His thoughts were just like his lessons … well-trained soldiers marching in straight lines, never veering off-course no matter -how- tempting the new information. I suppressed a yawn.
"Lucifer!" Dephar snapped. "How will you communicate with the emissaries of the Sata'an Empire if you don't learn to speak their language?"
"I already speak their language," I told the wingless serpent that had been my father's chief geneticist since before I had been born. "And besides … it's not like Father will actually let me meet them."
"Your well-being is his only concern," was Dephar's typical evasive answer. He straightened his lab coat over his slender frame with his short arms. Lately, it was not Shay'tan my Father fretted about, but that peculiar group of silver planets Mama had forbidden me touch on the galactic chessboard.
"But I want to go to the Great Hall!"
Perhaps I was whining? Okay. I -was- whining! But wouldn't -you- whine if you'd spent all nine years of your life cooped up in a single wing of the palace? Sometimes I imagined I was being held prisoner here, just like the people in Father's secret history books.
"Lucifer!" Dephar shook his claws at me. "Repeat the four Sata'anic verb tenses of the word 'to smite?'"
Even as he spoke the word 'conjugations,' the four sounds he wanted to hear, along with a few unkind thoughts about me, drifted into my mind like the historical videos Father sometimes let me watch, although he never let me watch regular television. I repeated them word-for-word.
"Ea-katella, kowtella, kahtellah, kow'ten," I said as though I'd been paying attention. A fifth image came into my mind. A phrase. An image of what the curse-word meant. I repeated it, just to see what the stuffy old Muqqib'at dragon would say.
"Shay'tan mehcun'dum."
Dephar blanched. "Where'd you learn that?"
"Why from you, of course, Máistir Dephar," I gave him a victorious grin. "Don't you remember?" Dehpar choked as as I sent him a false memory of himself cursing moments before I'd walked into the library this morning. It wasn't nice to plant images in Dephar's mind, but he was a stuffy old dragon and had no idea I'd inherited my Mama's gift.
"I ... I don't use such language," Dephar puffed out his slender chest with indigation. His short arms grabbed for the lesson-tablet with the verb tenses displayed on the screen. "You must have misunderstood."
"Perhaps..."
Oh, how I couldn't wait for this lesson to be over! The key I had hidden earlier, the one that opened the cabinet where Dephar hid the secret history books Father didn't want anyone to know about, taunted me from its hiding place on She-who-is's pointy ear. It was tucked into the delicate marble crevasse like a pencil, as though SHE and I were in cahoots even though I had never made her acquaintance except one time at my birth. Father spoke of it as though I should remember such a momentous event, but really! I was only minutes old! I have a good memory, but not -that- good!
I fidgeted as Dephar made me conjugate all the tenses, both past and present, of the verbs to fudge, to fib, to understate and to exaggerate. Today's lesson had taken on a familiar pattern. Whenever the Sata'an emissaries came, Dephar grew paranoid about deception.
"Aren't we going to conjugate the verb 'to lie?'"
"There is no such verb in the Sata'anic language," Dephar said.
"What do you mean there is no such word?" I asked. "Everybody knows Shay'tan is a liar!"
"Everybody?" Dephar raised on eyebrow-ridge. For the first time all day he appeared to be amused. In my world, 'everybody' consisted of himself, my Mama, Father, and a few Cherubim masters. I glanced once again at the golden key taunting me from She-who-is's pointy ear.
The golden key twinkled, as though She-who-is was winking at me from her statue. Dephar's eyes narrowed into slits as he scrutinized me to see if I was making fun of him again.
"Shaytan does not lie," Dephar said at last.
"But the textbooks say..."
"It doesn't matter what they say," Dephar said. "Shaytan is many things. Power-hungry. Devious. Controlling. Inflexible. But one thing he is not is a liar."
"But why does everybody say that about him, then?"
