Sword of the Gods: Agents of Ki (Sword of the Gods Saga) (38 page)

"You're still a girl," he grumbled.

"And you're still a goat's behind," Pareesa shrugged. She squeezed his hand. "But we'll get them. We'll teach them you can't just attack the People of the River and not expect to meet our fist."

The warriors broke up then, finished burying the dead, and even said a begrudging prayer when Zartosht, Nineveh's ancient shaman, sprinkled water upon the head of their graves and mumbled prayers to She-who-is to grant their spirits entrance to the dreamtime. It's what Mikhail would have done.

~ * ~ * ~

November: 3,390 BC

Earth Orbit: Prince of Tyre

Ninsianna

Ninsianna snuggled further into her accursedly soft bed and shut her eyes, trying to will herself to get some rest. Sleep, unfortunately, remained elusive with all the thoughts which clawed frantically through her head.

Mikhail? Was he alright? Had Shahla
really
lured him into a trap? Had she made a mistake, ripping out the thread which had made her chest hurt before she'd had a chance to make sure it really
wasn't him?

"Mother," she stared into the tiny nighttime lantern which had been left illuminated to help them find their way into the bathroom. "Why have you forsaken me?"

Around her the other women breathed softly in their sleep. She closed her eyes and focused on the invisible threads which connected her to the people she cared about spiraled out of her abdomen like the stamen of a flower. Without the gift of the goddess, she could no longer
see
the threads, but if she shut her eyes, that more primitive gift, the gift of empathy she had inherited from her Mama, enabled her to
feel
a vague sensation of how that person was doing. She groped for some connection to Mikhail, but could find no connection at all. A sense of horror settled into her body as she realized what the Evil One had tricked her to do.

"Mikhail," she rubbed her abdomen where their baby slept safe. "I didn't mean it! Please! I didn't think it was really you!"

She whispered prayers to the goddess, but She-who-is didn't answer. Why would
SHE
? Ninsianna had gone and gotten her Champion killed!

No! She refused to believe that! Mikhail was only …

Injured?

Yes, injured. She had to heal him.

She focused harder, pressing against the barrier she could feel, but not see, and got nowhere. She remembered the dream the Dark Lord had sent her, the one where she had torn out the rope and cast it into the void. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she realized, in her fear and revulsion, that she'd refused to heed the warning of the goddess' husband.

How can you heal this wound if you fear the dark?

She curled up in a fetal position and began to cry again. They had given her every possible warning. The nightly premonitions that the Evil One would come disguised as a white-winged Angelic. Mikhail's cries that he could not
feel
her. Every step they had tried to help her and she, in her arrogance, she had assumed she was too
Chosen
to deal with any of it!

Her entire body shuddered with her guilt. Mikhail lay dying because she had failed him. She had failed the
goddess.

"Please, Mother! Tell me how to promulgate thy will?"

At last she drifted off to sleep, but the dream realm was no better than the waking one. The entrance to the void rose before her like a great, ominous wall of mist, yawning like an ancient hunger, ready to claw at her, ready to eat her alive. Oh, why hadn't she listened to her father when he'd tried to teach her how to navigate that accursed place and told her not to fear the dark? Now, not even the pathetic little shadow-cat she'd always sensed following her around was there to greet her as her guide. She stuck her hand into the darkness and recoiled. Every nerve ending screamed at her to run away.

"No!" Ninsianna shouted into the darkness. "I will not journey there!"

In her dream, the ebony-skinned woman arose from her bed, reached into the folds of her dress and pulled out several pieces of fruit. She placed the fruit at the edge of the darkness, and then backed away. A green clawed arm reached out of the darkness and grabbed the fruit.

Was the fruit an offering to a guardian?

The night lanterns began to grow brighter, as if a magic spell had been cast upon them to come up slowly the same way that the sun did. Ninsianna blinked and realized she was not asleep, but that at some point she had woken up and caused her dream to merge into reality. The dark place where the ebony-skinned woman had made the offering wasn't a pathway, but the alcove where the lizard soldier lay hidden beneath the blanket. The scent of fruit filled the room, as though somebody had just bitten into a pomegranate.

She crawled over to the edge of her bunk and reached across to touch the ebony-skinned woman's hand. The woman recoiled from her, her mantras growing louder as she scooted further away. Ninsianna retreated back to her side of the low barrier which separated their bunks in defeat. All around her, the other women, every one of them insane, got up out of their bunks and made their way into the bathroom to relieve themselves. The noise within the room grew louder as the cacophony of insane women uttering yowls and hisses made her want to put her hands over her ears. Which was worse? Nightmares about the dark place? Or the reality she found herself in now?

The door to the outside world burst open.

"Sooo-weee!" a beige-winged Angelic called out. "Time for breakfast!"

The Evil One!

Ninsianna's heart pounded so fast she thought it might burst. The other women screamed and rushed to the opposite side of the room, some diving into their bunks to cringe and hiss as two Angelics came through the door wheeling a cart filled with food.

Ninsianna flattened her back against the wall, praying the two Angelics would not see her. Terror mixed with an odd sense of familiarity as she recognized the same traits she'd once thought breathtaking in her husband, the winged ones great height, their pale skin, their chiseled features and straight, aquiline noses, but even more than that she trembled at the differences … white feathers and blonde hair.

