The Rising Sun (1)
When I opened my eyes, the first thing that filled my vision was the blazing red sunset pouring down over the oasis. And warmer still were Miriam's eyes gazing at me.
How long did I sleep?
I jolted in surprise, trying to sit up, but a soft touch gently pressed my forehead back down.
"You can sleep more. Rashid and Hasim only caught little fish—they haven't hooked anything big yet."
Miriam grinned playfully, but I could see right through her. I didn't know exactly how long I'd been out, but it had been before noon when I dozed off, and now the evening glow was fading. No way they hadn't caught a single fish in all that time. I'd have believed a different lie. Plus, her thighs couldn't possibly be fine after propping up my heavy head for hours. See? A quick glance showed her feet flushed red. Her thighs and toes trembled faintly. Feeling so guilty, I rolled aside to give her space, and she stretched her legs with some relief, kneading her cramped calves.
I rolled all the way to the edge of the mat and sat up carefully, facing her. Her pained expression melted away, replaced by a beaming smile as she looked at me. I thanked her.
"That's plenty. If anything, I feel bad for sleeping so soundly."
A few hours of sweet, deep sleep. My brain, stiff from sleepless nights, now whirred smoothly like it had been oiled. What a refreshing moment. And Miriam's soft, plush lap pillow had made it even more comfortable than I deserved, outweighing the guilt.
"Tch, 'sorry' covers it? My legs are all swollen from you sleeping half the day!"
She'd just said it was fine to sleep more, but now that I'd moved off her lap, she wasn't thrilled with my apology. She was hinting for a better one, so I placed my hand on her head and patted it.
"Yeah, thanks for being my personal pillow."
Only then did she smile, satisfied. Looked like that was the right answer. But I couldn't relax just yet. We'd come out for a picnic, and all I'd done was sleep—while she'd missed out entirely thanks to pillow duty. Normally, I'd have nagged to head back after enjoying it, but right now, I'd only slept, and she'd only provided the lap. Leaving now would mean a massive backlash storm later.
"Let's grill the fish we caught, rest a bit, then head back. It'll get cold after dark—don't stay too long."
That was my optimal response. Her wide eyes confirmed it worked. The old me would've rushed off, so she'd probably been steeling herself for disappointment. But I suggested lingering, which surprised her—in a good way, like if she suddenly ghosted me one day.
Anyway, not a bad look on her face. She gazed at me steadily, then replied with a faint smile.
"...We did catch a decent-sized catfish. Might take a while to grill, so should I behave and wait?"
At that, I scooted obediently to her side and nodded, plopping down. Our shoulders just brushed. Normally, I'd prioritize efficiency over sentiment and hurry, but today, I wanted to soak in more of that sunset shattering on the river.
I picked up a stick rolling by the basket and idly drew meaningless lines in the sand. Then my eyes caught the small jar of perfume she'd used earlier. Its smooth scent still lingered on my hands. Glancing at Miriam, who’d brought it, I spoke up.
"That rose perfume from before."
"Yeah? Nice, right?"
Her voice softened like melting honey as the topic shifted to perfume.
"The scent's still hanging around. Feels even clearer than before."
"Right? Took you long enough. It's the most expensive one I own. I saved it specially... but it's great for lulling someone to sleep, so I brought it."
She beamed, fishing for more praise with that honest cuteness and a hint of smugness. I chuckled and used the stick to etch a delicate rose pattern in the sand. My drafting habit made the lines sharp, fluid, and precise.
"Once things settle down, I'll make you a better bottle."
"A bottle?"
"Yeah, not these crude clay ones baked from dirt. A pretty glass one, made from fine sand."
My casual offer must've caught her off guard. Her mouth hung open. She glanced between the sand rose and my face, then gently leaned her head on my shoulder. Much closer, warmer than before.
"Didn't know you did glasswork too."
"Eh, not as good as weapons... but I can manage."
"Doesn't matter about the bottle. Just... don't bury yourself in work all the time. Come on picnics with me more often. That's enough."
As she spoke, a savory smoke scent wafted over from across the river on the breeze. Rashid's hearty laugh echoed from afar, mingling with the steady breathing of the woman on my shoulder. A medieval twilight, free of 21st-century smog or keyboard clacks. The densest peace of my life unfolded right here.
We sat in silence for a while. Sharing body heat said more than words ever could—a lesson we first learned in this oasis.
"Look, the first star's out."
At the tip of her pointing finger, a tiny, sparkling light hung in the deepening purple western sky. Venus, or as some called it, the dog-star chaser.
"Yeah. Already time for Venus to rise..."
"Venus...? That's what they call it where you came from? We call it al-Zuhara—bright and beautiful, burning fiercely like love, shining like victory in war, like the goddess Atargatis."
Her eyes, speaking of Venus—the octant's first seat and Syria's goddess Atargatis—mirrored that star. Morning star, Venus, al-Zuhara, evening star, dog-star chaser. In my era, just the second planet from the sun, a term for astrophysics majors. But to these romantic ancients, it was the brightest beacon in their night sky, a steadfast part of their worldview.
We watched that star outshine the emerging first-magnitude lights, bearing countless names and meanings.
Gazing at Venus, I spoke slowly.
