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

by Anna Erishkigal

  Chapter 90

  July 31st – 3,390 BC

  Earth: Village of Assur

  Colonel Mikhail Mannuki’ili

  Mikhail

  “So, young man," Yalda elbowed him in the ribs, "do you even know what you’re supposed to do on your wedding night?"

  The three of them sat around the widow-sisters kitchen table sipping mead, a fermented alcoholic beverage made from honey, water and yeast from a tall, slender ceramic urn with a narrow neck designed to separate out the desireable portions of the beverages they fermented from the parts that were better left in the jar. Mikhail’s head spun from the alcohol they'd already imbibed. The widow-sisters, it turned out, were descended from a long line of brewers and fermenters. Yalda and Zhila could drink any man under the table. Including him.

  “Uhm … actually … I can’t remember if I know what to do or not.”

  “Ha ha!” Zhila laughed. “Memory loss is a beautiful thing! This means whether or not you're a virgin, it will be your first time." She relished the pink that crept into Mikhail's cheeks as she gave her sister a conspiratorial wink.

  Tomorrow was the first harvest festival of the growing season when the earliest sheathes of grain had ripened enough for picking, a point halfway between the summer solstice and the fall equinox. He and Ninsianna would be wed and finally granted permission to mate. Three days ago, Immanu had ceremonially banned him from the house, the groom forbidden to gaze upon the bride while she retreated to prepare for her nuptials.

  "I appreciate your letting me stay here," Mikhail said. "It wouldn't have been very convenient to fly back and forth to my ship while I was 'banished.'"

  "More like they don't want the bride frightening off the groom with all her talk about the preparations of food and status of her wedding dress," Yalda laughed.

  "Ninsianna is less shallow than most," Zhila said, "but even the most gracious bride gets snippy a few days before her wedding."

  That was the understatement of the year! He suspected her grouchiness had more to do with the fact they barely saw each other since the Chief had put him in charge of training the others and she'd been forced to take up the slack with the household chores.

  He took another sip of the vat of mead through the long river reeds they used as straws. After three days with the widow-sisters, he could see why they were reluctant to be parted from one another. They shared a rapport he could only envy. He only hoped he and Ninsianna would grow to share a similar closeness, something he'd sorely missed ever since they'd left the intimacy of his ship.

  "I remember my first time," Yalda leaned towards him and poked him with a bony finger.

  "Listen," Zhila waggled her eyebrows at him. "There are a few things you need to know about pleasing a woman…"

  They cackled like two old hens, telling him w-a-y more information than he wanted to know about how to please Ninsianna on their wedding night. He sat there, his ears turning first pink, and then a deep shade of scarlet.

  His head spinning, Mikhail excused himself and asked to lie down. Judging from the two nights spent with the sisters prior to tonight, they were just getting warmed up. He didn't want to spend his wedding day hung over like he had after the first night spent here, the next day's warrior training lesson taking on a surreal penumbra from the splitting hangover he'd been nursing. He was good at many things, but imbibing ungodly amounts of alcohol was not one of them.

  Or milking goats…

  Mikhail didn't even want to think about his long-running war with Immanu’s dairy goat right now. Trying not to think about demonic goats besting him in battle with their evil little horns, Mikhail drifted off to the sleep to the sound of the widow-sisters cackling about the sexual prowess of husbands long dead and in the grave.

  Chapter 91

  August 1st – 3,390 BC

  Earth: Village of Assur

  Ninsianna

  Ninsianna and her closest friends stood jammed into her tiny bedroom like dried dates jammed into a jar for winter storage.

  “It's crooked,” Mama said.

  “It is not!” Homa said. “She's just standing crooked.”

  “Is too,” Gisou agreed with Mama. “You sewed the flower into the seam. See …”

  “We need to rip out that fringe and redo it,” Mama said.

  “Mama! There's no time!”

  Ninsianna had been so busy training new archers that she’d had no time to finish embroidering her bridal shawl. She'd finally resorted to inviting her archer-sisters over for a sewing party while she was in seclusion. Flax cloth was horrifically time-consuming to weave, much less to embellish it in such an ornate manner. This was and would probably remain the finest shawl dress she owned for the rest of her life.

  “Why not rip out just that one flower?” Yadidatum suggested. “Mikhail won't even notice.

  “But then it won’t be symmetrical!” Homa cried. “I spent an entire day counting the number of flowers and making sure they were even.”

  “It doesn't matter,” Yadidatum said. “It’s not like men notice something like that, even if it stands up and hits them on the nose.”

  “Yadidatum is right,” Mama said. “Either you can get married in an uneven shawl that everybody can see from far away. Or you get married in a straight shawl with one less flower. It's your choice.”

  “Okay,” Ninsianna sighed. “Let’s rip out the flower. We can sew it back on correctly after the wedding.”

  Three days without him had made her grumpy. She missed his quiet warmth, not to mention the eye-pleasing view every time he flexed a muscle. She also missed the way he deflected her attempts to break his formidable self-control by taking her airborne, an exhilarating experience. Ninsianna’s mind headed down into a very naughty and dirty place with thoughts about what they were going to do after the ceremony.

