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

by Anna Erishkigal

  "You have to drink," Needa pressed her hand against his forehead. "Immanu said the knife-wound is infected with a type of evil spirit the likes of which he's never seen."

  An uneasy feeling gripped at his gut, but perhaps that was just the urge to vomit?

  "Where is Ninsianna?"

  "Sleeping in the next room," Needa caressed his forehead. "Just get better, son. As soon as you get better you can go and find her."

  Her hand felt cool against his forehead. He closed his eyes and the room faded. When he opened them again he was in a different room, one which was filled with children. He looked up at the ancient dark-winged Angelic who walked at his side.

  "Why are we here, Seanmháthair?"

  "You are five now, beag iolar," she brushed his hair away from his forehead. "It's time to start looking for your one true mate."

  He clung to her hand as they walked through the room. The games the other Angelics played were enticing, but no game beckoned. They were all just games.

  When he awoke the next time Needa had been replaced by Homa, one of his eight original archers and now one of Needa's apprentices. She was a sturdy girl, not much older than Ninsianna, a bit silly, but there was no sign of mirth in her face as she tended to him now. She kept her face averted, as if she feared to make eye contact.

  "Homa," Mikhail croaked, "where is Ninsianna?"

  Homa looked startled. "She's asleep in the next room." She glanced towards the doorway with a worried expression.

  "And Immanu?"

  "He went to the basket-weaver to get a tincture of tar-coal," Homa said. "It will help with the poison the Evil One used to taint his knife."

  A sensation akin to having his chest flayed open made him want to tear at his bandages. He tried to scratch it, but Homa grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze. Ninsianna would have his head on a platter if she walked in and caught Homa holding his hand, but somehow he doubted the apprentice healer was displaying 'an affection' for him as Ninsianna claimed whenever she was jealous.

  He closed his eyes and the room spun some more. When he opened them again, he was in another room, bigger than the first one.

  "Why are we here, Seanmháthair?" he asked.

  A hand brushed against his forehead, cool, worried.

  "You are eight years old," Seanmháthair said, "and yet you have formed no attachments with any of the other children."

  He stared across the room full of worried families. "What am I supposed to do?"

  "Just find the game which feels -right-," Seanmháthair said. She brushed back his hair away from his forehead, her hand cool against the heat of his skin.

  "His fever's gotten worse," Homa said. "You'd better summon Immanu."

  Seanmháthair led him through a room where children had paired off into pairs, laughing and playing games, but there was no one here for him.

  "She's not here," Mikhail said.

  'Are you certain?'

  "Yes."

  When he woke up again, a foul-scented poultice reeking of bitumen and sulfur sat upon his chest. He had no memory of anyone changing his bandages, so he must have been asleep for quite some time. His mouth tasted so dry it felt as though someone had stuffed his mouth full of feathers.

  "Water," he gasped.

  Hands pressed the water-skin to his lips. He drank, then nearly gagged as his stomach clenched around it like a vice. Hot. He felt so hot. He flared his wings which lay helplessly beneath him, desperate to allow some air to flow through his feathers, desperate to cool himself down. The urge to scratch was so overwhelming it felt as though he wanted to claw his own heart out of his chest.

  "Ninsianna," he whispered.

  "I am here," the hands holding the waterskin said, but something about her touch did not feel right. For the first time it occurred to him that such a lack of connection was not normal between a husband and a wife.

  'It's okay, beag iolar,' Seanmháthair squeezed his hand. 'When you find her, you will know her.'

  "How?"

  'It will just feel ... right.'

  In the background Immanu chanted, but his voice had taken on a deeper, more ominous tone. A chill rustled through Mikhail's feathers as his fever shifted from hot to cold. That frantic feeling he'd been suppressing all day, the urge to curl up beside Ninsianna so he could reassure himself she was safe clenched at his gut.

  "Immanu," Mikhail whispered. "Please ... where is Ninsianna?"

  "You tell me?" Immanu said.

  The sun had shifted so it no longer shone in the window. In the darkness, the shaman's tawny-beige eyes glowed that same luminescent shade of gold his daughter had possessed ever since the day she'd been Chosen by the goddess. This wasn’t just Immanu speaking, but She-who-is.

