Sword of the Gods: Agents of Ki (Sword of the Gods Saga)

by Anna Erishkigal

  They walked in silence. A runner came jogging up from further back in the line where groups of warriors helped the injured hobble along.

  "How's Ebad?" Pareesa asked.

  "Unconscious," the runner said. "He lost a lot of blood."

  Pareesa glanced back, torn between her duty to Mikhail and her desire to explore this feeling which whispered it was time to grow up and recognize what was right before her eyes. If Ebad died, would she ever find such a man again?

  No. The old god's scorn as he had pointed out her foolishness had been clear. She should go to him. No. She shouldn't. Ebad was unconscious. The Cherubim god needed her here.

  "Make sure you keep a cloth pressed against Ebad's shoulder," Pareesa said. "If he wakes up, tell him I said he'd better live or I'll drag him out of the dreamtime and make him do a thousand pushups."

  The runner gave her a weak grin. Pareesa knew how every man on her B-Team felt about her fetish for administering pushups as a punishment.

  "I'll do that," the runner said.

  He jogged back, carrying updates on Mikhail's condition to the wounded at the back of the line. So long as he was alive, it gave them hope, held this frail coalition together which might end up costing Mikhail his life. It was up to her now to keep it together, even if it meant stretching the truth.

  She sniffed and looked away from Yaggitt so he wouldn't see her cry.

  Exhausted warriors trailed back to their houses to spread the news while Ipquidad pulled the wagon to Immanu's house. Ninsianna's father had run ahead to prepare Needa for the ruse. The door opened. A distraught face, not Needa's, but Homa's, one of Mikhail's eight original archers stood ready to accept him into the house of healing.

  "We're home," Pareesa heard Gita whisper to Mikhail. "Mo ghrá we have made it home."

  It was eerie how closely Gita echoed Ninsianna, from the way she moved to the sound of her voice. The cousins did look alike, or they would have had Gita not been so thin and stunted. Oh, Gita was as plain as Ninsianna was beautiful, but they had the same wide eyes and shapely eyebrows; only the fact one girl bore gold eyes and the other black differentiated them. It was a good plan, this lie Pareesa had concocted to fool him. After all she'd done to save him, she wasn't about to let something as insignificant as the truth get in her way.

  "Bring him inside." Pareesa projected a false air of gravitas.

  Siamek came trotting out of the shadows. "Any word on Chief Kiyan?"

  "Not yet," Pareesa said. "Qishtea took three warriors to the burning tents to see if any survived."

  "C'mon, take over!" Siamek ordered his top-tier warriors. "These men are so exhausted they can barely walk."

  Strong hands lifted Mikhail up to carry him in the door. Fresh tears welled in Pareesa's eyes as he cried out in pain. Oh, goddess! Why now, of all times, had he regained consciousness? His enormous wings got caught in the doorway, then one of the warriors stepped on them and accidentally ripped out a bunch of feathers. The indignity! Pareesa could not bear to see him brought this low!

  Ipquidad gathered Mikhail up as though he was a sleeping child and staggered over the threshold to lay him gently upon the kitchen table. Homa shooed everyone out of the house and did her best to tuck his wings where they wouldn't trip on them.

  "Ninsianna!" Mikhail's hand shook as he reached towards Gita. "Ninsianna, mo ghrá shíl mé bhraith mé caoin do bháis."

  Pareesa understood just enough to comprehend he thought he had felt Ninsianna's death-cry. Oh, gods! Let it not be true! But even if it was true, Pareesa was not about to let him die.

  "Go on," Pareesa mouthed the words at Gita. "Get in there."

  Immanu shot a murderous look at his niece. Pareesa touched the hilt of her sword and shot the shaman a look of warning. Only she knew, she and Gita, the real reason the God of War trusted her. The night Mikhail had lost control of his gift and channeled that other power, only Gita had understood how to deal with the ancient Lord of Chaos. Pareesa shivered. Why hadn't that pitiless black visage stepped in tonight to save him?

  Needa's spied Gita wearing her daughter's red cape. She straightened, as beautiful and dignified as her Chosen daughter, and approached Gita the way one might approach a cherished member of the family.

  "You frightened us, Ninsianna," Needa's voice warbled as she awkwardly embraced Gita. "Thank the goddess you are safe."

  Gita looked uncomfortable at this false display of affection, but she played her part, just the way Pareesa hoped she would.

