'Who do you hate the most, Gita?'
Jamin turned her head back towards the target. He gripped her head, tighter now. So tightly it hurt!
'They called her a Whore of Ki,' Jamin had hissed in her ear. 'My -mother- was originally from Jebel Mar Elyas! That could have been -her- the bastard betrayed when they raided the temple and murdered all the priestesses.'
The Amorites had left her mother's hands free so she could shield her face to prolong her agony. Her father had made her watch the stones slam into her Mama's body as the Amorites had thrown stone after stone, pausing to throw water over her to wake her Mama up every time she passed out from the pain. He had made her watch until the ground had become covered with blood and her Mama's face had become unrecognizable, and still she had clung to life and refused to die.
'Who do you hate, Gita?'
'Nobody! Mama always said I must never hate!'
Tears welled in Gita's eyes, making it hard to see the spot where the she was supposed to throw her spear. Ten paces. She had to throw her spear ten paces. She had to throw her spear and kill someone!
'Two hours it took for her to die!' Jamin had hissed at her. 'And now he wants to kill -you- because you remind him of her?'
After two hours of torture, her mother had become so badly injured she could no longer even weep. The Amorites had handed her father a final stone, larger this time, the size of a man's head, and demanded that he prove his fealty by killing his sorceress wife himself. Mama's last words had been to tell her father that she forgave him. Her father had called her a Whore of Ki and splattered her brains all over the bloody ground.
'He wants to kill you. Is that what your mother would really want?'
'No!'
A sob nearly caused her to break her silence. It had nothing to do with Mikhail! She'd joined his warriors because she'd finally realized Jamin was right. With the one man in the village she'd always relied upon to protect her now filled with hatred because of Ninsianna's betrayal, she had no place left to run the next time her father tried to put out her eyes. She didn't want to be a victim anymore!
'Now picture the person you hate most in the world,' Jamin had said, 'and use every ounce of hatred you possess to throw that spear right into their heart!'
The first mercenary's head popped over the rise. Without thought or effort, Gita stood and completed the throw, hitting her father in the chest and dropping him dead to the ground next to her dying mother. Shocked at her own audacity, she dove behind the troops forming the wedge with a frightened little ‘squeak’ just as battle cries erupted from both sides.
It had begun…
Chapter 65
November – 3,390 BC
Earth: Outside Assur
Jamin
Jamin rubbed his aching shoulder and adjusted his sling.
"I should be with them," he said to Marwan, the desert shaykh.
The mouth that spoke said "you are useless with your arm bandaged up in a sling," but that second, silent mouth, the scar which ran horizontally from Marwan's lips to his ear, said something different. It said "let the Amorite scum expend their lives upon your people's walls and leave more gold for the second wave which will move in behind them to take out your real enemy."
A variety of languages peppered the troops Kudursin, the Amorite leader, commanded. Halafian, Amorites, Jarmo, Hassuna, Meriyabat, Uruk and Samarran, over 850 warriors. Not all of the tribes bought with lizard-gold were necessarily hostile to the Ubaid. Most of these men were rejects such as himself, banished from their villages for alleged crimes. Now, villageless and stateless, they took from others rather than start their own new settlement. There was no love lost amongst mercenaries from different tribes and they eyed each other warily. Kudursin did not seem to care. The less who survived, the more gold there would be for him.
The Amorite had amassed and moved his men over a period of several days by darting from wooded area to wooded area, moving by night and sleeping by day to escape the notice of the winged demon that patrolled the air. They had been forced to wait until moonrise as the sentries would have spotted torches.
‘Mikhail!’ Jamin practically spat his name. Hatred surged though his veins, reigniting the fever which had plagued him for the last three days. For however long he lived, which by the way the Halifians clenched their knives whenever they looked at him might not be for long, he would bear that man eternal hatred.
"So anxious, little chieftan?" Kudursin taunted him. "To kill your own father and take back your village?"
