Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One
Page 83
July – 3,390 BC
Earth: Outside Assur
Colonel Mikhail Mannuki’ili
Mikhail
The cry of a small animal, its sleep disturbed by a clumsy foot, betrayed the enemy's position. The last time they'd done battle, Mikhail's wing had been broken. It never occurred to them to look up as a dark shadow obscured the moon and an avenging Angelic swooped down from the sky, sword drawn, like a terrifying bird of prey.
No memory was necessary to do what what his body had been trained to do since boyhood. Memory did not matter in this heightened state of battle readiness, only sensation; not feeling, but a larger, more expansive sense of simply knowing. Muttering the Cherubim meditations which separated his ability to think from his ability to feel as his boots hit the ground, Mikhail flared his wings and crouched, arms in a ready stance to take them on from whichever direction they came at him. Breathe in. Breathe out. Become one with the battlefield. Use senses beyond the normal five.
The subtle glow of the enemy's thoughts preceded their actions like a faint, white echo; a phantasm of intent which had not yet manifested into action. Some part of his mind perceived where their arrows were aimed before the kidnapper's fingers finished drawing their bows. Three arrows came at him simultaneously. He swung upwards and knocked the two deadliest arrows out of the air with his sword, but the third arrow slammed into the tender flesh of his wing.
Pain radiated down into his axial muscles, but the injuries were not sufficient to incapacitate him. He filed the pain impulses away in the back of his mind for processing later. The only data which mattered during battle was how badly the injury would inhibit his ability to fly. Mikhail straightened, showing them they'd been unsuccessful. Swinging his sword in an invitation to bring it on, the enemy hesitated, and then rushed at him all at once.
“Mikhail,” Pareesa cried out. “Look out!”
A fourth man came out of the shadows and rushed at him from the rear. That sixth sense he could only access during battle felt the subtle touch of the fourth attacker's hostile thoughts and the place on his back where the enemy intended to bury his spear. Mikhail spun and cut him down before Pareesa's words even had a chance to register. Warm, red blood splattered onto his his hand.
"May She-who-is welcome you into the Dreamtime," he whispered as he sliced backwards a second time to pierce the kidnapper through the heart and guarantee he was permanently out of the equation
Two more enemies rushed at him with spears. Mikhail snapped one spear with his blade and kicked the enemy in the chest to knock him back into the second man. He grabbed the second spear and used it to skewer both of them as though they were meat set out to roast upon an enormous fire. He felt no emotion as they screamed and writhed, but simply decapitated them to put an end to their suffering.
The three unknown women tied up alongside Pareesa sobbed in terror as the little fairy struggled to get herself free.
Several more enemies came out of the shadows and fired arrows at him, but he could see the intent to release the bowstring before they actually did it. Swinging his sword to create an arc, he knocked the arrows out of the air. One slipped past his sword and thudded into his shoulder, causing more pain than even he could ignore. He whispered the Cherubim prayer for unfeeling, for discipline of the mind, for the ability to choose which stimuli he wished to feel. Work. Methodically. Take out the biggest threat. Ignore your pain. You can attend to your injuries later.
Take … out … the leader. He leaped after the bowman he calculated was the best shot, cutting him down with one swing of the sword. He cut down a second enemy who rushed at him to defend the first with an obsidian blade. Mission … free Pareesa. He picked up the knife and tossed it to her to cut herself free before turning to deal with the remaining three kidnappers.
They were out of arrows. The enemy came at him with their spears.
The arrow which had lodged in his shoulder inhibited his ability to move. He snapped it off, and then put his sword back into its sheath, beckoning to the trio in a universal gesture of ‘bring it on.' They circled, trying to figure out their best angle of attack. He studied them, watched them, observed the flicker of knowing as their minds replayed various scenarios and then settled upon a course of action. He could see the forward rush of their energy before they even moved. They shouted and all rushed at him at once.
He leaped into the air, flapping his wings to gain just enough height that the three stumbled into each other, off balance as their spears met empty air. He dropped back down and grabbed the first one by the neck, twisting the man's head to snap his neckbones. The second enemy he threw to the ground and pinned his neck beneath one boot, stomping his neck to crush his larynx.
The man gurgled and writhed, unable to catch his breath.
The third enemy came at him a second time with his spear. A ‘whoosh’ cut through the air before Mikhail had a chance to take him out. Pareesa appeared from the shadows, a Halifian bow in her hands as she shot the last raider in the heart with his own arrow.
“That will teach you to kidnap women!” Pareesa hissed at her dying assailant.
She ran towards him, and then stopped and pointed her bow at him, her brown eyes wide with fear as she strung another arrow.
"Mikhail … your eyes…"
That sixth sense of knowing, the one which ruthlessly calculated action, could see no echo of intent in his young mentor's aim. She was frightened. This was a side of him she had never seen.
He tilted his head, unable to recall how to speak her language.
"Osoreru koto wa arimasen," he said in the language which filled his mind. Don't be afraid.
He held up his empty hands to show he'd sheathed his sword.
Pareesa trembled, but stood her ground even though, in her spirit-echo, he could see she only wanted to throw herself into his arms and weep. She was a natural warrior, but she was also a twelve-summer girl. In her eyes, he could see the reflection of his own unearthly blue eyes, no longer just irises in a sea of white, but filled with an internal luminescence. His mind whispered this was normal, that this was part of what he became when the gods wielded him as a weapon, that all was well so long as he never lost control of his anger. He stored the information into that portion of his brain which grasped at patterns to fill in the spots where his memories had been erased. Right now, this detail was unimportant.
Pareesa lowered her arrow.
“I overheard the Halifians say they were sending a larger band to attack Assur," Pareesa said. "I'm okay. You must go and help Ninsianna!”
Without a word, he leaped into the air, ignoring the arrow still stuck in his wing as he raced through the ink-black sky to defend to the woman he loved.
Chapter 78