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

by Anna Erishkigal

  Ninsianna looked around, surprised at who was missing from the room. She and Mikhail had it out last night after he’d lectured her about how long she kept lingering in the dreamtime. In a fit of anger, she’d told him to stay away from her while she journeyed and not to come home until after she was finished.

  He wasn't here?

  Disappointed settled into her gut. She hadn’t really wanted him to stay away! Only to stop fretting whenever she stayed in the dreamtime too long. It was frustrating to come home, brimming with excitement about some brilliant thing She-who-is had shown her, and have her stodgy husband would dump a bucket of water all over her enthusiasm by lecturing her about the dreamtime's potential dangers.

  The cruel stab of doubt which had plagued her ever since the day Shahla had let her see inside of her mind clenched at her gut and her insecurities. Her disappointment turned to anger…

  “Where's Mikhail?” Ninsianna's voice took on a high, sharp edge.

  A thundercloud darkened Mama’s brow. It was the same look she’d often given Ninsianna as a child, the one that communicated I am angry and I am disappointed in you all without even opening her mouth.

  “Needa,” Papa went to sit down next to Mama. “This supper looks won-…”

  “Leave us, Immanu,” Mama cut him off. “I wish to speak to our daughter.”

  Ninsianna gave her Papa a pleading look. If she had to put it into words, it would have said, ‘uh-oh … I’m in trouble … don’t leave me or Mama will make me do something awful like empty out all the chamber pots.’

  “I will go make sure the goat pen is secure,” Papa gave her a look that said ‘you are own your own.’ Whatever Mama was displeased about, she had already discussed it with Papa and he was in agreement with her. Either that, or he was too cowed to stick up for her.

  Ninsianna sat down and grabbed her bowl, sulking. The porridge was still warm because Mama had wrapped a small woven rug around the crock until she and Papa finished her journey. From how quiet it was outside, it must be very late, far beyond the time they normally ate supper and went to bed.

  “What’s on your mind?” Ninsianna gave her Mama her most charming smile. She reached out to take her hand and was surprised when Mama yanked it away.

  “Don’t you play your mind manipulations on me, child,” Mama snapped. “We have things to speak about! So I will talk, and you will listen without interrupting me.”

  “But I must go find Mikhail!” Ninsianna protested. “Can’t it wait until later?”

  “No … we shall have this conversation now.” Mama’s stern face communicated she would speak to her whether she wished to hear it or not. It was a look Ninsianna had not seen for many years.

  “Is something wrong?”

  Her mother stabbed her bone needle into Papa’s work kilt which had grown thin and frayed, collecting her thoughts. This was going to be one of those talks? Ninsianna tried not to cringe as Mama put down her mending and made eye contact with her.

  “What is going on between you and Mikhail?”

  “Nothing,” Ninsianna lied. “Everything is fine.”

  “Goat manure!” Mama jabbed her finger at her in an accusation. “The poor man is miserable! You’ve been snapping and snarling at him all the time and he doesn’t understand what he’s doing wrong!”

  “He’s just …” Ninsianna trailed off. How could she explain doubts and emotions that she herself couldn’t fully grasp?

  “Out with it!” Mama said.

  “He doesn’t … understand,” Ninsianna trailed off. “He just…”

  Mama jabbed her needle into the kilt without looking, her expression the same one she used whenever she worked with a patient who was not being completely honest with her, waiting for her to put the problem into words. Oh! How she hated it when Mama did that! It was as though Mama could see all the dark little secrets she tried to keep hidden until she had no choice but to confess her sins. Mama let the uncomfortable silence stretch between them, waiting for her to answer the question.

  “He needs me too much,” Ninsianna finally said. “It’s … suffocating.”

  “He loves you,” Mama said. “I have never seen a man love a woman the way that man loves you. Not even with your father.”

  “But he…” Ninsianna said.

