Sword of the Gods: The Chosen One

February – 3,390 BC

  Earth: Crash site

  Ninsianna

  The sound of scuffles coming from the front of the sky canoe woke Ninsianna with a start. A silent hand prevented her from igniting the magic lantern that was built into the ceiling of her bunk and illuminating the room.

  “Shhh…"

  Even in the dark, she would know the reassuring timbre of his voice anywhere. Her eyes adjusted to the dim green light of a device he called 'clock.' She watched him grab his firestick and shove it into a holster. He then reached into a compartment in the ceiling and pulled out a long, thin object that captured the dim green light. Ninsianna had never seen such a weapon, but it reminded her of the head of a spear, only longer. A word jumped into her mind. Sword. Was this the weapon her father had sung about in the ancient song? Motioning for her to remain still, Mikhail flared his wings and moved like a raptor towards the front of the sky canoe.

  She held her breath, her heart pounding in her throat. A wild animal? She heard hushed voices. A thud. Not an animal. Human. Many humans. Mikhail was powerful, but he was badly wounded … and outnumbered.

  Ninsianna was no warrior, but conflict was a way of life in a land with unpredictable rainfall. As soon as a child could walk, they were taught to defend themselves, whether they were male or female. Reaching under her bunk, she pulled out her satchel and fished out her obsidian blade.

  Men shouted as Mikhail made his presence known. Belting her shawl around her waist so she wouldn't meet their attackers naked, she ran to the bridge just in time to see Mikhail pick up two men and smash their heads together. Without hesitation, he picked up a third man and threw him out the entrance from whence they'd come, knocking down his peers.

  The first two jabbed at him with their spears, an ineffective weapon in the tight confines of the sky canoe. One threw. Mikhail caught it mid-air and used it to thwap his assailant off the side of the head. Spinning like a dust devil, he kicked the second assailant in the chest, simultaneously punching the first thief in the face. Grabbing both men by the scruff of the neck, he effortlessly tossed them out the crack in the hull and pushed through to the outside. The pre-dawn light cast a grey shadow against one edge of the horizon, rendering their attackers little more than dark shadows against an even darker landscape.

  “Watch out!” Ninsianna rushed out after him.

  Several men waited at the entrance with a net. They tossed it over his head and tried to tackle him to the ground. Ninsianna shrieked. Mikhail swung his sword and leaped into the air, flapping his wings to flip upside down. Ninsianna shouted relief. With a 20-cubit wingspan, they needed a much bigger net.

  Her gratitude was short-lived as nearly two dozen men rushed at him with spears. With a flash of silver, Mikhail knocked several spears aside with his sword before one of them sank into his thigh.

  “Mikhail!” she cried. Why did he not just use his firestick?

  Goosebumps rose on Ninsianna's flesh as she watched a deadly calm descend upon her patient. Power. Never before had she sensed this much power. Flaring his wings for balance, he spread his legs and moved his arms to his sides so that he could move in any direction. He spoke to his attackers in a strange language. Not his language. Not hers. But a language so deep and ancient the very air vibrated with his words.

  Horror screamed through her veins as he turned to survey the positions of his attackers and made eye contact with her. His eyes were black and empty, as though they were a bottomless black pit from whence nothing could return. The pre-dawn light played tricks upon her eyes, making her imagine he bore the leathery wings of a bat. She blinked. No. This was still Mikhail. It was his intent which had changed. Up until this point, he'd been trying not to kill any of their attackers. That wouldn't be the case any longer.

  The attackers paused to coordinate their attack, the brightening pre-dawn light finally exposing their positions. Without so much as a grimace, Mikhail tore the spear from his thigh and held it in his left hand, ignoring the fact his wrist still had a splint on it. Cold fire lit up his expression as his fist clenched the sword in his right hand. Ninsianna shuddered.

  “Ayahhhhh!!!" The attackers rushed forward.

  Mikhail's wings pounded the air to keep him just aloft enough to spin as he hacked off limbs, decapitated heads, and stabbed those still moving in the heart in one fluid motion. Ninsianna shivered at the ease with which he slaughtered his attackers as though he was reaping stalks of grain. Five … no … twelve … no … fifteen. It was over before Ninsianna had time to count to eighteen.

  “Ninsianna!"

  The last attacker called her name.

  Mikhail swung his sword to reap the nineteenth deadly stalk of grain. The attacker tripped backwards, his poor footing saving his life as Mikhail's sword narrowly missed his head. The first ray of light burst above the horizon and streamed a single ray of sunlight directly upon the attackers face as though the goddess wished to announce, 'this is the man who is about to die.'

  Oh, gods! It was Jamin!

  Ninsianna moved without thinking.

  “No!" Ninsianna threw herself on top of the Chief’s son. “Please Mikhail! No! It's Jamin!”

  Blood splattered from his sword as he swung down for the death-stroke. Ninsianna flinched as the warm blood sprayed into her eyes. His sword stopped, so close to her neck that she could feel the coldness of the blade. Her heart beat with terror as she realized there was no recognition in his eyes, only a darkness so vast and empty it caused chills to run down her spine. Trust. Mikhail thought she'd betrayed his trust. Stretching her body across the chief’s son, she reached her hand up in a plea. Words bubbled to her lips that were not her own.

