Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One

by Anna Erishkigal

February - 3,390 BC

  Earth: Crash site

  Ninsianna

  Ninsianna sat alongside her quiet, watchful patient, sharing a meager lunch of dried meat, sour berries and water. Mama had schooled her to never scrutinize a patient directly, but to gaze sideways at them through lowered eyelashes, a behavior Jamin had always accused her of being flirtatious, but which she simply regarded as being polite enough not to stare. Mikhail wore an inscrutable expression, quiet, watchful, and direct; studying everything she did as though it fascinated him. She was in the process of watching him pretend not to grimace each time he bit into the sour berries when a sound filtered in from outside the great sky canoe.

  'Ninsianna?' She recognized her father's voice calling her name. 'Ninsianna? Are you in there?'

  Ninsianna stiffened. Mikhail's wings jutted outwards as he moved his hand to grab the handle of his firestick.

  “Who … Papa." Ninsianna put her hand on his knee to reassure him they weren't in any danger. “It's okay. Papa … Immanu. My father.”

  She knew he didn't understand what she'd just said, but they'd reached an understanding that “who” meant something along the lines of “I am” or “it is." She gestured for him to remain seated in the tiny room he called a 'galley.' Studying her face for signs of fear or distress, he decided to trust her while she went outside to speak to her father.

  Her mind raced as she stood just inside the crack they'd been using as an entrance and exit. Had her father come to drag her back to Assur? Ninsianna listened for other voices and, when she heard none, stepped cautiously through the exit.

  As she'd hoped, her Papa was alone. Well-built and muscular, with a shock of salt-and-pepper hair that jutted out at odd angles, if not for his tawny-beige eyes, it would have been difficult to tell that Immanu was her Papa. His tawny-beige eyes were round with wonder as he ran his hand along the shell of the silver sky canoe.

  "Papa," Ninsianna gave him an insincere smile. “Why have you traveled all the way out here?"

  Papa pulled her into his embrace, his grip too tight as unwept tears caused his chest to shudder.

  “Jamin said you were captured by a demon!"

  “Jamin is the only demon!" Ninsianna's voice dripped scorn. “I'm fine, no thanks to him!"

  She jabbed her finger at her father's bulbous nose as no other daughter of Assur would have dared to do.

  "Or you! Now please leave! Because I will not marry Jamin, not even if it means I have to spend the rest of my life banished from the village!”

  Ninsianna turned to escape back into the safety of the sky canoe before Papa could prevail upon her to do something foolish, like trust he would not entice her back to the village only to turn her over to the chief. Her father grabbed her hand.

  “Ninsianna, is it true?" Papa shook with an almost religious fervor. “Has one of the winged demi-gods returned to grace our village?”

  Ninsianna glanced back at the crack which now served as an entrance.

  “I have never heard you speak of such a thing,” Ninsianna half-lied. It was only a half-lie because she didn't deny she'd seen a winged man, only questioned the fact that Papa had never spoken of them before.

  “You must tell me the truth!" Papa said. "We have legends about a time the winged ones shall return.”

  Ninsianna neatly side-stepped the question. “You have never told me such tales before?”

  “You must show him to me." Papa pointed at the crack where she'd emerged. From past experience, Papa wouldn't leave until he'd done what he'd come here to do.

  “Alright," Ninsianna sighed. "But first let me tell him you're coming.”

  Ninsianna ducked back into the crack, explaining with sign language that someone wished to meet him. Mikhail agreed … she thought. She wasn't really certain as they didn't speak the same language, but he seemed to trust her. Going back out through the crack, she led her father inside.

  “Gods be praised, it's true!" Papa exclaimed. He fell to his knees and bowed his face all the way down to Mikhail's feet.

  Mikhail shot Ninsianna a look that communicated 'why has this man thrown himself on the floor in front of me?'

  “Up, suas, le dol thoil,” Mikhail said in the pidgin language they'd been using to communicate. Although Mikhail was not prone to displays of emotion, he appeared uncomfortable at being apotheosized.

  “Papa, you're embarrassing him! He bid you to get up!”

  Still kneeling, Papa began to recite in a sing-song fashion a shamanic song she'd never heard before. It was sung not in her language, but what she recognized to be the language spoken by Mikhail.

  In Ki’s most sorrowful, desperate hour,

  When all was lost to blight,

  She sang her Song of Creation,

  And enticed Darkness to protect the Light.

  Primordial Light, the architect,

  Ki’s daughter, She-who-is,

  Spun the darkness of He-who’s-not,

  To create life, All-That-Is

  But then one day, the sickness returned.

  Moloch. Enemy of Ki.

  The Evil One. The ex-husband spurned.

  Collapse. Entropy.

  He spread his evil, throughout the worlds,

  Undoing all in his path.

  Devouring his own children,

  To make Ki feel his wrath.

  But He-who’s-not, the Guardian.

  Lord Chaos. The Dark Lord.

  Sang the Song of Destruction,

  To protect the Light he adored.

  She-who-is wept bitter tears,

  To see her playthings broken,

  The Dark Lord couldn't bear her grief,

  And offered his mate a token.

  To keep the balance so he could protect her,

  They would play a game of chess.

  She-who-is would create new pieces.

  He-who’s-not would reclaim the rest.

  But both must remain ever-vigilant,

  Against Moloch’s eventual return,

  He sends forth Agents to pave the way,

  To escape the hell whence he burns.

  When Moloch gains a foothold,

  And desires to be fed,

  She-who-is shall appoint a Chosen One

  To warn of Moloch’s spread.

  SHE shall send a winged Champion

  A demi-god fair and just,

  A Sword of the Gods to defend the people,

  And raise armies from the dust.

  As Moloch corrupts Agents to do his work,

  So shall Ki appoint Watchmen to do HERS,

  From the ashes of despair,

  When all appears lost,

  Hidden Agents shall choose to serve HER.

  True love will inspire the Other One,

  To pierce her heart upon a thorn,

  And bring back hope where there is none.

  For agape can access Ki’s Song.

  When all the players have made their moves,

  And the Morning Star shines bright,

  He shall light the way through the darkest hour,

  And restore the path of Light…

  And if these measures should someday fail,

  And Ki’s protections fall,

  The Dark Lord shall seize his vessel,

  And protect the Light by destroying them all.

  “An féidir leat tuiscint a fháil dom?” Mikhail asked in his own language, one eyebrow raised in surprise.

  “Roinnt,” Papa replied.

  “Cár fhoghlaim tú a labhairt mo theanga?" Mikhail used his hands to accentuate his words. He leaned forward in his chair, anxious to hear what Papa had to say.

  “Tá sé tugtha síos trí na glúine a lán,” Papa ground out each word, painfully slow, as he paused to search his memory and articulate properly each word he translated.

  Ninsianna realized what she was seeing. Not only had Papa memorized a song in Mikhail’s language. Shamans memorized many old songs handed down from the time legends said a great can
oe had carried her people across the ocean to the fertile banks of the Hiddekel River, secret songs only shamans were allowed to learn. But Papa actually spoke Mikhail’s language?

  When had Papa learned to speak the language of heaven?

  Chapter 14