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

by Anna Erishkigal

  His scent swirled around her, musky and male, the aroma of sweat from a day toiling in the fields mixed with the river he had bathed in prior to returning to their village, his wings and hair still damp from the sacred ritual he undertook each afternoon before touching his wife. That need she felt in her belly thrummed, filling her with warmth as she imagined what it would be like to feel the length of him inside of her, filling her at last. She realized that he still held her hand. And also that she was uncontrollably crying.

  "You're not the only person to ever land face-down in a pile of goat dung, you know?" He then did something she had never seen him do before. He smiled at her. A sheepish, vulnerable kind of smile. "All you can do is pick yourself up and keep on going."

  "Th-th-thank you, M-M-Mikhail," she stuttered like an idiot.

  "If you'll excuse me," he pointed to the three buckets of water he was carrying. "I've got to drop this one off at the widow-sisters house," he held up a regular-sized bucket gripped in one hand, "and then get these other two back to the house or Ninsianna will have my hide." The other buckets sat dangling from a pole that was strung across his shoulders, each three times the size of a bucket carried by an ordinary man.

  "T-th-thank you," she stuttered, the mere presence of the man filling that need and telling it to be silent. The tears stopped.

  He walked away from her. Walked. A demi-god with wings like a sacred eagle, walked to carry water to his wife. And as he walked away, that momentary cessation of her hunger, the one that had eaten at her ever since the day her parents had given her maidenhead to the desert chieftain rather than pay the tariff, grew with each step he took away from her. What would it be like to be loved by such a creature and not some cruel chiefling?

  "Mikhail!" she called after him. "Have you seen Gita?"

  He turned back to look at her, the setting sun giving him the appearance of a statue. Perfect. In every way. That image was burned into her mind. Her … ideal … man.

  "Nobody ever sees Gita," his eyes wrinkled to betray the smile he kept from his lips. "But if you are looking for her, ask where Pareesa is. The last time I saw her she was headed down to the lower well."

  She watched his retreating wings, sable brown with even darker striping, so dark they were almost black, a creature of heaven carrying an earthly burden. She watched until he turned around a corner and disappeared, pressing her hand to her face and relishing the way it had felt in his, as though the forces of life itself flowed through that hand.

  It was him she wanted. Not Jamin. Not Dadbeh. Not any of the other paltry creatures who had used her because they understood the way she needed to be held, to feel a man inside of her, telling her she was beautiful as he filled her with his seed. She wanted him inside of her. He would fill her good, a man that tall. She shut her eyes and imagined what it would feel like to be loved by an angel, to hear him cry out in ecstasy and call her name. Yes. He was the one she had wanted all along.

  And Gita had gone and mucked it up that first day by being bold and touching his wings!

  She realized all eyes were watching her, standing in the middle of the street, covered in goat dung, her arms wrapped around herself as she had shut her eyes and tilted her head back, imagining what it would feel like to take him inside of her, her beautiful angel.

  Whispers. Did you hear Shahla's pregnant? Did you hear the baby is Jamin's? Did you hear Jamin denies the baby is his? Everybody knows they've been seen coming out from behind the goat shed. Everybody knows Shahla has slept with every man in the village. She slept with my husband. She stole my boyfriend. It's about time somebody made that boy grow up and stop being such a sheep's ass. I hear she doesn't know who the father is?

  She pressed her hands over her ears and ran, in the direction Mikhail had pointed. She needed to talk to Gita. Gita was her best friend. Gita was her only friend when you took away the people who clung to her father's kilt-fringe, looking for ways to woo a better trade, and the boyfriends she'd lain down with to fill the emptiness she'd felt ever since she was a little girl. But Gita had been avoiding her lately. She chased after the winged one just like every other woman in this village!

  She found them clustered around the lesser well, Pareesa, surrounded by three-dozen women, their shawls wrapped high around their waists like men's kilts so they could step lightly as they sparred. Pareesa, a little snit who had suddenly sprouted breasts and announced she was some kind of warrior princess, demonstrated how to spin a spear with a second spear-point added around her head. At the other end stood Gita, fending off Pareesa's blows with the single-tipped spear.

