Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One (18 page)

Ninsianna laughed at
her own absurdity.  She-who-is had promised Mikhail would take her to see the
stars, not that he would throw himself at her feet!  Either way, the goddess
had improved her fate over forced marriage to Jamin.  "I apologize for my
impatience, Mother.  I'll do whatever you ask!"

She closed her eyes,
hoping for one of the stronger answers she'd been receiving from the goddess
lately.  Her gift was erratic.  Sometimes she could hear the voice of
She-who-is as clearly as though the goddess were standing at her side, whilst
other times the best she could get was a vague sensation of approval or
disapproval. 

This afternoon
She-who-is was busy, half-listening to Ninsianna prattle with one ear the way
any mother listened to her offspring chatter while she attended to other, more
important things.  Ninsianna didn't take offense.  A half-listening goddess
could be called upon in times of great need and viewed your requests with
affection because she knew you loved her.  Not like the
other
Ubaid who
only ever prayed to She-who-is when they needed something.  Ninsianna had
learned at an early age that worship was meant to be an intimate conversation,
not begging for favors.

She finished tidying
up the galley, chattering as she worked, and then moved into the bridge.  This
room was heavily damaged.  The magic lanterns didn't work, the impact of the
crash had caused the roof to crack and some of the rafters which held up the
ceiling had fallen down.  The scent of dried blood assailed her nostrils.

“Mother,” Ninsianna
stared at the brown stain that marred the floor.  “How could any creature lose
that much blood and survive?”

Although she knew very
little about sky canoes which flew between the stars, even
she
realized
Mikhail must repair a lot of damage before this vessel could carry them back to
the place he'd come from.  That slender thread that had been half-listening to
her chatter all afternoon strengthened, sending an image into her mind. 
Climbing over rubble every time she needed to get in and out of the crack in
the hull was inconvenient. 
Somebody
needed to clear it.  Why not her? 

Yes … She-who-is liked
those who helped themselves!  Ninsianna thanked the goddess for her guidance
and spent the next few hours clearing debris. 

“Papa said I should
stay until his wounds heal,” she continued her one-sided conversation.  “I'll
teach him our language and then bring him to the village to introduce him to
our people.  At least he learns quickly!  It was the one thing Jamin and I ever
shared in common, our ability to learn new languages.  Mama tried for years to
learn Kemet!  It only took
me
a few weeks the last time the traders came
through our village!" 

She grunted as she
moved a heavy beam.  The object shifted out of the path of the crack she used
to exit the sky canoe, clattering as it fell to one side.  A chunk of debris
landed on her foot.

"As
if
I
would ever have anything in common with Jamin," Ninsianna scowled. 
"May some terrible, non-life-threatening illness befall him for his
tenacity!  Oh!  Wait!  Papa says I should never use my gift to curse others. 
Okay, then … how about you bless him?  Bless him with something wonderful, like
an abundance of women throwing themselves at his feet so he's too busy to stir
up trouble?  Or perhaps some wonderful hunt?  Send him a white gazelle so he'll
wander off and forget why he was even angry in the first place." 

She moved some more
debris, deep in thought.  "You need to do
something
about him!  If
he keeps telling everyone that Mikhail is a demon, I fear how people will
receive him.  Most Ubaid are timid little mice!  They don't like anything new
or different."

She thought of the
warning Papa had given before he left.  People's first instinct was to attack
that which they didn't understand.  Mikhail had been unusual enough to scare
off Jamin and his warriors, but novelty was only good to frighten people once. 

"Papa said he
will contact the other shamans and ask them to sing the old songs so the people
won't be afraid," Ninsianna said.  "If it's not too much trouble,
Mother, do you think maybe you might whisper to them in their dreams to be
receptive?  If
anybody
will listen to thine will, it will be the other
shamans."

At least Chief Kiyan
was more pragmatic than his fiery tempered son.  Papa had been sent
here
as
an emissary of diplomacy before the Chief launched an attack.  He would explain
the situation to the Chief before Jamin brought back a bigger raiding party to
kill Mikhail and steal his firestick.  The last thing Assur needed was a
powerful winged being living outside of their village that bore them a grudge! 
Until Mikhail's own people found him,
they
needed to be his people.  If
the village accepted him, Papa felt Mikhail would be like the story of the man
who pulled a thorn out of a lion's paw.  Someday, the lion would return the
favor.

She was so deep in
thought that she didn't hear him come up behind her until he touched her
shoulder.  The ruckus she'd been making had woken him up.  His skin was still
pale, but his lips had lost that bluish cast.  She suspected that if she could
just get him to sleep for two weeks straight and stop trying to act like a
hero, his injuries would simply disappear.

“You … make … good,”
Mikhail pieced together the few words he knew.  He didn't smile, but he
appeared to be pleased.

“Yes … good,”
Ninsianna said.  “You … eat … where?”  She wanted to know where he kept his
food stored.

“No,” Mikhail stood
like a tall, stiff tree, not understanding her question.

She led him back to
the galley.  “You … eat … where?” she asked again, gesturing around the modest
kitchen.

“There,” Mikhail
pointed to the table, still not understanding her question through their
limited shared vocabulary.

“No.”  Ninsianna
became frustrated.  “You … eat … where?”  This time, she gestured to her mouth
as though spooning food into it and pointed around the room.  Understanding
dawned on his face.

