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

by Anna Erishkigal

  Nusrat's gaze rose to meet his, those gold-flecked eyes having that same emerald fire his sister had. Whoever his mother had been, from his demeanor Jamin knew she had been a favorite of the desert shaykh.

  "I, too, am a pragmatic man," Nusrat said. "I shall not inherit my father's blessing when he dies because I am neither the oldest, nor a son of his first wife. Nor shall I inherit from the tribe of my mother. My father married her for love, not to secure an alliance the way he did his other wives. She has been dead for twenty years, so I cannot look to her tribe to give me shelter, either, if I do not agree with whichever higher ranking brother outlives my father. With so many brothers in line ahead of me, such as the one you just put back into his place, there will be many brothers to disagree with when my father is no longer here."

  "You love your father?"

  Nusrat met his gaze. Those green-flecked irises widened. "With all of my heart. But there is one person I love more, even more than my two wives."

  "Who?" Jamin asked.

  "My sister." Nusrat gestured to the tribes gathered below. "He is down there still, trying to get someone to offer a bride-price enticing enough to get Aturdokht to declare the prize you so publicly offered is forfeit so he can marry her back into Yazan's tribe. It is quite the spectacle you created, your offer to bring back to my sister the winged demon's heart."

  Memory of those green-flecked eyes, almost iridescent with her hatred, flashed into his mind.

  "Aturdokht will not relent," Jamin said. "No matter how many times your father ties her to a pole."

  Nusrat grinned, as though Jamin had confirmed something he already suspected. "I see you have taken my sister's measure and know her heart better than any, perhaps, except my father?"

  "She would bury a knife into my heart had I succeeded," Jamin said, "and attempted to force her to live up to her end of the bargain."

  Nusrat rose to his feet and shouted down to his half-brother trudging up the hill, wearing a sour expression.

  "Lubaid!" Nusrat called. "Watch the herd and make sure they don't commingle with Yazan's or the other tribe's."

  "Aigh!" Lubaid shouted, giving Jamin a glower.

  Jamin turned to go back the way he had come.

  "Giving up so easily?" Nusrat's eyes filled with amusement. "My sister seeks to sink a knife into an Ubaid heart. Would you deny her the pleasure?"

  "I am no longer Ubaid," Jamin said. "I have nothing to offer your sister now. Not even water rights to the river."

  "But that is not the price she demanded, now, is it?" Nusrat picked up his bow and arrow and began walking along the ridge, neither closer to the assembled tribes, nor towards the trail from whence Jamin had come. He signaled for Jamin to follow. "Besides, I would rather slit her throat myself than watch her be married off to Yazan's brother, Dirar."

  "She hates me," Jamin said.

  "She hates Dirar even more for prevailing upon Roshan to join their raid instead of listening to her," Nusrat shrugged. "He shamed her husband. Called him a woman in front of his father and said he was lacking a manhood because he listened to his wife and had only sired a daughter. Until Aturdokht declares you have forfeited paying her bride-price, or Dirar delivers the winged demon's heart, her affections are up for grabs."

  They picked their way amongst the rocky terrain in silence until they crested the hill upon which Nusrat tended his flock. The whistle of an arrow caught his attention down in the valley below. There stood a woman, her unwanted daughter cooing in a basket with a dog standing guard. In her arms sat the bow and arrows which had caused so much trouble for the Ubaid.

  "Aturdokht!" Nusrat greeted. "I bring another suitor!"

  That bow swung around, her arrow strung before he had a chance to take a single step, bowstring drawn back with the arrow aimed straight at his heart. Her eyes glowed green with fury.

  "And so you would let your sister have her revenge by collecting the bounty herself?" Jamin asked as he stared into those hateful green eyes.

  "That is up to her," Nusrat shrugged. "And what you say to explain why you told her stories of your great love, the shaman's daughter, when you already had a wife back in Assur, carrying your child."

  "It was a lie!" Jamin snarled. "It was not my child. And she was not my wife. It was a trick to force my father's hand!"

  Nusrat gestured towards Aturdokht. "Sister … I shall be at the top of the hill in case you need me."

