Sword of the Gods: Agents of Ki (Sword of the Gods Saga) (43 page)

He told her that he loved her, and that even if he didn't make it, he would always watch over her from just but on the other side, because she was his
maité saoil,
his lifemate, the woman he had traveled across the stars to find, and that he intended to not only spend
this
lifetime with her, but
all
lifetimes, so long as there were lifetimes left to live.

And as he finished they both cried.

"You'll make it," she sobbed. "You
have
to make it. I don't know what we'll do
without you."

"Why?" he asked, though he knew he only asked because he was fishing to hear the words. "Why do you want a poor, fallen creature like me when you could have any man in the village?"

She hesitated, and then she spoke, her voice euphonious with undertones that rippled through the fire which clawed at his chest and soothed it like the gentle kiss of water.

"Because I fell in love with you the moment I lay eyes upon you," her words kissed his ears. "The first time you held my hand, it felt as though I had been reunited with my own soul."

Her words made him shiver, because they carried the ring of truth.

She touched the place where his wing had shattered, but it was not an image of Ninsianna which came into his mind, but a poor frightened waif who'd had the audacity to touch the bald spot where he'd been injured in the crash. He'd felt that same sensation
then,
a feeling of reunification. Before he’d turned to
see
her, he’d mistaken that woman for his wife, a mistake which had caused Ninsianna to be tied up in knots ever since.

He pushed the image out of his mind and focused on the memory he
knew
she must refer to, the moment he had awoken to find Ninsianna with her fingers buried deep into his chest-wound, trying to stitch it back together. Yes. That was the moment he was supposed to focus on. The first time he had ever lay eyes upon his wife.

He could feel the fever rise as it sought to reclaim him. Everything hurt, his chest, his stomach, his head, which felt as though a giant had grabbed it and squeezed it in a vise. He needed her. He needed to
feel
her, to
feel
that sensation he felt whenever he lay with her in his arms, that she would not abandon him to die alone.

"Lay down with me, Ninsianna," Mikhail whispered. "Please? I need to feel your flesh against mine so badly it makes me ache."

Ninsianna sighed.

"Oh, Mikhail, if only you knew how badly I wish I could."

He heard the small scrape of stool-legs against the wooden floor, and then a sigh as she lowered her body to sit on the floor beside their sleeping pallet, a wooden platform which sat little more than a cubit off the floor. How many times had he cursed himself for not taking the time to build them a
proper
marital bed instead of jamming both of them into a bed built for one? And now he must pay for his failure to put their marriage
first.

She lay her head down upon his forearm, her cheek pressed against the delicate pulse which beat at the inner juncture of his elbow.

"I'm so cold," he murmured. "I just wish…"

He drifted off, the feel of her cheek against his flesh the only thing which anchored him to this world.

"I love you," were the last words he heard as the delirium claimed him once again.

~ * ~ * ~

November: 3,390 BC

Earth: Sata'an Forward Operating Base

Jamin

Jamin gripped his harness as the sky canoe shuddered beneath him like some unearthly cyclone. It felt as though he was being carried at the leading edge of a sandstorm, the sound of the sky canoe's great oars which Kasib called engines drowning out even the sound of his own thoughts. Around him clustered a battalion of lizards and other fantastic creatures which made up the armies of the Sata'anic Empire, the empire
he
now served. When Ninsianna had first told tales of lizard demons coming out of sky canoes shooting fire, he had laughed at her, he had called her a liar. Now, oh how he wished she was here!

He suppressed the urge to cry out as some force of nature reached into the sky and grabbed the sky canoe like a gigantic hand. It felt as though the ship was picked up and moved from one part of a table to another. He instinctively squeezed shut his eyes, then forced himself to open them again as he realized it would make him appear unmanly to the hyper-masculine Sata'anic soldiers. He must never allow himself to forget he was the son of a chief, not some slave.

A hand touched his shoulder. He tried not to jump. He stared into the pig-like snout and sharp tusks of a Catoplebas, another one of the aliens he was learning to think of as
people.

"It's just
turbulence
," Private Katlego said. "First time I went up in one of these things, I thought I was going to shit my pants."

Turbulence?
What was that? It sounded more deadly than the sandstorms which buried people in the desert. Bile rose up into his mouth.

"I'm not frightened," Jamin lied.

The Catoplebas laughed, a raucous, barking sound which only added to the cacophony of the oar-engines and the wind.

"Sure you're not," the Catoplebas slapped him on the shoulder. "Just saying, if you need to puke, that's what the little bag is for underneath your seat. Don't hurl on the floor or we'll make you clean it up."

The Catoplebas spoke mostly in Kemet, the language of the traders, and partly in the Sata'anic language. There were some words that had no corresponding sound in any human language, so he did his best to memorize them as the words arose.
Impulse engines, pulse rifle, hyperdrive
and
plasma canon
had all been added to his more mundane vocabulary such as
the man sat on the chair.

The other soldiers chuckled, not only lizards and pig-men, but also the burly, blue-skinned Marid and a strange creature that had tentacles instead of eyes. Jamin had always hungered to slip his father's grasp and go on trading missions so he could experience new things. Now? Jamin gulped. A little normalcy would be a welcome respite.

