note: this is the start of a series drawn from the mythological list at the link provided on my profile page. i'll try my best to keep the theme strictly mythological (greek, for the most part) but i won't give you the same stories that you've heard countless times, or watched on the disney's portrayal of hercules. when something that popular comes up, well...i'll do my best to make it original, but not completely pathetic.
at the end of each, i'll inform you which names i took from the list and give their meaning.
one: acheron and amaranth
Acheron was the river of woe, she remembered. Cupping her hands filled with water, she looked down at her distorted reflection. Amaranth, named for her never-faltering smiles and joy, smiled at herself. She thought it was quite ironic, actually, that she lived less than ten yards from a river, named for it's dreariness. There was a myth that floated around occasionally, hundreds of years old, that the same river Acheron was a part, though she did not know of how many, of the river Styx. Somewhere, though, she was sure it did reach into the levels of Hell, carrying souls of the dead.
It was silly, she knew, to believe such myths and tales from old travelers.
Amaranth dunked the water-jar into the water, warmed by the sun above her. Using the soap, made from crop oils and animal fats, she poured the water over her head and scrubbed her scalp. Hoping she'd worked effectively on the soap and there'd be a certain shine to her dusty red hair.
Just as she was rinsing the last of the soap, she heard the crackling of leaves in the forest, the sudden silence from the birds. Twisting around on her knees, she craned her neck to look behind her.
There, just a mere two yards away from her, was an almost transparent man with odd colored hair. His face had prominent cheek bones and it hurt just to look at them, made her feel like her own face was caving in on itself, too.
Amaranth stared at her company, her face neither cold nor welcome, neither confused and scared or understanding. She was just waiting, the clay jar feeling larger and heavier than it had felt before.
She noticed his eyes were a dark, dark blue and his face a pale, chalky white. The hair on his head, which had a slight green tint, was brown and muddy, and didn't match his almost gold eyebrows. He was dressed just as any other traveler was, with pelts hanging from his hips and teeth strung around his neck. Around his right ankle, he had a oily red piece of cloth tied around the boot, hanging limp.
Just as she was about to stand and take her hasty leave, his eyes glittered, knowing, and he spoke. "I'm Acheron...a friend."
Amaranth stood then, her fingers turned white from pressing against the clay jar and from fear. Her heartbeat was so loud, so fast that she was sure he could hear it. She was sure that he could feel it, too, taking over her mind. Silently, Amaranth stood, finally sending him a look of distrust.
She knew that name...she had just been thinking about it! About the irony! So badly, Amaranth wanted to call him on his all-too-obvious bluff, but she wanted to be on the man's better side. Instead, she gave him her name, quietly.
He smiled, amused, and almost instantly, she knew he thought of the irony, as well, could hear the small gears clicking inside his very own head. "'One that does not wither', you say?" His head tilted to the side, as if contemplating something, then his smile broadened. Only this time, Amaranth noticed, it was much more friendly, much more calming. "...'Pigweed'."
It took a second before she understood what he was saying, what he was implying. Though she had never seen nor smelled the actual plant herself, she heard many stories about it's horrible smell despite it's common beauty. More often, she heard of how it was a pesky weed, beautiful at first, then troublesome and overflowing not long after. Because of that, Amaranth was also called pigweed.
Her face flamed up, embarassed, and she bent down to pick up her belongings and strap them around her waist. "I have to go," she said briskly.
"I mean no harm, have no ill-intentions or thoughts."
"I never assumed that you did."
Acheron smiled at that, his teeth gleaming white and dangerous. God, she knew he didn't believe her one bit. Amaranth froze on the spot and watched as he advanced on her, afraid to move.
His hand raised as if to stroke her cheek or grab her hair, she did not know which it was. Her breath hitched, frantic, and she closed her eyes when he hand came very near her face. She waited, eyes closed and breath held, but it never touched her, no breeze from the movement of his hand cooled her cheeks.
Amaranth opened her eyes and saw nothing. She turned around, expecting him to be right behind her, imposing. But all she saw was the red cloth, floating atop the water and sinking fast. Looking around, guiltily and secretively, she darted to the edge of the river, grabbed the cloth and almost sprinted home.
She couldn't be sure what he was or who, and she didn't dare to ask what it meant. The spirit of the river? she thought, wondering. Or was he a ghost? A dead soul, a dead trickster? She did not know.
But she knew she would never forget. Acheron. The river.
acheron - the acheron is a river in northwest greece. in ancient times, acheron was interpreted as "the stream of woe", and often believed to be a branch of the underworld river Styx, where newly dead souls were transported over to hades. - amaranth, or amarant (from the greek amarantos, unwithering), a name chiefly used in poetry, and applied to amaranth and other plants which, from not soon fading, typified immortality. "one that does not wither", "immortality"
amaranth - amaranth, or amarant (from the greek amarantos, unwithering), a name chiefly used in poetry, and applied to amaranth and other plants which, from not soon fading, typified immortality. "one that does not wither", "immortality"
a/n: one story, two names down...who knows how many to go? also, i won't be using every single name under the mythological list (located at alternativebabynames(dot)com) ...just a few from each letter.