Aries Fire (16 page)

“Wha…” she began and lifted her gaze.  

She jerked erect and froze.  A swarthy head towered above her and leered.  Quinn strangled helplessly in his clutches; his enormous fingers held her mouth shut. One twist and her neck would snap. Seira saw a blade in the giant’s hilt at the same time she saw Quinn’s eyes wide with terror. She reacted.

Her clenched fist opened. Corn meal flew into his face.  His sunken eyes squinted, head tilted back.  Seira’s left hand grabbed the blade handle.  Her arm shot up, elbow out and the rusted blade plunged through his massive neck with force.  A nauseating crunch and it was done. 

The beast stood, stunned.  Blank eyes glazed upward, mouth opened.  He gurgled.  Spit and blood drooled from his lips, suspended. His grip tightened around Quinn’s neck and her eyes bulged. As he fell backward, Seira yanked Quinn to her chest.  Her hand trembled as she covered Quinn’s mouth.  With one sliding step, Seira retreated behind the door.  She pushed it quietly shut.  They slid to the floor, knees bent.

“Quinn?”  Seira whispered.  “Are you injured?”

Quinn’s lips quivered. She sat still, in shock. 

“Marcus! Kiki!” A harsh whisper escaped Quinn’s lips.

“Quiet,” Seira demanded.  “There might be more of them.”

Quinn hadn’t thought of that.  Quinn began to whimper and grabbed her neck. Seira rubbed Quinn’s back.

“Shhh,” she urged.  “It’s all right, Quinn,” she said, rocking her gently. 

They held each other tightly, protected for the moment.  Marcus burst in, almost tripping over the remains of the brute.

“Marcus! Get down.”

He turned and saw the two huddled behind the door.  Marcus dropped and crawled on elbows with speed.

“Are you hurt?” he asked.

“No. Where is Kiki?”

“I don’t know.  Is Isaac not back, yet?”  His mind scattered.  “Quinn and I were to play a trick on you and I headed for the stable.  I hid in a stall and saw humungous feet, and the stench,” he said.

“Marcus, how many did you see?”

“Seira. Who are they?” asked Quinn in a raspy voice.

“One, maybe two, I think, aside from the one you, ah, the one you killed.”

He stared at Seira in amazement. Marcus and Quinn had never seen Seira harm anything.  They couldn’t believe she had just killed a man. 

“By the stars,” Seira exclaimed, equally amazed. 

A noise came from outside, near the kitchen door.  The three of them glanced at each other, unsure what to do.  Shuffling feet, then dragging sounds.  Seira hesitated to plan without knowing Kiki’s whereabouts.

Where is Kiki? She felt exasperated.

“Stay here. No arguments,” she ordered.

Marcus moved next to Quinn and put his arm around her.  He comforted her as an older brother would.  Seira moved cautiously, making sure to keep her head away from the window.  Closed eyes, she called upon courage and intuition.  A silent incantation for protection filled her head.  Shielded, momentarily, in silver light, Seira peered out of the window. 

Another one?

“What is it?” Marcus whispered.

Seira’s quick look silenced Marcus. The danger was passed.  She tiptoed to the door and opened it slowly.  A smaller version of the man she killed attempted to drag the body away from the house.

He saw Seira and put his hand on his hilt, ready to fight.

“I am unarmed,” Seira said.

He’s not yet a man! She realized.  Perhaps sixteen?

On his torso hung the curly fur hide of an unknown beast. His black hair, matted and long, hid his face. Seira recognized something about his angular face and swarthy look.  A familiar face from a dream perhaps.  His expression conveyed terror and rage she once knew.  His muscular, scarred arms had seen combat at least several times in his short life. There was nothing to fear from him.  She spoke in Iberian.  He didn’t answer.  She repeated herself in Persian. 

“Nem eretim,” he said cautiously.

Seira recognized the dialect.  He spoke a mixture of Baltic and Turkish.  He didn’t understand her.  She tried again in Latin, the most common language.

“Inquam inermus.  I am unarmed,” she spoke slowly.

“I am not certain of that, witch.  Your blade still sits in my friend’s neck,” he replied in Latin.

“It was his blade. And he meant to use it on me,” she said, continuing the Latin discourse.

Of course!

“What do the Huns want in this province? It is not Roman occupied.”

Or is it? she thought with uncertainty.

Seira had lived for years secluded from the politics of the world while she studied with Kiki and Isaac. 

Suddenly and quite unexpectedly, Isaac appeared from the air and landed on his feet.  His arms rose over his head, hands pointed downward.  One thigh bent parallel to the ground, knee dangled in an assumed pose, ready for battle.  This startled the boy.  He pulled out his blade.  Isaac remained motionless.

