Aries Fire (42 page)

She hoped it would be different for them, she and Kiki Hypatia of Alexandria.

Such a long and regal name for a tiny being.

The baby’s mouth slid to a crooked grin. Perfect little lips, pink and sweet. Seira matched her daughter’s peaceful breath. Perhaps when a child grows and becomes a mother herself, there is a better chance for her to love her own child. There might be a moment in time, however, when resentment spreads instead of a loving embrace. Seira pushed that thought from her mind.

“You and I will be the truest of friends and allies. It will be different for us than it was for me and my mother,” she said to Kiki.

Or me and my father.

Just then two flittering larks landed on the windowsill and pecked at the seeds Ramla put out for them. Seira, only several feet away held still and watched the red-breasted male lead the way, while the brown female followed him.

Leaning back into the chair, her thoughts led her to all the men she had followed: Theon, Orestes, Isaac, Attila, Mundzuk, Alexander and the hope of a father, the idea of a father. But now there were no more to follow, only one man to love. Seira sat with acceptance. Throughout her life she fought her way through impatience and frustration in search of the ONE to follow, yet fighting to submit her will to anyone.

Her own contradictions levied a war upon her identity. She allowed childish emotions and fear to rule her destiny. And now she realized it was her own will she resisted. Her own spirit she refused to heed. The power of her womanhood could not be made through any man. It could only be glimpsed, a reminder that she was the source, the spirit, the fire that would lead. But her leadership must not smolder others. A delicate harmony of restraint and supplication relied upon intuition. Too many times Seira stamped out her own fire to listen to others. Just as many times did she charge ahead without listening to herself or the needs of others. There were consequences to ignoring the inner spirit voice.

She would make her own path, at her will, but without arrogance. A loud sigh whirred from her mouth as if she could stop all thoughts with one utterance.

Fluttering wings darted and flew at the sound. Kiki’s fitful whimper followed. Seira leaned her baby into her breast and Kiki latched onto a sore nipple, burying her face into her mother for comfort.

Seira loved the feeling of her milk being released. It was a sensual pleasure that overtook her senses and she felt more of a woman than ever before.

“Men will try to lead your way, daughter. But you must show them that you are strong and yet more, supple and can bend to their whims but by your own choosing and all the while keeping your sweetness,” she said to Kiki.

Seira looked at the calm, azure sea. Sparkling light dappled with the dawn across the water, ultimately giving Seira a feeling of endless gratitude for her choices that led her here. A star sparkled in the sky.

“There is life in us all that is the living Ether, Kiki. We are, all of us, connected to that eternal heaven that is right here. Forgive the past and it is done. No more to return.”

The baby fell asleep and milk dribbled from her mouth. Seira lifted her and cradled Kiki on her shoulder and rubbed her back, holding her tightly and drew in her scent. Kiki let out a little wet bubble and hiccupped, contented. Seira stood with effort and laid Kiki in her cradle and decided to venture down the stairs.

She looked for Ramla to sit near the baby but couldn’t find her. Ramla had moved into the empty bedroom at the end of the hall. Here she wove, sewed, and meditated at sunset. Seira popped her head in the room and saw nothing but the weave on the loom, a mat on the floor, a cot beside it, and a cup of water. She frowned.

As she carefully descended the stairs she felt a tightening in her pelvis. Rounding the corner to the kitchen she saw Alexander through the window coming in from the front gate. Ramla was in the garden tilling soil in the pink light of morning. Alexander walked into the kitchen with a strange look on his face.

“Oh. Here you are,” he said with a smile.

“The baby is sleeping. I thought I could start to move about. Is there something I ought to know?” she asked him.

He rubbed his face with his hand.

“You will need to see this,” he said, reaching out his hand to her.

She took it and he kissed her fingers, something he loved doing.

“I wondered how to approach you. But now you’re here and so is…” he paused. “Wait. Let me get Ramla to care for the baby.”

