Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One (46 page)

“Let’s get started,”
the Chief announced.  “Jamin will go first.”

“The old windbag
doesn't like getting dirty,” Yalda muttered under her breath.

“Neither does the
son,” Zhila said, “but he doesn't like losing, either.”

Jamin froze at the
starting line then started to run.  The spectators cheered and taunted,
whipping balls of straw as he crawled over the wall.  He dodged glops of mud as
he danced gracefully through a series of squares set up to trip the unwary. 
The ground was muddy and slippery, but he kept his footing.  Hitting the deck,
he crawled through the mud on his hands and knees beneath the third barrier. 
He rose to his feet at the throwing line and hurled his spear at the target. 
It was a near-perfect throw, hitting the target only a half-inch beneath
dead-center.  Looking very much like a muddy chicken with straw sticking to the
mud, Jamin threw his hands into the air in a victory V.  The crowd cheered.

“That was a good run,”
Mikhail acknowledged.

“Piece of cake!” 
Ninsianna turned and gave him a big smile.

“I think that last
barrier will be a problem.”

“Why?”

“I'm too big," he
said.  "I'm not certain I can crawl under that last obstacle without
getting stuck.”  He watched as more contestants ran the gauntlet, getting
coated with mud from the course itself, or from the spectators gleefully
pelting them with mud and straw.  The most enthusiastic mud throwers appeared
to be the families of the person running the gauntlet.

Ninsianna looked at
him and frowned.  “
You're
not too big.  It's your wings that will give
you trouble.  Couldn't you just pin them to your sides like you do when you
wear your dress uniform?”

“That’s uncomfortable,”
he said.  “It will impede my ability to crawl.”

“Poor pretty Angelic,”
Ninsianna teased in a singsong voice.  “Doesn't want to get his feathers all
dirty crawling through the muck.”

“Whatever you do,
don't touch the barrier,” Zhila said.  “If you touch it, you're disqualified.”

“You're going to have
to slide through on your belly,” Yalda said.  “Like a snake.”

“Aren’t you glad you
took off your shirt?” Zhila's features curved upwards into a toothless grin.

Mikhail glanced down
at the hideous, sunken hole in his chest.  He didn't think he'd ever been one
to care much for his appearance one way or another, but he'd noticed more than
one
unabashed stare the moment he'd stripped off his shirt.  Spectators
whispered about the wound which should have killed him.  At least it had healed
enough that a crawl through the mud shouldn't cause any harm.

“Ninsianna, you're
next,” Immanu called.

“Stop consorting with
the enemy, daughter!”  Needa poked Ninsianna in the belly.  “Or we'll never get
any olives.”

Ninsianna walked to
the starting line and prepared to make her run.

“Here,” Yalda gave him
a handful of mud.  “You're supposed to distract her so she has a harder time
concentrating on her throw.”

“But won’t that make
her lose?”

“Better to lose
here," Zhila said, "than in battle.”

Ninsianna leaped over
the first wall, as graceful as a gazelle.  Immanu pelted her with mud, followed
by a well-aimed skein of straw thrown by Zhila.  For an old lady who claimed
she couldn't see, Zhila certainly could have fooled him!  As she ran through
the foot-boxes, Needa ran along the sidelines cheering her on and pelting her
with skeins of straw.  She dove under the third barrier, covering herself with
mud from head to toe.

“Now, Mikhail.  Now!”
Yalda shouted.  “Take her out!” 

Just as she rose to
her feet, he took aim and let fly a large glop of mud.  Mud balls appeared to
be a weapon he was unfamiliar with because his aim was off.  The glop
splattered on the side of her cheek.

“Later…” she mouthed,
her golden eyes flashing with fire.  She reached the throwing line, wound up
her throw, and let fly her spear just as Yalda let loose a double-handful of
straw.  Ninsianna’s aim was true.  She hit the target, but not well enough to
beat Jamin’s throw.

“Too bad,” Immanu said
to Needa.  “No olives tonight.”

