Outis

Content Warning: Mentions of mistreatment of women and transgender people.

I heard once that Achilles had worn a dress. Men heard it too, some even brave enough to speak of it. They were swift to be dealt with. Great Achilles; swift footed, spear holding, butcher of The Trojan War. I remembered that day, when the remark passed the curled lips of Agamemnon, like a reed’s whisper being swept into the air. It lingered for a short while, taunting the minds of soldiers. This mere thought was enough to turn honour to shame, the very concept could turn back the successes of nearly a decade. This is why none spoke of it. In just, they would have said, for the greater good it must be ignored. After all, Achilles had already declared his rejection of Agamemnon, he would refuse to continue to aid the ever coming war. This was the thing that stuck with men, though they stared motionless at the time.

Which is why I felt so much shame, that not for a single moment did I feel hatred. Not even when his hubris became his soul, when he would leave us for our slaughter. No, my mind wandered as soon as the secret slipped from his grasp. Great Achilles… if he could do what he has done. If he could reach successes just short of the Sun. All while blurring the line of man and woman. Why couldn't I?

That was the moment, I tell people, that was the moment that transformed me. That night, far away from where the men gathered in concern around the campfire. Exchanging glances, false hope and a falser narrative. I was the soldier who ran across the sand, my armour thick with sweat, the metal bruising my skin. As I ran towards the ocean. As I proudly threw the symbol of honour from my head, let it tumble away with the waves. Looking up at the sky and with a cry let the stars consume me. I remember that moment, when it all went black.

When I opened my eyes, I was back in Phthia. A group of girls sat in the sea, tunics laid in their arms being scrubbed, pulled, hung. Many young, hardly any old, carried out the demands of the palace. I was one of them. But, I outshone them. Like what the Sun is to the sky, a star in a sea of clouds. Thick black curls draped across pale skin, my movements danced in the air with ease. I was as beautiful as I was miserable.

It was then that a whisper of my name seeped into my ear, it rang in my head, it hurt. I turned towards the source. The girl sat next to me, with a look of mischief that ran across her face, for only a moment until it was quickly stuffed back into its place. She went back to looking focused, looking proper and kind. She looked miserable too.

A subtle glance to the left of the waves and then to the right, let me know that a few others had joined in this tradition of glances. We would leave for the beach at night, we would dance and drink and leave the husks of our skins behind. We would shed every responsibility into our beds and slither away. Those nights we were able to escape ourselves, there were no secrets between us. We were what we really were, not what we were meant to be. We were loud, happy and free for those few hours. Whirling with the rhythm of our heart beats. This would be the last of those nights for me.

If I knew, maybe I would have said something different. But, maybe how it went is how it needed to be. When we sat under the moonlight, drunk with stolen wine, we went round in a circle, telling our greatest desires, showing the sparks that fuelled our fiery souls. We marvelled at them; sailing across the uncharted seas, having a land in their name, being placed amongst the heroes, hanging the olive leaves that weaved into a wreath on their front door. Like smoke, our hopes floated towards the looming black sky. I remember when it got to me, when I was honest. I was allowed to be here. I was safe.

“I wish I could do what they get to do” The girls knew what I meant, in silence we looked up at the remnants of our desires. It felt like the constellations were taking them. These were the dreams of girls and the careers of men. These thoughts knotted our insides, we needed to loosen their restraint. We drank our sadness, we didn’t have the happiness to take us back to the palace. It dragged us to the sanded grounds and left us there until morning.

I can never know for sure what happened while I slept. I remember running along the halls of the palace, paintings and artefacts hung in the sky like hooks for a fish before me. I avoided each one, slipping between the cracks of ancient history. The eyes of past events watched me, their gazes followed long and harsh. Eventually just one stood in my way, a vase of black and white terracotta, sleek and new unlike the rest. It depicted a person that bore the features of both man and woman. He was curved and he was strong. He was adorned with only wings on his back for coverage, but he did not use them, he stood proud. His darkened pupils were following the rapid movements of a small, white hare. They ran around the vase together, but as the hare was running out of energy the deity did not. He caught up and coddled the hare into his arms, and looked right at me.

Perhaps it was pity that motivated the young God’s decision. To bless me with such a curse. I awoke and I saw my friends looking at me, but they were not looking at their friend. Wide eyes travelled up and down my body, the morning sun beaming a spotlight onto me. I went to speak, there was an audience waiting for an explanation, yet I had nothing to explain. A confused stranger left my voice. I cleared my throat to get rid of it, but it did not leave. My words were deep and empty. The sea behind me was beckoning me to it. I complied and looked at its clear surface. I was somebody nobody could recognise. I feared the Gods themselves would not be able to find me. My blackened curls were now unable to reach my shoulders, my face had been sharpened and my body had lost its shape.

When I turned back towards my friends, they were gone. I would end up seeing them from time to time, desperate glances from across the dining hall. As they continued their life of hidden dreams, I sat with the boys that took for themselves without any question.

It was strange of course, when I went back to the palace, they didn’t seem to notice I left, they just noticed that this stranger arrived. Wearing a tunic that was the wrong size, that trailed on the marbled floors towards the rooms for future soldiers. I was no longer welcome where I slept before, I knew that. I remember the confusion, but King Peleus was not one to turn away a young boy in need of a home. He asked me for my name.

“Outis” the word slipped from my tongue before my mind had time to catch up. It was reciprocated with shock. Nobody, that is what Outis meant. I had declared to the King of Phthia that I was no one. He did not want to think beyond that, and sent me on my way.

I remember the rows of beds, whispering, snickering and eyes trailing me at all times. News of my arrival and my name was enough to send a bored crowd some laughs. Only one bed was free, once belonging to the Therapon of Achilles himself, but they had both left this place months ago to the deep forests. I did not rest easily for many nights.

