Chapter 1
"Ow. Ow. Ow, damn!" I wince and shake out my arm, the angry bees all around me buzzing and swarming to drive me off. The black, glossy scales on my skin are nearly impenetrable to stings, save for the softer flesh at my wrists and elbows, and that's what they're aiming for.
"I told you to wrap your arms..." comes a snotty slither of Akkadian from the base of this acacia tree I'm in.
"Ow!" I swat at another damned bee stinging my wrist, then growl down to the man lounging at the roots below. "You spout so much bullshit I hardly know what to bother with! Ow!"
"I think you like getting stung, Darling. You're spending a
lot
of time up there, and I hardly see any reward."
Damnit. I crawl forward along the branch and pull the small hand axe from my belt. The hive's just inside the hollow spot just beneath me, and I start chopping a hole. More bees start pouring out, some battering me in my scaled face. One confused but willing worker even charges into my mouth, but I spit it back out again. "Marut, the smoke!"
I clutch at the branch with my taloned fingers, ducking my head to let my scales and hair protect me until I feel a light pat at my shoulder. Peering out from beneath my arm, I see him holding up a small bundle of wrapped grasses and bark. Smoke pours out of it, and I take it up and waft it in front of the hive. The fury of the bees wanes, and when I finally have a moment, I tuck the smoking bundle into some thorns, toss the axe to the ground, and reach into the hive with my scaled hand.
Sluggish bees do their best, but I carefully twist and pull out chunks of honeycomb. Looking at the golden syrup that drips over my fingers in the sunlight, I grin and call, "Marut! There's a lot in here!"
"I'll get a bucket." While he wanders over to his pack, I start to lick at my fingers, my tongue curling around my talons one at a time to steal the sweetness away. Within moments I feel another pat on my shoulder, and I look over and see Marut reaching up with a bucket that was clearly once a soldier's helmet. In some places the land is littered with them, left behind after battles, and it'd be a shame to let useful metal go to waste. I dump the honeycomb into it, then reach inside the hive to pull out more. In a few minutes the helmet's filled to overflowing and Marut carries it away, giving me space to climb back down.
It's tricky business, backing down a tree covered in thorns, especially when you feel the need to rush because your companion is probably glutting himself on all your hard work. I admit that my impatience wins out and I slip, falling the last ten feet to land on my back on the hard dirt, leaving me to cough and groan as I slowly withdraw my scales and talons. The white skin beneath shows once more, dusted now with ruddy dirt.
I'm busy laying there, chastising myself for my misstep, when Marut enters my field of vision. He's so
irritatingly
handsome - his tan eyes glittering even in the shade with delight at everything he sees. The man's tall and slender, his skin a honeyed tan, and his hair is full and black, as ever shaved at the sides of his head while a crest grows long down the center. He crouches slowly next to me, suckling his bare, black-nailed fingers with obvious relish. "Here I am," he muses down at me, "portioning the harvest into pots, toiling and sweating in the sun while you lie here in the shade." He pauses and pouts. "I'm starting to think we have an unequal relationship, and that gets me right here," he fake whimpers, patting his bare chest over his heart.
All I can do is narrow my eyes and wheeze out my annoyance. Unable to actually speak my mind, I send my thoughts to his directly.
If you could match even a sliver of my greatness, perhaps we would be peers of any sort, you obnoxious cur.
Marut giggles. "Obnoxious cur! Now that's a new one." I roll my eyes as he gently helps me up to sit, checking me over for damage greater than a bruised ego. Finding none, he pats my shoulder and hands me my gray robe, a light thing made of linen. He wears a pair of loose black pants, tied at his slender waist and clinging just barely. Golden bracelets glitter and clink on his ankles and wrists, adornments for fashion only. I no longer have mine, but my key still hangs from a chain around his neck, a symbol of my trust in him.
My own pants are light gray and, by now, torn and ripped. My vanity hurts a little every time we go looking for honey, but if it takes slowly sacrificing only one pair of pants to get sweets then so be it. I tug the tunic over my head and smooth it down, tucking it in beneath the belt. Wait, where's my axe? I only realize just now that I plummeted twice my standing height to the ground and am very lucky I didn't land on the blade, which I take a moment to scoop up and tuck into its sheath. To be fair, I think dumb luck has been what's preserved me all this time.
I'm shaken from my reverie when I hear Marut call from a distance, "My god, what's it going to take? Must I dip my cock in honey for you to come over and have some?" Somehow he's far ahead of me on our way back to the campsite, a pleasant spot located in the sheltering shade of a large rocky outcropping.
"Possibly! Why don't you try it?" I shout back, smirking. "If I don't lick you clean, the ants surely will."
He grimaces and shudders, the wing demarcation on his back shifting within his skin, his palms rubbing together in thought as he continues to walk. The wind isn't high right now, but even so it plucks at our hair and clothing, kicking up dust from the flat lands beyond these foothills. I'm not sure where we are - we've been wandering for years now on an extended vacation, and so far haven't run into any trouble. We might be back in the lands of Babylon, but I'm sure they're called something else now. Much as I liked him, Nebuchadnezzar's line fizzled out shortly after him, and all his lands were taken up by Persians for quite some time.
That hit Marut very hard, and since then we haven't committed to any kingdom or cause if we didn't have to. I can't quite recall how Marut negotiated my freedom with Cyrus the Great, but I know that when the Jewish hostages were allowed to go home, I wasn't counted among them. Despite never knowing for certain, I think that negotiations for Babylon's control fell to Marut because his blood was royal. When he'd said that he'd raised Nebuchadnezzar like a son and loved him as such, I'd at first thought it was symbolic. I don't think that anymore, but as my companion doesn't like talking about it, I don't push. Suffice it to say, Cyrus must have acknowledged something, because Marut left with me, and in exchange entrusted his beloved city to the lands of Persia.
///
Later in the evening, I lay on a blanket on top of the outcropping and look up at the stars. The taste of delicious roasted hare dipped in honey is still on my tongue, and I'm relaxed and untroubled. Marut lingers by the fire and tends to our supplies, sharpening blades with a whetstone as he sings softly to himself. Despite being a mouthy brat, he's always been invested in keeping our supplies in good condition and number. When I first met him he was a general in the royal army that had captured Jerusalem, and I suppose that ever-ready mindset never fades.
He's so young, as far as angels go. Only a few centuries old at best, he's already accomplished so very much. Despite my age, he makes me feel as young as I look, challenging me to try new things and go to new places. I'm not sure what he sees in me, but he's as devoted a mate as I could have ever hoped for - generous and affectionate but honest enough to tell me when I'm wrong or being too stubborn about something. But more than that, he accepts me despite all the baggage I carry... and trust me, there's a lot of it. He's never been anything but patient and understanding, and so I try to be all of those things for him.
