An unwanted thought intruded into her mind; a tender thought, filled with an emotion she no longer wished to have. She pushed it away, determined to never think again of the one thing she and Jamin had always shared in common, their love of travel and ability to learn new languages.
"May some terrible, non-life-threatening illness befall him!" Ninsianna scowled. She remembered Papa's admonition to never wish ill upon another. "Okay … how about you bless him with an abundance of women throwing themselves at his feet? Or a wonderful hunt? Send him a white gazelle so he'll wander off and forget all about me."
She worked diligently, deep in thought as she channeled her worries into frenetic activity. Jamin had never been one to walk away from a challenge. Even if her father did manage to convince the Chief to order his son to stay away, she doubted he would just accept his fate.
"You need to do something about him!" Ninsianna said. "If Jamin keeps telling everyone that Mikhail is a demon, I fear how our people will receive him."
She glanced at the doorway, the one she feared to exit. If Jamin came back with a bigger raiding party, Mikhail was in no condition to stop him. The last thing Assur needed was a powerful winged being living outside of their village that bore them a grudge!
Ninsianna rubbed her temples. Until Mikhail's own people found him, they needed to be his people, something which was difficult with Jamin stirring up trouble. She was so deep in thought that when a hand touched her shoulder, she shrieked and whirled, momentarily fearful that Jamin had come back to snatch her. Mikhail towered over her, impossibly tall and pale. Ninsianna took a deep breath and forced her heart to slow by assessing the physical condition of her patient. Mikhail's his lips had lost that bluish cast and already he appeared to be much more steady on his feet.
“You … make … good.” Mikhail's brilliant blue eyes scrutinized her expression, studying her features as he no doubt pieced together what she'd been up to. He did not smile at her the way her father would have, but nonetheless he appeared to be pleased.
“Yes … good,” Ninsianna said. She pointed back towards the galley, mindful of her rumbling stomach. “You … eat … where?" She wanted to know where he kept his food stored.
“No.” Mikhail stood like a tall, stiff tree, not understanding her question.
She took his hand and led him back into the galley. “You … eat … where?” She gestured around the modest kitchen.
“There.” Mikhail pointed at the table.
“No." Irritation made Ninsianna grimace. “You … eat … where?" She gestured to her mouth as though spooning food into it. Understanding dawned on Mikhail's face.
“Anseo … here,” Mikhail pointed to a square, silver box embedded into the wall. He lifted a latch and pointed to the empty chamber inside. “Ith … eat … bia … anseo … here."
“Eat … food,” Ninsianna corrected. She peered inside the box and asked, “Uimh bia … no food. I gcás ina … where?”
Mikhail fiddled with some symbols engraved on the front of the box, saying something she couldn't understand. Ninsianna shrugged and gestured outwards in a universal expression of 'I don't comprehend.' Mikhail pointed to the box and made a gesture as though snapping a stick.
“Bia … food … briste,” Mikhail said flatly. “No food. Briste.”
“Broken,” Ninsianna corrected. “Briste. Broken. Food broken? How can food be broken?"
“Is ea … yes. Food broken." Mikhail watched her with his emotionless expression. “No food … food broken.”
All of this conversation in a language she didn't understand gave Ninsianna a headache. She sat down and put her head down into her hands, pinching her temples to suppress the woodpecker that had begun pounding a hole into her skull.
“Ninsianna, go bhfuil tú ceart go leor?" Mikhail touched her hair so she would understand he asked if she was okay.
“My head hurts." Ninsianna said. Their difficulty communicating was wearing her down. She was a physical creature, not a verbal one.
Mikhail took her hand and tugged her to her feet.
“You … sleep … now."
He led her back to the sleeping quarters, still unsteady, but except for the wing which still dragged to one side, she never would have guessed that a mere two days ago she'd been prepared to perform the death rituals for him. Her head pounded so badly he was surrounded by a halo and there were two of him. Migraine, her father called these headaches. She pressed her cheek against his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist for comfort, pressing one temple into the undamaged side of his chest until his warmth sank into her pounding head and made it feel a little better. This is what Papa did to make her feel better whenever she got her headaches.
