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

by Anna Erishkigal

  Kasib snaked his tail around his own back and used it to rub himself along his dorsal ridge. He had no answer for this problem. While the more primitive Catoplebas and Marid soldiers were meat-eaters like the chieftain, lizards such as himself were primarily vegetarian … consumers of the very product in critically short supply.

  "That's what I thought," Hudhafah growled. He picked up a second golden pin and jabbed it in another village close to the first one. The force which he stabbed the pin into the map indicated the general didn't like this situation any more than he did. "Institute Plan Epsilon. Order the men to take whatever resources we need so we don't go hungry."

  "Do we have to do it here, Sir?" Kasib asked. He tasted the air, and then dared push forward like a much bolder lizard. "I mean, Sir. These people have welcomed our men into their homes. Can't we send the skull-crackers out someplace else to get what we need?"

  Hudhafah whirled to face him, his dewlap mahogany with worry.

  "We are low on shuttle fuel," Hudhafah said. "But if you can get there and back again frugally, you may take the resources from wherever you like. Find out who these people's enemies are and take it from them. And for goddess' sake, don't get our people into any battles they can't win!"

  "Yes, Sir," Kasib said.

  His mind whirring, he hurried out the door to find the angry young chieftain, the one whose tribe sat right in the middle of the best grain-growing region on the planet.

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Chapter 66

  For when I am weak,

  Then I am strong.

  2 Corinthians 12:10

  December, 3,390 BC

  Earth: Village of Assur

  Mikhail

  "I just want you to know that I'm against this!"

  Mikhail stared up at his mother-in-law, who stood over him wielding a wooden spoon as though she held a sword. There had been an odd sort of tension in the house ever since he'd woken up three days ago, but whenever he asked questions, Immanu gave him an evasive answer.

  "I have to do this, Mama," Mikhail said. "You heard what Pareesa said. Qishtea has arrived, demanding you produce me, or he no longer has to abstain from the lizard people's demands."

  "He can meet with you here," Needa said. "In private. Look at you! You're so weak you can't even sit up on your own!"

  "They need to see him as strong," Chief Kiyan said. "He needs to address them. All of them. Even our own warriors doubt he is still alive."

  Needa harrumphed and shook her spoon at the village chief.

  "He just rose up from the dead!" Needa scolded him. "You gave up on him! You even gave him a memorial ceremony to bless his passage into the Dreamtime!"

  "We all did," Chief Kiyan met Mikhail's eyes. "And for that, I am sorry. But my first concern is the well-being of the village. You were in limbo, and so long as you were in that state, the village was crippled. It seemed crueler to keep you here."

  "Pareesa told the warriors a very compelling tale," Immanu said. "She claimed the God of War promised her that if you died, he would carry your spirit into a Great Hall of Heroes, where you would be more powerful in death, than you even were in life. In a way…"

  "I was more useful to you dead," Mikhail said.

  "No!" Needa snapped. She shook her wooden spoon at her husband this time. "A dead man doesn’t know how to travel up into the stars and steal back my daughter from the Evil One!"

  "I didn't say it was real," Immanu said. For some reason, the man's expression appeared to be exceedingly guilty.

  "It is real," Mikhail said.

  All eyes turned towards him. Now that he had his memory back, it felt as if there was two of him stuffed into the same body. The emotionless, Cherubim-trained Special Forces officer, and the emotion-filled person who had integrated in with humans. Neither version of himself had yet reached an agreement as to which personality had permission to inhabit his body. His greatly weakened body.

  "The shamans have heard of no such legends about your people," Immanu said softly. "Only the granting of safe passage by She-who-is into the Dreamtime."

  "The Hall of Heroes is a Cherubim legend that stretches far back into the origins of the universe," Mikhail said. "They believe if you lead a good and brave life, that when you die, you'll be freed from the wheel of rebirth and allowed to enter the Hall of Heroes, where you will be offered the choice to move into the highest ascended realms, or remain behind to look after the people you care about; to give them guidance until they are freed from the wheel of rebirth as well."