“What is this? Are you a halfwit?” the boy barked incredulously. 

Seira heard herself in his voice.  A short burst of laughter, and then she contained herself. 

“I am not so stupid,” the boy said.  “I am a marksman,” he warned.

“Isaac,” Seira murmured in Iberian.  “A wandering Hun, educated in Rome.”

“No, you are not stupid,” he addressed the boy in Latin.  “It is very plain to see that you are a warrior.  A great one, too, truth be told.” 

The boy relaxed somewhat. Isaac’s charm disarmed him.

“Who is the unfortunate solider at your feet?” he asked the boy.

“Why would I tell you?”

Isaac shrugged.

“Because I ask politely?  It’s not common we have a dead, unknown guest in our yard.  I am sure a great warrior like you is well educated and trained in fair-minded practices. Yes,” he said.

Deep-set eyes observed Isaac and grunted a sound.  Seira knew he imitated the elders in his clan.  He returned his crude blade to its hilt.

“He is Herwig.  He was destined to die like a pig.”

The conversation brought Quinn and Marcus to the door.

“He speaks Latin,” Quinn said in amazement. “Where is Kiki?” she asked and looked toward the cornfield.

The boy’s wide, flat nose sniffed the air and scrutinized them.

“And what is your name, boy?” Seira asked.

“I am no boy. I am Attila,” he said.  “Son of Mundzuk, Sublime Khan of the Huns.” 

His fist pounded his heart once in salute.  The boy exposed a foot wrapped in shredded, bloodstained fabric as he stepped on the hulking mass that lay dead on the ground.  Attila winced and clenched his jaw. He was injured. His hulking, awkward body faltered. Isaac turned and walked toward Seira.  Soft rain fell steadily.  His feet suctioned mud in an unassuming stride.

“A Hun? Here?” Marcus said with contempt as he started toward Attila.

“Alaric killed my father and mother,” Marcus uttered, reliving his horror.  “Did you hear me? Alaric killed my parents! Alaric meos parentes necavit!” he screamed.

Attila tilted his head slightly and glared at Marcus. Seira reached out and grabbed Marcus’ shoulder.

“Calm yourself, Marcus. There will be no more killing today.”

“Marcus.  Look at me,” she urged.

He slowly turned his head.  Once he saw Seira’s eyes, he lowered his in compliance. Seira nodded at Attila, a sign of truce.  He accepted. 

“Alaric was a Visigoth traitor, not a true Hun,” blurted Attila.

Eyes rolled in their sockets.  Attila immediately collapsed. They stared at the pile of Huns.

“One more for dinner, yes?” Isaac sighed.

A sudden, high-pitched shriek came from the fields.

“Quinn!” Seira screamed.

No one noticed her absence.  They ran in different directions, rain poured down from the sky.  Seira’s lungs hurt.  Stalks of corn slapped her face as she pushed her way through.  Seira stopped abruptly to listen with held breath.

“Quinn?  Where are you?” She heard Marcus call from the left.

Seira heard quiet sobs and bolted to the right.  It wasn’t Quinn.  Kiki was lying face down in the wet grass, weeping.

Seira instinctively looked about and dropped next to Kiki’s body. Doubt and fear immobilized her hands. She’d never seen Kiki cry before this day. She’d never seen Kiki lying and bleeding in the mud, either. Seira’s reserved strength moved her into action.

“Kiki,” she whispered.

Blood stained her body. A bloodied blade gripped in her small hand.

“Oh, no,” Seira uttered as she gently rolled Kiki’s body over.

Kiki’s looked upward toward the sky, unfazed by drops of rain.  Kiki muttered something unintelligible. Isaac ripped through the fields and slid into thick muck near Kiki’s body. He pulled his trembling hands out of the thick loam and grabbed Kiki. 

“Find the cuts,” he said to Seira.

“Kiki, we’ll carry you back. Where’s Quinn? Kiki?” Isaac spoke with restrained emotion.

Seira watched his calm manner but felt his body shake with fear as she examined Kiki’s body for knife wounds. Kiki grabbed Isaac’s shoulder.

“They have taken her. My heart, they have taken her, Isaac. Two of them. Black Huns.”

A distinct look of worry formed on Isaac’s brow. He was worried about Quinn but more concerned for Kiki. Seira bent down to lift Kiki’s legs.

“Isaac,” Seira said, beckoning him to help her.

Isaac’s distress unsettled Seira. Kiki and Isaac looked at each other without saying anything.  Kiki began a deep guttural breath. Seira recognized the practice. It was the sound she made at the beginning of a deep meditation.  Isaac did the same and placed his fingers on Kiki’s neck pulses.  Seira lowered Kiki’s legs and stood over her, knowing that they’d not be taking Kiki anywhere just yet. Isaac would help Kiki slow her heartbeat. 

