She sobbed until at last she fell asleep.
A strange, tall man stood before her, four-armed and with features that were alien and stern. From the brilliant blue light which radiated out of his robe, she knew this must be the God of War, but he did not seem to be angry with her; in fact, Gita thought she could detect compassion.
"To keep Mikhail safe, you must disappear," Bishamonten said.
"If I do," Gita said, "then how shall I ever prove my innocence?"
"As long as you remain within reach of his enemies," Bishamonten said, "they will use you, the same way they tried to use Ninsianna to kill him."
"Mikhail does not know that I exist," Gita said.
The old god's ant-like mandibles drooped in an expression the appeared to be regret … and guilt.
"Sometimes, you must look to the greater good," Bishamonten said.
Tears welled in Gita's eyes, the tears she had shed every single moment since he had fallen.
"How can I leave him," Gita's voice warbled, "when every fiber of my being cries out to keep him near?"
The old god twisted the edge of his robe, thoughtful, guilty, and pensive. For a moment, it appeared as though he listened to a distant voice, and when he looked back at her, his antennae tilted forward.
"Amongst the Uruk is a man who has information which can help resolve some of the issues which have divided your village," Bishamonten said. "If you capture this man alive, you can force him to bear witness on your behalf."
"We came here to find weapons," Gita said.
"The weapons you seek are gone," Bishamonten said. "But there are other items a clever person might use to help them gain an advantage."
The old god led her through the sky canoe, pointing out implements which could be adapted to help her get back the Kemet's camels.
She woke up disoriented, her chest wound humming with the Song and the lingering impression she had slept ensconced within Mikhail's magnificent, dark wings. The tallow lanterns flickered gently, not a bastion against the dark, but a safe place where darkness and light could meet. In her hand lay a small, dark feather about the size of her palm. She ran it against her cheek and touched the tiny grey speckles. After six weeks of tending to him, she knew exactly where on his wing this feather had been molted, a tender spot only a lover would know.
"Thank you," she whispered to the old God of War. He had been with her, she realized, since the Kemet had pulled her body from the river.
The elderly Kemet woman had given her a small, leather pouch; a medicine bag to wear over her heart to help her transmute the venom she had absorbed from Mikhail's body and drawn into her own. She kissed the feather and tucked it into the bag, swearing she would carry it there until the day she died.
Focusing on the source of strength she now recognized surrounded her like the red cloak she had donned to deceive Mikhail, she went into the room that contained the great, dark bulls. It was not these creatures she needed to smite the Uruk, but the small, cold box he'd left beneath one which contained the implements like Mikhail's sword.
"Once we have recaptured the Kemet's camels," Gita whispered to the long, slender pointy object the old god had told her was a screwdriver, "I shall make sure you find your way back into his hands."
Gathering up the other items she had been shown, she passed them out the hole to Dadbeh, who had set a watch outside the entrance, and then went back through the sky canoe, setting everything else back exactly the way she had found it. This cold, sharp world was the one from whence Mikhail had arrived, but deep in her gut, she hoped the reason he protected them was that once upon a time, he had come from a world not too different from hers?
"So?" Dadbeh asked the moment she emerged from the hole. "What was it like?" His jackal-thin face sparkled with curiosity.
"It was like a house," Gita gave him a cryptic smile. "Only shinier."
She hoped it wasn't too obvious to Dadbeh she'd been crying.
"Help me fill this back in," Dadbeh pointed at the hole.
Together they shoved the smaller rocks back in between the boulders, and then filled that in with rubble and sand until it looked exactly the way Mikhail had left it.
"Look," Gita pointed. "The morning star has risen, just ahead of the dawn."
They stared east towards the inky blackness which had settled over the horizon where lay Assur. Gita made her decision. She would go back there. She would clear her name. She would go back to exist in Mikhail's shadow, to watch over him, to be near her husband of a single night, because each step she took away from him felt as though she tore out a piece of her own heart and fed it to some evil god.
