The Chosen One

Chapter 4

Chapter 4

February - 3,390 BC

Earth: Crash site

NINSIANNA

What at first appeared to be a burning rock, transformed into a spearhead the closer she got to the fallen star. Even half-buried, she recognized the sky canoe she'd seen in her vision. It glowed bright red like a bed of coals, but the vessel itself did not burn except for smoke which billowed from one of its two chimneys. While she could not find a discernable doorway, a massive crack split the vessel from the ground all the way up to the ceiling right where it disappeared into a landslide.

'Hurry!' She-Who-Is whispered.

Ninsianna squeezed through the crack into a room filled with smoke. The only light came from hundreds of sparks which spat out of spiderwebs dangling from the ceiling. The rising sun shot through the crack, illuminating a bloody man who lay buried beneath a pile of rubble. Through his chest, he'd been impaled with a spear.

"No!"

Sharp edges tore at her hands and knees as she scrambled towards the dying man. A copper stench filled her nostrils, the scent of impending death.

The man reached for her. Blood poured out of his mouth and nose.

"An rás fhoinse?" [12] he said.

She placed one hand onto the man's pale cheek, praying he didn't see her terror. Their eyes met in the murky light, a frightened, dying creature and a stranger. His expression turned grateful.

"Neo-aonar?" [13]

His eyes fluttered shut.

Ninsianna pressed her fingers against his throat. Please don't die! Sobs wracked her lungs when a faint heartbeat fluttered against her fingertips.

'Here—' a whisper of intuition drew her attention to the spear which pinned him to the floor '—attend to the most deadly object first.'

He wore a peculiar garment fastened to his chest, neither a cape nor a robe. She used her obsidian knife to slice the fabric away from the spear. Once removed, he'd bleed out in a matter of heartbeats, so she had to work fast.

Rummaging through her satchel, she pulled out a bone needle and a bundle of hair plucked from the tail of a wild horse. She'd helped Mama tend to many terrible wounds, including Jamin's, but never had she treated so grievous an injury without the benefit of her mother's guiding hand.

She rinsed her hands with water from the goatskin, and then planted her feet on either side of his torso. She sang the song Mama sang whenever she needed strength, usually when an entire band of warriors came in injured from a skirmish.

.

She gathers the divine powers,

She announces the sacred rites.

She works with intricate skill,

As she ministers the injured.

.

She pictured white light flowing from the top of her head all the way down into her fingers, and then into her feet rooted deeply in the ground. It was forbidden for a woman to use magic for anything but healing, but she'd spied on Papa whenever the shamans came together and talked. It flowed around her, an exhilarating tingle, like water pouring into an urn until the power wouldn't rise any further.

She gripped both fists around the shaft and yanked.

"Hiyah!!!"

The man groaned, but the spear would not release.

She pulled harder, praying and chanting, until the energy grew so powerful her body began to hum. She pulled so hard his torso lifted right up off the floor. The spear made a horrible sucking sound as it slid from his chest.

Ninsianna dropped to her knees, still chanting:

.

She takes the bandages and wipes them;

She treats the bandages with embrocation, [14]

She mops up the blood and suppuration, [15]

And places a warm hand on the horrid wound.

.

That river of information she'd seen in the vision flowed around her now, more clear and powerful than the tentative spells she'd cast away from her father's disapproving eyes.

The man's breath became more labored. Just left of his heart, the flesh sank into his ribcage where the shaft had shattered several ribs. She pressed two fingers into the hole until she hit a hollow cavity. Her heart sank. The shaft had pierced a lung.

She ran her fingers inside his chest, gauging the extent of the damage. Something pulsated against her fingertips. Ninsianna paused, awestruck as the man's heart fluttered through the delicate lung tissue.

"O Great Mother!" she said, awed "—not even Mama has ever touched a still-beating heart."

Was this what it felt like to be a goddess?

She picked up the bone needle she'd threaded moments before. This wasn't the first time she'd stitched a punctured lung, though in both cases, the patient had died. She stitched in and out of the tender flesh, tuning into that whisper of information which told her what to do. Pulling the flesh shut like a goatskin pampootie, [16] she cut the thread, and then moved on to sew the outer layer of muscle and skin.

As she stitched, she continued to sing:

.

She gathers up the divine powers,

She takes his life into her hands.

She attaches them to the great garment,

While speaking favorable words.

.

She tests the surgical lancet;

As she sharpens her scalpel.

She makes perfect the divine powers of medicine,

She places them into my hands.

.

The stranger reopened his eyes.

He watched her stitch, his expression strangely calm given the fact her fingers were buried deep inside his chest.

