Aries Fire (20 page)

Seira was exhausted. She lay down under the fur blanket. It smelled earthy, like Attila, and strangely, it would have somehow comforted her if she allowed.  She closed her eyes and felt her body grow heavy; a tired mind drifted easily. There were no disturbing images while she slept. The night was deadly quiet.

What felt like moments were in truth hours to Seira when she heard a noise that roused her from a deep sleep.   Head groggy, eyes bleary, she rolled her body to one side and saw a large shadow hover.  Bleda stood for a mere second before he descended upon Seira.  His large, filthy hand covered her mouth.  Fingers of stone pressed hard against panicked lips.

Eyes bulged with terror; nostrils, wide open, struggled for air.  Bleda tore the blanket from Seira with his right hand.  Groping fingers found her knees and split them open.

Seira screamed muted cries behind his hand. Her arms swung wide to strike. She bit his palm hard.  His right fist struck a blow across her face.  She lay near unconscious, her mind dizzy.

Bleda yanked his pantaloons down. He revealed his menacing erection.  Massive thighs pinned her legs to the ground.

Seira shook herself aware. 

“Wha..?  NO!” she shrieked.

Terror came alive.  She slapped him furiously with both hands.  Nails scratched his face and neck.  She clenched her teeth, her throat tightened in rage. Stench breath loomed near her mouth.  She smelled sour wine.  Spit drooled from his fat, lower lip. He squashed his dry, coarse lips against hers.  Rotted, brown teeth bit her tongue.

ATTILA! Her mind screamed.

Breathy cries heaved from her throat.  Saliva choked her.  Seira squirmed under his weight and coughed into his mouth.  Legs thrashed beneath the brute.  He lifted his body to grope her breasts.  A swift thrust and her knee burrowed into his groin.

“BEDDUAET!” he cried out cursing her.

Bleda fell backward and curled his knees to his chest. Seira twisted onto her stomach and clambered away from him.

Sudden grips on both ankles yanked her backwards.  Her chin slammed into the edge of the plank and split open.  Numbness preceded a sharp sting.  Dirt sprayed into her eyes and blinded her.   Disassembled arrows parts flew aimlessly into the air. Gurgled wheezes replaced cries for help.  Shaking fingers dragged into the dirt, ripping her nails. She fumbled for anything on which to grab. One hand quickly wiped her eyes; bits of sandy soil gritted in her teeth, mixed with her own blood.

An animal reaction exploded.  There, on the ground, the bone arrow. She reeled onto her back as he lunged on top of her again. The arrow tip, aimed at his neck, cleaved into his cheek instead. Blood dripped from her clutching fist. His head flew back. He cut his shout cold and grabbed his face. Spit and blood smeared a dark, dirty cheek and hand. He looked at her with hatred.  Seira saw only the whites of his eyes against a black void of iniquity.

Fear suddenly suffocated her.  Seira screamed air; sounds, paralyzed.

Bleda’s evil mass of flesh forced down and thrust into her.  His fist gagged her mouth as her jaw twisted in excruciating pain.  She fought fainting, she fought terror, yet she could not fight him. A scorching pain ripped through her body. Seira was destroyed; purity desecrated, rage imploded. Nausea overcame her. Bleda heaved, back and forth.  He stabbed her sacredness repeatedly.

A muffled, guttural sound came from his throat as he arched his back.  Her hands and toes cramped.  Seira convulsed.  His bloodied shaft jerked out of her stained thighs.  He griped her limp body tightly and flipped her over onto her stomach.  Bleda wheezed deep breaths.

She felt too weak to cry, to fight.  Her eyes glazed with tears and dirt. She blinked and focused.  To her right, in the shadow, Seira saw Attila lying face down, blood seeping from his temple. A large rock lay beside his head.

“NOOOO!” she finally screamed.

Hope died inside of her.  Bleda yanked her to her feet and pushed her through the tent. A leather lash gagged her mouth; she nearly choked on her tongue. Her legs shook, stumbled. A colossal thigh rose, knee bent.  Black hair flew wildly about his head as Bleda kicked the small of her back. Her lungs expelled her last bit of air.

Seira fell, a lifetime before her cheek hit the ground.  A cracking sound before all went blacker than the demon who defiled her.

There was nothing for an eternity.  Eyes opened.  Eyes closed.  Eyelids fluttered.  Her focus faded in and out. Sweet singing.  Harmonic resonance echoed in her ears. She shivered.  Seira felt weightless.  Someone carried her body. Her arms folded on her chest, legs dangled in slow motion. She looked up and saw Kiral. The fist that first struck her now took care to save her.  Spiced breezes caressed her senses.  Kiral brought her to Aymelek. He laid her down softly on a bed of white lamb’s wool. 