Kiki had previously taught Seira from an ancient Phoenician scroll about altered states of consciousness and how to control the body with the breath and to slow blood flow. Seira never had to use the method and almost forgot all about it, until now.

Out of the corner of her eye, Seira noticed a figure rushing out of the cornfield.  Her head whipped to the left as she crouched ready to defend them all. Marcus stood at the edge of the cornfield.  

“Marcus,” she said, approaching him.

Marcus stared at Kiki blankly. Seira saw the child he once was materialize on his face.

Seira touched his arm. Rage suddenly surged from Marcus’ body through Seira. She felt his hatred; it evoked a putrid smell of her mother’s mutilated body.  She grabbed Marcus’ shoulders and screamed at him.

“MARCUS!”

Still he stared. Her hand came down hard on his face leaving red streaks across his cheek. Marcus let his tears mix with rain as he looked up at Seira. Then he cried like a child as Seira wrapped her arms around him. She turned and saw that Isaac was ready to lift Kiki.

“We must move Kiki back to the house. Marcus, I need you.”

“Yes,” he said, swiping the snot from his nose. “Yes,” he said again, running over to Kiki.

Marcus helped Isaac carry Kiki’s body into the kitchen.  Seira glanced at Attila’s body and realized fear and death were all too close. She sensed that the boy was an ally, but had no time to think what that might mean.  Seira’s swept the table clean with one stroke. Corn meal hit the floor and dust popped up to fill the room.

Isaac and Marcus lay Kiki on the table. Isaac ripped into her clothes. Marcus filled a bowl with water. Seira jumped to the cupboard looking through containers of herbs and tinctures.

“Marcus, get the meat blade. Dip it in wine and clean it well,” Seira said with authority. 

“The knife? Why?”

“Just do it, please,” she said.

He did as he was told and looked out of the window for more Huns then quickly handed over the knife to Seira.

“Here.”

She pointed to an arrow tip sticking out of the side of Kiki’s left breast.

“Look,” Seira said to Isaac.

Isaac carefully washed the blood from Kiki’s wound with water and an old tunic.

“An arrow,” he said.

“They’ve been watching us,” Isaac said. “With their knives always on their hilt, Huns don’t carry arrows on scouting expeditions. This was a planned attack,” he said.

Isaac met Seira’s eyes as she extended the blade to him. She was suddenly filled with hatred and it shadowed her face. She doubted whether or not she could help Kiki.

Murderers deserve a violent death, she thought.

Isaac stared at Seira until she felt ashamed. She looked away for only a moment.

“Do it now,” Isaac said with authority.

Her sweaty palm gripped the blade’s thin, wooden handle.  It was a weapon of death and of healing.  Isaac calmly placed his palm over Seira’s hand.

Sweat formed under Seira’s hairline.  If she hesitated too long in doubt, Kiki could bleed internally, lose too much blood and die. If she cut too deep or cut into an artery, there would be no saving her. Seira closed her eyes for a moment to retrieve her anatomy lessons from Kiki.

“Seira, now,” Isaac said.

“Why are you waiting?” Marcus’ voice cracked.

Death panicked Marcus.  What Marcus didn’t know was how much death terrified Seira or how much she fought off an attack of hysteria.  Seira was almost paralyzed by the presence of Kiki’s pending death, a woman who had become like a mother. She couldn’t bear to lose two in one lifetime.

“Shall I…,” Isaac began.

“No,” Seira said.

Seira focused on the point of entry and cut into Kiki. A long, deep moan escaped Kiki’s lips. Seira doubted her own ability.

Blood spurted from the fresh cut and splat across Seira’s arm and shoulder. Marcus ran outside and immediately vomited. 

Seira moved the knife slowly, with concentration. She was surprised by the ease in which the blade slid through flesh.

“Quinn,” Kiki mumbled and lifted her head.

I’m right here with you I’m going to extricate the arrow,” Seira told her as she turned and called softly to Marcus. “Marcus, come here now and hold her.”

Marcus hesitated then moved to Kiki’s side.

“It’s me, Marcus,” he said to Kiki.  “I hope I’m not too heavy for you,” he began. 

Marcus kissed Kiki’s cheek.  Marcus whispered all the things to Kiki he wasn’t able to tell his own mother. Seira and Isaac listened as Marcus poured his heart over Kiki.  Seira thought about her last conversation with her mother then pushed her uncomfortable feelings aside. She had no time to feel her mother’s absence.