Late-March – 3,390 BC
Earth: Mesopotamian plain outside Assur
Jamin
For three days Jamin had wandered the desert, searching for the encampment of his enemy. He was thankful when at last he spied the colorful banners the People of the Desert used to differentiate one tent-group from another. When he'd been but a boy, not too long after his mother had died, he'd come upon a man sitting at the edge of his favorite hunting path, a man with a scar that led from his lips to his ear. They had talked for a while about insubstantial things, hunting squirrels and the best way to find water in the desert, and then the shaykh had tussled his hair and sent him on his way. Why Marwan hadn't killed him or taken him for a ransom, Jamin had never understood, but when he'd become desperate after the winged demon had snatched his fiancé, he'd gone to Marwan to hire men to steal her back.
Dark eyes peered out from hides stretched across the wooden poles as Jamin strode into the encampment, forcing himself to appear chiefly. Two hostile-looking men stopped him from going any further, their stone blades clearly visible in their belts. A moment later, the scar-faced man stepped out from amongst the tents wearing a hastily-donned fitted robe that was unlike the loose shawl worn by Ubaid men. His face was as merciless as his beak-like nose, and the scar gave him a sinister appearance.
"Let it never be said that Kiyan's son lacks a manhood," Marwan said. He gestured towards the men who had come out of the tents behind him. "You take your life into your hands to come back to treat with us again."
"I need more men," Jamin said. "I have brought you something in trade."
“He killed eighteen of our kin,” Marwan said. His scar puckered up like a second, silent mouth. "How do we know you did not set us up?"
“Now you understand why I view him as such a threat," Jamin said. "Your kin's mistake was in thinking they could take him alive for a ransom. Next time, you should listen when I tell you I want him dead."
The other men pushed closer, their dark eyes filled with murder, but Marwan held them back, for it was, indeed, as he said. Kidnap and ransom was how the People of the Desert garnered resources when times grew hard and the desert did not provide all they needed to survive. Somehow, he doubted Marwan would allow that, for when the desert shaykh had sought him out as a boy for whatever purpose, he'd assured him the People of the Desert had their own peculiar code of honor.
Either they would kill him outright, or they would hear what he had to say. Jamin unslung the heavy pack he'd carried all the way from Assur. Although Halifians scorned the 'settled' tribes who tied their fate to the land, the dried emmet these people relied upon to supplement their diet of goat was in short supply this time of year.
A quiet murmur arose from the tents where the women hid. Veiled eyes peered out from cracks between hides propped upon poles to act as walls. A slender hand reached out from underneath one of the tents to signal interest. The grain he offered was not without value.
Marwan spied the hand signal and waved it off. The slender hand disappeared from view. Unlike Ninsianna, Halifian women did not dare contradict their husband.
“You'll have to pay us a lot more." Marwan gestured with two fingers and his thumb to show he meant something easily tradable. “Otherwise my unsettled kin will not be interested in the risk. The Amorites offer gold for young female slaves. It's a lot easier to snatch women gathering forage in the field than to go up against a hardened warrior such as your demon.”
The other Halifian men laughed, a rough, guttural sound. Several felt at their belts for their blades. Jamin understood enough of their language to comprehend these men bore him ill will for walking their kin into an ambush. If he didn't treat with the people of the desert carefully, it might be him that ended up dead instead of the winged demon.
“Once I am chief,” Jamin said, “you will be richly rewarded.”
“You're not chief yet,” Marwan said. “And we can't spend it if we are dead.”
You're not chief yet! Those were the exact same words Ninsianna had taunted him with moments before the winged demon had appeared to snatch her from him.
Two of the mercenaries took a step towards him, their hands moving towards their blades. He was here alone and the desert shaykh only ever had the most peripheral control over his men. Unveiled aggression would get him killed.
“The good will you earn should be compensation enough,” Jamin said. “I have my father's ear. I'll urge him to be better disposed to your people. It's not right, how he blocks your access to the river and refuses to trade with you our life-giving grain.”
Marwan laughed, as though he knew something that Jamin didn't know, but his eyes were filled with some other emotion, neither humor nor hatred.
“Your forefathers evicted our forefathers from the village you now claim to be your own," Marwan said, "and now you come to me for help because somebody took what is yours?"
The other Halifians chuckled at the irony.
"If you want me to ask our unsettled to kill this winged demon," Marwan said, "you must bring me something to sweeten the trade.”
What Marwan asked might turn out to be a problem. Ever since his last unauthorized pilfer, the Chief had taken to keeping his personal treasury locked in the temple of She-who-is. If there was one thing Jamin understood about his father, it was that the old man was cheap!
“I'll see what I can come up with," Jamin said. He pointed to the heavy sack he'd hauled all the way from Assur. Lessons his father had given, and been ignored, whispered into his brain in a soft, feminine voice. He'd come into this camp without warriors to back him up. If he wanted to leave with his life, he needed to offer them something in return. "You may keep this grain as a gesture of my goodwill."
He backed out of the tent settlement, aware of the hostile eyes which watched him as he left. As he climbed the sparsely vegetated rise, the grass already nipped close to the craggy land by the enormous herd of goats, he looked back. Dark covered shapes scurried forth from the low tents, their heads and faces covered with robes so that he wouldn't be tempted by their beauty. If only Ninsianna had been thus covered when the winged demon had first arrived! Perhaps then, the demon wouldn't have taken it upon himself to steal his bride?
A single ray of sunlight broke through the clouds and shone like gold upon a covered female who walked clutching an infant to her chest. She paused outside her tent, her dark eyes the only part of her he could see as she watched him standing there upon the horizon. She wore the black head scarf of a widow. She looked …. young.
The wind picked up and caressed his cheek.
'The winged one has made many widows amongst this tribe. Some of them are quite beautiful. Perhaps you could ally your tribes peacefully -that- way?'
"Never!" he hissed.
He stormed back to Assur, determined to put in place his plan.
Chapter 37
Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One Page 41
