Even he, a god of war, feared the Dark Lord, for none had ever defeated the Guardian of She-who-is. But over the millennia he'd learned He-who's-not was not the evil entity mortal legend believed him to be, but merely a destructive one. She-who-is needed protecting. Sometimes SHE created things which put her at risk. The Dark Lord destroyed those things and recycled them back into his essence so SHE could use it to try again. There was nothing diabolical or malignant about the Dark Lord unless you were deemed a problem, in which case you'd better say goodbye.
"You summoned me, Your Eminence?" Bishamonten bowed.
"I did," the Dark Lord's orotund voice vibrated the molecules of Bishamonten's consciousness. "As you know, my Champion has fallen."
"I did my best, Your Eminence," Bishamonten said. "I saved his life. But I do not know if he will survive. His lifemate has been taken. Without her, I fear he cannot heal himself."
"I fear, even if she was present," the Dark Lord said, "that she would not be up to the task of healing him, even if we told her how."
"But they are now a mated pair!" Bishamonten exclaimed.
The Dark Lord leaned forward on his throne, his expression grim.
"Do you know what happens when you interfere in the affairs of mortals?" the Dark Lord asked.
Bishamonten forced his expression to remain neutral. Here it was. His punishment for interfering.
"Because lifesparks incarnate into this realm to accomplish their own purposes," the Dark Lord continued, "we never know, by interfering, how we might divert them from their chosen path."
"My apologies, My Lord," Bishamonten bowed, ready to take his punishment. "I…"
"…thwarted Moloch, who likewise wished to divert the Seraphim from his path," the Dark Lord said. His wing-spikes rustled with agitation, an ominous, deadly sound. "You did what was necessary, no more and no less, which is why I trust you to carry out my command."
"Then why…?"
"It is curious, isn't it," the Dark Lord's expression waxed thoughtful, "how the affairs of mortals can cause you to forget we have a larger purpose?"
As he spoke, tenebrous shadows danced around Bishamonten's feet, shapeless, soulless creatures, attracted to his lifespark like moths unto a flame. One of those shadows trembled with agitation, as though something had upset it. The Dark Lord reached down so the tiny shadow could leap into his arms.
"Sometimes, in trying to create good, you inadvertently create harm." The Dark Lord's face turned surprisingly tender, as though the shadow-cat he cradled was an infant. "Isn't that so, old friend?"
"Yes," Bishamonten said. He, like all the old gods, had learned the hard way it was better to remain impartial.
"This dark creature was assigned to watch HER Chosen One," the Dark Lord caressed the shadow. "When the Evil One surprised her, it raced back to warn me she was being taken. And now it cannot find her. None of us can find her. Moloch has learned to hide things within my own realm."
"Can't you simply track her through her bond to your Champion?" Bishamonten asked.
The Dark Lord's features appeared surprisingly distraught.
"Did you ever do something to please another?" the Dark Lord asked. "Something you knew was wrong, but you were so cocky in your vessel's ability to remember why they were there that you forgot they are not omniscient as we are?"
A feeling of unease settled into Bishamonten's gut.
"How so, Your Eminence?"
The Dark Lord stared down at the shadow cat, which solidified under its father's ministrations into a soft, black fur ball.
"Sometimes, to please our beloved, we do things that are unwise."
The Dark Lord stared across at the empty table which straddled the chess square upon which lay ensconced the Milky Way. SHE was not here today, no doubt searching for her Chosen One. If Ninsianna was not found and permitted to complete her purpose, HE would have no choice but to destroy whatever Moloch had touched. The goddess had always possessed a weakness for…
"You interfered?" Bishamonten guessed. "When you allowed HER to send him Ninsianna."
"The Chosen One was not supposed to be paired with another player," the Dark Lord said. "We learned our lesson after my last champion lost his Morning Star. This Champion searched for another to form the Bond of Ki. When SHE substituted her Chosen One to heal him, we thwarted the path of one who was supposed to be there, instead."
"But he has already formed the Bond with her Chosen One," Bishamonten said. "All mortals possess free will. It doesn't matter who he bonded with, so long as his mate has given him the connection so he can contain your power."
