Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One

by Anna Erishkigal

February – 3,390 BC

  Earth: Crash site

  Colonel Mikhail Mannuki’ili

  Mikhail

  As promised, Immanu returned with food and items to make their stay more comfortable. This time he did not come alone, but brought his mate, Ninsianna’s mother, he surmised, by the way she gave the woman a hug. The woman had the same wavy dark hair, golden complexion and curvaceous figure as Ninsianna did, but her eyes were brown instead of her daughter's unusual tawny beige ones. Ninsianna had apparently inherited her good looks from her mother, who was herself a striking woman, and not her father.

  “Who … Needa,” Ninsianna introduced her mother. “Mama."

  The woman had the same proud bearing as Ninsianna; that look people get when they're accustomed to being looked up to, and obeyed. She was much more direct than her husband, staring unflinchingly into Mikhail's eyes, her lips pursed as she scrutinized his features with the same unreadable expression Mikhail usually wore. She watched intently his interactions with her daughter, no doubt searching to see if he'd broken his promise. He had not, but he understood this was a woman on whose bad side one did not wish to be.

  “Tá mé an-sásta bualadh leat [pleased to meet you]."

  Mikhail reached out to shake her hand with the same level of formality he would convey to a commanding officer. Immanu translated. By the way the woman barked a command at her husband, it was obvious which spouse wore the pants in this family or, in the case of Ubaid attire, the kilt?

  They had long ago devoured the bird Ninsianna had caught for breakfast, but she'd cooked extra tubers in anticipation of her parent's arrival. He was glad they had that small hospitality to offer the traveling couple while Needa spoke to her daughter at length. Standing and straightening her shawl-dress, Needa moved to stand before him, snapping a command at Immanu to no doubt translate.

  “My wife would like to examine your injuries,” Immanu said, “to see how well you're healing. Needa is the healer in our village. Ninsianna is still in training.”

  Mikhail examined the woman’s face. He'd already been poked and prodded by Ninsianna once today, but to say no might offend her mother. How could he explain that when he allowed someone to touch his wings, it felt … intimate? These people had been nothing but good to him since he'd crash-landed and turned their world upside down. It was obvious that Immanu valued his wife's opinion on things.

  “I consent,” Mikhail said. “Although Ninsianna has done a fine job.”

  “She has, indeed,” Immanu said. “I don't know how you survived.”

  “I'm stubborn."

  Mikhail schooled his expression into one of impassive observation as the splint was removed for the second time today. Needa’s touch was much less gentle. Where Ninsianna would caress the area to accustom him to her touch, Needa got right down to business, poking and prodding with single-minded efficiency. He could picture Needa running the triage unit on a hospital ship.

  No! Wait! He grasped at the memory fragment as it flitted through his mind and exited as randomly as it had come. Damantia!

  “Are your memories returning, yet?” Immanu asked.

  Mikhail scrutinized the man, not sure how much he should reveal to someone he didn't really know.

  “Just fragments," Mikhail said. "Most don't make any sense.”

  “What do you remember?”

  “Things about emperors and hospital ships," Mikhail said. "Nothing very helpful.”

  “Yet you can still do things that you did in the past?”

  “It appears so,” Mikhail frowned. “I know what I know, but I can't remember how I know it." He pointed to his dog tags. "I know from these that I'm a colonel in the Alliance Air Force. I know what that means, but I have no memory of ever serving. I know things a soldier would know, but I only realize I know it when I need it. Does that make any sense?”

  “I have seen this problem after injuries such as yours,” Immanu said. “Usually the person regains his memory a short time later. But I've never seen someone so lucid who could remember nothing at all.”

  Mikhail stiffened as a sharp pain stabbed into his wing.

  “Ouch!” Mikhail turned and glared at Needa, who had cracked a bone in his wing joint back into place without warning him. “Féach ar an sciathán! [Watch the wing!]"

  Needa shook her finger at Ninsianna and let loose a string of language he couldn't understand. It was the scolding a parent would give a neglectful child.

  “Ninsianna missed a dislocated joint just above the break,” Immanu translated. “It would have left you unable to fly had it healed that way. My wife just snapped it back into place."

  Ninsianna looked at her feet, a look of mortification upon her face.

