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

by Anna Erishkigal

  He tried to get the men psyched up to put a little effort into their training. ““I can’t hear you!!! What was that again?”

  “Yes … Sir!" The response was only slightly more energetic than the first one.

  “Good!" He gave them a crisp Alliance salute. Most gave a halfway decent salute in return. Not perfect. They still had a tendency to poke themselves in the eye with their thumb, but they were getting better.

  "When will we get to actually hit one another?" Firouz grabbed his buddy Dadbeh and pretended to punch him. Dadbeh hit him back, for real, though not hard.

  "I think we've got the marching part down," Dadbeh did his best impersonation of a mock march. "One-two-three-four, what I need is a drunken whore!"

  The other warriors began to laugh, which happened a lot when those two got warmed up with their antics. He'd tried separating them, but somehow they always ended up back at one another's side. With the heat sapping their vitality, he'd finally decided to just let the two play off of one another and provide a little comic relief. Although his memories of Raphael were few and far between, he could recall the good-natured Angelic playing pranks on him to get him to lighten up.

  "It has been two weeks of march, march, march!" Firouz complained. "We want to get to the good part."

  "Yeah, the good part!" Numerous other warriors chimed in.

  "And which part would that be?" Mikhail rustled his feathers.

  "You know," Dadbeh said. "The part where your eyes glow blue and you take on seventeen men at once with your pinkie finger."

  "I'm teaching you to fight the exact same way the Eternal Emperor taught me." Mikhail suppressed his irritability, which he knew was made worse by the heat.

  "These don't look like firesticks." Dadbeh held out his spear. "Just stick one of those in our hands, and we won't need to march back and forth to the river carrying buckets of water!"

  "We must work with the tools She-who-is had given us." Mikhail turned to face the larger group. "Before I start pulling men out for elite training, you must first learn to fight together. That way, no matter who you end up fighting beside, you know you can rely on them to watch your back."

  "But we already work well together!" Firouz slapped his arms around Dadbeh's shoulders, still trying to garner attention for himself. "We share everything. Even the same women."

  "And what will happen when you don't have your best friend watching your back?" Mikhail pressed his wings tightly against his back. "Then what? I notice you two don't fight so well when you're paired with somebody else. Who will you rely on then?"

  The two young men didn't have an answer to that question. Of course they didn't! Until now, groups of friends had practiced whatever skills sparked their interest, not the more boring, but necessary, parts which made the coordination of massive armies possible. Mikhail refocused the group's attention back on today's lesson.

  “Yesterday we discussed how to incorporate additional strength-training exercises into your daily routine,” he said, “so that you build up the muscles to do the training I'm about to teach you. Does anybody have any questions?”

  “Yes, Sir,” one villager asked.

  “Ebad, correct?” Mikhail asked. “What is your question?" Ebad was an enthusiastic, if awkward student.

  “My family is potters, Sir, not farmers,” Ebad said. “We only have a small garden to haul water to. What should I be doing instead?”

  “See me after class,” Mikhail said. “We’ll work something out. Buckets of clay, perhaps?”

  While he'd been addressing the men, Homa had jogged up and waited patiently for him to finish. Although archer training had never been as formal as the military skills he was attempting to instill into the larger group, his archers instinctively understood that they were the example to which the newer warriors should aspire to … and acted accordingly. With much formality, he turned to address her.

  "Yes, Homa?"

  "Behnam said fourteen more archers showed up for training today," Homa said. "All women with small children. They can only stay until the sitter summons them to go home. Should he allow them to join the group?"

  "What is their reason for the half-lesson?" Mikhail asked. Yalda and Zhila had put out a call to the elderly citizens of the village to offer to watch young children so their mothers could train. As far as he knew, the elders had been willing to take up the slack.

  "All of them are nursing mothers," Homa said. "When the baby cries, they need to go feed them. Behnam wants to know how your people usually solve this problem?"

  There were some memories that lurked just beneath the surface, quick glimpses of faces or bits of conversation, but try as he might, nothing could shake free memories of how his own people reared their young. You would have thought he'd never seen a baby before!