  "She is asleep in the next room," Mikhail said.

  Immanu turned to Homa. "Leave us."

  Homa drew her cape around herself and hurried out, her expression fearful. As she left, the light caught a hint of red. Why was Homa wearing Ninsianna's red cape? That frantic feeling grew louder.

  "Where is Ninsianna?"

  "You claim you have no ability to feel the threads," Immanu said, "and yet when Ninsianna was in danger, twice you have flown straight to her, even when you had no idea where she would be."

  "It was not her," Mikhail said. "It was only Shahla. A ruse. You told me thus yourself."

  "Humor me," Immanu said.

  His father-in-law wore the same shock of wild, salt-and-pepper hair, the same bushy eyebrows, and the same bulbous nose that thank-the-goddess Ninsianna had not inherited, but there was a feline grace to the shaman's movement, his abilities enhanced by the power of She-who-is.

  "Tell me, Champion. Where is your Chosen One now?"

  "I cannot feel her," Mikhail said.

  "Doesn't that bother you?"

  "Yes."

  "Then you must close your eyes and trace your connection to her," She-Who-Is-Immanu said, "so you can always find her in case you ever need to." His eyes glowed the color of fire. Grey tendrils of burning cedar wafted around him, making it appear as though he was a fire demon.

  "I have never been able to trace the threads."

  "You never -wished- to trace the threads," She-Who-Is-Immanu's voice rose sharp with anger. "You mock their spiritual beliefs and believe they are primitive, but when you need to, you can travel through the Dark Lord’s realm. So tell me, Champion?" Immanu's voice took on a frantic, desperate tone. "In which direction would you search for my Chosen One?"

  "She is in the next room."

  "What if you needed to go out and find her?" She-Who-Is-Immanu said. "In which direction would you begin the search?"

  Feverish confusion pressed against Mikhail's brain and gave everything an ethereal unworldliness. Ninsianna had explained how all living creatures were connected to each other through the dreamtime via quantum entanglement, slender bonds of energy which she called threads. He'd never been able to see the threads, but if he focused, he'd begun to develop a sense of feeling them.

  "Where is she?" She-Who-Is-Immanu grabbed his shoulder. "Tell me, winged one? Where is your wife?"

  SHE pushed him, but the power Mikhail drew upon whenever he invoked the Cherubim god wrapped itself around him and clawed him back, admonishing him that he was too weak to make this journey. That great yawning darkness which had inhabited his nightmares for as long as he could remember screamed at him to turn back, to play it safe; to stay in his body where eternity would not devour him alive, but the pressure of Immanu's fingers clenching his forearm pressed him on. She-Who-Is wished for him to master this ability, and so, damantia, did he!

  He fought through the fog. He fought the pain. He fought against the blue light which tried to keep him centered in his body. He fought through the sound of Needa, having entered the room, screaming, "Dear gods, Immanu, what in the name of She-who-is do you think you are doing?"

  "See her," Immanu's voice was a cry of anguish. "Please, son! In which direction I should begin the search for my daughte
r?"

  The veil parted and suddenly he saw her, a golden beacon shining in the darkness. He reached for her, called her name, pleaded for her to come and hold him because the only thing he had ever feared was to die alone. The fog cleared, giving him a glimpse of where she lay. She lay not in her parent's bed, but....

  Mikhail's eyes shot open.

  In his mind's eye, he felt Ninsianna scream.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Chapter 16

  November 3,390 BC

  Earth Orbit: Prince of Tyre

  Ninsianna

  All around her she dreamed of fire. She reached for the light of She-who-is, but although she could see the stars, no longer did they serenade her with their song. Beneath her back she could sense a hum. It felt neither hurtful nor helpful, but every ounce of her being screamed for her to get out of here!

  "Mother!!!" Ninsianna cried out.

  The playground of the goddess appeared as it always had whenever she journeyed into the Dreamtime, but no matter which way she ran, a cool, clear substance restrained her from reaching up to touch the swirling suns. There was plenty of light here, but it was a putrid green color, casting its malevolent light everywhere as it swirled around her like a sandstorm.

