And when the woman saw
That the tree [was] good for food,
And that it [was] pleasant to the eyes,
And a tree to be desired to make [one] wise,
She took of the fruit thereof, and did eat,
And gave also unto her husband with her;
And he did eat.
Genesis 3:6
June – 3,390 BC
Earth: Village of Assur
Colonel Mikhail Mannuki’ili
Mikhail
“Yalda brought over your share of the loot,” Needa said as he came in for breakfast. Although Needa could cook, she didn't enjoy it. Meals in Ninsianna’s parents household tended to be simple, functional, and tasteless. Better than remolecularized food cubes, but not by much.
“I have never had these … what do you call them?” Mikhail asked.
“Olives,” Needa said. “Olll ivvvvsss.”
“Olives,” he committed the strange new word to memory. He reached into the bowl and pulled one of the small, black fruits out of what appeared to be oil.
“They are better with flat bread." Needa pointed to a basket of soft, still-warm bread that could have only come from Yalda. Needa’s bread always came out crispy and as hard as a rock.
Popping the decadent little fruit into his mouth, Mikhail moaned in pleasure as salty juices burst onto his tongue. A dribble of oil ran down his chin as he fished out the pit. Reaching for the flat bread, he sniffed the heavenly scent of the still-warm bread before tearing off a piece to dab the olive oil and pop it into his mouth. Turning to Needa, he gave her his most satisfied grin.
“You have learned our language remarkably fast." Needa used a rag to fish the covered crock where she simmered hard-boiled eggs at the edge of the oven for breakfast and pulled them out to cool.
“I had a good tutor.”
“I speak some Halifian and Anatolian,” Needa said. “It took me months to learn the few phrases I know, and I had to repeat them over and over again to memorize them. “
Mikhail turned this piece of information over in his mind and compared it to what little he knew about himself.
“I think where I come from we are expected to learn many languages.”
“You also heal remarkably fast." Needa finished up with her cooking and moved behind him to do her daily check of how his wing was healing. “It has only been four months since you almost died, and yet you barely have a scar.”
“This looks like a scar to me,” he pointed to the hideous crater under his shirt that reminded him he shouldn't be alive. The rod which had impaled him had shattered part of his ribcage, leaving nothing but bone fragments. The hole sank inward towards his heart and lung.
“You flew yesterday." Needa cuffed him off the side of the head.
“Hey! What was that for?”
“Save some olives for the rest of us, you big oaf,” Needa said. “You're eating us out of house and home!”
“Soorrriiiii,” he mumbled through a mouthful of flat bread that he'd just dipped into the delicious oil and stuffed into his mouth, unapologetic.
“Let me check the wing." Needa placed her strong hands on the tendon that had been taking its sweet time healing.
Mikhail obediently stretched out his left wing. Needa felt where the bones had knitted back together then down where the tendon had torn with her practiced hands.
“Does it still hurt?”
“It does today,” he admitted.
“That’s because you weren’t supposed to take your first flight with my daughter in tow!" Needa cuffed him on the side of the head a second time. “You overdid it. You're supposed to start slow.”
“She asked for it!" He snitched another olive when Needa wasn't looking and popped it into his mouth. “I only gave what I got.”
Needa finished her examination and grunted permission to tuck his wing back into a more comfortable position. Sitting down opposite him and grabbing an olive and a piece of flat bread, she regarded him with an unreadable expression while she chewed, chasing down the tasty treat with a draught of water. Finally she spoke what was on her mind.
“Ninsianna is fond of you.”
Mikhail inwardly cringed. He knew where this conversation was going. He'd promised Immanu he would keep his hands off of their daughter. Yesterday, in the heat of the moment, he'd allowed himself to do what was in his heart. To very publicly do what was in his heart.
“That won't happen again." He schooled his expression into the blank, serious expression he used to mask his feelings.
“That wasn't what I asked,” Needa looked directly into his eyes.
Mikhail let her words sank in. “What are you asking?”
“Are you fond of her?”
Mikhail puzzled over where this conversation was going before he answered truthfully.
“Very.”
“So what are you going to do about it?" Needa searched his face for answers.
“Nothing. I gave Immanu my word." He withdrew into his mask to hide the emotions swirling like a cyclone just beneath the surface.
“Mikhail,” Needa's expression softened, “we didn't know you then. We just don't want Ninsianna to get hurt.”
Mikhail tried to grasp just what Needa was saying and failed. He had the impression this conversation was alien territory. He went with what he knew.
“I gave Immanu my word. I will keep my word." He wished to withdraw from this conversation and the dangerous feelings it aroused. He might have pulled it off, too, if not for his expression of misery.
“Ask him…” Needa said.
“I don't understand.”
“Ask Immanu for permission to court his daughter,” Needa said. “It's our custom to ask.”
“But … he … said…." Mikhail was perplexed.
“His feelings about you have changed." Needa took his hand in hers and squeezed it. “Ask. We just want to see Ninsianna be happy.”
“I can’t!" His voice sounded anguished. “I can't remember who I am! What if I'm not free to be with her? What if I already have a mate? What if a ship arrives to rescue me and they order me to return to duty? I'm a soldier…”
“What does your heart tell you?” Needa asked. “Do you long for someone you can't name?”
“No.”
“When you look up at the stars, even though you can't remember, does it feel as though there is a hole in your heart because you miss somebody who is not here?”
“No. I only long for Ninsianna.”
“If you had to report to duty, when you were through, would you come back for her?”
“Good lord, yes! I would battle Shay’tan himself to come home to her!”
“Then sweet gods boy, go after that girl before you drive the rest of us insane!” Needa exclaimed.
“What?”
“The only two people in this village who don't know you two were made for each other are you and Ninsianna!”
“Are you giving me … permission?” Here he'd thought he'd betrayed their trust by not keeping his emotions under control, and now Ninsianna’s mother was now telling him to go for it? And who the heck was this Shay’tan he'd just mentioned off the cuff … the memory gone as soon as it was mentioned?
“Speak to Immanu,” she got up from the table. “Ask permission. It's our way.”
“Wha- What am I asking for?" He was not certain how far he dared go with this.
“What is in your heart?" Needa came around behind him and placed her hand upon his shoulder.
“I … I want Ninsianna to stay with me … always,” he replied without reservation.
“Will you ever abandon her?”
“Not unless I'm dead!”
“Then ask Immanu for her hand." Needa gave him a quick kiss on the cheek and was gone.
Mikhail sat staring at the bowl of olives, unmoving. Just when he thought he understood human behavior, Needa had thrown him a curve ball. He would speak to Immanu at the first suitable moment. Grabbing one last olive, he popped i
t into his mouth and savored the tasty, salty fruit. Rare and delicious. Just like Ninsianna.
Chapter 56
Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One Page 60