The morning star beckoned, laying a slender path of light across the desert floor. They headed east, back into the direction where she knew, eventually, the sun would rise once more.
~ * ~ * ~
Chapter 75
Late-January: 3,389 BC
Earth: Sata'an Forward Operating Base
Jamin
Jamin pressed his hand against the cold, square stone of Shahla's tomb, polished to a sheen no Ubaid mason could ever hope to achieve, and adjusted the bouquet of early spring Hellebore he'd brought back from his latest hunting trip. It was ironic how, when Shahla had been alive, never once had he thought to bring a woman a flower or a gift. It had always been them trying to catch his eye, at least not until he'd met Ninsianna; but now that she was dead, he brought Shahla something every day, just for an excuse to talk to someone from his childhood. The clomping of boots marching in formation towards the sky canoes intruded into his introspective moment.
"Hey! Fur face! You going to grace us with your presence?"
Jamin glanced up at his Catoplebas friend, Private Katlego, and rubbed his hand along his now-hairless jaw, thanks to the wonderful tek-no-lo-gee called a razor. He gave the burly, boar-man who'd become his fast hunting companion and friend a grin.
"You're just jealous because its winter and you're cold!" Jamin said. He tucked the flowers into the lee of the brisk wind which blew off the Akdeniz Sea and rose to his feet, arm outstretched to shake Katelego's hand.
Katlego snorted and curled his lip to exaggerate his tusk-like teeth. The creature's coloring had turned ruddy from the crisp, cold morning which had dipped low enough so that his breath bore the faintest hint of steam.
"You think this is cold," Katlego laughed. "You should see what it's like on your polar ice caps!"
Rather than take the bait and ask something stupid like 'what is a polar ice cap?' Jamin pulled out his magical teaching flatscreen and tapped his finger on the translation program.
"Define polar ice cap," Jamin asked.
"A polar ice cap is ice at the far north or south of a planet," a pleasant, disembodied voice said in the hissing Sata'anic language. "On Earth, the polar ice caps are here and here."
The magic teaching device showed a picture of the Sata'anic base as if it was seen by a soaring bird. It flew upwards until the sea resembled a lake buried in a larger landmass surrounded by even bigger seas, and then the bird flew north to where the land turned to solid ice. He'd heard legends that in the far north the snow blanketed the earth, but he'd never actually seen that much snow. The closest he'd ever come was the Zagros Mountains where the peaks wore snow in the early spring.
"I'd sure like to see that someday," Jamin said. He touched the flatscreen, forcing the small tutorial to rewind until it got to the point Kasib had explained he viewed their homeworld from the heavens. It was blue and round, so very small and fragile. He found himself pulling up that image often and contemplating the odd sense of protectiveness he felt for that pretty blue orb which Shay'tan viewed as a possession.
"You'd like to see a lot of things," Katlego laughed. His words came out like a pig-like oink. "Me? I'd just like to see Kasib stop riding on our asses."
They both glanced over to where the small, slender lizard flitted nervously from platoon to platoon with his inventories, giving orders and making sure everybody had what
they needed to crack skulls and grab the goodies. Jamin's hand slid down to caress his pulse rifle in its holster. He'd gotten a stern lecture about only teaching their Catoplebas and Marid brothers to hunt using primitive weapons instead of modern ones, a sure sign the lizards were low on ammunition.
"How bad is it?" Jamin asked.
"They never tell us that kind of stuff until we're already desperate," Katlego lowered his voice. "But Specialist Iyad? He was waiting to get chewed out by General Hudhafah and overheard him tell Kasib that if you don't succeed in getting your people to capitulate, we will have no choice but to exterminate them."
A thrill of fear rippled down into Jamin's gut paired with its opposing emotion, a fleeting sense of 'good … they deserve it.' All his life he'd wanted to rule his people and protect them, not kill them. Whether or not Lucifer ever came back to give him his promised prize, he intended to get that dominion, one way or another.
"I brought Kasib back half the granary of each village to the north and east," Jamin said. "Did you guys eat through that already?"