Displayed in Kudursin's belt like a sacred relic was the steel knife he'd showed Marwan that day in his tent to impress him, the one the lizard demons had told him had magical qualities. Fool! It was a knife like any Ubaid blade, only not as prone to fracturing when it hit a solid object the way an obsidian blade would. Jamin coveted such a knife, but had no delusions about its magical powers. If the lizard demons had really wanted to give Kudursin power, they would have outfitted his men with swords!
"My village is bewitched under the winged demon's magic," Jamin hissed. "And that of his wife, the sorceress who claims to be the Chosen of She-who-is. Once they are rid of him, things will go back to normal. They will grant you concessions for freeing them from such a scourge!"
"Do you really think they will welcome you back with open arms?" Kudurshin laughed. "Laum has broadcast his bounty through every trading partner he has ever made. Even if your father forgives your temper, Laum will not forget your offense against his daughter!"
"Then I would be rid of him, too!" Jamin glowered, his black eyes filled with hatred.
Lucky for him, the bounty Kudursin offered for the winged demon's head made Laum's bounty of cloth and grain seem pathetic or he'd already be dead. That didn't mean his position amongst these people was not a tenuous one. Distrust was a way of life amongst the people of the desert, especially distrust of one who had turned against his own people.
"How will I deliver your daughter's bride-price if it is Dirar who carves out the winged demon's heart and not I?" Jamin whispered to Marwan.
Marwan grinned, showing his rotted teeth.
"What do I care which challenger wins my daughter's hand?" Marwan slapped him on the back, causing the odor of unwashed body to waft in Jamin's direction. "Either way, I shall gain a pathway to the water."
"You care or you would not perpetrate this farce of Aturdokht's bride price," Jamin said. "Whether you will admit it or not, you would not marry your daughter off to the likes of Dirar."
The mouth that spoke laughed at his audacious answer, but that second-silent mouth, the scar that tightened and betrayed the emotions that really lurked beneath the surface, confirmed what he said was true, that beneath Marwan's blustering he cared what happened to his daughter. The desert shaykh had learned the sweet charms of his daughters could secure him more water rights than countless battles waged by his sons. It had worked … until the Ubaid had stood together as a single people and denied the people of the desert access to the river no matter which Halifian tribe he married a daughter into.
"Dirar creeps into your village right now to smite the winged demon," Marwan said, his eyes hardening, "while you are a man who has been brought down by a woman's arrow. Look at you! You are so pale from blood loss that you can barely stand!"
It was true. He'd clung to life for three days before he'd finally recovered enough for them to haul him here. He still suffered a residual fever that gave everything a far-off, surreal quality, but he'd be damned if he'd show his weakness.
"Aturdokht is a better shot than most men here," Jamin said, remembering the feel of her hand upon his brow for three days while he had lingered neither here nor there, alternating between cursing him to die and pleading with him to survive. "Male or female, she is her father's daughter."
"I would not go repeating that bluster or you may find yourself with a knife in your back," Marwan warned. "There are many here who would happily collect two bounties this night. Amorite gold … and Laum's bounty if h
e is left alive."
A runner came rushing into the circle of men and stood before Kudursin, the Amorite leader.
"Our men are in position," the runner panted.
"Were any spotted?" Kudursin asked.
"We don't think so," the runner said. "Our scouts stepped into a nest of partridge and caused a sentry to come investigate, but they slit his throat before he could scream. We are certain he will not be missed until morning."
"Good," Kudursin said. "Our numbers are adequate to prevail either way, but these tactics our young Ubaid chieftan has warned us the winged demon teaches his people? I am not certain how they will change the odds. It is better to maintain the element of surprise."
"What of my group?" Yazan asked, the Halifian leader who ruled the tribe to Marwan's west and father of Aturdokht's slain husband. And also Dirar's elder brother, Jamin's competition for Aturdokht's hand, although her demand for a bride-price of the winged demon's heart had opened her up to any suitor who delivered the requisite prize. With the addition of the Amorite gold, all of a sudden she had gone from a widow with an unwanted daughter to the most sought-after woman in all the lands.
