"You made their marriage a living hell!" Needa stepped forward, uncowed by the goddess who ruled All-That-Is. "Just as you made our marriage miserable until Immanu grew a backbone and stood up to you."
"And then you left him anyways," She-who-is-Immanu hissed like a jealous lover. "Had I known then what trouble you would cause, I would have directed him to seduce a different woman to incubate my favorite. It serves him right for choosing a mortal over me."
Needa jabbed her finger into her husband's face.
'If She-who-is had the power to find Ninsianna," Needa scolded, "don't you think she would have done so already?'
She-who-is-Immanu's eyes transformed from golden to fiery red.
"You will give me this girl's life," She-who-is-Immanu said. "Or this entire village will suffer my disfavor."
A movement from the landing caught Gita's eye. She looked up, into the ancient, wizened expression of Zhila, Yalda's sister.
"And tell us, Immanu," Zhila asked, "if you are possessed as you claim. Why does one so powerful as the goddess who rules All-That-Is need to feed upon the death-energy of a girl who is just barely a woman. Daughter of the Devourer of Children?"
Revulsion rippled through the room like circles of water from a stone thrown into the river. She-who-is-Immanu whirled to face the ancient woman who stood above her on the landing, as if she stood in judgment of the goddess herself.
"That is none of your business, mortal."
Siamek appeared next to Zhila, his eyes as dark and unreadable as they always were whenever he looked upon her these days. He loaned Zhila a hand as she carefully picked her way down the steps. Unlike her sister, although nearly blind, Zhila was still fairly nimble.
"Mikhail was like a son to us," Zhila said. She stepped close enough that she could peer into She-who-is-Immanu's face with her almost-blind eyes. "He told us things, things he didn't tell any other person in the village, not even Ninsianna."
"What do I care?"
"Because we care," Zhila said softly. "We care about him. And we want to know why, Your Eminence, if you are so all-powerful, why haven't you healed his wound? Or found Ninsianna yourself? Or prevented all of these bad things from happening in the first place? If, as you claim, you are really She-who-is, and not just Immanu trying to sway us with his shaman's tricks, then tell us ... why are you so hell-bent on taking it out on this poor girl, who has done nothing since it happened but try to keep your Champion alive?"
'Oh gods, oh gods, oh gods,' Gita thought, 'can't they see they are speaking to the goddess herself?'
"Because I cannot see her," She-who-is-Immanu hissed. "She is invisible to me. And I do not like that which I cannot discern."
"And what use will it be, shaman," Zhila asked, "to take the life of a girl who is so low that not even you noticed she existed until now?"
"Because if you make an offering of her onto my sacred fire," She-who-is-Immanu said, "at the moment of her death, her spirit will be vulnerable, and I will be able to see into her spirit, not just what secrets she has been hiding from me in this lifetime, but all lifetimes she has ever lived."
The Tribunal glanced from one to the other. It was Yalda who dared speak. She rose gracefully from the bench, leaning heavily on her cane.
"My esteemed brother-elders," Yalda said. "You were both still younglings the last time a shaman claiming to speak with the voice of She-who-is testified before the Tribunal. I have heard this argument before. It did not sway me then, back when I was the youngest member, and it does not sway me now that I am the eldest. The decision that all trials-by-fire must be unanimous was made for a reason."
She jabbed her finger into She-who-is-Immanu's face.
"We have heard all of the evidence, Your Eminence," Yalda hissed. "And you have testified to nothing new. We have already ruled we shall defer passing judgment on the girl until the matter resolves itself as to whether it will be Immanu who has the right to demand recompense for Ninsianna's death, or her husband, Mikhail."
"You dare deny me justice?"
"We deny She-who-is nothing," Yalda said. "The real She-who-is. Not a shaman accustomed to pulling theatrics to terrify the villagers into giving him what he wants." She pointed to the stairs. "Up that stair lays a man who lay down his life trying to rescue your Chosen One. If you truly are She-who-is, then walk up that stair and bid him to arise from his deathbed."