“
Anseo
… here,”
Mikhail pointed to a square box in the wall.  Opening it, he pointed and said,
“
Ith
… eat …
bia … anseo
… here.” 

“Eat … food,”
Ninsianna corrected.  She peered inside the box and asked, “
Uimh bia
… no food. 
I gcás
ina
… where?”

He fiddled with the
box, saying something she couldn't understand.  She shrugged to communicate
that she didn't have a clue what he said.  He pointed to the box and made a
gesture as though snapping a stick.

“
Bia
… food …
briste
,”
Mikhail said flatly as though she understood how his magic work.  “No food. 
Briste
.”

“Broken,” Ninsianna
corrected.  “
Briste
.  Broken.  Food broken?  How can food be
broken?"

“
Is ea
… yes. 
Food broken.”  Mikhail watched her with his emotionless expression.  “No food …
food broken.”

Ninsianna was tired
from clearing debris.  All of this conversation in a language she didn't
understand had given her a headache.  She sat and put her head down into her
hands, pinching her temples to suppress the woodpecker that had begun pounding
a hole into her skull.

“Ninsianna,
go bhfuil tú ceart go leor
?”
  Mikhail
touched her hair so she would understand that he asked if she was okay.

“My head hurts.” 
Ninsianna knew the only word he understood was ‘hurts.’  Their difficulty
communicating was wearing her down.  She was a physical creature, not a verbal
one.

“You … sleep … now.” 
Mikhail took her hand and led her back to the sleeping quarters. 

Her head pounded so
badly he was surrounded by a halo and there were two of him.  Migraine, her
father called these headaches.  She pressed her cheek against his chest and
wrapped her arms around his waist for comfort.  This is what Papa did whenever
she got her headaches to make her feel better.

Mikhail froze, not
sure how to respond, until it dawned on him she asked for a hug.   She could
feel his muscles quiver beneath his skin as though he were wracked with
emotion.  Fear?  Desire?  Revulsion?  Whatever the emotion was, he didn't allow
it to show upon his face, but from the subtle rustle of feathers, it
was
emotion. 
Wrapping his arms around her, he stood as stiff as a tree until she pulled
away.

“Dea
… good.”  She touched his cheek to show her
appreciation.  She didn't think he suppressed revulsion.  She slipped into her
bunk and fell asleep, leaving him standing there to puzzle over what had just
transpired.

~ * ~ * ~
* ~ * ~

February – 3,390 BC

Earth – Village of Assur

Jamin

“Is it true?” Chief
Kiyan paced the line of warriors like a drill sergeant inspecting his ranks and
stopped in front of his son.  “Did you drag Ninsianna into the stream and hold her
head under the water?”

Jamin squirmed under
his father’s glare.  The Chief’s usual way of dealing was to ignore him and
hope the problem would go away, but Immanu had returned from the place the
demon had fallen out of the sky with wild tales of winged saviors returning to
their world to smite evil.  It was enough to get even his
father
to take
action.

“She was already in
the water, sir.”  Siamek balanced his duty to tell the truth against protecting
his friend.  “Jamin went in to … uh … talk to her.”

“Firouz?” Chief Kiyan
asked.

“She insulted him,”
Firouz said.  “She deserved it!”

“
Nobody
deserves to be attacked for expressing an opinion!” Chief Kiyan snapped.  “We
are not Halifians!  We don't abuse people unless the well-being of the tribe
depends upon it. 
Especially
when that opinion is from someone smaller
and weaker!”

“But, Father,” Jamin
protested to the man everyone thought of as
the Chief
.  Including
him…
 

Pride, and his fellow
warrior's eyes, prevented him from saying what he
really
wanted to say,
that he hadn't meant to hurt her.  He loved her and still hoped to marry her. 
The only reason he'd gone up there was because he knew her well enough to
anticipate she'd be drawn to the mysterious fireball.  He'd gone up there to
talk
to her and find out why she'd broken off their engagement so he could make
amends, not to abuse her.

Pride, and his fellow
warrior's eyes, kept those words inside his mouth.

“But … nothing!” the
Chief said.  “A warrior's job is to protect the village.  Not go looking for
trouble!  You're
all
to stay away from the winged one until I say
otherwise!  Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir!” the
warriors muttered.

“I can't hear you!!!”
the Chief shouted. 

“Yes, Sir!”

“Jamin!” his father
ordered like he was a little boy.  “Get in the house.  Now!”

The red flush of
mortification burned into Jamin's cheeks.  Not only had he lost face once, when
the winged demon had run them off of the crash site and
kept
his wayward
fiancé, but now the bastard had bested him
twice,
winning over
Ninsianna's own father.  Curious faces peeked out from every corner, listening
to the Chief take them all to task. 

Two days ago he'd
begged his father to prepare an assault, but as usual, the Chief had foresworn
retaliation until he'd sent an emissary seeking peaceful resolution.  This was
Immanu’s own daughter!  Jamin had been
certain
Immanu would plead
rescue.  Instead, the shaman had returned with wild tales of winged champions
sent by the goddess herself to save them. Save them?  From what?  Jamin hadn't
seen a demi-god when the winged demon had lurched towards the stream.  Just a
predator possessing weaponry which could make them victorious against any
threat should they defeat him and steal his firestick.  A demon that had
somehow seized control of his fiancé’s mind and bent her to his will.