* * * * *
In the center of the village, at the apex of the hill, was a communal well which had been dug deeply into the bedrock. Surrounding that well was the central square, a place where people gathered after a day in the fields to draw water, purchase trade goods, reconnect with their neighbors and gossip. Surrounding that square sat the central granary, a small temple dedicated to She-who-is, and a few of the finest houses in Assur. Mikhail saw from the air that the Chief stood in front of his house waiting for his arrival, as well as Immanu, who got there on foot at exactly the same time as Mikhail did With him stood a man wearing exotic attire. The emissary cringed as Mikhail glided in for a landing, the wind from his wings knocking off the man's hat.
“This is the newest member of our tribe," the Chief stepped forward to shake Mikhail’s hand before introducing him to his guest. “Farzam … meet Mikhail.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Mikhail said to the unknown emissary. He rustled his feathers to all face the same direction and settled his wings into a tightly-tucked military posture before schooling his expression into one of cool neutrality and offering his hand. When in unfamiliar territory, serious watchfulness was his default emotion.
Farzam was unfamiliar with the concept of a handshake. The Chief pointed to his own hand and stuck it out. Farzam mimicked the gesture, awkwardly shaking Mikhail’s hand as he mumbled pleasantries.
“Let’s go inside to speak,” the Chief said, noticing the curiosity seekers gathered in the central square. Just when the people of Assur had finally adjusted to the sight of a winged man walking around their village, now they had to adjust to the sight of him actually flying. “Immanu … please … join us.”
Immanu gestured for Mikhail to go in first. As with all doorways in Assur, even at the Chief's house, Mikhail was forced to duck into the threshold.
This was the first time he'd ever been inside the Chief’s house. It was five times the size of Immanu’s, decorated with felted wool carpets, a low table, and stuffed cushions in a completely separate receiving room, not the one-room lower story that most houses in Assur possessed. The Chief motioned for them to sit. Clapping his hands, an elderly woman came out and offered them a hot tea made of herbs.
“Farzam has informed us that bands of mercenaries have been raiding area villages and kidnapping their young women,” Chief Kiyan nodded gravely. “Kidnappings have always occurred, but never so many at once.”
“How many?” Mikhail asked.
“They took eight females from our village,” Farzam said. "And dozens from allied tribes. There are rumors coming over the mountains from Anatolia that they are experiencing these kidnappings, as well."
“Kidnappings are usually some warrior's way of getting around her parents opposition to their marriage,” Chief Kiyan said. “The woman shows up happily married to her new husband in another village.”
"Either that," Immanu added, "or the woman is captured and held for ransom."
“But these women are never seen again,” Farzam said. "In any of the villages. It appears to be an organized pattern, but for what purpose, we don't know.”
“Farzam,” Chief Kiyan asked. “Could you please show Mikhail the weapon?”
Farzam laid a long, thin object wrapped in cloth in front of him and carefully unwrapped it.
“Do you recognize this?” the Chief asked.
Mikhail picked it up and touched his finger to the tip. Memories of learning to use such a weapon flooded into his mind. Immanu signaled the others to be silent while he spoke to himself in the clicking Cherubim tongue to strengthen the memory. He hadn't seen this type of weaponry amongst the Ubaid, but that didn't mean it didn't exist on this planet. The stone-tipped shaft he held now was even more primitive than the steel-tipped ones the Cherubim taught all novitiates to use, but the weapon was unmistakable.
“It's an arrow." He looked at Farzam. “Do you have the bow it was shot out of?”
“Bow?" Farzam's face had a puzzled expression.
“A long stick with a piece of sinew strung between the ends. You shoot it, like this…" Mikhail demonstrated stringing the arrow into an imaginary bow. He pretended to draw the bow and shoot the arrow at an object on the other side of the room, mimicking the ‘thwung’ noise as it left the bowstring.
“Oh … we have seen those … but only at a distance,” Farzam said. “We can't get anywhere near them. They hit us and leave.”
“Who?”
“The Halifians,” Farzam said.
Mikhail frowned. “The Halifians that attacked Ninsianna and I had no sign of this weaponry.”
“No,” Immanu said. “We have never seen weapons like this before.”
“That's why I asked you to come,” the Chief said. “According to Farzam, they hit Nineveh, Gasur, Arrapha, Qattara, and just about every other village in Ubaid territory. It's only a matter of time before they hit Assur.”
“What do you want from me?” Mikhail asked.
“You're the best warrior we have,” the Chief said. “And you're familiar with weapons that we are not. We want you teach us how to use these weapons in case we are attacked.”
Mikhail contemplated the Chief’s request. Although he was willing to train the villagers to defend themselves, lurking in the back of his mind was a prohibition against giving primitive cultures more technology than they could acquire on their own. On the other hand, if one tribe had bows and arrows, it was only a matter of time before the Ubaid acquired it on their own. Nor did Mikhail wish to see the people who had taken him in harmed.
“I'll teach you to use these,” he said. “But there are conditions you must meet or I will not do it.”
