"I have no recollection about a white-winged Angelic who might wish your people harm," Mikhail said. "My people are dying. When they find you, they will do everything in their power to protect you, not behave the way this Evil One has done." Mikhail frowned. "None of this makes sense. Why target me?"
"Perhaps this Evil One is in cahoots with this Emperor Shay'tan?"
"That's the only explanation which makes sense," Mikhail said. He clutched the red cape to his chest. Its scent ignited a warm, expansive feeling, along with that peculiar echo he'd noted earlier. He suddenly felt very tired.
Pareesa caught him before he toppled over.
"I've got you, sensei," his young prodigy whispered. "I won't let you fall again."
He tried to force open his eyes, but whatever force had sustained him had suddenly disappeared. Warm hands, loving hands, many sets of hands lowered him to the bed and gently removed the pillows from his back so he could rest peacefully.
"Everybody out!" Needa snapped. "See! I told you it would overtax his recovery!"
Grumbles. The Chief and Immanu filed out, discussing ways to figure out where Ninsianna had been whisked away to. If he was still alive, the hope now was that Ninsianna might still be alive, too.
Somehow, if she hadn't been alive, he thought he'd know…
Someone tucked a blanket around his shoulders. A peck on the cheek. Genuine affection. Mikhail's lip twitched upwards into a small smile.
"Mama," he whispered.
"Sleep, son," Needa said. "The sooner you get better, the sooner you can go retrieve my daughter."
He drifted off to sleep, his dreams filled with a song which flowed through the world like a river of love.
~ * ~ * ~
Chapter 64
December, 3,390 BC
Earth: Village of Assur
Siamek
Siamek rushed through the streets, shoving his way through the crowd which had gathered to hear the shaman excitedly tell them the winged one was resurrected from the dead. He shoved them all aside. Only the fact he was Mikhail's lieutenant enabled him to get through at all.
"Where is she?"
Immanu's joyous expression hardened.
"You said you threw her in the pit," Immanu said.
"She's not there," Siamek said. "The Tribunal exonerated her."
"The Tribunal ruled they did not have adequate evidence to return a sentence of death," Immanu said. "That is not the same thing as a judgment of not guilty."
Siamek's head swam with possibilities, all of them terrible. If Mikhail had not died, then Gita would not have left him, would she? Had Mikhail awoken and spurned the girl who'd spent six weeks impersonating his wife because she loved him? Had she run away in terror because Mikhail’s resurrection did not change the fact that Ninsianna was missing and presumed dead? Or had Mikhail blamed her just as Immanu had?
A disembodied sense of fear gripped at his gut and made his heart beat faster. Had something bad happened to her?
"What did you do with her?" Siamek took a step towards the shaman, his hand on the hilt of the Sata'anic sword.
"She relieved my pantry of its staples," Immanu said. He pointed towards the road which descended to the lower rings of the village. "Why don't you go ask her no-good father?"
Siamek suppressed the urge to throttle the man. He had always respected Immanu, but after Ninsianna had jilted Jamin, hard feelings had begun to fester between the different factions within the village. Ninsianna had always been fickle and her father encouraged her willful behavior. But the fact Gita had taken food was a good sign.
He pushed his way out of the ecstatic crowd, his heart pounding in his ears. Why hadn't he run back to tell her the Tribunal had returned a verdict of not guilty when Immanu had tried to force their hand?
Because Gita deserved to grieve, he had reasoned at the time. A party atmosphere had erupted after Pareesa had made her speech and, honestly, he could not bear to watch Gita weep over Mikhail's body when in his heart he wished it was him she loved. With much mead flowing and toasting to Mikhail's great deeds until the first rays of light had crept above the horizon, he had thrown himself into the eulogies. No one had expected Mikhail to resurrect himself from the dead.
He pushed faster through the well-wishers, guilt tearing at his gut. How could he forget her? When he had left, it had appeared as though each breath had been Mikhail’s last. Did she even know Mikhail had woken up from his fever?
