"I am a traveler, You are my road.
I go from You to You."

- Zeynep Hatun

I - Krista
Year 1508

Mornings were her favourite time of the day.

It was the rising sun over Constantinople which had reddened her cheeks. The rays had caressed her skin and shook her awake. It was the warmth that gave her the purpose she craved, the purpose of life that drove her to live to the full each day.

Mornings were when she would wake up before six to cook breakfast for her father, and have a small cup of Turkish coffee. The breakfast she cooked she would keep warm by the stove, waiting for her father to wake up and eat. After getting dressed, she would pick up a few of the books she had brought home to read and find her way walking down the narrow roads of her city.

From where she lived, it was only at least a fifteen minute walk to the Grand Bazaar. As she walked, she passed by water-bearers, fishmongers, bakers and other people whom were already set about their business for the day. The sky held hues of pink, blue and purple, which contested for power in the heavens. And the sun –

Krista breathed in deeply. The sun was breathtaking. It created a spectrum of affectionate colours upon the stones of the buildings, upon the early shadows, upon her face of ivory.

When she turned the last street, there stood one of the few entrances to the Grand Bazaar. Though most of the population was not yet awake, there was a good number of shopkeepers moving around, making the preparations to open their stores. The Bazaar was a mixture of armories, tailors, bakers, spice vendors, carpet vendors, and so much more.

She made her way to where her bookstore was – actually, it was her father's, but that didn't matter. It was his name in the papers, it was him whom received the money, but truly, it was her heart that carried the business. Her passion for literature, her love for poetry and prose which kept it running. Krista went behind the counter and began taking the cloths off the books. Quickly, she dusted the covers with the palm of her hand, and as she went through the spines on her bookshelf, she felt her own fingers trace their golden titles.

Sighing, she sat on her stool and pulled the wooden box from under the counter, making sure she had enough change for customers.

The morning passed slowly, and she was left to her daily pondering of whether there was something else out there for her. She was…satisfied with her life, but perhaps there was some…something else – just something. The very word made her teeth grind because she couldn't understand – she didn't know what she really wanted, or what she was searching for, and it was frustrating. She cursed her mind for dwelling on places where it wasn't meant to dwell. It was her place, as a woman, to do what her father told her, not to seek other pleasures or desires.

It was nearly lunch when she came back down to earth. The crowds became thicker, but they mostly flocked around the stalls aside from her own. The bookstore did have a big following, but today, none of the usual customers of scholars were around.

Krista placed one of her books on the counter and began to flick through the pages, uninterested. She had read it at least five times over and almost memorized it cover to cover. Her mind began swirling with the poetry of Ovid, until-

"Is that Metamorphoses?"

A husky voice compelled her to look up in surprise.

There stood a tall, freckled brunette with piercing, amber eyes. Her trousers were ragged, tied around her waist with a long piece of rope, and seemed like they were crafted from potato sacks. Her clothes reeked of fish and crabmeat, and of the salty Bosphorus Sea. Krista felt her heart flutter – she was the most attractive woman she had ever had the pleasure of seeing. She simply stared at her, mouth slightly agape.

"Are you going to answer me?" The brunette asked, putting her hands against her hips.

Nodding her head, Krista regained her composure. "Y-yes – yes, this is Metamorphoses. Have you read it before?"

Her ponytail shook. "No, I haven't. Is that copy for sale?"

"No, I'm sorry – this is my copy. But I could request an order for it if you want."

"No, no, it's okay, I uh, I wouldn't have the money to buy it anyway."

Krista smiled. "So what brings you here?"

"I just thought I'd go for a stroll here. Saw this shop. Got curious. Any customers?"

"Sadly, business is not good today."

For a good thirty seconds they eyed each other in silence, both smiling, Krista more obvious, showing teeth, with the brunette girl only lifting the corners of her mouth.

The girl then chuckled. "I haven't introduced myself. I'm Ymir."

"And I'm," what's my name again? The blonde thought, "I'm Krista."

