Sword of the Gods: Agents of Ki (Sword of the Gods Saga) (79 page)

"Why, then, was I not told of this?" Eligor demanded.

"Perhaps you should ask your
boss,
" Ninsianna said.

Eligor reddened, and then turned to leave without speaking another word. When he got to the door, he turned back and pointed at her.

"Lerajie claims you are a healer?"

Ninsianna hesitated, then followed his gaze to the guilt strewn about the table in the form of the black medical kit and supplies.

"Yes."

Eligor snorted.

"I got a patient for you, witch," Eligor said. "If he dies, it's all on you."

Ninsianna opened her mouth, and then closed it again. Her eyes as large as saucers, she met his gaze and nodded. Whoever this injured person was, she would treat him.

"I will do my best."

Eligor's gaze hardened.

"And stop fucking around with Lerajie's head!" Eligor hissed. "He's a good man, the only decent man on this ship. If you don't quit egging him on, you're going to get him killed!"

Ninsianna's mouth opened and shut. She had
no
idea what Eligor was talking about. The only conversations she'd had with Lerajie had been to discuss what medical supplies she needed and things she'd wished he'd say to the other crewmen.

Eligor stepped through the doorway and slammed it behind him so hard the walls of the harem vibrated. Ninsianna sat frozen in her chair.

"What was
that
all about?" Ninsianna asked.

Apausha tasted the air with his long, forked tongue, no doubt tasting for the magical little message-carriers the lizard man had explained were called
pheromones
.

"It appears Lucifer has been keeping things from his men," Apausha said. "I taste fear, anger and surprise." Apausha tasted the air a second time. His snout curved up in a smirk. "And perhaps a little attraction?"

"Attraction? For who. Me?"

Apausha snorted.

A plan began to form within her mind.

"Apausha?" Ninsianna asked.

"Yes, Ninsianna?"

"Remember the conversation we had about how a woman's place was to entice a man to be better than he was before?"

"Very clearly," Apausha said.

Ninsianna fiddled with the hem of her dress.

"If you can't escape this ship, would you want your wife to find a
new
husband to care for her and help her raise your hatchlings?"

Apausha's maw curved downwards into a sad smile.

"Yes, I would," Apausha said. "Marina is a fine woman, level-headed with a sharp intellect. She will make some man very happy."

Ninsianna touched his clawed hand. Despite the differences in their species,
both
of them grieved for lost spouses, although at least Apausha's was still alive.

"Then you won't think less of me if I use my … charm?" Ninsianna said. "To entice Lucifer's men to be better inclined towards us?"

The door opened. In strode Ruax, carrying a mop and bucket, followed by Procel, pushing along the cart carrying their food. Both chattered, ignoring the twenty women and lizard-man.

"So he stops me in the hallway," Procel said to Ruax, "and tells me to move the guy into
this
room."

"Are you sure?" Ruax grumbled. "Seems like an odd order, to stick a male in with all these females."

"They're already pregnant," Procel said. "It's not like he can cuckold the alpha-stud. Even if he
wasn't
catatonic."

Ninsianna stared at the two men who conversed as if she was too stupid to understand them. Neither man was her idea of husband material, but that didn't mean she couldn't flirt a little to get them to do what she wanted, just as she'd been doing with Lerajie.

Apausha gestured to the other nineteen females who had rushed down to his now-empty alcove.

"Perhaps if you could entice these men to bear
them
a little bit of compassion," Apausha spoke in Kemet, "they'll prevent Lucifer from taking them to his bed a second time?"

Ninsianna stared at the frightened women huddled together like ducklings being circled by a hawk. Ruax and Procel were coarse, uncouth creatures, but each had their
favorite.
She'd noted the way they often smuggled in treats from the kitchen to coax that favorite not to run away.

"And what of me?" Ninsianna asked.

Apausha stared out the closed door. He shut his eyes and tasted the air with his long, forked tongue.

"They
all
find you attractive," Apausha said. "But you surprised him. I do not think he expected you to be so intelligent. It's his weakness, I suspect. The reason he serves Lucifer even though he's got the man's number. He wants a mate who will be his equal. If you're forced to pick from amongst these men, then I suggest you focus on
him."

"Who?" Ninsianna asked.

"Eligor."

~ * ~ * ~

December, 3,390 BC

Earth: Village of Assur

Gita

It was warm here, and for the first time for as long as she could remember, Gita felt safe … and loved.

'Ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine!' Mikhail counted. 'One hundred! Ready or not, here I come!'

A
mhrán ducked down behind the stone wall and pressed her wings against her back, trying hard not to giggle. For months they had played this game, and each time Mikhail found her. Amhrán began her chant, the one she used to hide.

'Rocks to rocks, dirt to dirt, hide me from prying eyes, so I don't get hurt...'

She inhaled the pungent scent of fertile farm soil and pretended she was an earthworm as Mikhail flew directly overhead, the wind whistling through his feathers as he coasted the air currents like a raptor. The first few times they'd played he had let her win, but the Abmáthair had scolded him, explaining this game, like all things the Seraphim did, had a purpose. Once he demonstrated he could find her no matter -how- well she hid, his family had been summoned and the ceremony of Chéad Phósadh had been performed.

