Sword of the Gods: Agents of Ki (Sword of the Gods Saga) (14 page)

"Then why…?"

"It is curious, isn't it," the Dark Lord's expression waxed thoughtful, "how the affairs of mortals can cause you to forget we have a larger purpose?"

As he spoke, tenebrous shadows danced around Bishamonten's feet, shapeless, soulless creatures, attracted to his lifespark like moths unto a flame. One of those shadows trembled with agitation, as though something had upset it. The Dark Lord reached down so the tiny shadow could leap into his arms.

"Sometimes, in trying to create good, you inadvertently create harm." The Dark Lord's face turned surprisingly tender, as though the shadow-cat he cradled was an infant. "Isn't that so, old friend?"

"Yes," Bishamonten said. He, like all the old gods, had learned the hard way it was better to remain impartial.

"This dark creature was assigned to watch
HER
Chosen One," the Dark Lord caressed the shadow. "When the Evil One surprised her, it raced back to warn me she was being taken. And now it cannot find her.
None
of us can find her. Moloch has learned to hide things within my own realm."

"Can't you simply track her through her bond to your Champion?" Bishamonten asked.

The Dark Lord's features appeared surprisingly distraught.

"Did you ever do something to please another?" the Dark Lord asked. "Something you
knew
was wrong, but you were so cocky in your vessel's ability to remember why they were there that you
forgot
they are not omniscient as we are?"

A feeling of unease settled into Bishamonten's gut.

"How so, Your Eminence?"

The Dark Lord stared down at the shadow cat, which solidified under its father's ministrations into a soft, black fur ball.

"Sometimes, to please our beloved, we do things that are unwise."

The Dark Lord stared across at the empty table which straddled the chess square upon which lay ensconced the Milky Way.
SHE
was not here today, no doubt searching for her Chosen One. If Ninsianna was not found and permitted to complete her purpose,
HE
would have no choice but to destroy whatever Moloch had touched. The goddess had always possessed a weakness for…

"You interfered?" Bishamonten guessed. "When you allowed
HER
to send him Ninsianna."

"The Chosen One was not supposed to be paired with another player," the Dark Lord said. "We learned our lesson after my
last
champion lost his Morning Star. This Champion searched for another to form the Bond of Ki. When
SHE
substituted her Chosen One to heal him, we thwarted the path of one who was supposed to be there, instead."

"But he has already formed the Bond with her Chosen One," Bishamonten said. "All mortals possess free will. It doesn't matter
who
he bonded with, so long as his mate has given him the connection so he can contain your power."

"No," the Dark Lord's eyes glittered like hard, black diamonds. "She did
not
form the Bond of Ki with him. To do so, she must vow to be bound to him not only in
this
lifetime, but
all
lifetimes for so long as their two souls exist, and that is something the Chosen One will not do!"

It was a good thing that, as a god, Bishamonten no longer needed to eat, for if he had, any supper he'd consumed today probably would have been regurgitated upon the floor. Not only had the Dark Lord interfered when he'd urged the lonely Seraphim to accept the affection offered by Ninsianna, but so had
he.
He
had quietly encouraged his lonely novitiate to
accept
the affections of the Chosen One.

Bishamonten recalled the arguments between the two which he had eavesdropped upon.

"This Chosen One fears the darkness," Bishamonten said.

"And to heal him…."

"She must connect the Bond not only through the light of She-who-is," Bishamonten said.

"But also complete the other end through the Path of Darkness," the Dark Lord said, "through
my
realm, so that the two can always find one another, even in death." The Dark Lord patted the shadow cat, his expression wistful. "This, I can assure you, she has not done. She is like a bolt of lightning that sparks when natural conditions are just so, but without a completed circuit to stabilize her power, she is nothing more than a fleeting flash of light."

"But if the bond is incomplete," Bishamonten's ant-like pinchers spread with exasperation, "then how can she heal her husband?"

"She
can't,
" the Dark Lord said. "Not unless she overcomes her fear of the dark and loves her husband enough to complete the bond. Now that they are separated, I fear she shall never find the strength to make the journey alone."

The tiny shadow cat stretched, then leaped off of its father's lap, rejoining its brothers and sisters which rubbed up against Bishamonten's ankles, attracted by his bluish light.

"What do you need me to do, Sir?" Bishamonten asked.

The Dark Lord pinched his chin between his thumb and forefinger, his expression thoughtful.

"Ki has sent two Watchmen to defeat her former husband," the Dark Lord said. "I have summoned you to make sure that nobody interferes."

"Do you know who they are?" Bishamonten asked.

"I was hoping
you
could enlighten me," the Dark Lord said.

Bishamonten frowned.
Nobody
ever saw an Agent of Ki until
after
they had completed their mission, although having existed through several cycles of the ongoing drama between Ki and her angry ex-husband, he'd been around long enough to recognize certain patterns. Moloch was a master of manipulation, but Ki was even better at it, recruiting Watchmen who, just when you thought the Evil One had won, all of a sudden the last person you expected to be a hero would appear out of nowhere and turn the tide back unto the light.

"The little protégé, perhaps," Bishamonten guessed, "who fought so valiantly to save him?"