"Any of them shit in the corner today?" the Angelic wearing a green shirt asked.

"Not yet," the red-speckled Angelic said. "Usually they do that
after
they've eaten."

"Kinda like us, hey Ruax?" the green-shirted one asked. "Get up in the morning, have a nice big cup of
caife,
and Aaaah! Twenty minutes later you take a nice, big dump!"

"You're gross, Procel!" the red-speckled Ruax said. "How do you expect to woo any of the new ones Lucifer's been bringing on board if you talk like that to them."

"Oh?" the green-shirted Procel laughed. "Like you've had any better luck than me?" Procel gestured to where the women huddled, terrified, as far away from them as they possibly could. "They run from
you
just as fast as they run from
me!"

Ninsianna strained to translate their words. She'd been given her gift of tongues so soon after she'd met Mikhail that she'd come to take for granted her grasp of his native language. Like any gift which had come easily without effort, once that gift was taken away, her
own
mental muscles were weak and she had to strain to understand what the men were saying. Yes, she
could
understand them because she had learned Mikhail's language the old-fashioned way, but it made her feel as though someone took a bone needle and poked it into her eye.

The two Angelics wiped down the table which still had fruit peelings and crumbs strewn about it from last night, talking as if none of the women could understand the insults they piled upon them.

"Do you think it would be too much for these dimwits to use a plate and fork?" Ruax flared his red-speckled wings with irritation. "I sure hope the one he gives
me
at least knows how to shit in a toilet."

"I'd just be happy if one of them just made eye contact with me," Procel said. He lifted a huge platter piled with breadstuffs onto the table, then a moment later a second tray piled with fruit. "Do you think, maybe if we treat them a little better than Lucifer did these gals, that maybe they won't be so, you know, broken?"

Ruax glanced at the door, as if ensuring it was really shut.

"Don't let Zepar overhear you talking like that," Ruax said. "Or he'll have you disappeared."

"Lerajie says…"

"Lerajie is going to get shot out an airlock one of these days," Ruax said. "The only reason it hasn't happened,
yet,
is because then they'd have to get rid of Eligor, and Eligor is the only one the puppet prince trusts."

The two finished piling trays onto the table, then one of them pulled out a broom and began to sweep the floor. Ninsianna was tempted to ask if they knew the fate of her husband, but that voice of caution she'd refused to listen to
earlier
when she'd followed Shahla into a trap urged her to watch and wait. Right now they had no idea she understood them, which was surprising because the Evil One had known full well she could speak Galactic Standard. However, having been privy to her father's counsel to Chief Kiyan, this wasn't the
first
time the top hadn't communicated an important fact to the men doing the dirty work at the bottom.

Like the fact She-who-is had warned her about a white-winged Angelic…

Ninsianna pushed the guilt out of her mind and tried to look at the situation the way she knew Mikhail would. She was unarmed … and pregnant. Direct confrontation was unwise. It would be wiser to watch, listen, and gather information before they realized they might be divulging things she could use to engineer her escape.

The two men moved into the bathroom, cursing and joking about the other women's unwillingness to flush the toilet. Ninsianna winced at the sound of the toilets flushing in rapid succession. It was an obnoxious sound, but as Mikhail had explained the concept of the running water, so the experience was not terrifying for her.

Procel walked out and brushed his forearm against his brow, careful to avoid touching his face with his large, bright blue gloves.

"How's the new one doing?" Ruax's voice streamed out of the bathroom from behind him.

Procel made eye contact with her. Ninsianna's heart slowed. The Angelic had blue eyes like her husband. She pressed her back into the wall behind her bunk, gathering her blanket around her as if somehow that could protect her if the man came at her to hurt her.

Procel frowned.

"Same as all the others, I guess," Procel said. He stepped closer to her. "Didn't you say Lucifer didn't touch this one yet?"

  "Not that I know of," Ruax's voice filtered out the bathroom with a bit of a hollow-sounding echo. "Unless he did something to her down on the planet. But by the looks of her, she's already four or five months along."

"Why would he take one who was already pregnant?" Procel asked.

The toilet flushed one more time. Ruax walked out of the bathroom, preening his wings, and stared across the room at her as well. Blue eyes. Did
all
Angelics bear these traits except for the Evil One? Ninsianna trembled at the memory of those horrid, silver eyes.

Procel reached towards her. "Hey … it's okay. We won't hurt you."

Ninsianna stared at him, owl-eyed, ready to jump up and run away, though where she'd go she had no idea. All around her the cacophony of the other women had grown louder.

"She can't understand you," Ruax snorted with disgust. "She's nothing but a stupid little brood animal."

Ninsianna bit her tongue. Hadn't she run away from Jamin for possessing that exact same attitude? She found it hard to believe her
husband
had come from the same species as these two jackals!

Procel walked up to stand in front of her bunk. He reached up to her, his expression more curious than malignant.

"Maybe Lucifer will give me this one," Procel said. "After he's, I don't know,
finished
with her? She's kind of pretty."