"The third runner has not yet arrived," Kudursin said. "But the two larger groups just reported back from the north. They will move in the moment they hear the raiders meet opposition to the south."
Six Halifian chieftans clustered together, their proximity to one another and how closely they kept their hands clutched to the blades hidden beneath their robes telling Jamin more about the alliances, or lack thereof, between each kin-based tribe than months of speculation. He had learned more about the strange bedfellows made amongst the people of the desert in the three days he had lingered in Marwans tent, tended to by the women whose tongues were freer than those of the men, than he had in all the years of listening to his father lecture him about these people.
"Do you think Nusrat can pull it off?" Jamin spoke low to Marwan so the others could not hear.
"Kudursin paired him with Dirar," Marwan said. "You may not like the outcome."
Jamin glanced at Yazan, the enemy Nusrat would make if all went according to the real plan. He'd grown rather fond of Aturdokht's former father-in-law. He did not look forward to double-crossing him, but Nusrat had helped him on the condition they keep his sister out of Dirar's hands. Only Nusrat knew the exact location of Ninsianna's house. In exchange for that piece of information, Jamin had made Nusrat promise he would leave Ninsianna alive. As much as he wanted revenge, the thought of killing a woman, a second child lost, even if it was the child of his enemy, did not sit well with him after all that had happened. Guilt. Belated … but real. He'd meant it when he'd looked up into the goddess of the moon and told her he was sorry.
'You're still in love with her…' an internal voice taunted.
He pushed it aside. Sorceress! He wasn't in love with anyone except his new mistress, Vengeance. Ninsianna had bewitched him. He understood that now. Dirar was a ruthless butcher. If Ninsianna was killed against his wishes, it would not be on his head.
Another runner came in, his sides heaving as he fought to catch his breath.
"The battle has begun…"
Chapter 66
Galactic Standard Date: 152,323.10 AE
Haven-1 - Eternal Palace
Young Lucifer - Age 15
225 Years Ago…
Young Lucifer
Old Dephar half-heartedly ran me through my paces.
"In what year did the Shay'tan's predecessor armies, the Nephilim, rebel?" Dephar asked.
"Seventy-four-three-six-two," I half-heartedly rattled off, staring out the window at the Eternal Tree. I fervently wished I could fly out there to sit amongst her branches and talk to her about how much I missed my Mama.
"That was seventy-four-three-six-five," Dephar corrected.
"That's what the cleaned-up version in the history books say," I leaned back and put my feet up on his desk, something I knew was guaranteed to make the Muqquibat dragon angry.
"That is not the correct answer," Dephar growled, a deep, throaty warning. It was less threatening than when the Leonid had thrown his body over mine to protect it after I'd been shot, but warning enough. "How can you hope to be any kind of a leader if you don't learn your basic history?"
I shot Dephar my best 'up yours' smirk and scraped my heel across his desk, leaving a gouge in the polished fruitwood carved out of some long-extinct tree.
"That's what the -real- history books say, isn't it?" I retorted. "The ones you keep locked up in that cupboard behind your desk?"
"How do you …" Dephar started and then leaned forward, showing his fangs. "That cabinet is locked. How did you get into it?"
I glanced up at the key which had sat safely in its hiding place all these years. Dephar was too paranoid to let a cleaning lady into his office and too busy to perform a task so mundane as to fly up to the top of his bookshelf and dust the statue of She-who-is, so he had never discovered I could pilfer his books. I'd read every single one of them at least five times and memorized them, so I no longer cared if he locked me out.
My new thirst for knowledge was to study that strange form of communication called the media. The minute I got out of here I planned to make my way into one of the rooms with a video monitor so I could download the newspapers, weblogs, podcasts, and my favorite, television shows. If I was to help Father outwit the silver-eyed man, then I needed to get better at playing the media game than -he- was. Poor Father didn't understand why his subjects were prone to following the passionate whims of another speaker besides him.
