"She … she … she …"
Her rage turned to tears.
"Ninsianna? Whatever is the matter?"
He reached to pull her into his arms and comfort her, to sooth away whatever troubled her, and was rebutted.
"Get away from me!"
Small fists pounded into his chest as she punched him, knocking the wind out of him, though not from the force of her blows, but from surprise.
"Mo ghrá?" He did not move to stop her from hitting him, not even when a blindly flailing fist hit that part of his ribcage which had been shattered when his ship had crashed and left his lung tissue vulnerable where she had coarsely stitched it up, a wound no stone-aged culture should have been able to heal. That hurt, but it was not the force of her blows that wounded him, but whatever caused her anger.
"You … you … you … HOW COULD YOU?!!"
She pushed him away and rushed up the stairs to their room, leaving him there holding the bucket of milk, now empty as she had knocked into it as she pressed past him and spilled the rest. He turned to his mother-in-law with a bewildered expression.
"Did something happen?"
Needa's lips pursed in a displeased expression.
"You'd best get up there and talk to her about whatever is bothering her," Needa said. She turned back to finish the supper, to pull out the casserole of potted lentils, flavored with kishch, onion, garlic and watercress.
Mikhail grabbed the narrow stair and climbed with dread. Had he said something wrong to her? No. He had not even had a chance to speak before she had exploded. Had he forgotten to do something? Water … check. Goat tended … check. Grain harvested … as much as he could in a single day.
He knocked upon their door. "Ninsianna?"
No answer.
"Ninsianna? Did I do something wrong?"
The sound of sobs filtered through the door. He pressed against it, but she had dragged a box he had fashioned to act as a shelf for his clothing to block it. He could push it aside, of course, but he better than anyone understood that sometimes people needed their privacy. He stuck his head down the ladder, hoping to catch Needa's eye.
"Mama? What am I supposed to do?"
"Leave her be," Needa shrugged. "This is not the first time I've seen her such, though not for a very long time. Leave her be and, when she feels like talking about it, she will come out and tell me."
It was a silent supper, he and Immanu and Needa, and the empty place where Ninsianna was supposed to sit, but all knocks on her door were met with cries and pleas to leave her alone. That, and the sound of a hard object hitting the back of the door when her mother had knocked hard and demanded she stop being irrational and come down and talk about whatever had her so upset. The lentils lay uneaten on his plate, Needa's tasteless cooking taking on the consistency of clay with the panicked feeling which raced through his belly. It felt as though his heart were breaking.
"You'd best go train the warriors, son," Immanu finally said.
"I do not wish to leave her," Mikhail said.
"Whatever is wrong with her," Immanu said. "I will lure her out once you are gone since it appears to be you she is angry with, and not us."
"I did not do anything," Mikhail's brow wrinkled in perplexity. "I don't think I did anything. Not that I remember."
Immanu gave him a regretful smile. "Sometimes, it is not what we do, but what we forget to do that upsets our women. Go. I'll get it out of her, and when she calms down, you two can talk."
Had he missed an anniversary? No. He'd not yet been here for a full cycle of the year. A birthday? No. He didn't think so. Unless an event occurred the same day as a major religious occurrence such as a solstice or mid-festival, these people did not keep a calendar. Had he made her a promise and not kept it?
He ran the list through his mind his entire way to the training fields, every promise he had ever made to her, whether spoken or implied, and whether he had followed through and delivered it to her. Her disappointment in him, whatever had caused it, weighed upon him even though he could no longer hear her tears. Wherever he walked, people whispered, but he could not understand what they whispered about, the insinuations they were making. It was Pareesa who finally pulled him aside and enlightened him what had caused Ninsianna's grief.
"She said what?"
"She claimed she had lain down with you, prior to you and Ninsianna's marriage," Pareesa repeated. "And that the baby is yours. Not Jamin's."
Her cheeks and ears turned scarlet as she filled in the details of what Shahla had said, but she said it anyways, the only one bold enough to say it to his face. Unlike the others, who whispered behind his back and would not speak the accusation where he could disprove it and show the light of day.
That dark anger which simmered perpetually beneath the surface, that old wound he could not remember, but was so terrible he knew it was a blessing to have that trauma wiped from his mind even though it was inconvenient not to remember his past, moved beyond that place where anger ran hot into that other place where anger ran cold. The place the Cherubim had told him he must never allow himself to go, because bad things could happen if he ever unleashed his rage.
Pareesa touched his wing, a familiarity he allowed few except his closest friends. The feeling which soaked into the flesh beneath his feathers was comforting, reassuring, just enough to remind him he was a good man who did not go flying off to grab lying trollops and shake the truth out of them, which was his impulse now.
"She spoke in anger because Ninsianna challenged her," Pareesa spoke with a maturity which was far beyond her years. "Shahla said the lie she knew would hurt her most. That you were not true."
"I found Shahla weeping upon the ground and helped her up," Mikhail said. "Why would she say such a hateful thing about me?"
He glanced at the warriors, huddled into their sparring groups, glancing his way and whispering. Were they whispering about the lesson? Or about him?
