Sword of the Gods: Prince of Tyre (Sword of the Gods Saga)

by Anna Erishkigal

  'Nebulae…'

  Information jumped into her mind about the stellar nursery being shaped by She-who-is's own hand. She could sense the way the sparkling lights pleased HER. Knowledge of how the dust settled until it gained enough weight to ignite and the stars sang songs to each other as they became aware of their own consciousness danced into her mind. Stars were alive? Her curiosity aroused, Ninsianna stepped further off the path to touch them.

  "Focus, child," Papa's voice called from far away. "You must never let go of that thread that connects you to your body. You can examine these things another time, once you have gained better control of your gift."

  She looked back, hoping to see Papa standing with her in the golden mists, but it was as though he stood on a cliff, overlooking the universal mind, but unable to fly over it the way that she could. Papa's voice anchored her between the stellar nursery and her parent's kitchen where her body sat muttering to the three Magian women and reminded her of why she was here.

  'Ninsianna … see…'

  She-who-is directed her attention back to the path she wished for her to follow.

  The mists cleared. The life-thread that connected Seyahat to her distant family glowed brighter. Strange creatures pranced across an endless field of grass, so flat there were no mountains in any direction. Almond-eyed, black-haired people lived in round huts which could be moved wherever their herds grazed. A man prowled the grasslands on the back of one of the beasts, not a camelid like the Kemet traders rode, but a horse.

  Why … she'd had no idea such creatures could be ridden thus! Until now Ubaid had always hunted them for their long tail-hairs and their meat!

  A falcon circled a man. He held out his arm and the raptor landed. Raptors were sacred to Ninsianna's people, so this man must be Seyahat's brother. He untied a small packet tied to the falcon's leg … a piece of paper with pictographs that reminded her of the silly 'cuneiform' Mikhail kept trying to teach her to read.

  The man kicked the haunches of the beast and raced back to the huts, shouting as he leaped off his horse. Men and women listened as he told them about the ambush of the Magian traders. Men raced to gather their things and rounded up their horses, some for riding, others laden with supplies the way the Kemet traders weighed down their camelids.

  "Ninsianna!" Papa called. "You have been in the dreamtime too long, daughter. You have found the information we need. Please come back."

  'Keep watching…'

  The men rode the beasts west across the grasslands to a desert where the grass became withered and dry. The goddess coaxed her to leave the men behind. She understood this was as far as they had journeyed thus far. The warm air carried her as though she possessed her husband's wings. She left the desert behind journeyed west to an enormous body of water.

  'That is the Hyrcanian Ocean…'

  Oh! She had heard of this fresh-water ocean, though never had she traveled to it! It was one of the places Jamin had promised to take her before he had broken his promise and told her a woman's place was in the village, the reason she had balked at marrying him. Now, she could see it for herself.

  "Thank you, Mother!"

  Laughter welled in the physical body which still sat in Papa's kitchen as she soared above the ocean, stopping at a coastal village to peek into the houses of the people who lived there. So wonderful and strange, these people! They wove enormous nets of pounded grasses and threw them onto the waters, gathering schools of fish and spreading them on drying racks in the sun, dipped first in salt so the fish would not spoil. She could teach her people these things when she got back!

  More! She wanted more! She begged the goddess to teach her everything there was to know. Like an indulgent mother, She-who-is drew her eyes to the next wonderful thing and Ninsianna drank it in.

  "Mo ghrá," a deeper voice whispered across the distance, "tá sé eagla a chur orm nuair a théann tú chomh fada uaidh. Eagla orm lá éigin go mbeidh tú a fhágáil dom agus ní teacht ar ais."

  The strong, golden thread which connected her to her husband vibrated, all of the emotion he felt as he called her back from the dreamtime. Without his saying the words, she could hear the question he did not dare ask. Someday will you leave me too?

  She could almost feel the accusation filter through a second, weaker thread which was connected to her mother. Selfish? Who? Her?

  No! She-who-is favored curiosity! But why make her husband fret unnecessarily? She could sense his unhappiness, his fear that someday she would abandon him for the goddess, and it made her sad, too.