  “Why are you smiling?” Pareesa asked.

  “Oh … no reason…” Ninsianna said noncommittally to the still-very-young maiden.

  “I know why!” Homa laughed. “She is thinking of all the naughty things she is going to do to that handsome winged stud of hers later!”

  “Homa!” Mama shushed, looking at Pareesa. “We have young ears present!"

  Normally a twelve-year-old such as Pareesa would have been hanging around with less gutter-minded young women, but her natural talent as a warrior had exposed her to other ideas besides how to shoot an arrow.

  “It’s not like I don't know what … what … well … at least I have an idea what you're all talking about!” Pareesa blushed.

  “Pareesa’s mother would have you girl’s heads if she overheard you right now!" Mama gave the girls a pointed look. “Young lady … you have a few more years to go before you speak of such things!”

  “Of course, Needa!" The mischievous twinkle in her eye clued the others the fairy-like Pareesa had no intention of doing what she was told. Her near capture had changed the young woman, making her more serious. This glimpse of the 'old' Pareesa was a welcome sight.

  “Ninsianna … it's time!” Papa shouted up the stairs.

  “Let’s go, daughter,” Mama said with a serious expression. All of a sudden, she gave Ninsianna a hug and burst into tears.

  “Mama … what is wrong?”

  “Oh, nothing,” Mama wiped her tears with her sleeve as she tried to compose herself. “It’s just … I'm so happy.”

  The girls giggled as they tromped down the stairs. Papa held out one arm, kissed her on the cheek, and escorted her to the main square. As shaman, Papa's job was to ensure no evil spirits intruded upon their nuptials while they took their vows.

  They had originally intended to have a small ceremony, just her family, Mikhail’s friends Yalda and Zhila, and the original eight archers who had become a close-knit group. Unfortunately, since the night of the raid, Mikhail had become a security blanket for the rattled villagers. The wedding was the Chief’s opportunity to reassure his people that their champion was not about to take wing and leave them to fend f
or themselves in the wake of the strange, coordinated raids.

  The old tightwad had even offered to pay for everything….

  It was a party-like atmosphere as they wound their way through the tightly packed streets, well-wishers who were not already in the main square for the opening festivities thronging behind her as though it were a parade. Older residents came out and wished her well, while some of the younger, more gutter-minded young women made off-color jokes about how much she must be looking forward to being turned from a maiden into a woman. Some of the comments were quite … explicit. Ninsianna blushed, her cheeks rosy and pink with excitement by the time they traversed the village and entered the main village square.

  Her breath caught in her chest as she caught sight of him waiting for her in front of the Chief. She'd always thought he was the most beautiful man she'd ever seen, but today he wore his dress uniform, his wings pressed tightly against his back. The formality was broken when he flashed her a rare smile, although these days, in the privacy of their home, he'd started to smile quite a lot. She noticed how snug his uniform had become across his chest and arms. Living amongst the Ubaid doing hard physical labor had filled him out, including the axillary muscles running down his back which powered his flight. He reached out to take her hand.

  “You look beautiful.”

  “You look good, too." She glanced around at all the people who had come. "The whole village is here? That's quite a turnout.”

  “The Chief promised free food afterward." His eyes twinkled as he cracked a rare joke. Three days of hanging around the Trickster Sisters had taught him humor.

  Papa circled the perimeter, waving a smoldering bundle of the sacred qat plant and invoking the deities who would protect their marriage from evil spirits. Marriages were performed both by the Chief, who had the power to accept or deny unions, and the village shaman, who had the power to invoke the blessings of She-who-is. Symbolically, it represented the synergy of the material realm with the dream time.

  “Are we ready to begin?” Chief Kiyan asked.

  “Yes,” they both answered.

  The Chief was as long-winded as he usually was. The surroundings began to fade as she marveled at the beautiful winged man She-who-is had sent to be her husband. She was barely conscious of Papa wrapping a braided wheat-sheath cord around the both of their arms, symbolizing the binding together of two spirits into one. So beautiful, the gift that had been given to her by She-who-is. Both him … and the ability to see. Ninsianna watched the inner light swirl around him as he gave her a smile that would have lit up the night sky. Beautiful golden-white light spiraled out of his heart and wrapped her in his essence like rays from a sun, the real-life energy backing up the wedding vows he repeated after the Chief words about remaining faithful to her until death did them part.

  “I do,” part of her heard him say as she saw the energy which bound them together as husband and wife spiral out into the universe. Still riding the wave of goddess-vision, she saw, rather than heard, the words as he made his commitment to be her mate for life.

  “You're supposed to say -I do-” Mikhail leaned in and whispered in her ear.

  “Huh?" Her mind came back into the physical realm.

  “You're supposed to say that you'll have me,” he said. “You went to that other place...”

  “Oh … I do!” she said loud enough so everybody could hear.

  “Then as Chief of this village, I now pronounce you husband and wife,” Chief Kiyan said. “Mikhail … you may kiss your bride.”

