WHAT CAME AFTER
By MaryE
Maryeic@aol.com
I am writing this, my final scroll, for I am dying soon. I am not afraid to die
and my daughter keeps me comfortable. She is a beauty as was her other ‘mother’
. They share the same beautiful blue eyes, long black hair and gorgeous tall,
lanky body with which they acquire and use those many skills. I swore long ago
to keep even the fact of her existence a solemn secret, but now, because of the
dear intercession of Aphrodite who sorrows at my impending death, I am at last
free to write the truth of what has happened.
When Xena died in Japa, I began a long voyage retracing the journey we had
lived, although I did not fully comprehend the difficulty at the start. Grief
was all I understood, all I was capable of feeling. I produced no scrolls of
that time or any in the years that followed. I went first to Egypt, then to the
Northern regions and eventually returned to Greece, my home. It was an
unbearably sad and lonely existence those first years. I attempted to continue
Xena’s crusade against evil, but I was unable to summon the inner peace I needed
to confront wickedness. And ultimately I admitted my failure at being the
warrior princess’ protégé. No longer a bard or a protégé, I struggled to reclaim
any identity at all.
I followed our familiar routine only to soon find that doing so made my heart
hurt all the more. So bit by bit I tried on new customs and strived to recreate
a way of being that would provide a measure of comfort. I never sought nor
expected to find happiness. My memories were my happiness. And I clung to them
desperately, reading and rereading my scrolls. I would pet Xena’s armor on those
nights when I ached to be with her so badly it was a physical pain. And I
wandered through villages and foreign country sides as if seeking something of
meaning with which to fill my life. “You gave my life meaning and joy,” Xena had
told me, and she had given the same to mine. All the while I was seeking that
which I knew I could never again possess.
”People in our line of work don’t get to grow old” Xena had once explained. But
I found that to be incorrect. I was old at 25 and did not wish to become
older. I did not yield completely to the despair that whispered from a deep
place in my mind. Instead I wrapped myself in a loneliness that afforded me cold
companionship and kept me aware that my heart still beat as the weeks and months
melted into a familiar grey cocoon. At some of the darkest moments I would take
the pot containing all that was left of Xena, open it and rub a small bit of ash
on my check pretending I could feel her touch. I have always been grateful to
have been with Xena and yet I could not wish the agony her loss caused me on
anyone. I accepted them both, the joy and the pain. I did my best to keep a
balance between them. Or so I told myself. The real truth was that I was seeking
Xena in any way I could, to the exclusion of any other endeavor.
In Egypt, I found the activities of the royal palace beyond my ability to
enjoy. Avoiding the constant gathering and indulgence in the physical, I
explored the city in search of distraction and found something more. Amid the
hovels and alleys were potion vendors and practitioners of ancient beliefs about
healing and the afterlife. Drawn to them, I gathered stories of how the heart is
weighed after death to determine the fate of the soul. I was certain that Xena’s
heart had proven light and she had passed the test these mystics spoke of rather
than having failed and been destroyed.
Yet their strange rituals professing to contact the dead did no such service for
me. Xena appeared in my dreams, but it was the only memory of her that visited
with me. I could not summon up Xena from wherever the fates had taken her. She
was gone, utterly gone, except for the memory so consuming my heart.
The journey to the North was cruel physically and mentally. Upon arriving, I
found neither friendship nor concern about Xena’s passing. Odin would not speak
with me and the Valkarie were blunt about neither having nor wanting further
knowledge of the warrior princess alive or dead. A harsh people with harsh
beliefs, the Nords were not inclined to communicate with the dead aside from
their own heroes, preferring to wait for their own turn to exit this painful
world. I found no rituals or legends that could aid my search and left none the
better for having journeyed there.
The second year after Xena’s death, I visited the Amazons where I found sympathy
and the possibility of a home. They grieved with me and performed ceremonies
that permitted one to enter the realm of the Amazon afterlife. I used their
rituals to cleanse my mind and prepare my spirit. But while I succeeded in
finding the gate to eternity, I did not find Xena. Their common conclusion was
that I should remain with the Amazons. I could be the leader they wanted. I
could grieve and heal and even find happiness again. But happiness, I knew, was
not the object of my quest. I wanted Xena. I wanted to know where she was so
that I could be with her again when my time came to pass. The terrible
heart-break of losing her to death had been joined by a paralyzing fear that
even then I would not be able to find her.
I visited Amphipolis only once upon my return to Greece, to keep my promise to
Xena. Her brother’s grave had been unattended for years and there was no other
sign that Xena’s family had ever even lived there. “I know that you will take me
home to rest with Lyceus.“ She had thanked me so long ago. I had an urn created
with Xena’s armor design engraved on it and placed the majority of her ashes in
it to sleep beside her brother. I paid a young girl twenty dinars to keep
flowers in the crypt for a few months and then left taking with me a small vile
that held the last trace of Xena. I would never be able to let go of my warrior
completely and I told her so in the countless one sided conversation I held with
her in my mind. “Even in death I will never leave you.” she had promised me. The
small vile embodied that promise and I knew that she would understand.