  She-who-is called her attention to a new light which called to her, her unborn child. If she let go of the thread which connected her to her body, her child would die along with it. This the goddess did not want. Ninsianna felt a nudge, urging her to go back to her husband.

  With one last look back at the colorful village, Ninsianna willed herself to rejoin Papa in the world between, that place which lay between the realm where shamans could journey and the further realms only the Chosen of She-who-is could see without first casting off their mortal shell. Oh! How she hated this place where darkness merged with light to create the material realms.

  "I saw Seyahat's people!" Ninsianna exclaimed. "A long distance from here in a land unlike any I have ever seen! I counted three mountain ranges in the direction of the rising sun, then south along the shore of the Hyrcanian Ocean, across a desert to the grassland that lies beyond."

  "Such a journey would take months!" Papa said. "We cannot spare the warriors to escort three captured women that far!"

  "Their men ride animals which can carry a man across the desert in a matter of weeks," Ninsianna said. "The leader of this group is Seyahat's brother. He is riding to rendezvous with Norhan's uncle along the south shore of the Hyrcanian Ocean and will be there in two weeks. Is there some way we can get a message to them?"

  "The Hyrcanian Ocean? We have trading ties with the Guilian tribe that lives along the western shore." It was eerie how much Papa's spirit-body mimicked his physical body as he ran his fingers through his wild hair. "Why haven't their husbands come looking for them?"

  "They were killed by the Amorites," the information spilled forth from her mortal lips before she thought to temper it. "It was terrible to watch! They didn't just smite them! They tortured them as though it brought them pleasure!"

  Some part of her consciousness heard the three Magian women cry out with grief. Oh, no! She had not meant to give that information so casually! While she had gotten better about not losing track of her body, she had not yet mastered the art of controlling what her body did whenever she traveled.

  "We shall work on that." Papa's expression was sympathetic. "You're not the only shaman who ever had difficulty learning restraint." From his sheepish expression, she knew he referred to himself.

  Papa held out his non-corporeal hand. She took it like she had when she'd still been a little girl, not minding being led the final distance through the astral realms which existed just above the material realms where their bodies sat. Although she might be the more powerful journeyman of the two, her father's years of discipline and training kept them safe.

  Some small part of her registered the physical sensation of being gathered into strong arms.

  "Mo ghrá," Mikhail whispered, not with just his voice, but with his heart. "Le do thoil teacht abhaile. Tá a fhios agat frightens sé dom nuair a bhfuil tú imithe seo fada."

  Her gift of tongues translated the Galactic Standard. Come home, love. It frightens me when you are gone so long.

  "It appears we are being summoned home," Papa said.

  "He calls too soon," Ninsianna complained. "I finally got to see the Hyrcanian Ocean! Why does Mama never call you home like a naughty child?"

  "Who do you think fetched your husband to call you back?" Papa laughed. "Mama has been calling both of us for quite some time now. You just weren't listening, child."

  Shadows danced around them, ghosts of the deceased and dark creatures with ne
ither shape nor form. Oh, how she hated this last part of the journey where the paths converged! A spirit blocked their path. The ghost was a man with the same almond eyes as the Magian women.

  "The way into the dreamtime is there," Papa pointed down the path of light from which they'd just come. "Your kin comes to fetch your wife. We shall see that they find her."

  The wraith's mouth moved, but no sound came out. Images intruded into Ninsianna's mind like head lice, or some other unwelcome violation into the golden bubble which followed her out of the dreamtime and drew the dead to her like moths to a lantern flame. With a bow of gratitude, Norhan's dead husband disappeared.

  A shaman's duties included carrying out the death rituals, but Ninsianna hated the dark. She glanced down the opposite path of the one she followed to She-who-is, the one her father insisted she must someday learn if she wished to become a full-fledged shaman. The realm of He-who's-not yawned empty in that direction like a vast, terrifying hunger.

  She would not go there! No! Not ever!

  "You should not be so fearful of the dead," Papa gently admonished her. "You carry the light of She-who-is, but a shaman must also be able to find their way through the shadow-realm."

