Aries Fire (15 page)

“It tastes like sour apples at first, but then,” she paused to detect the precise ingredients.  “There’s honey, nutmeg, chamomile, ginger root, some sort of berry fruit, and,” Seira took another sip.  “I cannot name the flavor.  What else is in this drink?”

“Ah, you have excellent senses,” Kiki said and nodded as she filled Seira’s cup with more.

Seira drank it willingly and felt her throat warm and clear.  The aftertaste remained a mystery.  Kiki watched her, waiting for Seira to identify the flavor.

“Wild garlic, ha?” she said.  “Make you strong,” Kiki pounded her chest with a wrinkled fist.  “Make the mind clear,” a bony finger pointed to her temple. “And chickory as well.  Make the, the,” Kiki was unsure how to articulate a bowel elimination.  “Ah,” she decided.  “Fshew,” she said, waving her hands down and outward across her hips.

“Oh.  Yes, I see. Well, thank you,” Seira said politely, not knowing what else to say.

Seira opened the door to watch Yitschaq’s exercise.  Slow, repetitive movements captivated Seira.  She walked quietly to the shade of the walnut tree. 

Seira noticed that he was bare-chested.  His white, firm skin produced beads of sweat that adhered to a well-shaped upper back.  She thought the sweat peculiar, as he did not appear extremely rigorous in motion.  What surprised her most was his muscular form.  Yitschaq was quite handsome, although his looks did not appeal to Seira.  She thought of Alexander and felt melancholy.

Yitschaq lunged forward and back. Palms faced each other while strong arms raised an invisible column in front of his body.  After doing this for a few minutes, his bare left foot stepped to the left as his right hand forced forward. 

“HA,” he expelled in a short breath.

He repeated the movement on the opposite side.

“HO.”

Now both hands pushed forward as he lunged on bent knee almost to the ground.

“HEE.”

The agility of his feet impressed Seira.  His left foot moved into place next to the right foot.   With one continuous motion Yitschaq stepped to the right, his arms swayed much softer now to follow through.

“Shwee,” he said as he finished, bringing both feet together again.

“Is it a dance?”

Yitschaq said nothing.  He continued after a breath and repeated his routine once again.  Seira placed her cup onto the ground and stood behind him to mimic him.  Her clumsy feet found small pebbles in the dirt and she uttered a faint sound of annoyance.  Seira’s lanky arms danced in the air, mocking at first, but minutes later, she felt a calm reverie accompany her motion.  The more she focused on following Yitschaq, the easier it was to repeat the steps.

Verbal chants were not uncommon to Seira, yet she often felt embarrassed saying any chant where the meaning was unknown. 

I might be calling the dead ancestors of Hades, she thought with amusement.

Her thoughts broke serious concentration.

Yitschaq reeled without warning and forced both hands, palms outward, inches away from Seira.

“HEE,” he burst.

Seira promptly fell backward into a thorny bush.

“Why did you push me?”

Yitschaq laughed aloud and walked over to the tree for his towel. The thickly woven cloth instantly swabbed every trace of sweat.  Kiki brought out more drink and a pitcher of fresh water.  He thanked her and drank to great satisfaction.

“Ahhh,” he said.  “So refreshing.  Let me help you up, Seira,” he reached his hand out.

She slapped it immediately.

“Answer me,” she said, brushing bracken from her robe as she stood.

“I did not push you.  If you peruse your memory, you’ll see that I never touched your person. As it is,” speaking an afterthought, “someone like me is not supposed to touch women unless we’re performing certain rites, but,” he shook his head. “I’m not traditional.”

Seira ignored him, taking the time to remember the last few moments. 

“Hazaad,” she said.  “How did I fall backwards?  I truly felt hands touching me.”

“The invisible is made visible with intention, yes?” he nodded.

Yitschaq gulped water from a large gourd cup.  It spilled and drops landed in his beard.

Seira thought hard about what he had just said.  It felt true, yet her mind was not able to fully comprehend it. 

“Yes?” he looked at her waiting for some sort of response.

“Yes,” she said hesitantly, then watched him put a tunic on and walk away.

Seira followed Yitschaq into the house.  They sat at the table that had a cracked gourd filled with fruit. Kiki placed some sort of porridge that lay clumped in another bowl in front of Seira.  Seira stared at it then pushed the bowl away.  Kiki stared back at her and pushed the bowl in front of Seira.

Seira was about to grab the bowl and throw it at Kiki when Yitschaq took the bowl and scooped its contents into his mouth with a wooden spoon.

