Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One (Sword of the Gods Saga)

by Anna Erishkigal

  Shahla sniffled and nodded affirmation. She reached down to caress his dick. If he closed his eyes and pretended it was Ninsianna, he could perform a second time. This time, he pretended he whispered words of love into Ninsianna’s ears, that it was her soft breasts he cupped in his hands, her lips whispering sweet nothings into his ears, her feminine mysteries he slid into as he brought Shahla up for an orgasm and made her cry out in release. He exhaled her name as his heart reached into the void no woman could ever fill. Ninsianna. The woman he had loved and lost…

  Or maybe not… If there was one thing he'd learned from meeting with Marwan, it was how to set up a merry goose chase so you could hit the real target…

  Chapter 73

  Galactic Standard Date: 152,323.07

  Haven-4: Galactic Youth Training Academy

  Colonel Raphael Israfa

  Raphael

  Raphael found the Alliance’s most formidable general in the quarantine chamber, reduced to a crumpled pile of sobbing feathers. She sat there, rocking their infant son, praying to She-who-is to spare his life. It was a surreal juxtaposition, the cold, sterile Angelic nursery, the sobbing mother, and the IV’s, monitors, wires, and other equipment hooked up to the tiny baby clinging to life in his mother’s arms. She'd wrapped her wings around herself and their son, enveloping him in her soft, downy feathers as she instinctively tried to shield him as she sobbed helplessly upon the floor.

  “Jophie,” he was hardly able to speak through the lump that threatened to burst his throat. “I am here.”

  Jophiel cried harder, pulling her wings around herself. He sat beside her, pulling her and the son he'd never met into his embrace. Jophiel shifted one wing so he could move closer. He shifted his other to complete the feathered cocoon. Their wings touched in front as they shielded their baby from whatever force was trying to take him from them. Raphael's golden feathers interlocked with her snowy white ones in a basket weave of parental protection.

  “Hey, little guy,” he murmured, seeing his son in person for the first time. “Daddy is here." He touched Uriel's tiny hands and was glad the baby grasped one finger. He was tiny for a 4-month-old, thin and discolored like a child who had not eaten for months. Anger surged through his veins at the sorry state of his son. Why hadn't the nursery alerted them sooner?

  “He won’t eat….” Jophiel sobbed. “All he does is cry. They call it the wasting sickness. It's become common amongst the hybrid races and they don't know why." She rested her head upon his shoulder. "All our great technology, and they don't even know what causes it!”

  “Shhhh…." He kissed her temple. “Who knows what purpose She-who-is has? But it's not your fault. You were only doing what our Emperor demanded.”

  Jophiel rested her head upon his shoulder, her eyes red-rimmed from nonstop crying. Uriel's chest heaved in hiccups as he fought to inhale each and every breath. His tiny wings twitched as though some great pain wracked his little body. Raphael fought back tears as he, himself, tried to keep things together for her, for his son, for himself. He knew if he succumbed to the emotions threatening to overwhelm him, he would fall into a pit of despair so deep he might never find his way out.

  “Does the Emperor know?"

  Did the Emperor they served even care about the pending expiration of so tiny a cog in the wheels of his great Alliance?

  “I don't know,” she sighed. “Even if he did, there is nothing he could do for him.”

  “I thought…”

  “Contrary to popular belief, the Eternal Emperor is neither omniscient nor omnipotent!" Bitterness marred her voice. “He is powerful. And a great geneticist. But he doesn't have the power to grant life. That power is reserved to She-who-is.”

  “I wouldn't know,” Raphael said. “I have only ever seen him once, at a distance. I just thought….”

  “The Emperor will do nothing to help us!” Jophiel exclaimed. “I begged him to let me retire. I have borne the Alliance twelve babies and given them all over to him without question. I didn't want to give this one up, Raphael! I didn’t! But if -I- refuse to replenish our race, the other females will follow suit!"

  Sobbing, she buried her face into Raphael's shoulder.