  "Why would a godlike creature choose to remain behind?" Immanu asked, his eyes intently curious.

  "It is said the Cherubim choose to remain in this universe," Mikhail said. "That Bishamonten is just such a hero, and that the Cherubim take turns incarnating into semi-mortal form until every last Cherubim has evolved enough so they can all make the journey as a single species."

  He remembered the ant-like Cherubim queen had sent him into Hashem's Alliance to search for his own queen. As a species, the Cherubim were tired. The last few lingered only because they loved the Eternal Emperor. They had trained him because they needed a successor species to guard the Alliance, and he had failed them by losing the very queen Jingu had sent him forth into the universe to find.

  Ninsianna … another mission … failed.

  "I would like to meet these Cherubim someday," Chief Kiyan said. He placed his hand on Mikhail's shoulder. "Son, I'm just glad you're still alive." The Chief's voice warbled with emotion. "How sick you were when you raged with the fever? That wasn't living. That was some kind of hellish purgatory."

  A peculiar lump rose in Mikhail's throat and settled in his chest, a strange echo he couldn't recall having ever felt before, as if there were two of him, maybe even three people all living in his heart at once. He glanced over at the red cape hung forlornly on the woven reed wall, a poignant reminder of who was missing.

  He reached up to clasp the Chief's hand, forearm-to-forearm.

  "It wasn't living," Mikhail said. "And you're right, our people needed to grieve. But I'm not dead, yet. My mission won't be finished until we kick the lizard people off of your planet, and I'll be damned if I let myself fail at another mission."

  "You can address them later," Needa pleaded. "After you're a little stronger."

  "Mikhail is right," Immanu said. "If we lose any more support from the surrounding tribes, we've little hope of fending off these lizard demons. A fragmented alliance cannot stand."

  Needa rapped her wooden spoon against her husband's chest with surprising ferocity. Immanu yelped.

  “Ten minutes,” Needa glared at Mikhail sternly, “and then I’m coming out to get you and dragging you back in by the tail feathers to the bed. You got that, fluffy?”

  “Yes, Ma'am,” Mikhail gave her a weak smile.

  He tried to lurch up from the bed and fell backwards, too uncoordinated to prevent his wings from flopping like a fish thrown up onto the shore. He flailed, feathers flying as he waved off Immanu's hand. His face twisted with determination as he ignored the gaping sore which screamed pain from his mangled chest. He would get up on his own. He would! If he couldn't even stand, how could he rally these people to help him retrieve his wife?

  It was finally Needa who stepped forward, not with a hand, but an elbow, the way he'd often seen her do with elderly patients.

  "For balance," she said. From her stern expression and the way she gripped the wooden spoon, the implication was clear. Or else…

  Mikhail grabbed her elbow and decided not to protest when Immanu and the Chief each stuck a hand under his armpit and shoved him upwards to stand. The room spun, but he took deep breaths and forced himself to focus, breathing into the pain.

  "Somebody's got to help me down the stairs." Mikhail gave the Chief an apologetic grimace. "Just a hand for balance. My wings…"

  "You can barely lift them!" Needa said. She poked at the sorry, brown-black appendages which drooped behind him. "I don't think you'll be flying dow
n the stairs anytime soon!"

  "I'm too heavy…"

  "Ipquidad carried you up here in the first place," Immanu said. "We could go and fetch him, to carry you back down."

  "You're a lot lighter," Chief Kiyan said, "than you were six weeks ago."

  "I will walk down the stairs," Mikhail said. He gave the Chief his most unreadable expression. For some reason, though he'd regained his memories of how the Cherubim had trained him to suppress his emotions, he had a harder time doing so than he'd ever had before. It felt as though he'd been stripped of his emotional defenses and left as wounded and bare as the flesh which oozed puss as his body cleared the infection.

