Sword of the Gods: Agents of Ki (Sword of the Gods Saga)

by Anna Erishkigal

  “You are out of time.”

  The Infernal Palace shuddered from the power in his voice, the Song of Destruction come to devour her playthings. With a touch of HIS fingertip, the entire solar system went supernova and dissolved back into his essence, primordial darkness, the power of the void.

  “Malum est!!!" She-who-is slammed down the little white king who'd just been left without a seat of power. "I wasn’t ready!" She crossed her arms and turned away.

  “You were out of time, uxor mea,” He-who's-not said. Beneath his voice swirled an undertone of pleading. "Those are the rules you agreed to be bound by when we began this game."

  "Then go find somebody else to play with!" She-who-is snapped. With a disgusted wave of her hand, she punished him by withdrawing her light. As she did, the walls of the palace he'd worked so hard to build for her began to buckle and lose shape, for without HER, the Dark Lord wasn't good at holding any shape … not even his own!

  A chess piece from one of the adjacent galaxies fell over. It was a small, white queen, adorned with a golden crown, denoting it was one of HER favorite chess pieces.

  "Hey!" She-who-is exclaimed. "That galaxy wasn't even at play! That's my Chosen One!"

  "I did not move against it," the Dark Lord said. He pointed at the small, White Queen, careful not to touch it. "You must have knocked it over, uxor mea, when you arose in haste. Just put it back where it belongs and I will not penalize your error."

  One of the shadows leaped out of the walls and chittered at the Dark Lord's ankles. He picked up the tiny shadow and cradled it in his lap.

  "Ugh!" She-who-is recoiled in disgust. "Shadow-cats!"

  How she hated the things the Dark Lord shaped with his own hand! The small, dark creature was not afraid of HIM, for it was comprised of the same primordial chaos as HE was, but it jumped up and down like a worried little dog. The shadow cat was too primitive to speak, but something had the formless shadow agitated.

  "What is the matter, little one?" the Dark Lord's asked. His sharp features creased with concern.

  As the shadow-cat chittered, HIS chess piece, the dark knight he had tasked with watching over her favorite white queen, fell over as well, and then her Chosen One disappeared. Their eyes met across the chess board. Neither deity had made that move.

  The shadow-cat squeaked a single sound that, even with its primitive ability to vocalize, was understood by both of them.

  "Moloch…"

  A feeling of vertigo swirled around HER as cold, dread terror seeped into her incorporeal form. The Dark Lord reached across the chess board and carefully took her hand.

  "You know what I have to do?" HE said.

  "But I like that queen!" She-who-is burst into tears. "She has always been my favorite daughter!"

  He-who's-not squeezed her hand. HE might be a god of primordial chaos; death, destruction, darkness and desolation, but if he had one redeeming quality, it was that he loved HER more than his own existence. HE could bear her fury. HE could withstand the full force of her light. HE could even endure her frequent temper tantrums and lengthy pouting, but when her tears were genuine, he could not bear to see HER cry. HIS obsidian eyes scanned the chess board, searching for an option.

  "Perhaps Ki already has a chess piece in position to play against the Evil One?" the Dark Lord said gently. "One we cannot see because it is part of their higher game?"

  She-who-is's lip trembled. Oh! How she hated it when her mother's game against her accursed father interfered with running her universe. Moloch attacked HER favorite chess pieces because he liked to remind her that someday he would devour HER the same way he had devoured her brothers and sisters. She chided herself for her earlier selfishness. Oh! How easily she had forgotten why her mother had paired her with a creature of the void; to co-rule the universe they had shaped together from HIS primordial darkness and HER primordial light. Together … they were stronger.

  "Ask my mother to send in her Agent," She-who-is grasped her husband's hand. "A Watchman. An Agent of Ki. If they fail, then you will have no choice but to step in and destroy their entire galaxy to prevent Moloch's spread. But first, please give my Chosen One a chance?"

  The Dark Lord kissed HER hand. With a shudder of power, he unfurled his enormous, leathery black wings and cast himself to the highest edge of the universe to plead with Ki to send in her Agents. As HE did, he inadvertently destroyed his chair, his throne, and half the wall of the Infernal Palace. There was a reason the Dark Lord was forced to work through a mortal vessel to enact HIS will … his power was too vast to touch the lives of mortals.

