Sword of the Gods: Agents of Ki (Sword of the Gods Saga) (49 page)

"Knock before you come in, please," Ninsianna said. She touched Lerajie's cheek the same way she had flirted with Mikhail. "It terrifies the women to see you."

She noted the way Lerajie trembled beneath her touch. Good. There was more than
one
way for a clever woman to defeat an enemy. Before Lerajie could say yes or no, she gave him her warmest, most fetching smile, stepped backwards into the harem, and shut the door firmly in the Angelic's face.

Ha! Seducing an Angelic was way too easy!

~ * ~ * ~

Fear not this night

We will not go astray

Though shadows fall

Still the stars find
their way.

--
Fear Not This Night
by
Malukah
--

December: 3,390 BC

Earth: Village of Assur

Gita

A brilliant blue star pierced the ceiling of the world and hurtled towards the earth, incinerating all in its path. That small, dark voice whispered not to be afraid; this light was different than the others; this light would not burn her. Gita hurried across the brightening desert, blinking as the sun rose.

Hurry, the voice whispered. You must hurry or you will be too late!

She followed the star to the place it had embedded itself into the Earth, a large, silver object smoldering from the impact. She found a crack large enough to squeeze through and crawled inside. There, impaled through the chest, was a man unlike any she had ever seen before. A man with … wings?

He opened his eyes and spoke to her in a language which was not hers, and yet, somehow she was able to understand his words.

“Are you a spirit sent to guide me into the dreamtime?”

The man's expression was strangely calm given the precariousness with which he clung to life. Blood trickled down one side of his mouth and out his nose, never a good sign.

“I’m here to help you,” Gita said.

She assessed his wounds, but she had never been trained as a healer. What to do? She did not know what to do!

She pulled out the rod which impaled his chest and slipped her fingers into the hole from which gushed forth his life's blood. His heart beat against her fingertips like the tender kisses of butterfly wings, a good heart, a strong heart, the heart, she knew of a lion. This man was blessed by the gods, but the gods were not here now and, she, Gita, did not know how to heal him. She had been too young when the temple had been destroyed to learn the words to the Song.

"I am sorry," Gita wept. "I do not know how to heal this wound."

The man gave her an apologetic smile as if -he- wished to reassure -her.-

“I have never feared death," blood seeped from his mouth. "Only to wander eternity alone as I have been forced to spend my life."

"Do not fear the dark,” Gita said. "For eternity can be your friend."

"What's your name?" the man asked.

That small, quiet voice whispered not to say it. Song. Her name meant song.

"You can call me Chol Beag," Gita said the strange, foreign endearment which the dark voice whispered into her mind. "What's -your- name?"

"Mikhail."

She pressed a cloth against the hole in his chest, but to no avail. The blood kept flowing and -she- was inadequate to heal it. Gita began to cry.

"I don't know what else to do!"

Mikhail's expression was both trusting and grateful. “Please don't cry. I die happy that a beautiful spirit has come to accompany me into the next life." His hand squeezed hers. "I shall wait there on the threshold for you, just but on the other side."

She sat with him until he slid from consciousness, his heart beat growing weaker as his life's blood seeped from his body. She -must- have the power to heal him or the Great Mother would not have sent her to him, but her father had thwarted the goddess by making sure she would never learn the song.

She sat, helpless, as Mikhail's spirit stretched towards the dreamtime, his heartbeat weakening as he lost the battle to cling to life.

"Sing, child," that small, dark voice whispered to her. "Sing for him, even if your song is imperfect. For it is not the words that matter, but the intention in your heart."

“Mmmmmmfffff…..”

Gita groaned as she rose towards consciousness. With a start, she realized she’d leaned forward in her sleep and used her patient's abdomen as a pillow. A large hand held her captive, her face plastered against Mikhail’s skin because he’d tangled his fingers through her hair.

Gita froze. Feeling as guilty as if she’d just been caught stealing, she gave a fearful look behind her to where Firouz stood sentry in the darkness, ordered to kill her if she so much as blinked. There was no condemnation in his expression at her inappropriate use of a pillow, only boredom mixed with concern. They both knew Mikhail was dying.

“Please, let me go,” Gita whispered to Mikhail’s hand, but he held on to her; on to her hair, on to her hand, on to any part of her body she let get too close to him, trying to pull the woman he thought was his wife into the bed so he could curl up beside her and comfort himself as he died.

Gently extricating his fingers from her hair, she regarded the face of the beautiful winged man who had never allowed her close until they'd tricked him into thinking she was his wife.

Was there any merit to the dream?

“Mikhail,
mo ghrá
,” Gita whispered. “I will not abandon you to wander eternity alone. You have my word.”