"Those granaries were paltry," Katlego sighed. He glanced over at their lizard buddy, Specialist Iyad, who was in the process of being chewed out by the high strung Kasib for depleting the charge of his pulse rifle while fishing earlier today. "Me and the rest of the skull crackers? We'll eat anything. But the lizards? They're pretty picky. Usually we're the ones who run out of stuff to eat before the lizards."
"I thought the Príomh-Aire was supposed to call off his dogs?" Jamin asked. Kasib had always been dodgy about the details of just why their fat lizard king had showed up with their enemy leader, but the word amongst the lower-ranking men was there was a well-known trade deal they hoped the Príomh-Aire would negotiate on their behalf.
Katlego lowered his voice.
"Whatever he was doing here," Katlego said, "you can be certain it was out-of-the-know of his immortal father, the Eternal Emperor Hashem."
Jamin gave a noncommittal nod. He had attempted such trade deals with the Halifians, the Amorites, even the Uruk tribe, all deals his idiot father had spurned. Whatever the Alliance Príomh-Aire's motives, Lucifer had taken Ninsianna and left him behind to rot. If he now earned the lizard's trust, it wasn't because of anything Lucifer had done, but in spite of it.
"If you ask me," Katlego oinked, "there's something fishy going on."
Jamin fell into line behind the other Sata'anic soldiers. Kasib was eager to harness his skill as a hunter of local game. Rumor had it the lizards had been carving up the kill and distributing it to the village-dwellers to keep them cooperative.
"Uh-oh," Katlego whispered. His flat snout wrinkled up into an expression of worry. "Here comes Hudhafah himself."
The burly lizard general strode across the landing field. He was broad-shouldered and fierce, with a deep red dewlap and golden dorsal ridge filled with dangerous spikes.
"At ease," Hudhafah growled. He moved to stand in front of Jamin.
Jamin forced himself not to show any fear. He'd grown fairly comfortable around the species that made up Shay'tan's armies, but the general still made him nervous. The fact the lizard towered over him by nearly a cubit and outweighed him by thrice didn't help matters.
"You know the stakes riding on your success?" Hudhafah asked.
Jamin glanced over at the anxious Kasib. The lizard had been acting squirrelly ever since he'd noticed they were seriously short on supplies. Kasib's gold-green eyes widened, as if fearful Jamin would say something to piss the general off.
"You need Ubaid fields," Jamin said. "But you need people to work those fields just as badly. Unless you think they will spend months on end, doubled over in the fields," he pointed his thumb directly at Katlego, "wouldn't it make more sense to keep them alive?"
"My men will do what I tell them to do," Hudhafah growled.
"All while fending off Ubaid attacks?" Jamin asked. "From a rocky landscape filled with caves and ravines which they know, but you know not?" A peculiar feeling of pride fluttered in his chest.
"The Angelic is dead."
"He is," Jamin said. "But the Ubaid fought to hang onto those fields long before you came along, and the Angelic already passed along much of his knowledge of tactics. One man's death won't change anything if you're so heavy-handed that you inspire the Ubaid to unite."
Hudhafah grunted, and then tasted the air to see if he was full of shit. The general's snout curved up into a grim smirk, exposing sharp fangs.
"I need those fields, with or without you," Hudhafah said. He leaned forward and hissed into Jamin's ear. "We've gone past the time we should have built levies to alter the inefficient seasons you plant and harvest … this year … but by next autumn, it won't matter whether we have people to plant those fields. Reinforcements will have arrived, along with the machines we need to do the work for us. So if you want your people to remain relevant to the Empire, you will find a way to make them submit."
The general lumbered over to bark orders at Sergeant Dahaka. Jamin glanced over at Private Katlego, trying his hardest to pretend he hadn't been ready to piss his brand new combat fatigues.
"You may be a skinny little piece of shit," Katlego bared his tusks in a grin, "but you're the ballsiest sonofabitch I've ever met. I ain't never seen nobody backtalk the general like that since the time I saw him go hand-to-hand against a Leonid."
