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

by Anna Erishkigal

  “I know you don't want to wait, little imp,” he said. “But you will. I gave your parents my word."

  “And how will you do that when all you want to do is to make love to me?" She rubbed her thigh against the bottom of his testicles. They spasmed so hard he thought he would lose it on the spot, clothing or no clothing.

  “The same way I always do."

  With a laugh, he carried her up into the sky where she loved to soar. It was the only way to distract her, and himself, from doing what they both wanted to do.

  “Kiss me,” she murmured as the wind whistled past them in flight.

  All was right with the world. So he did.

  Chapter 72

  July – 3,390 BC

  Earth: Village of Assur

  Jamin

  A crowd of villagers thronged into the central square. In their midst, the winged demon's archers marched in formation, quivers and bows draped across their backs as though they thought they were ancient heroes of yore. They were led by the youngest member of their group, Pareesa, an arrogant little snit who had, of lately, begun to get too big for her britches. Four ducks dangled from her hand, their blood still dripping as though she were some ancient goddess of the hunt. Her dark hair had been tied up off of her neck and she wore her shawl belted high around her thighs as though it were a man's kilt, not the proper shawl dress Ubaid women wore. She strode towards them, her face deceptively innocent as she gave them a coy look as though to communicate, 'hah!'

  “Look at all those ducks,” Firouz said.

  “So many,” Dadbeh said. “They’ve got … what? Two each?”

  “Three,” Firouz said.

  Jamin scowled. “What the hell do they want?”

  Villagers danced around the group, asking about the ducks each archer carried in both hands. His worst fears were answered when they marched right up to his father's door and pounded until the Chief came out. Alalah held out one of the ducks like an offering to She-who-is.

  “We wanted to thank you for letting us learn archery,” Alalah said, “by presenting you with the first tangible fruits of our efforts.”

  “Why … thank you!" Chief Kiyan's face brightened at the sight of his newest, and until a few moments ago, his most questionable investment of village resources. He took the two fat ducks from Alalah’s hands. “Please tell Mikhail I said thank you.”

  “We will,” Alalah said.

  Jamin rubbed the stiffness in his back, particularly sore after the particularly brutal session training he'd run his warriors through using their spears.

  "The only reason they're doing this is to gain favor with my father!" Jamin hissed. The man was a fool to be so easily flattered.

  “Maybe we should learn to use the bow,” Dadbeh said.

  “Can you teach us, Jamin?” Firouz asked.

  The two warriors looked to him to teach them, the way they always had since they'd all been naught but boys.

  “It's a waste of time!” Jamin said. “Look. They’re just little sticks you can break with one hand. We are learning to use real weapons!" He held out the sturdy spear he'd used to hunt lions, fierce beasts worthy of a man’s investment of time! Of all the village warriors, only he had ever taken down a lion alone.

  “Those weapons look real to me,” Kiarash said. “And those are definitely real ducks.”

  “There is a big difference between shooting tiny ducks who can't defend themselves,” Jamin said, “and an armed assailant. Don't forget why we train in the first place!”

  The warriors nodded. While only Kiarash had been a warrior long enough to witness the particularly brutal battles that had occurred in the time of their grandfathers, they'd had many skirmishes against the Halifians and Uruk to their south.

  Siamek leaned into him and kept his voice low.

  “We should at least look into this weapon?" Siamek said. “Even if it's only a toy. It makes us look bad if the girls are the only ones putting meat upon the table.”

  “Who would have thought a bunch of giggly girls could hunt like that?” Tirdard said with unbridled admiration.

  “You just say that because Yadidatum is one of the archers,” Dadbeh teased, elbowing the youngest of their group.

  “Oh, Yadidatum,” Firouz said in a mock-low voice. “Let me insert my arrow into your lovely bow."

  Firouz grabbed his manhood and pretended to aim it like an arrow, straight at where the curvaceous Yadidatum stood showing one of the villagers how to aim.

