubs— you go there with your friends to drink and unwind. My favourite are the festivals. People dance, sell different kinds of food. I especially love lamb meatball skewers.” He wiggles his brows at her teasingly.
Aïcha smiles shyly. “It sounds wonderful. I wish-”
She cuts herself off with a harsh bite to her lower lip.
“It’s okay, Aïcha. You’re allowed to want to experience things.” He mutters with a frown.
“Do you… do you think I’d be considered strange in Holland?”
“Dressed like that? Yes.”
Aïcha giggles at his teasing.
His demeanor grows somber; “But for looking like you do? Not at all. Matter of fact, you’d have suitors lining up to court you. You’re beautiful, Aïcha.”
Her breath hitches. “I am?”
“Yes.” He responds without a moment’s hesitation.
Aïcha licks her suddenly dry lips. “Did you… did you dance with many beautiful women at festivals in Holland?”
Virgil starts wading through the water, moving in her direction with his eyes glued to hers. Shivers wrack her frame and not because of the wind.
“Yes, and…other things.” He eyes her, daring her to take the bait.
Aïcha tries not to let her eyes wander as he exposes more of his torso in the shallower parts of the river. She chokes when his lower abdomen comes into view; there’s a prominent V at his narrow hips. He’s so muscular— so defined. His upper body isn’t that broad but his strength is still apparent.
“Please, no further. I ca- I shouldn’t see- I can’t see-”
His eyes soften a fraction.
“It’s okay, Aïcha, I hear you.” He holds his hands up in surrender and even takes two steps backwards.
“Thank you.” She feels embarrassed for reasons unknown to her.
“I apologize for overstepping.” Virgil says softly.
Aïcha can’t stand the warm feeling that’s building in her lower belly that’s being exacerbated by his piercing eyes. He stares at her as if he can see past the layers of her clothing. A gasp tumbles out of her mouth at the feel of the peaks of her breasts tightening. They poke against the material of her dress in a way she never felt before. He’s her temptation; was this why the goddess sent him her way? To see if she’d be easy to sway? To see if she’s fit to fill Mother Dahlia’s shoes? Her lips tremble, eyes growing teary.
“Aïcha?” He calls in concern.
“I’m sorry, I need to go to bed. We shouldn’t- this shouldn’t happen again.”
Aïcha turns and sprints through the bushes without looking back despite his desperate calls of her name.