  "Ibilisi, Ibilisi, Ibilisi," the vortex whispered to her. Through the sandstorm she saw an ebony-fleshed woman making a finger-gesture over her head as she chanted the same incantation over and over again. "Ibilisi, Ibilisi, Ibilisi." Ninsianna did not need her gift of tongues to understand the warning.

  "Mother! Help!" she screamed, but the goddess could not hear.

  Oh, gods! Her chest hurt. She looked down with her goddess-kissed eyes and saw the thread which connected her abdomen to the place she had healed her husband when his sky canoe had crashed, but there was something wrong with it. Malevolent green tendrils snaked through their connection and turned it black, the color of sickness; the color of disease. She tried to draw light from the stars which no longer sang to her, to push it through the thread and heal him, but the cord which connected them was dying. -He- was dying; her beautiful winged husband who had fallen from the sky.

  "Mother, help me," Ninsianna cried. But her only response was the taunted warning of Ibilisi, Ibilisi, Ibilisi, warning her that she was in the presence of the devil.

  She drifted for the longest time, staring up at the stars which no longer sang to her, until the words of the ebony-skinned woman grew louder and the pain in her chest at last began to subside. The clouds she lay upon had a texture to them, softer than linen, and the air had a clean, lifeless scent, as though it had just been washed and hung out on the clothesline.

  Ninsianna opened her eyes. Tiny lights sparkled so close she could touch them, but they were not stars, but the magic lanterns Mikhail called 'LED's.' Was she back on his sky canoe? She reached over to pull his warm, dark wing over herself like a blanket and came up empty-handed.

  She remembered the white-winged Evil One, bent over her abdomen with a knife.

  "My baby!!!" She grabbed at her abdomen, clawing frantically to remove the strange shawl they'd wrapped around her. "My baby! My baby!" The Evil One had taken her baby!

  She grabbed at her belly, touched it, rubbed it, and ran her fingers over her taut skin searching for her injuries. Her abdomen swelled beneath her fingers in a reassuring curve.

  "He stabbed me, he stabbed me, oh, great goddess I felt him stab me!" Ninsianna sobbed. Her heart raced as she searched for the knife-wound and found nothing. She could find no wound.

  Sobbing hysterically, she threw back her head and gave an ululating cry of grief. No one moved to comfort her. No one consoled her as she called out for the goddess and could feel no reassurance at all.

  Finally, a tiny kick tapping from inside her belly cut through her fog of anguish.

  "He's alive!" Ninsianna sobbed with joy.

  She pressed through her skin to feel the reassuring outline of her son growing unharmed in her womb. The Evil One had stabbed her. She had seen him sink the knife into her belly. She had felt it. She had felt her flesh tear open and heard her son cry out as the Evil One had ripped him from her womb and devoured him alive.

  "Ibilisi, Ibilisi, Ibilisi," the ebony-skinned woman whispered from the bunk next to hers. "Ibilisi, Ibilisi, Ibilisi…"

  Ninsianna forced herself upward on her elbows and rubbed the dull ache which centered just above her heart. Had that, too, been one of the Evil One's illusions? His bragging he would use her to kill her husband?

  She looked around the larger room which surrounded her bed. The magic lanterns and sterile, white atmosphere reminded her of Mikhail's sleeping quarters, but this room was much larger than the cramped quarters they had enjoyed as a kind of sanctuary, far from the village of Assur. In the center was the largest table she had ever seen, complete with luxurious chairs for seating perhaps two dozen people, and around that table shuffled pregnant women as though they existed in a dream.

  "Ibilisi. Ibilisi. Ibilisi."

  Ninsianna looked over at the source of that chanted whisper. Nestled with her back pressed against the wall sat the most beautiful, ebony-skinned woman she had ever seen. She had the long, eloquent neck and the regal bone structure of a woman accustomed to wealth and servants. Her hair trailed down her back in tiny, ebony curls, but her eyes had a dead look, as if only her body was here.

  Ninsianna focused on the word the ebony-skinned woman chanted over and over again, but that sudden flash of knowledge she'd grown accustomed to ever since She-who-is had granted her the gift of tongues did not occur. A butterfly of fear fluttered in Ninsianna's gut as she realized the tenets of language once again limited her ability to communicate, but she didn't need the goddess' gift to understand the woman warned her they were trapped in the presence of the devil.