  And with that, Nusrat moved back towards his perch upon the rock he had been sitting on originally, which Jamin now realized gave him a birds-eye view both of the flock, and down into the arid valley on the other side where his sister stood practicing what no Halifian woman dared, but Ubaid women did. How to defend herself. He saw from Nusrat's pleased expression that it had been he who had taught her to shoot, and encouraged her to do so now, though for what purpose, he did not know.

  Jamin stuck his hands into the air, understanding that one wrong move would end his life. Those green eyes bored into him with hatred and another emotion. Betrayal?

  "I can explain," Jamin took a step towards her. "It was a lie. To trap my father into concessions."

  "You killed her unborn infant?" Aturdokht shrieked. She loosed the arrow, but instead of hitting him, she jerked the bow slightly to his left and shot it through the bundle he had slung over his shoulder. By how quickly she reached into her quiver and had another arrow strung before he could make more than half a step towards her, he understood the miss had been deliberate. "Did you even intend to follow through on your promise at all?"

  "It was not my intent to hurt the child," Jamin said, her condemnation piercing through the fog of hatred which had been clouding over him for days. He held out both hands in front of him. "Only to get her to recant her story that the child was mine."

  "Could it have been yours?" Aturdokht shouted.

  "I had not had relations with her in the requisite timeframe," Jamin said. He winced as a second arrow whizzed past his ear, closer this time, to slam into the pack he had slung over his shoulder. He closed his eyes. If he was going to die, it was fitting that it be at her hands. His voice was almost a whisper. "I turned to her in a moment of weakness, after the shaman's daughter tore out my heart. When I tried to extricate myself from that relationship, she would not let me go. I was not aware she was already carrying someone else's child."

  "What would you have done to my daughter?!!" Aturdokht shrieked. This time the arrow slammed into his left shoulder.

  With a cry of pain, Jamin fell to his knees, opening his eyes to stare into those green ones, boring into his soul. Pain spread from his shoulder and down his arm.

  "I would have loved her and raised her as my own," Jamin looked into those emerald eyes, the color of the river in the spring. "Because she has a magnificent mother, worthy to be my shaykah."

  He closed his eyes and waited for the arrow to slam into his chest, to put an end to that empty, hungry place where he had once possessed a heart. Only the sound of the wind and a piercing cry greeted his ears. He opened his eyes and saw she had fallen to her knees and was crying. Fighting to remain conscious from the pain, he crawled to her on one hand and two knees.

  "You bastard," she sobbed. "Why did you not just marry the woman and then come back for me? Now my father wants to marry me back into Yazan's tribe so he can secure the water rights to the Burunanum River!"

  "You would have been my second-wife," Jamin said. "Not even of legal status, but a concubine under our law. Any son you bore me would not even be able to inherit as chief. I would not disgrace you thus."

  "I will be Dirar's fourth wife!" Aturdokht shouted. "He is a horrid beast of a man, who beats his women for the slightest offense. He only wants to marry me because Yazan has no more sons and the first son he begets upon me will enable him to rule in Roshan's stead!"

  The bow spun back up to aim at his heart. A piercing cry split the air. The two eagles which had followed him ever since he had left Assur circled like vultures, no doubt sensin
g that soon there would be fresh meat when rodents came to devour his flesh. Accursed birds! Why could they not just leave him alone?

  "I did not know that," Jamin forced himself to speak calmly. Begging would cause the next arrow to lodge in his chest. So would lies. He'd resolved when he'd sat three days in the pit, pleading with the moon for intervention, that from now on there would be no more lies. "You did not mention that when we spoke."

  Aturdokht wiped her tears, the hand trembling that held the bow.

  "I would rather be the four hundredth wife of the dragon who lives beneath the mountain than a first wife of the man who egged my poor Roshan to expend his life upon the winged demons sword! Do you have any idea what will happen to Roshan's daughter if I marry Dirar?"

  The desert swam in front of him as blood poured out his shoulder. Aturdokht's visage became fuzzy from the pain of the arrow. Everything had a surreal quality to it, as though he was looking into a sun rising behind Aturdokht's shoulder and there were people standing there, waiting for him.

