Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One (Sword of the Gods Saga)

by Anna Erishkigal

  “So said one frightened 9-year-old boy!" Lucifer said. He turned his back on the Spiderid and appealed, instead, to the ancient races who were so close to genetic perfection that they identified more closely than any species with his father. He filled his voice with a mocking tone. "Are we to believe the ramblings of a child too young to understand what he saw over our own Emperor’s investigation?”

  The Muqqibat delegate hit his staff against the floor. The block of ancient races immediately grew silent. The power brokers would not allow a silly upstart to steal the show. The ripple of silence which moved through the great assembly was unspoken, but it was complete. Lucifer had spelled out the tragedy in terms they cared about … money and power. They would allow him to finish his speech.

  “Shay’tan won't cede territory," Lucifer said. "But he will give peaceful trading companies access to sell products his people need. All he asks in return is that we do the same." He paused to let his words sink in. "Fair … is square." The notion of fundamental fairness was one of the basic underpinnings of Alliance society.

  'They don't -really- care about fairness. Spell it out in the only terms they'll understand. What it will cost them if they -don't- vote for this trade deal…'

  “It's either that,” Lucifer's wings swept upwards like a raptor swooping in for the kill. He gestured towards the cameras as though he was the Devourer of Children come to snatch something small and helpless, “or we need to figure out whose children we'll draft into the military to defend us. Because at the rate the hybrids are dying out, within ten years there won't be enough of us left to defend you anymore."

  He pointed at the ancient races.

  "It takes six naturally evolved humanoids to fill the shoes of a single hybrid," he said, "and those species all have voting rights. So compute those numbers when you figure out how much it will cost to reject Shay'tan's peace offering. It's trade agreements … or the draft. Your choice.”

  Lucifer waited until the delegates who'd been blocking his trade proposal made eye contact. The Muqqibat dragon took his staff and thumped it solidly upon the floor. He had won them over.

  “I hereby make a motion for Parliament to expand the existing Free Trade agreement to all Alliance territories,” Lucifer said. “I move said motion to an immediate vote…”

  The young Spiderid lord leaped up. “Shay’tan doesn't play by the same rules as we do! We already see this in the existing trade agreements."

  "What Shay'tan does within the confines of his own empire is irrelevant," Lucifer said. "We are ratifying a trade deal, not submitting to Sata'anic Rule."

  "Shay’tan conquers newer sentient planets and conscripts their citizens to be his labor force so he can undersell us," the Spidered shouted. "It's little more than slavery!”

  The other delegates began to waffle. Lucifer twitched his wings with irritation. It was convenient how the citizens of this great Alliance called what Shay'tan did slavery, but conveniently overlooked the 500 years of forced military service they required of all hybrids.

  “If we move to a policy of trading with the Sata’an Empire,” Lucifer said. “Border skirmishes will go down. We can use the threat of trade sanctions to force Shay’tan to capitulate."

  That small, sarcastic voice warned: 'You're losing the newer sentient races. You must promise them something they can take back to their constituents and say they did the right thing…'

  "It will give our besieged hybrid military a chance to replenish their ranks," Lucifer said. “It will send a message that this Alliance values the contribution hybrids have made to our well-being for hundreds of thousands of years.”

  He could feel the moment the energy shifted in the room, but his victory rang hollow because death in battle was not the problem, but pure inability to reproduce. But fewer wasted lives would buy the hybrids time, and time was what he desperately sought.

  The Spiderid lord shouted a losing challenge.

  “If you open Alliance markets to unfettered trade, money will flow into Shay’tan’s coffers. He will use it to build up his military. Our industry will be decimated and our standard of living will be reduced to poverty."

  "Shut up!" several delegates hissed at him. "Do you think we want our kids to be Hashem's cannon fodder?"

  "Shay’tan won’t have to defeat us in battle. This resolution will allow him to simply bankrupt and buy us!”

  Lucifer interrupted him before things could get out of hand.