Seira opened her eyes and saw a blurry, bloody Attila standing near her.  Consciousness faded and she dreamed she floated in the air without a body.

For many days she lay like this, attended by Aymelek and Attila. She awoke to a sound, ting, ting, ting.  Low voices blended together.  She groaned.

“Misir.”

She heard Aymelek speak softly. Ting, ting, ting chimed in.

“Ke,” she said to Seira.  “Keci, Misir,” Aymelek said again.

Seira attempted to lift her head and was knocked down by a throbbing pain she’d never felt before. Ting, ting, chimed in her ears.

“Goats, she tells you,” a deep voice said.

Seira could see Bleda leaning over her.  Her throat sucked in air as she gasped.  She screamed.  Arms flew in front of her face for protection.  She slapped at the air.

“Hayir, sampa,” Aymelek said.  “Ol, Attila.”

Aymelek gently scolded Attila for frightening Seira.  She tried to calm Seira and bring her arms to rest. 

“Sampa,” she said again.

Ting, ting, ting echoed in Seira’s ears. 

“Sampa, keci, Misir,” Aymelek pleaded.

“They are goats bells,” Attila reiterated.

“Aymelek tells you, you are safe. They are only goats bells and Attila,” said Attila.

Aymelek turned to Attila and with one imploring expression, urged Attila to step back. She held Seira’s arms and sang a calming song. Smooth, oiled fingers stroked Seira’s arms gently.  Aymelek chanted soft words Seira could not understand.

Seira wept. She tried to curl herself into a child protected by a mother but her legs stiffened; her hips ached, her ribs broken.  She cried sobs upon sobs while Aymelek crooned a Turkish lullaby.

Tears of loss mixed with hatred for all mankind. In her twenty-two years, Seira never wanted to die as much as now. Aymelek dripped a sleep potion into Seira’s mouth.  It simultaneously dribbled down her chin and into her throat.  The potion seeped into her blood and Seira drifted from heaven to hell and all the mad places in between.  She slept for many more days. The faint sounds of tambourines, bells, and her own silent screams faded with her.

Chapter Nine

Learning to receive

Or, Solar Eclipse; portal to the truth

F
IVE MONTHS BROUGHT
a mild winter to the Hun camp.  Cooler air whistled through creaking pines.  The calm sea churned more than usual.  Romans amassed for war to the north.  The Huns formed separate legions to the West and South.

Seira lay, mostly drugged and sleeping, while mending a head concussion and three fractured ribs. She mourned the end of her innocence alone.  There was no potion or remedy for that. Aymelek took great care to bring her body back to life, but was unable to put life into her heart.

“Seira,” she said.  “Yemek. Evet?”

Aymelek laid a tray of goats’ cheese and hard bread softened with warm goat’s milk and honey in front of Seira. Aymelek became Seira’s personal attendant and friend. They learned each other’s language in a short time.

“Eeet.  Yemek.”

Aymelek waited for Seira to move.  Seira stared at a clump of mud on the floor.  Mundzuk allowed Seira to have her own tent after being brutalized by his son, Bleda. He had it filled with satin cushions and soft, lamb’s skin rugs and blankets. It was as lavish as the khan’s tent.  Seira was treated as the daughter of a Hun Khan. Bleda’s attempt to kidnap Seira and deliver her to Cyril failed. He was temporarily banished to his uncle Khan Ruga’s encampment in Persia.

Aymelek sighed aloud.  Seira looked up from her bed of cushions and wool.  She smiled at Aymelek.

“Not hungry now,” she said with an ache in her jaw.

“When?” Aymelek asked.

Aymelek sucked her teeth with disapproval and this reminded Seira of Kiki. She missed them, Kiki, Marcus, and Quinn.

Mundzuk kept his promise and returned Quinn to Isaac and Kiki unharmed.  Seira’s silent prayers thanked a nameless God for sparing Quinn.  They must know by now that Cyril hunted her.  Seira instinctively knew that Isaac and Kiki would have to move Quinn and Marcus to a safer place, but did not know to where.  Isaac would not come for her now and she tried not to think of him. She blamed him for something, anything, to remain angry with him. 

He could have gone in my stead, she thought, caustically.

Seira needed to stay with the Huns, lost in her anger and supported by Huns’ sympathy.

