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

by Anna Erishkigal

  She gestured to the spear hole in Mikhail's leg.

  “Let me look at that."

  Blood soaked his pants, but the wound didn't appear to be bleeding heavily. The spear had only hit flesh, not one of the vital areas that carried blood from the rest of the body. Mikhail had a remarkable ability to heal, but she wanted to clean his wound and stitch it up so it didn't fester. Without a word, he sat on his customary boulder and waited. Ninsianna approached him cautiously

  “They were Halifians,” she said, deliberately forcing herself to make eye contact and not look away. “People of the desert. They are sworn enemies of my tribe. I don't know what they were doing with Jamin.”

  Mikhail watched her with his sharp eagle's gaze, scanning her face for the slightest ripple of emotion. Although his eyes didn't possess the inhuman blue glow of earlier, Ninsianna shivered. Now she knew what it felt like to be a mouse.

  “I shall tell my father when he visits again,” she said. “He will speak to the Chief. Jamin shouldn't be consorting with our enemies.”

  Mikhail didn't answer, but she didn't expect him to. She spoke more for her own benefit than his. Although he couldn't understand everything she said, she knew it was the normalcy of her voice, and not the words themselves, which would win back his trust.

  “You must remove these so I can look at it." She motioned for him to remove the strange leg coverings that he called 'pants. “Unless you want to lose another garment when I cut them off. It's your choice.”

  Without a word, he rose and undid his belt. Sliding the pants down to his knees, he sat back down. Ninsianna tried not to stare at the tight-fitting loincloth covering his private areas or the fact such a tight undergarment afforded her a good idea of what lay beneath. Although she'd not yet shared her bed with any lover, as a healer Ninsianna had attended to wounds near a man's private areas. She was relieved to learn her new friend resembled a human male in that respect as well.

  “This will hurt." She poured water into the wound to rinse it.

  Mikhail didn't flinch, but as she dabbed, her sensitive fingers could detect the twitch of pain he forced himself to suppress.

  “I must stitch this up so it heals or it will keep seeping blood," she said. "I have some bangha in my satchel if you want something to kill the pain. It will make you sleepy." She'd offered the cannabis to him several times already to aid his sleep and numb his pain, and each time he'd refused. Perhaps he would accept it now?

  “No,” he finally made eye contact. His face was impassive, but his eyes had lost the inhuman blue glow they'd possessed earlier when he'd transformed himself into an instrument of death.

  She pulled her bone needle out of her satchel and rinsed it with water. She only had a few strands of horse tail hair left. She would need to ask her father for more. Working as efficiently as she could, she stitched up his leg. It took 17 stitches to close the wound, 34 separate punctures of the broad bone needle into his flesh, and not once did Mikhail flinch.

  “All done," Ninsianna's fingers lingered on his thigh to communicate she was sorry for having to hurt him. "If you take these off, I'll wash and mend them for you." She pointed to his pants.

  Mikhail nodded, his expression wary.

  "I saved you some food." Her voice sounded high and shrill even to her own ears. Normal. She needed to act normal. She took a deep breath and forced her voice to convey calm. "Would you like something to eat?" She gestured towards the food she'd cooked earlier.

  “Yes."

  He watched her with that closed expression he used to hide his thoughts. At least it was an expression she recognized, not the inhuman one he'd sported while in killing mode. Her tribe valued warriors, but his abilities surpassed anything she'd ever seen, or even heard sung about in Papa's songs; even more awesome than the legends of Lugalbanda, her warrior-shaman grandfather. The goddess had sent him to her. She must accept him for who he was.

  Acting as though it was lunch for any other day, she gathered the tubers, wild onions, fiddleheads, and a small bird she'd captured and cooked earlier and served them on one of the strange platters from his ship. He wolfed them down. He had to be ravenous after skipping both breakfast and lunch, but he kept his eyes on her the entire time.

  Taking his bloody pants, she waded into the stream, washed out the blood, and hung them in the sun to dry. He went into his ship and came out wearing an identical clean pair. The rest of the day was spent in silence. Ninsianna talked her way through the daily routine as if everything were perfectly normal. Mikhail only answered yes or no when prompted. There were no language lessons that day, nor did Ninsianna dare ask him how he'd become so efficient at killing. Even if he remembered, she had a feeling it was not something he liked to talk about.