“Such as…” the Chief asked.
“The villages that were hit are all Ubaid, correct?" Mikhail turned to Farzam.
“Yes,” Farzam said. “We are all allied, which is why I am here.”
“Farzam will ask two warriors from each allied village to come train." Mikhail slipped into a degree of authority that came surprisingly easy given he couldn't remember his past. “They are to arrive in two weeks.”
“Who will feed these warriors?” the Chief asked, thinking of his pocketbook.
“You will help." Mikhail gave him an expression which communicated he wouldn't be questioned on military matters. “But we'll ask each warrior to bring two week's rations so they don't put a strain on your purse.”
The Chief thought it over, glancing between the arrow lying on the carpet between them and a locked door. “Agreed.”
“As you so aptly pointed out,” Mikhail remembered the Chief’s words his first day in the village. “We don't have the resources to maintain a standing army. Any Ubaid who wishes to train must put in the same number of hours on the field as everybody else. I'll not tolerate healthy young warriors sitting around watching the very young and old do most of the work.”
“Agreed," the Chief gave an empathetic nod of agreement.
“The training will be open equally to men and women,” Mikhail said. “Angelics don't share your ridiculous stratification into male and female roles. Anyone who wants to learn will have the opportunity to be taught.”
“But….” Farzam protested.
“Agreed,” the Chief said. “Every Ubaid will have the opportunity to train, whether male or female.”
“But…”
“There is a reason we have hung onto the most fertile land on the Hiddekel River,” the Chief said to Farzam. “From the moment they can walk, all villagers, male or female, are expected to defend themselves. Mikhail’s mate, Ninsianna, came in third in our Solstice competition, behind only Mikhail and my son Jamin, and the fourth and seventh-place winners were also female.”
“How many competed?" Farzam's expression grew skeptical.
“Over fifty,” the Chief said proudly. “Nearly one-fifth were women.”
Mikhail suppressed a smile at the Chief’s reference to Ninsianna. They hadn't stuck around to find out who had won, so enthralled we
re they at their pleasant flight over the valley. If not for Yalda showing up with half the olives, he wouldn't have even known he'd won. The fact Jamin had come in second place didn't surprise him. The boy had excellent weapons skills, but no common sense.
“If young women are being targeted for kidnapping,” Mikhail said. “Then the women must be taught to defend themselves."
“It would be better if they don't get kidnapped in the first place,” Chief Kiyan said, “rather than launching a rescue party.”
“That makes sense,” Farzam grudgingly agreed.
“The bow and arrow are well-suited for female physiology,” Mikhail explained. “Once you develop the upper body strength to draw the bow, either gender can use it.”
“Hmmmmm…." Chief Kiyan leaned his chin upon his fist. “Having female archers would free up the men to go hand-to-hand with the attackers.”
An image of sparring with an ethereally beautiful, white-winged female Angelic popped into his mind. Pinning her to the floor had not come easy. She'd gotten up, bumped fists with him, and then snapped orders for him to report to duty someplace else. She'd then sauntered off with one of the green insect-people he sometimes recalled. Whoever this female was, she far outranked him.
“Memory?” Immanu asked.
“I don't think you would want to come up against one of our females,” Mikhail came back into the present moment. “Hand-to-hand … or bow-and-arrow. I recall one of my female commanding officers nearly getting the better of me.”
“Who are your people?” Farzam asked. It was obvious he found it hard to believe a woman could nearly best somebody the size of Mikhail.
“They are the swords of the gods,” Immanu said. “Ask your shaman, Zartosht, to sing you the song of the sword and translate it for you. You're looking at a living legend.”
“Zartosht sang this song when he returned from your village after meeting the winged one,” Farzam said. “But I didn't believe it until I saw him for myself.”
“Last,” Mikhail said. “All warriors will learn hand-to-hand combat and mental discipline. A good warrior can take out a room full of assailants with his bare hands.”
Out of the corner of his eye, Mikhail noticed Immanu shudder at the memory of the eighteen dead Halifians buried near his ship.
“Mikhail, what of the two weapons that you carry with you?” Immanu asked.
“You don't have the means to replicate these weapons at your disposal,” Mikhail said. “They require materials and processes you haven't yet begun to master. Even if you did, I'm not sure I'm allowed to teach you.”
“May I see it?" Farzam pointed to the sword.
Pulling the sword from his scabbard, Mikhail held it flat and passed it to Farzam. The blade caught the light and reflected it around the room. To a stone-age culture, it might as well have been the interstellar hyperdrive of a command carrier.
Immediately following that thought, Mikhail realized he'd just unearthed another memory. He'd been sent here on a mission from a command carrier when his ship had been shot down. Unfortunately, any additional information to go with that memory fragment so he could complete that mission remained unhelpfully blank.
“This is a sword,” Immanu said. “The weapon sung about in the legend.”
“Impressive!" Farzam ran his finger along the blade. He yelped as he accidentally sliced it.
Chapter 59
Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One Page 64