'She -can't-,' that small, quiet voice whispered to Gita. 'She can't, because the power which infected the blade is even older than SHE is...'
Yalda's eyes welled with tears when She-who-is-Immanu did not move to grant her prayer.
"That is what I feared," Yalda said softly. She sat down, pulled a handkerchief out of a small satchel that was attached to the belt of her shawl-dress, and blew her nose.
Behnam rose and spoke on the Tribunal's behalf.
"Forgive us, Your Eminence, if the Tribunal exercises caution before voting to place this village in a war between the gods. Before we can render such a decision, we would require more information, starting with why you need a mortal vessel in the first place, why death exists, and, oh, why, when you shaped the Earth, did you decide to infest the desert with sand fleas?"
She-who-is-Immanu's eyes glowed copper with fire, and then she smirked, and her expression grew coy.
"Very well," She-who-is-Immanu said. "I will grant to thee thy petty judgment. But should HIS mortal vessel die, I demand this girl be made a sacrifice so I can locate my Chosen One."
"We shall render our judgment then," Behnam said.
Gita felt that crushing sense of power evaporate as She-who-is ceded her mortal vessel, leaving Immanu a disoriented heap of groaning flesh upon the floor. Gita stood, horrified. The goddess of All-That-Is had just decreed she was to be sacrificed in the most horrific manner possible. Even if the Tribunal did believe it had all been Immanu's theatrics, what chance did she have? What chance did she have to exist when the goddess herself were out to smite her?
Behnam let out an audible sigh of relief.
"Do you think it was really HER?"
Zhila poked at the unconscious shaman with her foot.
"His father pulled this goatshit once," Zhila said. "We swore then that we would never be fooled again by a man's quest for vengeance, not even if She-who-is herself stepped down from the heavens to give testimony in all of her glorious beneficence."
Gita glanced at Siamek, tall, brooding Siamek who had every reason to hate her. Didn't they realize that that was exactly what had happened?
She glanced at the eyes which had all now all settled upon her. Nothing had changed. The Tribunal had not passed judgment in her favor. They had stalled, understanding that to kill her was to instantly kill Mikhail. All they had done was buy Mikhail a little more time.
"We came downstairs because Mikhail has taken a turn for the worse," Siamek told her flatly. "If you value your life, you'll get upstairs and figure out a way to save him."
~ * ~ * ~
Chapter 52
December, 3,390 BC
Earth: Village of Assur
Mikhail
All around him he could hear the sound of voices bickering.
"Let him go."
"No, you must give him a little longer. Look at how he fights. There's still hope as long as he remembers to breathe."
"What you are doing to him is cruel."
"You only say that because you want your vengeance."
"Get out! Get out now…"
"You get out! This is my house. It was left to me by my father."
"The Tribunal said that I was to dwell here with the girl until they render a decision as to her guilt."
"She is not his wife! Think what people are saying about us, are whispering behind our back!"
"I don't care, Immanu! Do you hear me? I don't care what people think! All I care is that he brings back Ninsianna alive!"
"She is not his wife. Do you hear me, Mikhail? That girl is not your wife! She is a criminal! The crimi
nal responsible for Ninsianna's death!"
Two compulsions warred within him. He had to find Ninsianna. He had to find the Other One! He could sense she was in trouble.
He reached for her like a drowning man reaching for a rope…
He stood at the huge, simple doorway which separated the winding hallways from the throne room. Two enormous ant-like Cherubim stood on either side of the entrance, guarding it with their crossed naginata. Their armor was gilded, for these Cherubim had the privilege of guarding the queen, but like all Cherubim armor, it was perfectly functional and deadly.
Master Nuboten scrutinized the soft folds of Mikhail's fighting robe, hastily smoothed to hide the rock-dust from his earlier tumbles. He crooked an antennae at him, indicating he would pass muster.
"You are expected, Nidan Mannuki'ili."
Mikhail gave his superior a respectful bow.
"Thank you, Masutā Nuboten. I came directly from the training fields."
"She waits to see you," Master Nuboten said.