  “Don’t but me, missy!” Mama snapped. “Just because I don’t see visions and pretty colors doesn’t mean my gift is second-best to yours! I can feel him. I can feel his heart break every time you push him away because you doubt him. I can feel how desperate he feels every time you snap at him because his gift isn’t the same as yours. And I can see what your behavior is doing to him!”

  “But…”

  “Just because my gift is different from your father's doesn’t make it any less special!” Mama shook the needle in her face. “And just because Mikhail’s gifts are different than any of our gifts doesn’t mean you have the right to treat him like he’s some plaything to further your own ends!”

  “But Mikhail has no gifts!” Ninsianna exclaimed. “He’s the most un-gifted person I have ever met! He can’t even sense a simple thread!”

  “So you think his eyes glow blue and he can take out dozens of men at once with that sword of his because he’s ungifted?” Mama shouted. “And if you think that’s not a gift, than you should see his other … gift!”

  Ninsianna hadn’t seen Mama this angry since she was a little girl.

  “What other gift?" Ninsianna asked. "Mikhail doesn’t have any other gifts.”

  “That is where you are wrong!” Mama clenched Papa's tattered kilt. “The gift he wields is equal to and opposite yours. He just doesn’t walk around wielding it indiscriminately like you do!”

  “What on earth are you talking about?” Ninsianna said. "What equal and opposite gifts?"

  “Ever since the goddess gave you the gift of sight,” Mama said, “you have been blind! All you do is walk around talking to She-who-is!”

  “But I need information so we can prepare for whatever is coming,” Ninsianna said. “I’m the only person who can find out.”

  “Most of the garbage that comes floating out of your mouth has no relevance to life here in Assur,” Mama said. “Your father goes into the dreamtime, gets the information he needs, and then he comes back out again. You … you just stay there. Just like you did when you were a little girl!"

  “But I thought you were proud of my gift?”

  “I am proud of my beautiful, kind daughter who cares about the people around her,” Mama snapped. “I miss the daughter who left Assur the day you and your father decided the goddess had anointed you to be too ‘special’ to associate with mere mortal creatures anymore!”

  “But Papa is proud of my gifts!”

  “Your Papa nearly lost me when he started to do the same thing that you are doing to your poor husband right now,” Mama shook her sewing needle at her. “I left him, you know. You were very young, but I'm surprised you don't remember living in Gasur.”

  “What?”

  “I left him,” Mama said. “A year after you were born. I left him because I got tired of going to bed with your father and waking up with gods-only-knows which minor deity muttering nonsense next to me in the bed.”

  “Why would you do such a terrible thing?” Ninsianna exclaimed. “Papa loves you!”

  “Because Papa was more enthralled with his gift than he was with me,” Mama said. “You’re not supposed to walk around like an open channel for whichever spirit feels like stepping into your body. You need to start making some rules about when you’re open to receive information, or you shall lose him!”

  “But…” Ninsianna stammered. Mama was on a rant, something she rarely did.

  “I put up with a lot less goat manure from your father before I took you and moved back to Gasur,” Mama said. “Not only are you never here anymore, but you’ve got the poor man raising an army out of the dust for you and piecing together an alliance of tribes, something no chief has ever been able
to accomplish before, and you don’t even thank him for it!”

  “But that is what the goddess sent him here to do!” Ninsianna said.

  “And WHY would he care?” Mama asked. “We’re not his people. This isn’t his planet. He’s not even human!!! WHY do you think he is willing to do these things?”

  “Because…”

  “Because he loves you!” Mama's voice was pleading. “Because he loves you more than anything in that whole wonderful, amazing world he left behind where he traveled between the stars and spoke to the gods themselves. He does all of this for you because he loves you, and all you do is treat him like dirt.”

  Ninsianna pretended to study her hands. Mama stabbed her bone needle into Papa’s kilt again and again, no longer making eye contact as she wove the coarse yarn back and forth far more than was appropriate for a mere work kilt. This was a piece of her family's history she hadn’t recalled existed, although it explained how reverent Papa was of Mama even though sometimes the warriors teased him for being browbeaten by his wife.

  “Why did you come back?” Ninsianna finally asked.