The song her mother had sung to her whenever she had skinned her knee or chased away the monster under the bed came into her mind, an imperfect song, not
the
song, but it was the only song she knew. No goddess had chosen her. No goddess blessed her. No unearthly power came down from the heavens to intercede as she prayed for Mikhail's life. Nobody heard the prayers she sang into the emptiness which had been her companion for as long as she had existed. There was only her. Gita. Humble girl. Scrawny girl. The girl that nobody loved. But she had a song to sing, and she would sing it … for him. The song her mother had told her could only be given once.

She sang it softly so she would not wake the others, ignoring the warrior who'd been assigned to kill her. It was an imperfect song, poorly remembered, but as she sang it, she sang the very essence of her spirit into his body, willing him to live, willing him to take her worthless life if it would fight the infection which was killing him. She pleaded for him to take the gift of her unrequited love, for it was the only thing she’d ever had to offer him, that, and the song for which she'd never learned the words.

Mikhail's hand tightened in hers.

"
Chol beag
," he whispered in his sleep.

~ * ~ * ~

Download Gita's song for free HERE:
Fear Not This Night
by Malukah and other awesome fan-cover songs.

Listen to Gita's song online HERE:
Fear Not This Night
by Malukah.

~ * ~ * ~

Galactic Standard Date:  152,323.12 AE

Earth Orbit: Prince of Tyre

Special Agent Eligor

Eligor

Eligor dragged his fork through his mashed tubers, wishing fervently there were some lumps to give the illusion they were
real
tubers and not that reconstituted crap Zepar had been feeding them ever since they’d leaped into uncharted territories. He supposed he should be grateful they had enough to eat. When the Sata’anic lizards had brought Lucifer his welcome meal, it had been heavy on the side of natural game from the planet and light on grains and fruits that were the lizard’s preferred diet. Good old General Hudhafah had put on one hell of a show to make it look like they were flush with food, supplies and weaponry, but Eligor had been around long enough to see all the places the Sata’anic invasion was coming apart at the seams.

What the fuck
was Lucifer doing dancing with the lizards?

‘It’s none of my business,’ Eligor forced the thought back into the recesses of his mind. ‘Asking questions is the fastest way to get yourself disappeared.’

“Hey! Eligor!”

Eligor glanced up to see Lerajie come dancing into the crewman's cafeteria, wings fluttering like an excited little boy, wearing that same earnest expression the man always sported just before he opened his mouth and suggested something asinine. He stared down into his mashed tubers. Maybe if he pretended he didn’t see him, Lerajie would go away?

The opposing chair dragged out from the table and Lerajie plopped down, almost dipping one of his wings into Eligor’s supper.

“Watch it!” Eligor snapped at him.

“Did you hear?” Lerajie practically wiggled. “She talked to me.”

“So?” Eligor grumbled.

“So what are we going to do about it?” Lerajie asked. He leaned forward and snitched a bread stick off of Eligor’s plate.

“Hey!" Eligor jabbed at his hand with his fork.

Lerajie yelped as the tines made contact with his flesh.

“Hey! Whatcha go and do that for?”

“Ask first,” Eligor growled.

Lerajie yanked back his hand, his expression wounded. Awww! Man! Why’d the guy always have to go and lay a guilt trip onto him? Without making eye contact, Eligor picked up the bread stick, tossed it over to Lerajie’s side of the table, and shoveled a forkful of mashed tubers into his mouth as if they were something he relished instead of sludge which would sit in his stomach like concrete all day.

“Next time,” Eligor grumbled with a full mouth, “just ask. That’s all I’m saying.”

Lerajie ate the bread stick in silence, thankfully quiet as he stuffed his face and dug into his own meal. They ate together, the ship’s cafeteria filled with the chatter of the other crewmen grabbing some grub before they had to get back to the endless ‘make busy’ work that was required to keep this ship running. Finally, Lerajie’s silence began to weigh on him.

“What’d she say?”

Eligor cut the tasteless meatloaf with his fork and shoved a clump into his mouth, pretending it didn’t have the consistency of diarrhea. Lerajie gave an indignant sniffle. Lerajie? Quiet? Now that was something different. Eligor swallowed and put down his fork.

“You gonna tell me or what?” Eligor asked.

“Not if you bite my head off.”

“I didn’t
bite
your head off. I told you not to take my bread stick." Eligor gestured at the half-finished plate of disgusting remolecularized food. “It’s the one thing we still got on this ship that’s
real
.”

“Sorry,” Lerajie grumbled, but he still wore that wounded expression.

Eligor waited, and then made a big deal about getting up. He stretched his wings, grown crampy from sitting too long in the chair. Unlike the command carriers, the
Prince of Tyre
didn’t have an aviary where winged species could exercise their wings. It was as though this ship had been designed by Lucifer's biological father for another species altogether and retrofitted to accommodate humanoids as an afterthought.