"No," the Dark Lord's eyes glittered like hard, black diamonds. "She did not form the Bond of Ki with him. To do so, she must vow to be bound to him not only in this lifetime, but all lifetimes for so long as their two souls exist, and that is something the Chosen One will not do!"
It was a good thing that, as a god, Bishamonten no longer needed to eat, for if he had, any supper he'd consumed today probably would have been regurgitated upon the floor. Not only had the Dark Lord interfered when he'd urged the lonely Seraphim to accept the affection offered by Ninsianna, but so had he. He had quietly encouraged his lonely novitiate to accept the affections of the Chosen One.
Bishamonten recalled the arguments between the two which he had eavesdropped upon.
"This Chosen One fears the darkness," Bishamonten said.
"And to heal him…."
"She must connect the Bond not only through the light of She-who-is," Bishamonten said.
"But also complete the other end through the Path of Darkness," the Dark Lord said, "through my realm, so that the two can always find one another, even in death." The Dark Lord patted the shadow cat, his expression wistful. "This, I can assure you, she has not done. She is like a bolt of lightning that sparks when natural conditions are just so, but without a completed circuit to stabilize her power, she is nothing more than a fleeting flash of light."
"But if the bond is incomplete," Bishamonten's ant-like pinchers spread with exasperation, "then how can she heal her husband?"
"She can't," the Dark Lord said. "Not unless she overcomes her fear of the dark and loves her husband enough to complete the bond. Now that they are separated, I fear she shall never find the strength to make the journey alone."
The tiny shadow cat stretched, then leaped off of its father's lap, rejoining its brothers and sisters which rubbed up against Bishamonten's ankles, attracted by his bluish light.
"What do you need me to do, Sir?" Bishamonten asked.
The Dark Lord pinched his chin between his thumb and forefinger, his expression thoughtful.
"Ki has sent two Watchmen to defeat her former husband," the Dark Lord said. "I have summoned you to make sure that nobody interferes."
"Do you know who they are?" Bishamonten asked.
"I was hoping you could enlighten me," the Dark Lord said.
Bishamonten frowned. Nobody ever saw an Agent of Ki until after they had completed their mission, although having existed through several cycles of the ongoing drama between Ki and her angry ex-husband, he'd been around long enough to recognize certain patterns. Moloch was a master of manipulation, but Ki was even better at it, recruiting Watchmen who, just when you thought the Evil One had won, all of a sudden the last person you expected to be a hero would appear out of nowhere and turn the tide back unto the light.
"The little protégé, perhaps," Bishamonten guessed, "who fought so valiantly to save him?"
"Perhaps," the Dark Lord said. "In which case somewhere there is a second Watchman. Watch for them. Give aid if you are certain they are the ones, and make sure no one else interferes. Not even She-who-is."
Bishamonten glanced over at the empty chess game. SHE was notorious for interfering on behalf of her favorites, although normally HE was sensible enough not to accede to her every whim. He understood now why he'd been summoned when SHE was not in the Infernal Palace. Once already the Dark Lord had allowed a manipulation
which had placed his beloved at risk. He would not do so again, even if it meant SHE spent a few thousand years refusing to speak to him.
"It shall be so, Your Eminence," Bishamonten bowed.
The Dark Lord's expression solidified back into his inhumanely grim mask, his black eyes pitiless once more. He twirled one finger and, behind him, the back wall to the Infernal Palace opened up to reveal the supermassive black hole which lay at the center of the universe, the one around which all of She-who-is's galaxies orbited. As was always the case, the Dark Lord was busy digesting some unfortunate galaxy whose inhabitants had aroused his ire.
With a blink, Bishamonten was back upon the battlefield, no time having passed, for like all things in the material realm, including the illusion of solidity, time, and death, those things were not real. There was really only darkness and the light.