That sense of urgency clamored louder.
As soon as he passed the checkpoint for the third ring, he began to run. Several voices called a greeting, but he ignored them. He bolted out the north gate and worked his way around the outer wall to the place where the village had been built upon a ledge. This wall was only lightly guarded here because it was far too narrow for a band of warriors with siege ladders. He pressed his back against the wall and shuffled along, staring down the precipice at the muddy yellow water which churned below.
Whatever had possessed him to propose such a preposterous plan of escape? Because he hadn't thought it through, that's why. They had only assessed the wall for how someone might use it to get up into their village, not down. Damn! How could Gita possibly gain a foothold without tumbling the rest of the way down? Why hadn’t he thought to tell her where she could steal a rope?
The broad expanse of the Hiddekel River yawned beneath him like a great, hungry maw, no longer the sleepy expanse which watered their crops, but a raging flood tide, grown fat from the winter rains. The roar of the deluge filled his ears, roaring at him his own stupidity. He got to the place he'd told her there were handholds.
His knife glistened at him from the ledge...
No! His hand trembled as he picked it up. A knife could mean the difference between life and death in this harsh, desert landscape and he had given her his good one. She would not have left it behind.
He stared down the cliff into the raging river below, searching the debris for any sign of life. It was too steep to climb down here without a rope. At the very bottom, just where the embankment reached the river, something lay jumbled amongst the rocks.
"No!" Siamek cried out with anguish.
He shuffled back along the ledge and then ran down the hill to their flooded fields. The frigid water turned his skin numb, but he waded through until it reached his chest, fighting against the current so the river wouldn't carry him away.
'Oh, goddess, let her please be safe...'
He got to the place where he had seen the item floating amongst some debris. Gita's much-patched cape was unmistakable, the kind of cape a girl needed to survive the winter if she was forced to wander the desert alone. He rammed his body through the mess and grabbed it, praying he was not too late.
The cape came up empty in his hands. The river babbled and taunted him, the sound of running water offensive to his ears. Gita had cast her body off the wall to end her sorrow, and the river had carried her away.
Siamek pressed the cold, wet cape against his chest and began to keen.
~ * ~ * ~
Chapter 65
December, 3,390 BC
Earth: Sata'an Forward Operating Base
Lieutenant Kasib
Kasib
"Can I speak to you a moment, Kasib?"
Lieutenant Kasib glanced over at his host, Nipmeqa, the Ugaritic human who'd offered shelter for a poor, blind human female. Taram's plight had caused Kasib to do something he'd sworn he'd never do … lie to General Hudhafah ... and claim that she had died. That lie had led to more lies, stealing grain to compensate her benefactor, quartering soldiers in the city so his frequent trips off-base would appear normal, and pilfering trinkets to win the affection of Nipmeqa's wife and children. But now his lies were about to all come tumbling down upon his head!
Kasib glanced nervously around the room. While no shrinking flower, Kasib had gotten where he was today by working hard and keeping his snout out trouble. But, oh! Taram! Beautiful Taram, who made his insides turn to wate
r every time she ran her fingers along his pebbled green skin? It was her scent which filled his olfactory senses, beautiful, luscious, and so ripe he wanted to run his sensitive forks over her flesh and taste her.
"What can I do for you, Nipmeqa?" Kasib hissed in near-perfect Kemet, mindful to keep his tongue inside his mouth as he knew most humans found the instinct revolting.
Nipmeqa gestured for the two children who poked their heads down the stairwell to go back to bed and mind their business. The cause of all Kasib's lies took her cue and rose graciously from her bench by the oven.
"I will go tuck them in," Taram said. She touched Kasib's clawed hand, a gesture which always sent a shiver down his dorsal ridge. "Goodnight, Kasib. Will I see you again tomorrow?"
She looked right past him with her sightless eyes, waiting until he spoke to focus on his snout which she could not see, but had touched countless times, curious to feel the differences between him and a human male. It was a familiarity no Sata'anic female had ever granted. Kasib glanced over at her benefactor and host. The answer was not a given.
