Adrenaline caused Gita's mind to become incredibly clear. She ran back and forth behind the nine-man 'tooth' she'd been assigned to backguard, but so far no enemies had broken through the teeth of the wedge. That could change at any moment.
"My shield is broken!" a man shouted, followed by a scream.
"Igmalum's hit!" somebody shouted.
"Next man, take his place!" Siamek shouted, running to the back of the wedge in question. "Move up! Close the ranks! Keep those teeth intact!"
"Krak!" a shout came from behind the enemy lines. Fire.
Oh! Goat dung! Gita swung up her shield just in time to avoid the return-volley that came her way. The men at the back of the wedge held their shields up to shield as much as possible the men at the front who needed to hold their own shields in front of them to break the charge of the enemies who pushed into them like a flash flood in spring. She stared with wide eyes at two arrowheads which had punctured through her shield, but come no further.
"Aieyaaaahh!" Several men shrieked who had not been so quick to shield their bodies.
"Lock those shields! Lock those shields!" Siamek shouted.
Death screams, though Gita could not tell whether it was from their own men, or the enemy. The volley had overshot the wedge, aiming at her instead. One of the vitale skirmishers screamed with an arrow through her leg. Another dragged her off to the south gate, where the younger warriors assigned to keep the supply lines open dragged her inside for the healers.
"Fire!" Immanu shouted again. Another volley of arrows came off of the wall, over their lines into the enemies. This time every fifth arrow was a tracer arrow. The fact the village was not asleep was no longer a secret.
More enemy screams came from the far side of the wedge.
"I can't hold him!"
"Help!"
"Sheshkalla! Give me your shield!"
Gita ran, wild-eyed and helpless with her fellow skirmishers, not sure whether to throw her weight into the back of the wedge, which had been pushed over the lip of the shallow trench and was now being shoved backwards towards the wall. Several of the skirmishers joined the wedge.
"Get back!" Siamek shouted at Azin. "At some point the enemy will break through! I need you to watch our warriors' backs!"
"Krak!" was shouted from the other side. The whistle of arrows cut through the air.
"Goat shit!" several men shouted simultaneously.
Screams as men were hit.
Screams as the enemy hit their own men, undershooting the mark as they tried to hit the front of the wedge.
"Those idiots just shot their own men!"
A tracer arrow burned at Gita's feet. She stomped it out and moved to put out the next one quick so she wouldn't be an easy target for bowman on the other side of the wedge. She couldn't remember hearing anything about the enemy having tracer arrows. They must have figured it out from them. What was it Mikhail said? If one person got technology, soon everyone had it.
Siamek saw what she did and met her gaze, his eyes disapproving the way they had always been ever since she'd…
He recognized the wisdom of what she did. His expression shifted. He gave her a grudging nod of approval. Smoke made her gag as she stomped out the fires, singing the only pair of footwear she owned.
"Skirmishers!" Siamek shouted at the other women. "Stomp out those fires!"
"Fire!" Immanu shouted. Another Assurian volley shot over her head. There were more arrows this time. More archers. Had they already been pushed back the first ten paces?
Gita moved closer to the backs of the wedge. Close enough that she wouldn't be such an easy target for enemy fire. Here she could use her shield to protect more than just herself, but could still see if any enemies broke through the line. Sweat dripped into and burned her eyes.
An Assurian was shoved back behind the 'tooth' she guarded and unceremoniously dumped as they could not spare the manpower to do anything more than shove him away. It was Damqi. An older man who had been assigned to be the point-man of this tooth. He was one of the few male warriors who was often nice to her. Damqi was at risk of being trampled beneath their own troop's feet, tripping up the defenders as they were shoved back.
"Krak!" was shouted from the other side. The whistle of arrows split the air.
Gita jumped on top of Damqi and held up her shield, praying she could shield the both of them. The arrow just barely missed. She waited for the volley to finish then grabbed his collar. Blood poured out of his belly, a stab from a spear. Probably fatal. She slung her shield over her back, praying the enemy wouldn't send another volley right away, and dragged him back to the south gate. Damn he was heavy!
"Help me get him in!" one of the junior archers pleaded.
"I can't leave my post!" She went to wipe her hair from her mouth. Her arm tasted of salt and copper. Blood. Hers? Or somebody else's? She felt numb.
""Fire!" Immanu shouted.
Gita looked up just in time to see her uncle Immanu stand momentarily to let loose his volley over the head of the defenders and then duck down quick just in time to avoid an individually-targeted arrow that was aimed right at him, the man with the tracer arrow.
"Goat shit!" the junior archers shouted. "They're targeting the archers with direct shots."
Their archers had been trained to provide two kinds of cover fire during a battle. A direct shot was when you aimed your bow around seven degrees higher than the target and could hit a man somewhere between ten and twenty paces, though a really good shot such as Pareesa could make twenty-five paces. In skilled hands, direct fire was fairly accurate.
Lofted shots, on the other hand, were aimed up at a forty-five degree angle to provide mass projectiles over an enemy 200 paces or more away. You could only roughly aim a lofted shot. You hoped enough enemies without shields happened to be where you expected it to fall, as was likely the case of the amassing Halifians. With the wedge shoved back so far, it only made sense the enemy also had archers capable of taking direct shots against Assurian archers.
