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

by Anna Erishkigal

  Ha! Seducing an Angelic was way too easy!

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Chapter 30

  Fear not this night

  We will not go astray

  Though shadows fall

  Still the stars find their way.

  --Fear Not This Night by Malukah--

  December: 3,390 BC

  Earth: Village of Assur

  Gita

  A brilliant blue star pierced the ceiling of the world and hurtled towards the earth, incinerating all in its path. That small, dark voice whispered not to be afraid; this light was different than the others; this light would not burn her. Gita hurried across the brightening desert, blinking as the sun rose.

  Hurry, the voice whispered. You must hurry or you will be too late!

  She followed the star to the place it had embedded itself into the Earth, a large, silver object smoldering from the impact. She found a crack large enough to squeeze through and crawled inside. There, impaled through the chest, was a man unlike any she had ever seen before. A man with … wings?

  He opened his eyes and spoke to her in a language which was not hers, and yet, somehow she was able to understand his words.

  “Are you a spirit sent to guide me into the dreamtime?”

  The man's expression was strangely calm given the precariousness with which he clung to life. Blood trickled down one side of his mouth and out his nose, never a good sign.

  “I’m here to help you,” Gita said.

  She assessed his wounds, but she had never been trained as a healer. What to do? She did not know what to do!

  She pulled out the rod which impaled his chest and slipped her fingers into the hole from which gushed forth his life's blood. His heart beat against her fingertips like the tender kisses of butterfly wings, a good heart, a strong heart, the heart, she knew of a lion. This man was blessed by the gods, but the gods were not here now and, she, Gita, did not know how to heal him. She had been too young when the temple had been destroyed to learn the words to the Song.

  "I am sorry," Gita wept. "I do not know how to heal this wound."

  The man gave her an apologetic smile as if -he- wished to reassure -her.-

  “I have never feared death," blood seeped from his mouth. "Only to wander eternity alone as I have been forced to spend my life."

  "Do not fear the dark,” Gita said. "For eternity can be your friend."

  "What's your name?" the man asked.

  That small, quiet voice whispered not to say it. Song. Her name meant song.

  "You can call me Chol Beag," Gita said the strange, foreign endearment which the dark voice whispered into her mind. "What's -your- name?"

  "Mikhail."

  She pressed a cloth against the hole in his chest, but to no avail. The blood kept flowing and -she- was inadequate to heal it. Gita began to cry.

  "I don't know what else to do!"

  Mikhail's expression was both trusting and grateful. “Please don't cry. I die happy that a beautiful spirit has come to accompany me into the next life." His hand squeezed hers. "I shall wait there on the threshold for you, just but on the other side."

  She sat with him until he slid from consciousness, his heart beat growing weaker as his life's blood seeped from his body. She -must- have the power to heal him or the Great Mother would not have sent her to him, but her father had thwarted the goddess by making sure she would never learn the song.

  She sat, helpless, as Mikhail's spirit stretched towards the dreamtime, his heartbeat weakening as he lost the battle to cling to life.

  "Sing, child," that small, dark voice whispered to her. "Sing for him, even if your song is imperfect. For it is not the words that matter, but the intention in your heart."

  “Mmmmmmfffff…..”

  Gita groaned as she rose towards consciousness. With a start, she realized she’d leaned forward in her sleep and used her patient's abdomen as a pillow. A large hand held her captive, her face plastered against Mikhail’s skin because he’d tangled his fingers through her hair.

  Gita froze. Feeling as guilty as if she’d just been caught stealing, she gave a fearful look behind her to where Firouz stood sentry in the darkness, ordered to kill her if she so much as blinked. There was no condemnation in his expression at her inappropriate use of a pillow, only boredom mixed with concern. They both knew Mikhail was dying.

  “Please, let me go,” Gita whispered to Mikhail’s hand, but he held on to her; on to her hair, on to her hand, on to any part of her body she let get too close to him, trying to pull the woman he thought was his wife into the bed so he could curl up beside her and comfort himself as he died.