Alexander held up his hand to Seira, made his way quickly to the garden, and asked Ramla to finish later. Seira loved his mindfulness, always putting the baby first. Ramla used an apron to wipe her hands and made her way to where the baby slept.

“Come,” he said, holding out his hand to Seira once again.

They walked outside to the front gate and Seira’s body snapped to attention and froze when she saw a Hun standing there.

“Huh?” she said.

She looked at Alexander and back to the Hun. A thousand thoughts raced through her mind and none of them made any sense. Her heart pounded. Was it news of Attila? She couldn’t bear any more death, not his.

Please not his!

The vision of Attila’s eventual fall in Leo’s eyes seared a lasting impression in her mind. Alexander prodded his wife to walk forward, breaking her vexation.

“He has no weapons that I can see,” Alexander whispered. “Talk to him,” he urged.

Seira greeted the Hun and he returned the greeting. The Hun was not surprised that she spoke his language.  Her name was prominent among his people.  As she neared him she did not recognize him. He was aged somewhat with plenty of battle scars on his arms and face. Two fingers were missing on his left hand, a hand that held a scroll. He nodded to her succinctly and held it out to her.

Alexander strained to hear what the Hun murmured to his wife, but couldn’t. He realized that he wouldn’t understand it if he did, so he stopped trying. Seira took the scroll and unfurled it. She turned to Alexander.

“It’s a message from Attila,” she said, with absolute surprise.

Relieved that he wasn’t dead, she smiled at Alexander. More than that, elated that he knew her whereabouts gave her the greatest pleasure and sense of safety that she would never admit to her husband.

“Well? Does he want you back? We can talk terms,” Alexander said and folded his arms.

Seira smirked and continued to read.

“It’s a gift to celebrate the birth of our child it says!” she said. “But how did he…”

The Hun reached down and picked up a basket. He held it out to her. Seira’s tentative hands gripped the sides and took it.  Before she could thank him, he turned to go and she didn’t feel the need to stop him.

The breadbasket was familiar to Seira.  Woven in the Hunnish style with tightly knotted black bulrush and ochre straw and a knotted ball atop a domed lid for easy access. Seira carried the basket with both hands and couldn’t imagine its contents.

“What do you suppose?” she said and handed her husband the basket.

“Does your friend bake as well as he wars?” Alexander asked.

Seira put the scroll under her arm. Gingerly lifting the lid she conceived of all the things that Attila might give her; silken fabrics from Persia, perhaps a hand carved plaything, or a tactical compendium of the Hun Empire. She laughed at the thought and lifted the lid with sudden excitement, pulling aside the cloth with a gasp.

“By the stars!”

She dropped the lid unexpectedly. Alexander leaned in to look and was taken aback.

“Hazaad!” he said and quickly dropped the basket.

Out rolled Bleda’s head, eyes wide, open-mouthed and distorted.

Seira and Alexander stared at each other for a brief moment.

“Well. The perfect gift,” Alexander said.

Seira looked at Bleda’s head. It was the only gift Attila could give her that had any meaning at all. She laughed with absolute abandon.

The sun rose and with it a brighter day.  Seira felt her life begin again in a spark of fire, of hope. Hypatia’s words drifted with the breeze and echoed back to Seira.

“Life is an unfoldment, and the further we travel the more truth we can comprehend. To understand the things that are at our door is the best preparation for understanding those that lie beyond.”

Hypatia of Alexandria

Acknowledgements

My sincerest gratitude to Casey DeFranco—an Aries with more Aries planets in her chart than the god Ares himself. Without her inspirational spark, ideas, and literary prowess, I’d still be
thinking
about writing a novel.