Mikhail froze. She could feel his muscles quiver beneath his skin as though he were wracked with emotion. Fear? Desire? Revulsion? Whatever the emotion was, he did not allow it to show, but from the subtle rustle of his feathers, it was emotion. At last he put his arm around her, but otherwise stood as stiff as a tree.
Mikhail's expression was perplexed, as though nobody had ever given him a hug before. Was he repulsed by the gesture?
“Dea … good." She touched his cheek to show her appreciation. For perhaps the first time, a dark eyebrow lifted. Repulsed, no. Simply confused.
His arm lingered when she tried to pull away, as though he wasn't certain whether to hold onto her or let her go. She sighed as her body sank into the gloriously soft padding of the sleeping pallet and pulled up the covers, too exhausted to even strip off her shawl dress. The world instantly drifted very far away, leaving Mikhail to stand above her, puzzling over what had just transpired.
Chapter 20
February – 3,390 BC
Earth – Village of Assur
Jamin
The sun beat down mercilessly upon Jamin's raven-black hair, heating up his head until the sweat beaded on his forehead. They'd been summoned to the central square the moment his father had returned from his trading mission to Nineveh. The Chief had lined them up and paced in front of them, his hand clasped behind his back as Ninsianna's father pointed to the temple of She-who-is and made wild gestures with his hands. All around them the other wandered into the central square, eager to see what news the Chief had brought back from the trading delegation and what he would say when Immanu told him about the winged man who had fallen from the sky.
Immanu faded back, his wild, dark hair visible amongst the other villagers as he let the Chief handle the situation. Yes. The Chief. Everyone in the village thought of his father as The Chief, including him… The Chief asked a few other villagers questions, and then stalked over to stop in front of his son.
“Is it true?” Chief Kiyan's brown eyes bore into his. “Did you drag Ninsianna into the stream and hold her head under the water?”
Jamin squirmed under his father’s glare. His father's usual way of dealing with him was to ignore him and hope the problem would go away, but with Immanu telling the entire village wild tales about winged saviors returning from the heavens to help their people smite an Evil One, it was enough to get even Chief Kiyan interested in the dealings of his son. Jamin glanced to the warriors on either side of him and shot them a glare which warned there would be retribution if any of them dared squeal.
"What about you, Siamek?" the chief looked to his lieutenant. "What really happened up there?"
Siamek shot Jamin an apologetic look.
“She was already in the water, sir," Siamek said. “Jamin went in to … uh … talk to her.”
“Firouz?” Chief Kiyan asked. "What did you see?"
“She insulted him,” Firouz said. “She deserved it!”
“Nobody deserves to be attacked for expressing an opinion!” Chief Kiyan snapped. “We are not Halifians! We don't abuse our women!”
“But, Father…”
The gawking villagers elbowed one another and whispered furiously, eager spectators to see the Chief lambast his son. Pride caused Jamin to shut his mouth and not speak wha
t he really wanted to say, that he'd only gone up there to find out why Ninsianna had broken off their engagement.
“But … nothing!” the Chief said. “A warrior's job is to protect the village. Not go looking for trouble! You are all to stay away from the winged one until I say otherwise! Do you understand?”
“Yes, Sir!” the warriors muttered.
“I can't hear you!!!” the Chief shouted.
“Yes, Sir!”
The warriors broke up, eager to be away from the Chief's disapproving glare. Jamin tried to skulk away with them and was intercepted by his father's voice.
“Jamin!” his father ordered like he was a little boy. “Get in the house. Now!”
The villagers sniggered. The red flush of mortification burned into Jamin's cheeks. Not only had he lost face once, when the winged demon had run them off of the crash site and kept his wayward fiancé, but now the bastard had bested him twice by winning over Ninsianna's own father. How could his father be so stupid? A shaman was more believable than the Chief’s own son?
Chief Kiyan shut the door behind him. “Sit!”