  "I am unharmed, mother,” Gita perpetuated the lie. "Shahla stole my cape while I bathed in the river, but I am safe now. Please attend to my husband."

  Needa clamped her hand over her mouth and turned away, her body shuddering as she forced herself not to give voice to the ululating wail the Ubaid used to acknowledge a death. Immanu glowered at Gita, his tawny-beige eyes accusatory as he placed his arm around his wife and whispered that Ninsianna had not yet entered the dreamtime. It was a small hope, but so long as there was hope, Pareesa would not let Mikhail die.

  "Ninsianna, ní féidir liom a bhraitheann tú," Mikhail reached towards Gita. His wings trembled as he groped blindly towards the nearest body. It was one thing to whisper lies in the dark, another to perpetuate a ruse in a well-lit room. "Ninsianna?" His voice had the edge of desperation.

  'Go on,' Pareesa silently gestured at Gita. 'Get in there.'

  Gita arranged the red cape so the lanterns would not shine directly into her face. As she stepped forward to take his hand, for a moment she had even Pareesa fooled. The question was, would she be able to trick Ninsianna's husband?

  "I am here, mo ghrá," Gita said. "I am still alive. Pareesa killed the men who tried to kidnap me."

  Needa drew back the red-soaked cloth they'd used to staunch his blood. Pareesa clamped her hand over her mouth to prevent herself from crying out. With each breath blood seeped around the knife as his muscular chest shuddered in pain. The blade had struck him in the one place his ribs did not protect him, the place where debris from his broken sky canoe had shattered his rib cage.

  “Can you save him?” Pareesa's voice trembled.

  “He is scarred in this place where Ninsianna healed him once before.” Needa prodded at his chest, ignoring his whimper of pain. "But this knife is far smaller than an Ubaid hunting blade. It cut perilously close to his heart, but no blood has been exhaled with his breath."

  "So he'll be okay?" Hope warmed in Pareesa's chest.

  Needa examined the blood which seeped around the edges of the blade. "I cannot tell if this hit the large vessel which carries blood into the heart. If it did, the moment we pull it out he will bleed to death. If it did not, perhaps there is some hope? We need to work quickly."

  Gita sobbed. Mikhail felt towards her, blindly reaching until his hand slid up to touch her face.

  "Má éiríonn liom, ní mór duit smaoineamh ar ár bpáiste. Ná fág an réimse go dtí deireadh de do shaol nádúrtha. Beidh mé ag fanacht ar do shon, mo ghrá. Díreach ach ar an taobh eile."

  Oh, drat! Ninsianna had the gift of tongues! How was Gita supposed to fool Mikhail when Ninsianna usually conversed with her husband in his native language?

  The tears which slipped down Gita's cheeks were real. She answered him in Ubaid as if she'd understood.

  "How will I live without you, mo ghrá?" Gita wept. "You are the last spark of hope I have left in this sorry life."

  Even though it was a lie, Gita's answer carried the ring of truth. With a sigh, Mikhail lay back and allowed Needa to resume her examination.

  “Homa,” Needa spoke with grim determination, “get my surgical implements. Pareesa … get two warriors in here to hold him down so he cannot thrash about. Immanu … I sense there is something wrong with this blade that goes beyond his injuries. I wouldn't put it past the Halifians to have dipped the blade in excrement."

  "I shall sing the songs to chase away the evil spirits,” Immanu said.

  While the shaman began a deep, chanting song tha
t reminded Pareesa of a bullfrog, Siamek and Ipquidad pinned Mikhail's shoulders to the table while Needa washed her hands. Needa opened a case made of the material Mikhail called 'metal' and pulled out a slender, silver needle far more finely wrought than any crafted by the Ubaid. Next came a small, rounded spool wrapped with a continuous length of thread that resembled horsehair and the tiny, clever implement for cutting it called 'scissors.' These objects were sacred, a gift Mikhail had made to his mother-in-law as part of the dowry he'd offered for Ninsianna. They were Needa's most cherished objects.

  “Pareesa, are you ready?” Needa asked. “Homa?” The look she gave Pareesa was one of fear. "One … two … three!"

  Needa yanked the knife out of his heart.

  “Ninsianna!” Mikhail knocked the men holding him down across the room. Feathers flew as he thrashed in pain. “Siad a bheith déanta agat!"

