The Tattooed Princess

Birds of War, Birds of Peace

        As the wind howled all that day in the low light outside, the Pazyryk people stayed inside their tents and endured the cold. Many more had died as a result of the epidemic which struck the land during the latest storm, and once their bodies were carried out into the snow, it was all the others could do but hope their fate would not be the same. Most of the people simply huddled together before their fires, as with all winters on the Steppe--just to wait out the hungry, barren months in anticipation for a new spring.

            Inside Moshtok's home that day, Branka and the young teacher lay in each other's arms, keeping the fire going and whispering words of love to each other, magically making the inclement conditions outside disappear. Murka's home was warmer still, as his servants kept the large interior space comfortable with torches, fires and food—all to the delight of Svetlana, her heroic lover--father of her child to be, and the adorable Zetur who, bundled in woolen clothing, sang and played with his wooden toys in another room.

            Back in Tsudros' modest home, the candles had burned near the fireplace all day, with Zaria laying prone in front of it and looking up at her lover and artist in devotion. Tsudros had worked diligently and many hours that day, well into the late afternoon. He had routinely applied the concoction of crushed bees and insects over Zaria's thighs to deaden the sharp and often unbearable sensation of the needles as he skillfully employed them. Scratching out a complete landscape with characters on each of her thighs and hips, he was composing an exquisite tableau on each side of her body. Each side  told a different story—one of war and strife, the other of serenity and calm.

            Zaria at times tried to sleep during the many hours she endured the extreme discomfort, but the pain, even with the analgesic Tsudros applied generously, was too much for her to relax. Both she and her lover were completely exhausted when at dusk that day Tsudros announced he was finished with both of the tattoos. He celebrated this moment with a sudden and emotional kiss. Zaria just held him closely over her for a long time, her mouth refusing to leave his in a promise of their committed devotion. When they released their embrace Tsudros reached over to his bag of supplies and applied his special concoction of herbs to her legs. With both hands he gently covered a large section of her fair skin to prevent infection over the next critical days. The areas of the scenes he created on each leg were large and minutely detailed.

        At this point Zaria could not contain her anticipation any longer.

            "Oh Tsudros, bring the candles close! . . . And help up me up to see what you have created on me this magical day!"

            "You must not move your legs for at least two days," he said to her, helping Zaria gently sit up. He brought the candles very near each thigh for her to look down upon and see what his labors had produced that long and painful day.

            Zaria's eyes widened as she now could see his work on her left leg for the first time. Beginning at her hip, a confluence of dark and wicked predator birds circled downward toward her thigh. Each creature was distinct from the rest and descended in a menacing way from a storm-ridden sky. They glided toward a land-barren and lifeless world encircling her leg. Only the remains of dead trees—visible both close and far into the distance, covered the earth.  Above this sad land was a foreboding and cloud-covered sky.

            Zaria's breath was taken away when she looked into the scene and saw down to the very ground from the elevated view. There she could make out a multitude of men and women alike. Half of them were on horseback and the other half on foot, with shields and weapons, battling another group of warriors which had charged them in a great hoard. These other warriors were the embodiment of the enemy—any enemy. And in this case it was those which Zaria recognized as the culture called "evil" by the Pazyryk people. The nomads from far to the east. She could make out their braided hair, their larger horses, and what Zaria knew to be the scalps of the dead, tied with ropes to their saddles as trophies of past battles.

            The scene was rendered with stunning precision as Tsudros' details were breathtaking to her. The horses he had created were in mid-charge with warriors from each side succumbing to the arrows which flew through the air like a cloud of death. Men and women were caught in this moment of war with horrific looks upon their faces and many had already fallen, lifeless in an unforgettable scene of destruction and horror. Zaria held her breath once more upon viewing this dark and detailed image on her body. It gave her a dizzy feeing of the world's sorrows and a life which she, and all others she knew, had feared--from every tribe and nation.

            Then, upon gaining her courage, she looked at the other side of her body. Once again, emanating down from her hip to her knee, she could see another cascade of birds, only this time they were innocent doves—their fine outlines suggesting white and brilliant tones. Again each bird was exquisitely drawn, distinct from its fellows. But here the creatures were peaceful in their flight, graceful in their soaring above the earth, and with no threat of malice. Below them was a world tinged with what Tsudros had alluded to be the verdant growth of summer. There was a wide river and pure water lakes from melted snow in the distance.

            A sudden smile of awe came over Zaria's mesmerized face as she could see in the background people without weapons. They were instead reclined on the soft grass and stared heavenward at a generous sky--appreciative of its warm and nourishing light. Their bodies were relaxed, celebrating the day in the shade of leafy trees, and with children playing around them fearlessly.

            Zaria paid particular attention to the couple in the foreground. They were drawn with much care and it was obvious who they were. The young man was lean and strong, with his shoulder-length hair seemingly moving freely in the light breeze. As he sat on the ground, a young woman with lighter, straighter hair and a beautiful face reclined in his strong tattooed arms. The woman herself was covered with designs which covered her naked beauty like the finest clothing a princess might wear.

        Zaria began to cry softly as she held Tsudros' strong hands. For she could see the couple on her naked thigh looking up in joy. They were staring contently off her skin into her own eyes. And from there they would look up into the eyes of any viewer, saying simply—this is love, this is tranquility. This is peace. 

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