Aries Fire (17 page)

Just as Seira slid the broken arrow bit from Kiki’s chest, her wrinkled face came to life.

“Halay,” said Kiki as she opened her eyes.

Isaac spread a pasty herbal concoction mixed with honey and vinegar around the main wound to keep infection from growing. He dipped cotton strips into myrtle oil to swab the other cuts. He prepared the plant thorns to fuse the wound.

“You are quite the healer in healing,” he smiled at Kiki.

He focused on his task.

“Ah,” she sighed.

Seira dressed the lesser wounds while Isaac dripped an herbal tincture past Kiki’s thin lips.

“Dak,” she moaned. “Taste like cow dung,” she said, closing her eyes again.

Marcus stroked Kiki’s shoulders and felt relieved.

“Good boy. Brave,” Kiki praised Marcus.

Kiki’s small feet wrapped in muddy papyrus shoes lay immobile on the wooden table. Kiki faded from consciousness.  Isaac smiled, relieved to hear Kiki talking, he pierced the skin surrounding the wounds, quickly inserting the thorns, side by side. Isaac glanced at Seira with pride.

“You’ve done well,” he said.

Seira had witnessed Isaac perform operations many times over the past five years, but never had the courage or stomach to act as physician. Kiki was her first procedure and she gratefully took Isaac’s praise and felt the strength in it.

Seira looked at Kiki, acknowledged her and knew she had passed the test as physician and that Kiki would live. Kiki’s eyes snapped open. She stared at something in her mind as her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Seira stretched her stiff back and looked up to where a hanging rope of garlic cloves dangled quietly in the storm’s breeze over a counter space.  No one thought to close the kitchen door. A gust of wind blew over all of them. The spray of mist and wind cleared the kitchen of pain. Attila still lay slumped over his dead compatriot. They would have to drag him inside and tend to his infected foot. Someone would have to bury the corpse.

But not right now. I can’t right now, she thought.

Seira was tired and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. Kiki reached her hand toward Seira.

“Put out jour palm, Seira,” she said.

Seira moved over to Kiki and held out her hand. Kiki dropped Quinn’s necklace in Seira’s palm.

“You will bring her back,” Kiki said and glared at Seira.

Thunder rumbled overhead; Seira’s anxious heart pounded against a reluctant will.

“I will,” Seira paused. “I will bring her back,” she whispered.

Seira lay motionless on her bed. Night took the rain but left the wind. It spoke a disturbing voice to her dreams. Images darted across her vision. Dark faces with hallowed eyes. Muted voices called out. A dagger sliced skin. She saw it from the inside of her body. A man in white tried to pull her under the soil, the dark hairy man with whom her silent support lay, smiled at her. She awoke with a start.

Pounding beats echoed in her head. Temples throbbed with a dull ache.

It’s familiar, she thought groggily.

The same dream I had last time I was with…

“Alexander,” she uttered.

Everything about this day already felt troubled. Silent warnings came in the night that Seira could not decipher. Attila lay, doctored and guarded by Isaac, in Isaac’s room. Marcus needed a potion to help him sleep. Kiki slept soundly while she healed. Seira sat up and looked out of the window. Lightening mottled the sky in the distance. All remained quiet.

What were they after? She thought. Why Quinn? Was it deliberate?

Seira’s mind raced. Her stomach felt queasy.

By the stars, I feel seasick, she thought.

Seira remembered the first time she ever felt seasick she was with Alexander. She thought about him everyday since they first met.  She hoped he remembered her.

“Oh, Quinn, where are you?” she whispered aloud.

Seira felt trapped but wasn’t sure why. It was as if she relived a feeling she continuously pushed down. Seira decided to write. Scribbling helped her organize her feelings. Her wooden chair creaked under her weight. A stained, wooden pen dipped silently into the inkpot. Scratching marks on the papyrus invited much needed calmness.

I cannot feel trapped like this. I feel so helpless and restless. What do I do first? At least I have Isaac to guide me. And Attila. There is something between us, something I cannot yet see. Quinn, I will find you, be assured. Death, murder, revenge. My past is revived for some strange reason. I am not allowed by the living ethers to move beyond my past. There will be an answer, I’m sure of it. Perhaps I lay sleeping these five years. Yes, that’s the way of it. The past cannot rest if we continue to take it with us into a new day.  Quinn. I’m coming.

