The queen fostered a terrible longing to couple with him. She bathed him and called for serving girls to massage him. She had him thrown into the middle of her enormous bed, a carpet of the most tender grasses, the most fragrant flowers, and the silkiest feathers. She dressed in a veil stitched with bird scales from a species that has since disappeared but that once dazzled with beams of reflected light. She put a crown on her head, a tall arrangement of tree blossom like an invisible forest reaching up to the skies, and she walked over to him to begin her seduction. Fascinated by such splendor, unlike anything he had ever known, the king made love to her for three days and three nights without interruption.
The queen was so in love that she planted giant bamboo, golden ivy, and venomous flowers around the bed to form a magnificent aviary. She asked the birds to watch over her captive. The queen was so in love that she forgot her duties. She forgot food and drink and the girls of Siberia who wept in her absence. She could think only of her man, of bathing him, suckling him, kissing him, feeding him, and singing him her most beautiful songs. She could not take her eyes off him, or take a single step away from his side. The whole world could have collapsed and she would have had only one regret: her body could not be permanently united with his because they were like two tree trunks with mismatched limbs; their bodies could not fuse into one, as two flowers can never be one.
The king missed his people, and his sadness made the queen unhappy. But she could not abandon her tribe, she could not follow him, for her world was here, with her girls and her animals; this was her land, the land of her ancestors. One morning the queen finally emerged from the aviary to give an audience. It was a very heated gathering: the girls, rebelling against their neglectful queen, called for the foreigner's head. Weighed down by their reproach, the queen had to use all her skills as an orator to calm the women's anger. When she returned to the aviary, she found a gaping hole in the bamboo wall. She understood that the girls had stolen her man and torn out her heart.
She followed footprints along the path to the place they had first met, but the tracks disappeared into the swaying grass. Had he been captured? Had he been assassinated? Haunted by a grim sense of foreboding, the queen kept walking. She called the beautiful creature by the name she had given him. She cried out. The deep valleys gave the only reply, an echo of her sorrow.
The queen no longer wanted to reign. She lay on her bed, now made of dry grass and wilted flowers. She lay there with her eyes trained on the treetops, waiting for her beloved bird to return. The moon rose. The moon set. Still the man was invisible, as if he had never existed.
She was racked with terrible spasms. She writhed and sobbed. For three days and three nights she tried to rip her own belly open, but her servants tied her hand and foot to stop her tearing her own flesh with her nails. On the fourth morning two children came from her belly, already dead. The queen was consumed with pain and bitter disappointment. No one knew whether she had seen her children, no one knew whether she had understood that loving a man was impossible. From that day forward, from generation to generation, our tribe passed down this law: it was forbidden to love the masculine race; it was forbidden to conceive.
Loving a man and bearing his child destroys a girl of Siberia. I, Tania, had received the order from my mother, Tankiasis, to watch over my queen. She carried within her the continuation of our tribe.
What lay on the far side of Mount Siberia?
It was said there was an ocean and seafaring people.
It was said there were huntsmen who lived in trees with golden leaves.
It was said there was a desert covered in sands beautiful and pure as a blend of diamonds and gold.
It was said there were men who killed each other, ate each other, drank the blood of their brothers and sisters, and coupled with their mothers and fathers.
On the far side of Siberia there were as many splendors as there were crimes. Our Great Queen had committed the sin of being with child to one of these men. That was why the God of Ice strangled her children in her belly with their own cord-because the fusion of purity with impurity was impossible.
Hundreds of thousands of years later, eternal snow swept over the mountain. Generation after generation our tribe moved farther from the sky and closer to the earth. On the steppes our ancestors forgot the birds with scaled skin and rainbow-colored feathers, and learned to tame those wingless birds known as horses.
Our tribe began its decline with the Great Queen's sin. We lived in a world where nature was not so generous and animals not so magnificent. Good grazing became sparse, and we had to fight off hordes of horsemen who descended on our flocks. The winters were harsh, with winds that howled more threateningly than the wolves. The swirling snow forced us to shut ourselves into our tents with our sheep.
I knew that the steppes would be our tribe's last kingdom before it emigrated into the shades. I foresaw the end without sadness, and I let the smell of a new spring intoxicate me. In the summer I closed my eyes and listened to the silence and the rumblings of the steppes. Rain clouds clashed on the horizon and spread across the sky. The wind drove great emerald green waves over the plains. White cranes, frightened by the thunder, danced as if possessed. I sat at the entrance to my tent and watched the lightning throw its terrifying writing across the mauve vault of the sky. The autumn unfurled sapphire blue skies, and I lay in the grass watching butterflies with wings covered in tiny scales.
The other girls made fun of my melancholy ways.
Melancholy is the poetry of a carefree life.
I, Tania, serving girl to the queen, do not know where I was born; I do not know my age or my birth name. Here, everyone calls me Tania, "the fragrance of butterflies."
"Am I beautiful?" I asked my mother, the one who took me in and fed me on ewe's milk.
"Beauty is a lake that exists within us," she replied. "Beauty is a reflection of the sparkling, transparent Siberian glacier. Beauty is the smile of God."
We, the girls from that snow-covered mountain, we were not afraid of hunger, heat, cold, or invasion. Each of us had a tiny portion of the glacier. As guardians of its white flame, we lived solitary lives, far from cities and kings.
The eagles were our friends: the queen knew how to call them, and they would come down from the skies to act as our guides. We tended our horses, bathing them, rubbing them, and grooming them adoringly. For horses were our faithful companions. The steppes did not have the riches of the mountain; there was very little fruit with soft juicy flesh; the rare red berries that we found made us skip for joy. We hunted with bow and arrow for hares, foxes, and wolves to give us the strength for our mounted expeditions, which could last several months.
Once a year, when we had eaten well and drunk wine made from roots and berries, when our horses were well fed and groomed, we would launch ourselves into a headlong gallop, continuing for many moons without rest. Our bodies were gripped by such frenzy, our souls overcome by such a longing to fly, that we set off for the farthest limits of the steppes, following our queen to the point of exhaustion. We sustained ourselves on thin air, the rain, and the wind. We knew neither sorrow nor fear. We knew only the freedom that was ours and was the source of our pride. We were like migratory birds summoned by a mysterious force. We raced toward the place where the moon rose, heading for the great annual celebrations that drew together all the peoples of the steppes.