  “We have a choice,” Lucifer said. “Are we going to tell our hybrid soldiers we don't care if they go extinct so long as they continue to protect us while doing it? Or will we take charge of this situation and say NO MORE WAR!!! Who wants to vote for peace?”

  “Ay!!!” the delegates shouted, voting heavily in favor of the resolution.

  “Any opposed?” the Speaker of the Commons asked.

  “Nay!" The young Spiderid Lord's voice rang alone. He was not the only delegate who opposed the measure, just the only one naive enough not to simply abstain.

  “The Aye’s have it!” the Speaker of the Commons shouted, banging on his podium with his gavel. “The free trade agreement passes!”

  Lucifer bowed, thanking the legislators as they filed out past him, including the Spiderid lord who had concerns he wanted addressed. He could feel the positive energy flowing off of the crowd, making his head buzz with power. This was what his father had trained him from birth to do, creating the position of Prime Minister and putting him in charge of the day-to-day politics of running the Alliance. Lucifer snorted with disgust. Hashem wouldn't deign to muddy his godlike consciousness dealing with the lesser affairs of mortals! Making small talk and clapping the young lord on the back, he excused himself and moved outside.

  “Sire,” his Angelic Chief of Staff Zepar asked. “Shall I ask the Party to cut off all funding to that little Spiderid pain in the ass before the next election?"

  'If you don't get rid of him, he will keep raising this point until people begin to listen to him...'

  “Do it." Lucifer waved for the cameras. “Oh … and see what dirt you can dig up on him. Even if you have to make it up. I want negative reports leaked to the media by nightfall.”

  “Yes, Sire,” Zepar clasped his hands together like a spider pulling an insect into its mouth. “Consider it done. Now … your next appointment is at 3:00 p.m. A cadet right out of the academy...”

  Chapter 10

  February - 3,390 BC

  Earth: Crash site

  Colonel Mikhail Mannuki’ili

  Mikhail

  Something was wrong.

  Mikhail’s eyes shot open. Reaching to his hip and finding the reassuring bulge of his sidearm, he groaned in agony as he lurched to his feet and wobbled unsteadily, fighting the urge to pass out as his punctured lung tore against the stitches. Clutching at his ship's control console to remain upright, his broken wing dragged uselessly behind him as he moved towards the crack in the hull.

  Still blinking as his eyes adjusted to the sunlight, a high, shrill voice made his heart beat faster. The scene flashed before his eyes as though he watched it via strobe light, his injuries giving everything a surrealistic, distant feeling. Urgent images whispered into his brain. Men laughing. Water splashing. A half-dozen dark-haired men wearing kilts had their back turned towards him, facing a rocky stream. A seventh dark-haired figure held Ninsianna’s head beneath the surface of the water, shaking his finger at her as though he scolded a child.

  Mikhail in no condition for a fight, so he fired a warning shot, startling the man in the water enough to get him to release Ninsianna's head. She popped back above the surface, gasping for breath, but the olive-skinned man grabbed her arm and shoved her behind him, defiance glittering in his angry black eyes.

  “Why not pick on somebody your own size!"

  The other men shouted and ran away, but the one who held Ninsianna did not intimidate quite so easily. Mikhail noticed the way the swarthy-skinned man positioned himself in front of Ninsian
na, both protecting her, and also refusing to let her go. Whoever this man was, he viewed her as his property. Where he came from, he vaguely recalled that treating a woman like that would get you your tail feathers handed back to you on a metal cafeteria tray…

  “I wouldn't do that if I were you." Mikhail fired a warning shot at the water inches from the man’s abdomen. “Ninsianna, come here!"

  Ninsianna struggled to break free, and when that didn't work, formed a fist and punched the man right in the face. With a yelp of surprise, the black-eyed man let go. Ninsianna bounded up the banks of the stream, intelligent enough to realize he could barely stand. She propped herself beneath his armpit so he wouldn't fall over, leaving his right hand free to still hold his pulse rifle, and screamed something that left a pained expression on the olive-skinned man's face before it hardened into an expression of hatred. A lover’s quarrel?