"I am forever at her service," Mikhail bowed a second time.
The naginatas separated and the two Cherubim Masters gave him leave to enter into the enormous throne room of Empress Jingu, queen of the Cherubim. There was a permanence about the palace, built of stone and wood, with enormous beams carved from entire trees holding up the floors above.
The Cherubim queen sat upon a large, wooden chair which was her only concession to a throne. Mikhail went down on one knee, his wings tucked up just enough so they did not drag, and bowed his head.
"You summoned me, my Queen?"
"Yes, Nidan Mannuki'ili," Empress Jingu said. "I have matters of great import to discuss with you. You may rise."
Mikhail assumed the cool, unreadable look he'd spent the last nine years perfecting, the closest he could come to mimicking the featureless exoskeleton of the ant-like Cherubim. He tucked his wings tightly against his back and stood in a relaxed ready-position, for the Cherubim were -always- ready for any trouble which might come their way.
"How fares your lessons with the art of shinobi-on-mono? Jingu asked.
Color warmed Mikhail's cheeks, but he forced his features to remain emotionless.
"The results are mixed," Mikhail said. "I do well enough when paired against a novitiate or non-Cherubim, but against a master, I fear that I am always seen."
"That is because you were engineered to -be- seen," Jingu said. Her green mandibles spread wide with amusement. "And what of your skills as a seeker?"
His shame subsided. "At that I am significantly better. Novitiate, or master, I am usually able to find that for which I search."
"That is good," Jingu said. "For I am about to send you on a mission. A mission in which you are required to seek."
"I am only Nidan," Mikhail said. A third-tier junior master. "It will be many years before I achieve the rank of Yondan (fifth tier)."
"You fear your inexperience will disgrace the hive?" Jingu asked.
"I only point out that there are Masters far more adept than I am, my queen."
"This mission is unique to -you-," Jingu said. She pointed at a map of the galaxy which was painted on the ceiling, her only concession to decoration because the mural happened to be practical. "Our esteemed Eternal Emperor has once again requested your assistance."
Mortification flooded his cheeks, turning them a very un-Cherubim-like magenta.
"I told him no, my queen," Mikhail whispered. "Please do not ask me to do that which my people consider abominable."
"Your people are all gone."
"Which is why I must keep alive the memory of what they stood for."
"Not even if you were allowed to send them -here-?" Jingu asked softly. "Think of it. You will no longer be the last of your kind."
"No."
"Hashem's armies are your people as well," Jingu said.
"They are -not-!" Mikhail's voice rose in anger. He remembered how cruelly they had treated him at the Youth Training Academy until the Cherubim had sent for him. He forced his expression to remain neutral. "-This- is my home."
"Your species was meant to flock together," Jingu said. "Do you not wish for the company of your own people?"
"No."
"Not even if I order it?"
His eyes wandered up to the map painted on the ceiling, a gentle swirl of stars circling around a vortex. His eye drifted, as it always did, to a small, broken spiral arm, adrift amongst its peers, the remnant of a galaxy which had been devoured. Sometimes he felt like that spiral arm, adrift in a galaxy where he didn't belong.
"I will perform any duty that you ask of me, my queen," Mikhail said. "Train the novitiates? Go on missions? Battle Shay'tan and bring you back his tail? But I will not defile what it means to be a Seraphim."
Jingu pressed all four hands to cover her thorax, perpetually swollen with egg. Her consort had been dead for centuries, but a Cherubim queen only needed to mate once to bear as many drones as the hive needed to survive.
"You were very young, sukoshi washi," Jingu said. "Too young to throw away the rest of your life on a betrothal that was never consummated."
A lump rose in Mikhail's throat. "I felt her death wound, and to my shame, I did not follow her into the next world."
Jingu sighed.
"You were nine years old, and you'd only known her a few months. Your betrothal was merely a statement of intent."
"You don't understand," Mikhail said. "She had this gift." He stared up into the stars painted on the ceiling. "We had known each other before, and in that lifetime, our love was thwarted by my death."
