Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One (5 page)

“Who has displeased
the gods?” Firouz asked.

“Who do you think?” 
Dadbeh elbowed Firouz in the ribs.  “A certain woman who said ‘I love you, but
I'm just not
in
love with you anymore.’”

Several villagers gave
Jamin a knowing look and snickered.

“You will not
disrespect me so!” A vein throbbed in Jamin's forehead as he suppressed his
anger.

The shaman's daughter
was the most sought after woman in all the Ubaid tribes.  Not only was she
beautiful, but she was also a gifted healer, a prize for
any
man to
bring home and earn prestige.  Normally a young man would approach a girl's
father and negotiate a bride-price, but Immanu insisted Ninsianna would choose
her
own
husband
.

Women had always
thrown themselves at his feet, hoping to catch his eye and garner the prestige
that would come once he ascended to be the Chief, but not Ninsianna!  The harder
he tried to impress her, the less impressed she seemed to be. 

Then six months ago
he'd been gored by an auroch.  If he'd thought she was beautiful before,
nothing
could hold a candle to the goddess who had laid her hands upon his broken
body and, with a whispered prayer, alleviated his pain.  It had taken months to
heal, but in that time,
she'd
been assigned to tend his wounds.  Head
over heels in love for the first time in his life, he'd finally stopped trying
to convince her how
smart
it would be to marry him and started telling
her things he'd never told anyone else.  Not even his best friend. 

As soon as he'd healed
enough to hunt again, he'd asked her to marry him.  Ninsianna had said yes, but
she insisted she would not come to his bed until
after
they said their
wedding vows.  He'd spent every day
since
then daydreaming about the
fine sons she would one day bear him and building her a dream house.  Then,
three days ago, she'd inexplicably broken off their engagement.  No
explanation!  It was just … over.  Even
after
he pleaded with his father
to intervene. 

Was there somebody
else?

The fireball which had
slammed into the distant hills grew dark and ominous as black smoke billowed
into the sky.  The wind shifted, blowing the ominous substance towards their
village like an evil omen.

“What should we do?” 
Ugazum interrupted his train of thought.  “Ask the shaman to read the signs?”

Ninsianna's father was
less than pleased he'd convinced the Chief to meddle in his relationship woes. 
No. 
He
was the son of the village chief.  His father was off meeting
with their trading partners, a journey he suspected had
caused
the
distress when he'd explained to Ninsianna that women had no place in such a
trading delegation.  With his father out of the village, it was up to
him
to
take charge.

“No,” Jamin's black
eyes glistened inward, deep in thought.  “We  shall go investigate this
phenomenon ourselves.”

“That's just because
you know Ninsianna will be drawn to it like a bee to a flower,” Dadbeh teased. 
“She didn't take your ultimatum very well, did she?”

“She's been missing
since your father ordered Immanu to force her to marry you,” Siamek said. 
“What did you expect?” 

“The women in Immanu’s
house have
always
worn the kilts,” Firouz laughed.  "Ninsianna is
just angry because you wouldn't let her accompany you to the trading delegation
and boss you around in front of the other chiefs."

The muscle beneath
Jamin's cheek twitched as he suppressed his anger.  He glanced down at the
short wool-felt kilt men wore belted around their waist, his elaborate
four-layered fringe demarcating him as a person of wealth and prestige.  It was
an insult to insinuate the woman in the household wore the kilt.  An insult
that, if Ninsianna had her way, would be true.  It was a character trait he'd
intended to break her of once she was securely tied to him in marriage.

“Ninsianna is
curious,” Dadbeh said.  “You
know
she will go investigate that
fireball.”

“And we shall help
Jamin save her from the fallen star,” Firouz said with a smirk.  “Won't we?”

Jamin glowered at his
fellow warriors, but he said nothing to refute it.  They knew him well enough
to know that was
exactly
what he had in mind.  He'd expected his
father’s ultimatum would compel her to
talk
about why she suddenly
wanted nothing to do with him.  Not to disappear!  All he wished to do now was
find
her so that he could learn the source of her displeasure and fix it.

“Ninsianna is
disobedient,” Siamek said.  “Most unseemly for the wife of a future chief.”

“Perhaps that's why
you find her so attractive?” Dadbeh teased.  “Maybe you
like
the idea of
a wife who is more outspoken than you're?”

Firouz and Dadbeh
proceeded to play-act an obscene little scenario they role played whenever they
teased someone about being too henpecked to stand up for themselves.

“Oh, Jamin,” Dadbeh
said in a high falsetto voice, “you must service me with your tongue.  And then
I want you to empty out all the chamber pots and cook me dinner.”  Dadbeh held
a small pottery bowl upside down near his groin to simulate female genitals.

“Oh, Ninsianna,”
Firouz said in a false bass voice, “I am your slave.  I shall pleasure you.” 
Firouz got down on his hands and knees and pretended to lick the bowl like a
dog. 

“Oh!  Oh!  Oo-oh!” 
Dadbeh groaned with fake pleasure.  He grabbed a length of rope and whipped
Firouz over the back with it. 

“Harder!  Harder!  Oh
… harder!” Firouz pretended the whipping turned him on.

