Aries Fire (11 page)

“Listen carefully, my brawny fellow,” Alexander said.  “Theon has arranged for the escape of his granddaughter, but not to Athens.” 

Lem’s deadly glare dissolved.

“What?”

“It’s been pre-arranged.  Granted, we expected to keep another man on her but we made the situation work for us nonetheless.”

“Wait.  I don…It’s not possible. I don’t understand.  Why would Theon not tell me this?”

Lem looked hurt, betrayed. Alexander extended his arm to Lem.

“Come. I will tell you what you couldn’t know earlier.”

Lem followed the captain. He trusted Alexander’s words, but doubted his own ignorant feelings.

“But is she safe?” Lem grabbed the captain’s shoulder and spun him.  “Is the mistress safe?”

“Quite, and we now have further need of you. Theon is a wise man to know his granddaughter and to choose you, a very dedicated servant, for his plans.  Allay your wounded pride while I give you Theon’s latest instructions.” 

Alexander smiled. He slapped Lem on the back with one hand. With his other hand, he picked up fruit from the spilled crate and tossed it into the air and caught it without looking at it.  “Apple?” 

Lem frowned and looked toward the city.

“NO.  I don’t want any,” Seira said.

The old woman pushed her long, gray, wiry hair aside and grunted. She grabbed the bowl of figs she had offered Seira and took them away. Seira believed this old woman was a fiendish imp.

“Who are you?  Why did you grab me like that?” Seira asked.

The little woman ignored Seira, knelt on the dirt floor and started to chant. Curious, Seira leaned over the old woman’s shoulder to see her grinding dried herbs in a wooden bowl.

After she had yanked Seira from the marketplace and shoved her into this hut Seira thought the old witch might have been in league with the Roman guards, but saw no sign of truth in that.      

It was dark and dusty in the hut. Seira glowered to see what the old woman would do next.  There was a small altar erected in front of her. The old woman put the bowl down and picked up a smooth stick, the length of a man’s hand, and a small wooden bow held together with a leather strap on each end. She inserted the stick upright into a loop in the middle of the strap and placed the bottom of the stick into a flat piece of wood that lay on the ground. The old woman then grabbed the curved bow and spun the stick like a spindle.  Fiery sparks ignited underneath the stick within seconds. She tossed dried grass onto the fire then lit incense and a candle.  Seira had never seen anyone make fire that fast.

The odor from the incense was pungent and made Seira blink, but the candlelight gave her a better view of the woman’s hovel.

The eroded, cracked walls were stone and mortar, poorly slapped together. Seira grinned as she imagined bringing down the wall on the old woman’s head with one swift kick. She stopped grinning when she looked to the left of the altar and saw a broken, wooden cot with ragged blankets strewn atop.

Poverty made Seira immediately uncomfortable.  Aside from a planked bench and a warped, rotted table, there was nothing else in the hut.  Seira’s eyes darted to sum up the distance between herself and the door: eight quick paces and she would be free. The dust clouded the room and Seira’s throat dried.  She coughed then stood to leave. The old woman paid no notice of her captive.

“Excuse me,” Seira said.

The old woman continued chanting and ignored her.

“Ah, thank you,” she said. 

Why would I thank her? That old woman grabbed me and screeched at me in gibberish. She slapped me too, that witch, and now she won’t speak to me.

“Hmph.” Seira brushed the curtain back from the doorway about to step outside.

“It takes you no time to moving your thoughts from gratitude to scorn,” the old woman said with her back to Seira, in a thick Phoenician burr.

The old woman turned toward Seira and she felt ashamed. She couldn’t think of anything to say.

“Halay. Sit,” the old woman pointed to a crooked, wooden bench. 

Seira reluctantly complied and was instantly aware of the stench of dead fish on her.

“Toof.” The hag waved her hand and brushed Seira’s smell out of her way.  She sucked on her teeth and picked up the burning incense and waved it over Seira as she chanted. Even though the smoke made her cough and her eyes tear, it cleansed away some of the fish and vomit odor. The old woman ended her chant.

“Kiki,” she finally said.

“What?”

“My name.  Ki-KEE!” she said.

“Stop it!”  Seira put her hands over her ears and jerked her head back.  “Why do you yell?”

“Ha.” The old woman laughed and shook her shoulders in a dance.

“Kiki?  Are you Phoenician?”  Seira had trouble understanding her. “You look so small.” She held her hand up, then lowered it to minimize Kiki’s size.  “I thought Phoenician descendants were tall, slender beauties.”

