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

by Anna Erishkigal

  "I see you didn't need me after all," he spoke softly so only she would hear.

  Pareesa's smile disappeared, replaced by glistening eyes.

  "You have no idea how hard it was to hold this together in your absence," her voice warbled. She sniffed and rubbed at her nose. "We thought … if you hadn't pulled through when you did, they'd be allied now with the lizard-demons."

  She jabbed her finger towards the groups of warriors who stood to the side. Mikhail recognized their colorful attire. Ninevians. Eshnunians. Other villagers he'd had to sweet-talk into training together to launch an organized defense against the ones who had taken his wife.

  He scanned the crowd, his subconscious searching for something his conscious mind refused to acknowledge. The Assurians milled about, so many people, too many people to see. His heart sped faster, frantic to find her. Where was she?

  "Mikhail?"

  He blinked. Chief Kiyan looked at him expectantly as though he waited for him to answer a question. Mikhail glanced back at the assembled people. Who'd he been looking for again? It must be his natural instinct to always watch out for Ninsianna.

  "I'm sorry," Mikhail said. "Can you please repeat the question?"

  Immanu gave the Chief a worried look. Mikhail looked down and realized the two men had grabbed him by the arm, as though they were afraid he'd fall over.

  "Let me stand," Mikhail said. "I can't lead them unless I can stand up on my own."

  The Chief and Immanu let go. Immediately he toppled forward. He flapped his wings, trying to get his balance, but all he did was knock into everyone as he tried, and failed, to find his center of gravity.

  "Whoa!" Pareesa yelped. She jammed her elbow under his armpit and held him upright, wrapping her arms around his waist so he would not fall. "Let me help you, sensei."

  "It's my job to protect you."

  Pareesa's eyes filled with tears.

  "All this time you have been our Champion," Pareesa said. "The one who said, 'let's stand together and fight this as a single people.' But now we are strong. It's our turn to protect you now. Let us help you?"

  A lonely tear slid down Pareesa's cheek.

  "Please, sensei?" she whispered. "Let us protect -you- the way that you have always protected us?"

  The falcon cried again. Mikhail looked up. The creature's shadow fell across them, unusually large, as though a much larger bird lay hidden beneath its small, grey plumage.

  Mikhail nodded.

  The crowd rushed in, eager to touch him, eager to touch his wings, the kind of touch he'd always shied away from. It didn't feel invasive now, the hands which touched his skin and slid their fingers through his feathers. Some of the people laughed, some of the people wept, some of the people touched him and asked if he had brought back messages from loved ones when he'd journeyed into the other side of the veil, but from every one of those hands he felt the warmth of adoration, appreciation, and love.

  These were -his- people now. His people, and not just Ninsianna's. He could feel it, this attachment he had formed to humans, and for the first time in his life, it felt as though he belonged.

  The crowd parted. A man came forward, a man Mikhail remembered from the regional gathering of chiefs, although then he had merely been a chief's son, but now he wore the five-tiered kilt of a chief. Qishtea. The man who demanded an audience with him.

  Pareesa jammed her slender frame further into his armpit, holding him possessively as though he was her prize belonging. Mikhail accepted the help she offered, focusing on flaring his lackluster black-brown wings, his feathers crushed from weeks of laying on his deathbed. Crumpled or not, to these people his limbs were symbols of the heavens.

  "Mikhail," Qishtea's expression was guarded. He'd come wearing his full robes of state, from the golden torque he'd inherited from his father to the blue lapis and golden beads braided throughout his beard.

  "Qishtea," Mikhail said.

  "My father made an agreement with you."

  "He did."

  They stood there, two warriors at an impasse. What do you say to a man who didn't know whether or not he wished to support you?

  "I'm sorry for your loss," Mikhail said.

  Qishtea nodded, his expression guarded, but not enough to hide the tightening around his eyes. The loss of his father pained him.

  The crowd grew silent. What happened next would determine their frail alliance.

  "Thank you for saving me," Mikhail said. "If reinforcements hadn't arrived when they did, Pareesa said they might have all been killed."