  "I shall gather the light around me until it shines so bright the darkness would not dare come close to me!" Ninsianna exclaimed.

  Papa sighed. "I pray, child, that you shall never have to find your own way through the dark. For there you are completely blind."

  Ninsianna jutted out her chin, not really her chin but the projection of a chin she had crafted with her own mind, and turned back towards the path of light to give the goddess a prayer of gratitude.

  "Thank you, Mother, for giving us this information."

  A feeling of joy welled up in her chest. Her boldness in projecting her consciousness so far out-of-body without the benefit of kratom had made the goddess proud.

  She focused on her husband's voice, the tremble of the strong arms which cradled her as though she might break, and willed herself to open her eyes.

  "Ninsianna," Mikhail's eyes were filled with worry. "Tá sé eagla orm nuair nach mbeidh tú ag teacht abhaile [it frightens me when you won't come home]." Such beautiful eyes her husband had, intelligent, wide set, the color of the winter sky, framed by long, dark lashes.

  "But I was fine." Ninsianna traced his high cheekbone across to the bridge of his straight nose, then down to touch his lips. "It is the goddess' will I learn this information."

  "SHE should be a little more sensitive to your frightened mother," Mikhail scolded her.

  He nuzzled her neck like an eagle tucking a chick into its downy breast and settled her further into his wings. Ninsianna noted the way his heart beat too fast. She leaned back into his downy underfeathers and sighed. A similar scene occurred between her parents; only Mama could feel what Papa saw in the dreamtime, a gift of empathy Ninsianna had not inherited. The sound of crying filtered through the feathery cocoon of her husband's wings.

  "Why are they so upset?" Ninsianna asked.

  "You just told them their husbands were tortured and now are dead," Mama waggled her finger at her. "What did you expect?!"

  "Oh!" Ninsianna gave Papa a look that communicated 'please help me.'

  "Ninsianna is still learning to use her gift," Papa said. "They would still be crying if she were to tell them right now instead of with the voice of She-who-is. At least now they know their loved ones found safe passage into the dreamtime."

  All except for the spirit which had lingered. Papa had made that spirit a promise, and promises to the dead bore the weight of law, not only in this realm, but in the one beyond. They must help these women get home. She glanced at Mikhail.

  "You should fly out to meet them," Ninsianna said. "And tell them how to get here. It would take us months to walk that far, but you could do it in a couple of days."

  Mikhail retreated behind an unreadable expression, but not before the shadow of disagreement danced across his face. He had just gotten back from three days in Gasur. During that time, Eshnunna had been attacked and their healer's apprentice killed, as well.

  "Where?" Mikhail tensed beneath her fingertips.

  "Six men on horseback," Ninsianna said. "Just fly east and tell them where to find us. The creatures they ride will convey them here in a matter of weeks."

  "Did you say they ride on horseback?" Mama asked incredulously. "I have never heard of such a thing."

  "We shall see soon enough," Papa gave her a conspiratorial wink. "Either these men will ride here on the backs of animals we hunt for food, or they shall not. Until then, it is too soon to speculate."

  Ninsianna gave Papa a grateful smile. She had always been good at getting people to do what was best for them, her gentle touch often succeeding where more aggressive methods failed, but since she had become the Chosen One of She-who-is, Papa helped her navigate the strange politics of not just women, but also men. Men liked to have proof, and like most men, so did her Mama.

  Seyahat huddled with her kin, weeping at the confirmation of her husband's death. They'd suspected as much, but now it had been confirmed by none other than She-who-is.

  "Your brother comes for you." Ninsianna used her gift of tongues to speak in the Magian women's language. "He is several weeks away. My husband …"

  Ninsianna veered off mid-sentence. That now-familiar thread sent thrills through her body as her mouth formed words different than those she had intended to speak.

  "…is needed here."

  Mama gave her a sharp look, Mikhail a resigned sigh. Each had seen this happen enough times to recognize the interruption of the goddess. Ninsianna translated what the goddess had just compelled her to say into Ubaid so her husband and parents could understand it.