~ * ~ * ~
Chapter 7
November 3,390 BC (about 20 minutes before the ambush)
Earth: Mesopotamian Plain
Gita
With the onset of the rainy season, each year the People of the River sent delegates to a grand reunion where traders, craftsmen, and most importantly, the chiefs, discussed issues which, if left unresolved, sometimes festered until one village went to war against another. This year the delegates met in a rocky strip of desert between the two most powerful villages, Nineveh and Assur, who were often at odds even though, technically, they were all supposed to be allies. While the smaller villages had welcomed the Assurian destek ekibi or 'B-Team' delegates as Mikhail had christened them, Nineveh was less than enthused to be saddled with a scrawny, black-eyed girl and the portly son of a wheelwright.
"Hey! Girl-boy! Whoa!" the Nineveh chief's son taunted Gita. "I ordered you to fetch my spear!"
Gita forced herself not to fling the crock of simmering lentils at his head. Qishtea was his name, and he'd taken it into to his head to make her life a living hell. He was a tall man, muscular as all within the warrior class were apt to be, with thick, black locks oiled into ostentatious ringlets. A four-fringed kilt signaled his social rank and his body was perfumed with the scent of myrrh. His hirsute beard was braided with gold beads, giving him the look of an older man even though Gita knew he was the same age as Jamin. At least Jamin, curse the goats-teat of a former friend, had never sported that degree of flashy plumage.
Gita lowered her eyes to hide her disdain. It was a trick she'd learned to make people think they had her cowed when, really, she watched from beneath her eyelashes for a weakness. That dark gift of seeing showed her just where she should kick the arrogant peacock. Right … in … his … manhood!
"Mikhail says a true warrior never lets anyone but a most trusted friend touch their weapon," Gita spoke softly. "You never know when someone might stab you in the back." Her too-large black eyes glittered like a nocturnal creature as she handed Qishtea his spear. Unlike her spear, which was scratched and chipped from combat, Qishtea's obsidian spearhead was sharp and glossy.
"What did you say, girl-boy? You? A warrior?" Qishtea slammed Gita in the chest. "If you think my men are going to take orders from a fat boy and a scrawny girl…"
Gita fell backwards into one of the hot rocks surrounding the cook fire. She bit her lip to suppress the urge to cry. Jamin may have been a pompous jerk, but he'd always treated her fairly, unlike this goat's behind who seemed to get off on pushing other people around.
Ipquidad leaped up from where he'd been sitting just outside the ring of warriors. The stocky son of a wheelwright was as much of an outcast as she was, but him they ignored, not set to tasks doing woman's work.
"Hey! Leave her alone!" Ipquidad said.
"Or what?" Qishtea stepped menacingly towards Ipquidad. "Just because my father agreed to the winged demon's crazy proposition doesn't mean we have to obey you! I'm the chief's son. I'm in charge."
Ipquidad stood firm, a tall, broad giant. He would only strike if struck first, but Qishtea didn't know that. Gita dusted the dirt out of her worn brown cape with as much dignity as she could muster.
"That's what Jamin said," Gita forced herself to meet Qishtea's glare. "Right before he got banished from our village."
Qishtea stared as if he couldn't believe she'd the audacity to talk back to him, then swung at her with the butt-end of his spear. Gita stepped into the arc the way Mikhail had taught them and deflected it with her hand, whispering the prayer which had kept her safe ever since the day the Amorites had killed her mother.
'I'm invisible … I'm invisible … I'm invisible…'
Qishtea blinked, surprised that Gita now held his spear.
Ipquidad stepped between them..
"Or else we shall tell your father you declined Mikhail's offer to teach Nineveh the secrets of the armies of heaven," Ipquidad said, "and how, in Assur, even a woman can fend off more attackers than his eldest son." Ipquidad's cheeks flushed red with a sheen of sweat, but he stood up to Qishtea anyway, a gentle giant aroused.
Qishtea's eyes flashed with fury. "You can't expect us to take orders from a girl!"
"If you'd like us to go home," Ipquidad spoke evenly, "we'll abandon Nineveh to face men purchased with these." He pulled out a golden disc and flashed it in the light of the glowing campfire. Depicted on the coin was the bat-winged serpent Mikhail called a dragon.
"We're not afraid of this so-called Shay'tan!" Qishtea laughed. Around them the other Ninevian warriors cackled like a bunch of nervous hyenas.
