Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One (17 page)

His expression grew
wistful as he remembered the feel of her soft flesh yielding beneath his.  She
had not been the Supreme Commander-General then.  No.  Jophiel had let
him
take
the lead, even though he was inexperienced.  The way she'd risen up to meet
him, her cries as he'd brought her to climax again and again, the tears that
had come into her eyes as they'd lain entangled together after lovemaking. 
Raphael wouldn't give up that memory no matter
how
much it hurt now that
she'd banished him to the opposite end of the galaxy.

Glicki's under-wings
whirred to accentuate her understanding.  Beneath their hard exoskeletons, all
Mantoids were hopeless romantics.  Raphael was not the
only
creature who
had ever had his heart broken.  Just the only one foolish enough to give his
heart and soul to someone who had told him, from the outset, that their
relationship could never have a future.

“I really wish I had
not given her my heart,” Raphael mumbled.

Glicki refilled both
of their glasses.  “Maybe Mikhail has the right idea? 

“I wish I had listened
to him,” Raphael said.  “At least the part about keeping up my emotional guard
while I serviced her.”

“Jophiel has to set an
example,” Glicki said.  “Even if she
wanted
to form closer relations
with you, she can’t.  Every hybrid in the fleet would be behind her in a
heartbeat.”

“She doesn't care
about me,” Raphael mumbled into his glass of liquor.  “I'm nothing but another
one of Hashem’s pawns.” 

He felt quite
inebriated right now.  It was a good thing his shift was done for the day.  He
almost never imbibed.  Only after a call from Jophiel reminded him the ship he
commanded was a consolation prize.

“She calls you every
week,” Glicki said gently.  “Over matters some underling far beneath her could
handle.  I think the reason she sent you so far away is because she knows you
would break down her resolve.”

“Mmmmffff,” Raphael
moaned.  “You’ve been watching those Mantoid soap operas again.  I think it's
time to help me back to my quarters before I land face-down on the floor and
make an ass out of myself in front of my crew.  The room is beginning to spin.”

“Yes, Sir.”  Glicki
helped him back to his quarters to sleep it off.

~ * ~ * ~
* ~ * ~

February 3,390 BCE

Earth:  Crash site

Colonel Mikhail Mannuki’ili

Mikhail

“
C
upán
,”
Mikhail said in Galactic Standard, holding up a mug from the ship's galley.

“Cup.” Ninsianna
repeated her own word for the drinking implement.

Mikhail took a long,
sweet draught and relished the sensation of the earthy beverage sliding down
his throat.  Perhaps it was his recent brush with death, but had the simple act
of drinking water ever brought so much pleasure?  Or was it because Ninsianna had
refused to leave when her father begged her to come home?  He suspected her
refusal had more to do with avoiding her spurned lover than any desire to help
him
,
but with his memory missing and ship ruined, it wasn’t as though he had
anything
better
to do.  Tackling a new language would take his mind off
his injuries. 

“Drink.”  Ninsianna
lifted the cup to her lips and took a sip, listening intently as he taught her
the word for the act of drinking.  She refilled his mug from her water skin and
ordered, “
deoch
… drink!”

Her lips moved from
satisfied smile to stern ‘do as I say or else’ authority as she gestured for
him to actually
drink
and not just watch
her
drink..  He
suspected women of his own species were not nearly as expressive by how
fascinating he found every facial gesture, the sound of her voice rising and
falling with emotion, the way her entire body moved as she communicated.

“
Ith
… eat.” 
Ninsianna handed him more salty dried meat.  She gestured as though she were
putting food into her own mouth.

“
Uimh
… no.” 
Mikhail shook his head.

“
Ith
… eat.” 
Anger flashed in her eyes as she pointed first to the food, and then to his
belly. "
Nasıl sen
yemezseniz iyileşmesi gerekiyor
?"

Mikhail added
'willful' to his list of descriptors.  He took a piece of the salty dried meat
and chewed, examining her body language as he ate.  She rewarded him with a
smile, then frowned as she noticed his intense gaze.  He could see it made her
uncomfortable.

“
Tusa anois
…
you sleep.”  Ninsianna gestured to the sleeping chamber using words she had
learned only moments before.

“
Uimh
… no. 
Níl mé tuirseach
[not tired].”  He knew she understood the word no,
but not the rest of his sentence.

“
Tusa anois
…
you sleep, now,” Ninsianna ordered again.  “
Ghortaigh tú
…
you hurt.”  Taking his hand, she tugged until he stood up. 

Lingering dizziness
and the imbalance caused by his broken wing made him unsteady.  Each breath
brought excruciating pain, but he'd finally stopped coughing up blood.  She
wedged her shoulder  under his arm to help him keep his balance, a doll-like
crutch.  That feeling of warmth he always experienced whenever she brushed
against him made him tingle, as though she were charged with a pleasant form of
electricity which could speed his healing.