"An bhfuil tú spiorad, teacht a chur mé go harm an réimse an aisling?" [17] he said.

"Don't be afraid. She-Who-Is sent me here to help you."

Since both hands were bloody, she kissed his cheek, hoping he would understand the gesture of comfort. She tied off the thread. He spoke in a language she felt she should recognize.

"Ní raibh mé riamh eagla bás, ach go bás ina n-aonar," he said. "Tá áthas orm tú ag teacht a thabhairt dom ar an aistear." [18]

Chills tingled throughout her body. But each word he spoke came with a terrible, wheezing sound.

"I think the shaft came out the other side." She pointed at her own back. "I have to roll you over. Okay?"

She made a rolling gesture with her hands so he'd understand.

The man nodded, "Is ea." [19]

She tried to push him sideways, but a heavy cabinet had come down on top of his legs. She tried to lift the wreckage, but her feet kept slipping on the slippery, bloody floor. She wedged a piece of debris underneath the cabinet. If he could pull his own legs out, maybe she could roll him to see what had happened in the back?

She crawled back next to him. Her hand came down in a pile of bloody feathers.

"What is this?" She tugged at the feathers. "Some kind of cape?"

The 'cape' flapped upward, scattering debris.

"Ack!"

Ninsianna skittered backwards.

A dark shape rose up in the darkened sky canoe. Vaguely wedge-shaped, hundreds of spear-like tips jutted out of the edge as it flapped. It settled back upon the floor, trembling. She stared with disbelief at the enormous brown feathers which had come to rest against her foot.

"You have wings?"

She touched the bloodied feathers and traced them to their origin beneath his back. She stared up at the ceiling.

"You sent me to save a living god?"

The man's brows knit together in confusion, as though he wished to figure out why she wished to hurt him. She glanced at the handful of dark feathers she'd just ripped out of his living flesh.

"Oh! Sorry!"

She touched his cheek to convey she hadn't meant to cause him any pain. His skin felt cold, the pallor of death. With her enhanced vision, she could see his spirit light float halfway between the world of the living and the dead. With each gasp for breath, his spirit-light grew dimmer.

She touched the place where his legs disappeared beneath the heavy wreckage.

"You're too heavy for me to roll all by myself—" she moved her hands to communicate what he needed to do "—I will pull—" she mimicked pulling with both hands "—but you must pull out your own legs. Okay?"

The stranger nodded. "Is ea."

She kneeled behind his head and threaded her forearms through his armpits.

"Pull!"

Ninsianna pulled with every ounce of her strength. The man moved his legs just far enough to free them before he lost consciousness. She rolled him onto his side.

Protruding from his back, a pair of enormous, muscular brown wings lay trapped beneath the debris. The wing which had flapped upward appeared to be intact, but the other wing bent backwards at an ominous angle.

"When you sent me a vision of a man with wings," she spoke to the goddess, "I had no idea you were being literal!"

She stitched the exit wound where the shaft had come out the other side, and then moved on to attend to the next most critical injury, his broken wing.

Once, when she'd been little, Mama had saved a hawk. Raptors were sacred to the Ubaid, favorable omens. Papa claimed raptors were the eyes of She-Who-Is. She felt along the bones hidden beneath the feathers. Just below the knee joint, a slender bone had snapped and punctured though his skin.

"It's a good thing you're not awake," she said, "or I don't think you'd let me do this."

She slid the delicate bone back beneath his skin and winced as she ground the bone into place. Lying next to her, the spear she'd just ripped from his chest would make a respectable splint. Now all she needed was some rope. Where, in this temple, would a man keep rope?

Dozens of colorful spiderwebs dangled from the ceiling like roots inside a cave, no doubt dislodged when the sky canoe had slammed into the valley wall. She ripped down several long, colorful strands. While thinner than a rope, the peculiar threads bent and held their shape. She wrapped them around the spear and his broken wing.

What next? Mother! The man is bloody and broken!

His left wrist bent at an unnatural angle. This injury was at least familiar. She braced her feet against his side to gain leverage and rammed his elbow between her knees, yanking until his wrist made a cracking noise.

"Mama would do a better job—" she chattered to keep his spirit light from trying to escape his body "—but it's a two-day run back to my village. If I leave you alone, the death-sleep will take you."

At last she had done all she could. Either he would live, or choose to pass into the dreamtime. All she could do was encourage him to stay.

The man's flesh felt pale and clammy; his heart beat unevenly and far too light. To fend off the death-sleep, she needed to keep him warm. She grabbed the blanket she'd brought with her in her satchel and covered him.

The man shivered.

She curled against his side to share her warmth.

Exhausted, she fell fast asleep.