Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One (11 page)

Still blinking as his
eyes adjusted to the sunlight, he heard Ninsianna scream.  The scene flashed
before his eyes as though he were watching events unfold by strobe light, his
injuries and light-headedness giving everything a surreal feeling.  Men
laughing.  Water splashing.  A half-dozen dark-haired men wearing kilts faced
the stream.  A seventh held Ninsianna’s head beneath the surface, shaking his
finger at her as though he was scolding a child.  Mikhail gathered this was
someone she knew by the way she shouted in defiance and hit him.  The man
shoved Ninsianna's face into the water a second time.

Mikhail was in no
condition for a fight, but he would have intervened even if Ninsianna
hadn't
saved his life.  He fired a warning shot at the men's feet.  Startled, the
man in the water let go of Ninsianna's head.  She popped back above the surface,
gasping for breath, but the olive-skinned man grabbed her arm so she couldn't
escape.  He shoved her behind his back and stood between them, defiance
glittering in his angry black eyes.

“Why not pick on
somebody your own size!!!” 

The other men shouted
and ran, but the one who held Ninsianna didn't intimidate so easily.  He
shouted something Mikhail couldn't understand and glared at him.  Mikhail
noticed the way the man positioned himself in front of Ninsianna, but didn't
let go of her arm.  Possession.  Whoever this man was, he viewed her as his
property.

Mikhail had the
distinct feeling that where
he
came from, treating a woman like that
would get you your tail feathers handed back to you on a silver platter…

“I wouldn't do that if
I were you.”  Mikhail fired a warning shot at the water inches from the man’s
abdomen.  “Ninsianna, come here!” 

Ninsianna punched the
man in the face, breaking his hold, and bounded up the banks of the stream. 
She was intelligent enough to realize he could barely stand.  She propped
herself beneath his armpit so he wouldn't fall over, leaving his right hand
free to hold his gun.  Smart.  She screamed something at the olive-skinned man
that left a pained expression on his face before it turned to hatred.  A
lover’s quarrel? 

Blood roared in his
ears.  A dark tunnel closed in around his field of vision as he fought to
remain conscious.  He leaned on Ninsianna for support.

“Go on!  Get the hell
out of here!” Mikhail shouted. 

The dark-skinned
assailant complied.  The moment the man was out of sight, he allowed the
blackness to claim him.

Sometime later he
became aware of his head being cradled in Ninsianna's lap.  Fingertips caressed
his cheek, the sensation causing his skin to tingle with pleasant warmth.  Her
voice was almost hypnotic.  The sun had shifted towards the horizon, so he must
have been out for quite some time.  The scent of fresh-crushed leaves with a
slightly astringent odor wafted up from the wound in his chest.  Medicinal
herbs?  Not bad for the root race.

Damantia!
  The thought flitted through his mind and left before
he could grab hold of it.  Root race.  Root race.  What in Hades did
that
mean? 
He had the urgent feeling he was supposed to communicate that piece of information
to
somebody,
but he couldn't remember who, or why it was so important! 

His lack of memory was
a danger.  Without Ninsianna, he would be dead right now.  He could still
become
dead if key survival skills eluded him when he needed them.  He couldn't
recall who he was, but he had the feeling he was not
used to relying
upon the good will of others.  He looked up into the face which stared at him
upside down.

“Hello?”  He searched
her unusual tawny-beige eyes. 

She murmured something
which could be hello, or thank you, or I want to smash your skull in with a
rock.  By her smile, it appeared to be gratitude.

“Who was that?” he
asked, knowing she couldn't understand him.

“Who?” she repeated,
recognizing the word.  “Jamin.” 

She pointed in the
direction her assailant had run away and muttered a string of words.  By the
way she wrinkled her nose in disgust; he guessed this Jamin was a disgruntled
former boyfriend.

“Who … Jamin?”  He
pointed in the direction the man had disappeared.  Had she
really
picked
up his language that quickly?

Ninsianna nodded yes. 
“Jamin.” 

It appeared she shared
the same underlying non-verbal body language as his race.  Not wanting to make
any assumptions, he nodded his head and said “
sua
[yes].”  Then he
nodded his head and said “
aon
[no].”  He did it several more times until
she understood.

“Yes,
sua
,
Jamin!”  She pinched her nose as if blocking out a bad smell.  She laughed, a
delightful, musical sound.  Definitely somebody she knew. 

Her face, her entire
body, even her language was animated.  He couldn't remember who he was, but he
had the feeling his people were not as expressive as the unusual woman who had
saved his life. 

“Let’s get back to the
ship,” Mikhail said.  He attempted to sit up.

“Up,” she said in her
own language, pointing up.  Mikhail repeated the word and then said it in his
own language, “
suas
.”  She repeated the words as she helped him to his
feet, laughing with delight as she experimented with the unfamiliar words
rolling off of her tongue.  She propped herself beneath his armpit like a
crutch, wrapping one arm around his waist to stabilize him as they made their
way back to his ship.  Once again, he was aware of that feeling of warmth, a
lessening of his pain wherever she touched him.

“Back here.”  He pointed
past the bridge to the sleeping quarters.  “I can't remember my own name, but
for some reason I remember the layout of my ship.”  His fingers automatically
found the light switch built into his bunk.  By the size and number of bunks,
the ship could transport four crew members and a modest cargo.  He appeared to
have been the only person on board at the time of the crash. 

