Sword of the Gods: Agents of Ki (Sword of the Gods Saga) (102 page)

"No," Mikhail said less adamantly this time. "But perhaps you could go down in front of me, just to make sure I don't lose my balance?"

The Chief and Immanu held him steady as he moved backwards down the ladder, too unsteady to dare going down it frontwards. Halfway down the dizziness grew so great that he had to cling to the ladder, his arms wrapped around it as he hugged it to his damaged chest.

"I think," Mikhail pressed his forehead against the wrung. "Do you think, maybe…"

Strong arms came around him and lifted him off of the ladder as though he was a child. He forced his wings to remain still at the sudden sensation of falling. Ipquidad gently set him down. Mikhail glanced back at the ladder. Seven steps to descend back to the earth, and he'd only been able to make it down three of them on his own.

"Thank you," he said, not certain whether to be ashamed at his own weakness, or proud at just how very far Ipquidad had come.

Homa and Gisou rushed forward and shoved a chair underneath him before he collapsed. This time, he did not protest when Needa ordered him to sit. He thirstily sucked down some water Gisou offered, thankful he could now keep the substance down. At last the vertigo cleared.

"Where's Pareesa?" he asked.

"Outside lining up the men," Chief Kiyan said.

"I don't think I'll be able to make it all the way to the central square," Mikhail gave the Chief an apologetic look.

Needa shot her husband a victorious look and silently jabbed her wooden spoon in his direction, her meaning clear.
See. I told you so…

"We sent a runner to tell her to bring them
here,
" Gisou said. "Not that we, uh … we just figured that it might make things a little easier if all you had to do was step outside?"

Mikhail looked from his chair to the door, not even the length of a single wing. They might as well have asked him to fly to the moon.

“
Céilí Mór é!”
Mikhail swore. “How will I convince these men to follow me into battle when I can’t even walk?”

"Six paces to the door," Ipquidad said quietly. "And then another eight or nine out into the street. Nobody expects you to do much more than say you're still alive."

"They will see how weak I am." Mikhail eyed the doorway with a feeling of dread. He allowed himself to show a little of the emotion which whirled inside him like a cyclone. "Just as long as you don't have to carry me again. I don't think I could live with myself if the others saw me as weak as
you've
seen me just now."

Ipquidad grabbed one elbow while Gisou grabbed the other, two of his unlikeliest protégé's. They held him steady as Homa ran to open the door. From outside came the sound of cheers.

"Let's do this," he said.

He did his best to walk out gracefully, but the truth was, if they hadn't propped him up he never would have made it. Right. Left. Right. Left. Put one foot in front of the other. Breathe. Don't forget to breath. Six paces to the door, only it took eight because he stumbled.

He blinked as he stepped out into the sunlight, the first light he'd seen since the sun had set on the day Ninsianna had been taken. Six weeks. For six weeks he'd been in a coma. Would he recover?
Could
he recover? His body screamed
no,
but the only way he could rescue his wife was to rehabilitate his body, so it
would
comply.

The warriors lined up neatly in a formation he had taught to them. Behind them the entire village had turned out, not just Assur's warriors, but warriors from other villages, their families, children, even the dogs ran through the crowd yapping as though it was a feast day. They cheered as he took his first tentative step into the sunlight, into the warmth of the cold winter sky.

He shut his eyes and turned his face to soak up the sun. Warm sun. Golden sun. It reminded him a bit of Ninsianna. He imagined it gave him strength in Ninsianna's stead. Right foot. Left foot. Let the sun sustain him. Let the people's cheers sustain him. Almost there now. Keep your wings from dragging on the ground. Let Ipquidad and Gisou keep propelling you forward. Just focus on standing upright so the people will stop claiming you are dead.

"As you see," Immanu shouted. "Our Champion has returned from the grave!"

"Hurrah!" the Assurians shouted, and the warriors from other tribes.

"Where's Pareesa?" Mikhail asked, surprised his young protégé wasn't front and center, bouncing up and down like a cheerful little yippy dog.

"She's not your little fairy anymore," Chief Kiyan said.

He signaled Varshab, his chief enforcer, who sent the message backwards. A chant arose from the place the inner ring of houses. Mikhail's head rose in surprise. This was no chant for human ears, but a modified version of a Cherubim one.

Heaven and Earth are my parents;

Awareness is my home;

My own good character is my source of magic;

And the path of honor my road;

The flash of lightning illuminates my eyes;

The winds whisper wisdom in my ears;

Unshadowed thought is my divine strategy;

To make the pathway clear

Opportunity is my design;

Emptiness and fullness my tactics;

An absence of self is my personal sword;

And noble action my practice;

Let righteousness always be my armor;

And benevolence be my shield;

The tides of virtue mean life and death;

To prevail on the battlefield

She led them towards him, his littlest archer, she led them as though she had been born to lead an army. The Assurian citizens fell silent as they stepped aside to let her pass, she, her B-team, and the elite warriors all marching in perfect tempo as if
she
was their general, their military leader.

A lump rose in Mikhail's throat.

“It seems," Chief Kiyan observed, "that you have turned our people into an army."

Pareesa spotted him, and just for a moment, her best facsimile of an expressionless expression slipped. A smile burst through, his little fairy general, before she stuck it back behind the mask of a leader, her brown eyes sparkling with pride.

"What's our creed?" Pareesa shouted.

"For every life taken," the warriors shouted, "we shall save the lives of ten good men!"