  "Gita!" she called.

  Gita looked her way. Pareesa took the opening to thwack Gita off the thigh. Gita yelped, but instead of being angry, she laughed. She laughed? Since when did Gita laugh?

  "Just watch!" Gita's black eyes glittered with pride. She turned and began hitting at Pareesa with the flat of the spear, fighting back ferociously. Like a man…

  "I really need to talk to you," Shahla called.

  Gita grunted with exertion as Pareesa drove her back. Pareesa landed what would have been a lethal blow had she been actually trying to hurt her instead of simply sparring with her.

  "After practice," Gita said. "Can't you just watch until I'm done?"

  Heat flooded up into Shahla's face. Gita had abandoned her, too? She realized the other women were pointing at her, whispering about her shame.

  I hear she's pregnant. I hear Jamin is the baby's father. I hear he isn't. I hear the Chief is forcing him to marry her. I hear he's got seven witnesses to testify against her that every man in the village has slept with her. Serves her right, stealing my boyfriend last year. I hear her parents bought off the Chief. I hear her parents are about to turn her out into the street. Did you hear about the row her father had with Jamin, screaming for the entire village to hear that it wasn't his child?

  Gita continued sparring with Pareesa, oblivious to the whispers. Oblivious to her distress! Gita had always been attuned to her distress. It was why she'd always dragged the reclusive girl out of the shadows and invited her to tag along.

  "So now you're ignoring me so you can chase after Mikhail?!!"

  The clacking of spears stopped. Every eye in that square turned to her.

  "Don't do this," Gita said. Color crept into those pale, gaunt cheeks. Evidence of her guilt.

  Shahla noticed Ninsianna had come into the square, a basket of fresh vegetables balanced on her head to cook dinner for her husband. Those eerie golden eyes bored into her with contempt.

  Nemesis! The sorceress who had lured Jamin away from her, then sent him back broken, not just arrogant as he had been before, but cruel. The woman whose name Jamin had whispered every time he had filled her with his length, sometimes hurting her because it was Ninsianna he wanted to hurt, sometimes whispering Ninsianna's name again and again as he held her so tenderly it had made her cry, and on one occasion as he'd pressed into her and cried out Ninsianna's name, she'd seen him cry. She'd teach her a lesson. She … and her unfaithful former friend!

  “Look at all the man-haters,” Shahla taunted the female warriors. “Hitting each other with sticks so they can catch Mikhail's eye. Do you think a man wants a woman who looks like a man?"

  "Don't do this," Gita pleaded. Those black eyes were filled with mortification. "I'll come by to see you after practice. I promise."

  "Did you know the only reason Gita comes to practice is because she hopes Mikhail will notice her?"

  "Shahla!" Gita's response was a whimpered cry.

  “Perhaps if you took my training,” Pareesa interrupted her, “you wouldn’t have bruises all over your body.” The little snit stood with her spear held casually as though it were a walking stick, her other hand on one hip as she eyed Shahla with contempt.

  “Jamin loves me,” Shahla hissed. “It was a misunderstanding.”

  “It’s abuse,” Pareesa jabbed her finger at her. “And Jamin only uses you to sate his baser needs. You should n
ot allow him to treat you so poorly.”

  Baser needs? What did a thirteen-summer snit know about baser needs? She, whose breasts were still so small as to be little more than fresh figs?

  “You’re all pathetic!” Shahla gestured wildly. “The only reason any of you are here is because you all hope Mikhail will notice you!”

  The whispers grew louder. She's one to talk. I heard she propositioned Mikhail. I heard so too. Did it right in front of Ninsianna. No, I heard it was Gita who propositioned him, touched his wings without asking. Gita touched his wings? Nobody touches Mikhail's wings except for Ninsianna.

  Gita turned a ghastly pale color. Good! It served her right for abandoning her when she'd needed her the most!

  “That’s enough, Shahla,” Pareesa stepped in front of Gita as though she were a shield, not a woman who was barely more than a child. She'd gotten taller since the last time Shahla had stood in front of her, tall with a boyish figure as though she had simply willed her body to grow up after the Halifians had kidnapped her and so, by force of will, she had. Taller than the scrawny Gita. Taller than her.