He decided to occupy his overstimulated mind by reaching under the seat for the bag Private Katlego had spoken of. It was just another one of the wonders which the lizard-people took for granted. He ran his finger along the smooth, thin substance they told him was made of plant fiber.
Paper
. Another word added to the vocabulary he could mix and match in varying combinations so that the lizard people wouldn't think he was an idiot. More
turbulence
made his stomach lurch. How could these creatures all remain so calm?

"Secure all safety harnesses," the pilot's voice came over the magic voice box Jamin had learned was called an
intercom.
"We're about to land."

"Now the fun
really
begins," Private Katlego grinned at him. The boar-like creature rubbed his whiskers and curled up his snout as if he smelled something rancid. "You might want to stick your face in that bag, just in case. I ain't cleaning up after you this time."

Jamin's face burned hot with mortification. "I'm fine."

"That's what you said the last time." The Catoplebas pointed at the bag.

A sensation akin to having the world suddenly drop out from underneath his feat made his stomach lurch. Jamin complied. He stuck his face into the bag.

"Whoo-hoo!" Katlego shouted. "Isn't this a blast?"

Jamin leaned forward and stuck his head between his legs. Oh gods, oh gods, the indignity! Please don't let me puke in front of these men!

The ship suddenly stopped, and then began rocking side to side like a pendulum as it made the descent the final few feet to the ground.

Jamin's stomach clenched. And then he hurled.

"Ah told ya!" Katlego slapped him on the back. "There's no shame, man! We've all done it one time or another; barfed our guts out during a rough landing!"

Jamin didn't answer him. He was too busy passing the meat through his nostrils that Katlego had taken him hunting to obtain yesterday and then fed to him for breakfast.

"You're lucky Kasib's at the controls," Katelego's voice sounded far away. "As far as landings go, this one's pretty tame."

The ship bumped lightly onto the ground.

Jamin stayed doubled over with his face in the bag, helpless to do anything
but
puke, while the other men unsnapped their safety harnesses and moved about snapping pulse rifles into thigh-holsters and strapping swords onto their hips. Swords? Why did the Sata'anic soldiers always bother with swords when they had firesticks? The hum of the hatch opening downwards like a great jaw vibrated through his buttocks. As soon as the ramp hit the ground, the others moved outside.

"See you when you get your shit together," Katlego laughed.

The boar-man marched out with the others, leaving him to suffer his lack of dignity alone. He shuddered as more bile burned his windpipe, the stench unbearable in the bag. He sat up and gasped for air, fighting to keep what little might be left of his breakfast down. Lieutenant Kasib stood in front of him silently regarding his lack of fortitude with his too-serious gold-green eyes.

"What do
you
want?" The words came out more akin to a sob than the caustic rebuff Jamin had intended it to be.

"You understand the importance of this mission?" Kasib said.

"Yes," Jamin said, his voice little more than a hoarse whisper. His throat burned, and his own stench made him want to retch again.

"You'll get used to it," Kasib said. The lizard-man conspicuously did
not
taste the air. "Most annexed civilizations do. It just takes a while, that's all."

He placed a pulse rifle down on the jump seat Katlego had just vacated. Jamin looked up at him with surprise.

"Don't get too excited," Kasib said. "There's no charge in it. It's only for show. Before you get a
real
pulse rifle, you must first prove you are trustworthy."

Jamin met the lizard's eyes. His first act upon being welcomed into their enclave had been to attempt to stab their fat lizard king's guest. Yes. If it were up to him,
he
wouldn't trust himself.

"The washroom is in there," Kasib pointed. "As soon as you get yourself cleaned up, come outside. I don't think our potential allies will be too impressed if you show up in their camp reeking of vomit."

Kasib left him to get cleaned up.

Jamin stared at his reflection in the mirror. Would Aturdokht recognize him now that the lizards had cut his hair and taught him to use a
razor
to scrape off his luxurious, black beard? He ran his fingers through his locks, now barely long enough to get a grip on. He'd seen Ninsianna's face light up when he'd first stepped out of the shadows and she'd initially mistaken him for her husband. He now realized he'd been used. Hudhafah had been savvy enough to recognize the Alliance Prime Minister found him intriguing and had dressed him up as bait to look like one of them.

Them.
The Angelics…

Who were they, Mikhail's people who saw
his
people as little more than breeding stock? At least the lizard people genuinely seemed to want to
help
his people, not just subjugate them for tribute. According to Kasib, the Alliance wouldn't let his people get their hands on the simplest technology, not even toilets. How many lives had been lost to the tiny evil spirits called
bacteria
that the
flatscreen
tutor had explained lived in human excrement?

He splashed water onto his face and rinsed out his mouth, reveling in the simple act of flushing the toilet. When
he
was chief of Assur, he'd order men to construct such a system to remove the waste from every house. There. Would Aturdokht find his new appearance ugly? For the second time this year, he found himself unsure about his attractiveness to a woman … and it felt kind of good.