"I may still be unmarried," Pareesa said, "but even I have heard of the accusations Shahla makes whenever a man spurns her affections. It is a viperous tongue, she has, and it is well known."
"But I did not spurn her," Mikhail said. "I was kind to her. Because she had fallen."
"Shahla is always fallen," Pareesa laughed. "Do not fret! Those who know you … or her … will know it is not true."
That black pit of anger subsided, but not completely. It still lurked beneath the surface, sensitive to the whispers that he was a less than honorable man.
"Everyone knows Shahla's not right in the head," Pareesa twirled her finger around her temple in a universal sign of crazy. "As for the rest … it could have been worse. She could have claimed she had lay down with you after you were married. At least she did not say that lie."
"If you'll excuse me," he glanced at the warriors. The warriors who whispered. "I have to go attend to my wife."
"I will finish up," Pareesa said. "Me and Siamek. We've got your back."
He could hear her voice rising above the clamor of spears hitting spears. She had the voice and heart of a hardened warrior, this little girl who was his prodigy, and although he knew Pareesa bore some affection for him, because Ninsianna had said it was true and Ninsianna was never wrong about such things, his wife bore that affliction with some amusement, because she did not view such a young girl as a threat.
Shahla, on the other hand, he knew she always had…
Needa met his eyes as he entered the house. It was sympathy he saw, not an accusation. His load lightened just a little. Needa knew the lie had no basis. Immanu sat on his prayer rug, surrounded by his shamanic symbols, coaching Ninsianna to strengthen her magic so she could become a more powerful vessel of She-who-is.
"If you'll excuse me," Needa said, "I have to bring this tincture to Magwen for a boil which has erupted under her armpit. Immanu? Your counsel is needed as well."
His father-in-law scrambled to his feet, saying a hasty prayer to excuse himself from his own shamanic circle, and nodde
d to him on the way out. Ninsianna had told him and he did not believe it either. Ohthankthegods! He waited until the door shut behind them before he approached.
"Ninsianna?"
"What." She kept her back to him, facing the wall.
"Pareesa told me about Shahla's accusation."
Ninsianna gave a sniffle, but did not speak.
"Mo ghrá, you know it is not true."
"She thinks it's true."
"No," he said. "It is a lie. A vicious lie. Told to hurt you because she still resents that Jamin does not love her."
"I know," Ninsianna said. "It does not change the fact the whole village now thinks everything about you is a lie."
She turned then, her beautiful golden eyes red-rimmed from crying, her face puffy and red.
"Oh, Mo ghrá," Mikhail held wide his arms. "What does it matter what people say. You know it is not true?"
"That's what Mama said," Ninsianna sniffled, but did not fling herself into his arms the way he had hoped. "She said you have not had the time to cavort with the likes of her."
"Or the will," Mikhail said. He gathered her close anyways, noting the way she did not melt against him the way she usually did. He circled his wings around her, to shut out the lies, staring up at the herbs Needa had hanging from the rafters, casting their assorted odors into the room
Ninsianna stood, trembling, until at last she began to relax and melt against him. It took a long time. He nuzzled the top of her head, inhaling her scent which bore the salt of her tears.
"You are the most important thing that ever happened to me," he said. "My mate. My wife. Nothing shall ever come between us. Do you not understand that? Not even death."
She sniffled again. "That's what Papa says."
"Then why do you doubt me?"
She hesitated, as though there was something she would not say.
"Because I saw what she pictured in her own mind!" Ninsianna cried out. "She … she … she imagined it as if she was me you were laying with and, just for a moment, it felt real."
"But it never happened," Mikhail stiffened.
Tears streamed down her cheeks.
"That's what Papa said," Ninsianna sniffled. "He said that sometimes if somebody wants to believe something badly enough, they can project that thought onto others." Her golden eyes met his. "He said all people carry this gift, but some are better at it than others. The only difference is I can see the thoughts the deceiver tries to project, and not just let them whisper it to my subconscious like happens to everybody else."
"So you believe me that it isn't true," Mikhail asked.
"I guess," Ninsianna said. Her stiff shoulders and the way she would not meet his eyes said otherwise.
He held her until her quiet tears subsided, and then carried her up to their bed to wipe the insinuations Shahla had planted from her psyche, to remind her that his heart beat only for her.
"Come," he said. "Let me show you what is real."
He caressed her until she began to respond, the feel of her against him causing his manhood to harden even though he could not feel her the way he had grown accustomed. Shahla had undermined her trust … in this … this thing that he shared only with her. He caressed her until her nipples hardened and her body responded, growing moist between her thighs.
The scent of her arousal called to some primitive part of his brain that urged to him to strengthen the bond he shared with his mate every chance he got, but for some reason he could not feel her. Not even when he was in her and around her and hearing her cries as she moved against him and satisfied her own urges without attending to his.
"Ninsianna," his cry was almost a plea as he sat at the edge of the precipice and could not fall over. Not without her.
Something else stood between them. Something else besides Shahla's accusation. Something which had been there all along, but had not grown strong enough to come between them until Shahla had cast the final doubt into her mind.