“Mmm,” he squinted his eyes and nodded appreciatively at Kiki.

Seira ignored Kiki.

“What type of athletics did you practice just now?”

“Hmm,” he said with a mouthful of porridge and crushed fruit.  “I learned it at an Oriental monastery.” 

He chewed faster than anyone she’d seen.  Seira rested her elbow on the table; chin in palm, eyes mesmerized while he spoke.

“Why do you not choke?”

Yitschaq revealed the contents of his pulverize food. He rolled his eyes and waddled his head a bit.  An exaggerated chew with a closed mouth followed.  He swallowed. 

“Yes. I grew up in a large family.  Best to eat and speak before food and attention were spent.” 

Seira liked Yitschaq. He was honest and forthcoming.  Although, she felt that Kiki required further examination. 

Exactly how much power could a small woman with wrinkles and a ridiculous accent possess over me?  she wondered.

In that moment Kiki turned to Seira with a neutral expression.  Seira looked around the room uncomfortably.

Yitschaq offered Seira the fruit bowl.

“No thank you.  Oriental monastery?”

Curiosity and excitement grew each time she was with Yitschaq.  Seira realized more and more that she preferred a man’s company to that of a woman’s.

“Yes, I have been here and about to learn many things.  What I practiced this morning is a prayer,” Yitschaq said.

“What sort of prayer? To which god?”

“Oh, to only one.  The Light of the Cosmos and the one true God,” he said reverently.

Seira felt awkwardly humbled. 

“It’s a prayer where you do not ask for anything, yet you strengthen your light, your prana.”

“What’s that?”

“Hmm,” Yitschaq paused. “Prana is a Hindi word.  Or in Latin if you prefer, the healing force of nature, the ‘vis medicatrix naturae.’

Seira listened intently.

“Every part of you is the Light.  Some places, however are still lost a bit in the dark.”

He eyed Seira. 

“Your anger is in the dark.”

Seira’s expression changed from curious to sober.

“Do you see?  Truth be told, the more you practice this form of moving prayer, the stronger all parts of you become. Then your mind and your body and your Light work together.” 

He felt satisfied with his answer and his meal.  He wiped his hands on a small rag and drank some water.

“You are mysterious, Yitschaq,” she said.

Yitschaq and Kiki laughed but Seira didn’t mind.  It felt different from last night’s harmless mockery.

“It was a fine first lesson, was it not, Kiki?”  Yitschaq said.

“What lesson?” Seira asked.

“You practiced the prayer with me; the steps, the movement, prrana. “ he rolled his r’s for emphasis.  “For a moment, I felt you grow strong.  You felt it, too, truth be told.  Did you not?”

“I did feel a sort of calm for a moment,” she admitted.  “But I prayed not,” she insisted.

“You do not pray?” Kiki asked.  “Are you not, like your mother, a believer of The One?”

Kiki referred to the Platonist view of the Supreme One, as in the one and only God.

Seira remained thoughtful for a few minutes.  Hypatia’s beliefs seemed suddenly sacred now.  Why did she reject her mother’s principles and code of existence?  Seira understood that her defiance resulted in a lost connection to her mother, but with larger relevance, a loss of faith in something greater than herself.  The room filled with grief.  It was overpowering.  Seira stood and left the house in haste.

Yitschaq and Kiki waited before following her to the courtyard where they looked about.  Kiki whacked Yitschaq’s arm with the back of her hand and he looked at her.  Kiki pointed to the walnut tree. Seira sat on the top branch.  She tried hard to contain her feelings and her anger. 

Stop it, she scolded herself.

She lurched from the tree and landed effortlessly onto the ground.  She dusted off her hands.

“Show me,” she said to Yitschaq.  “I need to know how to be strong.”

Yitschaq looked at his young ward.

“Yes,” he said.  “Yes.”

Kiki held her hands together in prayer position and bowed to Yitschaq.

“Now, the Rabbi Isaac may proceed,” Kiki said.

Seira twirled her body toward Kiki. “What?” She turned to face Yitschaq with complete surprise.  “Rabbi?  The Rabbi Isaac?”

“Meh,” Yitschaq shrugged.  “Isaac, Yitschaq, it’s all the same, different accent, but you can call me ‘the Jew,’ if you prefer,” he said, beaming.