Her dark mood lifted, brightened by the memory of how solemn he had looked as the
Abmáthair had bound their hands together and made them recite the vow of betrothal. It would be many years until they were old enough for the ceremony of Grá Síoraí, but until then, all they needed to do was play. For it was only through play, Abmáthair said, or unbelievable adversity that two spirits could get to know one another well enough to merge.

'I'm going to find you, Chol Beag!' Mikhail called from directly overhead. 'And when I do, I shall tickle you until you pee your pants!'

Amhrán pressed herself further into the rocks, determined not to give away her hiding spot by giggling. She unfurled her long, slender tail and snaked it into the rocks, and then shifted her wings so they appeared uneven and lumpy as if they were shadows of the wall. Mikhail flew off, unable to see her. Amhrán waited, listening to the sound of the wind as the countryside grew quiet, the rustle of a snake through the leaves, and the occasional bird. She began to worry. Had she hidden so well that even -he- could not find her this time?

Tears welled in her eyes as that old, familiar hunger gripped her psyche, the one she'd felt ever since the day that ... NO! She would not think about such things! A cough forced her to look up. Mikhail sat on a log, his enormous wings tucked neatly against his tall, lanky frame, wearing an enormous smirk.

'How long have you been there?' Amhrán asked.

'A while,' Mikhail laughed. 'I just wanted to see how long it would take for you to stop pretending you could hide from me.'

Amhrán dusted the leaves off of her dress, and then skipped over, stopping to pick a flower. It was blue, the color of his eyes, so different from her own solid-black ones. He tucked it into the buttonhole of his left shirt-pocket, right over his heart, and then reached into that pocket to pull out a small, carved figurine. He handed it to her, his expression suddenly shy.

A
mhrán turned it over in her hand, the wood still warm from his body.

'What is it?'

Mikhail's face fell.

'Can't you tell?'

Amhrán scrutinized the tiny wooden figurine. The carving was crude, crafted by a boy who was not much older than she was, but she recognized a head, a torso, two wings, and a ... what? She ran her finger along the lump that was supposed to represent a tail.

'It's me!"
Amhrán exclaimed.

Mikhail's face lit up. 'Yes.'

'Did you carve this yourself?'

'I did,' he said. 'Do you like it?'

'I love it!' Amhrán said. She threw her arms around his neck. 'You carved me as I really am, not as the Abmáthair says I should appear."

They played with her new figurine and other creatures they manufactured out of sticks and rocks until the shadows grew long and the wind picked up from the west, causing
Amhrán to shiver. Mikhail pressed his back against the tree. She crawled up next to him and nestled into the warmth of his brown-black wings, laying her carved wooden figurine and the stick-creatures they'd bound together with grass to represent their future children beside them, tucked neatly into imaginary beds made of leaves. They stared into the setting sun until the stars appeared, lighting up the sky like millions of tiny fireflies.

'A
mhrán,' Mikhail asked. 'What does your name mean?'

'Song,'
Amhrán said. 'My name means Song.'

'That's a pretty name,' Mikhail said. 'How come I've never heard you sing?'

The Abmáthair had said she must never sing unless her heart was filled with joy, for in her song there was vast, untapped power, but at the moment she felt so happy it felt as though her heart might burst, so she risked it. She sang for him; and when she was done, he wept.

'When you sang,' he said. 'I had memories I knew you before. We were both different people then, but we knew each other, and then somehow we became lost.'

Amhrán lowered her gaze. 'I know. I saw it too.'

They pressed their heads together and looked up into the stars, contemplating the enormity of All-That-Is.

'I will always find you,' Mikhail promised. 'And -this- time we will be together. No matter how well you hide.'

Gita shifted in her warm cocoon and relished the soft, downy slipperiness
of his feathers. Something sticky and dry itched her skin, but she did not care. She was warm; and she was with
him
. In her mind she continued to sing, and she could feel
him drink it up like a thirsty man desperate for water. This was what he needed; for when they were like this, she could remember what she was.

Voices disturbed her sleep, but she pushed it out of her mind, refusing to acknowledge the waking world, the one they lived in now. The voices grew louder, followed by the heavy thud of feet.

Go away! Leave us alone! Can't you see this is what he needs to heal?

"Get away from him, you whore!"

Someone gripped her hair and dragged her out of the bed. Gita cried out with surprise. Where was she? What had happened. And why had she allowed herself to fall asleep where the Tokoloshe could eat her?

"Let me go!" she cried out, still disoriented from the dream.

"How dare you defile my daughter's husband!"

Feet began to kick her. She writhed, still confused. How had she gone from safe to under attack? Her vision cleared as the dream faded away. It was not a monster who beat her, but her uncle, his eyes copper with fury.

"Uncle! What have I done?"

"You ... killed ... her ... you ... killed ... her ... you ... killed ... her!" Immanu screamed between kicks.

Gita curled up into a ball, arms over her head and knees pulled up to her chest to protect her vital organs. She'd survived such beatings before ... from her father. Why her uncle beat her, she did not understand. All that mattered was to protect herself until she could escape.