"Because he tempts you with just enough promises to sway you to his way of thinking," Dephar said. "But he never tells you about the consequences unless you know to ask him explicitly. People expect gifts, and instead they get strings."
"But isn't an omission a lie?" I asked.
"It's not quite the same thing," Dephar looked uncomfortable. "Sometimes ... omissions are necessary."
That golden key twinkled at me again, the one Dephar had no idea I had stolen from his desk. No one was allowed in this room except for Dephar, Father, and me. Actually -I- wasn't really allowed here alone, either, but nine years of boredom had inspired me to become creative about lapses in Dephar's focus.
One such lapse always occurred around twenty minutes after he began sipping a fresh cup of caife. Sip the caife. Start the lecture. Twenty minutes later, Dephar rushed into the watering closet. This morning, however, anxiety about the arrival of the Sata'an emissary had caused him to forsake his usual beverage. He'd droned on and on about Ba'al Zebub and denied me a chance to put back the book I'd snitched.
He had to go to the bathroom sometime, didn't he? Even quasi-ascended beings had bodily functions while they were living down here in the material realms. It was one of the laws of She-who-is...
"If you'll excuse me," Dephar said at last.
Oh! Thank the goddess! The voluminous text Dephar had assigned for reading tonight was too large to fit inside my satchel next to the weighty tome I had snitched several days ago! I yanked the book out of my bag and dove for the golden key, pausing only long enough to rub She-who-is's ear for good luck before unlocking the cabinet that held father's secret history books. The ones that did not exist.
'A Complete History of the Nephilim' was put back into its slot. Father said the universe was better off without them, but the way the Nephilim had been written about in that old history book had made them sound rather sympathetic. The book had been written before they'd rebelled against Emperor Shay'tan, so I -still- didn't understand why their rebellion against Father's enemy had been so bad? The first three shelves had already been read, so I fluttered up to the fourth hoping Dephar wouldn't hear my wings and felt around until my hand landed on a book slender enough to fit inside my book bag with the Sata'anic language text. I pulled it down and looked at the gold lettering.
'Amhrán Ki.' Song of Ki. It was a slender black volume comprised of verses, but it also had a few pictures. I heard the toilet flushing and water running as Dephar washed his claws. Jamming shut the cabinet door, I popped the key back into its hiding place, pausing just long enough to rub She-who-is's ear before shoving the slender book into my satchel.
With a snuffle, Dephar sat down and continued the lesson until Mama knocked and announced it was time for lunch.
"Mama!" I flew into her arms. She was in a good mood today, not one of her sad ones. Lately she'd been a little happier, but every now and again she still had one of those days. I always went out of my way to make her happy.
"Time to eat, chol beag," Mama kissed the top of my head. "And then it will be time for Father to teach you your daily game of chess."
Without so much as a backwards glance, I skipped down the hall after my mother, wings fluttering to keep up as we walked hand in hand. We ate together in our apartment overlooking the garden, the Eternal Tree dominating the center courtyard. Beneath us frolicked creatures Mama said existed no other place in the universe. My favorite was a plain little bird that sang a song so musical it sometimes made Mama cry, but they were good tears, as if something about that song made her happy.
I called this creature Happy Bird ... after the way it made my Mama feel. It was so much nicer than the dull name Dephar called it. Song thrush.
"Will Father let me meet the Sata'an emissary today?" I asked. "He said that one day he would."
Mama's dark wings stiffened. Her hai
r fell across her face so I could not see her blue eyes.
"Not this year, chol beag," Mama said. "Someday. When you are a little older."
"Why can't I meet him?"
"Father doesn't want people to know about you just yet."
Her words didn't sit right. Mama knew I could read her thoughts and took great pains to hide them unless she wanted to share something, but this wing of the palace was boring, so lately I had been playing a game where I would poke into her mind and see how long I could stay there until she realized what I was up to and kicked me out.
"Is Father ashamed of me?"