  “If you don’t want to participate, that is fine," Pareesa said with all the authority of a chief, "but I will not tolerate you disrupting my training. So either hold your viperous tongue and watch … or you can leave.”

  Shahla noticed Ninsianna was scrutinizing her, listening to her every word. Who did she think she was, daughter of a shaman with less money than her father? It was time to pay the temptress back for all the heartbreak she had put her through! She, and her unfaithful cousin! Let the sorceress get a taste of what it felt like to doubt her man!

  Shahla new a thing or two about casting doubt… She whirled on the true source of her ire, her unfaithful friend, and cast the first stone.

  “You’re even more pathetic than they are," she pointed at Gita. "Have you told Ninsianna how you follow her husband around so you can bump into him and say ‘hello?’”

  “That’s enough,” Gita pleaded.

  Ninsianna glared at her black-eyed cousin now instead of her, her golden eyes turning that fiery copper color they all associated with Ninsianna using her sorcery. Yes. Gita had many secrets hidden in that black, spider's soul of hers, hurtful things Shahla had sworn never to betray, but that had been back when she'd still thought Gita was her friend. So easy, to stoke the simmering embers of hatred between Ninsianna's father and Gita's father when you had been taught from birth to set rival traders at each other's throats so you could glean a more favorable trade. Her parents had taught her well.

  Ninsianna's expression became murderous as she looked into her cousin's soul and saw Shahla's accusation was true. Gita backed away from those dual, hostile flames so the rest of the group would not see her guilt.

  Now the whispers were about Gita, not her. Good. Deflect attention away from her. And her shame. No more whispers. She couldn't take any more whispers.

  “Hey, Ninsianna!” Shahla stoked the flames of hatred higher. “Did Mikhail tell you how Gita waits for him at Yalda and Zhila’s house each morning with a bucket of water from the well so she can bump into him?”

  “That’s enough, Shahla!” Gita glanced over to her cousin, who glared at the both of them with daggers shooting out of her eerie golden eyes which looked flaming red in the setting sun.

  “Oh! Excuse me, Mikhail,” Shahla pantomimed in a false high voice reciting word for word conversations where Gita had taken her into her confidence. “You look so hot and sweaty. Let me help you draw a bucket of water from the well to cool yourself down. Let me follow you around so I can accidentally bump into you. Let me follow you everywhere in the shadows so I can watch how beautiful you are.”

  “Why are you being so mean to me?” Gita sobbed. “I thought you were my friend?”

  “You ditched me for … this?” Shahla gestured first to the group, then Ninsianna. “So you could follow another woman’s husband around like a lovesick puppy? At least when -I- lay down with him, he wasn't married yet!”

  There was a shocked gasp of breath from the entire group at this accusation. Gita backed the rest of the way into the shadows to escape, and then ran away, sobbing. Homa and Gisou ran after her, leaving Shahla standing in the square surrounded by Pareesa and three dozen female warriors, all standing with their spears clutched in their fists as though it was her they wanted to stab.

  Perhaps she should not have let her anger get away from her? But she had always had a vicious tongue, a skill learned from her mother. Oh! Why had she let her anger get away from her when she really needed to talk to someone sensible to help her make this big decision. She would go to Gita's her father's house to apologize, and Gita would forgive her, because that is what Gita had always done. Forgiven her for her sharp, cruel tongue because Gita did not have any other friends except for her.

  "I don't know what your problem is," Pareesa stepped forward and gave her a shove. "But you'd better get out of here, now, before I let them beat that bastard out of your belly for besmirching Mikhail's name with your false accusations!"

  She turned and realized Ninsianna stood in front of her. At least she had done one thing right, because the whispers were now about her. Not just Shahla. Shahla gave her a victorious smirk. Pareesa wasn't the only warrior whose weapon could hit its mark.

  "Take it back," Ninsianna's words were clipped. "Take it back because it isn't true."

  "Take back what?" Shahla feigned innocence. Aha! It bothered the queen bee to have her insinuate someone else had stolen her honey. Ahh … this was a game Shahla played well.