"Makes sense!" Gita shouted at the junior archer as she ran back to the line, shield held over her head for the volley she knew would come. The line had moved closer. They'd lost another thirty paces.
"Krak!" The arrows came. Gita ducked and held her shield over her head until the volley ceased. She stomped whatever tracer arrows were on their side of the wedge as she ran back to the line.
Another Assurian was shoved, unmoving, to the back of the wedge. Still no enemy had broken through. She grabbed him and dragged him back, as well. She didn’t have time to even make sure he was still alive. All she could do was drag him back so he wouldn’t be trampled underneath the feet of his own people. As soon as she dropped him, she went back for another.
"Fire!" Immanu shouted. The Assurian arrows flew.
"To the left!" Siamek shouted. "That tooth is weak!"
"Krak!" the enemy shouted. This time, the wedge had been pushed back far enough that the enemy was able to target their volley directly at the archers on the wall. One of their archers fell off, shot through. Several others screamed. The supply line kids at the south gate scrambled out, dragging the wounded inside the village as fast as they could. Now they were at risk of getting shot.
"Fire!" Immanu shouted.
"Shore up that line!" Siamek screamed. He ran and personally shoved into the back of a wedge that had gotten so thin only four of the five shield-holders remained to break the back of the charge, with nobody behind them to keep them from getting pushed. "Hold that line! They're tripping on the bodies of their own men!"
One of her fellow female warriors lay on the ground two 'teeth' over, shot through the neck, blood spurting out of the wound. Battle buddy? Or wedge? Her 'tooth' was down to six men, the seventh now laying on the ground. One of their warriors stood over him, tripping over his friend's body. Wedge. Gita suppressed the urge to help her friend and ran back to her own wedge.
"Krak!"
Gita flung up her shield without thinking o
f it, the whistling arrow something she now knew to anticipate.
The downed man moaned. Ibbishahan. A cruel man who often made fun of her. She dragged him to the south gate anyways, screaming at him the entire way that if he lived, he owed her one.
"Fire!" Immanu shouted. An Assurian volley flew back into the lines of the enemy.
From her position at the foot of the wall, which was slightly elevated above the rest of the plain, she could see the hordes rush their wedge like scarab beetles swarming out of the body of a dead goat. Dread sat like rotten meat in her gut. So many!
The wedges had started out nine soldiers thick. Now they were down to six or seven. The first Halifian mercenary broke through the line.
"They're through! They're through!"
"Skirmishers!" Siamek shouted from where he was entangled making up the fifth man of one of the 'teeth.' "Skirmish!"
Gita moved into position four feet apart from her fellow skirmishers, now down several women, to run up and down the back of the wedge with their spears to execute the ‘saw’ and pick off any enemies the moment they broke through.
Chapter 72
November – 3,390 BC
Earth: Village of Assur
Ninsianna
Shouts and the whistle of arrows cutting through the air came from both sides of the rooftop where Ninsianna squatted, useless, on the village granary. Why, oh why, had she allowed Mikhail to talk her out of taking up a position on the south wall? Or the north one if he was worried they might be overrun?
Through that thread which connected her to her husband, she could sense that cold, disembodied ruthlessness he developed whenever he invoked the killing dance. Looking at Mikhail's spirit-light through the dreamtime the way that Papa had taught, she could see he was encircled in a brilliant blue light that acted as a hard, impenetrable shell. In one way that light was reassuring. It made him indefeatable in battle. In another way, however, that cold, blue light had come between them. The shell she had sensed that first night in his crashed ship had grown thicker, denser, nearly impenetrable as the hole in his chest had healed, as though Mikhail deliberately shielded his spirit-light from her goddess-kissed eyes.
Why was her husband hiding his thoughts from her?
Because he was guilty, that's why! Ninsianna ran through her mind when she had begun to notice the blue spirit-light grow more dense. Before? Or after they had left his ship?
After…
The battle cries which came from the more heavily defended south gate grew louder. She should be there, damantia! Not piddling her time away on a rooftop no enemy could get to without first getting past the entire population of Assur!
She glanced at Ghazal bent over her firepot, cloak set around it like a tent as she blew into the coals to keep it going. Such a talented gift, to rely upon one's hearing instead of eyes to shoot an arrow. Ninsianna suspected the girl had been blessed with a touch of 'the gift,' though she could see no sign of the golden halo which usually surrounded those blessed by She-who-is. Ghazal had poor eyesight, the reason they hadn't stationed her on the south wall. While not blind, she described what she saw as a blur of color. In the daylight, her marksmanship was no more remarkable than that of any other fledgling archer. She could hit the target. No more, no less. It was in the darkness that Ghazal shined. So long as there was the slightest hint of light or sound, Ghazal could hit the target with the same accuracy she could hit it in the daylight.
Is this what Papa referred to when he said she needed to learn to see into the dark? Ugh! Ninsianna stared towards the dark east hoping to see the first glimmer of dawn. Why did their enemies always have to attack at night? Yeah, yeah… She knew. If people were that civilized they would never be at war.
