Jamin gave Lieutenant the pre-arranged hand signal. He was about to go into the tents, alone. They were to stay there, visible to discourage antics, but to otherwise turn themselves into rocks on a hill.
The line of men split in half, one-half remaining to stare up the hill at the lizard people, the other to guard him as he moved into their tents to treat with their shaykh. A disheveled looking dog barked at him, its tail wagging as though it couldn't decide whether or not to bite him. Marwan's tent was still the same … it had always been the finest one in the camp … but it was freshly adorned with colorful swags.
"Step inside," Nusrat held aside the woven linen door.
Halifian social custom dictated the eldest son should enter first and sit at the right hand of his father, followed by the guest. Zahid moved to stand next to his father. Nusrat moved to the place he always occupied across the room, son of a lesser-ranked, but much beloved wife. The other brothers, uncles, and cousins piled in, not a woman amongst the bunch. If Aturdokht wielded feminine influence here, it didn't extend much further than the woman's section of the tent.
One of Marwan's six wives hovered around her husband, clad from head to foot in a loose flowing robe which, unlike Ubaid shawl-dresses, had been stitched so that it covered every bit of her body. She bustled about her husband, hastily attending to his appearance.
'Insalam," Jamin greeted her. He vaguely remembered the woman had helped Aturdokht tend to him when he'd lain halfway between life and death, weakened from blood loss and infection.
Dark eyes glittered fearfully from beneath her colorful veil. So? They were afraid of him now? Did they fear retribution because they had sold him into slavery? Or was she afraid because, as a lesser wife, she and her offspring would be at Zahid's mercy once Marwan died?
Jamin rubbed his shoulder and then replicated the Sata'anic gesture of a hand to his forehead, his lips and his heart to show respect the way one might a man. The gesture was similar to one the Halifians already emulated, and he wondered if it was a remnant of some long-forgotten contact with their world?
“Had you not stitched me back together,” Jamin said, “I would not have stayed alive long enough for the lizard people to save me. Perhaps I might prevail upon them to examine your husband and see if something might be done to help him?"
She blinked, only her eyes able to convey what she did not dare speak aloud. Yes. It was not him she feared, but her own delicate situation. Women occupied a precarious position in a culture which viewed them as little more than chattel. She hurried out of the room. For the life of him, Jamin could not remember her name.
"Jamin," Marwan called, his voice weak and breathy. "The prodigal son has returned."
"I have come bringing good tidings," Jamin said. He moved towards Marwan, arms spread wide, to demonstrate he was unarmed.
He glanced towards the curtain which divided the women's section of the tent from the place the men gathered. Was she there now? Aturdokht? Did she listen to every word?
The desert shaykh lay reposed upon an assortment of embroidered cushions, his leg propped up with a pointed slipper only loosely stuck onto the end of his swollen foot to hide it. He had a greyish pallor, although that might have merely been the way the sunlight filtered through the linen of the tent, accentuating the puckered purple scar which ran from his mouth to his ear like a second, silent mouth. Water was a precious resource out here in the desert, too precious to waste on bathing, but even by Halifian standards, the tent reeked of infection.
"Sit next to me, Jamin," Marwan said. “The rest of you can leave me. Everyone but Nusrat.”
"But father…" Zahid protested.
"As you can see, son," Marwan gave his son a weak smile, "I am likely already dead. If our good friend repays our betrayal by sticking a knife into my ribs, it would be a mercy."
Jamin tugged at the crotch of the tight, alien pants which dug into his private parts and kneeled on the luxurious felted carpet next to Marwan, considered a seat of honor. Zahid's eyes were twin points of hateful bitumen, ready to ignite as he led his brothers out of the tent.
“Nusrat,” Marwan said. “Send in Aturdokht. I wish for her to tell him the results of his machinations.”