  Pareesa rushed forward and took his hand.

  “Sensei," Pareesa shook him. "You must hold still! You don't want to leave Ninsianna a widow, do you?"

  She squeezed his hand as hard as she could, so hard that he could feel her through his pain. The fog of blood loss cleared as his unearthly blue eyes locked with hers. This was him, her teacher, the champion who was supposed to lead them. His sharp eagle's gaze scrutinized her, glancing around the room as clarity cut through his fog.

  "Do you trust me?" Pareesa asked. "Do you trust me to save your life?"

  His chiseled features softened. It was not the brave teacher who stared at her now, but a frightened man who was afraid to die.

  "Ninsianna…."

  "Is fine," Pareesa lied. "Do you trust me to help you bear this pain?"

  Mikhail nodded.

  "Then try not to throw me across the room this time," Pareesa said. "You hurt Ninsianna. Do you want her to stand back while Needa stitches you up … just in case?"

  Not since the night the Dark Lord had left him to grieve a death he could not remember had Pareesa seen the big Angelic cry. Tears welled in his eyes.

  "If anything happens to me," Mikhail whispered, "promise me you will look after her? Promise me you will watch over my wife and child?"

  "You have my word," Pareesa swore.

  Needa pressed urgently at the chest wound which no longer had a plug shoved into it to staunch his bleeding. His moment of clarity passed. Mikhail's unearthly blue eyes became unfocused, unclear as pain fogged his senses. He crushed her hand each time Needa reached inside his chest to stitch things up that made Pareesa want to retch. His face twisted up with pain, but he forced himself not to lash out until, at last, merciful unconsciousness took him.

  "Is he…?" Pareesa touched his cold, clammy skin.

  Needa snipped the thread which held his flesh together with her sacred silver scissors.

  "There is not as much blood as I feared," Needa said. "Either the knife missed the large vessel which carries blood out of the heart, or he lost so much blood that there is little left to bleed. Only time will tell."

  "I think he's gone into the death-cold," Alalah said. "Gisou! Get me some blankets!" Alalah was an older woman who'd garnered much useful experience stitching up the mishaps of her eight adventurous children. Mikhail had finally convinced Needa to break with the ancient tradition of one village, one healer to train a lower tier of healers he called 'medics.'

  "We've got more injured," Siamek reminded them. "Ebad's not doing so well. And several others are badly wounded."

  "Where?" Pareesa asked. Her heart beat too rapidly, remembering the look on Ebad's face as he had urged her to attend to Mikhail. How could she have forgotten him?

  "We carried the wounded to their families," Siamek said. "We thought it best if they were cared for in their own homes."

  "Alalah will tend to them," Immanu snapped. With a look that communicated he would not follow any more orders from her tonight, snot-nosed thirteen-summer upstart that she was, he wrapped his arms around his wife and guided her outside where Needa gave voice to an ululating cry of grief for her missing daughter.

  "Let's carry him upstairs," Alalah said. She placed an affectionate hand upon the unconscious Angelic's wing. "With all of this commotion, he shall get no rest down here. Perhaps it would be better if his…" she glanced at where Gita lurked in the shadows, "wife … tended to him in a less well-lit room?"

  Pareesa was grateful for Alalah's firm grasp of the situation. With somber effort, the warriors hauled the unconscious Angelic up the stairs and tucked him into his too-small sleeping pallet.

  Gita stood with her back pressed against the wall, tears streaming from her too-large eyes. She had the fearful appearance of a small, nocturnal animal, the kind which darted from shadow to shadow because every creature on the food chain considered her to be its prey. She bore no resemblance to Ninsianna now, this pale, scrawny girl with the black eyes and tattered look of a beggar.

  "Immanu said…" Gita swallowed. "He said he'd…" She glanced down at her hands. Pareesa had heard what Immanu had threatened her with. "Maybe it would be better if Homa or Gisou tended to him?" she whispered. "I am not a healer."

  That buzz from the old god warned her she must not let that happen.

  "He needs you," Pareesa grabbed Gita's hand. "Please? You're the only person he's ever mistaken for Ninsianna."

  Gita nodded. With whispered words only audible to herself, she pulled the red cape up to cover her hair and kneeled beside the sleeping pallet where Mikhail lay somewhere between the world of the living and the dead. Just for a moment, it appeared even to Pareesa, who knew this all to be a ruse, as though Gita's sparse frame fleshed out and the girl moved with the quiet assurance of the highest-ranking female in the village instead of the lowest one.