"Maybe the goddess, herself, gave me the knowledge?" I gave Dephar my most innocent smile, taking my shoes off of his desk and leaning forward as though I was interested in what he had to say. "In 74,362 a colony of Nephilim rebelled in the remote Sagittarius spiral arm. Shay'tan was busy fighting Father that year, so he sent Tokoloshe mercenaries to retake that planet. When video footage of what the Tokoloshe did to those colonists surfaced three years later, the larger Nephilim population refused to serve any longer in Shay'tan's armies and rebelled. Shay'tan tapped the Sata'anic lizards as his new armies and exterminated all of the Nephilim."
"So my date is the correct one," Dephar said. "The date the larger Nephilim population rebelled. It is the official date the Emperor wishes to remember."
"Ahh," I leaned back. "But it is -not- the correct one. -Your- date is selected to make it look like the Nephilim rebelled without cause, but that is not true. Rebellions are -never- without a cause."
Dephar growled. "You sound like your father."
"Why thank you," I shot Dephar a grin. "Father will be pleased to hear you say that."
Dephar showed his fangs. "Your -real- father. That bastard, Shemijaza!"
My smirk disappeared.
"He is -not- my father!" I shouted at him. "He's … he's … a genetic donor! That's all!"
"Sheltering your mother was a -mistake-," Dephar growled. "Why do you think the Seraphim kicked her mother off of their homeworld? Only the rejects get sent back to us!"
I felt as though I had been kicked, especially as I read the waves of dislike coming off of Dephar's mind.
"Mama is -not- a mistake," I defended her. "Nor am I. Father loves me! That's why he won't let Shemijaza take me from him!"
"The only reason the Emperor tolerates you is because he needs your genetic makeup to figure out how to complete his work," Dephar said. "The moment he finds a more complete specimen, believe me, you will be replaced!"
"It's not true!" Tears welled in my eyes. How could he say something so cruel? Especially when Mama had not come back like she was supposed to, but had been gone for three weeks.
"Perhaps your mother will bring back a -new- bastard from Shemijaza to replace you?" Dephar said. "Give the Emperor a new pet project to fiddle with in his laboratory instead of -your- DNA?"
"You're so mean!" I shouted at Dephar.
I knocked past him, not even stopping to greet the Cherubim
guards and rushed out past the Pillar of Flame to fly up to the highest branches of the Eternal Tree, so high the air was thin and it was hard to breathe. I settled into a branch just barely large enough to hold my weight, pressed my face against the here-slender trunk and sobbed. Branches moved to surround me as though giving me a hug.
"Is she ever coming back?" I spoke to the Eternal Tree. "Or has she abandoned me for -him-?"
The wind blew the slender branches which rubbed against my wings as though the tree were rubbing my back. Carried in the wind was the scent of rich, fertile soil, moisture from a recent rainfall, and flowers, all scents I associated with the garden.
"I wish you could talk," I told the tree.
A small flock of Happy Birds came twittering out of the lower branches and settled at the topmost twigs, their tiny feet hanging on as they swayed in the wind as though at any moment they might be catapulted off. Their beautiful, rich song began to warble through the trees, the musical notes of that simple birdsong creating a symphony which reminded me of the song that I had heard while on the other side of the world beyond.
The tree stroked my temple with a thin branch. -Your mother loves you-.
"She's not acting like it," I grumbled, realizing I looked like a fool, a big fifteen-year boy hiding in the top of a tree weeping like a baby. It was a good thing Father wasn't here to see me. He could never understand it when somebody expressed an emotion other than logic, reason, or on occasion anger. Mama liked to say that Father lived too much in his head and not enough in the body he built for himself so he could stay down here with us.
I stayed in that tree a long time, listening to the wind blow and the Happy Birds sing until the sun set over the Eternal Palace and the smallest of Haven's three moons rose above the horizon. It had been night for some time when I heard Father calling my name.
"Lucifer! Come down from there."
"Go away!" I told him.
"Lucifer … please," Father called. "Master Ubiqueto told me you came out of Dephar's office upset. What did he say to you?"
Sword of the Gods: Prince of Tyre (Sword of the Gods Saga) Page 68