"No. Of course not, chol beag," Mama said. That is what her words said. Her thoughts, however, were dark and stormy, so dark I couldn't see through them. That image of a wall she used to block me out of her mind appeared between us.
"Father said someday -I- would negotiate with the Sata'an emisarries," I said. "He wants me to take care of that kind of business for him so he can focus on what he -really- wants to do ... work in his laboratory."
"I would take what Father says with a grain of salt," Mama said. "He promises much, but sometimes when it comes time to deliver he forgets he made a promise to you in the first place."
"Father would -never- go back on his word!"
Mama gave me an indulgent smile. The kind she had given when I was five and would ask to eat cake for breakfast. We finished our lunch in silence.
"Off with you," Mama ordered when we were done. "Father said to meet him in the game room at two o'clock."
She kissed the top of my head, her lips lingering as though I were the most precious thing in the world to her. I had forty-five minutes until I had to be at Father's appointment. I passed the door where the two Cherubim masters stood guard.
"We're a bit early today," Master Urebitimo asked. "Aren't we, little prince?"
"Mama said I mustn't be late."
"Go straight there, then, little one," Master Urebitimo said. "By way of the garden hallway. There are elements in the palace today your Father would not want you to encounter. They could place you in danger."
Endanger ... me? With two Cherubim masters guarding my mother and two more guarding the entrance to the Great Hall? Father was all powerful! A god!
"I go there now," I bowed to them both.
I did not let them see I had my fingers crossed behind my back. No sooner had I gotten out of sight when I veered off through a doorway into the garden, past the pillar of fire Father had programmed to allow me entrance into his garden, down a path and then into another doorway guarded by a similar fire that circumvented the Cherubim masters. I crept into the little room behind Father's throne and peeked out the door into the Great Hall.
My eyes grew wide at the sight of two Sata'anic lizards haggling in the Sata'anic language. Father spoke all languages, but so could I. Almost. I could -almost- understand all languages. Whenever anyone spoke to me, even if I did not understand the words themselves, so long as the species was sentient enough to have coherent thoughts, I could see them. The lizard people were angry.
An empire. A third empire. Father wanted their emperor to cast out a third empire so he could destroy it. The lizard men refused.
One of the two lizard men glanced past Father's lofty chair and spied my white-blonde hair sticking out of the door. Although he was the younger of the two, from his portly demeanor and way his dewlap reddened to a deep scarlet, I could tell he was the higher-ranking. That ... and his sash of state told me who had spotted me.
Ba'al Zebub's gold-green eyes narrowed into slits. He licked the air with his long, forked tongue and pointed to the door, those serpentine eyes intensely curious. Was it true the lizard people could taste emotion? If so ... I was scared.
This was Shay'tan's second-in-command...
I ducked out the back door of Father's office, past the pillar of fire into the garden, and wandered over to the Eternal Tree. It was forbidden to even touch it, but that old tree and I got along just fine. It had enormous roots that jutted out of its trunk and made it look as though it had legs. The ancient bark provided sturdy handholds, as if it -liked- being climbed, so I usually scrambled up the trunk instead of flew. Its lowest branch stood level with the roof of Father's palace, but I had never dared soar up into the uppermost branches, so high they appeared to be holding up the sky. I found my favorite branch, a place where it flattened out to make a seat, and arranged my wings to hang over the side, swinging my legs back and forth as I listened to the Happy Bird warbling it's cheerful song.
At last Father came out of the palace. He addressed the pillar of flame which had allowed me ingress to his office earlier then made his way over to the tree. I thought of hiding from him, but there was no use. Father was a god. He -always- knew where I hid.
"You snuck into my office again, chol beag," Father called up to me. I could tell from his golden eyes he was more concerned than angry. I never saw Father's thoughts the way I could Dephar or Mama, but then again Father wasn't all that hard to read.
"I was curious," I said. "I hope you are not too angry."
Father sat down on a root near ground level. I could have sworn that old tree bent its root upwards to be just the right height so Father would not have to bend. His shoulders stooped as he stared off into the garden. The Happy Bird ceased its song.