“Maybe Mikhail will
share?”  Needa turned and gave him a hopeful smile.

“Those olives…” said
Yalda.

“Are ours…” said
Zhila.

“Unless you have
something nice to trade?” Yalda suggested.

“Hey,” Needa said in
her most charming voice.  "We let you borrow our new son."

“We shall discuss the
terms of surrender after the competition,” Yalda laughed.

Ninsianna was not too
upset at her inability to beat Jamin’s aim.  She pranced up to them covered
from head to foot in mud and straw.  “Sorry Mama and Papa … no olives this
year.”

“That’s okay,” Immanu
laughed.  He stepped back and held his hands out in front of him.  “Half the
fun is watching
you
have fun.”

As she approached her
mother, Needa put out both of her hands as well and said, “No you don't!!!” 
She bent in and whispered something in Ninsianna's ear. 

Ninsianna laughed. 
She turned to Mikhail and gave him her most fetching smile.  He gave her a
puzzled look, trying to put the odd social interaction between she and her
parents into context and trying very hard not to stare at the muddy breast
which had escaped her too-small shawl.  With a grin, she came bounding over to
where he stood like a tall, winged tree.

“Hug?”  She leaped
into his arms and pressed her muddy body against the length of his bare chest
to give him a wet, muddy kiss. 

Not sure what to do,
Mikhail caught and held her, looking into her golden eyes as his breath caught
in his throat. 

"Ninsianna?"

Her parents and their
elderly neighbors began to laugh.  This appeared to be a well-known
post-competition prank, but he didn't care that she'd just coated him with mud
in front of the entire village.  All that mattered was that he now held the
beautiful, muddy female who had taken up residence in his dreams.  He was
mindful of the fact her parents watched, sizing up what his reaction would be. 
He suppressed the urge to kiss her back.

“Those two have it
bad,” Yalda whispered to her sister.

“It's only a matter of
time,” Zhila whispered back.

Mikhail put her down. 
“You got me all muddy.”

“That was the idea.” 
Ninsianna's cheeks turned bright pink.  “You're up next.”

Mikhail crouched at
the starting line, waiting for the Chief to give the command to start.  What
would be an advantage on the first obstacle, the wall, would be a detractor on
the third, crawling underneath the stanchion.  He needed to sink down into the
mud to fit.  His heartbeat slowed.  He forced his mind to focus on a single
goal. 
Beat … Jamin's … score.
  His hand tightened around the shaft of
the spear.

“Go!”

His wings spread for
balance, he sailed over the first barrier without flapping to gain the unfair
advantage of flight.  He tried not to cringe as Yalda pelted him with mud.  He
may have no memory of his past, but getting pelted with mud balls registered no
familiarity, although dodging blasts from a pulse rifle came to mind.  Running
through the foot-barriers, he ducked two mud balls thrown by Immanu and Needa,
but he caught some of Zhila's straw.  The other villagers ganged up to pelt him
with all manner of messy guck, but he could detect no malice in their faces,
only laughter as they used the license granted by the games to take pot shots
at the biggest male in their village.

Diving under the third
barrier, he stretched his wings straight behind his back in an unnatural pose
no winged creature would ever willingly assume and wriggled on his belly.  He
was still too big!  Meshing the feathers of one wing into the other, he
wriggled like a snake through the muddy guck until he got to the other side. 
Ninsianna waited with a victorious grin as she blew a kiss, and then pelted him
with a double handful of mud.  Payback … for his earlier bad aim.  He couldn't
help but smile as she bent to follow through with a handful of straw.

Focus on the target! 
He leaped over the last barrier to reach the throwing line and spun the spear
once before winding up his best throwing pose.  Become one with the spear…  He
let it fly.  It hit dead center before punching through the target into the
field beyond.  He would have to wait until the other contestants threw before
seeing if he'd won, tied, or lost.

The spectators
cheered, clapped, and cat-called as he sauntered back to the two elderly
liege-ladies whom he championed for these games.  Thick, yellow mud covered him
from head to toe, including his wings.  Ninsianna gave him a nervous smile and
tried to slip away before he could repay her for her earlier mischief.