Nusrat gave him a hooded gaze. He disappeared into the other side of the divider, and then returned, his sister magnificently dressed in colorful robes decorated with embroidered thread. Her face was covered as it always was, but instead of a veil she had twisted a magnificent green scarf around her head so that it resembled the turbans worn by the men, broadcasting her status as a shaykah. She glided across the carpet like a leaf carried in the desert wind and stopped before him, head unbowed, as her magnificent hazel-green eyes met his with curiosity and a little bit of fear. It was not him she feared, he suspected, but the brigade of lizard people who waited at the top of the hill.
“Insalam,” Jamin greeted her. He bowed to her the way a courtier would, one arm across his waist, his other behind his back. He pulled out of his coat pocket the gift he had brought for her, a trinket, really, but one Kasib had promised would be favorably received by a woman.
“What is this?” Aturdokht stared at the fist-sized oblong fruit. It was green with just a blush of red, fortuitously just like Aturdokht’s robes.
“It is a fruit from the land on the other side of the great eastern desert,” Jamin said. “Very rare. I wish I could have procured more than one, but once you taste it, you will agree that never have you tasted its equal.”
“I shall get a knife,” Aturdokht said.
“No, my shaykah,” Jamin said, using the title bequeathed to her by her dead husband. “That is part of the gift.”
It was a tiny knife, its blade no longer than his finger, forged of the same unearthly metal as the one Shahla had buried in Mikhail’s chest. Despite its light weight and size, it was sharper than the most finely wrought obsidian blade and it reflected the light like a beacon.
Aturdokht gasped with delight as she took the tiny knife and weighed it in her hand. She ran her finger along the blade and then stuck her finger in her mouth when she drew blood. Her veil slipped, exposing her lush, pink lips. Instead of tacking the cloth back to cover her face, she ignored it, giving him an unimpeded view.
A favorable sign?
“It is sharp,” Aturdokht met his gaze. “And incredibly light. What is this knife called?”
“The lizard people call it a paring knife,” Jamin said. “It is a special knife for preparing small items of food. And here…” He pulled out his final gift, a tiny round, flat stone with a texture like a cat’s tongue. “This is called a whetstone. You use it to keep the knife sharp.”
Aturdokht’s hazel eyes sparkled a vibrant, emerald green.
"Such a magnificent gift. Come. Sit. Let us share this fruit you have brought my father.”
Jamin was painfully aware of how delicate her hands were as she peeled the fruit to reveal the bright orange flesh within. She plunged the knife into its core, her lips parted as she sliced the fruit away from the large, flat pit and carefully divided it into equal shares. The air around them filled with a fruity scent so decadent that Jamin could almost taste it. Aturdokht took a small square from each portion and pressed it into the one she would present to her father.
“Here father, eat,” Aturdokht said. “Perhaps this fruit will help you get well?”
“Ahh, daughter,” Marwan said. “I fear it is too late for that, but I shall eat it anyways, if for no reason than to taste what fruit to ask for when I make my passage into the dreamtime.”
The old shaykh bit into the slippery orange flesh. His face lit up in a smile as the flavor burst onto his tongue and juices dripped into his beard.
“This fruit … what is it called?”
“The lizard people said the people who grow it call it mango,” Jamin said. “It grows in trees so tall they can almost touch the sky.”
“Have you seen these trees?” Marwan asked.
“Not yet,” Jamin said,
“but the lizard people have shown me many wondrous things, including pictures of these trees. They have sent me with a talisman so that I may show you as well.”
He pulled out the little tek-no-lo-gee and touched the screen. Aturdokht gasped as the tablet came to life and on the magic window appeared a picture of a dark-skinned teenager climbing a tree so large his arms could barely fit around the trunk. Trees were rare in this land where scant water condemned most to never grow larger than a shrub, but they had heard of such trees from traders. He handed the device to Aturdokht, relishing the way her fingers lingered as he pressed it into her hand.
“What a wondrous talisman this is!” Aturdokht turned it over. She looked at him with expectant eyes.
“Alas, my shaykah,” Jamin said. “It is not, I fear, mine to give you. This is a magical device, a talisman crafted to make men smarter. When I am done with it, I must give it back so someone else can learn from it.”
“What else does this tek-no-lo-gee teach you?” Marwan asked.