  Blood roared in Mikhail's ears. A dark tunnel closed in around his field of vision and made everything sound very far away as he fought to remain conscious. He had no choice but to lean on Ninsianna for support.

  “Go on! Get the hell out of here!” Mikhail said.

  His furious black eyes glittering with hatred, the man skulked out of the stream, grabbed his spear and disappeared in the direction the other men had gone. The moment he was out of sight, Mikhail had no choice but to let the blackness claim him.

  *****

  The pleasant tingle of fingertips caressing his cheek was the first sensation he registered sometime later, along with the hypnotic sound of Ninsianna's voice as she chattered into the air as though a third person had arrived to carry on a conversation with her. Gods, it hurt to breathe! But so long as it hurt, he knew he was still alive.

  Mikhail opened his eyes. The harsh, golden rays of the sun had shifted to sit upon the western rim of the valley, the lengthy shadows indicating he'd been unconscious for quite some time. The scent of fresh-crushed leaves wafted up from the wound in his chest. Medicinal herbs? Yet more proof the root race was fully sentient.

  Damantia! The thought flitted through his mind and left before he could grab hold of it. Root race. Root race. What in Hades did that mean? He had the urgent feeling he was supposed to communicate that piece of information to somebody, but he couldn't remember who, or why it was so important! He looked up into the face which stared at him upside down.

  “Hello?" He searched her unusual tawny-beige eyes.

  She murmured something which could be hello, or thank you, or I want to smash your skull in with a rock, but by her smile, it appeared to be gratitude.

  “Who was that?” he asked, knowing she couldn't understand him.

  “Who?” she repeated, recognizing the word. “Jamin."

  She pointed in the direction her assailant had run away and muttered a string of words. By the way she wrinkled her nose, he guessed this Jamin was a disgruntled former boyfriend.

  “Who … Jamin?" He pointed in the direction the man had disappeared.

  Ninsianna nodded yes. “Jamin."

  Mikhail studied the way her entire body became animated when she spoke. It appeared she shared the same underlying non-verbal body language as his species. Not wanting to make any assumptions, he nodded his head up and down and said “sua" [yes], and then he nodded side to side while he said “aon" [no]. He did this several more times until she understood.

  “Yes, sua, Jamin!" She pinched her nose as if blocking out a bad smell, and then she laughed, a delightful, musical sound. Definitely somebody she knew.

  “Let’s get back to the ship,” Mikhail said. He grimaced in pain as he attempted to sit up and groaned.

  “Up,” she said in her own language, pointing up.

  Mikhail repeated the word and then said it in his own language, “suas."

  Ninsianna helped him to his feet, laughing with delight as she experimented with the unfamiliar words. She propped herself beneath his armpit like a crutch, wrapping one arm around his waist to stabilize him as they made their way back to his ship. Pleasant warmth tingled throughout his body; wherever she touched him, he could feel a lessening of pain.

  She helped him duck through the crack in the hull, over the shattered components of his ship's tiny bridge and into the less damaged galley.

  “Back here." He pointed towards the sleeping quarters. “I can't remember my own name, but for some reason I remember the layout of my ship." His fingers automatically found the light switch built into his bunk. By the size and number of bunks, he guessed his ship could transport four crew members and a modest cargo. He appeared to have been the only person on board at the time of the crash.

  Ninsianna helped him maneuver so his splinted wing would fit between the narrow aisle between the bunks.

  “I need to sit down,” he said, “before I collapse.” With a pained sigh, he lowered himself to sit on the lower bunk.

  Ninsianna pursed her lips, her expression intent as she examined his injuries. His chest wound still seeped blood, but otherwise the stitches had held despite his recent adventures. She reached into her crude, brown satchel and pulled out more leaves, crushing them so they leaked a pale, green liquid and then rubbing the leaves against the hole in his chest. The leaves contained a faint astringent odor, somewhat reminiscent of alcohol. Some type of medicinal herb, perhaps?

  He studied the unguarded expressions which crossed her face as she gave him water from her water skin, the one that had started all the trouble when he'd thoughtlessly drained it. This time, he only took enough to quench his thirst.

