Chapter 6
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Chapter 6
February - 3,390 BC
Earth: Crash site
,
Pain … but duller than before. Hadn’t a spirit come to guide him into the dreamtime? He found her soft, warm form nestled into his side, her cheek resting on his bicep as her chest rose and fell in the gentle rhythm of a peaceful, mortal sleep. He took a deep breath and realized he was still alive.
"Are you my mate?"
He touched the long, dark tresses which had fallen across the woman's face and fished a strand out of her lush, pink lips. The woman had kissed him as he'd stood at the entrance to the void.
If this was the dreamtime, it sure hurt like Hades.
He lifted his arm and studied the splint she'd fashioned with debris and bits of wire. Moving his legs to reassure himself he still possessed them, he turned his head to examine his broken wing. Would he ever be able to fly again? That depended upon this planet's gravity.
Information flitted through his mind. There was something urgent about this planet, but the image departed as fleetingly as it had appeared.
Who was he? What was his name? All he knew was that this woman had taken heroic measures to save his life and now she slept curled up beside him in a manner that felt both alien, and also heart-yearningly familiar. Something about her scent tugged at an instinct, deep within his loins.
Maybe she was a spirit? If this was death, it wasn't half bad.
Curling his good wing so as not to wake her, he pulled her closer, wrapping the limb around her like a blanket before allowing himself to drift back to sleep.
,
*
"O-kim-hayatini bagislamasi icin uygun gordum." [24]
He awoke to find the woman kneeling at his side. Her hands accentuated her words as she poured droplets from a water skin onto a rough cloth and dabbed blood off of his skin. He watched her work, fascinated by her wavy dark hair, olive skin, and unusual tawny beige eyes.
Urgency clawed at his belly with drunken glee.
"Who are you?" he asked.
The woman smiled and said something unintelligible.
Every nuance of her behavior gnawed at his subconscious. Her shapeless beige dress was little more than a length of cloth belted around her waist and thrown over one shoulder to cover the lush fullness of her breasts. The fabric appeared crude, as were the implements she used to tend his wounds; the tools of a stone-age culture.
By gods! How had she saved his life?
"Who?" He crossed his hands palms-up in the sign of asking a question. "Are you?" He pointed to her chest.
"Nin-si-anna." She held her palms up. "Who. Are. You?" She repeated, word for word.
He wracked his brain, but his mind remained frustratingly blank. Ninsianna repeated the question. How could he explain to someone who didn't speak his language that he couldn't remember who he was?
"I don't know."
"Ninsianna—" she pointed to her own chest. "Idonno—" she pointed at him.
"No—" he shook his head. "I don't remember."
"Ninsianna—" the woman pointed to her chest. "Idonremember," she pointed at him.
"No! I don't know who I am! I don't remember!"
He hit his forehead to emphasize it wasn't working. A stab of pain shot into his skull. He closed his eyes until the vertigo subsided.
The woman frowned until it dawned on her what he was trying to say. She touched his head, the place where it hurt the worst. Underneath his hair, a terrible lump attested he'd hit his head.
Ninsianna resumed her ministrations, dabbing dried blood from his scalp. Every now and again, she paused to pat his wings as though she'd never seen such limbs before. He suspected she explained his injuries to him, but he couldn't understand a single word.
He avoided wincing, not wishing to see her expression of dismay every time he flinched. When she got to his chest wound, she pointed at a pair of silver, hexagonal tags strung around his neck with a sturdy chain.
Pulling the chain from beneath his shirt, he read the information etched into the dog tags in boxy cuneiform. [25]
.
Colonel Mikhail Mannuki’ili
352d SOG
Angelic Air Force
Second Galactic Alliance
.
Although the information failed to jog any personal recollection, he understood what it meant. The only reason a soldier wore dog tags was so his fellow soldiers could identify his body for burial. While he couldn't remember anything, it meant he was part of something bigger.
"I'm a soldier," he said. "A soldier in the Galactic Alliance."
He pointed at Ninsianna.
"You are Ninsianna."
He pointed at his own chest.
"I am Mikhail."
Ninsianna smiled.
"Mikhail?"
"Yes."
She repeated his name several times, and then held out her primitive water skin and pressed it against his lips.
"Icki," she said. The rest was unintelligible except for the word at the end. "Okay?"
Drink, maybe?
"Oh-kay," he repeated.
He gulped down the water until it was empty.
Ninsianna pointed at a crack which split the hull. She tucked the blanket up to his neck and communicated, using her hands, that she wished for him to sleep.
"Oh-kay," he said, uncertain. Was she going to fetch more water?
Ninsianna slipped out of the crack.
As he lay there, it occurred to him just how very vulnerable he was.
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