  She-who-is glanced down at the shadow-cat which purred at her ankles seeking gratitude, no doubt, for its too-belated warning. With a disdainful flicker of her gossamer wings, she shoved the disgusting creature away with her foot.

  "Shoo!"

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Chapter 1

  November 3,390 BC

  Earth: Mesopotamian Plain

  Pareesa

  Pareesa's heart pumped as she ran at a speed she would have never thought possible. A conversation she'd once had with Mikhail during training after landing a successful blow replayed within her mind:

  “If you get distracted like that during battle," she had said after Mikhail had glanced over at his wife instead of watching her, "it could turn out very badly for you.”

  Mikhail had effortlessly disarmed her and handed her back her staff without even ruffling a feather.

  “If I didn't trust you,” the big Angelic had said, “you would never get close enough in the first place to -see- me get distracted.”

  Her arrow was strung before she broke over the rise. She knew. She knew their plan. She shot as soon as she saw the glimmer of metal in the light of the campfire, but she was too late. The woman who was not his wife plunged the blade into Mikhail’s heart.

  "No!"

  The first arrow cut down the imposter, dead even though she still stood, quickly followed by a second. Grabbing two arrows out of her quiver at once, she drew the bow again and cut down two hideous lizard demons who rushed at him with firesticks.

  Mikhail's wings drooped towards the ground. The red-caped imposter slid out of his arms, dead.

  Pareesa gave an anguished cry.

  Mikhail staggered. Even from here she could see his look of disbelief as he tried to protect the woman who had just betrayed him. Around him, the lizard demons lunged, eager to finish him off.

  Pareesa screamed her mentor's name. Stringing her bow again, she took aim and shot down a third lizard demon.

  Mikhail's wings trembled like a dying bird, proud appendages brought low by this act of betrayal. She watched in horror as he wordlessly slid to the ground.

  Oh gods! Oh gods! The other warriors were a good six minutes behind her. She had to keep the enemy off of him until the others could get here! But how? Six minutes in battle was an eternity and she was outnumbered seventy to one!

  “Bishamonten,” Pareesa prayed to the Cherubim god. “Watashi wa shi no gakki o hozon suru tame ni tsuyo-sa o ataeru [please give me the strength to save your instrument of death].”

  She threw herself through the enemy warriors as if they did not exist, shooting arrow after arrow until her quiver was empty. She was so close it didn't occur to them to shoot back. They had not been taught to use empty hands and feet as weapons as she had; the last thing the enemy expected was a thirteen summer girl to hurl herself to her fallen comrade's side with single-minded fury.

  Diving into a defensive maneuver Mikhail had taught her to escape spear-thrusts, she rolled towards his body and rose. Somehow his sword found its way into her hands, the sword he’d refused to teach her out of fear it would someday be used against her. It was heavy. She didn't even know how to wield it.

  “Bishamonten!” Pareesa cried out to the Cherubim god. “Help me! Please! Use my body and do whatever you must to save him!””

  Something tickled the crown of her head. She gasped as a sensation akin to the air du
ring a thunderstorm slipped gently into her body and vibrated outwards from her heart into her extremities. It was not painful as she'd always assumed possession must feel, but a pleasant sense of tingling as the Cherubim god took control. That part of her which was still human watched from the left-hand side of her brain as her body worked of its own volition to defend her teacher without conscious thought.

  She felt like … power. Was this what it was like for Mikhail when he entered into the killing dance?

  No. This was something more. Mikhail channeled the old god's energy; used it to constrain the even deeper power only she and Gita knew the dark-winged Angelic could harness. Pareesa, on the other hand, had become the ancient Cherubim God of War.

  Bishamonten planted Pareesa's feet on either side of Mikhail's body and caused her to crouch, sword raised above her head, ready to smite any who came at him. The lizard-demons were terrible creatures with sharp fangs and yellow eyes, but the Cherubim god viewed them with disinterest. He took out the largest threat first, a lizard-demon who seemed to be in charge of the ambush, leaving the other four demons in a state of disarray. Behind them, throngs of enemy human mercenaries surged, laughing at her audacity to defend her hero single-handedly.