  “Ahh, yes, brave Tirdard,” Dadbeh said in a high mock-female voice. He tilted his pelvis towards Firouz’s ‘arrow.' “Such a big, firm arrow you have. String it right here. Ahh! Ahh! Ahhhhh!”

  The other warriors laughed. Jamin scowled, not thinking it was very funny. His authority was being usurped by a bunch of girls!

  “When you think about it,” Kiarash grunted. “It makes sense. So long as they carry those bows, our women won't be easy targets. My daughters are yet young, but I shall find out if I can get Alalah to give them lessons."

  As the oldest warrior of the group, Kiarash often took a longer view of things. His father's spy, that's what Kiarash was! The man his father had tasked with babysitting Jamin and the other warriors he led. Well if his father's judgment was compromised insofar as the winged demon was concerned, than so was his spy!

  “It's a waste of time,” Jamin said. “All I hear are complaints from their husbands and parents that while they are off in the woods shooting sticks at trees, they are not doing the cooking and cleaning!”

  “And that differs from our families complaining we don't have time to do our manly duties … how?" Kiarash gave him a pointed look.

  “They are women,” Jamin said. “It’s all good and well to shoot at helpless little ducks. Another altogether to keep your cool when a man runs after you with a spear.”

  “Yeah,” the younger warriors agreed.

  “They will panic and run the first time we need to rely upon them." Siamek said. “It’s great they can help put food on the table, but to rely upon them to watch our backs during battle would be a fatal mistake. Do you really think a woman will creep up on our enemies and take them out just as they're about to gut us alive?”

  Jamin grabbed his spear and stalked over to the onlookers buzzing around the archers like curious bees. His warrior troop closed ranks behind him as a good troop always should be.

  “With one of these,” Jamin bragged, “I can take down an auroch or a wild boar. Not just some scrawny bird.”

  “And when was the last time you brought home one of those?” Pareesa shot back. “Oh … I forgot … last September. It's a good thing your father doesn't rely upon you for meat or he would starve to death!”

  Jamin's cheek twitched as an overwhelming rage roared out of his subconscious and screamed 'hit her!' Last September, he'd been laying on his deathbed, lingering between life and death from a gore-wound to his gut. How dare this little bitch make fun of him! He clenched his fist at his side as he caught the warning glance from his father.

  “Ahh … little fairy,” the Chief laughed. “What a fierce little huntress you've turned into. I hope all the women in the village follow your example.”

  Hatred welled in Jamin’s gut as his father turned his back on him and gave Pareesa a hug, affection he hadn't received from the man since the day his mother had died. The moment the Chief looked the other way, Pareesa rolled her eyes at him. The little snit knew exactly what she was doing!

  “It's our pleasure to present you with this token of our gratitude,” Behnam grinned. The toothless old man held up several ducks strung together upside down by their feet.

  “Thank you." The Chief turned to the crowd. “Everybody … look! Anybody, no matter how young or old, male or female, can become a skilled provider with these new weapons. I hope more of you will invest the time to learn to use them.”

  “I want to learn,” Varshab, one of the fiercest warriors from his father’s generation and the Chief's enforcer said. “A
lalah … is it too late to join?”

  “It's never too late,” Alalah said. “Mikhail trained twelve archers to teach others in allied villages. Since there are too many to teach himself, we will help teach anyone who wants to learn how to use this weapon. Including children. It's the future of warfare.”

  "Aha!" Kiaresh said. The older warrior broke rank and headed over to talk to the woman who was approximately the same age as him.

  “Not to mention it's a damned handy skill to put supper on the table." Gisou held up her ducks. “No more dried salted meat!”

  By this time, the entire village had piled into the square. The conversation turned to whether or not villagers could find the time to train. The archers spoke of performing exercises while carrying buckets of water and raking their fields.

  Jamin scowled. This incident had cost him face and his own warriors slithered into the crowd to where Orkedeh and Alalah recruited villagers for the next round of lessons. Pareesa sauntered up to him like a cat taunting the family dog, confident the dog would not dare growl with the master looking on, and stuck out her tongue. Something inside of him snapped.