“Are you going to let
her get away with that?” Yalda asked.

“Better be quick,
boy!” Zhila poked his muddy belly.  “Before she gets away from you.”

Ninsianna saw his
intense focus and broke into a run.  She hid behind her parents, squealing like
a piglet being pursued by an angry dog.

“Don't look at us,”
Immanu laughed.

“We’re not going to
save you,” Needa said.

“An eye for an eye…”
Immanu said in a mock-serious voice.  He looked at Mikhail and nodded.  He was
being given permission. 

Mikhail leaped into
the air, flapping his wings to close the distance between them.  It hurt.  But
the warm Mesopotamian wind caught his wings like a lover, caressing the leading
edge and reminding him what it had been like to fly.  This … he remembered. 
Thousands of tiny muscles stretched into her embrace, flaring each feather to
hear the sweet song of flight.  The first mistress any winged creature made
love to was the wind.  She tickled his sensitive feathers and whispered which
way she wished to carry him, urging him towards climax.

He tilted his wings to
catch her caresses, instinct taking over.  Uplift.  He twisted his legs to make
up for the lack of a tail, stabilizing his flight as he embraced his fickle
mistress and rode her into the sky.  The spectators laughed, then stopped in
shock as they realized he'd just regained the ability to fly.  To
truly
fly. 
Not just use his wings as a kite to glide over obstacles. 

The Emperor had bred
his species to hunt.  With the sharp eyes of an eagle, he spied Ninsianna
slipping into the crowd, unaware he'd taken to the air in her haste to escape
his playful wrath.  He was the hunter and she the prey.  He tucked his wings
into his sides and dove like a hawk.  The wind whistled past his ears, singing
exhalations at his return to her bosom.

Ninsianna paused when
she didn't see him pursue her and never thought to look up.  Swooping down from
the sky like an eagle, he grabbed her, just barely touching the ground as he
adjusted for her weight, and strained to lift the both of them into the air. 
Ninsianna shrieked, pressing the length of her body against his in terror.

“I owe you this,” he
laughed, wrapping his arms around her so she wouldn't fall.  His enormous dark
wings flapped, straining to free her from the grasp of gravity, her jealous
lover.  He reached into the air and pulled, tilting his wings until the wind
aided their escape.  Pain shot down the damaged wing, protesting his abuse, but
it held.  Pain didn't matter.  Only Ninsianna … and flight … mattered to him
now.  He pushed aside the pain and shot back into the sky. 

Ninsianna screamed. 
She slid her arms around his neck, her legs flailing like a prey animal trying
to escape the eagle's grasp.  He caught the lazy updraft over the Hiddekel
River and leveled off.   

This was what he'd
been bred to do…

Ninsianna’s shriek
echoed in his ears, but combined with her terror he heard exhilaration as she relished
the feeling of becoming one with the wind.  Their eyes met, stealing the breath
from his lungs as he forgot to breathe.  Looking deep into her golden eyes, he
finally succumbed to the urge to kiss her, greedily tasting the luscious red
lips that had tempted him from the moment he'd woken up in his crashed ship
with no memory of his past.  With a moan, she wrapped her legs around his for
stability.  Warmth spread through his body as he sought out her tongue.  She
hesitantly, and then with increasing boldness, tasted the inside of his mouth,
murmuring his name as she forgot her terror.

“Mikhail,” her lips
pressed against his ear so the wind wouldn't steal her words.  “You can fly…”

“With you … I can do
anything.” 

He adjusted his wings
so they could circle in the lazy updraft from the river valley below like the
mated pair of golden eagles who forever circled the river in search of fish. 
Mud.  Ninsianna’s face was now as streaked with mud as his was.  It was the
most beautiful sight he'd ever seen.  With a mischievous grin, he added:

“And now you are
covered in mud too, my love.”

~ * ~ * ~
* ~ * ~