I’m grateful to my literary manager, Ken Atchity, for championing this book and for fighting the ‘good fight’ in the publishing world. To Linda Sivertsen and Rudy Yuly for their keen editing eyes. To Joseph Bisoglio for being the only person I know who actually studied Latin. If not for you and your Latin translations, I might have summoned the fury of someone’s ancestors instead of just asking for directions to the bathhouse. To my husband, Dean, my sounding board. Thank you for all the nights we spent together as I read to you each new scene as the words hit the pages. Finally, to Hypatia of Alexandria, one powerful woman in the history of women. She just wouldn’t back down. I’d like to think she was an Aries, too.

Author Interview

What was your inspiration for the book?

Not so much ‘what,’ but who. An Aries! My friend, Casey DeFranco, a wonderful author and playwright, sat with me at lunch one day and I told her I wanted to write something epic, grand and meaningful; an homage to each astrological sign, or a procession of spirituality and humanity.

She took the lunch menu from my hands and replaced it with a notepad and said, “Let’s start right now. What’s the first sign of the zodiac? Aries, right?” (You gotta love Aries!) After lunch I had the basic series of thirteen books outlined in my mind, with each character a different sign at a pivotal point in history. A few months later I attended a friend’s birthday celebration and one of the parting ‘joke gifts’ was a ruler with women in history printed on it. More ideas began to form and so I did an internet search for 3
^rd
to 5
^th
century women in history and Hypatia’s name came up everywhere. (Cosmic hint?)

What was your process in writing it?

Considering that the book was written in fits and starts, the process was longer than anticipated but not arduous. I was interrupted by marriage, the birth of our daughter, relocating from one state to another, and from one state of mind to another, too! In hindsight, I guess you could say that I approached the book as if I
were
an Aries…with absolute zeal with tiny explosions of supernova ideas. I found the time to write whenever I could.

In the beginning, I had no real process. But my husband, a terrific writer himself, suggested I set a schedule. I’d sit for two hours, four days a week to research the storyline. Writing is a discovery of your words, your talents, and your mental limitations. I discovered that when I wrote early in the day, the information poured through me like water. I budgeted afternoons for research.  A lot of times I’d play music that represented the era to inspire me. I’d sit at my computer, slip on the headphones, and Middle eastern drum beats and singers swept me into the time and place I was writing about. The writing experience became very visceral and sensual.

I’d intentionally write myself into a corner, not knowing how my character or characters would react or get out of the situation. Keeping the plot suspenseful and unpredictable was paramount to me. I remember one day putting Seira in an impossible situation. It actually gave me anxiety pangs trying to figure out how Seira was going to get out of the underground passageway with her nemesis right on her heels ready to kill her.  I thought to myself, “I’m screwed. I just ended the novel.” I discovered that taking a break— washing dishes, doing a crossword puzzle, taking a hike on the red rock trails near my home—helped me sidestep my mental ‘brickwall’.  Trusting that the answer would find me also helped.

What attracted you to the subject matter?

I love old things. Wait…let me rephrase. Not necessarily the torn dishrag under the kitchen sink, but more specifically the history of BEING. (Antiques Road Show? Yeah!)

In laying down a basic idea for one book dedicated to each astrological sign, the evolution began to take shape regarding the theme for the series. And that is, the evolution of us, our religions, our compassion, our need for purpose, and all the disastrous decisions we make based on fear.

As an astrologer, intuitive channel, and empath, I thought that writing a book—and ultimately a series of books—that spoke to the nature of who we are and who we could be might actually be worth reading. I love reading book series, but hadn’t seen any related or thematically based on the astrological signs. I wasn’t interested in writing a book and then creating a sequel to that book. Instead, I thought that creating a sort of anthem series chronicling human behavior in relation to historical events and milestones would be much more interesting and engaging.
 

Tell us about your research process.

To quote a former US President, I used ‘the Google.’ The internet was a fabulous source of information. I went to libraries to peruse lots and lots of books. I also turned to the History Channel and Discovery Channel. Here’s the thing about my own life and processes…when I have a need, I practice a meditation to get clear about my intention. Then I toss it over to my active-on-site-round-the-clock-Angels and I say, “Show me”.