Many people asked me what had happened to the warrior princess, wherever I
traveled around Greece. There were people whom she had helped and those who
still harbored a hatred of her from deeds long since redeemed. I told them she
had died, each time the words stabbing my heart. After three years, the
questions ceased and the world forgot its heroine. Except for me and, as I was
about to learn, except for two of the Olympian gods.
Aphrodite found me camped within sight of her favorite temple. She appeared with
the customary flash and gave me a long hug and a kiss. “Gabrielle, you look
terrible.” she said with a sympathetic smile. “I do like the blue
outfit. Egyptian influenced, right? But where is that charming twinkle you used
to have in those pretty green eyes?” She appraised me, clothing, demeanor and
all. “Still bummed about the warrior princess, I see.” She materialized a small
bottle and lifted the top. “I can fix that, girl. One whiff of this and you will
be consumed with finding a new love, I promise.”
I put my hand over the bottle and shook my head. “No, no, please.” I rejected
her offer. “I don’t want a spell, Aphrodite. I am all right with her death now.”
I lied to myself and her. “Missing her is the one thing I have left of Xena.”
“That and the little vile you keep over your heart.” The goddess knew. “I miss
her too.” She added softly. The gods had discussed Xena’s decision to remain
dead after the events in Japa. Aphrodite told me that she and Ares had beseeched
Hades to find a way to return her to mortal life. But Hades had no power over
the customs of Japa and its rituals and no knowledge of the realm to which she
had been taken. They finally agreed that even if they had known, there was no
way to restore Xena without condemning the souls her death released. I admitted
to myself that I had harbored a last hope the gods could find an answer but that
hope died as I listened to Aphrodite. She placed her hand on my shoulder and
gave me a sad smile. “I’m here for you, Gabrielle. If you need anything or
change your mind about a new love, just call me.” Then she was gone.
I was aware of Ares several times before he decided to materialize late one
evening. He tilted his head and folded his arms across his chest, studying me a
while before he spoke. “I still don’t see why she preferred you to me.” He said
after a bit. “I mean, I know you are a good person and all that. But I could
have given her so much more.”
I shook my head. “She didn’t need what you offered, Ares. She wanted to be
loved, not used.”
“Oh, I loved her, Gabrielle.” The god admitted. “I loved her abilities, her
cleverness, her unbeatable focus. And her luscious body.” He unfolded his arms
and leaned against a tree. “I miss her. Not as much as you obviously. But a lot,
I miss her a lot.”
I knew that Ares would have brought Xena back if that were within his power. And
I’d have accepted his help even if meant I would have owed him another favor. He
cleared his throat. “Listen, Gabrielle. I offer this in memory of our warrior
princess. If there is anything I can do for you, I want you to know you just
have to ask.”
“I don’t need anyone killed, Ares.” I told him.
“I get that.” He frowned. “But if you are ever in, you know, trouble. Call my
name. Okay?” He nodded and vanished leaving the air buzzing for a moment. It was
the most human I had ever seen the god of war. I granted Xena the credit for
it. Even in death she made a difference.
The dream I had that night was different from all the memory dreams I had
experienced since Xena’s death. It was a message, an epiphany that swept over me
and was gone before I could grasp its meaning and yet it left a sensation of
hope that tantalized my heart. I awoke confused. Dreams were usually my
escape. It was in dreams that I was with Xena, or as close as I could imagine
being. In dreams she was there talking with me and holding me as I so longed to
be held. Her arms were warm and her kisses replenished my soul. I had asked my
dream-Xena a thousand times how to find her. She had only smiled and brushed her
hand against my cheek. Yet I choose to believe she was waiting for me to cross
over to her. When love is unreturned and hope has lost its power, only faith
remains. It was faith in finding Xena that sustained me. There was nothing in
life that I longed for more than that. But that dream and the several just like
it that invaded my sleep albeit rarely afterward was different. It was a message
that I could not comprehend. It was the beginning.
For months following the dream, I looked to my scrolls without really knowing
why. I studied the events that involved the various realms of the afterlife. Not
since the first days after Xena’s death had I prayed. Only now I prayed in
earnest. I asked the archangels for their intercession. I implored the crone,
the mother and the maiden. Once again none responded. None had known an answer.
Of particular pain was the fact that even if they had known they had chosen not
to disclose where Xena was. She was not in heaven or the Elysian fields, or the
underworld, or hell. I refused to accept that she had crossed over to oblivion.