  “You shall not mock me so!"

  Jamin swung at her, intent on slapping the smirk off of the little snit's face. Pareesa danced out of the way, unafraid like any other woman should be. Her high, sweet little girl's voice carried above the din of the gathered villagers as she scrunched up her face and laughed at him.

  Pareesa thought this was funny?

  His vision turned red as his hands clenched into a fist. He swung at her once more, this time intending to punch the little bitch in the face and knock her onto her ass.

  “You will not do that in my village!"

  Jamin suddenly found his arm twisted up behind his back in a move so painful it bent him all the way down to the ground. He yelped, unable to break the hold which had him incapacitated. His father. Had intervened. He fought and was unsuccessful at breaking his father’s hold. He kicked back, amazed his father was still stronger than he was.

  “Get in the house!” the Chief shoved him towards the front door. “Now!"

  Varshab moved to back his father, a large, silent troll who forever watched Chief Kiyan's back. A twitter undulated through the crowd. Whispers offended his ears that it was about time the Chief had taught him who was boss. Mortified and fuming, Jamin skulked into the house.

  The crowd dissipated. He expected to be beaten told to do some horrible, unpleasant task such as empty out every chamber pot in Assur and use it to fertilize the fields. What he didn't expect was the look of defeat on his father's face as he came in and plunked down on a cushion, not even waiting for Jamin to be seated as was their custom during a disciplinary proceeding.

  “Jamin,” his father's expression was weary. “Your behavior concerns me. To be a good leader, you must also be tolerant and wise. You're too much of a hothead. It's far past the time to learn a little restraint.”

  “She disrespected me!” Jamin said. “If you don't demand respect, pretty soon you won't have a village!”

  His father stared down at his hands, making a tented triangle, and then tapping it to his lips.

  “The Ubaid have held onto these lands not only because we are strong,” his father said. “But because we treat others fairly. We must form good relationships within our own village and outside of it with the tribes around us. You must learn to do both –if- you want to be chief.”

  “Only the strongest is fit to be chief!” Jamin said. “I'm the strongest warrior you have.”

  “If strength alone is all it takes,” his father shook his head, “than you will never be chief. Like it or not, you're no longer the best warrior this village has.”

  Jamin exploded. He jabbed his finger into his seated father's face.

  “Are you saying you've replaced your own son with a demon?”

  “You haven't been replaced,” his father sighed. “But if you believe the strongest, the fastest, and the best warrior should be chief, then you're no longer the man for the job. This village needs a leader, not a bully. To be a leader, you need more than pure brute force.”

  The wind gusted through the open window. 'He is right, favored one. You must learn temperance…'

  “I will be chief!” Jamin shouted above the voice carried in the wind. “Me! I was born to it.”

  “Perhaps….” the chief shook his head. “But I've allowed you to become arrogant in that assumption. I have failed you. All I can do now is teach you what I should have been teaching you all along.”

  Jamin stormed out of the house, ignoring his father's calls, out past the gates of the village to where the livestock pens ended and their fields began. Shahla waited, likely waiting to hook up with one of the other warriors. It had been a long, dry spell. He was done mourning the loss of his unfaithful fiancé!

  “Shahla!” he greeted. “I haven't seen you in ages. How have you been?" He reached out and tucked a loose strand of her hair behind one ear, a gesture he knew she found irresistible.

  “I'm okay." Shahla glanced over his shoulder, no doubt watching for whoever she waited for. “How have you been?”

  “I have missed you." He lowered his voice as he stepped into her personal space. He knew from past experience how badly Shahla craved to be held. “I almost made the biggest mistake of my life. Thank the gods I came to my senses.”

  “I thought you loved Ninsianna!" Shahla's voice grew caustic.