  “Please convey my thanks to Needa,” Mikhail reschooled his impassive expression. “And remind Ninsianna that I wouldn't be alive if not for her.”

  Needa finished examining his wounds, grunting with satisfaction at the stitch-job Ninsianna had done on his chest, and re-splinted his wing. Needa’s splint was tighter and less comfortable than Ninsianna’s, but he could feel how it gave the limb much more stability. Stepping back so he didn't fan sparks out of the fire, he extended both wings and flapped, just enough to reassure himself he'd regained some mobility. His broken wing still hurt, but at least it no longer hung uselessly from his back.

  “I told our village chief about the legends of your people,” Immanu said. “But Jamin is the chief’s son. I fear he bears a grudge against you.”

  “What Jamin feels is of no concern to me,” Mikhail said. “As soon as I can make repairs to my ship, I shall contact my people and leave your world.”

  “Only the will of his father prevents Jamin from sneaking up here with a band of warriors,” Immanu warned. “He seeks revenge for what he feels is a blow to his manhood. He blames you for stealing Ninsianna away from him.”

  “I'm not responsible for whatever relationship this Jamin has, or doesn't have, with your daughter.”

  “That's for certain!" Immanu nodded in Ninsianna’s direction as she argued heatedly with her mother about the best way to care for his injuries. “Ninsianna is her own woman. Just like her mother.”

  “I don't think there was anything to steal,” Mikhail said. “I watched her punch him in the face.”

  Immanu's voice shifted to a more serious tone.

  “I know my daughter. She has become very fond of you." The shaman's bushy dark eyebrows came together in concern. "Although we have no recourse against one as powerful as you, I beg you not to take advantage of her affections. When you leave here, it will break her heart to be left behind.”

  “I gave you my word,” Mikhail regretted the promise even as the words left his mouth. “And I shall honor that promise."

  Ninsianna showed her parents the interior of his wrecked ship. Mikhail hid his amusement … and dismay … as his three visitors rummaged through his cupboards like eager squirrels, attempting to follow their conversation as they contemplated the use of each unfamiliar item, with often amusing interpretations of what things were for. They spent quite some time discussing his broken food replicator, opening and shutting the door and pushing all of the buttons, until at last they turned to ask him a question.

  “Mikhail,” Immanu asked. “Ninsianna is perplexed. How can you travel across the stars with no food in your sky canoe?”

  “It's a replicator." Mikhail pulled out a little biocube from the storage container underneath the machine and showed it to him. “This contains all of the sub-atomic building blocks contained in most foods. You simply program in whatever you want to eat, for example, fish and potatoes, and the machine reassembles the molecules to make it for you.”

  Immanu looked at him as though he were a twelve-headed ollphéist.

  “It's magic, but the magic which runs the machine is broken.”

  “Oh!" Immanu nodded with understanding. He explained it to Ninsianna and his wife.

  Mikhail made a mental note to bring Ninsian
na up to speed on modern technology as soon as he was able to teach her his language. She was an intelligent woman. It was not her fault she'd been born on a pre-technological planet. No doubt she would grasp the concepts as soon as he educated her about the science underlying it.

  He was relieved when her parents finally left. They were nice people, but her mother scrutinized everything he did as though she were a cat waiting to pounce upon a mouse. Exhaustion caused his speech to pause mid-sentence and he felt like he might simply tumble forward. He couldn't remember how much sleep he'd needed before, but he doubted it was the numerous naps he needed now.

  “Gá dom roinnt chodladh,” Mikhail grumbled. “Need … sleep.”

  He stumbled to his sleeping quarters and plopped down into his bunk, not even bothering to cover himself before conking out like a dead man. Ninsianna covered him and kissed him on the cheek.

  He dreamt of her. Steamy, sensual dreams where she soaped the length of his body with her supple hands. He groaned so loudly he woke himself up, the pleasant dream fading as he realized she was asleep mere inches from where he dreamt. So close, but so far away! Keeping his hands off of her would be one promise he regretted.

  Oh well … he'd never promised to not to dream of her. Closing his eyes, he willed himself back into the pleasant dream to finish in the dream realm what he was unable to follow through with in real life.

  Chapter 25