“I need to sit down,”
he said as she maneuvered his splinted wing to turn in the narrow aisle between
the bunks, “before I collapse.”

She examined his
injuries.  The chest wound seeped blood, but otherwise the stitches had held. 
She reached into her satchel and pressed more fresh leaves against the hole in
his chest.  He detected an astringent odor reminiscent of alcohol.  Some type
of medicinal herb, perhaps?

He studied the
unguarded expressions which crossed her face as she gave him water from her
water skin, the one that had started all the trouble when he'd thoughtlessly
drained it.  This time, he only took enough to quench his thirst. 

She pulled dried jerky
and berries from her satchel.  The meat was chewy and salty and the berries
sour, but they were all he'd had to eat in two days.  Taking another draught of
water, she put the rest away.  Pulling back the covers, she pointed to his bed
and barked an order he clearly understood despite the language barrier.

“Up …
suas
?”
Ninsianna pointed towards the ceiling.  She then pointed down and muttered
something in her own language.  She had to repeat the gesture a second time
before he realized she asked what the word for ‘down’ was.

“Down,” he said,
pointing down to the floor.  “
Sios
.”

“
Sua, sios
[yes, you down].”  By her stern expression, she wouldn't to take 'no' for an
answer.  Having just witnessed her punch that Jamin fellow in the face, he
decided it was wise to do as he was told. 

“Down.”  He arranged
his broken wing to minimize his discomfort.  Pointing to the opposite bunk, he
said, “you,
sios
, down.”

“
Sua, sios
[yes, down].”  Ninsianna pulled back her covers and kicked off her crude animal
skin shoes. 

Mikhail gaped as she
slipped off the shawl which served as her dress, leaving herself naked except
for a loincloth fastened around her hips, and slid beneath the covers.  With a
smile of pure innocence, she said something he assumed meant “good night,” and
promptly fell asleep.

He stared at the
trusting woman asleep across the aisle before snapping off the light.  Injuries
or no injuries, his body's reaction at the sight of her disrobing indicated his
people were not accustomed to casual nudity.  She was beautiful, with wavy dark
hair, long eyelashes and full, red lips.  He felt she would compare favorably
to women of his species. 

Drifting off to sleep,
he dreamt of travelling through the stars with his bossy savior in tow.

~ * ~ * ~
* ~ * ~

February -  3,390 BC

Earth:  Crash site

Ninsianna

Such a pleasant dream,
being carried back into that place She-who-is had shown her during her vision;
that lofty perch where she could look down upon the stars and watch them dance
for her.  It felt as though she were floating in a river, the warm water carrying
her weight as the sun streamed down upon her face, carrying her body wherever
the goddess willed it to go.  The goddess directed her towards the shore,
whispering reminders that she'd agreed to manifest
HER
will.  Oh, how
she wished she could drift in this current forever! 

She-who-is whispered a
promise.  As soon as she'd completed her great task, the man
SHE
had
sent to help her people would carry her out to see the stars.

"No! 
Máthair!"
 
She awoke to the sound of a man's voice crying out. 
"Ná gortaítear
sí!  Le do thoil!"

The unfamiliar bed
gave her a moment of panic.  Sky canoe.  Sleeping chamber.  Mikhail.  The lamp
must have gone out. 

"Mhamó! 
Cén fáth nach léi bogadh?  Cá bhfuil Saraqail?" 

Whatever he dreamed
of, it caused Mikhail to flail and whimper as though he were a small boy. 
Moving to his side of the chamber, she felt for a place to sit without sitting
on a wing.  He was having a nightmare. 

Banishing nightmares
was the province of the shaman, magic her father performed for those ridden
with fever.  Caressing his cheek, she sang songs of banishment learned over
years of observation.  Closing her eyes to enter the dream-state, she coaxed
her mind to expand beyond her body so she could slip into his dream.  The
images she could receive thus were not with the clarity she experienced when
She-who-is sent a vision, for her father had refused to teach her how shamans
disciplined their minds to
see. 
But her recent adventure with the
sacred beverage had allowed her mind to peek into realms which had been
previously been open only a tiny crack, allowing her glimpses of the images
which were playing through his mind.

His mind was closed to
her, but she found a crack, a tiny crack where she could slip inside and peek
at what was happening inside of his mind.

"Máthair! 
Máthair!  Tá siad mharaigh tú!" 

Terror!  Blood
splashing upon her cheek.  She cried out in horror and pulled back, unable to
put herself into his dream.  All around her, she could feel a malevolence so
powerful it felt as though it would crush the universe within its maw.  No! 
She couldn't do this!  Not even for She-who-is!!!

'Ninsianna …
please...'

Ninsianna trembled in
fear.  She didn't want to touch this evil.  She didn't even want to
see
the
evil which pursued the small boy she'd caught a glimpse of in his dream!

'This memory causes
him great pain.  He won't allow me to remove it as he feels it's part of who he
is, but he placed his fate into your hands when you saved his life.  Perhaps he
will allow -you- to alleviate his suffering?'

Ninsianna felt the
thread of She-who-is's mind grow stronger, whispering what she must do.  Her
hand slipped back to caress his cheek.  Her lips moved in exhortations to put
his trust in her
to ease his pain.  He thought she was a spirit, come to
guide him into the dreamtime so that he wouldn't have to journey there alone. 
Invoking the goddess for protection, she slipped back into his nightmare.