Aries Fire (18 page)

S
EIRA SLEPT TWO
hours before waking Isaac.  Attila slept, too. He would not attempt escape.  He wanted to take her to the Hun camp. The Hun boy warrior was fascinated with Seira. She said her goodbyes to Isaac without Marcus present.

“I’ll take only a few supplies,” she said, packing a pouch.

“Here, medicines will factor high in bartering,” Isaac said and handed her some herbs and tinctures.

“And what of Kiki?” Seira asked while moving about the kitchen.

“Go. It is almost mid morning. Kiki is strong.  She is healing because of your skills.”

 Seira was done packing but hesitated. She wondered why Kiki wanted her to find Quinn and not Isaac.

“You have your task. Marcus will rise soon,” he said, urging her on.

Attila stood by the door.  Seira’s anxiety permeated the room. The young warrior nodded to Isaac for caring for him and Isaac nodded in return.

“You know everything you need to know, truth be told,” Isaac said turning to Seira.

His words reassured her as she hastened through the door.

“Everything you need, Seira.”

Earlier, Isaac brought the two Hun horses from the stable to the courtyard. They were waiting for Attila and Seira. Attila took several strides toward his horse and jumped up, aiming his healthy foot into a strange metal device attached to his horse’s saddle. It helped to lift him effortlessly atop the stallion. Shiny metal glinted in the sunlight.

Seira saw the same metal device hanging from the saddle of the other horse.

“It is a lift. Use it now or breathe my dust,” he challenged and rode off.

Seira put her foot into the opening and pulled herself up onto the saddle with too much ease that she almost fell over to the other side of the horse. She gripped the fabric reigns as her backside fell hard onto the saddle. Her horse reared and bolted after Attila.

“By the stars!” she said, hanging on tightly.

Immediate regret overcame her for not embracing Isaac.

Don’t be so foolish. You act as if you’ll never see Isaac or Kiki again! She chided herself.

Seira sat atop Herwig’s animal that galloped easily, having already been used to a heavier load. Seira’s bones ached after being on the road most of the day.  The odd pair traveled silently through the Eastern countryside of Hispania, toward the coast of the Mare Hadriaticum.

Seira wanted to stop, but dared not risk losing Attila and her only hope of finding Quinn.  Just as she wondered if this boy would ever rest, he reared to a stop and threw his leg over his horse’s hindquarters and dismounted. His foot used the strange metal ‘u’ shaped hook once again.

Attila limped mildly for a few steps, his back to Seira, and reached into his pantaloons and pulled out his penis to relieve himself. Seira, momentarily taken aback, looked away and dismounted. Not knowing how long they rested, she quickly looked for a private place to alleviate the cramping in her bladder; there, beyond the pine trees, protected underbrush.

Seira squatted and found herself face to face with a finch. It cocked its head at her.  They stared at each other for only a second when the bird suddenly flew off, flapping rapidly.

A whizzing sound past her ears and she fell backwards into a bed of pine needles in panic.

Was that…? she thought, sitting upright.

“An arrow?” she screamed.

Seira fell belly down and hit the ground hard.  She glanced up at a wild, bloody boar inches away.

“Ahh,” she said with annoyance, and stood up, brushing pine needles from her tunic.

Urine dripped down her leg.

“Saturn’s curse on you,” she seethed. 

Attila bellowed a guttural laugh. He walked to the dead animal and yanked the arrow from its forehead.

“We eat at camp,” he said.

Seira was surprised to learn that they were that close to the Huns. Attila roped the boar and tied it to his mount. He resumed his position on horseback.

Am I insane to be here alone? Please God, show me a sign, she silently prayed.

Seira looked up. Attila stared at her. 

“Camp at sunset,” he said, whipping his horse’s rear and riding off.

Seira ran to her horse and mounted him with difficulty. 

“Curse this, this accursed thing!”

Her foot finally slid neatly into the stirrup.  She held tight to the reigns and pulled herself up as her horse wound in a circle before galloping after Attila.

Wild boar was not her favorite of meals, but she welcomed food after a day of fasting. Seira speculated what it would be like to dine with a horde of Huns; raw meat flying about, fighting over food, the weakest of the tribe left to starve.  Her afterthought spoke louder.

Will I be given any food at all?