  "I can't remember," he said. "Tell him to accommodate them as best he can. That's the age group the kidnappers seem to be targeting the most."

  "Yes, sir!" Homa said. With a crisp salute, her eyes darted to the men with a proud 'see … this is how it's done' look. Her military protocol would have been perfect had she not stopped to give Pareesa a high-five.

  “Yesterday we learned how to do basic blocks and hits,” Mikhail said. “Today we'll practice these skills on one another. Did everybody bring rags to wrap around your hands?”

  “Yes, Sir!"

  “I forgot,” a few said.

  “In battle, as in life,” he said, “if you come unprepared, you will be at a disadvantage. It's important to learn this lesson now, sparring with your neighbors, instead of later, at the end of a Halifian spear. Therefore, those of you who forgot your hand rags will fight one another. When you get hit, it's going to hurt.”

  Mikhail ignored the grumbles and showed those who didn't already know how to wrap a strip of rag around each hand so that they wouldn't be punching with bare knuckles. Earlier in the week he'd taught them to do basic kicks, punches and blocks against an imaginary opponent. Today would be the first time they fought one another.

  “Find a sparring partner and pair off,” Mikhail ordered. “Do we have anybody who doesn't have a partner?”

  “I don't have a partner!” Pareesa shouted.

  “And why is it, little fairy, that you never seem to be able to find a partner?" Mikhail donned a mock-serious expression. Pareesa had always been an enthusiastic learner, but ever since she'd been captured, she pursued combat skills with a vengeance.

  “They're all afraid,” she bragged, putting her hands on her hips and tossing her head like a prizefighter.

  “Afraid?” he asked. “Of who?”

  “Actually … you…” she leaned in and whispered. “Taking you on scares them worse than anything –I- could ever do to them.”

  “You're not afraid because you know I hold my punches,” he said. He then said louder, “all right everyone, I'll demonstrate with Pareesa, and then you'll all spar with one another for the next two hours while I go around looking for bad habits. Pareesa … ready stance!”

  “Yes, Sir!" She spread her feet to shoulder-width, bending her knees and pulling her arms into her sides so she could move in any direction. He banged his fists against hers in a gesture of mutual respect. He was nearly twice her size, but he'd learned not to underestimate the diminutive fairy warrior. What she lacked in size, she more than made up for in ferocity.

  “No cheating,” she whispered. “The rest of us don't have wings.”

  “Go!" He allowed her to make the first move.

  He tucked his wings against his back so as not to gain an unfair advantage. This worked against him. Without wings extended for balance, he was forced to carry their dead weight. It slowed him down and upset his balance, allowing Pareesa to land a few good kicks and punches.

  “You’re not using the high block enough, Pareesa." He lightly clubbed her with a hammer fist on top of her head. “You're a woman. Most opponents will be taller than you. You need to practice that block.”

  “Blocks are boring!" Sh
e aimed a crescent kick straight at his knee. “Kicking is more fun.”

  “You can't kick,” Mikhail blocked her kick and brought down a second, identical fist onto the top of her head, “if you're unconscious."

  Pareesa grunted in pain and punched at his abdomen, which he blocked. The others gathered in a circle and cheered Pareesa on, which made the little spitfire increase her kicks and punches. For a creature born without wings, Pareesa was quite good at becoming airborne.

  “Hah!" She crowed with delight as she finally landed a round house kick to his hip. She added a clicking Cherubim phrase she'd begged Ninsianna to teach her. “Watashi wa anata no oha o keru hitsuyō ga arimasu!!!” [I should kick your tail feathers!]

  “Good,” he said, “but you dropped your fists. Always keep your guard up." He gave her a right hook in the area she'd left open during the kick. “And you would say ‘watashi wa kikku subekide wa naku, kikku sa remasu,’ [I will kick, not I should kick]." He corrected her grammar as Pareesa grunted in pain.

  “Take that!” she laughed, spinning around to give him a back kick, a move he hadn't yet taught the others.

  “That’s not part of today’s lesson,” he said.