Seira bolted from her table. The chair toppled over. She scolded herself for being so loud.

Stop it, she commanded herself. Be calm. I am not so young and foolish anymore. I am not in my mother’s house, she thought.

Melancholy pervaded the air. Seira crept to the kitchen to find Isaac sitting up with Attila.

“Oh,” she said.

Isaac pushed a cup of Kiki’s famous potion in front of Attila.

“Do you poison me?” he asked flatly in Latin.

Seira sat down and drank his cupful and gulped as she laid the cup down. Attila watched her. Seira helped herself to another cup and then put one in front of Attila. He cautiously picked it up and sniffed it before drinking it.

The flicker of the candles danced across the room when he moved. Seira noticed how the boy Hun’s substantial presence took up space wherever he went. She used her intuition to search for his purpose. He intimidated her. She sensed that she would have to expose some part of herself to get the answers she wanted from him and to get Quinn back. Seira glanced at Isaac. To her surprise, Isaac had been watching Seira. She looked at Isaac curiously and suddenly understood. She was forming an ally with this boy. Isaac, ever the teacher, waited for both Seira and Attila to learn.  She turned toward Attila and smiled. His face flushed.

By the stars! He’s infatuated with me. Do I manipulate to gain information or do I, do I…

She hesitated.

“Well, I’ve been sitting up a long time, yes,” Isaac said. “Tend to his leg. It’s time I attended Kiki and then rested a while,” he said in Latin to put the boy at ease. He added soberly, “My thoughts are on another child.”

You sly… Seira thought.

Isaac looked at her to cut her thoughts short.

“Goodnight,” she said in Latin.

Attila watched Isaac leave the room.

“He is,” he paused to find the appropriate word. “Ogretman, aya, ah, Rhetman,” he said in Turkish using his hands to enunciate.

Seira frowned attempting to understand his mix of languages.

“Ach,” Attila was frustrated.

“Aya, aya,” he suddenly sat up straight and found the Latin translation.

“Rhetor, aya. Medicus,” he said proudly. Calloused hands lifted to say, “understand?”

“Yes, sic, Medicus, Rhetor, doctor, teacher. “Sic,” she said in Latin.

The dying flame caught her attention.

“Yes, that’s right, Rhetor,” she muttered.

Seira hadn’t realized that the Turkish word for teacher was so similar to the Latin word.  She grinned realizing that the word ‘rhetor’ better defined the way a philosopher spoke rather than any other type of teacher taught. Seira cared not to delineate the difference for him.

What would her mother think now, seeing her in this situation? Candlelight faded. Shadows grew across the walls and the power of reason grew with them. Seira looked at Attila with intensity and hope.  His eyelids flared, revealing an adventurous spirit.

“What do you do with me now?” he asked curtly.

“What would you have me do?” she posed.

“You bury Herwig?” he asked.

“Yes. According to your custom. When you lay drugged,” she said.

“You know the Hun way?”

“I am not familiar with the Huns. But Isaac and Kiki have traveled far, learning different practices as needs arise,” she said.

Attila dipped his chin several times in approval. She was surprised by his appreciation and felt ignorant of the Huns. Seira decided it was time to delve further into more important matters.

Seira gathered fresh linen bandages, a clay bowl of clean water, already mixed with a vinegar and honey solution to stave infection, and knelt down in front of Attila. He stared at the top of her head while she lifted the strange fabric on his leg and blotted the wound.

“Where are your parents?”

“Your Latin is very fluent,” he said.

Seira studied his ability to maneuver a conversation.

No, he is not so stupid, she thought, looking up at him.

“May we speak plainly?” she asked.

He nodded. Seeing that there was no spread of infection, Seira quickly and adeptly wrapped the cut on his leg, then stood.

“The girl, Quinn. What do the Huns want with her?” she asked with less patience.

“The Huns want nothing with the girl.”

His verbal craft of answering only what was asked of him irritated Seira. She would have to be as concise as possible. Seira loved nothing more than getting to the heart of any matter.

“Why was she taken?”

“To satisfy a contract,” he answered.

Attila recognized her impatience as a weakness.

“You are very wise for one so young. A future leader, to be sure.” Seira intuited his arrogance as a way into the Hun plot.