  "What?" he asked, his words heavy in his own mouth.

  "There would be an accident," Aturdokht sobbed. "He would be rid of her the first chance he got. When Balqis was born, he taunted my husband for not forcing me to bury her in the sand to suffocate as he does his own female offspring. A true Halifian shaykh, he said, only begets sons!"

  Nusrat's words, that he would cut his own sister's throat before marrying her off to Dirar, now made sense. Yes. It was too bad he hadn't married Shahla after all. He could have set her up in a separate house where he would never have to touch her again so he could have married this wild desert spirit who at least would have made his flesh sing. He could have loved her, given time. Yes. He could have loved her, and her dead husband's child, and any child he had begotten upon her, because he saw in Aturdokht the same fierce spirit which had made him fall in love with Ninsianna.

  Arms came around him and lowered him to the ground. He realized he must have spoken those words aloud, for Aturdokht leaned over him, shouting for her brother. Above him circled the two eagles, the ones She-who-is had sent to taunt him.

  "She-who-is sees me," Jamin mumbled. "She has sent her eyes to watch me die so she knows her Champion has nothing to fear from me anymore."

  "I take it you have changed your mind, sister?" Nusrat's voice sounded far away. "I'd hoped you might."

  The eagles shrieked, circling lower to watch the life leave his body as he bled out in the middle of the desert from the arrow which had hit a major artery.

  "My bride-price is not forfeit until I say I have given up my right to avenge my husband's death!" Aturdokht said. "My oath as a widow is worth more to me than any promise of water rights."

  Hands pressed down upon the flesh surrounding the arrow embedded into his shoulder, staunching the blood which spurted with each beat of his heart. He cried out, but his voice sounded hoarse and far away. The male eagle sped towards him, as though it wished to exact HER revenge by pecking out his eyes. With disembodied curiosity, he watched the wild desert spirit grab her bow and take aim into the sky.

  "This is how you tear out a winged demons heart," Aturdokht hissed. She aimed the bow higher, not at the more agile male which sped towards him, but the larger female calling to her mate to hunt. "You cut out his heart by taking away the thing he loves dearest!"

  Aturdokht let loose the bowstring. With a surprised cry, the female eagle stopped mid-air and dropped from the sky, not even flapping her wings as she disappeared from view over the next hill. The smaller male eagle shrieked and flew at Aturdokht. She took aim a second time and shot the male through the wing. With a cry of pain, it flapped off, unable to get fully airborne, but still able to leap into the air and coast until it made its way over the top of the hill where the female had fallen and disappeared.

  "Aturdokht," Jamin gasped for breath at the pain of Nusrat's hands pressing against the shaft in his shoulder, making the world spin. "Please. Don't leave me here to die alone. Take my life and collect the bounty so you and your daughter can escape."

  "If she wanted you dead," Nusrat said, "you would be dead. Sister? What do you intend to tell our father?"

  "Jamin knows the exact location of the winged demon's house," Aturdokht said. "And all the weak spots to get into that village. There will be Amorite gold for any fool willing to take on the winged demon."

  Their voices faded, leaving nothing as he floated in the dark but pain. The sensation he had felt in the pit touched upon his mind like a whisper. He struggled towards it, reaching for that light that was older than She-who-is.

  Chapter 58

  November, 3,390 BC

  Earth: Outside Village of Assur

  Angelic Special Forces Colonel Mikhail Mannuki'ili

  Mikhail

  Trust Issues 101: Do not talk to women at the well. He'd started thinking of them as lessons, how not to antagonize the whole bucket load of insecurities Ninsianna had sprouted ever since Shahla had falsely accused him of laying down with her. Drawing water was a woman's work, Ninsianna insisted. Why not let her do it.

  No! He'd rot in Hades before he'd let his pregnant wife haul heavy buckets of water. The trouble had all started when he'd given Shahla a hands-up on his way home from the well, so he'd learned to stand firm, to fend of the barbarian hoards that came up to him asking nefarious questions, such as 'Mikhail, how are you,' or 'has Ninsianna's morning sickness passed yet.'

