Sword of the Gods: Agents of Ki (Sword of the Gods Saga) (72 page)

Pareesa stepped over Firouz, still very much alive by the way he retched from the poison. Mikhail's wings rose and feel in a contented rhythm, free of the painful, jerking motion which had plagued him earlier. She placed her hands on the warm, brown limbs and, checking his forehead to confirm he still burned with a fever. Between his wings she caught a peek at Gita's head, sound asleep, and covered in enemy blood.

Behnam crouched to check on Firouz.

"Tell me what happened, son?"

"Gita protected me," Firouz whispered, still clutching his stomach. "I had no idea Mikhail had taught her how to use his sword."

"So the old god protected him once again?" Behnam asked Pareesa.

Pareesa gave him a noncommittal nod.
They
assumed it had been the God of War.
She
would not enlighten them otherwise. Pareesa had no idea
what
the goddesses' husband really was, but she suspected 'evil' was not part of his destructive nature.

"For six weeks we have told him Gita is his wife," Pareesa spoke softly. "Is it any wonder he
rallied to protect her in the only way he still can?"

They dragged out the enemy bodies and went about removing all trace of the horrific slaughter. Unfortunately, Jamin's body was nowhere amongst the dead.

~ * ~ * ~

December, 3,390 BC

Earth: Village of Assur

Mikhail

Nightmarish visions stabbed into his brain as he fought to breathe and his lungs were filled with pain. Disjointed images flashed before his eyes.
Malevolent red eyes stared out at him from behind the gaze of the Evil One's latest vessel.

It hurt! It hurt! Oh, how it hurt to breathe! A woman screamed his name, her eyes black with power as she drew upon some ancient power too vast for him to comprehend. Her image changed as she fought the enemy who had come to kill him.

She and the monster transformed into other creatures, one after another as lifetimes danced before his eyes, fire versus the emptiness which could snuff it out, creation run amok versus destruction, darkness versus a perversion of the light. The woman defeated the Evil One,
and then she kneeled beside his body, weeping as she called his name.

"Mikhail! Mikhail! Mikhail!"

He stared into her eyes, but they were no longer -her- eyes, but an ancient, black-winged Angelic stooped over her cane, not the woman who had saved him, but somebody else.

"Tell me, young man," the Ab
mháthair asked. "What did your seanmháthair tell you about my granddaughter?"

Mikhail hesitated, not wishing to get his grandmother into trouble. The Ab
mháthair was their de facto empress, though she pretended to be no different than any other Seraphim. Only her eyes, solid blue with no white in them, marked her as a Seeress, one who could see equally into the darkness and the light. There was no lie he could say to soften his grandmother's harsh words, only a truth that would perhaps be less offensive?

"She said she is … different," he hedged.

The Abmháthair snorted, neither pleased nor displeased, as though he had merely confirmed something she already knew.

"I have great respect for your seanmháthair,"
the Abmháthair said, "but she has allowed old fears and prejudices get the better of her. We are no longer part of Hashem's Alliance. We are free of the prejudices which have caused creatures who originate from the same root race to go to war against one another, pretending they are not brothers when they are."

Mikhail was silent, for what could he say? He was, after all, just a nine year old boy. The
Abmháthair's cane tap-tap-tapped against the floor as they moved down hallways which were little different from the halls within his -own- home but for the fact there were so many of them. The Abmháthair paused in front of a plain, wooden door, her expression thoughtful as she peered at him, technically blind, and yet able to -see- far better than any other creature on their planet.

"You have crossed paths with my grandaughter before," the
Abmháthair bent down so she looked at him from eye level. "I can see it, even if you cannot."

She peered at him with her all-seeing blind eyes, as though expecting him to give an answer. What could he say? That all creatures suffered through many incarnations until they evolved enough to be freed from the wheel of time, but he remembered none of it, only a feeling that what she said was true.

"I sense ... I sense she knows me better than I know her," Mikhail said.

The
Abmháthair's smile was sad.

"She has witnessed terrible things which no child should ever have to endure," the
Abmháthair said. "If her uncle hadn't..."

The
Abmháthair choked up, and then she began to weep. Mikhail stood stiffly, not certain what to do. This was their sovereign, a woman so lofty he dared not touch her. And yet, if this had been his grandmother, he would have crawled into her lap and hugged her, telling her everything would be alright. His feathers rippled with discomfort as he waffled, indecisive about what to do.

At last his instinct to -do something- overrode his caution. He hovered his small hand above the gnarled one which held her cane and, when she did not protest, touched her cool, wrinkled hand. The
Abmháthair sniffled, and then wiped her cheeks upon her sleeve.

"Imagine that everyone you ever cared about was suddenly taken from you? Can you imagine what that would be like? To be all alone?"

Mikhail stared into those all-seeing blue eyes and nodded -yes- even though the answer was no. No. He -couldn't- imagine what it would be like to lose his entire family. The closest he could think of was when someone argued, but whenever -that- happened, they all felt terrible and quickly made up.

"No, I supposed not," the
Abmháthair sighed. "But you're a good boy. Sensible and secure in the knowledge of your own mind." She pointed at the door. "You have crossed paths with my granddaughter before. You are the first person she has not rejected."