"Perhaps," the Dark Lord said. "In which case somewhere there is a second Watchman. Watch for them. Give aid if you are certain they are the ones, and make sure no one else interferes. Not even She-who-is."

Bishamonten glanced over at the empty chess game.
SHE
was notorious for interfering on behalf of her favorites, although normally
HE
was sensible enough not to accede to her every whim. He understood now why he'd been summoned when
SHE
was not in the Infernal Palace. Once already the Dark Lord had allowed a manipulation which had placed his beloved at risk. He would not do so again, even if it meant
SHE
spent a few thousand years refusing to speak to him.

"It shall be so, Your Eminence," Bishamonten bowed.

The Dark Lord's expression solidified back into his inhumanely grim mask, his black eyes pitiless once more. He twirled one finger and, behind him, the back wall to the Infernal Palace opened up to reveal the supermassive black hole which lay at the center of the universe, the one around which all of She-who-is's galaxies orbited. As was always the case, the Dark Lord was busy digesting some unfortunate galaxy whose inhabitants had aroused his ire.

With a blink, Bishamonten was back upon the battlefield, no time having passed, for like all things in the material realm, including the illusion of solidity, time, and death, those things were not
real.
There was really only darkness and the light.

~ * ~ * ~

November 3,390 BC 
(about 20 minutes before the ambush)

Earth:  Mesopotamian Plain

Gita

With the onset of the rainy season, each year the People of the River sent delegates to a grand reunion where traders, craftsmen, and most importantly, the chiefs, discussed issues which, if left unresolved, sometimes festered until one village went to war against another. This year the delegates met in a rocky strip of desert between the two most powerful villages, Nineveh and Assur, who were often at odds even though, technically, they were all supposed to be allies. While the smaller villages had welcomed the Assurian
destek ekibi
or 'B-Team' delegates as Mikhail had christened them, Nineveh was less than enthused to be saddled with a scrawny, black-eyed girl and the portly son of a wheelwright.

"Hey! Girl-boy! Whoa!" the Nineveh chief's son taunted Gita. "I ordered you to fetch my spear!"

Gita forced herself not to fling the crock of simmering lentils at his head. Qishtea was his name, and he'd taken it into to his head to make her life a living hell. He was a tall man, muscular as all within the warrior class were apt to be, with thick, black locks oiled into ostentatious ringlets. A four-fringed kilt signaled his social rank and his body was perfumed with the scent of myrrh. His hirsute beard was braided with gold beads, giving him the look of an older man even though Gita knew he was the same age as Jamin. At least Jamin, curse the goats-teat of a former friend, had never sported that degree of flashy plumage.

Gita lowered her eyes to hide her disdain. It was a trick she'd learned to make people think they had her cowed when, really, she watched from beneath her eyelashes for a weakness. That dark gift of
seeing
showed her just where she should kick the arrogant peacock. Right … in … his … manhood!

"Mikhail says a true warrior never lets anyone but a most trusted friend touch their weapon," Gita spoke softly. "You never know when someone might stab you in the back." Her too-large black eyes glittered like a nocturnal creature as she handed Qishtea his spear. Unlike
her
spear, which was scratched and chipped from combat, Qishtea's obsidian spearhead was sharp and glossy.

"What did you say, girl-boy? You? A warrior?" Qishtea slammed Gita in the chest. "If you think my men are going to take orders from a fat boy and a scrawny girl…"

Gita fell backwards into one of the hot rocks surrounding the cook fire. She bit her lip to suppress the urge to cry. Jamin may have been a pompous jerk, but he'd always treated her fairly, unlike
this
goat's behind who seemed to get off on pushing other people around.

Ipquidad leaped up from where he'd been sitting just outside the ring of warriors. The stocky son of a wheelwright was as much of an outcast as she was, but
him
they ignored, not set to tasks doing woman's work.

"Hey! Leave her alone!" Ipquidad said.

"Or what?" Qishtea stepped menacingly towards Ipquidad. "Just because my father agreed to the winged demon's crazy proposition doesn't mean we
have to obey you! I'm the chief's son.
I'm
in charge."

Ipquidad stood firm, a tall, broad giant. He would only strike if struck first, but Qishtea didn't know that. Gita dusted the dirt out of her worn brown cape with as much dignity as she could muster.

"That's what Jamin said," Gita forced herself to meet Qishtea's glare. "Right before he got banished from our village."

Qishtea stared as if he couldn't believe she'd the audacity to talk back to him, then swung at her with the butt-end of his spear. Gita stepped
into
the arc the way Mikhail had taught them and deflected it with her hand, whispering the prayer which had kept her safe ever since the day the Amorites had killed her mother.

'I'm invisible … I'm invisible … I'm invisible…'

Qishtea blinked, surprised that Gita now held his spear.

Ipquidad stepped between them..

"Or else we shall tell your father you declined Mikhail's offer to teach Nineveh the secrets of the armies of heaven," Ipquidad said, "and how, in Assur, even a
woman
can fend off more attackers than his eldest son." Ipquidad's cheeks flushed red with a sheen of sweat, but he stood up to Qishtea anyway, a gentle giant aroused.