  Qishtea nodded. The tightness around his mouth eased.

  "Before he was banished," Qishtea said, "Jamin came to my village to tell me about a strange tale."

  Mikhail stiffened. "What did he say."

  "He said the slavers had told him the only reason the lizard people steal our women was because your people were the end-buyers."

  Awkward silence. How could he vouch for or deny something he did not know was true.

  "I have no knowledge of this trade," Mikhail said, "even now that my memories are restored."

  Qishtea's expression turned hostile. According to Chief Kiyan, his disgraced son and Qishtea had been somewhat friendly rivals.

  "But," Mikhail said, "I have been away from my people for almost a year. When my ship was shot down, my people were in dire straits."

  "Why?"

  "My people have lost the ability to reproduce," Mikhail said. "Your people and ours? We are descended from the same heavenly races whose home was once destroyed."

  "Where are these heavenly creatures now?"

  "All gone," Mikhail said. "And when they left, our people were no longer favored by the goddess."

  "So your people are taking ours?" Qishtea asked.

  "I don't know," Mikhail said. "Not the Emperor's people. To do so would be against his law. But there might be some who took matters into their own hands. They are desperate to take wives from amongst your people."

  "Why?"

  "It is said that if my people ever found your people again, that all our problems would be solved."

  Qishtea nodded. From the ponderous way he chewed the inside of his lower lip, all of these thoughts had already occurred him in one form or another. To be less than forthright would be a mistake.

  "Ninsianna was with child when she was taken." Qishtea's words were an accusation.

  "She was."

  Silence. The Ninevian chief glanced over at his honor-guard as though looking to his lieutenants to gauge their responses to his words. Qishtea made eye contact with him again.

  "The lizard people have issued to us an ultimatum," Qishtea said. "If we help you, the lizard people will destroy our village. How can we defend against such terrible fire from the sky?"

  "You can't," Mikhail said. "Not with your current level of technology."

  "So why should we help you?" Qishtea asked. "They say you have knowledge of weapons that can turn the tide of the most helpless battle. So if we're so outnumbered, what do you plan to do to get rid of these lizard people who steal our women?"

  Mikhail leaned forward so that his emaciated face sat eye-level with the Ninevian chieftain.

  "We're going to steal one of their sky canoes," Mikhail said, "and use it to summon the armies of heaven."

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Chapter 67

  January: 3,389 BC

  Uncharted Territories: Prince of Tyre

  Ninsianna

  If she held her breath until her head grew dizzy, would the memories of Mikhail go away? Would he fade from her mind and alleviate this hopeless ache which had taken up residence in her chest ever since the night she'd acknowledged Mikhail was dead? Or would his memory stay with her forever? Fresh. Joyful. And painful. Accursed memories! Why could she not wipe away the yearning to curl up beside him and fall asleep within the shelter of his wings?

  "Mother? If you can forgive me for foolishly allowing myself to be used as bait to lead Mikhail into a trap, please let me kno
w that he's okay?"

  Sobs wracked her body and she felt that great, dark void press against her spirit. She couldn't see the void, of course. That gift had vanished along with her ability to speak to She-who-is. But even ungifted she could feel that horrid place from where Mikhail had touched her, briefly. If she wanted to see him again, it was through there she would need to travel, into the dark place, into the land of the dead.

  She imagined she stood at that dark doorway now, the one through which Mikhail had passed. Do it. Just step inside. Step into that dark palace, the one where HE lives, and beg the Dark Lord for help. She was the shaman's daughter! Her father had trained her to do this. Okay … had tried to train her to do this, and she had refused to learn.

  "I'm so sorry," Ninsianna chided her own cowardice. How could she, a creature of the light, ever journey into the dark?

  She wept until she fell asleep, and then she woke up and sobbed into her pillow some more. All around her the crazy women fought each other for their food, the Evil One's men touched her shoulder and asked her if she was okay, Apausha came over many times and tried to coax her out of her depression, and finally Lerajie plunked a chair at the foot of her bed and tried to talk some sense into her.