Kiki gave Seira a cold stare.

“My apologies,” Seira said quickly and dropped her arm to her side.

Old, worn eyes met Seira’s from where she sat. Seira saw something in them.

“Are you laughing on the inside?” she asked.

Kiki raised her eyebrows higher than Seira thought possible. 

“What are you doing?”

The old woman sighed and shook her head. 

“YOU,” she pointed at her.  “Se-er?” She pointed to her own brow.  “Star reader?” she pointed to the sky. “Hakesh.”  Kiki’s palms swung toward the floor and she spit to one side. “Ha.” 

She clapped her hands hard then shot one arm forward toward Seira.  She held her hand up as if to halt Seira’s actions.  Seira burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry, but you’re very amusing.  Could I have a fig now? Or I’d prefer a date if you have any,” she said.  “Um.  How do you know about me?”

The old woman’s eyes closed lazily, her shoulders dropped, and she nodded with a defeated look.  Then Kiki sighed and sat on the bench opposite Seira. Kiki dropped the bowl of figs in front of her and the bowl wobbled to a stop. Together they stared at it in silence.

“Thank you,” Seira finally said. “Now, will you talk sense to me?”  She eyed Kiki cautiously.

“Sense?”  Her old eyes widened then fell into a blank stare.  “What is the sense of dead fish on your skin?” Kiki poked Seira’s chest. “By what right do you judge my actions?”

This woman had a way of momentarily silencing Seira.

“Why did you grab me and pull me into your hut? How do you know that I’m a seer?”  Seira’s mind scattered in confused, disjointed thoughts.

The old woman stared at Seira and she stared right back at her. She didn’t like figs but she was hungry so she picked one up and ate it.

“I need a virgin to sacrifice at the next festival,” she said then slapped the table and laughed.

Seira threw a fig at her.  The old woman caught it effortlessly and promptly ate it.

“I’m leaving now.  I’m bored with you,” Seira said.

She stood and marched toward the ripped curtain that barred her from the alley and flung it aside. She checked her money pouch. It was still there.

“There is no gold,” Kiki said, looking at Seira with one eye closed.

Seira glared at her then quickly tore into the pouch.  All the coins were gone!  She punched her fist into it and discovered a hole.  She looked over at the old woman who laughed.  Seira hated her.

“How did you know that?” she barked.

“You say Kiki Phoenician.  How do you know this thing?”

Seira looked away, her head full of random thoughts.

I could sell my shoe then I’d have money. Where though? I dare not return to the marketplace.

She turned to face Kiki, still overwhelmed by her own disgusting stench.

“What!”

Seira let the curtain fall back to where it was.  She didn’t know where to go just yet.  She had no money or clean clothes and couldn’t risk running into the legion. 

“Do you not have baths in this decomposing hole, old woman?”

Kiki sat back on the bench, relaxed.  Seira realized that Kiki already knew she wouldn’t leave.  She knew exactly what thoughts were spinning around Seira’s head.

This old hag isn’t going to answer my questions until I answer hers first.

“All right,” said Seira.  She turned to face Kiki. “How do I know about you?  Because your fingers are stained with plant juices and you’ve got dried flowers in your bowl. You’re an herbalist, or some sort of healer, yes? 

“That’s not so hard.”  Kiki shrugged. 

Seira continued to bluntly explain her reasoning.  “And your name is Kiki.  I mean, Ki-KEE, and Kiki is a Phoenician name, although I pronounce it differently, and Ki-KEE means, ‘castor plant,’” she said, intimating that her way was better.

“Also?” Kiki asked.

“And the castor plant is used in healing.”

“Also?”

“What?” Seira scratched the fish scales from her chest furiously. “What?”

“So because I pray and make herbs and my name is Kiki you say I am this thing?  That’s the reason you give me?”

“I don’t understand what you’re after, old woman.” 

Seira paced while she summoned all of her sagacity trying to figure out what the woman wanted and how to get her to answer questions instead of ask them.  Stepping past the old woman’s mortar bowl she stopped.  It bore a familiar symbol of two triangles opposite each other tied with an unusual ribbon.

“I’ve seen that,” she said startled.

She fell to the dirt and grabbed the bowl.  The powdery herbs flew from the bowl and into her face.  Seira sneezed repeatedly.

