Sword of the Gods: Agents of Ki (Sword of the Gods Saga) (45 page)

“I shall get a knife,” Aturdokht said.

“No, my shaykah,” Jamin said, using the title bequeathed to her by her dead husband. “That is part of the gift.”

It was a tiny knife, its blade no longer than his finger, forged of the same unearthly metal as the one Shahla had buried in Mikhail’s chest. Despite its light weight and size, it was sharper than the most finely wrought obsidian blade and it reflected the light like a beacon.

Aturdokht gasped with delight as she took the tiny knife and weighed it in her hand. She ran her finger along the blade and then stuck her finger in her mouth when she drew blood. Her veil slipped, exposing her lush, pink lips. Instead of tacking the cloth back to cover her face, she ignored it, giving him an unimpeded view.

A favorable sign?

“It is sharp,” Aturdokht met his gaze. “And incredibly light. What is this knife called?”

“The lizard people call it a
paring
knife,” Jamin said. “It is a special knife for preparing small items of food. And here…” He pulled out his final gift, a tiny round, flat stone with a texture like a cat’s tongue. “This is called a whetstone. You use it to keep the knife sharp.”

Aturdokht’s hazel eyes sparkled a vibrant, emerald green.

"Such a magnificent gift. Come. Sit. Let us share this fruit you have brought my father.”

Jamin was painfully aware of how delicate her hands were as she peeled the fruit to reveal the bright orange flesh within. She plunged the knife into its core, her lips parted as she sliced the fruit away from the large, flat pit and carefully divided it into equal shares. The air around them filled with a fruity scent so decadent that Jamin could almost taste it. Aturdokht took a small square from each portion and pressed it into the one she would present to her father.

“Here father, eat,” Aturdokht said. “Perhaps this fruit will help you get well?”

“Ahh, daughter,” Marwan said. “I fear it is too late for that, but I shall eat it anyways, if for no reason than to taste what fruit to ask for when I make my passage into the dreamtime.”

The old shaykh bit into the slippery orange flesh. His face lit up in a smile as the flavor burst onto his tongue and juices dripped into his beard.

“This fruit … what is it called?”

“The lizard people said the people who grow it call it mango,” Jamin said. “It grows in trees so tall they can almost touch the sky.”

“Have you seen these trees?” Marwan asked.

“Not yet,” Jamin said, “but the lizard people have shown me many wondrous things, including pictures of these trees. They have sent me with a talisman so that I may show
you
as well.”

He pulled out the little tek-no-lo-gee and touched the screen. Aturdokht gasped as the tablet came to life and on the magic window appeared a picture of a dark-skinned teenager climbing a tree so large his arms could barely fit around the trunk. Trees were rare in this land where scant water condemned most to never grow larger than a shrub, but they had heard of such trees from traders. He handed the device to Aturdokht, relishing the way her fingers lingered as he pressed it into her hand.

“What a wondrous talisman this is!” Aturdokht turned it over. She looked at him with expectant eyes.

“Alas, my shaykah,” Jamin said. “It is not, I fear, mine to give you. This is a magical device, a talisman crafted to make men smarter. When I am done with it, I must give it back so someone else can learn from it.”

“What else does this tek-no-lo-gee teach you?” Marwan asked.

Jamin turned towards the desert adder. He’d been hoping Marwan would ask just such a question.

“It teaches us how to subdue the power of the river,” Jamin said, “and force its waters to travel far from the source to water the herds of even the remotest tribe.”

“This tek-no-lo-gee can do that?” Marwan exclaimed.

“Alas, no!” Jamin laughed. “This … is just a teacher. The river will not give up her waters easily. But this device will teach you how to dig fortifications so we can figure out how to do it ourselves.”

He stretched out on the carpet beside Marwan like a son, flipping through the images with which Kasib had imbued the tek-no-lo-gee of distant worlds where water was abundant and no tribe had to go through the dry season with an empty waterskin. All manner of species toiled in the fields in the pictures, but the crops stretched as far as the eye could see.

“These people are settled.” Aturdokht's voice was filled with scorn.

Jamin met her hazel-green eyes.

“Would settling be such a terrible thing,” he asked softly, “if it meant your daughter never had to go hungry? If you never had to slaughter your herds and dry their meat because you ran out of forage to feed them? The lizard people only settle around their fields. Once their bellies are full, they travel far from their homes in search of other words to proselytize their Emperor's teachings. It would be the best of both ways of existence."

Aturdokht lowered her gaze, her eyes communicating she found favor with his words. She peeked up at him through veiled lashes, but from the way her lip trembled, he knew instantly something was wrong.

“There is still the matter of Aturdokht’s bride-price,” Marwan’s expression was grave. "She has fended off advances from other suitors by insisting her widow's debt must be first be paid, but once I am gone, I fear Zahid will force her to remarry to create an alliance with a tribe which can give us water-rights."

Jamin turned to his host.

"That is why I am here,” Jamin said. “The winged demon is dead, by the very knife I confiscated from Yazan's serpent of a slave trader."

Nusrat, who had been silent until now, cleared his throat. Jamin turned to study the man who would be his brother-in-law if all went as planned.