  "Damn him! Damn him and his shortsightedness in creating a race of beings that would breed itself into extinction!!!”

  Drawing her close, Raphael rocked with her, both parents instinctively breathing each labored breath along with their tiny son as fought to cling to life.

  Chapter 74

  Galactic Standard Date: 152,323.07 AE

  Ascended Realms

  Asclepius – an old god

  Asclepius

  “Asclepius, I have a favor to ask…”

  “What is it, old friend?"

  Asclepius reached out with the neutrinos comprising his consciousness to mingle with his fellow old god. Despite being an ascended being, Hashem had chosen to remain bogged down in the heavier, semi-corporeal state of the material realm. It took a long time, in ascended deity terms, to communicate with his brethren. Asclepius waited for Hashem to finish pulling his physical form through the barrier that separated matter from what mortals called the spirit-world.

  “You're a physician,” Hashem said. “I need your help.”

  “You know it's forbidden for me to interfere unless I descend, like you,” Asclepius said. “But perhaps I could answer questions. What do you need?”

  “I need help saving the life of a small child,” Hashem said. “I'm a geneticist, not a physician. I can improve life from its building blocks, but I'm not good at saving life it if things go wrong. The child is dying.”

  “You were warned when you spliced together your armies that there would be consequences,” Asceplius said. "The species were genetically incompatible. You should have followed your own dogma and allowed them to evolve those traits naturally."

  “The child is innocent,” Hashem said. “I don't believe SHE would hold a tiny infant responsible for my mistakes.”

  “Who is this child?” Asceplius asked.

  “The son of my highest ranking general,” Hashem said. “He has the wasting sickness. We haven't been able to figure out why some children simply lose the will to live.”

  Asceplius sighed, pondering how much to tell. Integrated into the consciousness of She-who-is, fully ascended beings began to approach omniscience. Not true omniscience, as the knowledge they had access to was either via their own connections, or those belonging to the goddess. But it was close enough that whenever they focused their thoughts upon a single problem, all available information sprang into their minds unless, for some reason, SHE did not know or wished to keep that information secret.

  “Why do you choose to remain in an in-between state when you could have the power other ascended beings possess?” Asclepius asked, not for the first time.

  “Each galaxy has old gods who refuse to leave,” Hashem said. “It’s not like she prevents me from ascending.”

  “Unlike that old rascal Shay’tan!” Asclepius snorted. "It tickles HER fancy to keep a dragon for a pet!"

  “You could always descend,” Hashem suggested. “I would really enjoy some company down there. It's lonely being the only ascended being in the galaxy besides Shay’tan.”

  “And I would pay the same price you have paid,” Asclepius said. “Ignorance. It takes time to pull a physical form back and forth between the realms. I don't like being disconnected from the stream-of-consciousness of She-who-is.”

  “Will you help me?" Hashem's thought patterns approached a state of pleading. “I have gone and botched things and now the child of my only real friend is paying the price.”

  “She-who-is wouldn't target a child for your meddling,” Asclepius said. “It’s not like you're the only old god who amuses himself by dabbling in the material realms.”

  “I don't think SHE will mind if you enlighten me,” Hashem said. “Do you have any idea what causes the wasting sickness?”

  “When you created your armie
s,” Asceplius said. “You created physical shells enticing enough to lure spiritual consciousnesses out of the upper realms to finish evolving. When you did so, you bound yourself, and them, to the rules of the material realm.”

  “I don't understand,” Hashem said. “What does that have to do with the wasting sickness?”

  “Why do you refuse to leave your naturally evolved subjects to fend for themselves?” Asceplius asked.

  “They are like my own children,” Hashem said. “To abandon them like you and the others have done … I just couldn't.”

  “Then why do you demand that the beings you created do what you, yourself refuse to do?” Asceplius scolded. “They incarnated back into mortal form to experience the pleasures of the material realm … and then you turned around and denied it to them. They are not cattle to be bred for slaughter so you can perpetuate your own military might!”