  “Because I love him,” Mama said. “And because he agreed to only go into the dreamtime when he needed information, not to be an open channel to any spirit that feels like stopping in to say hello. He put boundaries on how he used the gift.”

  “But it will slow my progress…”

  “How much progress do you think you will make raising an army to defeat this Evil One you keep speaking of if Mikhail leaves you?”

  “Oh...”

  “When you first met Mikhail, you thought he was the most wonderful man you’d ever met,” Mama pointed the needle at her like an accusation. “You thought he was a god!”

  “But he’s just…” Ninsianna started to say.

  “He’s not just anything,” Needa said. “If you drive him away, and trust me, if I were him, I’d be long gone already! If you ever drive him away, once you realize what you’ve lost, you will be miserable for the rest of your life because no man will ever fill his shoes.”

  “But you came back,” Ninsianna said. “And we’ve got a child on the way…”

  “I came back because you started walking around muttering to She-who-is just like your father!” Mama said. “I didn’t know what to do with you, so I agreed to speak to him, and not before!”

  “But the baby would stay with…”

  “Exactly,” Mama said. “The baby will stay with you. If you lose him, he won’t come back. He’s got too many other women throwing themselves at his feet, eager to give him as many winged offspring as he can beget upon them with a heck of a lot fewer demands!”

  The verbal blow kicked Ninsianna in the gut harder than the pain of a Halifian spear.

  "He wouldn't…."

  "You keep saying he did!" Mama's eyes glittered with disgust.

  "No!" Ninsianna shouted. "Mikhail loves me! He would never lay down with another woman!"

  Mama sat back and crossed her arms, a victorious expression on her tired features. Ninsianna realized her heart raced. Would he lay down with another woman? After they were married? She remembered how desperately he had held onto her after the Halifians had nearly taken her and how cruelly she had treated him afterwards. No. Mikhail would never leave her unless she drove him away. She looked away, unable to meet Mama's too-perceptive gaze.

  “But the other women are only are interested in him because he’s different,” Ninsianna mumbled into her bowl of porridge.

  “Sound familiar?” Mama's voice was filled with accusation. “His friends understand he’s not just here to do things for them, but that they need to protect him, as well. You … it’s as though you suddenly stopped loving him because you realize now he’s mortal!”

  Tears welled into Ninsianna’s eyes. Did Mama really think so little of her? The things Mama pointed out were really quite ugly.

  “Mikhail loves you,” Mama’s voice was pleading. “Why can’t you just love him in return? It’s as though you want him to just hurry up and finish building this army so you can move onto the next exciting thing. He can sense the distance and he doesn’t understand what he’s doing wrong.”

  She opened her mouth to ask 'how can I trust him again' and knew from Mama's eyes that that would be a stupid thing to say. She already had her answer. From her own mouth!

  “I don’t understand why he’s suddenly become so clingy!" Ninsianna exclaimed. "I need him to be strong! Not to depend upon me.”

  “He nearly lost you," Mama said. "And now he can’t feel you because you’ve cut him off." Mama tapped her chest above her heart. "It's the gift of a healer, to be able to feel someone's pain as though it is your own. You and your father have both always had a hard time understanding the gift of empathy, but your father learned to try."

  Mama reached across her table and took her hand.

  "Mikhail does feel the threads or he would not have known you were in danger. He just doesn’t recognize the connection the same way that you do.”

  Ninsianna stared down at her bowl of uneaten porridge. Mama was right about one thing. She needed to make a choice about whether or not she would forgive him for his pre-marital lapse with Shahla. Or Mikhail might make that choice for her.

  “What should I do?”

  “Love him?" Mama's eyes were pleading. "Just love him. Instead of forcing Mikhail to use your gift, why don’t you figure out what is missing in your marriage that is making him not be able to feel connected to you and learn how to use his gift, instead? That's what your father had to do.”

  “But the Cherubim taught him his gift,” Ninsianna said. “He should be able to use that knowledge to learn a new gift.”