She had promised, I repeated to myself continuously. Even in death she would
never leave me. But I couldn’t find where Xena had gone. I only hoped, with the
last trace of hope which I could muster, that wherever she was, I would be with
her again. Someday.
By the fourth year, I had settled near a lake and repaired an old cabin. I’d
acquired chickens, a few goats and an old horse whose color and intelligence
reminded me of Argo. My home was on a mountain side and was visited in the
circle of time by all the seasons of the year. I lived there undisturbed except
for a rare wanderer or two. My life fell into a simple pattern. I cared for the
animals and tended my small but adequate garden. I put away my staff along with
Xena’s sword and chakram and lived quietly, alone with my memories. I became
accustomed to loneliness yet resisted despair. Many nights I visited my memories
of Xena in my dreams and most days after my chores were done, I sat and
contemplated the reality of life and the many possibilities of death.
Then one snowy night just before my fifth solstice without Xena, the strange
dream came again. This time a voice called out to me. Xena’s voice moved through
me like wind through a tree. I did not understand the words, only the sound of
it. I awoke to a sense of joy and a relentless knocking at the door of my
cabin. The visitor was a small, ancient man clothed in rags and warmed only by a
large matted bear skin. He settled by the fire and I prepared him a cup of hot
tea. He was silent offering not even his name. It was obvious he had been
traveling a while. His black eyes, similar to the eyes of people in Japa, shined
as they peered from his winkled face. The slender mustache which cradle his
mouth and chin was streaked with ice. He drank the tea that I made for him and
smiled a largely toothless grin. I though perhaps his silence was because he did
not share my language. Still I gestured an offer of accommodation for the night
and thought I saw him nod.
“You seek a spirit.” He spoke at last. His lips seemed barely to move and his
voice was high pitched and barely audible. “One that no longer dwells among the
dead.”
I began to tremble and stared at the small man in disbelief. My hands became
like ice. My mind screamed ‘no, no, NO!‘ And my heart, I thought incapable of
breaking further, seized in pain.
“She lives.” He continued oblivious to my reaction. ”She is need of your
assistance, if you are ready to accept the duty of her care.” He adjusted the
heavy bear-skin that enveloped him. “Do not take this responsibility lightly,
mistress. It will be a burden and it will require you to release your deepest
desires. To abandon the quest which has kept you alive these past years.”
Something in me wanted to believe him. ‘She lives.’ His words echoed through my
brain and I knew my heart needed to believe him and yet who could accept what he
was saying. If Xena lived, she would have found me. Even if she were ill, or had
lost her physical or mental abilities, she would have found me That was what I
believed. And I grew angry at the little man. It was cruel, too cruel, to say
such things to me. I stood up and started to the door. I wanted him to leave.
He held the empty tea cup out to me. “May I have another of these before you
send me away?” He said calmly. “The night is very cold and I am most grateful to
you for this simple kindness.”
I swallowed my anger and filled the cup. “I don’t know why you have come to me
with this silly story, old man. I have done you no harm and yet you plunge a
knife into my heart.”
“I want only to open your heart, Gabrielle.” He told me surprisingly aware of my
name. “Your heart is filled with sorrow and longing. It needs to be filled once
again with love - the very love that was once your true path. That which you
have so long sought to know is available to you now. Only you must open your
heart to take in the truth.” He sipped the tea and studied me with eyes deeply
wise. “She lived, she died. This much you know. What is new to you is that she
lives again.” He made a happy, laughing sound. “And she remembers.”
Life’s journey had led me to the door of many philosophies. I had seen the many
alternative realms of existence from Tartarus to Valhalla. The humble old man
spoke of things that transcended them all. Begging to rest before explaining
more, he laid back his head and fell asleep. He slept through the next day, then
upon awakening he began my enlightenment. It took many days before I understood
what he was teaching me, and many more before I came to believe him, albeit not
without reservation. His was knowledge of the highest power that had touched in
that first dream long before. When he felt I was ready, he said we had to make a
journey.
We traveled to a village hidden deep in the mountains. The people, short and
dark eyed like the old man, were poor but industrious and their village was warm
and well kept. There were little shops and huts standing sturdy again the winter
snows. There was no temple to be seen, no signs of gods at all. I wondered if
this village was the home of the old man’s strange philosophy. The people took
us in without hesitation, settling us in a hut near the stable. The old man
excused himself and left me to wonder why we had come to such a place. ‘She
lives.’ he had said. I prayed he had told me the truth, that my warrior had been
brought to this little village to heal. And I clutched the hope that I would see
her, embrace her again. It was only a few moments later that the door swung open
and he returned. The was alone save for a bundle in his arms. He held a fur skin
that surrounded a petite little face filled with bright blue eyes.
“Gabrielle!” Said the little face in a child’s voice which could not disguise
the familiarity.