"Couldn't you just hurry up and make the sun rise?" Ninsianna whispered to the inky sky. Not even the morning star had yet risen to herald the light's return.
A small gust of wind caressed her cheek and blew an errant strand of hair out of her eyes. Patience, child… I am busy…
Yes. She-who-is was busy. Papa and the other warriors had always prayed to that lusty, bloodthirsty aspect of the goddess, but not until she had met Mikhail had she realized how much the goddess enjoyed a good hunt. HER pleasure was palpable, like the pleasant after-taste of a delicious feast blended with the alcoholic buzz of a finely brewed mead. HER support of Assur was not because SHE liked to take sides, but because a larger threat loomed. The Ubaid were assets to deploy against the Evil One who was coming for her.
That thought inspired a hiccup of revulsion not just from herself, but also from the goddess who ruled All-That-is.
The Evil One was coming for HER…
"Oh!" Ninsianna's mouth fell into a surprised little 'O.' The Evil One was coming for HER.
The sound of the battle raging on both sides of the village grew louder. That strong thread that allowed her to know what Mikhail was doing, but not know him, showed her all was not going well for the Assurians. The wind whispered across her cheek, warm despite the autumn chill. The eagles. Someone had deliberately put out the goddess' eyes.
A piece of the puzzle she had never understood fell into place. Ki sang the Song of Creation … and enticed Darkness to protect the Light…
Her eyes swung around to the firepot Ghazal stoked. Goddess be! She was so stupid sometimes!
"Ghazal," she hissed. "Let Dima tend the fire!"
The faint glow of red uplit the young woman's face as she peeked up from the cloak she was using to surround the firepot, giving her the look of a ghoul.
"But it's nice and warm," Ghazal complained.
"How can you see into the dark to shoot if you keep staring at the light?" Ninsianna admonished her.
Ghazal stared off into the direction where the screams of men dying wafted from the south. With a shrug she relinquished the firepot and moved to replace Dima at the edge of the rooftop. Dima was a terrible shot, even worse than Yadidatum. It was a much wiser deployment of resources to have Dima tend the firepot.
She heard, or thought she heard, the rustle of feathers.
"There's Mikhail!" several of the junior archers whispered at once.
She looked up, hoping to see him silhouetted in the darkness as he flew overhead, but she could not see him. She relied upon her gift to know where he was, and her all-too-mortal hearing when a rallying cry of Ubaid voices heralded their Champion's arrival. She closed her eyes and followed the thread to see what was going on around him even though the gift did not allow her to see inside his mind.
A ripple of excitement tingled through her body, interrupting her brooding.
'Ninsianna … see…'
The wind picked up. It whispered to her which direction to look. She could almost feel the goddess' blood-lust like the scent of an approaching thunderstorm, like the adrenaline rush before a festival or a race, like the heady release of an orgasm. Oh, goddess! It excited her so much she could almost taste it!
'See … there…'
She saw the darkness move with her goddess-kissed vision rather than her mortal eyes, seeing not men, but star-shaped life sparks, the way the goddess saw them. Their spirit light was murky. Whoever moved in the darkness had nefarious intent.
“There…” she whispered to the archers crouched on the roof. “Three of them.” She scurried over to Ghazal, the sight-challenged archer who could hit a target in the dark. "Can you hear them?"
Ghazal peered in the direction Ninsianna could see the invaders essence stand out in the darkness like a flaming light of greyish soot.
"Two … perhaps three," Ghazal said. "One walks with a limp, his steps uneven. One is heavy-set, but he compensates by stepping lightly. The third is young, not much older than us."
"How can you tell?" Ninsianna asked. This was more information, even, than what the goddess had showed her.
"Because the older one just hissed at him to shut up," Ghazal giggled.
"Niga," Ninsianna whispered to her new keeper of the flame. "Bring the pot."
"I see now, Mother, why you wished for me to deploy here," Ninsianna apologized for her earlier doubt. She readied her bow.
A sensation akin to a mental hug gripped her as the whisper of wind laughed at her like an indulgent mother who had just fended off a toddler's tantrum. She-who-is was too busy attending to the real battle waging just outside the south gate to coddle her.
"Wait…" Ninsianna held up her hand, praying the invaders would not look up. She waited until they moved into the square where there was no cover before giving the order.
That stream-of-consciousness which usually lay dormant, waiting for her to tap it instead of the other way around, pressed against her, eager to be the one to give the command. Ninsianna allowed her own consciousness to be pushed aside so that She-who-is could give the order with HER own voice.
“Fire!!!” SHE shouted, her command causing the air to reverberate with power.
The torches never made it onto the wooden roof of either the Chief’s house or the granary. With a whistle of arrows, all three Halifians were cut down.
The archers waited, the only sound the crackling of flame as a small wooden bench and several implements caught fire from a dropped torch in front of the Chief’s house. She could hear the battles rage at both the north and south gates. Several minutes passed. Smoke licked up the side of the Chief's door and blew puffs of smoke onto the roof where the archers sat crouched. Ninsianna coughed.
Sword of the Gods: Prince of Tyre (Sword of the Gods Saga) Page 71