  Ninsianna's heart skipped a beat as he bent in to kiss her, pulling her close in a display of public affection that would have scandalized the more conservative members of the tribe had he not immediately encircled them in his wings. Outside, the tribe clapped, then began to chuckle and laugh as their kiss lingered, and lingered, and then lingered some more. Finally, the more uninhibited in the group cat-called and cracked jokes about finding the nearest bed. Two of the cat-callers sounded suspiciously like Yalda and Zhila.

  His lips slid from the edge of her mouth, along her cheek, to whisper in her ear. “How long are we obligated to stick around before we can leave?”

  “Mmmmmm....” she mumbled in a pleasantly fuzzy haze. “Do we need to stick around at all?”

  “No.”

  Grabbing her waist, he flared his wings and catapulted them into the sky, away from the crowd, towards his ship where they would spend the next two weeks attending to the business of doing what married couples did. The wedding guests clapped until they flew out of range.

  * * * * *

  Immanu and Needa

  “In a hurry, aren't they?” Needa squeezed her husband's hand in an affectionate grip.

  “At least they waited." Immanu pulled her in for a hug. “We didn't…”

  “They don't know that,” Needa chuckled. Her cheeks became pink at the memory of their first encounters together in the woods behind her home village of Gasur.

  “Nor does Ninsianna know she was already well on the way when we finally got around to performing the nuptials." Immanu gave his wife a pinch on the backside when no one was looking. “It was the only way we could get your parents to agree to the union.”

  “Do you think their children will have wings?” Needa asked.

  “Only the goddess knows." Immanu wrapped one arm around her shoulders. “I just hope She-who-is blesses their union quickly. It's been a long time since we've had little ones running around.”

  Chapter 92

  August 1st – 3,390 BC

  Earth: Village of Assur

  Jamin

  In the back of the crowd, Jamin watched. Game. It was all a game to lull his people into a false sense of security and earn their trust. Ninsianna should have been his wife. Now … even that was gone.

  Shahla looked back, no doubt searching for him. She'd pouted when he'd said he had better things to do than attend his former fiancés wedding. With Shahla, it was all about the dress. The flowers. The wheat-stalks woven through the bride's hair. How elaborate the wedding feast and how important the guests were who had been invited from other tribes. Already she was chattering about the dress she would wear when he married her.

  How had he gotten himself into this mess? Not only had he lost Ninsianna and gotten eleven people killed, but now he was saddled with a woman he didn't love, forced to pretend he was in love with her so she wouldn't tell everyone what he'd done.

  He faded into the shadows so Shahla wouldn't see him. She was the last person he wanted to see right now. He felt sick. Angry. Hatred. Grief. He wanted to cry. He wanted to scream. He wanted to stab the winged demon in the heart who had taken his woman. Tears welled in his eyes as the winged demon carried Ninsianna up into the sky.

  His cheek twitched, the tic getting worse the longer he was forced to endure. He felt like a spear pulled back in chamber about to be thrown. A weapon with too much energy stored behind it, ready to spring into action and no place to aim it. They were watching him, his guilt screaming from his every pore. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. In his effort to save his people, he'd killed some of them. Was even now killing some of them. Forced to crawl back to Marwan, his tail between his legs, and beg for information about the Amorites they were selling his people to once they left Halifian hands.

  He'd looked the winged demon in the eye and what had stared back at him had not been human…

  Mikhail knew…

  He was just toying with him. That was it. The winged demon knew what he had done and he was toying with him because it served some purpose he hadn’t figured out yet. But what?

  He realized he was being watched…

  “Stop following me around,” he hissed.

  Black eyes stared out from the shadow of a building. He twitched as she gave him that creepy black stare. He realized she'd been crying.

  “What’s with you?” he sneered. “Upset your big winged stud never even noticed you existed?”

  Gita stepped from the shadows, a pale, gau
nt wraith that looked as though she hadn't had enough to eat since the day she'd been born. A year older than Ninsianna, she appeared no older than that bitch, Pareesa. Her raggedy brown woolen cloak, a cast-off of Shahla’s, was drawn tightly around her as though she were cold even though the temperature was oppressive. She reminded him of … death.

  Her cheek was bruised. The one outfit she owned had been torn. Another row, no doubt, with her drunken father. She would wait until the wedding guests cleared, then take the morsels they dropped home to feed herself until mold made it no longer edible. Hunger. Gita was living proof of what happened once you became an outcast.

  The urge to beat the crap out of the father who had beaten her … again … welled to the surface. Immanu’s brother was living proof that the family of the so-called ‘Chosen One’ was not so altruistic. Why had he been saddled with watching out for the peculiar, black-eyed girl when she had real family who should have intervened?

  Once upon a time, he'd have done just that. Waited until Merariy was good and drunk and then rolled him in a back alley, claiming he'd been someplace else when his father tried to call him on it. But no more! He was done watching out for the rejects of this village when they were too stupid to watch out for themselves!

  His cheek twitched. He was wound so tight he wanted to scream.

  “You've got to let it go,” Gita whispered, her black eyes staring through him as though he wasn’t even there. “Can’t you see what this is doing to you? Let it go.”

  She? Was telling. Him? To let things … go? Why? So he could end up like … her?

  “What do you want, Gita?” Jamin hissed.