  “Neither is this…" She grabbed his shoulders and spun her weight around his torso in a dancelike move he'd never seen. Thrown off balance, one wingtip hit the ground to prevent him from falling. He knocked her grip off of his shoulders in a double elbow thrust to both arms. The trainees cheered at her bold maneuver.

  “What was that?" He landed a left reverse punch to her shoulder as she regained her balance.

  “Stag dance move,” she smirked. She blocked his jab and returned one of her own. “Hunting season. You weren't here yet.”

  “You'll have to teach me that sometime." He gave her a side kick to the gut and knocked her back. “You could have avoided that kick by doing a low block."

  Pareesa grunted and punched repeatedly at his abdomen. “I would much … rather … punch … you!" She became frustrated when she wasn't able to land any blows.

  “I have a longer reach than you." He easily blocked her hits and reached in to give her another direct hit to the abdomen. “I hope you didn't have a large supper.”

  “Oomph!" Pareesa grunted in pain. “No fair.”

  “Life isn't fair, little fairy." He did the same punch again. “If you're going to fight men, you must overcome our height and weight advantage.”

  “Why do you think I'm here?" She blocked his third punch by finally doing the block he'd been trying to get her to do all along. “I don't feel like getting carried off again by slavers.”

  “Okay … enough!" He stepped back and offered both fists to bang together. “Very good, Pareesa. Now … does anyone have any questions?”

  Pareesa did a victory dance and rejoined the young men who perpetually hovered around her. She still had the slender figure of an adolescent, but the ferocity of a hardened warrior. The other women slapped her raised palm. Over the past two weeks, their numbers had climbed from six to seventeen.

  He had the trainees pair off and spar each other, correcting errors and reminding them to remember basic moves such as blocking hits or keeping their hands up so their chest and face weren’t vulnerable. As the sun dipped down towards the horizon, he ended the day's lesson with a quick march down to the river for water. The men dove into to the cool water, enjoying relief from the mid-summer heat, before marching in unison to water their fields. They were all in good spirits when he dismissed them for the night.

  Chapter 89

  Galactic Standard Date: 152,323.07.31 AE

  Alpha Sector: Command Carrier ‘Eternal Light’

  Supreme Commander-General Jophiel

  Jophiel

  They tried to pay attention as she gave her daily briefing in the hanger bay of the Eternal Light, but even the most seasoned eyes wandered from General Jophiel to the infant she carried bundled in a sling against her chest.

  “As you were." With one arm supporting her son’s rapidly increasing weight, she used her other to give her troops a crisp salute. “Dismissed.”

  She sighed with relief as the men and women who served under her trailed out from the hanger bay to begin that days duties and massaged her back. Who would have thought raising her own child would have such an impact on her work? Twelve babies she'd borne the Alliance, but this was the first time she'd actually had to rear one of them. She could see now why the Emperor had offered youth training academies as a solution for parents whose empire couldn't spare their losing years out of work to rear their own young.

  “General Jophiel.” Major Klik'rr waited patiently for her at the edge of the assembly with the usual stack of paperwork to be signed, debriefings to be read, and decisions needing input about resource movements and troop rotations, a sharp contrast from her sudden duties as a mother. “Here's the latest intelligence report from Zulu Sector.”

  “Thank you, Klik'rr,” Jophiel took the report. “I'd also like to see the reports from Romeo, Sierra, and Tango Sectors. Let’s see what that old devil Shay’tan is up to.”

  “Yes, Sir,” Klik'rr said. “I'll have them on your desk by oh-eight-hundred hours.”

  She knew from experience the reports would be there at least one hour earlier. Klik'rr was hardworking and efficient, as most of the Mantoids were who served under her command. There had been some grumbling when she'd elevated Klik'rr to be her Captain instead of one of the longer-serving personnel who were all worthy of promotion, but Klik'rr anticipated her every need and got things done without her ever needing to micromanage. Given that more than 95% of the military was now comprised of species other than hybrids, it was about time the Emperor had ordered a more egalitarian promotion system rather than simply promoting hybrids because their name happened to be on the branch of the military in which they served.