A flutter of wings drew Gita's attention. A bird, no, a bat, flew into the encampment, attracted to the mosquitoes which plagued all who reeked of sweat in the lengthening dusk. Qishtea's lips curved into a cruel sneer.
"This is what we'll do to this so-called dragon." With a lifetime of skill honed hunting antelope and larger prey, Qishtea ripped the spear out of Gita's hand and used it to club the bat out of the air. He shoved a wide finger into Gita's face. "You're next!"
Gita forced herself to stand firm, picturing what she might look like if only she was as brave as Pareesa. Tall … erect … chin raised … fearless. That was who she wished to be. Pareesa … or maybe Mikhail?
"No," Gita met Qishtea's gaze. "You are next. An army is only as strong as its weakest link. With enemies bought with lizard-gold, you need every link you can get."
Qishtea ripped the gold coin out of Ipquidad's hand. "Made-up creatures!" He turned to face the other warriors. "Who here has ever seen a lizard demon?"
"Not me!" the other Ninevian warriors laughed.
Qishtea leaned into Gita's face.
"Why don't you go back to your drunken father," Qishtea hissed so close his breath made Gita want to gag. He reached out to touch her hair. His lips curved up in a suggestive smirk. "Unless you'd like to have a little fun? Now that's a useful job for a woman!"
Gita slapped away his hand. "Go to hell!"
Qishtea grabbed her bicep. "That's what your mother was! A temple prostitute."
Gita gasped. "How…"
"Shahla couldn't resist bragging about her best friend's colorful history the last time I fucked her," Qishtea sneered. "Your own father turned her over to the Amorites to be stoned to death for being an adulteress!"
Gita yanked away her arm. She rushed into the lengthening shadows and dropped to her knees behind a rock, sobbing. Why? Why had Shahla betrayed her secret? Sobs wracked her thin frame until her anger gave way to sensibility. Shahla. Oh! Poor Shahla! Shame on herself for telling Shahla when she knew the girl lacked discretion whenever it came to pillow talk whispered in the arms of a man. What was Shahla doing now, her poor, broken-minded friend?
Something warm squished beneath her hand. Oh, great! Now she'd crawled into a pile of excrement! She went to scrape her hand against a rock and realized there was nothing stuck to it. Feeling the shadows in the dim twilight, something warm and furry met her fingertips. She lifted it to where she could see it. It was the bat.
"Poor thing," Gita stroked its leathery wings. "I'm sorry. They didn't understand
you are a good omen."
That dark gift, the one which could see not only where a creature was weak, whispered this creature was still alive. She clutched it to her chest and hummed the song the priestesses had sung at Jebel Mar Elyas. As she sang, that dark gift, that ability to see another creature's spirit light, showed her where the bat's light grew stronger, until at last the danger had passed.
The scent of food, cooked meat and bread, wafted her way as the Ninevians broke into the food she'd spent half the evening preparing. Gita's stomach growled, but she refused to crawl back into their midst and beg. Let them eat it without her! It wasn't the first time she'd go hungry!
A muttered curse brought her attention away from the tiny creature. An enormous shadow lumbered towards her, hand outstretched, and from a bowl wafted the delicious scent of fresh, hot lentils seasoned with wild onion and a hint of sage.
"Ipquidad," Gita said. She rubbed her face against her shoulder so he wouldn't see her tears.
Ipquidad lowered his sizeable frame to the ground and shoved the bowl towards her. "Here. You need this more than I do."
Gita gave him a weak smile. Her tears glistened in the light of the campfire and betrayed the fact she was an emotional woman. No wonder the Ninevians wanted nothing to do with her!
"You should eat it," Gita said. "I'll survive."
"He should not have said that about your mother," Ipquidad said.
Gita lay the bat down upon her lap and grabbed the bowl, devouring it like a hungry dog. A lifetime of flirting with starvation had taught her to accept food whenever offered, no matter how diminished her pride. They sat in her gut like mud, but unlike the usual cast-off fare, the lentils weren't rancid, rotted, burned or filled with insects or mold. It was a healthy meal, one which wouldn't force her to sit doubled over in pain as she coaxed her body to digest the evil spirits.
Sword of the Gods: Agents of Ki (Sword of the Gods Saga) Page 9