He gave her a regretful
sigh.  Immanu had exacted one promise before he'd left … that he would not
defile his daughter!  An instinctive voice whispered that his kind took
intimate relations very seriously.   He grabbed the errant thought and was
frustrated when it disappeared.  Whatever the subconscious warning meant, it
fit the promise he'd made the young woman's father.  No matter how tempting the
fruit she offered, Ninsianna was off limits.

“You … sleep … now.” 
Ninsianna helped him to the edge of his bunk. 

Actually, he
was
pretty
tired. 

“Yes,” Mikhail
grumbled, “sleep now.”

He arranged his broken
wing.  No matter how he lay, the splint hurt, but he didn't dare remove it. 
The rest would heal, but the hole in his chest and broken wing would take
time.  The fact his heart still beat was obvious because he was still alive,
but would he ever be able to fly again?  When he closed his eyes and stretched
his good wing, in his mind's eye he could feel the wind.

“
Go raibh maith agat
… thank you.”  Mikhail looked into her tawny beige
eyes.  The color darkened to an almost pure gold.  A color that was …
familiar.  The sensation he was supposed to report that information to somebody
clenched at his gut.  He had a mission to complete.  One he could not remember.

“
Tusa anois
…
you sleep, now.” 

Ninsianna stood above
him like the spirit from the dreamtime he'd first mistaken her to be, and
placed her hand upon his cheek.  His breath caught in his chest at the
unexpected feel of her touch.  This time, it was not because stitches tugged at
his punctured lung.  He didn't think he was used to the casual way her kind
touched one another.  It did things to him.  Not touching her in return would
be a promise he would wish he'd never made! 

Mikhail settled his
uninjured wing over himself to make a warm, downy blanket.  Before his head
even sank into the pillow, he was out cold.

~ * ~ * ~
* ~ * ~

February – 3,390 BC

Earth:  Crash site

Ninsianna

Ninsianna couldn't
help but touch the powerful wings which rose and fell against his back with
every breath, even in sleep filled with the impression that he wished to soar
into the sky.  He looked so peaceful nestled into his little bunk, one dark
wing wrapped around himself for warmth.  Who needed covers when She-who-is had
endowed you with a natural down blanket? 

In sleep, the
unreadable expression he habitually wore softened, giving him the countenance
of an adolescent boy, although that could just be the lack of the rough shadow
that appeared on Ubaid men's chins if they went too long between scrapings with
an obsidian blade.  She'd used what few words they shared to ask him how old he
was.  He couldn't remember, but felt he was not considered old amongst his
people. 

Her fingertips traced
the pink tint which had finally begun to come back into his pale skin, relishing
the difference from the dark, hawkish appearance of most Ubaid men.  She could
sit contentedly in the bunk opposite him all day, just staring, but to do so
wouldn't be polite.  She turned off the magic lamp and slipped out of the
sleeping quarters.

“Mother,” she resumed
her customary dialogue with She-who-is as she amused herself by exploring the
great sky canoe.  “He is a peculiar one, and not just because he has wings!  He
never smiles, or laughs, or frowns.  Or shows any emotion whatsoever.  He just
scrutinizes me as though I'm a string of numbers to add up in his head!” 

She rifled through the
cabinet that contained the strange garments he wore, filled with wonder at the
seven identical pairs of khaki beige shirts, leg coverings he called 'pants,'
and under garments.  Seven pairs!  Of each!  And a second pair of the sturdy
animal hide foot coverings he called 'boots!'  She owned two
outfits,
one more than most Ubaid, and Papa owned three.  Even the Chief only had five! 
Mikhail must be a very wealthy man!  

Not finding anything
of further interest, she rummaged through the galley, searching for food. 
There must be
something
here to eat?  She was tired of eating dried meat
and berries!  She found cups, platters, and eating implements made of a strange
material, but nothing that looked like a cooking pot, storage baskets, or
food. 

“How can a man cross
the stars and not provision his canoe with food?"

She set about clearing
up the room he called galley, gingerly moving the colored spider webs he called
‘wires.’  She'd learned the hard way that some of them possessed lightning and
would bite her fingertips, leaving her with an unpleasant tingling if she
didn't treat them with respect.  Magic.  Although it was a form she had never
encountered before, the winged one possessed great magic!

“Do you think perhaps
the problem is that he finds me unattractive?” Her brow furrowed in worry. 
“This is the first time I've ever been interested in a man who has indicated no
interest in
me!
" 

She worked silently, turning
over in her mind what the problem might be.  If
he
was so attractive,
what were the females of his species like?  Did he find her as squat and ugly
as she found most Ubaid men?

"Perhaps I ask
too much of you, Mother?  How silly you must find my petty demands!  Find me a
husband!  No!  I don't like that husband!  Find me a better one!"