  Gently extricating his fingers from her hair, she regarded the face of the beautiful winged man who had never allowed her close until they'd tricked him into thinking she was his wife.

  Was there any merit to the dream?

  “Mikhail, mo ghrá,” Gita whispered. “I will not abandon you to wander eternity alone. You have my word.”

  The song her mother had sung to her whenever she had skinned her knee or chased away the monster under the bed came into her mind, an imperfect song, not the song, but it was the only song she knew. No goddess had chosen her. No goddess blessed her. No unearthly power came down from the heavens to intercede as she prayed for Mikhail's life. Nobody heard the prayers she sang into the emptiness which had been her companion for as long as she had existed. There was only her. Gita. Humble girl. Scrawny girl. The girl that nobody loved. But she had a song to sing, and she would sing it … for him. The song her mother had told her could only be given once.

  She sang it softly so she would not wake the others, ignoring the warrior who'd been assigned to kill her. It was an imperfect song, poorly remembered, but as she sang it, she sang the very essence of her spirit into his body, willing him to live, willing him to take her worthless life if it would fight the infection which was killing him. She pleaded for him to take the gift of her unrequited love, for it was the only thing she’d ever had to offer him, that, and the song for which she'd never learned the words.

  Mikhail's hand tightened in hers.

  "Chol beag," he whispered in his sleep.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Download Gita's song for free HERE: Fear Not This Night by Malukah and other awesome fan-cover songs.

  Listen to Gita's song online HERE: Fear Not This Night by Malukah.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Chapter 31

  Galactic Standard Date: 152,323.12 AE

  Earth Orbit: Prince of Tyre

  Special Agent Eligor

  Eligor

  Eligor dragged his fork through his mashed tubers, wishing fervently there were some lumps to give the illusion they were real tubers and not that reconstituted crap Zepar had been feeding them ever since they’d leaped into uncharted territories. He supposed he should be grateful they had enough to eat. When the Sata’anic lizards had brought Lucifer his welcome meal, it had been heavy on the side of natural game from the planet and light on grains and fruits that were the lizard’s preferred diet. Good old General Hudhafah had put on one hell of a show to make it look like they were flush with food, supplies and weaponry, but Eligor had been around long enough to see all the places the Sata’anic invasion was coming apart at the seams.

  What the fuck was Lucifer doing dancing with the lizards?

  ‘It’s none of my business,’ Eligor forced the thought back into the recesses of his mind. ‘Asking questions is the fastest way to get yourself disappeared.’

  “Hey! Eligor!”

  Eligor glanced up to see Lerajie come dancing into the crewman's cafeteria, wings fluttering like an excited little boy, wearing that same earnest expression the man always sported just before he opened his mouth and suggested something asinine. He stared down into his mashed tubers. Maybe if he pretended he didn’t see him, Lerajie would go away?

  The opposing chair dragged out from the table and Lerajie plopped down, almost dipping one of his wings into Eligor’s supper.
/>   “Watch it!” Eligor snapped at him.

  “Did you hear?” Lerajie practically wiggled. “She talked to me.”

  “So?” Eligor grumbled.

  “So what are we going to do about it?” Lerajie asked. He leaned forward and snitched a bread stick off of Eligor’s plate.

  “Hey!" Eligor jabbed at his hand with his fork.

  Lerajie yelped as the tines made contact with his flesh.

  “Hey! Whatcha go and do that for?”

  “Ask first,” Eligor growled.

  Lerajie yanked back his hand, his expression wounded. Awww! Man! Why’d the guy always have to go and lay a guilt trip onto him? Without making eye contact, Eligor picked up the bread stick, tossed it over to Lerajie’s side of the table, and shoveled a forkful of mashed tubers into his mouth as if they were something he relished instead of sludge which would sit in his stomach like concrete all day.

  “Next time,” Eligor grumbled with a full mouth, “just ask. That’s all I’m saying.”