  "Can you feel me?" Gita whispered. "Can you feel me, Mikhail?"

  Mikhail moved to take her hand.

  Pareesa left them to be overseen by Homa while she followed Alalah to poor, forgotten Ebad's house. His parents greeted them with a cry of gratitude and led them up to his room where his oldest sister sat on the edge of his bed pressing a cloth against his shoulder to stem the bleeding.

  "I kept pressure on it just the way you said," the sister said.

  "I'll take over," Pareesa said. "It's the least I can do for him."

  Ebad's sister nodded. She showed Pareesa where to place her hands, the places where his shoulder bled the worst from the spear she had torn out of it. Ebad opened his eyes.

  “Pareesa,” Ebad greeted. His shaky hand reached up to touch hers. "You're okay?"

  “Yes,” she pressed against his wound. “How's my favorite spear-target?”

  "Been better," Ebad smiled weakly at her joke. “How’s Mikhail?”

  “Alive,” she said, “for now. Needa got the knife out and stitched him up. Gita's taking care of him while we attend to everybody else.”

  “Will he make it?” Ebad asked. “He looked … bad...”

  “Only She-who-is knows,” Pareesa said. “Needa thinks he'll survive the knife wound, but the Cherubim god fears he might try to follow Ninsianna into the dreamtime.”

  Ebad smiled weakly. “I've never seen anyone fight the way you fought tonight. Not even Mikhail has ever fought that ferociously. When I looked into your eyes, it was as if someone else stared out at me.”

  “Someone else did,” Pareesa said. “It was like watching somebody else do battle using my body as a puppet.”

  “Well it was your body he used,” Ebad said. “When I saw that spear come at you, I just … I just...”

  Ebad's voice choked up at the memory.

  Pareesa's reaction was instinctive. She slipped her fingers beneath his head and pulled him towards her for a kiss. Ebad moaned, both in pain and pleasure, as he used both hands to pull her closer.

  “Hey!” Alalah snapped, “Pareesa … keep pressure on that wound!!!”

  Pareesa pulled away, turning bright red as she grabbed the cloth and re-applied pressure to Ebad's shoulder. She had kissed boys before, in jest or on a dare, but this wa
s the first time she had ever really meant it.

  “Sorry,” she whispered to him.

  “I'll take a spear any day for a kiss like that,” Ebad said shyly.

  He whimpered as Alalah stitched his shoulder back together until finally he passed out from the pain. Gisou prepared a hot compress of boiled linen cloth, herbs, and oil of myrrh to chase away the evil spirits while Ebad's sister dribbled water down his throat every time he came close enough to consciousness that they could coax him to swallow.

  "He's doing better now that you're here," Ebad's mother touched Pareesa's shoulder. "Please … won't you stay? His younger brother has offered to give up his bed."

  "I should get back…" Pareesa started to say.

  She hadn't realized how much the God of War had been propping her up until all of a sudden he abandoned her body and left her standing there, weak and mortal. She collapsed forward and nearly landed face-down in Ebad's lap.

  "I guess maybe I'm supposed to stay?" Pareesa mumbled. Exhausted limbs refused to move. "S-somebody tell my mother I'm sf-okay?" A stray thought flit through her mind. Was this what Mikhail felt like whenever he needed to sleep off the killing dance after a battle?

  Strong arms lifted her up while somebody else dragged a second sleeping pallet across the room. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't find the energy to force her eyelids open. Ebad's little brothers and sisters piled around them like puppies to loan them their warmth so their big, brave brother wouldn't go into the death-cold.

  It was a fitful sleep, filled with visions of the glittering evil eye which had stared down at her from the sky canoe, the cries of infants, and a horrific place that was filled with fire.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Chapter 13

  November 3,390 BC

  Earth: Village of Assur

  Gita

  Gita marveled at the luxuries her cousin had grown up with in the room Ninsianna now shared with her husband. It was a tight fit, with a bed far too small for the enormous Angelic, every square cubit occupied by his magnificent black-brown wings. Her knees screamed in protest as she kneeled at his bedside, begging for her to give up her vigil, but no one had come to offer her a stool. No matter how long it took, she was determined to comfort him until he passed the point of danger.