Once again they rode in silence. Sea mist filled her nostrils as her anxiety grew with the setting sun against her back. This was the farthest she’d been from her home in a long time but there was no turning back. A dim firelight glowed up ahead. She was now in the hands of Attila and the Huns. She hoped that Attila held authority in his clan or she and Quinn would both suffer.

Attila’s held his head high as they entered the camp. Seira envisioned wild music and screams, but followed Attila instead into a quiet encampment.

Two light brown skinned women cooked something near a fire.  It sizzled, crackled.  When they saw Attila they called out in a shrill.

“Iyi Geceler, Attila. Baris,” the two voices clashed, one on top of the other.

Attila nodded.  He loosened the rope attached to the dead pig and said something to the women as it fell to a stop in the dirt. One ran to the dead pig as the other laughed and cackled louder than their fire-cooked meal. He slowed and turned his head toward Seira.

“They say good night’s welcome in peace.”

Seira half smiled for his gracious translation as men appeared from their tents and nodded to Attila, too.  At best, they were mildly curious about Seira.  She thought there would be more excitement over a newcomer and half expected them to tear her from her horse and ravage her at first sight.  The Huns appeared crude, yet more civilized than she anticipated. 

Yes, of course, she understood.

So much respect for this young man reminded Seira that he was a prince among his people. She instantly felt safer as they rounded a row of tents and small fires toward a much larger, more ornate tent. 

Are you in there, Quinn?

It stood as large as five tents together.  A man guarded the flapped opening.  Seira sensed the situation.  Nothing spoke out a warning. The air was still.

Attila slid from his horse, disappearing into the canopy, leaving Seira alone. Shadows danced against the fabric from the oil lamp flames inside. She didn’t know what to do next so she just sat there and waited. The guard looked at her without expression. Seira felt uncomfortable and grew impatient. Attila suddenly appeared and waved to her.

“Come. My father sees you.”

Seira left her horse and slowly entered the tent.  A thin woman with large breasts spilling out of her leather hide observed Seira.  Her dark, wavy hair sat wild, yet managed across her shoulders.  Her skin was smooth and russet.  She approached Seira and beckoned her to enter with a seductive smile.

“Sampa,” she said in a sweet, soft voice. 

The woman nodded to Seira and placed her hand on Seira’s upper back.  Seira felt the woman’s touch move through her like spiced wine on a hot day.  The woman motioned for Seira to sit on a pillow.

“Sampa,” she said again, hiding half of her face behind her hair.

Seira glanced to her left at the roundness of the woman’s breasts who exuded sexuality and felt momentarily possessed by her.

Attila sat on the floor atop a deerskin. He grinned at Seira, feeling proud to have her in his father’s tent.

“She say, you are safe. Sampa,” he said.

“Oh, thank you,” Seira glanced briefly at the woman.

She wanted to get on with the business of retrieving Quinn but wondered what it would be like to have large breasts.

“Misir, Evet?” the woman asked shyly.

Seira looked at Attila for help in translation as she sat on the floor across from him. The woman knelt behind Seira and untangled the knotted tie from her hair as Seira looped her head around to see what this strange woman did.

“She says you are Egyptian,” Attila said.

“Misir?” said the woman again.

“Yes, Misir,” Seira said.  “Attila, how do you say ‘yes?’“

Attila leaned back on one elbow and shoved flat bread into his mouth.

“Evet is to say ‘yes,’ in Turkiya. Aymelek is from Turkiya.”

“Oh, thank you,” Seira said then turned to Aymelek.

“Evet, Aymelek. Misir.”

Seira inhaled her spicy scent and suddenly wanted to touch her and perhaps, kiss her.

“Her name is meaning, ah,” he scratched his arm for a moment. “Melek, ah, angyal. No, angela,” he translated into Latin. “Aya!  Is meaning moon angel.”

Attila pointed to the sky hid by a faded, ochre, smoke and oil stained canopy.  Just then two men emerged from the fabric behind Attila.

A room must be fashioned there, Seira thought.

She leaned forward to peek behind the curtain. Aymelek giggled. Seira ignored her.  One of the men brought cooked meat and bread on an animal skin. He laid it on the floor. The other man took a bite of everything spread out on the skin. He stood and waited for several moments.

Aymelek continued to detangle Seira’s hair. Attila was unconcerned about the men’s actions. This must have been a commonplace routine.

“What are they doing?” she finally asked.