She grew cold in his arms even though he had not yet reached ecstasy, himself. Whatever was wrong between them, it was not fixed. He pulled his length from her, gone limp from her frigidness, and nestled her against his torso, encircling her in his arms and wings to chase off the chill.
"You know you are the only woman I have ever loved," Mikhail sighed. "You know that. Don't you?"
"How do I know that?" Ninsianna said. "When you don't even know who you are?"
Her accusation hit him like a fist. Hadn't he had those very doubts, before he had asked her to marry him? Even now, did not the fear that someday this emperor he only vaguely remembered serving, the one who had outfitted him with a ship capable of chasing Sata'anic lizard soldiers across the stars and had brought him here, might someday arrive and compel him to finish a mission on some distant world? Or worse. Perhaps he even had a family he had obligations to?
'No,' his heart whispered to him. Ninsianna will always be your only love.
"Before Shahla came to you with her viperous lies," Mikhail asked. "Did you ever have any reason to doubt my love?"
She stiffened, but she did not speak.
"I cannot fix things if you do not tell me what I have done wrong."
She stared up into the room, grown dark now that the sun had set. At some point he had heard her parents come in, although they remained downstairs so they would not have to hear his wings beat against the wall as he tried to make love to his wife. Her golden eyes glittered in the dark, that iridescent internal light they had possessed ever since she had been touched by the hand of She-who-is. Her blessing. Her burden.
"I have this fear," she finally said. "That someday, when I need you most, you won't be there for me."
"Why would you think such a thing? Haven't I always been here when you needed me?"
"Yes."
"You know I would die rather than let you come to harm."
Ninsianna was silent, her soft form stiff in his arms.
"I cannot heal this wound between us if you fear to examine it and bring it into the light," he said.
Something about his words must have hit a nerve, because she pushed him away. He tugged her tighter, his wings trembling as he tried to hold her, to prevent that feeling that his wife was slipping away from him, not just physically, but away, a feeling which had been growing in his gut the more her powers increased and the closer she drew to becoming the perfect vessel for She-who-is. Ninsianna was right there in his arms, but that part of him that always yearned to feel connected to her whispered to him that she was not.
"If I ever lose you, Mo ghrá," he whispered as she fell into her fitful nightmares and began to call his name, "I will die of a broken heart."
Chapter 39
October 3,390 BC
Sata'an Earth Base
Lieutenant Kasib
Kasib
Created to work together in tightly knit extended families, Sata'an lizards possessed an acute sense of taste. This evolution enabled them to taste pheromones, the tiny biochemical messengers cast off by the body in response to the brain telling it to feel different emotions. Fear had a dull, sodden taste. The sharp bite of anger tasted differently than the rich, full taste of a lizard who was content. An agitated lizard tasted differently than one who was telling the truth. Amongst the lizard people, it was nearly impossible to keep a secret.
Nearly impossible … but not completely.
Lieutenant Kasib tasted the air to make sure he wasn't broadcasting his guilt before knocking on General Hudhafah's door.
"Enter!"
"I have these mission reports ready, Sir." Kasib stepped backwards towards the door the moment he put the folders on his commanding officers desk and stood at attention.
"Kasib?"
"Yes, Sir?" His tail twitched, praying General Hudhafah would not pick up on the telltale scent.
"Have you heard from my armada?"
"Not yet, Sir," Kasib said. "They're operating under full radio silence, but they're scheduled to be here within a few more week
s."
"Shay'tan be praised." General Hudhafah gesticulated to his forehead, snout and heart more from force of habit than true religious devotion. He glanced up at the picture of their emperor and god before burying his snout back into the file he was reading.
Kasib coughed and waited. His clear inner eyelid began to twitch, an instinctive gesture to protect the eye before wading into battle. He forced the eyelid to be still and looked his commanding officer in the eye.
General Hudhafah glanced up. His gold-green eyes narrowed into slits.
"Do you need something, Lieutenant?"
Kasib's dorsal crest fluttered like butterfly wings as he took a breath and made the speech he'd rehearsed for days.
"I believe I may have a solution to the overcrowding problem, Sir."
Hudhafah set down the personnel folder, still open and awaiting his decision. He grabbed a red pen, made an angry mark on it, and then threw it into a pile labeled 'disciplinary action.' The pile grew larger by the day.
"What?"
"Why not send troops out to quarter in the village?"
"These jokers are too volatile to unleash upon a civilian population," Hudhafah growled. He grabbed another folder and flipped it open. It contained the picture of a Catoplebas, one of the more volatile species who made up Shay'tan's armies.
"Perhaps not all of us," Kasib said. "Just the better behaved soldiers? As a reward? We've been here long enough for the city dwellers to realize we bring good things to their lives. They are eager for our technology."
"You know we cannot distribute technology until they earn it," Hudhafah said. "Each man must earn his own place in this world. Such is Shay'tan's law."
"But if they give us quarter within the city and it improves morale," Kasib said. "Wouldn't that be earning it?"
Sword of the Gods: Prince of Tyre (Sword of the Gods Saga) Page 42