The interior of their house was far larger than most houses in Assur, with a separate kitchen and a room built off of the multipurpose room where the Chief could entertain important visitors. Their ancient housekeeper saw the fury in the Chief's expression and scurried out of the way into the kitchen. The Chief gestured for him to sit on one of the stuffed pillows that served as a chair.
“You must give up this idea of forcing Ninsianna to marry you,” the Chief said. “It was wrong of me to exercise my prerogative to deny her hand in marriage to another.”
“But Father,” Jamin's breath caught in his throat as at last he allowed his vulnerabilities to show. “I love her.”
“If there was ever any hope of her loving you in return,” the Chief sighed, “you just ruined it by treating her cruelly."
"Cruelly?" Jamin shook with anger. "She disrespected me in front of my men!"
Chief Kiyan ran his fingers through his thick, dark hair, streaked with grey from too many worries.
"I encouraged the match because I hoped Ninsianna would cool your fiery temper," the Chief said, "but I see now your pursuit of her has only inflamed those natural tendencies."
"Inflamed?" Jamin clenched his fist. "The only reason she broke things off with me was because you forced me to reneg on my promise to take her with us to the trading delegation you just came back from!"
"I couldn't allow my son to be perceived as henpecked the way Immanu is by his wife," the Chief said. "You should understand that better than anyone."
"People respect Immanu," Jamin said, "in spite of how sharp-tongued Needa is."
"People fear Immanu," the Chief said, "because of who his father was. And at one time or another Needa has been summoned to save a family member of every chief in Ubaid territory. It is a level of respect Ninsianna has not yet earned."
The Chief squatted down on the low cushion next to him and began to pull out of his satchel the goods he'd just brought back from his trading delegation. One by one, he placed the pretty trinkets onto their low hospitality table until he got to the last item, a golden torque he'd had the gold-worker in Nineveh make that would have marked him as a married man. The Chief fondled the torque between his thumb and forefinger, his eyes focused on the past as his expression softened into an all-too-familiar melancholy one.
"I want you to marry someone who will love you as much as I loved your mother." the Chief said. "Not someone who marries you because you've given them no other choice.”
Old anger boiled in Jamin's veins.
“My mother is dead!” Jamin shouted. “You look at me and you hate me because I look like her, and when you see me, it reminds you that I'm still here and she is not!!!”
“That's not true.” The Chief avoided Jamin's gaze. “You're the only reason I've been able to go on living. But you have become too arrogant. You must let Ninsianna go.”
“He is a demon who was cast down from the heavens!" Jamin gestured to show something falling out of the sky. “It's an evil omen. We must defend the village!”
“Immanu has legends of his people returning in a time of great need,” the Chief said. “He thinks we should welcome the winged one into our midst so that when his people arrive, they'll be favorably disposed to us.”
“A song no man in this village has ever heard until today!” Jamin snorted. “That's a little convenient, don't you agree?”
“Immanu is a good man,” the Chief said. “I will not tolerate you sullying his name.”
“But Father….” The muscle in Jamin's cheek twitched with aggravation.
“But nothing!” the Chief snapped. “I have made up my mind! You and the warriors are forbidden to go anywhere near the sky canoe until I say otherwise. If you do, you will answer to the tribunal!”
He turned his back, indicating Jamin was dismissed.
Jamin slammed the door on his way out, furious. A week ago he'd been looking forward to marrying Ninsianna at the summer solstice, and now he was goat dung? She was his fiancée! If he didn't rescue her, nobody would!
Chapter 21
Galactic Standard Date: 152,323.02 AE
Earth: Sata'an Forward Operating Base
Lt. Kasib
“The package is ready for shipment, Sir." Lieutenant Kasib tucked his tail along his side and saluted his commanding officer.
“How many?” General Hudhafah squinted up from a stack of reports.
“Just one, Sir.”
“Ba’al (Lord) Zebub asked for three samples,” Hudhafah said. “Why aren’t there more?" His gold-green eyes narrowed into slits.