  “My father wished to improve his standing by forcing me to marry into the second highest-ranking household in the village,” Jamin said. “Immanu has no son and Ninsianna has inherited both his gifts and those of her mother. My father wished to tie her to our village before some distant tribe stole her away. It's how her mother ended up here instead of Gasur.”

  It was not a lie. It had been the argument he'd used to get his father to order Ninsianna to marry him.

  “Well my family is the third highest ranking family in the village," Shahla jabbed her finger in his face in a way she had never before dared. "And my father has more money than your father does from his trading. Why should I believe you now?”

  Those were the arguments he had given his father before his father had forbade him to create an alliance to the slippery Laum. Of course, that was before he'd found out Shahla had lain down with every warrior in the village, a thought which now filled him with revulsion.

  “Because you love me,” Jamin said. “I have realized it's better to have true love than to trade my happiness to please my father."

  He only felt a slight twinge of remorse at the lie. It was not totally a lie. Shahla did love him … or more precisely … she loved the prospect of hitching her star to his future position of power. And he had realized the next time he allowed himself to fall in love, he would only let down his guard with someone who loved him back. That person just didn't happen to be Shahla, who only wanted to be a future chief's wife.

  Shahla wrapped her hands around the back of his head and pulled him down for a kiss.

  “Oh, Jamin! I missed you.”

  He dragged her behind the goat shed, but even as she willingly disrobed, she was not the person he wanted to fuck. Even now, he couldn't bear the thought of touching anyone except the woman he'd spent every waking moment obsessing about since the day he'd awoken gored by an auroch. He shoved Shahla into the dirt and took her from the rear so he wouldn't have to see her face. He pictured it was Ninsianna he fucked instead of this village strumpet and he wanted to hurt her. He wanted to hurt Ninsianna the way that she'd hurt him! He pushed into Shahla, roaring as he found release.

  Shahla skittered away from him, clutching her shawl-dress to her chest. He'd always enjoyed rough sex, but this was the first time he'd ever hurt a woman. Shahla’s shawl was filthy and her cheek bled where he'd shoved it into the ground. She cringed from his touch, crying. Every warrior in the village had fucked Shahla, but her tears tugged at his heartstrings, making him regret what he'd done. Gita was right. He'd mistreat
ed Shahla every bit as badly as Ninsianna had mistreated him.

  “Don't you love me even a little?” Shahla wept.

  Jamin opened his mouth and shut it again, unable to say the words. He couldn't make eye contact as he tried to force the lie out of his mouth and couldn't make the sound expel.

  “It's complicated,” he whispered. “My father …”

  “It's all that winged demon's fault!" Shahla clutched his face, forcing him to make eye contact. “You need to get both of them out of this village, Ninsianna and her winged lover. You need to strike at the heart of your enemy before he ends up ruling this tribe!”

  Strike at the heart of his enemy…

  The plan Jamin had been percolating ever since he'd spoken to the Halifian leader bubbled to the surface. Shahla might not be the woman he loved, but she'd always been unwavering in her support. Would it be so awful if he formed an alliance of convenience for the sake of the tribe?

  “You're everything I could ask for in a wife." His heart screamed ‘no’ as he took her into his arms and said the words he knew she wanted to hear. “Someday, when I am chief, we can have many fine sons together.”

  Shahla burst into tears. “You really love me?”

  “Why do you think I can't keep my hands off of you?” he evaded. “But so long as that demon feeds my father delusions of grandeur, this is all we can ever have.”

  “Wh-What can I do to help?” Shahla asked between sobs.

  Yes. What could she do to help? He knew exactly what she could do to help. The tribe had no idea he'd met with the Halifian leader. The people of the desert had bragged they could make easy money catching females foraging for wild grains in the underbrush and selling them to the Amorites, and Jamin happened to know of a certain group of females that liked to go into the bush every day to shoot little sticks at squirrels. Females who had sided with a certain winged demon and, perhaps, could lure him into an ambush?

  “Let me know the next time one of the archers goes hunting,” he said. “Especially that mouthy little snit, Pareesa. I'll take care of the rest.”