Seira picked up a soft, warm lump of goat’s cheese, pushed Isaac from her mind, and the cheese into her mouth.  Aymelek smiled.

“Evet. Good to eet,” she said before leaving the tent.

Seira decided to take in some sea air. She tossed a coat made of goat’s skin across her shoulders and pushed the tent flap open wide.  The sky was gray.  A wet mist hung low in the air.  People moved about their business and occasionally nodded in Seira’s direction.

The Hun people accepted her without much discussion.  Their way was to follow Mundzuk’s lead.   They welcomed her without fanfare, as one of their own, all except Bleda, who now ravaged Roman villages in the name of his people somewhere far away.

His own actions shamed him into violating her.  Seira hoped he would die horribly at the hands of a Roman soldier, and soon.  Her nightmares were still terrorized by his stench.  Her thoughts often drifted to performing his execution.  No matter how many times she chopped off Bleda’s head, he came back to haunt her in the dark.  Seira could not move Bleda from her mind.  The aches in her body were a daily reminder, as was Attila’s face.

Seira suddenly wondered how a mother could love each child equally.  She walked slowly without direction.

“Rhetman.”

Seira turned to face Attila.

No, he is not evil, this brutish boy of seventeen, she thought.

“You have returned early from your hunt.”

Attila smiled at her.  His affection for her grew when she became his teacher. His compassion for her was visible after Bleda raped her. Attila treated Seira as a fragile Priestess.

“Two deer.  Three pigs. I am come to see you. There is news,” he said.

“Oh?”

“We attack Northern Roman villages soon.”

“Yes?”

Seira seemed unconcerned.  Attila huffed in annoyance.

“You go to the South camp.”

“No.  I do not,” she said, matching his stubborn temperament.

“You go to the camp with Aymelek.” He decreed and crossed his arms.

Seira showed no emotion.  She stared at Attila. He stared in return.

“I shall go to war and fight,” she finally said.

“You?” Attila burst into laughter.  “You will fight?” 

He stopped laughing when he realized Seira’s solemn truth.

“Hmm,” he said, considering her.

Attila paced in front of Seira, his hands gripped behind his back.

“Why do you fight with the Huns?” he inquired the way a future khan might.

“I fight against my enemies,” she said.

“You? You have no enemies. You are Rhetman, scholar, healer,” he argued.

“I have enemies,” she said.

Attila opened his mouth to speak but re-examined the situation.  He knew she meant Bleda and the Roman bishop, Cyril. He wondered if she meant all men.

Attila knew his brother was a dangerous man.  Mundzuk had realized just how dangerous his eldest son was and ordered Kiral to protect Seira whenever she wasn’t with Attila. Now that Bleda had more cause for hatred, he might direct vengeance upon his own family and Mundzuk and Attila stayed alert. Oddly, Attila felt no guilt for Bleda’s rape of Seira. Throughout their Hun lives, fighting for spoils was the Hun way.  Attila was certain that if Bleda encountered Seira again, one of them might die.

Cyril was another matter.  Whether the threat came from Cyril or Bleda, or from any other man, Attila thought it only seemed fair to teach Seira how to defend herself, whether or not she went to war.  Until then, he silently vowed to protect Seira from further harm. Attila recognized the angry warrior in Seira as much as an esoteric teacher. Attila scratched his face as he thought many things.  Seira waited for his response. 

“Aya,” he spoke calmly to her. “I teach you to fight. Mundzuk decides if you war with Huns,” he said.

Seira nodded and walked away.  Attila felt something swell in his heart.  Not since childhood and a faded memory of his mother did he feel such a feeling.  He wanted to say something but decided against it.  He watched her stroll through the camp aimlessly, as if she were alone and without a care.

•  •  •

A
TTILA VISITED SEIRA
daily.  With him he brought acacia tree bark and bones to instruct Seira on arrow crafting.  She learned quickly and his respect for her grew even more. 

Attila took Seira hunting.  Her impatience became frustration. These emotions distracted her at first, but she focused and became an adept markswoman.

“Evet, good,” he said as she shot a duck in flight. 

“Now you make fire. We eat.”

Seira took the sticks from the quiver of arrows.  Watching Attila and the women in camp, she assumed a spark would fly in seconds. She gripped a hard stick between her hands and placed it inside a small hole of a softer stick.  Her feet held the soft stick in place while determined palms bored the hard stick into the hole.  Nothing happened. She repositioned the sticks in her hand and between her feet, repeating the act.  Still nothing.