The earliest days were the hardest. My routine became one of a young man, training my body for glory. I was the newest recruit, without any prior knowledge of the craft. My skills were subpar, I couldn’t run as fast nor fight as well. My spears never reached past the others. Outis. It was starting to feel about right. My mind is blurry between the memories now, a routine of rigorous training, eating, sleeping and repeating. I spent my energy training this body, aiming for something I could be proud of. I was given the body of a boy and it felt wrong. But, my life before- did it not feel wrong too?

I think that was the thought that snapped me out of myself. If I were to become a man, I would need to earn it. I worked longer hours than the others, somehow I found myself enjoying the feeling. Those words we entertained ourselves with, heroes. I wanted it more than I wanted to breathe. I retained my graceful movements, I dodged the spears and I clashed my sword.

In a blink, I was no longer a boy with hopes in my grasp. I was a man in a bloody sea, screaming with the fellow cries of my brothers. The midst of The Trojan War, thirsty for vengeance. I had left all of my former life behind. This is what I had hoped for, was it not? A young girl who wished to do what men do and here I was, on a mission to save Helen from Troy in a battle that everyone would remember, even when everything else turned to dust. All those years of falling behind and climbing up, the greatest honour a man could receive. So, why when we got back to the camps, could I not feel it. The emptiness inside me grew, the more honour that came my way. The other soldiers, they saw me as equals, they celebrated with me. I was as successful as I was miserable.

Days turned to months turned to years, and the most recent victories would surely send us into the main city of Troy. Then, it all came crashing down. Bulbous buboes latched onto feverish skins. The plague took us out one by one, soon the flesh piles outnumbered living men. Perhaps, it was the will of my circumstance that helped me survive. I was as close to some of these men as you could be, and yet not a single bump graced my body. Maybe the winged god on the vase wished me to outshine them all. I would not be allowed to die until I proved myself a man. I feared that day would never come.

Apollo had been the one to unleash this wrath, punishment for Agamemnon, and everyone who served him. Like all leaders of war, his pride was his downfall, unwilling to give back the high priest's daughter, claiming her to be his. It ran a shudder down my spine as I remember the days of being in a place like hers. I swallowed that memory down quickly, and focused on the display above us. Agamemnon and Achilles argued. They said something that everyone else ignored. The soldiers went back to the camp and I ran to the sea.

The stars have consumed me, I float into its stomach. The memories I have recounted blend into the impossible darkness. I stood there with my mouth agape as a figure flew above me. A winged God, adorned with two sexes- the child of Aphrodite and Hermes. Hermaphroditus.

“I do not understand my child” his voice echoed in the windless sky. A look of dismay fallen upon a God's face is a terrible sight to see, all great tragedies start with an angered God. But, I saw no hatred in his eyes as he said, “What is the meaning of this emptiness in your heart? I have given you what you wanted, a body that allows you to do what men do and more.” The memories of my life swirled around us. The sadness bled from page to page, the woman blessed with beauty against the man blessed with opportunities. I saw the two sides of me, the one that danced and wished to fight, the one who fought with mighty grace and twirls. Along with the past events, I saw the possibilities. Swift footed Achilles, throwing mighty spears, winning this war, all while a gorgeous, long dress graced his body, shining with jewels and blood. My emotions swirled in my chest, these memories crashed into each other, intertwining I saw the best versions of me.

“I wish to be nothing” are the words that eventually left my soul. Hermaphroditus’ expression was unreadable, if I had angered him it was too late now, so I continued, “I wish to be nothing, I wish to be man, I wish to be woman and I wish to be everything all at once.” It felt like a string of unmatched words, it felt wonderful to say aloud. The silence that followed sent a pit into my stomach, my wish hung between us, begging to be seen.

A look of concern washed over his face as he said, “You would not be allowed to stay here, it would not be safe” I would be taken out of this fight, not see its conclusion. No legacy to leave behind, falling into obscurity. I nodded, I did not care for honour anymore, I never truly did.

“Nor would you be able to enter the life beyond this one, with no burial of your body, without a name to go along with it, it would not be possible” he said and this almost changed my mind, a life between worlds felt like a curse all on its own.

“Will there be others?” I asked.

“There may be.” He replied, “Many are unable to cross the border from life to death. Those who are punished by the living, not buried and properly sent away” I understood, and again I nodded. It was worth everything I had and everything I could ever be. What good was a life if it was not mine? What good was a legacy of honour, for someone I could not recognise? My decision was final, my soul was content. The deity complied with my wish, with a smile.

The memories circled around us faster now, the blurry figures of my past melted with the stars and wrapped around me. I felt my body shift in all directions, the girl I was and the woman I could have been, the boy I turned into and the man I had earnt to be. Along with all these distinctive features, my emptiness seeped through all of them, a feeling of being none of them. They merged in harmony, a song that sent me back to the sandy shores. I stood, looking at the water below. I cried with joy, my body was in my control. One moment I could have my past beauty, the other my beard, sometimes all things at once, sometimes I could be a figure of no distinction. Always, no matter how I appeared, I was Outis.

Hermaphroditus was not wrong. I was not the only spirit left behind. The nobody's of these lands; the men who wore dresses, the women who dared to speak up, those whose complexion mirrored the body of Hermaphroditus, those who felt they belonged to neither side, even people who were like me, felt that they did not care for any of it. Felt like they wanted nothing to do with the line of man and woman altogether.

I guide these spirits, the world left them behind so I opened my arms to them. Along the shoreline we move in the wind, we dance, we laugh and we live as we wish we had. My reflection dances with many forms, I am as nothing as I am everything.