  He stared down in dismay at his cavernous clothes. He'd lost so much weight that his dress uniform sagged off of him like a woman's shawl-dress. Even his belt was too large to keep his pants up; they'd had to improvise with a length of rope. He remembered the way his hands had shaken when he'd tied his combat boots. Six weeks of total inactivity had caused him to lose some of his manual dexterity. Once he had gotten them tied, the darned things were so loose it felt as though his feet rattled around the inside of a large, leather bucket. How was it that he no longer even filled his own shoes?

  Ipquidad moved towards the ladder. "Let me help you."

  "No."

  "You will win no battles if you fall."

  Mikhail stared at the enormous son of a wheelwright, a young man who'd been little more than a joke as he'd run at the back of the line, always complaining that he was hungry. Where was that soft young man now? All he saw now was the warrior that man had become.

  "No," Mikhail said less adamantly this time. "But perhaps you could go down in front of me, just to make sure I don't lose my balance?"

  The Chief and Immanu held him steady as he moved backwards down the ladder, too unsteady to dare going down it frontwards. Halfway down the dizziness grew so great that he had to cling to the ladder, his arms wrapped around it as he hugged it to his damaged chest.

  "I think," Mikhail pressed his forehead against the wrung. "Do you think, maybe…"

  Strong arms came around him and lifted him off of the ladder as though he was a child. He forced his wings to remain still at the sudden sensation of falling. Ipquidad gently set him down. Mikhail glanced back at the ladder. Seven steps to descend back to the earth, and he'd only been able to make it down three of them on his own.

  "Thank you," he said, not certain whether to be ashamed at his own weakness, or proud at just how very far Ipquidad had come.

  Homa and Gisou rushed forward and shoved a chair underneath him before he collapsed. This time, he did not protest when Needa ordered him to sit. He thirstily sucked down some water Gisou offered, thankful he could now keep the substance down. At last the vertigo cleared.

  "Where's Pareesa?" he asked.

  "Outside lining up the men," Chief Kiyan said.

  "I don't think I'll be able to make it all the way to the central square," Mikhail gave the Chief an apologetic look.

  Needa shot her husband a victorious look and silently jabbed her wooden spoon in his direction, her meaning clear. See. I told you so…

  "We sent a runner to tell her to bring them here," Gisou said. "Not that we, uh … we just figured that it might make things a little easier if all you had to do was step outside?"

  Mikhail looked from his chair to the door, not even the length of a single wing. They might as well have asked him to fly to the moon.

  “Céilí Mór é!” Mikhail swore. “How will I convince these men to follow me into battle when I can’t even walk?”

  "Six paces to the door," Ipquidad said quietly. "And then another eight or nine out into the street. Nobody expects you to do much more than say you're still alive."

  "They will see how weak I am." Mikhail eyed the doorway with a feeling of dread. He allowed himself to show a little of the emotion which whirled inside him like a cyclone. "Just as long as you don't have to carry me again. I don't think I could live with myself if the others saw me as weak as you've seen me just now."

  Ipquidad grabbed one elbow while Gisou grabbed the other, two of his unlikeliest protégé's. They held him steady as Homa ran to open the door. From outside came the sound of cheers.

  "Let's do this," he said.

  He did his best to walk out gracefully, but the truth was, if they hadn't propped him up he never would have made it. Right. Left. Right. Left. Put one foot in front of the other. Breathe. Don't forget to breath. Six paces to the door, only it took eight because he stumbled.

  He blinked as he stepped out into the sunlight, the first light he'd seen since the sun had set on the day Ninsianna had been taken. Six weeks. For six weeks he'd been in a coma. Would he recover? Could he recover? His body screamed no, but the only way he could rescue his wife was to rehabilitate his body, so it would comply.

  The warriors lined up neatly in a formation he had taught to them. Behind them the entire village had turned out, not just Assur's warriors, but warriors from other villages, their families, children, even the dogs ran through the crowd yapping as though it was a feast day. They cheered as he took his first tentative step into the sunlight, into the warmth of the cold winter sky.

  He shut his eyes and turned his face to soak up the sun. Warm sun. Golden sun. It reminded him a bit of Ninsianna. He imagined it gave him strength in Ninsianna's stead. Right foot. Left foot. Let the sun sustain him. Let the people's cheers sustain him. Almost there now. Keep your wings from dragging on the ground. Let Ipquidad and Gisou keep propelling you forward. Just focus on standing upright so the people will stop claiming you are dead.