"My first concern is to keep you safe," Father sighed. "You have no idea what's at stake."
My feet swung back and forth, back and forth from the branch where I had settled. Father always spoke in terms of calculated risks. When we played chess together, I knew that somewhere there were real people behind those moves, but I could not understand why he sometimes thought that way about -me.- What importance could I be, a nine-year-old boy?
"I tried not to be seen," I said at last. "Is it true the lizard men can smell your feelings?"
"Somewhat," Father said. "They can taste your pheremones, the little chemical messengers your body gives off when your brain tells your muscles what to do."
Father had been teaching me about pheremones in my biology lessons. "What did my messengers tell him about me?"
"That you are a naughty little boy who wasn't supposed to be peeking out of my office," Father said. He ran his fingers through his wild, white hair. "I convinced Ba'al Zebub you were the son of a servant, but you should not take such risks. The last thing I want is the old dragon to find out I've got a son." Fear darted across his face, a peculiar emotion for a god as powerful as my father.
"Are you ashamed of me, Father?"
"No." Father's face wrinkled up into a smile. I liked the older, kindlier version of him better than the younger, more aggressive version he liked to show my Mama. I was relieved he was not truly angry with me. In some way, I think my curiosity reminded him of himself.
"What were you arguing about with the lizard men?"
The smile faded. "Nothing that is your concern."
Father got that intense look he sometimes got when he looked at me, a look that was not quite hatred or anger, but it left me cold. I could never understand -why- Father often looked at me that way, as if I had done something wrong. Did he know I had stolen a book from his library? I hid my thoughts the way Mama had taught me to do so Father would not know about the slender black volume hidden in my room.
"Come," Father beckoned for me to come down. "Let's go practice your chess game. Someday, it will be -you- who plays directly against Shay'tan."
I fluttered down from the Eternal Tree, my feathers cushioning my descent as I fell.
"I have better things to do than keep the old dragon amused!" Father placed his hand upon my shoulder and squeezed.
I wiggled with delight at the warm sensation that always accompanied Father's touch. We walked to the game room together, side by side, my wings tucked tightly against my back. We did not skip hand-in-hand the way I did my with Mama. Although Father might lay a hand upon my shoulder if I made a brilliant chess move or learned a lesson well, he did not like to be touche
d ... except maybe by Mama.
The game room was as it always was, She-who-is painted on one wall, Shay'tan at the rear, and the big black wall which had never spoken to me a second time. The galactic chess board hummed softly on its axis, the pieces set up exactly as Father had left them. I moved over to the smaller replica I used to practice against Father. Sometimes he let me pretend to be -him-, but more often he liked to have me play the role of Emperor Shay'tan, with the black game pieces that represented the lizard men set up to replicate whatever conundrum Father was working through.
I wondered if the old dragon knew it was -me- he often played against, and not Father?
Father left me to play against myself, to move the Sata'anic game pieces he'd set up to do what I thought Shay'tan had up his sleeve, and then switch sides to defend the Alliance, moving white game pieces to defeat Shay'tan's next possible move. These days, Father didn't care all that much about beating Shay'tan. He only cared about beating the opponent who lived on that peculiar homeworld that I did not dare ask him about because it always made him angry. Tyre. The world he and the lizard-men had been arguing about because Shay'tan wouldn't let him blow it up.
Who lived on that world that had angered Father so? And why did it sometimes make him angry at -me-?
Chapter 29
Now there was a day when the sons of God
Came to present themselves before the LORD,
And Satan also came among them.
And the LORD said unto Satan,
"From whence comest thou?"
Then Satan answered the LORD and said,
"From going to and fro on the earth,
And from walking up and down upon it."
Job 1:6-7
Galactic Standard Date: 152,323.10 AE
Sword of the Gods: Prince of Tyre (Sword of the Gods Saga) Page 29