Jamin's face turned
red with anger, the fury which perpetually bubbled in his veins seething all
too close to the surface ever since Ninsianna had broken off their engagement. 
It was no longer simply a matter of finding her, but a blow to his very honor.

“Ninsianna
will
marry me!”  Jamin grabbed the bowl from Dadbeh's hands and shattered it upon
the ground.  “I'll not allow her to undermine my authority to rule this
village!”

Grabbing his spear, he
stormed towards the black smoke billowing into the air like an unearthly demon,
not caring whether or not he put himself in danger.  If Ninsianna had seen the
fireball, it would beckon to her. 

Gathering up the
remaining warriors, Siamek ordered them to follow Jamin to the place something
had been cast down from heaven to burn in a fiery hell. 

~ * ~ * ~ *
~ * ~

February 3,390 BC

He had no idea how
long he'd lain there before he became aware of a presence.  He reached for his
sidearm.  Pain shot up his arm.  Gasping like a fish, he panted small, painful
breaths, trying to get enough oxygen into his brain to clear the fog.  He couldn't
remember his own name, but he knew if he didn't extricate himself from this
wreckage, he was a dead man. 

The rod scraped
through his chest with each painful breath.  Darkness threatened to reclaim him
once more.  Without the ability to inflate his lungs, he couldn't even scream.

A beautiful,
dark-haired spirit appeared at his side.  She chose to appear in the form of a
creature of legend.  The root race?  A disembodied sense of awe flitted into
his mind and was gone before he'd time to contemplate what ‘root race’ meant. 

"O-kim-olduğunu
yardım etmek için beni buraya gönderdi ise,”
the spirit said.  
“
Ben sana zarar demek
.”

Her voice sounded far
away.  Darkness clouded his vision as he struggled to free himself.  The hand
which touched his cheek and sympathetic look in her tawny-beige eyes was
understood.  She was here to guide him into the dreamtime. 

Not alone.
  His worst fear, alleviated.  Despite his pain, he
smiled as he placed his fate into her hands.

The pain was too great
to endure.  He slid back into the darkness.

~ * ~ * ~ *
~ * ~

February - 3,390 BC

Earth:  Crash site

Ninsianna

Ninsianna followed the
scorched vegetation to the place where the sky canoe had slammed into the
ground.  The sky canoe she had seen in her vision was three times bigger than
her father's house, so shiny that it reflected the clouds.  Black smoke poured from
an oven at the rear, but the vessel itself did not burn.  Had She-who-is not
shown her it was merely a mode of traversing the heavens, Ninsianna might have
been afraid, but the goddess had shown it could carry her up into the stars. 
Smoke from the oven burned her eyes as she searched for a way to get inside. 

At last she found a
crack.  She squeezed through the jagged tear and groped her way over the
rubble.  Small bursts of lightning illuminated the interior with sparks.  A
broken, bloody man lay upon the floor, struggling to extricate himself from a
spear which had pierced his breast.

'Will you help
him?'

A cry escaped her
lips.  "How can any creature sustain such injuries and still be
alive?"

Sharp edges tore at
her hands and knees as she scrambled to help the man the goddess had charged
her with saving.  She was only an
apprentice
healer!  Never had she
attended such a horrific wound, not even after Jamin had been gored in the
belly, and they were miles from the village.  Even if she
were
close
enough to summons help, by the time she led them back here, it would be too
late.  She  placed one trembling hand upon his cheek, praying he didn't see the
fear in her eyes as she scanned his body for injuries. 

“She-who-is sent me to
help," Ninsianna said.  "I mean you no harm.” 

The man's eyes slid
shut. 

"No!  Please
don't die!" 

Panic welled in her
gut.  Had the goddess merely sent her here to say the death prayers?  Oh, how
she hated death rituals!  She placed her fingers at the base of his throat and
held her breath, praying he was still alive.  A weak, steady, throb fluttered
against her fingertips.  Oh, thank the goddess!  She forced her mind to recall
the words to the sacred songs she'd heard Papa sing for as long as she'd been
alive.

“Mother of All-That-Is,”
Ninsianna chanted in a sing-song voice.  “Please guide my hands so that I may
heal his wounds.” 

She followed the
whisper of intuition which warned her to attend to the most deadly object
first, the spear in his chest.  How could any man be impaled so close to his
heart and still have it beat?  Luckily, it had missed.  Not so lucky, it
staunched his blood.  Once removed, he would bleed out within minutes. 

Luckily she had
carried some of her healer's supplies when she had run away, certain
someone
would take her in if they knew she was trained to heal.  Pulling a bone
needle and hair from the tail of a wild horse from her satchel, she prepared to
work quickly.  She'd helped her mother tend wounds earned in their constant
skirmishes fought against the rival Halifian tribe, but never had she treated
anything this severe.  Ready at last, she grabbed the shaft, oddly cold and
unmalleable, and yanked it with all of her might.  It made a horrible sucking
noise as his flesh clung to the spear which staunched his blood.  Strength
flowed through her limbs as she prayed and pulled harder.  The stranger moaned
in pain as it slid reluctantly from his chest, but did not regain
consciousness.  Thank the goddess it didn't have a spearhead attached to it!