Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One (62 page)

“You can't deny
physical beings love,” Asclepius said.  “That's why they accepted your offer to
descend in the first place, and that's why they are now declining your offer
now, no matter
how
tempting the mortal shells you offer them to
inhabit.”

“Either way, the
hybrid races are doomed to die out,” Hashem said.  “Your way just means it will
happen sooner.”

“Shay’tan has within
his grasp the solution to your problem.”  Asceplius hoped She-who-is wouldn't
be upset he'd volunteered that last little tidbit of information.  Hashem and
Shay'tan were not the
only
gods who liked to play chess...

“What?” Hashem asked. 
“Please explain…”

“It's forbidden,”
Asceplius said.  “I have already said too much.  End of discussion.”

Hashem understood the
code words ‘It's forbidden … end of discussion.’  The old gods had developed
such code amongst themselves when they needed to divulge a piece of information
that She-who-is, or more importantly, He-who’s-not, might not approve of.  It
meant ‘pay attention to what I just said because it's important.’

“And the child?” 
Hashem pretended he hadn't heard.

“Tell the parents they
must care for their son themselves,” Asceplius said. 

“Can’t you help?”
Hashem asked.  “You were, after all, once a physician?”

“You know that
interference is forbidden,” Asclepius said.  “I don't want to deal with
HIM.”

Asclepius sensed the
ripple of fear which radiated through his old friend's consciousness at the
mere mention of
HIS
name.  It was not She-who-is who forbade all use of
ascended powers in the material realms, but the Guardian, He-who’s-not.  Anyone
who caused more than the tiniest ripple in the fabric of consciousness of the
universe would have to deal with
HIM.

Hashem released his
hold on the ascended realms.  It took an enormous act of will to cram a
consciousness as big as his across the barriers which separated time and
space.  The other old gods would never admit it, but they admired him.  If and
when Hashem decided to stop mucking around in the real world, he would prove a
formidable contestant for his
own
universe.

As would Shay’tan. 
Oooh … scary thought…

Asclepius focused his
consciousness towards the child.  Its parents huddled together, breathing along
with their dying son as he struggled to take every breath.  Asclepius took pity
on them.  Just because he'd long ago shed his material form didn't mean he
couldn't remember what it had been like to feel pain.  It was just a nudge... 

Reaching out with his
mind, he directed a tiny tendril of consciousness into that part of the
infant's body that struggled to hold onto the lifespark and strengthened it. 
Small enough that
HE
wouldn't notice. 

Let Hashem do the rest
… and pay the price. 

~ * ~ * ~
* ~ * ~

July -  3,390 BC

Earth:  Village of Assur

Colonel Mikhail Mannuki’ili

Mikhail

He'd just barely begun
to drift off to sleep when he heard a frantic pounding on the door. 

“Mikhail!  Wake up!!!”

He recognized her
voice.  Gisou.  One of his archers.  Rolling out of his cot and knocking aside
the curtain which separated it from the main living quarters, he hurried to the
door.

“Gisou?  What
happened.”

“They have Pareesa!!!”
she cried.  “They grabbed us on our way home from the bush a few miles
upriver.  I think … I think I shot one of them!”

The others came up behind
him.  “Mikhail, what is wrong?”

“They got Pareesa!” 
His eyes turned icy as he instinctively snapped into combat mode.  “Gisou … how
long ago?”

“We were in the woods
tracking deer when they ambushed us,” Gisou said.  “I got away, but I had to
hide until they gave up looking for me.  It took me nearly an hour to run
back.”

“How many?” Mikhail
asked.

“There were eight,
maybe nine, of them.”  Gisou wrapped her arms around herself.  “They had three
women with them.  Tied up.  I didn't recognize them.  I don't think they were
Ubaid.”

“Come inside, dear.” 
Needa led the frantic girl indoors and sat her down at the table.  “Ninsianna …
get that blanket.”

“Did you see which
direction they headed?” he asked.

“I think they were
heading into the hills,” Gisou said.  “I speak a little Halifian.  I overheard
the leader say something about meeting with slave traders.  I think they are
planning an attack.”

“Immanu,” Mikhail
ordered.  “Go warn the Chief we have raiders on our perimeter.  Ninsianna … go
wake up the other archers.  You need to provide cover for our warriors if they
attempt to raid the village.  Take a position on a rooftop like we discussed. 
You will be in charge.”

“Where will you be?” 
Ninsianna watched him grab his pulse rifle and sword from underneath his cot.

Mikhail began to utter
clicking meditations in the Cherubim language, the meditations so deeply
ingrained into his psyche that even memory loss had not been able to erase them
from his mind.  The meditations about how to kill.  His blood turned into ice
as his training kicked in and transformed him from an Angelic soldier into a
Cherubim killing machine
^[4]
. 

Some part of his mind
watched himself prepare for battle with detached curiosity, the Cherubim
training to separate his ability to feel from his ability to think giving him
an edge over an ordinary soldier.  The raiders had taken one of his own. 
He
would get her back.  His only concession to emotion was to pause long
enough to kiss Ninsianna before leaping over the threshold, into the air, and into
the light of the waxing moon to search for his littlest archer.