  Lerajie ate the bread stick in silence, thankfully quiet as he stuffed his face and dug into his own meal. They ate together, the ship’s cafeteria filled with the chatter of the other crewmen grabbing some grub before they had to get back to the endless ‘make busy’ work that was required to keep this ship running. Finally, Lerajie’s silence began to weigh on him.

  “What’d she say?”

  Eligor cut the tasteless meatloaf with his fork and shoved a clump into his mouth, pretending it didn’t have the consistency of diarrhea. Lerajie gave an indignant sniffle. Lerajie? Quiet? Now that was something different. Eligor swallowed and put down his fork.

  “You gonna tell me or what?” Eligor asked.

  “Not if you bite my head off.”

  “I didn’t bite your head off. I told you not to take my bread stick." Eligor gestured at the half-finished plate of disgusting remolecularized food. “It’s the one thing we still got on this ship that’s real.”

  “Sorry,” Lerajie grumbled, but he still wore that wounded expression.

  Eligor waited, and then made a big deal about getting up. He stretched his wings, grown crampy from sitting too long in the chair. Unlike the command carriers, the Prince of Tyre didn’t have an aviary where winged species could exercise their wings. It was as though this ship had been designed by Lucifer's biological father for another species altogether and retrofitted to accommodate humanoids as an afterthought.

  “Wait!” Lerajie said. He glanced around furtively, that being a first for the blabbermouth, and then leaned forward as if he wished to whisper a secret. He would have pulled it off, too, had the nitwit not practically shouted his next words across the room.

  “She asked for a needle and thread!”

  Eligor cocked one eyebrow. They’d both been present at the Parliamentary building when General Abaddon’s wife had starting talking. Speculation had been rampant ever since Lucifer had returned from his little coup d'état. Either Zepar had shoved a microphone up the woman’s ass, or humans were every bit as smart as they were. Eligor knew it was the latter … and was grateful despite the moral implications that presented. Personally, he wasn’t into fucking something that didn’t have enough sense to give him a little post-coitus chatter.

  Then again, whatever that contraption Zepar was building in his office, the thing that looked like an android…

  Curiosity aroused, Eligor decided to take the bait. He sat back down.

  “What made her talk to you?”

  “Nothing,” Lerajie said. “I was outside standing guard, minding my own business, when I heard this tap at the door. I opened it ready to shoot, figuring it was the Sata'anic lizard, and there she stood, pretty as you please, and asked if I could go fetch her a needle and some scissors."

  Eligor raised one eyebrow. "You're fucking with me!"

  "No, really," Lerajie said. "She said one of the women was injured and she wanted to stitch her back up."

  "And you suddenly learned to speak an Earth language … how?" Eligor scoffed at him.

  "She spoke in Galactic Standard," Lerajie said. "Clear as day."

  Eligor glanced around the room and noticed everyone had fallen silent. They all knew Zepar had started giving him more privileges ever since he'd bailed out Lucifer's ass.

  "Keep your voice down," Eligor hissed. "You want to get us both shot out an airlock?"

  Lerajie glanced around and noticed for the first time they were the center of attention. He tucked his pale, pink-speckled wings against his back, duly chastised, and leaned forward to resume the conversation.

  "There's a betting pool going around," Lerajie whispered in an exaggerated stage whisper which was anything but quiet. "To see who can get her to speak again."

  "Stay away from her," Eligor jammed his finger across the table into Lerajie's face. "Whatever you've got in mind, don't do it. Zepar's already got you on his 'most necessary crewman to send into a firefight' list."

  Lerajie fell silent. Eligor jammed his fork into the grey-green substance that was supposed to replicate steamed greens, but had the consistency and taste of shredded paper.

  “When’s your next shift guarding the harem?”

  “Don’t know,” Lerajie said. “Zepar’s got me doing all kinds of strange shit ever since he elevated you to babysitting duty. You’d a thought he’d assigned us to watch the puppet-prince together.”

  ‘Fat chance,’ Eligor thought to himself.