  "Seyahat's brother rides for the southern shore of the Hyrcanian Ocean," Papa said to Mikhail. "Perhaps we can send messengers to the Guilan tribe to inform any travelers they are here in Assur. Or better yet, perhaps we could find safe passage for the women to meet them there?"

  "Chief Jiljab owes me," Mikhail said. "And is friendly with the Mannean tribe to their east. It will get them that much closer to this inland sea you describe."

  Ninsianna shot Papa a grateful look and translated the revised plan into the Magian women's language.

  "Anahita be praised," Seyahat sobbed. The three Magian women huddled together, consoling each other, until at last Seyahat dried her tears and approached Ninsianna with the red cape.

  "Thank you for finding us a way home," Seyahat tucked the cape around Ninsianna's shoulders. "After seeing how worried your husband was to discover you made this journey, I feel my gift is inadequate to compensate you for the risk you took to help us."

  "I'm glad She-who-is wished to help," Ninsianna said. She rubbed her cheek against the soft wool. It was still warm from Seyahat's body and felt furry and luscious the same way it felt to be enveloped in her husband's wings.

  With subdued tears, the three Magian women bid them farewell and headed back to the families who were hosting them. Mama recognized the buzz of light Ninsianna usually carried with her out of these journeys was wearing off, leaving her feeling heavy and tired.

  "You!" Mama ordered. To bed!"

  "I am fine!" Ninsianna tried to stand and swooned back into her husband's arms.

  "You journeyed too long, mo ghrá," Mikhail admonished her. "You are with child. You must take things easy."

  Strong arms picked her up as though she was a child's doll and carried her upstairs to settle her into the tiny raised pallet which served as their bed. He squeezed in behind her, everything about this house too small for a man who was larger than life, and gave a contented sigh as she rolled into him and placed her hand over his heart. He had not taken off her red cape, understanding she coveted it, but he covered her with one wing anyways, fluffing out his feathers to increase her warmth.

  "It worries me when you go so far into the dreamtime that you no longer answer," Mikhail's blue eyes were troubled. His la
rge hand moved to cover her smaller one and pressed it tighter against his chest. "When you go there, it just doesn't feel right to me."

  His heart trembled beneath the scarred flesh where she could dip her fingers beneath the level of his shattered ribcage to feel his heart pulsating against the skin. He was vulnerable here, this place the goddess had nearly broken him to bring him into her village. Ninsianna gave him a weak smile. She had heard him call her. She just hadn't wanted to leave.

  "I hate passing through the dark whenever I come back," she mumbled excuses. "I wish I could just light a fire and make it all go away."

  Mikhail kissed her hair. "Do not fear the dark, mo ghrá. Sometimes, the night can be your friend."

  She would have answered him, but already she had drifted off to sleep. To dream of horses ... and what it would be like to ride one of them.

  Chapter 26

  Galactic Standard Date: 152,323.09 AE

  Delta Sector – Command Carrier ‘Syracusia’

  Centauri Cavalry General Kunopegos

  Kunopegos

  The Centauri had been genetically engineered to be the Alliance's cavalry. Spliced together from the powerful running portion of that extinct animal, the horse, with the torso and intellect of the equally extinct sentient creatures, humans, the Emperor had created soldiers powerful enough to leap over obstacles and run into battle, weapons blazing, to defeat his enemies, without the inconvenience of hauling around beasts of burden or mechanical equipment from solar system to solar system. But like all hybrids, the inbreeding necessary to maintain their recessive genes came at a price. Over the millennia, inbreeding had rendered most Centauri sterile.

  General Kunopegos towered over the ship's medical officer. He was a proud stallion coming from a long line of decorated generals, not one of them having achieved a rank of less than brigadier. Once upon a time their species had come in a variety of markings, coats that were pinto, paint and buckskin instead of the ubiquitous chestnut all Centauri possessed today. The citizens of this great Alliance joked that all Centauri looked alike, and in a way they did, because every Centauri in existence was descended from a narrow bloodline which grew narrower all the time.