I grabbed her to me and sank to my knees. “Xena.” I sobbed.
The old man perched himself beside us on the floor. “I see you recognize her.”
Of course, I knew it was her. And at that moment I understood what he had been
trying to teach me. We are connected beyond our bodies, beyond our beliefs. We
are one. I folded back the fur and kissed her forehead and stoked the black
curls there. She had not been in the realms of the afterlife. That was why I had
not been able to find her. She had been reborn and she had found me, just as I
had always believed she would. She put her arms about my neck. “Please don’t
cry, Gabrielle.” she said. “I have been waiting for you a very long time. I
thought you would be happy.”
I hugged her tightly. “I am happy, Xena. I am so happy and I love you very
much.”
“I know,” she giggled. “I love you, too. I’m glad you are not so sad
anymore.” Her hands touched my cheek just as the warrior had used to do. Her
bright eyes shined clear and she hugged me tight.
“The child is orphaned.” The old man explained. We sat down and accepted the
supper the villagers had prepared for us, little Xena on my lap. “She is four
years old now. She needs her true family and she sent me to retrieve you.”
He didn’t need to ask the rest. Of course I would keep her. I would raise her to
be the person, my warrior had battled so hard to become. She would be my
daughter rather than my companion in this new incarnation as the old man called
it. But the love was the same. Love is love. Releasing my need for my lost
warrior, I gratefully accepted this child and our new relationship. That is what
the old man had labored to reveal to me. It was the price of opening my heart
and moving past my desire for things past.
In the years that followed, she grew strong and tall. The pain of Xena’s death
in Japa never completely dissipated for me. I have mourned my warrior all my
days. But little Xena filled my life once again with meaning and joy. She was
the image of the Xena with whom I had journeyed. And she had memories of our
time together. Her memories were a gift from Aphrodite, I learned
eventually. Having become aware of Xena’s rebirth a few month earlier, the
goddess restored to the orphaned child memories of her previous life with me.
The little child could neither remember or comprehend the nature of our previous
relationship. As to whether she remembered our being lovers, once she grew
older, I do not know for certain. But she never spoke of it. I doubt Aphrodite
would have given the child that detail. Xena did remember the depth of our love
and our many adventures. She often spoke of the places we had been and she was
eager to relearn her many skills.
I suspected little Xena had only rudimentary memories of her dark warlord past
as well. Lessons learned in one life apparently do not need to be repeated and
the child Xena was not required to carry the burden of sins the warrior had
previously redeemed. Taking Ares up on his offer to help, I asked him to stay
away - completely away. He agreed, even though I knew he would have liked to
have had a shot at mentoring a new warrior princess. Keeping to his word, he
would look in us from time to time. I could always sense when he was near. But
he never materialized in front of her and I believed he watched over us so that
trouble never found our door.
So my heart was the keeper of two Xenas: the warrior with whom I shared a great
love, and a child whom I loved in a new and fulfilling way. I thought of my
warrior as the little girl’s mother and spoke of her as such. The child did not
remember her lost parents, so I told her about the warrior princess when she
asked about her mother. Once she became a teenager and knew the truth, she found
my depiction of herself the warrior as her own mother amusing but accepted the
it as reasonable. She was the image of the warrior physically and in
personality. And as she grew, she exhibited the same amazing abilities. I taught
her all that Xena had taught me about the staff and the pinch and the jumps. She
mastered the chakram and the sword with ease.
What amazed me the most when she reached adulthood, was that without the guilt
of a warlord’s past, Xena was a kind and happy young woman. There was no
ambiguity in her, only a light that burned brightly in a dark world. It was the
very light that my warrior had achieved by the end of our journey together - the
light that enabled her final sacrifice.
The world had not changed much in the twenty odd years since my warrior’s
death. It was still a veil of tears. I had intentionally shielded the child from
its evil at my hermitage. Then as an adult, Xena set out to explore only to
return time and again before the harshness of humanity could permanently
disillusion her. She is not confined by the world of humans, and her inner
strength continues to grow. We knew she would battle the darkness in time. The
people still ry out for a hero and Xena is, after all, Xena. Her courage still
changes the world.
Now as I prepare to leave this mortal plain, I see more and more of the warrior
woman in her eyes I am forever grateful to have found my warrior, my great love,
for she is now exactly as I remember her. I have shared with her the lessons of
the essence of life which were taught to me by the dear old man who brought us
together so many years ago. She knows, as do I, that we never really cease to
be. We are never lost. We do not truly die. This time it I who shall pass to the
other side. Only she will not experience the depths of loneliness that I lived
with after Japa. Her sorrow will be eased by the knowledge that we are bonded
together throughout time. That all life is created of love and we are beings
destined to love each other in all our forms for eternity. Even in death I will
never leave her.