  Days passed, though she had no idea how many as they all went by in a haze. At last someone else pressed against her, their touch hesitant, almost fearful.

  "Usilie."

  Ninsianna unburied her face from her pillow, her eyes puffy from so much crying. In her bed sat the ebony-skinned woman. She touched Ninsianna's hair and pulled it back away from her face.

  "Usilie," the ebony-skinned woman said. Her long, dark fingers brushed Ninsianna's cheek.

  Ninsianna rolled over and stared up at the woman who hadn't made eye contact the entire time she'd been here.

  "Hello?"

  Lucifer's first wife was a breathtaking woman; far taller than any Ubaid and almost as tall as an Angelic. She had high cheekbones, flawless skin so dark it reminded her of the Dark Lord, and black-brown eyes which, for the first time, stared back at her with intelligence and understanding.

  Ninsianna forced herself to sit up, grunting at her increased girth which was far larger than it should have been for a woman who was six months along.

  "I'm okay," Ninsianna wiped her nose. "It just hit me all at once."

  She gave the ebony-skinned woman a forced smile. She hoped the woman would smile back at her, but it was too much saneness for a woman whose spirit had been traumatized. She skittered back and resumed her fearful chanting of 'ibilisi … ibilisi … ibilisi.'

  "Thank you?" Ninsianna said.

  It was just her luck that Ruax and Procel chose that moment to make their entrance, pushing the cart which carried everyone's supper. The scent of hot, fresh bread, sliced fruit and meat filled the room. Ninsianna's stomach growled. She hadn't eaten in days. A small tap inside her womb reminded her that while she had suffered, so had her son.

  Mikhail's son…

  Mikhail was gone, but she still had his son. She had to continue onward … for his sake if not for her own…

  Procel pointed at her, his goofy features lit up with surprise.

  "Hey! Ruax! Look! Ninsianna has finally gotten out of bed!"

  Ninsianna glanced down at her disheveled appearance. Her dress was crumpled, her hair a mess, and her face, she was certain, was red and puffy from crying. She grabbed her handkerchief and used the clean edge of it to dab her eyes before stepping down onto the floor.

  "If you'll excuse me," Ninsianna said, her voice so hoarse it came out little more than a frog's croak, "I need to go freshen up."

  She staggered into the bathroom to do her business. She paused in front of the mirror and brushed her hair, splashing water on her face to minimize the after-effects of crying. What had Apausha been urging her to do before she'd gone into a funk? Entice the Angelics to fall in love with all the crazy women? She glanced at the excrement one of the women had used to finger-paint the wall. As if she could entice any of the guards to take an interest in such decrepit creatures!

  She pinched her cheeks to even out the color and licked her lips. Her eyes were red and puffy, and they would stay that way until she stopped crying about her poor, dead husband. But she'd discovered something else these last few days. Her grief had drawn these men closer to her in a way that clever conversation and flirting had not. Although they worked for the Evil One, they were not immune to human grief. It was time to go play 'let's pretend I like you.'

  Procel stood before the timid, brown-haired woman who was his favorite. His 'quarry' hid in her bunk and turned her face into the wall, sobbing with terror. Ninsianna studied the interaction between the two. It wasn't that Procel was ugly. Like Lucifer, he had snow white wings with only a speckling of brown feathers here and there.

  "Perhaps if you tucked your wings tightly against your back?" Ninsianna said. "It would make you appear more human?"

  Procel looked up at her with surprise.

  "I thought you looked down on all us low-born men?"

  "It's not low-born," Ruax cut in, his laughter a hyena's bark. "It's your low-born manners!"

  "You're one to talk!"

  "Says the francach to the luch!" Ruax said.

  He screwed up his face to expose his teeth like little rat incisors, chattering at Procel like a rodent. Ninsianna could not help but smile. Now that she'd allowed herself to get to know them, the pair reminded her a bit of Dadbeh and Firouz, two elite warriors who had driven her poor husband batty with their never-ending antics. The pair, she realized, was trying to cheer her up.