  "As you see," Immanu shouted. "Our Champion has returned from the grave!"

  "Hurrah!" the Assurians shouted, and the warriors from other tribes.

  "Where's Pareesa?" Mikhail asked, surprised his young protégé wasn't front and center, bouncing up and down like a cheerful little yippy dog.

  "She's not your little fairy anymore," Chief Kiyan said.

  He signaled Varshab, his chief enforcer, who sent the message backwards. A chant arose from the place the inner ring of houses. Mikhail's head rose in surprise. This was no chant for human ears, but a modified version of a Cherubim one.

  Heaven and Earth are my parents;

  Awareness is my home;

  My own good character is my source of magic;

  And the path of honor my road;

  The flash of lightning illuminates my eyes;

  The winds whisper wisdom in my ears;

  Unshadowed thought is my divine strategy;

  To make the pathway clear

  Opportunity is my design;

  Emptiness and fullness my tactics;

  An absence of self is my personal sword;

  And noble action my practice;

  Let righteousness always be my armor;

  And benevolence be my shield;

  The tides of virtue mean life and death;

  To prevail on the battlefield

  She led them towards him, his littlest archer, she led them as though she had been born to lead an army. The Assurian citizens fell silent as they stepped aside to let her pass, she, her B-team, and the elite warriors all marching in perfect tempo as if she was their general, their military leader.

  A lump rose in Mikhail's throat.

  “It seems," Chief Kiyan observed, "that you have turned our people into an army."

  Pareesa spotted him, and just for a moment, her best facsimile of an expressionless expression slipped. A smile burst through, his little fairy general, before she stuck it back behind the mask of a leader, her brown eyes sparkling with pride.

  "What's our creed?" Pareesa shouted.

  "For every life taken," the warriors shouted, "we shall save the lives of ten good men!"

  "Hoo-rah!" the rest of the warriors shouted, the ones who hadn't participated in the demonstration.

  "Left … face," Pareesa shouted.

  The men and women mad a crisp left turn.

  "Fa
ll in!"

  The men spaced out in three neat, straight lines, far straighter than he'd ever been able to get them to do. A humorous thought crossed his mind. How many pushups had the sadistic little fairy general made them do to get them to march so effectively?

  "Revelries!"

  Ebad blew into a ram's horn. The low, throaty sound reverberated off the mud-brick houses in the too-narrow street, amplifying the sound as if it was a symphony.

  "Salute!" Pareesa shouted.

  "Sir!" the men and women shouted in unison.

  With a crisp snap of hands against their thighs, the men stood at attention and gave him a perfect Alliance salute. They held it, waiting for him to give the order. Pareesa stared at him with an expectant look, her lip twitching as she forced herself not to grin.

  The wind brushed against his hair. A small, distant cry joined the sound of Ebad's horn. Mikhail looked up. Circling in the sky was not an eagle, but a small, grey falcon, circling the village to see what all the commotion was about.

  "It is a favorable omen," Immanu whispered.

  Mikhail took a breath, enjoying the taste of it as it expanded in his lungs. Fresh air. Assurian air. Earth air. The air that was now his home. The Evil One had tried to steal it, but the earth, itself now stood against him. The wind blew warm and gentle against his face, helping him clear the weakness that threatened to render him unconscious.

  "As you were," Mikhail saluted them back.

  The men and women moved behind Pareesa so they stood with their feet shoulder-width apart, hands behind their backs in a respectful rest position. Four of them carried swords. Pareesa. Siamek. And two of his more proficient men. The rest had sticks shoved into their belts, some little more than twigs, others with some care carved into their design. Pareesa came bounding up to him, her display of military leadership forgotten as the preternatural warrior ceded to the little girl she really was.

  "So?" Pareesa wiggled. "How did we do?"

  Mikhail choked up. How could he tell her how very proud he was? Of her... Of all of them?