Alexander and Alestria (14 page)

"A great queen has come to earth," concluded the Great Mother, studying me closely. "The moon has outstripped the sun: a queen shall conquer a king."

I was not that queen. I would like to have told her that, but I held my tongue. I was not a queen, I was a bird of the steppes.

"The king and queen will come to the land of the volcano," she said, gazing at the glaciers that were now black shadows.

After my return we were attacked by a nomadic tribe. I gave my first orders, and my aunts and sisters followed my commands. Our attackers were ferocious men and more numerous than us, but they fell into my strategic trap. Once they were divided, we struck them down one after the other with our swift blades.

The Amazons decapitated their slain enemies and slung their heads over their horses' rumps as trophies. Some reduced them to the size of an apple and attached them to their headdresses. Others dried out the head, liver, and testicles, ground them to a powder, and used it to make an infusion that gave them strength and courage. They spoke magic incantations and buried the heart, thereby appeasing the suffering of those souls constrained to leave the valiant bodies of an indomitable tribe.

I had no adornment. The only head I would have liked to hang on a length of woven cord between my breasts was that of my first warrior. I carried the memory of him in my heart-he was my invisible jewel.

There were frequent wars on the steppe: nomadic tribes quarreled, were reconciled, stole from each other, and were allied by marriages. One tribe might be exterminated and wiped from the face of the earth; others might appear on the horizon screaming their war cries, having sprung up apparently from nowhere. There was once a tribe in which the men painted themselves blue, but we no longer saw them at the market. Then there were men with red tattoos who brought a new language, but they in turn disappeared. There had been a tribe of bird tamers and a clan of snake charmers. There was a tribe that venerated stones, and another that venerated their mothers.

On the steppes the grasses grow and dry out; men and women are born and die like the grasshoppers; the earth is inseminated by the rain and hatches new lives; war can destroy just as readily as the earth brings forth.

The tribe of girls who love horses had survived the erosion of time; it had survived massacres, the cold, and the wind. It was condemned to perish like the mountain that collapses beneath the eternal snows.

The Amazons fought for death.

Death is the black light of the life.

I wanted the golden light of the sun.

I carried in my heart the immortality of all things loved.

When I was fourteen, I was smitten by a girl I caught sight of at the market. She had a white veil and sparkling black eyes; I could imagine her raspberry mouth, and teeth as hard as little seashells. She was surrounded by serving women, tending to her like the chick of a white bird with a red head.

From the first moment I saw her, I could not bear to be away from her. Despite Tania's supplications, I followed her for days on end, and Tania returned to the camp, exhausted. I carried on hovering around the girl until she eventually spoke to me: when she realized that I loved her, she arranged to meet me in a luxurious inn. I sold my mare to pay for that night.

Salimba undressed before I even touched her, and she threw her curvaceous body and full breasts into my arms. I loved her again and again. Between our couplings she told me she was betrothed to an ugly, cruel, and aging tribal chief, a man who already had ten wives; she would be his eleventh. She said she was unhappy, that her father also had ten wives, and that she was the tenth wife's daughter. She said that she foresaw terrible suffering, that the ten wives would speak ill of her and mistreat her, that she might just earn the tribe's respect if she bore a son, and that her daughters would be sold to men as she and her mother had been.

Salimba wept, suffocated by her fate. And so I spoke to her of white cranes with crimson heads and of our wars against men. I invited her to have a child with me and to become my wife. She stopped weeping, listening attentively with her head resting on the wound on my breast.

"I would have liked to marry you, Talestria," she said after a long silence. "But I am not an Amazon. My belly is flaccid, my legs soft, my arms have no strength, I can barely even lift a pail of water. I know neither how to cook nor to hunt nor to live without perfumed milk, nor to sleep without a thick mattress woven with ewe's wool. Forget Salimba, she is a weakling. Hold me in your arms. Love me once more, one last time!"

When dawn broke, my beloved was dressed and I helped her straighten her veil. I watched her leave along the damp alleyways of a deserted marketplace. I never saw Salimba again. The following year I heard that she had had a sumptuous wedding and was expecting a child. The year after that I was told that she had borne a daughter, and that she was with child again. The next year her name was no longer spoken; she was dead.

We frequently came across corpses on the steppes. They might be our sisters or our enemies, and any one of them could have been Salimba. I addressed to each of them a prayer to appease their soul, wishing them a happy incarnation in lives to come.

"Tankiasis," I said, "we cannot form an attachment with a man and give him a child, but why can we not wed a woman and conceive with her? Two women together make girl children, and they in turn would have girl children who love horses."

She laughed at this.

"It is not your blood that has to run in your child's veins," she said, "but your spirit. Ordinary men and women beget life by combining their seed. They abandon themselves and then their children. Every day babies are left alone in the cold to cry and die. The girls of Siberia do not beget-they save lives and give life."

Tankiasis had not understood what I meant.

"But I want to make children in women's hearts," I insisted. "I want to inseminate all the women who put down the burden of their existence and become warriors!"

"You dream too much, Talestria," she said with an indulgent smile. "One day you will meet the girl child destined for you, and she will be your heir."

I had never confided in Tania about these torments. Just like her mother Tankiasis, Tania loved me but did not understand me.

I let my dreams gambol over the steppe and spread through the sky. They were my flocks, and I let them graze among the stars.

In our tribe when a warrior was struck down with the incurable illness of old age, she rode out of the encampment and set off across the steppe without a backward glance. She stopped when she came to a river, lay down in the grass, and let the predators and scavengers devour her.

Tankiasis followed these ancestral directives. She had raised me, and now she left. The elders covered up her departure, telling Tania and myself that she had gone to collect weapons from the whale hunters. When her horse returned, I understood the real reason she had gone, and galloped across the steppe for three days in the hopes of finding her.