Chapter Seven

True letting go

Or Lunar eclipse in one’s own sign

D
EAREST ORESTES, I’VE
not heard from you in months.  I do hope that your business will not keep you away long.  Your letters have been such a comfort to me these long, five years.  And such entertaining news, as well!  Marina and Lem have their own brood?  And twins?  They must surely be the most nurturing of parents.  Please let them know I think of them often and fondly.

She scanned the letter quickly looking for an answer to a question she had asked him and he still had not answered.

In the first two years with Isaac and Kiki, Seira pined for Alexander. She even pleaded with her mentors to help her find him, but whenever she came close to discovering his whereabouts, the trail vanished or amounted to dead ends. 

How foolish I was to believe in miracles, she thought as she stared at her letter to Orestes.

Seira was distracted by a splashing sound outside of her window.  Below, Kiki filled buckets from the well for the morning cleaning while Quinn threw chicken seeds at Kiki’s head.

Quinn was a precocious girl of thirteen who traveled with Isaac and Kiki as they cared for her training in rhetoric and grammar. Quinn’s father, a Greek theologian, was now in North Africa after her Spanish mother had been buried two winters prior.

“Quinn! Stop that, you squirrel.” 

Kiki flung water at Quinn playfully.  Shrieks of laughter filled the air.  Quinn’s laugh brightened them all.  Seira remembered how, at Quinn’s age, she had teased her grandfather.  Rarely was Theon amused with her antics, though.  A breath of prayer filled her lungs for Theon who’s Light had passed into the ethers not long after Seira had reached Ashkelon.  Orestes assured her that no foul play was involved and that an old heart simply stopped beating.  Attended by a physician and Marina, Seira was glad that he, at least, did not die alone.

Perhaps we do, though, in the end, she thought sadly.

Death, mysterious and feared, was one subject Seira could not comprehend in all of her training with Isaac and Kiki.

Reading on, Seira saw that Orestes could still find nothing to implicate the Bishop in her mother’s death.  The letter proved that even officials are powerless.  

In the five years she spent with Isaac and Kiki, traveling the world, Seira learned respect for the way they held their power with humbleness.  They taught her emotional discipline and reverence for life.  Above all, Seira learned self-respect.  Until now, this was had been her most difficult lesson. 

At present, aside from herself and Quinn, Isaac and Kiki trained a young Roman boy of fourteen, Marcus, whose parents both died defending their home against Alaric and an attack of the Visigoths. For the last two years, the five of them lived modestly and privately in an Iberian villa, far from politics and war.

Seira knew better than to worry about things unseen, but a dark feeling nagged at her while she wrote.  Seira put aside her scroll to dry, dismissing her feelings.  An earthen tinted tunic unwrinkled itself as she stood to walk down the stone steps.  Long, shapely toned legs replaced the lanky ones of her youth.  Her thin waist was made even more visible by the tie on her tunic.  Seira’s once boyish hairstyle grew to reach mid back, wavy and soft.  She tied her hair loosely; long locks fell about her face to frame her naturally angled jaw line.  Rose, full lips accented her tan skin.  Seira had matured into a stunningly sensual woman.

“Quinn,” she called downstairs. 

Seira heard muffled voices and laughter. 

What do those two plot? Quinn better not throw chicken feed at my head, she thought.

Seira reached the kitchen doorway.  The room was empty.  Dark clouds turned in the sky above.  Thunder rumbled closer as the storm approached.  Soft wind picked up the scent of horses and moist grass and carried it into through the windows as Seira moved to close the shutters. At that moment, Quinn leaped up into the window and screamed with sudden hilarity. Seira jumped back and held in her laughter.  A pretend curse burst from her mouth.

“A pox on you and your games, girl.  I’ve no time for this today.”

Seira looked around and spotted her retaliation.  An open bag of ground corn meal lay on the table. Her fist clenched a handful and waited for her prey to reappear.  Seira crept behind the door to the kitchen with stealth.  Her patience could outwait the slyest of foxes.  Quinn approached the half open doorway.

“Seira?” Quinn called. 

Lightening cracked the sky. Restless horses whinnied in the field. 

That’s peculiar, Seira thought.  How many horses have we?

Seira suddenly felt a strange presence.  The dark sensation she had while writing Orestes re-emerged.  She didn’t know what roguish scheme Quinn would invent, but she felt an odd waywardness in the air and readied herself.  With cornmeal in hand, Seira’s foot steadily rounded the door and slid across the uneven stone floor, her torso leaned forward. The wind creaked the door open a bit more.  Thunder cracked the sky. Through a split in the door, she thought she saw Quinn’s feet, dangling.