Mikhail did not dare point out he'd never met the black-eyed Seraphim prior to the day she'd introduced them. Amongst their people, there were many who stood on the cusp of evolution, people like the
Abmháthair who could see into many lifetimes.

The door opened into a room where Private Haris sat at a chessboard, teaching the black-eyed Seraphim how to play. The lizard man looked up, fierce in his full Sata'anic regalia, not a refugee from Shay'tan's armies, but someone who had been sent here on a mission. According to his grandmother, the old dragon had saved the child from the Tokoloshe and sent her back to live with her grandmother as a gesture of good faith, a sentiment which many distrusted.

"She witnessed the Tokoloshe devour her family alive," the Abmháthair whispered. "Imagine being forced to witness such a horror? It has awoken something inside of her, a latent gift which she has not evolved yet enough to handle. She needs a strong mate to help her control such a gift."

Mikhail stared into the little girl's bottomless black eyes, devoid of any emotion except for curiosity. He shivered. It felt as though those eyes might swallow him alive.

"Grandmother says she is filled with darkness," Mikhail said.

The
Abmháthair placed her hand upon his shoulder and squeezed. He gazed up into her all-seeing blue eyes.

"Do not fear the dark, child," the
Abmháthair said. "The darkness craves the light the same way that you or I crave the food we eat and oxygen which we breathe. I sense she sees that light in you."

Private Haris rose from his seat, murm
uring something to the little girl in the hissing Sata'anic language. Mikhail knew a little of the lizard-people's language, learned from the laborers who worked at their farm. Private Haris approached and gave the Abmháthair a crisp Sata'anic salute, his tail tucked neatly along one side of his body.

'She is curious about the boy,' the lizard man said in heavily accented Seraphim, which was similar to Galactic Standard, but over millennia of isolation, it had picked up a different dialect. "If he approaches her gently, perhaps there will be no incidents?"

Incidents? What kind of incidents?

"Go, boy," the
Abmháthair said. "Speak to her. The only way to find out if you are compatible enough for betrothal is through play."

Mikhail tucked his wings against his back in the polite formation his grandmother had taught him was appropriate whenever speaking to an elder. The girl scrutinized his demeanor as he sat down across the chess board and arranged his wings over the chair. Bottomless black eyes stared into his nervous ones, but within them was also a burning curiosity. Great sorrow lived in those eyes, but there was also something else, something dangerous. Anger? No, hatred. Who did she hate, this little girl who could not be more than five years old?

"Hello," he said.

The little girl blinked. She glanced at her 'uncle' and then back at him.

Mikhail pointed towards the little girl's black king, who lay exposed.

"Check."

The little girl tilted her head in a bird-like gesture. How well did she really know the game?

"I have to say 'check' before I capture your king," Mikhail said. "To give you an opportunity to protect him."

The little girl stared at the chessboard, and then moved a black knight to block his move. She met his gaze again, more curious about -him- than the game.

"That's a good move," Mikhail said. "But now you've left your queen exposed. The queen is the highest chess piece on the board. Checkmate. You just gave me an opportunity to end the game."

The little girl glanced up at Private Haris. The lizard man cleared his throat.

"In our Empire, the king is the highest piece on the chessboard, not the queen," Haris said. The lizard man glanced at the
Abmháthair. "Things are different there than they are on 51-Pegasi-4. She will have to adjust to the new rules."

He hissed something at the child in the Sata'anic language. The little girl nodded, and then glanced between her queen and king. She hissed something at the lizard man again, and then kept the chess pieces the way they were, declining the opportunity to protect her queen. Mikhail moved his white bishop to capture the black queen, thereby ending the game.

The black-eyed Seraphim burst into tears.

"Why didn't she protect her queen?" Mikhail asked. "I gave her the opportunity to rescind her move?"

Private Haris relayed the question. His dorsal ridge reared up in surprise as the black-eyed Seraphim gave him the answer. It was the Abmháthair who translated for him.

"She said she is sick of losing her king," the
Abmháthair said. "She said a queen's job is to protect her mate. Not the other way around."

Tears welled into the little girl's eyes, but it was not -him- she stared at, but a past he suspected was horrific. All had heard tales about what the Tokoloshe did to their captives. What could -he- do, a nine-year-old boy, to comfort this poor, unfortunate little girl? What would his grandmother do if -he- was this upset?

He opened his arms and tugged until the black-eyed Seraphim crawled into his lap and rested her head upon his shoulder, still hiccoughing with tears. Her small, warm frame settled into his, far too thin, and yet familiar. Warmth flooded into his chest. Yes. The Abmháthair was right. This was the one he'd been searching for, the reason why he'd instinctively rejected all the others.
Her long, slender tail slipped out from its hiding place beneath her abaya and curled around his leg.

A tail...?

The pain returned, filling him with its sodden weight and making it difficult to breathe. It was hard to move, but somehow it didn't matter anymore. He had found her again.

"
Chol Beag
," he whispered to the black-eyed Seraphim.

He closed his wings around her and held her until she stopped squirming and fell fast asleep.