"If the general does not need me," Kasib said.
Taram's lips curved up in a gentle smile. She took his evasive answer to be an affirmative, which it truly was if the payment he'd been dreading for weeks did not preclude his coming to see her again. Her hand held out in front of her to feel whatever objects might block her path, she picked her way through the minefield that was Nipmeqa's main living quarters and climbed up the stairs to tell his eight hatchlings a bedtime story.
Kasib eyed Nipmeqa with his large, gold-green eyes.
"Do you know what this is about?" Nipmeqa said.
"Yes," Kasib answered.
There was an awkward silence between them.
"When you asked me for my assistance," Nipmeqa said, "it was my understanding that Taram would stay with us only temporarily, just long enough for you to find her family."
"I have searched diligently for them, Sir," Kasib said. "The Amorites who purchased her were killed in one of their own raids, while every other ally I have spoken to said the Armorites bragged they had stolen her from a group of merchants they refer to as the sea people."
"Her knowledge of maritime affairs is quite extensive for a young woman who has never seen the ocean," Nipmeqa said. "And though she is quite willing to help out with the chores, due to her blindness, she is unable to provide the kind of help we need."
"Has she not woven your wife a beautiful prayer-rug?" Kasib asked. He pointed to the almost-finished carpet which sat upon its loom.
"Such carpets belong in a temple or the home of a chieftain," Nipmeqa said, "something which is in short supply amongst the people of Ugarit." Nipmeqa sighed and ran his fingers through his curly black beard. "Don't get me wrong, Kasib. Taram is a delightful woman. But you are not doing her any favors by keeping her locked up."
The man was too polite to state 'you promised us a measure of grain every week, and for the past six weeks, you have brought us nothing but trinkets.'
"Wh-what do you propose?" Kasib asked.
"She is a beautiful woman," Nipmeqa said. "Educated and cultured far beyond what any woman in this village could ever hope to achieve, even with her disability. She would make some lucky man a wonderful consort."
"Our doctor has rejected her as unsuitable to make one of our allies a bride," Kasib said. His voice warbled as he stated this fact. He wasn't certain if it made him happy or sad.
"Not one of your trading partners, perhaps," Nipmeqa said. "But what about mine? I know of many men who would take her as a concubine. They would provide for her; and any children they begat would benefit from her knowledge of the arts."
Kasib trembled with terror and a mix of righteous indignation.
"Taram deserves to be taken as a wife! Not a concubine. Please! Don't you know of a worthy man who would take her to be his wife?"
"A wife must bring some asset to the marriage," Nipmeqa said. "A dowry? An important trading partnership? A military alliance? Or perhaps just her ability to labor in the field? Taram brings nothing to a marriage, not even the ability to herd sheep. Her only asset is her beauty."
Kasib looked down, examining the buttons of his uniform. The wooden bench felt hard and unyielding beneath his tail.
"You are angry because I promised you a measure of grain, and now that we have underestimated our reserves, I cannot give you what I promised to you."
"Angry?" Nipmeqa sighed. "No. Not angry." He glanced up the stairs where his children could be heard begging Taram for another story. "She is a delightful houseguest. But that is all she can ever be. A guest in my house. At some point, all guests need to go home."
"I haven't been able to find her home," Kasib said.
"Listen," Nipmeqa said, "I am a generous man. Bring me something, just enough to offset the cost of keeping her here, and I will give you a bit more time. But you must start thinking about her future. The older she gets, the less any man will want her. A woman like her belongs surrounded by her own offspring, not locked up in somebody else's home with not so much as a sleeping pallet to call her own."
Shame flooded Kasib's cheeks, turning his dewlap reddish-pink. Nipmeqa was right. He was speaking to Kasib frankly, whereas each day his subordinate soldiers came to him and complained their host-families were growing resentful at the fact they were no longer able to bring them the promised measure of grain.