"Well, precisely, 'Venus' is what the cross-worshippers call it. Where I lived, it was the Golden Star—or Evening Star."
I wondered how auto-translation would handle it, but my worry was unfounded. She beamed innocently, my words landing well.
"We focus more on the essence of things than goddess tales."
She nodded at my addendum.
"Sounds like your world's way. But the star that opens dawn? That's romantic too, right?"
"Yeah... it is. Feels that way."
She smiled deeper, nestling her head closer on my shoulder. They say people who look at the sky three times a day without reason are the happy ones. I'd never quite got it before, but now I did.
The hanja for Venus—金星—flashed in my mind. Metal gold. Love and victory (Atargatis), won through metal and valor. Inevitably, what withstands valor's mad flames is always some form of metal, everywhere. So Venus linked and pierced her and me.
"Names differ, but it still connects us. Doesn't matter—we're watching it together."
I felt her nuzzle my shoulder. Turning, I met her upward gaze and smile, like a kid hearing more than expected. A tiny Venus gleamed in her eyes.
"Then that star we share is essential for us? Everything it whispers is part of our needed life."
"Yeah... hope so."
She whispered with a soft smile. I replied lightly, gently adjusting her hand—propped on the ground, head on my shoulder. Our rough, callused palms intertwined with soft fingers that had granted me rest. A strange certainty bloomed through our clasped grip. Desert night air cooled the oasis, but we weren't cold. Not with thin kaftans, but our joined hands sharing warmth.
Far off, smoke rose from Hasim and Rashid's fire. A feast of fish would soon be ready. Until they called, we leaned into each other.
"Teacher, your face is all relaxed! Glad we dragged you out with Miriam-sis, even if by force."
Hasim joked, catfish oil on his lips. Rashid nodded silently. Not that I'd ease their workload bomb for undermining the forge master's authority.
"Next time, rest before we kidnap you, Forge Master. Even steel gets tempered—humans can't just take heat forever."
The campfire-grilled catfish—crisp outside, juicy in—was incredible without spices. Swallowing the last piece, I brushed sand off and stood.
"Doesn't mean your piled-up orders vanish. Don't overdo it."
They tsked, but didn't look unhappy. They'd planned for it. After that leisurely, warm dinner by the fire, with night fully settled and cold creeping in, I started packing, worried about colds.
"Alright, time to head back. Worked enough to earn rest—now pay it back."
Miriam pouted at my call, but I scooped her up. We mounted camels first, ahead of the father-son duo folding mats.
The night march to Damascus was quiet. Formation differed from outbound: no me wedged between dromedary humps. Miriam leaned against my chest, her braided hair poking my chest and tickling my chin with each bumpy step. Thin kaftan-transmitted warmth and thick rose perfume made the night breeze feel mild.
Damascus's boundary neared. Regretting the impending parting, she craned back to ask,
"Straight to the forge when we get back?"
Chiding me for work right after rest, but her position made me chuckle, easing her worry.
"Nah. Full rest tonight. But tomorrow, you two rest extra? I'll double down—make other artisans gossip about your slacking."
Rashid and Hasim flinched behind us, but I ignored it. Punishment for eroding authority.
The back gate hit with familiar iron and sulfur smells. My hammer itch surged upon work-return, but I suppressed it. Miriam watched, and lies weren't an option. Rest day it was—with a special twist.
I dropped Rashid's family first, then turned the reins.
"Baraka?"
Expecting to dismount, Miriam shifted—landing snuggled in my arms. She looked up curiously. Normally, I'd peel off coolly.
"Gotta escort you to Hamza's. Night roads are rough."
"......"
Her glare screamed You never do that, but instead of snapping, she burrowed deeper into my chest.
No 21st-century luxury sedan ride, but moonlight camel escort had its romantic charm.
At the quiet timber yard, I helped her down. She gripped my hem, then released.
"Today was really fun. For you too, right?"
Her question drew a smile before I answered. Bright grin, lap pillow brag, thigh pat—irresistible.
"Not turning back into the work-obsessed Forge Master tomorrow, right?"
Half-joking, half-worried. I shrugged playfully.
"Can't promise, but I won't be a zoning-out insomniac."
"Tch, what kinda answer... But that's enough."
She tsked but accepted it. I brushed a stray lock from her cheek.
"Sleep well, Miriam."
"You too, Baraka. I'll pack tasty stuff tomorrow—rest up!"
She dashed inside after unlocking. Only once the door shut firm did I remount and rein up.
The lively warmth gone, Damascus's chill pierced my lungs.
One day's rest is enough... but wrap it up and crash hard tonight.
Straight to the office at the main gate. Morning's stress? Zero grams left. Dark room, unlit candles—only pale moonlight lit the desk blueprints.
I grinned, grabbing the pen. Cool metal flowed through my fingers. Exploding calculations poured onto paper.
Scratch, scratch, scratch!
Final straight line, perfect dimensions checked. Pen down.
Thud!
Justus, you arrogant prick—straight to hell with this devil's temptation. Blueprint complete.
"Tomorrow, even breathing time gets precious."
My murmur: overtime decree for the whole forge—including me. And a lifelong cruel sentence for future Justus.