“The gods will have no
mercy on the ones who took Pareesa,” Immanu said.

~ * ~ * ~
* ~ * ~

July – 3,390 BC

Earth:  Village of Assur

Ninsianna

They came at them not from
the direction Gisou had encountered Pareesa’s captors, but a much larger band
attempting to raid the houses at the western edge of the village.  As had
happened in the other villages, attackers peppered the defenders with arrows to
push them back a safe distance while a second group tried to gain access by
giving each other a hands-up over the outermost walls.  The Chief's
intelligence indicated they always attacked at night, while people slept, so
that the villagers wouldn't have time to organize a defense.  If not for
Gisou’s warning...

"Light the
arrows!"

Ninsianna gave the
signal.  Small bursts of fire ignited from the other rooftops where the archers
crouched, dipping arrows wrapped in a thin rag soaked with tallow into clay
pots with live coals.  The Halifians may have discovered the technology first,
but Mikhail had taught them to create 'tracer arrows' only within the last few
days, a strategy which had never occurred to the raiders.  Ninsianna drew her
bow back to her cheek, her arm aimed high so that the descending arrows would
land in the midst of the advancing raiders.  The other archers followed suit. 
Her arm trembled, wrent with tension from the bowstring.

"Fire!"
Ninsianna shouted.  She loosened her fingertips the tiniest bit so the movement
wouldn't cause her aim to go amiss.  On either side the other archers did the
same.  The whoosh of arrows sounded like the goddess' breath, the wind,
followed by the screams of injured and dying men. 

"Again!" 

She pulled another
arrow from her quiver, a regular one this time, and led the archers through a
second volley, and then a third.  The fiery rags betrayed the attacker's
nighttime position.  Unfortunately, the archers were still awkward with their
inexperience … or how many arrows they'd carved to fill their quivers.  The
Halifians had kidnapped their best archer, Pareesa, and Mikhail was not
fighting in their midst.  Cover fire could only do so much.

With shouts of rage,
the Halifians slew the three Assurians defending the narrow alley between the
outermost row of houses built wall-to-wall to create a barrier from just such
an attack and poured through the gap like scarab beetles swarming a carcass in
the desert. 

"They're inside
the village!" Alalah shouted.

Ninsianna looked from
the Halifians swarming both sides of the rooftop where the archers were perched
and made a decision.  She didn't need the whispers of She-who-is to realize
they were about to be trapped.

“Fall back!” Ninsianna
shouted as the warriors retreated.  “Alalah, Orkedeh, that roof over there! 
Take Kiana with you.”

“I suggest three
groups,” Behnam said.  “I'll take that rooftop there.  The crenellation should
provide cover.”  Behnam might be old, but until he'd become too frail to fight
hand-to-hand, he'd been a warrior of her grandfather Lugalbanda's generation
and also one of the few men in the village who had ever indulged Ninsianna's
curiosity about the art of warfare until Mikhail had come to their village. 
His suggestions were welcome.

“Yadidatum!  Homa. 
Follow Behnam,” Ninsianna shouted.  “Gisou, you’re with me!”

They ran along the
rooftops, the houses built so that the wall of one house met the next, until
they reached a place they could descend safely.  One by one, they scurried down
the pine log leaning against the side of the house, branch nubs left intact to
make a ladder, and ran to the new positions she'd determined was the best place
to make a second stand.  Houses
inside
the inner row tended to be built
freestanding.  They scurried up ladders to their new perches and resumed
shooting cover fire.  They were almost out of arrows! 

She heard a noise
behind her and turned to fire.  Pareesa’s nine-year-old brother Namhu skittered
up onto the roof carrying a quiver of his sister's arrows and a miniature bow.

“She would want you to
have these.”  The boy handed her the extra arrows.

“Thank you!” Ninsianna
said, giving silent thanks to She-who-is.

“I can help you
fight,” Namhu said eagerly.  “Pareesa taught me.”

In spite of what was
happening on the ground below, Ninsianna smiled.  She opened her mouth to tell
the boy he was too young, and thought better of it.  That was not what Mikhail
would do.

“Yes,” Ninsianna
said.  “You can help us fight.  You have younger sisters at home, don't you?”

“Yes,” Namhu said. 
"And a baby brother!"

“These men are trying
to steal them,” Ninsianna said.  “Go home and make them hide.  If they come
after you, shoot them.  Do you think you can do that for me?”

“Yes,” Namhu said.

She held her breath as
the boy skittered back down the ladder amongst warriors fighting for their
lives and stray Halifian arrows to make his way home.  The words of the Song of
the Sword came into her mind.  The part about raising armies from the dust. 
Yes.  You didn't get much closer to raising armies from dust than recruiting a
nine-year-old boy to do a man’s job.  Or at least sending him home to defend
his family if the men failed.  The Halifians had a long history of killing any
witnesses.