  “Haec sunt mea latrunculorum frusta!”

  Mikhail's response vibrated the very air, dark and terrible. "Fraudarit me, coniunx. Quem ipsa non quaerit."

  She-who-is spoke directly through her to the avenging Angelic poised above her, sword raised to smite both Jamin and her for her perceived complicity in this attack. The goddess spoke with haughtiness and defiance, her power palpable as SHE used Ninsianna as her mortal vessel to speak to her champion.

  "Habes pollicitus es me formaeque, maritus meus. Is unus est, electo meo. Non alterum unum."

  Whatever SHE had just said, Ninsianna could sense She-who-is expected to be obeyed.

  Mikhail removed the sword from her throat, but he didn't lower it.

  "Quem ipsa non quaerit. Videbitis."

  Ninsianna's lips moved with the goddess' words. A feeling of victory raced through her entire body even though she had no idea what the goddess had just won. The unfamiliar words tumbled from her lips.

  "A sponsione tunc. Quo iure nos videbimus."

  "Assentior."

  Mikhail's wings fluttered as though all of a sudden he were off-balance. Recognition crept back into his eyes as they transformed from that terrifying emptiness into an unearthly blue glow. Saying something in a strange clicking language that was both different from the language spoken by the goddess and also unlike any language a human would use, he fought to regain control of his … not emotion … but rather lack of emotion … before finally lowering his blade. Ninsianna felt the goddess release her hold upon her body and knew she'd just been saved.

  “Mikhail,” she reached towards him. “It is I, Ninsianna. Your friend. If you kill Jamin, his father will give you no quarter.”

  Ignoring her hand, he leaped into the air, flapping his dark wings to gain height, and crash-landed on top of his ship when his broken wing failed to support him. He crouched like a panther in a tree, surveying the carnage he'd just wrought. He watched her with a cold, inhuman stare, muttering to himself in the clicking tongue. Trust. By protecting their attacker, she'd lost his trust … and very nearly her own life! Had the goddess not intervened…

  There was only one way to demonstrate she'd had no complicity in this attack. She kicked Jamin in the side as hard as she could.

  “Get up, you goat's rump!” sh
e screamed, jabbing him in the throat with her obsidian blade. “What the hell were you thinking? You are responsible for this carnage!”

  “Don't let him kill me!” Jamin's black eyes were wild with terror.

  “Who are these men?” Ninsianna didn't recognize them, but by their attire they appeared to be enemies. “Halifians!!! Why do you consort with Halifians?!!”

  “We came to save you from the demon,” Jamin said.

  “Your father authorized this?”

  “No … he forbade the men of our tribe to interfere,” Jamin said. “They are mercenaries. I hired them to save you.”

  “The only person I need saving from is you! Now get out of here before I let him kill you!" For good measure, she kicked him a second time.

  Jamin got up and shot a fearful glance to the roof of the ship. Mikhail crouched, waiting to spring, his sword stretched out in front of him. Despite the language barrier, the threat was understood. For the first time since the entire lifetime she had known him, the Chief's son ran for his life.

  “And don't come back!” Ninsianna shook her fist at him like a victor claiming her spoils.

  The sun lifted above the horizon, bathing the dark-winged creature crouched above her in golden fire, his face still contorted into an inhuman mask. She'd never seen him like this, but she'd often seen men come home from raiding parties or a hunt with the blood lust still raging through their veins. Unlike the men in her village, however, Mikhail didn't rage. He didn't talk. He didn't complain. And he didn't brag. He didn't speak to her at all. He just crouched, watching, no emotion on his face except the eerie blue glint to his eyes.

  “I'm going to start cooking breakfast,” Ninsianna said, half in his language and half in hers. “You can come down when you're ready."

  Normalcy was the best policy when these things happened with the village men. She hoped it would work with him.

  Surveying the hacked bodies, she half-heartedly felt their necks (if they still had a head attached) to find a pulse. She was not surprised to find none. As a healer, she'd become inured to the sight of either blood or gore, but never had so many been killed by a single warrior … or the bodies so ruthlessly hacked apart. It was enough to make even her retch.

  "Mother…" Ninsianna whispered, but she had no words adequate to put into a prayer.

  Mikhail was attacked without provocation. His response was justified.

  Yes. His actions had been justified. She must act accordingly. Pouring water onto her hands to rinse the blood, she went inside the ship to gather cooking implements and headed over to the stream so she wouldn't have to cook their breakfast amongst the dead.

  “While you're at it,” she called over her shoulder. “Could you please get rid of these?" She made a shooing motion with one hand as though asking him to empty out his own chamber pot. “In this heat, they'll start to stink after a few hours."

  She knew he couldn't understand everything she said, but she hoped he got the gist of it. She was striving for normalcy.

  “Everything is perfectly normal…” she muttered under her breath.