  As the sun went down, they moved inside to turn into their bunks. Mikhail placed debris in front of the crack so it would make noise if somebody tried to enter. Turning to him just before she slipped under the covers, she buried her face into his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist, sobbing. She was surprised when, not only did he return the gesture, but he buried his face into her hair, his body shuddering with whatever emotion he kept at bay. His good wing, the one which was not hampered by a splint, curled around her, as though he wished to shield her from the ugliness they'd both witnessed today.

  She withdrew and whispered good night. Without a word, she slipped off her shawl, slid beneath the covers, and went to sleep.

  Mikhail stood over her a long time before doing the same.

  Chapter 27

  For this cause ought the woman

  To have [a veil] on her head,

  Because of the angels [she might tempt].

  Corinthians 11:10

  Galactic Standard Date: 152,323.02

  Sata’an Empire: Hades-6

  Emperor Shay’tan

  Shay’tan

  Alliance legend claimed that Shay'tan lived in a hellish cave which could only be accessed by crossing a river of fire. In truth, Hades-6 was just like any other cosmopolitan homeworld, complete with skyscrapers and a busy spaceport. Shay'tan's palace rose above his capital city, Dis, like a fairytale castle, with tall, slender spires and a moat filled with water, not fire. Once upon a time his ancestors had lived in caves, but then again, so had Hashem's ancestors. It was all propaganda, intended to smear his name so Alliance citizens wouldn't be tempted by Sata'anic ideals of orderliness and wealth. All except for the bit about hoarding treasure. That was true…

  “Your Eminence,” Ba'al Zebub bowed and tucked his tail up against the right side of his body. “I have the merchandise.”

  “Ooh! Let me see!" Shay'tan leaned forward like a little boy who had just been told he could have a piece of candy. “If this is what Hudhafah said it is, I'll be able to win major concessions from my ancient adversary.”

  The ornate carved wooden doors, gilded with gold and precious jewels, opened. Two lizard-like Sata’an guards dragged in a terrified, ebony-skinned human female. The woman took one look at Shay'tan's enormous, dragon visage seated upon his ornate gilded throne, with his leathery wings, sharp claws, and huge fangs, and immediately fainted.

  “Not very sturdy, are they?” Shay’tan snuffled the unconscious woman with indignation. “It's hard to believe this is the foundation upon which Hashem built his armies.”

  “All genetic tests confirm our suspicions,” Ba'al Zebub said. “This is the root stock of the four hybrid races.”

  “And Hashem thinks they are extinct?” Shay’tan's snout turned upwards in a predatory grin. “Hmm…. How can I use this to our advantage?”

  “Perhaps we could sell a few to key players?" Ba'al Zebub said. "Not enough to solve the hybrid fertility problem. Just to secure key allies?”

  Shay’tan scratched a loose scale as he schemed. “We have destabilized their economy with these free trade agreements of yours. And I have quintupled my fleet … all paid for with Alliance dollars.”

  “The idiots are so eager for peace that they haven'
t noticed their trade deficit is running 300 to one,” Ba'al Zebub laughed. “Should I gather more of these humans for trade?”

  Shay'tan glanced at the curtain behind his throne where he kept the enormous whirling map of the galaxy he and his ancient adversary used to plot out their next move. After countless millennia of playing for dominion over the galaxy, he had enough of the map memorized to recall where the planet lay in relation to his empire.

  “No,” Shay’tan said. “The human homeworld is too far from my sphere of influence to properly defend. The hybrids are so desperate for a solution to their little problem that they would go to war in a heartbeat to secure the planet under the guise of freeing them. It behooves us to keep humans in short supply.”

  “But this could be extremely profitable!” Ba'al Zebub protested. “We could get even richer!”

  “Not if we can't hold onto that planet,” Shay’tan said. “Right now, it's just a disputed resource planet on one of the outermost spiral arms. If Hashem wants it badly enough, he'll just swoop in and take it.”