  “But the hybrids face extinction,” Hashem said. “Within three generations, they will die out. I lost the root race.”

  “If I tell you how to save this child,” Asceplius warned, “there will be consequences. What Jophiel does, the others will follow.”

  “If her child dies,” Hashem said. “It will have the same result. Jophiel begged me not to give up this child. She wishes to be with the father and raise him as her ancestors did before inbreeding became a problem. If the child dies, I'll lose her anyways.”

  “The inbreeding is your own fault,” Asceplius scolded. “The hybrid races lived naturally until your constant intrigues with Shay’tan forced them all into the military. Is it any wonder the lifesparks are refusing to inhabit the shells you offer them anymore?”

  “How can I fix this problem?” Hashem asked.

  “As you're so fond of saying, old friend,” Asceplius answered, “It's your choice. You must decide whether to allow Jophiel to follow her heart, or allow her child to die so that you can maintain the status quo. Either way, the current course is unsustainable.”

  “Jophiel is like a daughter to me,” Hashem said. “I choose to pay the price. How do I solve this problem?”

  “You created the hybrids out of mammals,” Asceplius said. “Mammals will choose starvation over the denial of physical comfort. In your effort to maintain genetic diversity, you have forgotten this fact. You separated them from each other, into cold, sterile environments, until the most physical amongst them have started to waste away.”

  Hashem pondered the solution Asceplius suggested.

  “I could never understand this need to be touched,” Hashem said. “But I see it in my experiments all the time. I have spliced together countless perfect adaptations, only to have them die when their parents reject them.”

  Asclepius resisted the urge to chastise Hashem about his cluelessness. The other old gods jokingly called Hashem a trans-dimensional alien. Never been in the material realms before, didn't 'get' it. Hashem spent too much time living in his own head and not enough in the ‘real’ world even though he'd chosen to linger in the material realm. It was rumored that She-who-is had paired the not too 'street-smart' Hashem to play against the earthy Shay’tan on a wager with the Dark Lord.

  “You can't deny physical beings love,” Asclepius said. “That's why they accepted your offer to descend in the first place, and that's why they are now declining your offer now, no matter how tempting the mortal shells you offer them to inhabit.”

  “Either way, the hybrid races are doomed to die out,” Hashem said. “Your way just means it will happen sooner.”

  “Shay’tan has within his grasp the solution to your problem." Asceplius hoped She-who-is wouldn't be upset he'd volunteered that last little tidbit of information. Hashem and Shay'tan were not the only gods who liked to play chess...

  “What?” Hashem asked. “Please explain…”

  “It's forbidden to discuss this,” Asceplius said. “I have already said too much.”

  Hashem understood the code words ‘It's forbidden.' The old gods had developed such code amongst themselves when they needed to divulge a piece of information that She-who-is, or more importantly, He-who’s-not, might not approve of. It meant ‘pay attention to what I just said because it's important.’

  “And the child?" Hashem pretended he hadn't heard.

  “Tell the parents they must care for their son themselves,” Asceplius said.

  “Can’t you help?” Hashem asked. “You were, after all, once a physician?”

  “You know that interference is forbidden,” Asclepius said. “I don't want to anger HIM.”

  Asclepius sensed the ripple of fear which radiated through his old friend's consciousness at the mere mention of HIS name. It was not She-who-is who forbade all use of ascended powers in the material realms, but the Guardian, He-who’s-not. Anyone who caused more than the tiniest ripple in the fabric of consciousness of the universe would have to deal with HIM.

  Hashem released his hold on the ascended realms. It took an enormous act of will to cram a consciousness as big as his across the barriers which separated time and space. The other old gods would never admit it, but they admired him. If and when Hashem decided to stop mucking around in the real world, he would prove a formidable contestant for his own universe.

  As would Shay’tan. Oooh … scary thought…

  Asclepius focused his consciousness towards the child. Its parents huddled together, breathing along with their dying son as he struggled to take every breath. Asclepius took pity on them. Just because he'd long ago shed his material form didn't mean he couldn't remember what it had been like to feel pain. It was just a nudge...