  They stopped laughing as, one by one, the lizard demons met their deaths at the end of Mikhail's sword…

  The last lizard-demon took aim at her with a firestick. Pareesa did not have wings, but she was far faster than it thought she would be, especially enhanced with Cherubim reflexes. The creature underestimated her ability to leap into the air.

  Pareesa twisted sideways mid-air…

  An explosion of blue lightning narrowly missed as she hit her apex and slammed downward with the sword. The sleek silver blade comprised of no substance yet available on their world, steel Mikhail called it, cleaved the monster from its shoulder downward through its rib cage. Gore splattered onto her body. With detached curiosity she noted the reflexive extra slice, running the lizard demon through its heart to ensure it would not get back up even though she was certain the creature was already dead.

  The God of War was nothing if not efficient…

  Gesturing an invitation for the human mercenaries to expend their lives at the end of her sword, Pareesa mercilessly cut down the human enemies who had the audacity to take on the Cherubim God of War …

  ~ * ~ * ~

  Chapter 2

  November 3,390 BC (4 hours earlier)

  Earth: Village of Assur

  Ninsianna

  The shaman's daughter was a comely woman, curvaceous and olive-skinned, with long, dark hair which cascaded down her back like a waterfall, but her most compelling feature was her luminescent golden eyes which marked her as the Chosen of She-who-is. This status gave She-who-serves-the-goddess many gifts, but her most revered gift was her ability to hasten healing. Today's patient was Pareesa's little brother, a boy who at nine-summers-old was every bit as precocious as his older sister. Ninsianna gave the Namhu's head a sympathetic tousle.

  "How many times has your Mama told you not to eat the potted fava beans until after she's reheated them?" Ninsianna said. She raised a shapely eyebrow and gave him a knowing look. "This isn't the first time She-who-is has punished you for snitching the leftover supper."

  "The rainy season is now upon us," Namhu said. He grimaced as another pain shot through his stomach. "I was hungry and I thought it would be safe to eat."

  Ninsianna's eyes scanned the crowded loft where Namhu shared sleeping space with six brothers and sisters, including Pareesa and his papa's granny. In a climate which ranged from boiling hot to tepid, the proper storage of food was always a topic of much concern.

  "Even when the autumn grows cold," Ninsianna said, "it is still warm enough to provide a house for the evil spirits to grow. That is why your Mama always cooks your food until it burns your mouth." Ninsianna laid her hands upon the boy's battered tummy. "The time to exorcise evil spirits is before you eat them, little archer, not afterwards!"

  "Isn't there something you can do for him?" the boy's mother, Tabriti asked. "Please, Chosen One? It's such a wondrous gift, the power to heal all wounds. I have seen the wound you healed in Mikhail's chest."

  Old jealousies turned Ninsianna's eyes copper, but she pushed the feeling down, reminding herself that not every woman lusted after her husband. She forced herself to don a sympathetic expression.

  "I can fortify your spirit light so you can heal yourself," Ninsianna said, "but the gift of healing ultimately depends upon you." She fixed her golden-eyed gaze back upon the boy, doing her best to appear wise. "What SHE doesn't like, little archer, is when she helps you once, and then you ignore her beneficence and repeat the same mistake over and over again!"

  "I'm sorry," Namhu's lip trembled. He doubled over again as another pain wracked his tummy. He was a handsome lad, dark-complexioned, well-formed and slender as most youth his age were apt to be, but he bore the high northern cheekbones and straight nose inherited from his mother. The similarity to her own husband's unusual features elicited within Ninsianna a twang of pity.

  "That's what you said the last time," Ninsianna sighed. "And the time before that, as well! Let's see if She-who-is believes you are truly sorry?"

  She lay her hand upon the boy's stomach and closed her eyes, chanting the throaty song her Papa had taught her to chase away the evil spirits. As she did, her awareness increased of the cause of Namhu's food poisoning, some putrid-green blotches which grew on a pot of leftover fava beans which had not been heated enough to kill them. That same awareness whispered these were not true evil spirits, but the tiny creatures Mikhail called 'germs.' The first step to heal them was to purge Namhu's stomach of the evil spirits.