"I will think on this and try to come up with a solution," Kasib said.
He bid Nipmeqa goodnight and went back to his host-family laden with cook-wood gathered during his last shuttle-trip into the mountains. They took the wood grudgingly. Wood was another resource in short supply, but ever since his troops had begun substituting cook-wood for grain, the villagers had quickly come to take its warmth for granted.
He tossed and turned, unable to fall asleep and all-too-able to hear the husband and wife argue from the front room about the fact a cook-fire was useless without a loaf of bread to bake in it. He arose well before dawn, stoked the fire so the housewife would awaken this cold, midwinter day to a warm hearth, ready for baking, and then trudged back to the Sata'anic base in the pre-dawn light, praying for a solution to his dilemma. How could he turn Taram over to some man to be a sex slave?
His first order of business every morning was to inventory their supplies and report their status to General Hudhafah. He knocked on the door of the commissary, his flatscreen held before his chest like a shield.
"Good morning, Private Tharwat," Kasib greeted the late-middle-aged lizard who unlocked the door. "I'm here to check on our supplies."
"What supplies?" Private Tharwat grumbled. He allowed his tail to slip out of the formal salutation position and twitched it back and forth, a gesture of both nervousness and also suppressed irritation.
"Whatever supplies we still have," Kasib said.
He rummaged through the storage room. They were almost out of batteries, medical supplies, and basic hygiene products. What few dried fruits they had scrounged up when they'd first arrived here were long gone, and their supplies from home had been used up months ago. He stared with dismay at the empty bins that used to house their grain. There were two days left of rations, perhaps three, and then they would need to move to Plan Epsilon … the involuntary seizure of foodstuffs from the native population.
What would his human friends think of him when their so-called 'benefactors' smashed down their doors and stole what little food they had to feed their own families?
He finished up his inventory, and then moved to take stock of the weapons locker, which was even more bad news. He moved past his fellow soldiers, snout buried into his flatscreen, tabulating the numbers as he tried to find some way to convince the general that they had more time before they moved to Plan Epsilon, the point their forces could no longer pretend they were a friendly?
He sat at his desk, fiddling with the paperwork and getting absolutely no work done, his mind racing from Taram's impending desecration as
a … a … concubine … to the fact his people would have no choice but to settle in and begin to live off of the humans like parasites.
"Kasib!" General Hudhafah's voice barked from the other side of his doorway.
Kasib rose and straightened his uniform. He tucked his tail up tightly along his right-hand side and skittered into the general's office, his flatscreen held in front of his chest like a shield.
"Sir?" Kasib saluted. He tasted the air with his long forked tongue, frowning when he tasted the pheromones which indicated the general was already in a foul mood.
Hudhafah stood in front of a map, adjusting the colorful pins which indicated whether an area was allied, hostile, or merely unexplored. Reassuring green pins sat clustered around their base at Ugarit, while further afield the pins moved to white, yellow, and red. The general poked at the pins, deep in thought as he moved different pins, these ones representing natural resources, over the map to indicate which area had items they needed to roll out Sata'anic Rule.
"What's the status of those supplies?" Hudhafah asked.
Kasib's hand trembled as he pulled up the data that no amount of massaging had been able to change.
"We are critically low on every resource," Kasib said. He hesitated, and then added, "especially grain. Sir? I recommend we pull back all soldiers from the Special Overflow Housing back into the general barracks."
"Those men are all Sata'anic lizards," Hudhafah asked without turning around. "Are they not?"
He picked up a larger, wheat-shaped golden pin and jabbed it into the midst of the dozens of angry red pins which lined both sides of the primary grain-growing region of this planet, the villages which the angry young chieftain was trying to subdue.
"Y-yes, Sir," Kasib stuttered. "They are."
"What are we going to feed those men if we bring them back inside the base?" Hudhafah asked.
Sword of the Gods: Agents of Ki (Sword of the Gods Saga) Page 65