"Hoo-rah!" the rest of the warriors shouted, the ones who hadn't participated in the demonstration.

"Left … face," Pareesa shouted.

The men and women mad a crisp left turn.

"Fall in!"

The men spaced out in three neat, straight lines, far straighter than
he'd
ever been able to get them to do. A humorous thought crossed his mind. How many pushups had the sadistic little fairy general made them do to get them to march so effectively?

"Revelries!"

Ebad blew into a ram's horn. The low, throaty sound reverberated off the mud-brick houses in the too-narrow street, amplifying the sound as if it was a symphony.

"Salute!" Pareesa shouted.

"Sir!" the men and women shouted in unison.

With a crisp snap of hands against their thighs, the men stood at attention and gave him a perfect Alliance salute. They held it, waiting for him to give the order. Pareesa stared at him with an expectant look, her lip twitching as she forced herself not to grin.

The wind brushed against his hair. A small, distant cry joined the sound of Ebad's horn. Mikhail looked up. Circling in the sky was not an eagle, but a small, grey falcon, circling the village to see what all the commotion was about.

"It is a favorable omen," Immanu whispered.

Mikhail took a breath, enjoying the taste of it as it expanded in his lungs. Fresh air. Assurian air. Earth air. The air that was now his home. The Evil One had tried to steal it, but the earth, itself now stood against him. The wind blew warm and gentle against his face, helping him clear the weakness that threatened to render him unconscious.

"As you were," Mikhail saluted them back.

The men and women moved behind Pareesa so they stood with their feet shoulder-width apart, hands behind their backs in a respectful rest position. Four of them carried swords. Pareesa. Siamek. And two of his more proficient men. The rest had sticks shoved into their belts, some little more than twigs, others with some care carved into their design. Pareesa came bounding up to him, her display of military leadership forgotten as the preternatural warrior ceded to the little girl she really was.

"So?" Pareesa wiggled. "How did we do?"

Mikhail choked up. How could he tell her how very proud he was? Of her... Of
all
of them?

"I see you didn't need me after all," he spoke softly so only
she
would hear.

Pareesa's smile disappeared, replaced by glistening eyes.

"You have no idea how hard it was to hold this together in your absence," her voice warbled. She sniffed and rubbed at her nose. "We thought … if you hadn't pulled through when you did,
they'd
be allied now with the lizard-demons."

She jabbed her finger towards the groups of warriors who stood to the side. Mikhail recognized their colorful attire. Ninevians. Eshnunians. Other villagers he'd had to sweet-talk into training together to launch an organized defense against the ones who had taken his
wife.

He scanned the crowd, his subconscious searching for something his conscious mind refused to acknowledge. The Assurians milled about, so many people, too many people to see. His heart sped faster, frantic to find her. Where was she?

"Mikhail?"

He blinked. Chief Kiyan looked at him expectantly as though he waited for him to answer a question. Mikhail glanced back at the assembled people. Who'd he been looking for again? It must be his natural instinct to always watch out for Ninsianna.

"I'm sorry," Mikhail said. "Can you please repeat the question?"

Immanu gave the Chief a worried look. Mikhail looked down and realized the two men had grabbed him by the arm, as though they were afraid he'd fall over.

"Let me stand," Mikhail said. "I can't lead them unless I can stand up on my own."

The Chief and Immanu let go. Immediately he toppled forward. He flapped his wings, trying to get his balance, but all he did was knock into everyone as he tried, and failed, to find his center of gravity.

"Whoa!" Pareesa yelped. She jammed her elbow under his armpit and held him upright, wrapping her arms around his waist so he would not fall. "Let me help you, sensei."

"It's my job to protect
you.
"

Pareesa's eyes filled with tears.

"All this time you have been our Champion," Pareesa said. "The one who said, '
let's stand together and fight this as a single people
.'  But now we are strong. It's our turn to protect
you
now. Let us help you?"

A lonely tear slid down Pareesa's cheek.

"Please, sensei?" she whispered. "Let us protect -you- the way that you have always protected us?"

The falcon cried again. Mikhail looked up. The creature's shadow fell across them, unusually large, as though a much larger bird lay hidden beneath its small, grey plumage.

Mikhail nodded.

The crowd rushed in, eager to touch him, eager to touch his wings, the kind of touch he'd always shied away from. It didn't feel invasive now, the hands which touched his skin and slid their fingers through his feathers. Some of the people laughed, some of the people wept, some of the people touched him and asked if he had brought back messages from loved ones when he'd journeyed into the other side of the veil, but from every one of those hands he felt the warmth of adoration, appreciation, and love.

These were
-his-
people now. His people, and not just Ninsianna's. He could feel it, this attachment he had formed to humans, and for the first time in his life, it felt as though he belonged.

The crowd parted. A man came forward, a man Mikhail remembered from the regional gathering of chiefs, although then he had merely been a chief's son, but now he wore the five-tiered kilt of a chief. Qishtea. The man who demanded an audience with him.

Pareesa jammed her slender frame further into his armpit, holding him possessively as though he was her prize belonging. Mikhail accepted the help she offered, focusing on flaring his lackluster black-brown wings, his feathers crushed from weeks of laying on his deathbed. Crumpled or not, to these people his limbs were symbols of the heavens.

"Mikhail," Qishtea's expression was guarded. He'd come wearing his full robes of state, from the golden torque he'd inherited from his father to the blue lapis and golden beads braided throughout his beard.

"Qishtea," Mikhail said.