  'Be gone,' Ninsianna whispered silently in her mind. 'Leave his body and plague this boy no more…'

  "Ninsianna?" Namhu's stomach growled like a stalking lion as his flesh turned chalk-white. His cheeks puffed out as he inhaled, fighting to resist the inevitable.

  "He's gonna barf again!" the next youngest sibling said.

  "No he's not!" his little sister said.

  "Is too!" a different brother said.

  "No!" Namhu's voice came out as a strangled plea.

  Tabriti shoved the pottery urn she'd emptied three times already under her son's face. Namhu retched into the pot, sobbing. Nothing but green stomach acid came up from his poor, battered tummy, but with her goddess-kissed eyes, Ninsianna could see the evil spirits which inhabited the contents he had just purged.

  "There, there," Ninsianna soothed the boy. "This vomiting is the will of She-who-is."

  That dark gift Ninsianna had sensed lately invited her to take her healing one step further, to draw the vile green spirits out of the boy's body into her own body and use her gift of healing to transmute it. She sent a thread of attention towards the place Papa said the gift to transmute sickness resided, a dark place, a place she had always feared. As her spirit touched the Dark Lord's realm, the darkness closed around her, eager, inviting, desperate to embrace her light. She could feel the boy's sickness as though it was she who had eaten the rancid supper, sending it's green tendrils of poison into her system and making her retch instead of the boy.

  No! Every instinct she possessed shrieked to get out of there! She broke off the path of darkness and returned to the path of light which was the only path the Chosen One of She-who-is ever cared to tread!

  "I am sorry, little one." Ninsianna gave the boy an apologetic smile. "She-who-is has no patience to heal a little boy who did not listen the last three times she warned you not to snitch the supper."

  Namhu groaned.

  Ninsianna turned to the boy's mother and ran her hand down the slight swell of her abdomen. Four months pregnant she barely was, but already Mikhail's child made it look as though she was five or six.

  "If it were a life threatening illness," Ninsianna said, "I might risk singing the song of transmutation; but Namhu's symptoms are not life-threatening and I am with child. Papa sai
d I should not take unnecessary risks."

  Tabriti squeezed Ninsianna's hand, a mother of seven children to a soon-to-be mother of a half-Angelic infant. There were no accusations in her face, only disappointment.

  "I understand," Tabriti said. "Namhu must suffer so he will learn his lesson this time. It is the will of She-who-is."

  Rattling off a long list of care to administer the next few hours, Ninsianna donned her favorite red wool cape and made her way home to eat supper with her Mama. Mama was a woman of few words unless they were important ones and Ninsianna was not in the mood to be talkative. She pushed the lentils around in her bowl, only too mindful this was essentially the same meal which had just made Namhu sick.

  "Are you unwell?" Mama's face filled with concern.

  "No." Ninsianna lifted a scoop of casserole and tipped it upside-down to watch it stick to her wooden spoon. Why hadn't she insisted Mikhail take her with him to the regional meeting of chiefs instead of leaving her behind to tend to the lingering wounded? Wasn't that why she'd broken off her engagement to the Chief's son, Jamin? Because she hated being told what a woman could and could not do?

  She stabbed her spoon into the congealed mush and sighed. Whether or not her husband saw her as his equal, he needed to be seen as Assur's unequivocal military leader if he had any hope of piecing together an Ubaid alliance against the strange, coordinated raids to kidnap women of marriageable age. No chief would follow a man who was henpecked by his wife!

  "I just don't sleep well when Mikhail isn't here." Ninsianna lied. "How do you cope when Papa is away?"

  Mama placed one hand over hers.

  "I don't sleep well, either," Mama said. "But I'll tell you a secret. Do you know Papa's old work-shawl? The one he uses in the fields?"

  "Yes." Ninsianna pictured the shawl Mama described. It was washed several times each week, but always bore the residual stain of sweat.

  "I curl up with that old shawl so I can smell your father's scent." Mama's expression softened. "It's the only way I can fall asleep."