  "Um … hello?" Ninsianna said.

  The ebony-skinned woman continued rocking, her eyes unseeing as she chanted her recitation. Ninsianna sat upright, careful not to bang her head upon the ceiling which sat only inches above her head. Her abdomen moved reassuringly in all the awkward, uncomfortable ways a pregnant woman's belly should move, right down to the pressure in her bladder. She reached across the small railing which separated her pillow from the foot of the ebony-skinned woman's sleeping pallet. Ninsianna pointed to her own chest.

  "I'm Ninsianna. What's your name?"

  She pointed to the ebony-skinned woman and waited. Her only answer was the mantra chanted over and over again. Ibilisi. Ibilisi. Ibilisi.

  "I won't hurt you," Ninsianna said. Her voice carried a bit of a panicked edge. "Please. Can you tell me where we are?"

  The ebony skinned woman stared past her towards the stars she could not reach. That oppressive feeling of being trapped pressed in upon her and made her want to scream. It felt as though she could no longer feel her arms or legs or feet, a deadening of sensation, screaming that something was terribly wrong. She searched for the woman's spirit light, but she could neither see nor hear no feel absolutely anything, leaving her deaf, dumb and blind. Why could she not sense She-who-is? Was she, like this woman, trapped inside of a nightmare?

  "Mother," she whimpered. "Why have you abandoned me?"

  The shuffle of other people drew Ninsianna's attention back to the larger room. She watched the women, hoping one would welcome her as a newcomer, but it was as though she was invisible, for not one of them looked her way.

  She slipped down the ladder, determined to assess the situation. Where was she? And how had she gotten into this room? Beneath her bunk lay another bunk, occupied by a sandy-haired woman.

  "Hello," Ninsianna said. She pointed to her own chest in case the woman didn't speak Ubaid. "I am Ninsianna. What's your name?"

  The woman hissed and clawed at her like a cat. Ninsianna jumped back. The woman gave a guttural yowl and huddled, wild-eyed, at the furthest corner of her bunk, tearing at the hem of her dress.

  She remembered how Shahla had been; mind-broken and unpredictable enough that she'd been easy prey for the
Evil One. Her heart sank. She'd been assigned to sleep above a crazy woman?

  "I'm sorry," Ninsianna said. She reached out, palm down, to show she meant no harm. "I didn't mean to startle you. I just …" She backed away, not wishing to antagonize the woman further. "Uhm … go back to doing whatever you were doing. I'll … um …"

  The woman hissed and crushed back against the wall, her teeth bared like a cat that had seen a cobra.

  She moved through the bunk room, attempting to engage first one woman, and then another, in conversation, but their reactions ranged from apathy to outright hostility. At last she came to an alcove at the back of the room. On the floor, covered with a blanket was a long, green tail, and attached to that tail was a…

  "Lizard demon!" Ninsianna shrieked.

  She leaped backwards, searching frantically for a weapon to defend herself. Finding none, she ran to the furthest corner of the room where six or seven pregnant women huddled together like frightened sheep. She waited for the lizard-demon to leap up and attack her, but it did not move except to occasionally groan as though it was in pain.

  Her feet began to ache, followed shortly by her back. She shifted her weight back and forth, but the urgent pressure of the baby pressing against her bladder shouted it was time to visit the chamber-pot. Every now and again one of the women moved through a doorway into another room. Could it be a bathroom like the one on Mikhail's sky canoe? Discomfort finally caused her to overcome her fear. Rather than huddling in the corner like a mewling kitten, perhaps it was time to explore the source of that terrible stench?

  More women huddled inside. Ninsianna tried to push past them to get inside one of the stalls, but they growled and hissed at her like lionesses protecting their prey. She peeked at her doppelgänger in the reflective wall Mikhail called a 'mirror.' The eyes which stared back at her were not the internally luminescent gold ones she'd had since the day the goddess had Chosen her, but the ordinary tawny-beige ones she had inherited from her father. Fear ignited in her belly. She reached out with a trembling hand to touch the all-too-ordinary eyes.