Jingu shifted on her throne, no longer the queen, but the old woman who used to weed with him in the garden.
"You know the Cherubim are evolved enough to see into many lifetimes?"
"Yes," Mikhail said. "It is very disconcerting to watch two novitiates meet for the first time and start talking about things that happened seven lifetimes ago."
"We are all born with an agenda," Jingu said gently. "Sometimes, when a Cherubim dies young, they will come back as quickly as they can, into the same family, or the nearest family they can find that will enable them to carry forward their unique genetic traits, so they can -complete- that agenda, the one which will help them finish evolving."
"There are no Seraphim left to carry her bloodline," Mikhail said.
"No," Jingu said. "But there are shipboard Angelics. Amongst their ranks are some who are descended from Seraphim who left your homeworld within the last few generations. While -you- have been here, perhaps there is one born who carries the lifespark of the one you lost?"
Mikhail stared up at the ceiling, the whirling stars, and the small, broken spiral arm which sat in the middle of nowhere. Yes. They had crossed paths once before. If she still existed, it was unlikely he would find her -here.-
"I will go, then," Mikhail said. "But if I -do take a mate, it shall be on my own terms. Not Hashem's."
"That is all we can ask, sukoshi washi," Jingu said. She pulled out a flatscreen, technology the Cherubim kept hidden as they believed technology disrupted the natural order, and handed it to him. On that screen were official orders signed by the Eternal Emperor to report to Alliance basic training.
"I never had a choice, did I?" Mikhail asked.
"You -always- have a choice," Jingu said. "You are being sent on a mission. A mission to embed into Hashem's armies and subtly teach them our ways. Whatever else you do while you are there, that is entirely up to you."
His breathing grew more ragged, labored. Pain radiated out of his chest as he pushed away a hand which was not hers. How could he find anything when every single breath was agony? The bickering continued.
"The entire village mocks us, this farce we perpetuate, pretending our daughter is still alive!"
"How do we know she is dead? We never found a body!"
"We never found Shahla's body either. That doesn't mean she's any less dead."
"The lizard demons came back for their dead
. They did not touch our dead. Nor did they gather the bodies of the mercenaries."
"Ninsianna is dead!" Sobbing. "And I … I cannot find her in the Dreamtime. We have to let him go so he can find her!"
"Over my dead body!"
"You're irrational, woman!"
"You're irrational! You've never listened to a single word the girl said!"
"Fine. You want irrational? I'll override Kiyan and the Tribunal."
"How?"
"The vote."
"The vote? You wouldn't dare!"
"Watch me…"
A door slammed.
Mikhail stared up at the Cherubim queen, a wise old woman who had quietly co-ruled Hashem's Alliance for nine thousand years. If there was a question to be asked, chances were that Jingu knew the answer.
"How will I find her again?" Mikhail asked.
Jingu pointed up at the map of the stars painted upon the ceiling.
"Just follow your heart."
~ * ~ * ~
Chapter 53
December, 3,390 BC
Earth: Village of Assur
Pareesa
Pareesa clutched the ceramic urn to her chest as she walked, as slowly as she could, flanked on either side by Siamek and Chief Kiyan. It was not an especially heavy urn … a year of war had reduced their numbers such that there were far fewer adults to cast a vote, but it might have well have been a boulder. The sky roiled with piss-yellow clouds, a sure sign there was a sandstorm brewing. She glanced to either side, wishing fervently some enemy would run at her that she could smite, but not even a sword could defeat the enemy she had to welcome now.
She hesitated at Immanu's door.
"Go inside, child," Immanu said. His eyes were serious and, for once, not tinged with that copper edge he'd possessed for the past few weeks. It made Pareesa almost want to forgive him.
Almost…
She knocked anyways, and when Needa did not answer, lifted the latch to let herself in. Pareesa glanced back at the somber group which had escorted her here to make sure she didn't shirk her duty. Why had they appointed her? She, who was most adamant that this was not the way things were supposed to be?
Sword of the Gods: Agents of Ki (Sword of the Gods Saga) Page 55