Alexander and Alestria by Shan Sa Page B

army advanced into the kingdom of the Scythians.
    Every country has its own ocean. The steppes were the Mediterranean of the northern peoples. The whispering of leaves replaced the murmur of waves. As seagulls cluster around ships, so here blackbirds flew up into the sky singing of heroes who died for glory and for love. The Scythian tribes, renowned for their savagery and insolence, appeared and vanished around us. Their mounted warriors and skilled archers attacked us and then withdrew. They loomed on the horizon like a pack of starving wolves, stole food, took women and children, then-like thunderclouds fleeing to reveal blue skies-dispersed.
    "The steppes are haunted, and these tribes have powerful sorcerers," the Persians muttered, trying to discourage me. "During their ceremonies, these men dress in lion skins and adorn themselves with feathers, animal teeth, and mirrors. They beat drums and sing and dance until they collapse, foaming at the mouth and rolling their eyes. Then the earth ripples and opens up to swallow foreign troops while the spirits of dead soldiers come down from the sky."
    I learned that Darius had been here before me. Nothing could stop me in my headlong pursuit of him. If the enemy fled across the steppe, then why should I, Alexander, not face its shifting vastness and elusive horsemen in my turn?
    The wind whispered, the wind howled. Unhindered, the sky spilled over the four horizons. Some soldiers, oppressed by the vastness, went mad. They threw off their clothes and ran screaming from the encampment. The Persians explained that, unable to find houses to live in, the spirits wandered day and night over these lands, without rest. When they met foreigners not protected by magic formulae, they took possession of their souls. I thought nothing of their superstitions but doubled the number of guards watching over our camps because I knew that at night the nomads could disguise themselves as spirits to sow terror in my army.
    I heard tell that on the banks of the Iaxarte there was an annual market that drew all the tribes together, and that the previous year, Darius had been seen there. He had become a flamethrower, and the crowd applauding him had no idea he had once been king of kings.
    Before I arrived, the nomads had taken down their tents and disappeared. All that was left on the ground were the holes where they had planted their stakes, and chariot tracks almost washed away by the rain. The river reflected the blue sky. I was accustomed to conquering cities and attacking fortresses on steep rocks, and for the first time I was overcome by how strange life was on the steppe. I had not come through a single town or met a single inhabitant. I could see no villages or roads on my map. Wherever I went, the horizons were empty and the inhabitants vanished. Only the grasses with their constant whispering seemed to want to communicate to me the cries of joy and animated conversations of those people. But where are the tribes? Where are my enemies? Where are the people I should subjugate and who should proclaim me as their king? Who are these people that they are indifferent to Alexander and don't come to meet him in war?
    Has Darius learned to be invisible? Has he come to the steppes in search of the magic that allowed men to melt into the wind?
    I could no longer bear the weight of my army on my shoulders or the slow pace of our progress: I silenced their displeasure and their nostalgia by ordering them to set up camp and rest. I myself took a detachment and headed north.
    I abandoned my demoralized troops with a sense of relief, galloping toward the skies like a bird escaping a trap.
     
***
     
    The horizon drew closer. The vast swell of grasses threw itself in the air and closed in again. With every wave conquered, another impetuous wave rose up. I slid deeper into their dark ocean, forgetting sunlight, thirst, and hunger. What I truly forgot were the traitors and the complainers, their constant