Jamin gave the man a thin smile. Never had anybody ever used the words skinny or little to describe him, but compared to the hulking Sata'anic soldiers, he was a skinny little piece of shit. He'd been forced to switch tactics while training with his newfound brothers from that of an alpha-male to using the stealth he normally only needed when hunting an auroch or a lion.
"It wasn't backtalk," Jamin said. "I merely pointed out the obvious."
Sergeant Dahaka bellowed at his men.
"Alright you pansies! Quit your yapping and get moving!"
Jamin lined up, a small, swarthy piece of meat amongst the much larger lizard people, pig-men, blue Marid, and a smattering of other species which he really hadn't gotten a chance to know all that well. The platoon commanders crammed them into the transport shuttles like potted meat.
"Two ships?" Jamin whispered to Specialist Iyad. "Not just one?"
"This is nothing!" the lizard answered with worried hiss. "Normally they would send three ships on a mission such as this, one to land and two to provide cover fire."
Specialist Iyad reached up to grab a wrist-strap and braced himself against one of the poles. Usually during takeoff and landing the lizards wanted everybody buckled in, but today there were far more soldiers than seats. Jamin frowned. Why only two when there were so many sky canoes sitting idly on the ground? He'd picked up on the fact the lizards were short on food, supplies and ammunition, but if the magic which made their sky canoes fly was also low, pretty soon there would be little advantage except for the Sata'anic soldiers larger size and training.
No. Not the training. Mikhail had taken that advantage away from the lizard people by teaching his people how to work together as an army. The only advantage his new friends had was size and steel, but they were vastly outnumbered. If the humans realized that, the lizards were in for a world of trouble.
Sergeant Dahaka came shoving through the tangle of bodies, barking orders as he went. He stopped in front of Jamin.
"You. Sit. Hudhafah wants you strapped in."
Jamin glanced at his comrades and noted the look which passed between them. All his life he'd been trained to display his birthright as the Chief's son by the clothing he wore, the way he acted, and the way the lesser villagers were expected to defer to him. Amongst the lizard people, however, such displays of being set above a similar-ranking soldier were despised. The only currency amongst Sata'anic citizens was service to Shay'tan and bravery in the face of death.
"I will stand the same as the others, if you don't mind," Jamin said.
"You will do as ordered," Dahaka growled, but Jamin thought he detected a pleased
glint in the sergeant's gold-green eyes. "These are Hudhafah's orders. If we land rough and you break a leg, we'll have no choice but to attack the humans instead of negotiating with them. If you want to stand on the way home, that's fine by me."
Jamin noted the way the other foot soldiers around him relaxed. Private Katlego wrinkled up his flat pig's nose in mock disdain, but from his grin, nobody was going to hold it against him.
"As you ordered, Sir," Jamin said to the big lizard sergeant. He pushed his way to the cold, metal hull of the sky canoe and asked a lizard to give up his seat because that was what Dahaka ordered. The displaced lizard gave him a cold stare.
"Thanks … I owe you one," Jamin said. "You can have my seat on the way home."
The sky canoe began to shudder as the pilots lit the fires in the engines, twin devices Jamin could only comprehend as stoking up a fire in an enormous oven.
'Prepare for lift off,' a voice said via the magic speaker box.
Jamin gripped his safety harness and hoped he didn't hurl. The noise from the engines became almost deafening, and then the entire vessel lurched upwards. He chuckled, more to distract himself from the sensation of terror within his gut, but with that fear had come a new emotion lately. Exhilaration.
His thoughts turned to what it would take to convince the lizard people to bring him with them when they left. The flatscreen tutor told him everything he wanted to know about Earth and lots of glorious propaganda about how wonderful life would be under Sata'anic rule, but Jamin wanted more. He wanted to see these heavenly things for himself. If Lucifer came back, would he carry him into the heavens the same way he had carried Ninsianna?
The sky canoe banked steeply, drawing Jamin out of his thoughts.
Sword of the Gods: Agents of Ki (Sword of the Gods Saga) Page 74