  Who was not cheered, however, was the poor terrified woman cowering in her bunk. As Procel flared his wings, the woman shrieked and huddled into a ball. Even Procel, who was clueless about the proper way to flirt, recognized his favorite did not find it amusing.

  Procel rustled his wings in an expression of bewilderment which Ninsianna recognized from her own husband. The poor mind-broken saw his wings to be a threat. Procel reached for her, wings flared with curiosity, but that made her fear him even worse. The scent of urine filled the room as the poor woman peed her dress.

  From the back of the room, Apausha cleared his throat. Ninsianna made eye-contact with the lizard-man who sat quietly in his alcove, trying his best to appear non-threatening. She must resume the mission she had started, teaching these guards that humans were more than animals. If the ebony-skinned woman still possessed the wherewithal to care that she'd retreated into her grief, perhaps these other women did as well?

  "You're scaring her," Ninsianna said. "You have to remember that our species doesn't have wings. You tower over her, and when you flare your wings it makes you appear even bigger."

  "I ain't never done nothing to hurt her!" Procel said. "Why doesn't she like me?"

  "'Cause you're nothin' but a plebe," Ruax said. "Look at her? She's married to the Prime Minister! Why would she want to marry you?"

  "Because he raped her!" Procel said. "Look at her! Does she look like she's okay with that?"

  "It didn't bother you at the time."

  "That's 'cause Zepar told us they were nuthin' but farm animals!" Procel said. "What man on this ship ain't fucked something weird because none of them Angelic chicks would give us the time of day?"

  Ninsianna squelched the urge to claw their eyes out. She had no idea what kind of creatures they referred to, but she'd heard whispers from her own people, off-color jokes about shepherds and sheep.

  "You and me," Ruax pointed back and forth between himself and Procel, "you and me, we been pulling duty together a long time. You think she's gonna traipse all over the uncharted territories with you, dodging the bounty hunters after you abscond with Lucifer's offspring?"

  Ninsianna's interest piqued like a hungry jackal which had just heard the scrapings of a mouse. Okay, maybe these men weren't so empty-hearted. Procel was considering stealing one of them?

  "I'll just wait until she gives birth and leave the kid behind," Procel
said. "Lucifer won't care. He's already broken her. Everybody knows he only cares about the offspring."

  "Look at her," Ruax pointed at the terrified woman. "You see how she's clutching at her belly? These human females, they ain't gotten all the maternal instincts bred out of 'em yet like Hashem did to us. You try forcing her to leave her baby, she's gonna claw your eyes out and run right back to him. And then where will you be? Shot out of an airlock, and they'll shoot me out right along with you 'cause I'd known you was planning it, and I didn't say nuthin' to Zepar."

  She remembered Eligor's admonition, that her manipulations would get these men killed. So? Perhaps her earlier match-making had born fruit? Okay. How could she use this to get herself out of this mess? Encourage the matches. Yes. The only fly in her plans was that the mind-broken women were too terrified to encourage the Angelics' advances.

  Perhaps that was why the Evil One had broken them?

  She glanced over at the ebony-skinned woman, who watched what she did cautiously from her bunk. That one was a lot less crazy than she let on. So how? How could she get these women to stop acting so … crazy?

  She tried to put herself into the pampooties of the woman huddled in terror beneath the spread of Procel's wings. What if that had been her mission all along? To undermine the Evil One's power right from underneath his nose?

  "Procel," Ninsianna asked. "Would you like me to teach you how to make her like you better?"

  Procel's expression was almost comical in his earnestness. Even without her gift of sight, she could see the poor guard had worked himself into a frenzy daydreaming about what he'd do once he got her out of here.

  "She doesn't like me," Procel said.

  "She doesn't like your wings," Ninsianna said. She pointed to the two offending appendages. "To us, all you Angelics look alike, which means you look like Lucifer, even if you don't act like him. But I got used to my husband's wings. Even enjoyed them," she lowered her voice, "if you know what I mean?"

  Ninsianna caressed her arm the way her husband had often done with his wing-tips whenever he wished to engage in a bit of foreplay.