"Well, from what I have seen so far, Krista, you're very interested in poems."

Grinning even wider, Krista agreed with a short, happy sigh. "Yes, good observation, Ymir. Do you have a favourite poet in mind?"

"I would say…Rumi. Or perhaps Hafiz." Ymir leaned in and rested her elbow on the counter.

"How romantic. I wouldn't have seen you as the type."

"No?"

"No."

"Is it because I'm dressed like a beggar?" Ymir grinned. "It's bad to judge a book by its cover, ҫiҫek."

"I assure you, I am no flower!" Krista harrumphed. "Well I suppose, I was judging a little bit."

"Truth be told, I'm a humble person working on the docks and on the ships. I catch the finest fish. I am the best!" The brunette raised her arms and shook her hands with pizzazz.

"Oh?" Krista giggled. "Why don't we strike a deal, then?"

"Go ahead. I'm listening."

"Come by again tomorrow, with the freshest, finest fish. For that, I'll give you my copy of Metamorphoses."

"Hm. I'm not sure how I'll manage to snatch one from under the noses of my superiors, but for you ҫiҫek, the best fish in the sea." Ymir bowed dramatically. "I will see you tomorrow then."

With that, she left and disappeared into the crowd of the Grand Bazaar.

Meanwhile, Krista sat there, mind elsewhere, thinking about her. How she had somehow poured spice into her day and made that small difference. People like that rarely make such an entrance. Her thoughts then wandered into the image of the girl's freckles, and she pictured connecting them one by one, all the tiny stars on her face –

"Miss?"

An awaiting customer stared down at her, eyebrows raised.

"Oh! I'm sorry," she said, "were you interested in buying a book?" She had forgotten that she was operating the store, that there were actually other customers to serve.

"Some scrolls, actually. Maps, perhaps?"

"Of course, let me have a look around for you…"

###

At dinner that evening, they were quiet as usual. There was really nothing to be said. She knew what he did all day. Mooching up to the high priests and the politicians near Topkap׀ Palace. He was a man of middle build, with cropped hair and a moustache that swept his upper lip. From a first glance, no one would think that he was anyone important, but truthfully, he was a man of great power. What power, Krista had no idea of. He never bothered to tell her. After all, she was only his bastard.

But perhaps her meeting with Ymir was a signal of change. So, she spoke.

"So…Father, it wasn't too busy today."

He grunted through a mouthful of bazlama.

"None of the usual customers. Perhaps a scholar or two, and even this…this girl."

His silence should have discouraged her to continue speaking, but she couldn't help herself. Suddenly the chickpeas on her plate became the source of her for idle entertainment.

"She works at the docks. I don't think she has any family. I wonder where she lives. Perhaps not too far from the sea. Do you happen to know any fishermen, Father?"

He shook his head. At this point, he had stopped eating and began to stare at her with odd indifference and warning. "Do not climb into the walls of people," he said. "It is none of your business to tread in their cities."

Krista shrunk. "It's just…I've never had a friend, and…she just seemed like she'd be a good one."

"You know why I've made you stay away from kids before."

To this day, she could still feel the rough edge of the stones that had cut across her cheek and her forehead. To this day, she remembered the names they called her. To this day, she remembered why it was forbidden for her to utter her real name. To even think of it.

"I know," she replied, voice turning thick. "But…she doesn't know me, Father. And I won't tell her. I won't give the slightest hint that I'm H-"

"Enough." He wiped his mouth with a piece of cloth, hands curling into fists. "Just…just see to it that nothing becomes so serious between you two that you let something slip."

He stood up, tossed the cloth on the table and began to head upstairs. "Do the dishes, clean everything up, and then go straight to bed."

Relieved that her Father gave her the blessing of making a friend, she gave an absentminded nod. "Yes…Father."

###

That night she dreamt, she dreamt of the ocean and the tall, freckled girl who tamed it.

GLOSSARY

ҫiҫek - flower

bazlama - single-layered, flat, circular and leavened bread with a creamish yellow colour