"Shahla's father has been passing information to his Uruk allies," Nusrat said. "He is not favorably inclined towards us as we sheltered
you
after you beat his daughter, but his trading partners passed along this information as a favor. The winged demon still lives."

"Impossible!" Jamin exclaimed. "I watched the
video
! I saw Mikhail fall!"

All three Halifians stared at him with a curious, blank expression. He realized he had spoken the Sata'anic word for a magic which he had no words to describe.

"It's like the tek-no-lo-gee," Jamin picked up the
flatscreen
and flipped through the pictures to find the one Hudhafah had shown him. "Only it can capture a spirit at the time of death. Laum's daughter stabbed the winged demon right in the heart and he fell."

"Your young nemesis got there first before he died," Nusrat said. "The winged demon is injured, but he did not die."

Jamin gave them a jackal's grin.

"He won't be for long," Jamin said. "The Alliance Prime Minister imbued the knife with a black magic unlike any this world has ever seen. Even the lizard people lack a cure for it."

"What does this magic do?" Marwan asked.

Jamin pointed to Marwan's infected foot, which had turned black and the skin split open to expose the muscle.

"That."

Nusrat and Aturdokht exchanged a look. Black magic was loathed by
all
the tribes, or at least it was officially. Secretly, however, the use of magic to gain an upper hand against one’s enemies was rampant. The mere whisper of retaliation by Ninsianna’s own grandfather Lugalbanda had purportedly been sufficient to stave off attack from all but the most reckless enemy.

Marwan erupted in a fit of coughs; a pitiful, raspy sound for the once-feared desert adder. Aturdokht hovered around her father, her eyes creased with concern as she pressed a waterskin to his lips and gently wiped the water he dribbled onto his beard. This visit had already taxed the desert shaykh far more than he had the strength to endure. Jamin gathered his things to go.

“By your leave,
father,
” Jamin said. “I will send the lizard people into your tent to tend your foot. Their magic cannot eliminate the damage to the muscle, but perhaps they might prevent the progression of the venom up your leg so it does not kill you?”

Aturdokht’s eyes filled with tears. She grasped his hand and nodded. Yes. If he did this for her, when he finally
did
harvest the winged demon’s life, she would declare her bride-price paid and let him take her to his bed without burying a knife in his chest. As for love … both still grieved for loves that had been lost. He …Ninsianna’s betrayal. Aturdokht … her murdered husband. But in time? It was time to let Ninsianna go and move into the future.

Marwan gestured to him to come closer. His voice was weak, forcing Jamin to press his ear closer to his future father-in-law.

“The people of the desert do not condone black magic,” Marwan said, “but we know of things, poisons and extracts we’ve encountered on our journeys through the high mountain passes to the north.”

Marwan struggled upright on his cushions, refusing to let Jamin see him weak.

“There is a flower which blooms on the south side of the Taurus Mountains,” Marwan continued. “Hellebore. Small. Pretty. With evergreen leaves. If you prepare an extract of the roots, you can use it to poison your people’s water supply.”

“But that will kill them!” Jamin said. “The lizard people wish to subdue them. Not wipe them out?”

“Some will die,” Marwan shrugged. “It causes vomiting and violent hallucinations. But usually only the very weak and old are killed. The infants on their mother’s breast, and the people who are healthy, they will all survive.”

Anger at his father’s betrayal warred with an odd sense of protectiveness which cried out he should not do this to his own people. The people he’d been born to protect.

The tek-no-lo-gee defaulted to the picture of Pareesa standing over the winged demon’s body, her small face screwed up with hatred as she cocked back her arm and aimed her spear. Jamin stared at the truth it represented. Even
without
the winged demon alive,
he
had been replaced. It was up to him to take back what was his.

“What do you propose?”

~ * ~ * ~

December: 3,390 BC

Earth: Village of Assur

Mikhail

There was no sensation except for pain. His entire body felt as though it was on fire, boiled alive and then cast into an icy glacier to suffer again and again and again. He whimpered. He pleaded. He begged for pain to go away and let him live, but all it did was throb with excruciating agony with every heartbeat. Endure. Endure. Endure. Endure.

"Can you hear me, son?"

"Mama?"

The awkward fumble of hands at his chest. Pain. He screamed as his bandages were removed and the scent of death assailed his nostrils. He fought back, his wings flailing as he fought to get airborne and strong arms shoved him back into his deathbed.

"Get the girl!"

"I told her to go home."

"Why the
HELL
would you do such a thing, Immanu? She's the only thing keeping him alive!"

A hand clasped his. Not hers. Somebody else's.

"Mikhail, let me help you bear this pain."

This hand he knew. Not
hers.
But he was glad to feel it.

"Pareesa," he whispered. "Remember your promise."

There was a hesitation. Crying. Not just her tears, but Needa's as well.

"You have my word," Pareesa's voice warbled. "We shall watch over your wife and son. But only until you get better. Okay? We'll watch over them until you get better, and then you'll take care of them yourself."

“How bad am I?” He knew Pareesa would tell him the truth.

Hesitation.

"The flesh has turned black and opened up your skin to show the ribs!"

Sobbing.

"Mama?" He reached for his mother-in-law who both hurt, and tried to help him live. "It burns."

"Your wound has been infected with the death-spirits," a masculine voice said.  The voice was familiar. Mikhail reached for his father-in-law.