Attila turned his head and watched them for a second.

“To seek poisoned food,” he answered Seira and then addressed them directly.

“Kiral?”

The muscular man named, Kiral, bowed his head succinctly, and left the room.

Seira took a moment to inspect the tent.  Filled with animal skins of all types, it maintained a musky odor.  Many scraped, wooden poles held it in place. The roof sat at least ten or so feet from the floor.  Pillows made from grasses and fabric lay strewn about. There were ample bowls of fruit and nuts.  Attila pushed one bowl in front of Seira.  He watched her while he tasted a pomegranate.

“Eat,” he said.

Seira paused then realized no harm was present.

Sampa, she thought and reached for a plum.

“Aya,” Attila said.

Seira felt as if he tried to repay her hospitality. She hoped all the Huns were as gracious, however crude they may be.

The flap of a curtain and Kiral reappeared.  This time a taller, darker man followed. Seira felt his presence before seeing him.

Attila stood and bowed his head. Aymelek stopped touching Seira’s hair and prostrate herself on the floor.  Seira remained seated but lowered her head. She didn’t know if this was Bleda or Attila’s father. She hoped not to offend any of the Huns so she and Quinn could leave unharmed.

This large man dressed plainly in the same pantaloons as Attila with a fur vestment. The King of the Huns, Khan Mundzuk, sat on a huge cushion made of green and yellow silk. She imagined a dead nobleman somewhere without cushions on his bed or a head on his shoulders.  Long hair tied into neat braids adorned the khan’s head.  His square jaw gave him a regal appearance. As he leaned forward for food, a chain dangled from his chest. On it was etched a golden eagle. The gold glinted in Seira’s eye.  It somehow looked familiar. Her thoughts were interrupted.

“He who asks advice passes the mountain. He who asks not loses his way in the level plains.”

The Khan Mundzuk spoke fluent Latin.  His stare penetrated Seira.  She froze, taken off guard by his proverb and his intimate and intent look.  She recognized Mundzuk as a philosophical warrior. Seira would need to answer the proverb with wisdom or she imagined that he would lose respect for her.  His voice resonated in her body and she could feel him. The King of the Huns was a fair man and commanded respect and adoration from his people.

“Kind and wise Khan,” she began with her head bowed in respect.  “I seek advice from one who knows, that I may cross the mountain of uncertainty,” Seira looked up at him.

He bellowed a laugh.  Attila sat with a smile, almost displaying a proud approval for Seira’s retort.  He continued to eat.

“Aymelek,” the Hun khan said. “Aymelek, yaklasma.”

Aymelek immediately approached her King and bowed to him. He patted her head and then lifted her face with his large hand. He smiled at her and slid his hand down her shoulder and onto her breast.  He fondled her and she smiled.

“Firka onun,” he said softly, kissing her on her mouth.

Aymelek returned to Seira and continued to groom her. Seira barely held in her impatience.  The Hun Khan sensed it.

“The mouse that stays in the barn does not get hungry,” he said to Seira as he watched his woman.

“And what of the mouse that is kidnapped from her home?”  Seira ruptured in anger.  Her hands gripped in fists.

Kiral strode three swift steps and struck Seira across the face with the back of his left hand.  Her body flew to the floor.  Stunned and shaking, she lifted herself slowly to her knees.  Aymelek quickly bowed to her khan and knelt to help Seira sit up. Aymelek sighed softly. She handed a silk cloth to Seira to wipe the blood from her lip. Seira shook with fear and stared at the blood stained silk, wondering how Aymelek came to own such a thing. Seira noted that there was no place for anger in the tent of a Hun King. She would remember that.

Seira inhaled and exhaled slowly, eyes lowered. Isaac knew Seira had all she needed to barter and remain alive. Seira searched for that knowing as she fought her fear.

“I beg the pardon of Mundzuk, King of the Huns,” her voice cracked.  “My impatience to protect my little sister overcame me.”

Seira wanted to burst into tears. Attila said nothing.  He glanced at his father. The room grew quiet.

“My eldest son Bleda has charge of your sister. What do you ask of Mundzuk?”

“I ask that she be returned to me safely, Sir.”

Mundzuk studied Seira and admired how she squelched her emotion to maintain reason.

“Do you see my tribe? There are many you do not see. I am their provider. We seek a new homeland to raise our families.”