  "Take back what you said against my husband."

  Those golden eyes bored into hers, so dark they were almost copper. Shahla glared back. Oh, how she hated this woman who had stolen the man she loved, a proud chiefling whose only fault had been was he was perhaps a bit proud, and handed her back a bitter man whose heart was filled with darkness, all because of her.

  Shahla pulled her shawl tight against her abdomen, showing her swelling womb. Five moon-turns pregnant, give or take a few weeks, because she wasn't sure who the baby's father was, or when it had been conceived. A pregnancy which clearly dated back before the day Mikhail had carried Ninsianna into the sky in front of the entire village, announcing to them that she was his.

  It was said a sorceress could see inside of your mind. Well … let her see this…

  Memory of her daydream, the one she had had earlier after holding Mikhail's hand, danced back into her mind, still as fresh and vivid as when she'd thought it up. She pictured it now, the memory given flesh and life by her years of experience of what it felt like to be held by a man and imagine it was some other man who cried out her name as he trembled beneath her touch.

  She imagined it was Mikhail's length that had moved inside of her and sated that hunger, Mikhail who had trembled beneath her fingers and cried out her name as he reached ecstasy, Mikhail who had held her in his arms and wrapped her in his magnificent, dark wings. She imagined his scent, musky and male, an honest day's sweat blended with the river, his sable hair and wings still damp as she ran her fingers through them and felt him tremble.

  She could almost feel his seed explode inside of her, causing her womb to clench at it and keep it, giving spark to the life which grew inside of her now. Her lips parted and her eyes rolled back in her head as the mere thought of that fictitious union gushed warmth between her legs, her vagina shuddering in her own release.

  Ninsianna looked stricken.

  "It feels good to be filled by a man so large," Shahla hissed at her. "Doesn't it, Ninsianna."

  Pain exploded inside her brain. It felt as though she was jerked around and sent walking in the opposite direction, her feet moving one in front of the other, all of their own volition. The pomegranate fell from her hand. Abandoned. A mournful fruit laying unwanted by the well.

  Shahla turned, fighting the urge which compelled her to walk away.

  "My pomegranate..."

  Her eyes glowing so copper t
hey were almost red, Ninsianna crushed the sweet fruit beneath her heel, her lips curling up in an ugly sneer as she moved her foot back and forth until the blood red seeds were smeared into the earth like an offering to She-who-is.

  The voices whispered behind Shahla as she walked away, holding her nose to stop the blood which had erupted from it like a desert stream after a rain.

  Whispering. Whispering about her shame.

  Chapter 38

  September 3,390 BC

  Earth: Village of Assur

  Colonel Mikhail Mannuki'ili

  Mikhail

  Her anger preceded her into the house like a sandstorm, so palpable it felt as though he was being sandblasted by the desert wind. Mustard greens and leeks leaped onto the floor as though in terror as she slammed her basket of vegetables onto the table and wheeled around to face him, her finger pointed into his face. That part of him which had been trained to fight, to be intuitive about impending danger, rippled through his feathers at the sight of her golden eyes almost copper with rage.

  "Do you know what she just said about you?!!"

  Mikhail set down the bucket of milk he had just coaxed from Little Nemesis. Okay, half a bucket of milk. The goat had been in her pen and amenable to being milked today. It was what had happened afterwards, as he had bent down to pick up the half-eaten emmer stalks which had fallen from the treat basket and forgotten to keep a hand on the bucket so she would not kick it over. He still had the other half of the bucket of milk. He simply now wore it emblazoned across the front of his pants and soaked into the feathers of one wing.

  "Who just said what about me?"

  "She! Shahla!"

  "Shahla? I saw her but a short time ago. Is she okay?"

  His answer, if anything, made her even more angry. The further they got into Ninsianna's pregnancy, the more moody she became, lack of sleep and her inability to keep food in her belly turning her from the patient, if somewhat bossy, goddess who had tended his wounds into a petty tyrant. Immanu had advised him to just acknowledge her anger and play along. Once the morning sickness passed, he reassured him, Ninsianna would return to being herself.