  "The merit-based promotion order, Sir," Klik'rr said.

  She glanced at the general order stating that, from now on, all branches of the military would promote within their ranks based on merit, not the seniority-based system which had all-but guaranteed the longer-lived hybrids would always be ahead of the shorter-serving newer sentient races. It had given her people prestige … but also made them so irreplaceable that the Emperor couldn't afford to have them retire or take family leave. If they were to avoid extinction, that system had to end. She signed it.

  "The specs for the newest warships for your approval, Sir." Klik'rr slipped the document ordering that all new warships were to be built to accommodate a variety of species, not just the hybrids.

  She signed that as well.

  Klik'rr silently put the last document onto her smart pad and tilted his antennae in an inquiring look. Her hand trembled.

  "I can't do this," she said.

  Her white feathers rustled. There had not been 'hybrid-anything' for many years, but she wouldn't be the one to strike the name of the hybrid race who'd been genetically engineered to be that branch of the military from that branch of service's name and declare they'd been replaced. For now, they would remain the Angelic Air Force, the Leonid Multi-Purpose Fighting Forces, the Mer Navy, and the Centauri Calvary. She glanced down at Uriel sleeping peacefully upon her chest while she juggled command of the Emperor's military. Maybe the Emperor's concessions would allow them to bring their species back from the brink of extinction?

  Klik'rr gave her a nod, no judgment in his compound eyes as he quietly slipped the document down to the bottom of the stack, and put the next order requiring her signature at the top of the pile, a routine order approving the reassignment of one of her last few remaining Merfolk command carriers to a Mer-Levi Foundation water world. Now there was a species who was surviving! Although they were no longer Merfolk … nor technically part of the Alliance since the remote Mer-Levi Foundation had peacefully voted itself an independent trust territory capable of governing itself while the Emperor had been away on his 200 year sabbatical. Jophiel signed the order.

  “Sss’kkk s
kr,r,r Igginn’z’zi." Jophiel unconsciously shifted the baby’s weight as she saluted. [Thank you, dismissed].

  She punched the display to scroll through the reports Klik'rr had left her with, many of them appearing deceptively inconsequential unless you spread them all out and looked for the larger patterns. Patterns … Raphael was back in Zulu Sector trying to find this ‘solution’ the Emperor had spoken of. He was positive that the mysterious increase in Sata'anic shipping activity and Mikhail's disappearance were related. She'd quadrupled the number of ships at his disposal, but they still only had disconnected pieces of a puzzle. Something was going on.

  Uriel murmured in his sleep, his reddish-blonde peach fuzz reminding her so much of Raphael that it made her smile. Not only was he thriving, but his complexion had turned a scrumptious pinky-peach color that reminded her of the blossoms of the Eternal Tree that bloomed in the Emperor's garden every spring. Overnight, wasting sickness had disappeared, any child who showed difficulty adjusting to the Emperor's youth training academies prescribed a regiment of frequent parental visitation or, in the case of the sickest babies, concessions such as hers, so that no more precious infants were lost.

  "Tomorrow is Sabbath-day," Jophiel kissed Uriel's forehead. "Daddy will come visit you for the day. And perhaps me? If I can get my reports cleared off my desk?"

  Uriel's little pink mouth grimaced and then curved up into a precious little smile. Once per week, Raphael took a living needle ship, a high-speed biomechanoid capable of slipping between the dimensions and jumping across the galaxy the way ascended beings could, to spend a day playing with their son.

  And her…

  The mere thought of the time they spent together each week made her smile, but they were being given special treatment. Even as they relished their happiness as a family, they could both sense fractures reverberating throughout the Alliance.

  A pregnant Angelic, fresh from the academy, shot her an envious look. Jophiel clutched her baby to her chest, the gesture instinctive. The cadet gave her a crisp salute and returned to her duties. Fault lines. Jophiel could feel the fault lines opening up in the Alliance as surely as she could feel Uriel's weight tugging her forward and making her back ache. She prayed that Raphael would find this ‘solution’ Hashem spoke of soon. If he didn't, all Hades was about to break loose…