Tankiasis had vanished. The tall grass undulated, revealing a bird's nest, a stream, a pile of stones marked with dragon's footsteps. The God of Ice had given me a mother and wanted to take her back from me. I challenged his power, resuscitating Tan-kiasis, who now galloped across the internal steppes of my mind. She had become immortal by my wish, and now she watched over me tenderly and sang to me:

My mother, Queen Talaxia, had told me that the words of our tribe contained magic. They could make the invisible appear in the visible and transform legend into reality. Tania and I had begun writing a book in secret: at night, lying in the grass, I read the stars and dictated the story of Alestries to her. Tania believed the stars were whispering in my ear, when in fact I found the words already sown in my heart.

Alestries was a little girl who was abandoned and brought up by wild horses. A goddess took her into her celestial meadows and taught her to wield two sabers. At twenty she left the clouds and returned to earth to do battle with monsters. Astride her white mare she knocked at the door of dark shadowy kingdoms and released women chained in palace dungeons. She seduced princesses dying of boredom, dethroned grasping kings, and drove out evil spirits, which metamorphosed into panthers, snakes, birds, and beautiful women with ample bosoms and rounded bellies.

This book writing was interrupted by an alarm signal: a frontier guard to the southeast had lit her beacon. Columns of smoke, relayed by other beacons, spelled out this message: a troop of thirty armed nomads was riding toward us. I asked Tania to lock our book away in a cave, and I raised an army of thirty girls. We galloped for three days to confront the invaders, and a band of tall warriors covered in armor appeared on the horizon. We put on our metal-plated wooden helmets and launched a hail of arrows at them.

A woman on a huge white horse rode at the head of the warriors. Long scarlet feathers bobbed furiously on top of her helmet. She looked over my army, and her eyes came to rest on me. My head swam-she had singled me out. Casting aside our arrows with her shield and lance, she bore down on me, and I rode on to meet her despite the knots of emotion in my stomach. Our weapons met, sending out sparks. The point of her lance slid over my shoulder, and I shuddered with pleasure. With one hand I swung my bludgeon at her chest while I twisted my sickle through the air. She spun her horse round, driving back the bludgeon with her lance while my sickle cleaved her shield apart. Her horse leaped and charged again. The warrior woman had unsheathed her sword and swiped the feathers from my helmet. But I knew this nomad woman!

I drew right up to her to cave her head in; she pushed me back to slit my throat. I opened my arms wide to threaten her; she lunged her lance and drove in her sword; I threw myself forward, she withdrew; I withdrew, she advanced. She hurled herself at me with both weapons drawn like an eagle's steely talons. I fell backward, twisting my sickle around her sword and jabbing her lance with my bludgeon. The sky and our weapons spun in confusion, and in the flashing of those blades her eyes shone, sometimes with fury, sometimes with a smile.

Who are you? Are you that little girl with lily-white skin who ran through the market stalls with me and who was enslaved by the leopard hunters? Are you the little girl with green eyes who shared her gourd of milk with me for one whole summer?

The warrior seemed to hear the questions buzzing inside my head. Her iridescent eyes communicated gusts of unspoken words to me, and those words homed in on the wound on my breast, hurting me.

I sat back up and struck out again. She pushed my arms apart with hers, and our wrists touched. "If you love me," I told her inside my head, "put down your weapons!"

Our labored breath mingled, our pulses raced in time, sweat gleamed on our brows and formed beads on our cheeks.

"Lower your weapons, love me!" I ordered her, still in my head.

She moved quickly.

"No." She rebelled.

My bludgeon broke her lance. Her sword struck my breastplate, which roared loudly. The earth was trembling, the sky breaking open. I was overwhelmed with joy: She's mine! She will be wild with love for me!

I feigned weakness, inciting her to follow me and drawing her away from her tribe. I escaped Tania, who watched over me jealously, and we rode for days on end, the warrior woman never letting me out of her sight. She followed me, her desire roaring within her, the constant thud of her horse's hooves in the grass, an echo of her body's impatience. The birds flying up in front of my horse, the grass bending aside to let us pass, the clouds drawing closer to protect us from the sun… everything sang in chorus: Talestria! I am coming with you. I am yours!

One night as I lay in the grass I heard her voice, deep and rich, rising slowly in the air and wrapping itself around me. With that song in a strange language she communicated to me her loneliness, her melancholy, her quest for a companion in war, on horseback, and in embraces that drive away the wind, the snow, and the cut of a sword. Gazing at the stars, I too began to sing. My song had no words; I followed the intonations of her voice and improvised a tune that made her song stronger and more lovely. Our voices rose, and with them, my soul flew up to the stars. This is Alestries, whispered the ether; this is the heroine who took up residence in your heart before you even met her.

A gentle warmth spread through me: Alestries was not an illusion, she alone was capable of following me in full gallop, in flight, at the speed of light. She alone could slip into my life by way of the stars. I stopped singing and wept in silence. I, the vengeful little girl, the orphan who had crossed the steppes to become an Amazon, I who rested from bloody battles by taking refuge in the legend of Alestries, had just received happiness I was not even seeking: a warrior woman had come to join her sorrow and hope to my own.

I would lose her! Like Salimba, Talaxia, and Tankiasis, like the little girls I had become attached to, like the tribes that had adopted me, she too would disappear and die. Beauty is shortlived on the steppes. The lives I grasped became shooting stars, leaving only darkness in their wake. I dried my tears and curled myself up tightly. As I slept, I heard Tankiasis singing: You are destructible if you persist in seeing good in evil. Reacting to evil turns it to the good. Reacting to good turns it to evil.