  His wings were a good deterrent. Flare wings. Puff out the feathers so he appeared to be even bigger than he already was. Look stern. Only the boldest would attempt to engage him in conversation. One of those was Pareesa's little brother, Namhu, one of the few safe bets he could speak to without triggering all of Ninsianna's defenses.

  "Why do you always carry three buckets of water?" Namhu asked. Like his older sister, he was a tall, slender youth with preternatural reflexes and a knack for archery, as evidenced by the bowstring and quiver strong across his back. Three fat squirrels hung off of his belt by their tails, supper to add to his mother's cook pot tonight.

  Mikhail glanced down at the nine-year-old boy who tried his hardest to follow in his big sister's footsteps and see which one of them could get trampled underfoot the fastest. At least in Namhu's case it wasn't an 'affection' as Ninsianna called it, though by the way the boy followed him around, Mikhail had a hard time telling the difference.

  "I bring water each afternoon to Yalda and Zhila," Mikhail said. "They are two funny, old women whose sons have predeceased them and I am a son without a family. It makes sense, don't you think? That I should help them, and they should help me?"

  "But how do they help you?" Namhu asked. "When you are so powerful? And they so old?" The boy had his own bucket of water, slung empty over his back.

  Mikhail gave him an enigmatic expression, not quite a smile as that emotion still sat uneasy upon his face, as though he had not smiled much before he'd come to dwell amongst their species. He knew enough about Pareesa to make guesses about what family relationships her brother might understand.

  "It is good to have two grandmothers? Don't you think?" He pulled the rope to haul up the third bucket of water, holding it away from the rim as he hauled it up over the stones that had been set to prevent the little ones from falling down into the well.

  "Most people just visit them to get their beer," Namhu said. "But everybody knows you can't drink?"

  Mikhail gave him a raised eyebrow. "Oh?"

  "Well … um …" Namhu stammered at his child's slip of the tongue. "Pareesa said … uh…"

  "I have no philosophical opposition to imbibing in the concoctions the widow-sisters brew," Mikhail twined the rope so he would not trip on it as he carried three buckets of water. "I just have no … liking … for the substance."

  Namhu gave him an impish grin. No tolerance for the venomous beverage was more akin to the truth. He'd learned to savor each sip and use it as an excuse to prolong the conversation, which was the real reason he visited the widow-s
isters. For a man without a past, being welcomed with no agenda other than they enjoyed his company made him feel like he belonged.

  He stood so the yoke he'd rigged lifted two buckets without sloshing water all over his cargo pants. The third bucket was always the challenge. If he put it on one side or the other, it would unbalance his load. He waited until the water in the first two buckets finished sloshing before he bent to pick up the third with his hands, depending upon his wings to keep the pole balanced on his shoulders.

  "You'd best bring that water home for your mother, little one," Mikhail said.

  "I'm big!" Namhu protested. "Ninsianna says so!"

  "She does, does she?"

  A smile twitched at the corner of Mikhail's mouth, a colorful hat he wasn't certain was appropriate for the occasion. Out of the corner of his eye he noticed the females that surrounded the well smiled back at him. Mikhail tucked the expression behind an unreadable frown, focusing on Namhu to tune out the hordes which seemed to feel his smile was an invitation for conversation.

  "If Ninsianna says you're big," Mikhail said, "then it must be true."

  "Really?" Namhu skipped over to a group of girls his age. "Mikhail says I'm big!"

  So easy to please, the younger residents of this village. If only the older ones were so easily satiated. But the oldest of all, old Behnam, Yalda and Zhila, always made him feel as though he belonged here.

  Careful not to crash into anybody and spill his precious load, he wound his way through the alleys until he stopped in front of the mud-brick house where his two adoptive grandmothers lived. The door pulled open at his first knock.

  "Mikhail!" Yalda leaned heavily on her cane. "Come in!" The scent of fresh-baked bread assailed his nostrils and tempted him to linger.

  "What did he say?" her sister Zhila asked.

  "I haven't asked him yet," Yalda shouted back to her. She stepped aside so Mikhail could maneuver the awkward load through their narrow door and plunk the bucket down upon their utility table.