  “But that would be an act of war!” Ba'al Zebub said.

  “It's not within the current borders of the Sata’an Empire,” Shay’tan sighed. “If humans invite the Alliance to annex them, we can’t even lay claim to it as a Sata’an Protectorate. Been there. Done that. Lost the Spiderids that way. Send in a few troublemakers singing songs of free will and equality, milk and honey for every citizen without having to get off their asses and work for it, and the next thing you know the tribal chiefs will beg Hashem to swoop in and make them an Alliance Trust Territory.”

  “What if we keep the location a secret?” Ba'al Zebub suggested.

  Shay’tan considered Ba'al Zebub's proposal. His second-in-command was a brilliant strategist, but he lacked Shay’tan’s long view. This was the biggest leverage he'd gained against his ancient adversary in almost 150,000 years. If he wanted to keep that advantage, he needed to plot his next move wisely.

  His snout turned upwards in a toothy grin as he thought of a solution. He hadn't come up with a plan this brilliant since he'd tricked Hashem into creating a fifth race of … ooh! Even the thought of it gave Shay’tan chills!

  “Hashem’s got spies watching our every move,” Shay’tan said. “We must be discrete. Send an armada to defend the planet, but send them the long way around.”

  “From outside the spiral arms?” Ba'al Zebub scowled. “That could take months. Before we can even launch the darned thing, we would first need to gather ships and outfit them with resources in such a way that it doesn't tip off Hashem's spies.”

  “I have every trust in you, my friend!" Shay'tan chuckled. "It's the only way to keep the Alliance’s nose out of our business. If we want to keep that planet, we must gerrymander a border out to annex it and grant its residents full diplomatic privileges … with all of the attendant rights and responsibilities.”

  “But the humans still throw sticks and stones!" Ba'al Zebub protested. "Granting full Sata’anic membership to such cavemen would be akin to … to … to …”

  “Humans were once as technologically advanced as we are.” Shay’tan gave his second-in-command a warning snort which caused a puff of smoke to exude from his nostrils. “Don't underestimate them. This group survived the destruction of their original homeworld and escaped our notice … probably because they were knocked back into the Stone Age. We didn't pick up any energy signatures, so we had no reason to go investigate. No … granting them full Sata’anic membership is the right course of action.”

  “But then we won’t be able to sell them!” Ba'al Zebub said. “Citizenship implies rights.”

  “And responsibilities,” Shay’tan added with a toothy smirk.

  He rubbed his claws together with delight at the thought of adding another sentient species to his workforce, especially one as versatile as the root stock of Hashem's hybrid armies. Sata’anic tributaries turned over all youngsters who reached sexual maturity for their mandatory twenty-year tenure of service. After two decades serving on civilized worlds, human males would be as loyal as any other Sata'anic subject, while human females would be gifted as wives to those who acted for the good of the Empire, ensuring that only those males who had proved their loyalty to him could reproduce.

  Yes … it behooved him to bring humans into the fold as quickly as possible. All he'd to do was play it fast and cool for the next twenty years and he would have Hashem over a barrel. Twenty years! It wasn't even a blink of an eye to an immortal such as himself. He could just see the look on Hashem’s face when he sprang that chess move on him during a future match!

  “Who’s to say a few of those brides can’t be gifted to Alliance males who promote Sata’an policies?” Ba'al Zebub suggested. “Mercantilists. Or politicians with fertility problems, perhaps? A little black-market side-trade to grease the wheels of commerce?”

  “Slavery is outlawed in the Alliance,” Shay’tan said. “Hashem will never agree to it.”

  “Not as slaves!” Ba'al Zebub said. “How about … wives? Mail-order brides?”

  “We have strict rules about how a wife is to be treated,” Shay’tan growled, his tail twitching. “I'm not willing to throw away our Sata’anic mores just to tweak Hashem’s nose.”