  She pulled dried jerky and berries from her satchel. The meat was chewy and salty and the berries tasted sour, but they were all he'd had to eat in two days and he was so ravenous he didn't care. Taking a draught of water for herself, she put the rest away. Pulling back the covers, she pointed to his bed and barked an order he clearly understood despite the language barrier.

  “Up … suas?” Ninsianna pointed towards the ceiling. She then pointed down and muttered something in her own language. She had to repeat the gesture a second time before he realized she asked him what the word for ‘down’ was.

  “Down,” he said, pointing down to the floor. “Sios.”

  “Sua, sios [yes, you down]." By her stern expression, she wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. Having just witnessed her punch that Jamin fellow in the face, he decided it was wise to do as he was told.

  “Yes, Ma'am. Down." He arranged his broken wing to minimize his discomfort. Pointing to the opposite bunk, he said, “you, sios, down.”

  “Sua, sios [yes, down]." Ninsianna pulled back her covers and kicked off her crudely laced animal skin shoes.

  She slipped off the shawl which served as her dress, leaving herself naked except for a loincloth fastened around her hips. Mikhail gaped at her lush, firm breasts as she slid beneath the covers as if he had never seen such a thing before. With a smile of pure innocence, she said something he assumed meant “good night,” and promptly fell asleep.

  He stared at the trusting woman asleep across the aisle. With a sigh of resignation he reached up to click off the light. Closing his eyes, he filled his otherwise empty brain the memory of what she looked like, the woman who had saved his life. Olive skinned, with wavy dark hair, long dark eyelashes and full, red lips, he felt she would compare favorably to women of his species.

  Drifting off to sleep, he dreamt of travelling through the stars with his bossy little savior in tow.

  Chapter 11

  February - 3,390 BC

  Earth: Crash site

  Ninsianna

  Such a pleasant dream, being carried back to the place She-who-is had shown her during her vision; that lofty perch where she could look down upon the stars and watch them sing as though they were overjoyed to be reunited. It felt as though she were floating in a river, the warm water carrying her weight as the sun streamed down upon her face, drifting wherever the goddess willed her to go. Oh, how she wished she could stay in this current forever! The goddess directed her back towa
rds her body.

  "Mother, please let me stay?"

  She-who-is whispered a promise. As soon as she'd completed her great task, the man SHE had sent to help her people would carry her out to see the stars.

  "No! Máthair!"

  She awoke to the sound of a man's voice crying out in terror.

  "Ná gortaítear sí! Le do thoil!"

  Her heart raced as the unfamiliar soft bed and strange, lifeless scent gave her a moment of panic. Memory of the last two days came filtering back to calm her. Mikhail. Sky canoe. Sleeping chamber. The magic lantern must have burned out.

  "Mhamó! Cén fáth nach léi bogadh? Cá bhfuil Gabriel?"

  Mikhail flailed at the phantasm in his dream, whimpering as he struck at the air as though he was just a boy. It was completely dark within the chamber, but thanks to the faint blue outline of his spirit light which she was sometimes privileged to see, she could see his outline just as clearly as though the lantern had not run out of tallow. Moving to Mikhail's side of the chamber, she felt for a place to sit without crushing his wing.

  "Máthair?" Mikhail called plantitively into the darkness. 'Máthair, múscail. Ní féidir liom a bhraitheann tú níos mó.'

  She did not understand the words, but whatever evil hunted him in his dreams, it pressed against his spirit-light, keeping him trapped within its ferocious grip.

  "Mikhail, wake up," she shook his shoulder. "An evil spirit has come to give you a nightmare."

  Mikhail whimpered, not the brave winged man who had rescued her from Jamin, but a frightened little boy. Something in his voice caused her to choke up; horror and grief, disembodied emotions. Banishing nightmares was the province of the shaman, a type of magic she'd seen her father perform for those ridden with a fever. Caressing his cheek, she began to sing the ancient song.

  "Go away spirit," she sang, "go away spirit and come back no more. Go away spirit. Go back where you came and torment this man no more."