Attila watched Seira’s body as she washed her hands in a larger, more decorative bowl. She kept silent while drying her hands, then tended to the dying candles. She could feel his touch on her without him actually touching her. A sudden memory of eating aboard the Ishtar surrounded by lust-filled sailors brought with it a revelation.

Seira leaned over the counter knowing it would cause her tunic to rise above her thighs. She slowly closed the window. Her strong arms lifted to carry a block of cheese. Seira balanced the cheese on her left hip while reaching up to grab a wooden tray to her right. She faltered, purposefully.

He stood, suddenly. A slight groan passed his lips and he sat back down and winced.

“Oh, does your foot cause you pain, too? Shall I care for it?” Seira asked as she put the cheese on top of the tray, placing them both on the table.

 As she looked down at his foot that Isaac bandaged earlier, she glanced at a large bulge beneath his pantaloons.  She turned to retrieve medicine from the opposite counter and handed him a tincture to drink.

“Here, for the pain in your foot. I’m sure the infection has not spread. Isaac is an adept… Rhetman,” she said, grinning as she gave way to the improper definition.

Attila sat down without warning and let out a deep breath from the back of his throat.

“I do not need this potion,” he said, sweeping it off of the table.

Reddish brown liquid spilled from the gourd cup. Seira let it sit, without reacting to his burst of emotion. He fought off his manly feelings with great frustration. Seira sensed a gentle man beneath his brusque manner.

“Your clothes are quite interesting,” she said.

“My clothes are no stranger than yours,” he added.

“It’s just that I’ve not seen men adorn their legs with fabric, yet it seems so perfectly natural. Might I touch…” she stopped asking as she slid her fingers from his knee upward toward his thigh, then quickly removed her hand from his leg.

“Oh, what a fascinating fabric. I’ve been weaving a tunic and it feels nothing like it. Does your tribe use flax to make fabric? Isaac brought back a weft of white silk from Persia. It’s said to be made from the cocoon of a worm. Imagine that,” she said.

Seira knew she baffled him. She stood and walked toward the loom. 

“If you need a tunic, you may have this one. Your clothes are a bit dirty and bloody,” she said.

Attila wasn’t sure how to respond. His arrogance waned under his embarrassing desire.  Seira felt his awkwardness. She licked her lips innocently and waited for him to take the tunic. He grabbed it rudely.

“Attila, what contract is so important that it could harm a child of thirteen?”

He studied her and simultaneously crumpled the tunic in his hands. 

“We arrange with Foederati.”

“The Foederati?”

“Tribes bound by treaty with Romans. The Huns war with the Visigoths. They are not true Huns. Visigoths want Foederati terms for gold. They have no honor,” he said, his cheeks flushed with anger. “Roman’s fear the Visigoths,” he said.

Seira said nothing, not wanting to fuel his anger or distract him from what she needed. It was all she could do. The scream in her mounted.

Tell me where she is you animal!

Attila raised the tunic to his shoulders then dropped it in his lap.

Daylight dawned. Seira looked at the window shutters streaked with dirt and Quinn’s handprint. Seira sighed deeply and stared at him. Attila flared his eyelids at her.

Why does he do that thing with his eyes? It makes me insane!

“Romans have interests and so do Huns. We have traded terms and keep Romans safe from Visigoths. Romans show us land in this territory. We find things…” he paused, “… and people Romans need. We keep the land.”

Seira believed he spoke the truth. He didn’t know anymore than that.  He was crude, but honest.

“Take me to the Hun camp,” she said.

“You will bargain?” he burst out laughing. “Or will you fight?” he laughed harder. “My brother, Bleda, has her. He will keep her. When he is done with her he gives her to the Romans,” he said.

Rape her, Hun brother, and I’ll cut your scalp from its bone! 

Her fire ignited then suddenly died out replaced by reason.

“Which Roman requires this girl?”

Attila shrugged and tore a piece of cheese from the plate.

“Bleda knows,” he said and ate the cheese.

Seira faced him.

“Then Bleda shall tell me.”

Attila continued to chew his food and studied Seira without expression.

Chapter Eight

Unexpected journeys; war on outdated consciousness

Or Uranus conjunct the Sun in the 9th and oppose Saturn