  “You got a big mouth,” Eligor picked at his fingernails with his fork. “Start keeping it shut and pretend you ain’t looking at shit, and after a while Zepar will forget you’re a bleeding heart pansy.”

  Lerajie choked on the cup of caife he was taking a sip out of at the moment. His wings flared, flinging feathers into the food tray.

  “Watch it,” Eligor growled. He picked a long, red-speckled feather out of his mashed tubers, but honestly he was done with them. He was just grumbling for the sake of grumbling. He waited for Lerajie to catch his breath, though. Just to make sure he wasn’t really choking. Lerajie turned red, but kept right on breathing. Nope. No such luck. Guess he was stuck with the man for a little while longer.

  Lerajie blew his nose then picked right up where he’d started. Man! Didn’t anything deter the guy from his soapbox?

  “She really is pregnant,” Lerajie said. “Based on the other ones, I estimate she’s four or five months along.”

  “So Lucifer grabbed one he already knocked up before,” Eligor shrugged. “Big deal. Is she pretty?”

  Lerajie's eyes sparkled. "She's the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

  “Did she say anything else?” Eligor asked.

  “Nope,” Lerajie said. “As soon as I gave her the medical supplies, she said 'thank you' and slammed the door in my face.”

  Eligor's comms pin beeped. Not his regular pin. The other one. Eligor groaned.

  “You better get that,” Lerajie said.

  His expression unreadable, Eligor stuck the speaker in his ear so he could find out what the fuck Zepar wanted.

  “This is Eligor.”

  “Eligor?" The voice wasn’t Zepar’s, but Lucifer himself. There was a high-pitched, panicked sound to that single word, as though it was the younger version of Lucifer that Eligor had been around long enough to remember and not the flaming asshole he’d become in the intervening years from too much power and not enough give-a-shitedness from his adoptive father, Hashem.

  “Sir?” Eligor asked.

  “Eligor … I need you.”

  Eligor suppressed a groan. What now? Had the puppet prince run out of liquor again? Well he’d be damned if he’d feed the man’s addictions. Something wasn’t right about Lucifer, and the last thing the man needed was the only man left on the ship he trusted leading him down the garden path and waiting for him to implode.

  “I’ll be right there, Sir,” Eligor said.

  He got up and grabbed his tray.

  “What about the human female?” Lerajie asked. �
�What you going to do about her?”

  “Nothing,” Eligor said.

  “Maybe you should ask Lucifer?”

  “The last thing that woman needs is anybody directing Lucifer’s attention to her,” Eligor said. Anger gurgled in his veins, anger he’d suppress if he was talking to anybody but Lerajie, the closest thing he had to a friend. “Think about it, man? Lucifer’s got some serious mojo with the mind, man. That’s what’s fucking up the women. His mojo is too powerful for them or something.”

  “What mojo?” Lerajie asked. He raised one eyebrow. Despite his liberal bent, Lerajie was a man of science.

  “Nothing,” Eligor grumbled. He grabbed his tray and stalked off to dump it into the wash bucket, splattering uneaten mashed tubers and vegetables everywhere. He jutted his wings straight out behind him as he stalked through the ship to Lucifer’s quarters, where no doubt the man was waking up with the mother of all hangovers.

  He ran smack into Zepar in the hallway with all of his dirty-winged glory.

  “Where you off to, Eligor?” Zepar gave him that sloe-eyed stare that Eligor had learned meant the man was trying to read his mind.

  Impulse drive in the shuttle has a check engine light on. Gotta go check it before we need it again. Last thing the Prime Minister needs is to get stranded in the middle of East Buttfuck. Zepar would have my head on a platter for sure.

  “Just hurrying back to my quarters, Sir.” Eligor deliberately told him something incongruent to the fake thoughts he had running through his mind.

  Zepar shut his eyes and sniffed, and then gave Eligor a malicious grin.

  “Well then, carry on then, Eligor,” Zepar said. He added, “oh, and when you’re done, could you do me a favor. Go down to the launch bay and run the Prime Minister’s shuttle through another circle check. You never know when we might need it in a hurry.”