  “No,” Mama’s face grew ominous. “The Cherubim did not teach him how to wield the death energies any more than your Papa taught you how to talk to She-who-is. You were both born with your gifts. The Cherubim simply taught your husband how to suppress his gift so he could control it.”

  There was a noise at the door. Papa peeked in to see if he could stop lingering in the yard, pretending he wasn’t listening to every word they said. “Am I interrupting?”

  “No,” Ninsianna reached towards him, desperate to be out from under her mother’s withering glare.

  “Yes,” Mama gave him that look she used that let everyone know she would not be interrupted.

  “I’ll … I think I’ll go see … if … something…” Papa excused himself and left. Mama waited until he was gone before turning back to her, irritation warring with desperation.

  “Mikhail loves you,” Mama took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “Stop obsessing about the poor, sad delusions of a broken woman and start focusing on what you have.”

  Mama scooped up her sewing and went outside to find where Papa had absented himself to. Ninsianna contemplated what her mother had just said. Had she really been acting that callous? Callous enough that Mikhail might leave her instead of the other way around?

  Fear gripped her in the gut, the same fear she felt each night when she'd still had the nightmares as the Evil One bent her back over an altar and cut her child from her womb.

  "Goddess?" Ninsianna asked. "Is that why he won't be here to help me when the Evil One comes? Because I drive him away?"

  The goddess, of course, did not answer. While indulgent, SHE was a pragmatic goddess who did not have the time to listen to silly, selfish girls who drove away their demi-god husbands.

  Perhaps Mama was right? She’d been taking him for granted. Starting right now, she would do better!

  Ninsianna took a bite of her porridge. It stuck in her throat and made her gag, no longer warm. Scraping the congealed paste into the bucket of treats for Little Nemesis’s morning milking, she washed her bowl and went in search of her husband.

  * * * * *

  It was the out-of-tune sound of singing which drew her to the alley not far from the widow-sister’s house.

  “Ohhhhh!!! There was a man from Eshnunna … who said I wouldn
’t dare moon her … so I pulled down his pants … and filled them with [hic’cup] ants … and he itched them until next June, yah…”

  “Mikhail?” Ninsianna watched the mountain of a shadow stumble towards her in the slender light of the waning moon. “You’re singing?”

  “There was a woman from Gasur … who wouldn’t stop talking, no Sir!”

  “Mikhail? Are you … drunk?”

  “As a ssskunk,” he hiccupped. “With a funk … taking a ... whoops!” He stumbled and caught himself, pulling her against his torso and slapping her on the behind.

  “Mikhail! Why are you singing?”

  “Cause my ears are ringing,” he nuzzled her neck, “like the bees are bringing … oh … what rhymes with bringing?”

  The scent of alcohol assailed her nostrils.

  “Whew! You reek!” she waved her hands in front of her nose. “Where did you get the mead?”

  “Sssnot mead,” he slurred. “Sssits called beer. The sisters been experimenting with it. Pretty good stuff.”

  “I’d say!” Ninsianna grabbed him just in time to prevent him from performing a nose dive. “I’ve seen you do many things, my husband, but never falling down drunk and singing rhymes.”

  “Sisters said I’m too ssserious,” he slurred. “Said that’s why you don’t love me anymore. Said I gotta lighten up.” He pulled her in close and hugged her. “I’m so sssorrry!!!”

  “…oh…”

  Her voice was small as his words registered. She stared up at those chiseled features, slightly less handsome, perhaps, with his nose and cheeks flushed with alcohol. He had a rather sad, perplexed look about him, as though he were a dog who had just been beaten and couldn't remember what he had done to earn the master's ire.

  Yes. She had been treating him cruelly. Who cared if he had taken solace in Shahla's arms because she had at the time been off-limits? It wasn't like he had wanted anything to do with the woman since. She stood on tiptoe and pressed her hand against that high, beautiful cheekbone, the same way that she had done the day she had crawled into his crashed ship. Now, as then, he trembled beneath her touch as she projected the image into his mind.