  Reaching out with his mind, he directed a tiny tendril of consciousness into that part of the infant's body that struggled to hold onto the lifespark and strengthened it. Small enough that HE wouldn't notice.

  Let Hashem do the rest … and pay the price.

  Chapter 75

  July - 3,390 BC

  Earth: Village of Assur

  Colonel Mikhail Mannuki’ili

  Mikhail

  He'd just barely begun to drift off to sleep when he heard a frantic pounding on the door.

  “Mikhail! Wake up!!!”

  It took him a moment to recognize Gisou's voice, one of his archers. Rolling out of his cot and knocking aside the curtain which separated it from the main living quarters, he hurried to yank open the door. Before him stood the normally giggly Gisou, her shawl-dress ripped and dirty and her hair disheveled as though somebody had tried to rip it out.

  “Gisou? What happened.”

  “They have Pareesa!!!” Gisou threw herself into his arms. “They grabbed us on our way home from the bush a few miles upriver. I think … I think I shot one of them!”

  The others came up behind him.

  “Mikhail, what is wrong?” Immanu asked.

  “They got Pareesa!" Mikhail said. A cold, familiar chill settled into his body, instructing him what to do even though he couldn't remember ever having taken the training. He peeled the frantic young woman off of his chest and grabbed her by the shoulders, bending to make eye contact with her so she would stop sobbing and tell him what he needed to know. “Gisou … how long ago?”

  “We were in the woods tracking deer when they ambushed us,” Gisou blubbered. “They dragged us with them, but then Pareesa untied my bindings and I got away. I had to hide until they gave up looking for me before I could run back to summon help.”

  "How far?"

  "I'm not sure," Gisou said, "perhaps three hours run."

  “How many men were there?” Mikhail asked. "And what tribe did they belong to?"

  “There were eight, maybe nine, of them." Gisou wrapped her arms around herself. “They had three women with them. Tied up. I didn't recognize what tribe. I don't think they were Ubaid.”

  Needa pushed past his wings and took the trembling girl into her arms, shooting him a stern look when he started to object and insist he needed to debrief her.

  “Come inside, dear." Needa led the frantic girl indoo
rs and sat her down at the table. “Ninsianna … get that blanket.”

  “Did you see which direction they headed?” Mikhail asked.

  “I think they were heading into the hills,” Gisou said. “I speak a little Halifian. I overheard the leader say something about meeting with slave traders. I think they are planning an attack.”

  “Immanu,” Mikhail ordered. “Go warn the Chief we have raiders on our perimeter. Ninsianna…" He hesitated, that part of him that loved her not willing to do what that part of him which had trained her needed her to do.

  "Shall I get my bow?" Ninsianna asked, her golden eyes filled with a combination of fear and excitement.

  "Go wake up the other archers," Mikhail said reluctantly. "You may need to provide cover for our warriors if they attempt to raid the village. Take a position on a rooftop like we discussed so you are not within a direct shot of enemy bows. You will be in charge.”

  Ninsianna followed him back to his cot and watched as he grabbed his pulse rifle and sword from underneath his bed. “Where will you be?"

  Mikhail began to utter clicking meditations in the Cherubim language, the meditations so deeply ingrained into his psyche that even memory loss had not been able to erase them from his mind. The meditations about how to kill. His blood turned into ice as his training kicked in and transformed him from an Angelic soldier into a Cherubim assassin.

  Some part of his mind watched himself prepare for battle with detached curiosity, the Cherubim training to separate his ability to feel from his ability to think giving him an edge over an ordinary soldier. Young girl or trained archer, the raiders had taken one of his own. He would get her back. His only concession to emotion was to pause long enough to kiss Ninsianna before leaping over the threshold, into the air, and into the light of the waxing moon to search for his littlest archer.

  “The gods will have no mercy on the ones who took Pareesa,” Immanu's words filtered after him into the wind.