  Every Sata’an female's first loyalty lay with the good of the Empire. Marriage, and the children born of that marriage, was of vital interest to the state. Shay’tan had socially engineered Sata’an society to kick Hashem’s ass the same way Hashem had genetically engineered his hybrid super-soldiers to kick his long red tail. Thanks to policies promoting family, Sata’anic citizens outnumbered Alliance ones six-to-one, while Hashem's super-soldiers were dying out, casualties of too many generations of selective breeding and being used as cannon fodder when much less valuable species should have been used. By being an ivory tower elitist, Hashem had done Shay'tan's dirty work for him.

  Soldiers! Sata’anic females’ first duty was to breed soldiers for his armies! What would happen when he'd increased human numbers enough to send the mythological root-stock of Hashem’s own armies against his genetically engineered super-soldiers? The ones who were desperate to reproduce with them? Not kill them…

  Spectacular!

  “How do we even know this female is still genetically compatible enough to mate with an Alliance male?" Ba'al Zebub gestured to the ebony female collapsed upon the floor. “Their species have been separated for 74,000 years. For all we know, enough genetic drift has occurred for their species to diverge.”

  “Why not gift her to an Alliance citizen who has done something to further our interests?” Shay’tan suggested. “Gift her as a bride on the condition her existence be kept a secret. Report back how our little … experiment … went.”

  “I have just the sleazy politician in mind,” Ba'al Zebub rubbed his claws together. “This little package will solve a very public problem he’s been having. Shall I wrap her up and give her as a goodwill gift from you?”

  Shay’tan immediately knew which politician Ba'al Zebub had in mind. He laughed so hard the foundation of his palace trembled.

  Check!

  “Genius!” Shay’tan laughed. “And for theatrics, make sure she is suitably attired. And a priest brought along to read the marriage vows." He slapped his paw upon his throne with delight. “No loose Alliance morals for our newest Sata’an females! Oh …no! We are setting a precedent with this one! Hashem will have an apoplexy when he discovers his own son flaunted his ridiculous ‘no marriage, no same mate twice’ breeding policies and hid the offspring. I can't wait to see how this plays out!”

  “Right away, your eminence,” Ba'al Zebub bowed. He signaled the two guards to carry the unconscious female out of the throne room. “Make sure you don't damage the merchandise!”

  Shay’tan noted the stiffness to his second-in-command’s posture. Anger? Impossible! This discovery was good for everyone, including the secret bank account that Ba'al Zebub had no idea Shay’tan monitored. No. Other than Ba'al
Zebub’s habit of skimming a percentage of every trade deal he brokered, a common and officially ‘ignored’ part of the upper echelons of Sata’an society, Ba'al Zebub was his most loyal subject. He'd had 32 wives gifted to him for exemplary service. Was he upset because he thought Shay’tan was ignoring his advice?

  No… More likely Ba'al Zebub had already committed the profits he could skim selling humans to some side-endeavor. That was it. Ba'al Zebub had expenses the same as everybody else. With the trade deal Lucifer had just passed in Parliament, the Sata'an Empire was so flush with cash that Shay’tan could afford to be magnanimous. In fact … when it came to enticing his newest conquest over to his way of thinking, it downright behooved him. Shay’tan decided he would offer his right-hand man an even more productive means to skim money

  “Zebub!” Shay’tan said with a toothy grin. “You have my blessing to do whatever is necessary to secure that planet as quickly as possible. I want you to roll out the red carpet and have that world industrialized within twenty years. Every resource I possess is yours to command!”

  The feral glint in Ba'al Zebub’s eyes didn't give Shay’tan the warm feeling he sought. A scribe rushed forward with another fire to put out within his empire, interrupting his thoughts. The old dragon pushed aside his apprehensions and focused on the latest emergency.

  Chapter 28

  March – 3,390 BCE

  Earth: Crash site

  Colonel Mikhail Mannuki’ili

  Mikhail

  The snap of a twig…

  Mikhail’s head shot up, his hand automatically reaching for the reassuring bulge of the pulse rifle strapped to his hip. A greeting called through the air. Immanu. Ninsianna’s father.

  Their eyes met. Either the shaman knew about the attack, or he'd picked up on the tension in the camp. Immanu waited for Mikhail to acknowledge his presence before coming closer, not the actions of an assailant. Mikhail nodded and moved his hand back to his thigh, close enough that he could pull his weapon.