“Two expired in transit, Sir,” Kasib said. “Our soldiers reported the cargo reacted adversely to our presence. The native population has had no contact with our species and is unusually terrified.”
“Hmmm…" Hudhafah leaned back in his chair and scratched the soft white under-scales of his chin. “Have we formed any local trading partnerships?”
“Yes, Sir,” Kasib said. “The Amorite slavers don't care who they trade with so long as we give them gold.”
“We'll use those as intermediaries, then,” Hudhafah said. “Be sure to explain we want maximum genetic diversity. No more than two from a single target area, and they are all to be delivered to us in top condition.”
“Yes, Sir.” Kasib saluted, tasting the air with his forked tongue so he could sense the pheromones which indicated his commanding officer's mood. They were thinly staffed until Emperor Shay'tan resupplied their base and Hudhafah was in a foul mood. “What about the current package, Sir?”
“Send it to Ba'al Zebub,” Hudhafah said. “He has plans for it.”
Chapter 22
February - 3,390 BC
Earth: Crash site
Colonel Mikhail Mannuki’ili
Mikhail
Although the scout ship had been built for Mikhail's species, it had not been designed to live upon on a long term basis, especially with the power low and all of the systems broken. No matter which way he stepped, Ninsianna hovered like an anxious dragonfly, poking and prodding him and constantly admonishing him to sit down. His wings were beginning to cramp from lack of use and he felt just good enough to be a cranky patient.
“If I have to spend another minute in this ship,” Mikhail said, “I'll go insane. Can we please finish the language lessons outside?"
“I no understand." Ninsianna said. His overprotective taskmaster tried to herd him back into his chair. “Go … where?”
“Outside." He pointed towards the cracked hull. “Outside.”
“Yes … outside,” Ninsianna said in halting Galactic Standard. “You be … careful … no … do … too much.”
He reached down and checked the power supply on his pulse rifle, a gesture which was instinctive even though he had no recollection of ever having learned to fire the weapon. It was dangerously low on power, the same as it had been the last five hundred time
s he had looked at it. He glanced towards the crack in the hull, and then slid it back into the holster. Ninsianna's father had assured him the Chief's son would not dare bother them once he'd had a word with their leader, but Mikhail had seen the look of determination in that black-eyed bastard's eyes.
A now-familiar vertigo made the room spin as he made his way from the galley through the crack in the hull, but if he didn't get outside, he swore he would pluck his own feathers out and eat them. He waved off Ninsianna's attempt to let him utilize her as a crutch, determined to curb his reliance upon another living creature. She orbited his every step like a moon around a gas giant, not relaxing until he found a rock under a scrubby looking tree immediately adjacent to the stream. As soon as he sat down, Ninsianna began to rummage for sticks in that same frenetic activity she'd had ever since the moment he'd first opened his eyes. Mikhail stood up to help her.
“You no … too much … do!” Ninsianna scolded. She herded him back to the rock, her lips pursed into an exaggerated pout as she pointed until he sat back down. “You … hurt. You … too much do. You … hurt more!"
Her tawny beige eyes flashed with the determination of somebody accustomed to having others follow her orders. She jutted her index finger towards the rock, her expression conveying 'stay there or else.'
"Yes, Sir," Mikhail said softly, even though she wore no insignia of rank.
Ninsianna resumed her scavenging, speaking to him as she worked even though he could only catch a word here or there. Within the valley grew some stunted, twisted trees, and the stream filled the air with a cheerful, almost musical quality as it gurgled past them. Mikhail inhaled, relishing the smell of soil carried in the wind. It had the scent of a planet teeming with life.
Ninsianna gathered the sticks into a pyramid and then rummaged through her satchel for two rocks wrapped in a piece of animal hide. With a practiced motion she struck the rocks, aiming the sparks so they landed in a small pile of dried moss she had gathered along with the wood. Her lips pursed into a delightful pink moue as she blew until the smoldering bundle ignited. Mikhail stared, fascinated with how easily she accomplished the task, as if she started fires that way every single day.
Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One (Sword of the Gods Saga) Page 11