Jamin turned towards the desert adder. He’d been hoping Marwan would ask just such a question.
“It teaches us how to subdue the power of the river,” Jamin said, “and force its waters to travel far from the source to water the herds of even the remotest tribe.”
“This tek-no-lo-gee can do that?” Marwan exclaimed.
“Alas, no!” Jamin laughed. “This … is just a teacher. The river will not give up her waters easily. But this device will teach you how to dig fortifications so we can figure out how to do it ourselves.”
He stretched out on the carpet beside Marwan like a son, flipping through the images with which Kasib had imbued the tek-no-lo-gee of distant worlds where water was abundant and no tribe had to go through the dry season with an empty waterskin. All manner of species toiled in the fields in the pictures, but the crops stretched as far as the eye could see.
“These people are settled.” Aturdokht's voice was filled with scorn.
Jamin met her hazel-green eyes.
“Would settling be such a terrible thing,” he asked softly, “if it meant your daughter never had to go hungry? If you never had to slaughter your herds and dry their meat because you ran out of forage to feed them? The lizard people only settle around their fields. Once their bellies are full, they travel far from their homes in search of other words to proselytize their Emperor's teachings. It would be the best of both ways of existence."
Aturdokht lowered her gaze, her eyes communicating she found favor with his words. She peeked up at him through veiled lashes, but from the way her lip trembled, he knew instantly something was wrong.
“There is still the matter of Aturdokht’s bride-price,” Marwan’s expression was grave. "She has fended off advances from other suitors by insisting her widow's debt must be first be paid, but once I am gone, I fear Zahid will force her to remarry to create an alliance with a tribe which can give us water-rights."
Jamin turned to his host.
"That is why I am here,” Jamin said. “The winged demon is dead, by the very knife I confiscated from Yazan's serpent of a slave trader."
Nusrat, who had been silent until now, cleared his throat. Jamin turned to study the man who would be his brother-in-law if all went as planned.
"Shahla's father has been passing information to his Uruk allies," Nusrat said. "He is not favorably inclined towards us as we sheltered you after you beat his daughter, but his trading partners passed along this information as a favor. The winged demon still lives."
"Impossible!" Jamin exclaimed. "I watched the video! I saw Mikhail fall!"
All three Halifians stared at him with a curious, blank expression. He realized he had spoken the Sata'anic word for a magic which he had no words to describe.
"It's like the tek-no-lo-gee," Jamin picked up the flatscreen and flipped through the pictures to find the one Hudhafah had shown him. "Only it can capture a spirit at the time of death. Laum's daughter stabbed the winged demon right in the heart and he fell."
"Your young nemesis got there first before he died," Nusrat said. "The winged demon is injured, but he did not die."
Jamin gave them a jackal's grin.
"He won't be for long," Jamin said. "The Alliance Prime Minister imbued the knife with a black magic unlike any this world has ever seen. Even the lizard people lack a cure for it."
"What does this magic do?" Marwan asked.
Jamin pointed to Marwan's infected foot, which had turned black and the skin split open to expose the muscle.
"That."
Nusrat and Aturdokht exchanged a look. Black magic was loathed by all the tribes, or at least it was officially. Secretly, however, the use of magic to gain an upper hand against one’s enemies was rampant. The mere whisper of retaliation by Ninsianna’s own grandfather Lugalbanda had purportedly been sufficient to stave off attack from all but the most reckless enemy.
Marwan erupted in a fit of coughs; a pitiful, raspy sound for the once-feared desert adder. Aturdokht hovered around her father, her eyes creased with concern as she pressed a waterskin to his lips and gently wiped the water he dribbled onto his beard. This visit had already taxed the desert shaykh far more than he had the strength to endure. Jamin gathered his things to go.
“By your leave, father,” Jamin said. “I will send the lizard people into your tent to tend your foot. Their magic cannot eliminate the damage to the muscle, but perhaps they might prevent the progression of the venom up your leg so it does not kill you?”