“So. You know this,” Kiki said, pointing to the symbols, as if she knew that Seira would. 

Seira wanted to tell her that she knew these symbols, but didn’t know how to explain herself without revealing visions to a complete stranger.  She ran her fingers over the symbols and sneezed again.  Kiki’s mouth turned into a grin so warm Seira felt an immediate and unmistakable kinship with her.  Seira smiled, too.

Kiki rudely grabbed the bowl. “Are you not leaving?” 

Seira instantly lost the kinship. She doubted it had ever been there.

“I admit, Ma’am.  I have nowhere to go just yet.  If you would allow me to stay for a few hours I would be grateful.”  

Humbled words hoped to gain the old woman’s pity.

“Shoosh,” she said and silenced Seira.  “I see things, too.  Toof,” Kiki waved her hand in the air again. “To the bathhouse. You stink.”

Seira followed her to the doorway.  Freedom appeared as a wish granted.  Without warning or by her own efforts, Seira had it.  At present, she didn’t know what to do with it.  A sudden need to cry rushed through her.

I detest this feeling!  she huffed, preferring anger.

Kiki walked in front of Seira down a narrow alley.  She had nothing to say to Kiki even when stepping on jagged rocks on the cobblestone street.  Muttered curses escaped in her breath. They walked in silence a few minutes more and then the old woman unexpectedly whirled to face Seira. 

“Give me the shoe,” she said, her small, wrinkled fingers held steady, palm up.

Seira hesitated then pulled it from her waist belt and handed it to her.  Kiki took it and swiftly whacked Seira on the head.

“You will learn respect,” she said and walked on, snapping the shoe under her left arm.

A thin man with worn out leather sandals ran as fast as he could up the plank to the Ishtar.  Veins protruded from his sun-speckled neck. His face was red and his eyes bulged.  He didn’t stop moving until he found Alexander. 

“Na…si,” he wheezed, wiped sweat from his forehead, and leaned forward.

“Japhet, report,” Alexander said.

Japhet blinked nervously and curled his upper lip.

“Japhet,” Alexander spurred.

The runner straightened himself.  He stood tall, erect, and answered his captain.

“Nasi,” he began, speaking Hebrew, referring to Alexander as the prince of his tribe. “Sir,” he said. 

He looked directly at Alexander. His eyes twitched.

“We’ve lost her, Nasi.”

Chapter Four

Disciplining spontaneous experience

Or, Uranus Square Saturn in the 5th

“M
Y FEET BURN,”
Seira said as she followed the old woman.

Kiki ignored her and glided over the hot cobblestones, the jeweled shoe melded to her underarm.  This road was a familiar one to Kiki.  She knew how the stones were laid out, which ones protruded upward waiting to hinder any who traveled upon it.

“I said, my feet are bur…OWW!”

Every uneven stone announced itself to Seira with annoying surprise.  Blood dripped from the ball of her foot.  She hopped on the other foot to get a look.

Kiki disappeared around a corner.  Seira hobbled quickly to keep time.  She turned the corner and stopped. Kiki was nowhere in sight.

“Hello?  Where are you?”  Seira was in a long narrow alley with more uneven stones to mount.  One sigh followed another.

Now what do I do.  Where is that hideous frog?

Kiki’s head popped out of a hidden archway on the right.

“Will you come?  Halay,” she said as she shook her head.

Kiki threw her arm into the air and twisted her wrist into a dismissive dance. Kiki vanished into the shadow of the archway.

Seira followed her through the shadows and emerged into a bathhouse.  Seira would never have known to look for this place so well hidden from daily traffic.

“Is this a public bathhouse?” Seira asked.

Seira’s cat eyes adjusted to the shadows and searched to find the old woman. The entrance to the bathhouse was dark and smelled of cool stone and perfumed water.

A mysterious figure appeared and Seira instinctually pulled back.

“Who’s there?”

The deep voice responded and caused a wave of emotions to rise like a tidal wave within her. Seira stood perfectly still while she attempted to negotiate her feelings and to clear her thoughts.

It can’t be, she thought.

“Orestes?” she said in a whisper.

Orestes was Alexandria’s governor. Roman features and a strong, nurturing presence gave the impression that he stood taller than his true height. His years as a soldier showed in his lean muscles. His bronze skin was rugged from years of trekking the countryside for the Empire. Orestes’ dark, curled hair was cut short and he was clean-shaven as Roman and Egyptian custom dictated.