Aturdokht’s eyes filled with tears. She grasped his hand and nodded. Yes. If he did this for her, when he finally did harvest the winged demon’s life, she would declare her bride-price paid and let him take her to his bed without burying a knife in his chest. As for love … both still grieved for loves that had been lost. He …Ninsianna’s betrayal. Aturdokht … her murdered husband. But in time? It was time to let Ninsianna go and move into the future.
Marwan gestured to him to come closer. His voice was weak, forcing Jamin to press his ear closer to his future father-in-law.
“The people of the desert do not condone black magic,” Marwan said, “but we know of things, poisons and extracts we’ve encountered on our journeys through the high mountain passes to the north.”
Marwan struggled upright on his cushions, refusing to let Jamin see him weak.
“There is a flower which blooms on the south side of the Taurus Mountains,” Marwan continued. “Hellebore. Small. Pretty. With evergreen leaves. If you prepare an extract of the roots, you can use it to poison your people’s water supply.”
“But that will kill them!” Jamin said. “The lizard people wish to subdue them. Not wipe them out?”
“Some will die,” Marwan shrugged. “It causes vomiting and violent hallucinations. But usually only the very weak and old are killed. The infants on their mother’s breast, and the people who are healthy, they will all survive.”
Anger at his father’s betrayal warred with an odd sense of protectiveness which cried out he should not do this to his own people. The people he’d been born to protect.
The tek-no-lo-gee defaulted to the picture of Pareesa standing over the winged demon’s body, her small face screwed up with hatred as she cocked back her arm and aimed her spear. Jamin stared at the truth it represented. Even without the winged demon alive, he had been replaced. It was up to him to take back what was his.
“What do you propose?”
~ * ~ * ~
Chapter 28
December: 3,390 BC
Earth: Village of Assur
Mikhail
There was no sensation except for pain. His entire body felt as though it was on fire, boiled alive and then cast into an icy glacier to suffer again and again and again. He whimpered. He pleaded. He begged for pain to go away and let him live, but all it did was throb with excruciating agony with every heartbeat. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure.
"Can you hear me, son?"
"Mama?"
The awkward
fumble of hands at his chest. Pain. He screamed as his bandages were removed and the scent of death assailed his nostrils. He fought back, his wings flailing as he fought to get airborne and strong arms shoved him back into his deathbed.
"Get the girl!"
"I told her to go home."
"Why the HELL would you do such a thing, Immanu? She's the only thing keeping him alive!"
A hand clasped his. Not hers. Somebody else's.
"Mikhail, let me help you bear this pain."
This hand he knew. Not hers. But he was glad to feel it.
"Pareesa," he whispered. "Remember your promise."
There was a hesitation. Crying. Not just her tears, but Needa's as well.
"You have my word," Pareesa's voice warbled. "We shall watch over your wife and son. But only until you get better. Okay? We'll watch over them until you get better, and then you'll take care of them yourself."
“How bad am I?” He knew Pareesa would tell him the truth.
Hesitation.
"The flesh has turned black and opened up your skin to show the ribs!"
Sobbing.
"Mama?" He reached for his mother-in-law who both hurt, and tried to help him live. "It burns."
"Your wound has been infected with the death-spirits," a masculine voice said. The voice was familiar. Mikhail reached for his father-in-law.
"Immanu?"
"I am here, son." Immanu grabbed his hand and gave it a squeeze, not a woman's squeeze of comfort, but a warrior's squeeze, forearm to forearm. It was a squeeze that said, I am here for you.
"Where is she?" Mikhail asked.
"Who?"
"Where is Ninsianna?"
"She went down to the well to fetch some water to boil," Needa said.
An odd sense of panic filled him. He flailed, trying to get airborne. He heard a cry, and then a thud; Needa knocked off her stool by his enormous wings. Strong hands pressed him back into the bed.
"Gisou went to fetch her," Needa said. Gentle hands turned his face towards his mother-in-law. Needa’s face came into view. "Son? I need you to stop fighting, son, so I can change your dressings."
Sword of the Gods: Agents of Ki (Sword of the Gods Saga) Page 29
