Chapter 19. Questions
I know all things for I see both the past and the future.
But you must live in the here and now and cannot see through my eyes.
For the light of that knowledge would burn you until you become blind.
From the Book of Isarie.
By nightfall, Andra was feeling much better, her head had stopped spinning and the taste of blanket lice had gone away. Although her mind was clear, her thoughts were not.
She lay inside the great tent that she shared with her mate. It had been their sanctuary, their place of peace and security away from the problems of the tribe and the worries of Kingship. Now, as she looked about her, it seemed to have changed, for the man she loved had changed in her heart.
She thought back over the past days, and the things that she had seen, and felt the images of Thorm and Teal the young Nomads who were forced to walk the path of pain. Made to die, because they shared a love that made them break the laws of the tribe.
They shouldn’t have been punished for falling in love; she thought. She slowly rose from the raised sleeping mattress, where she had slept, and put her feet on the soft rug that covered the floor of the chamber. She looked over at her armor, hanging from a wooden standard in the corner, and at the war-ax, the Ironworkers had fashioned for her.
Is there nothing more for me than to witness death? Thinking this, she watched the young girl being led to the alter stone. The smile on her face as she was being laid upon it, the shouting from the Nomads as her heart was cut out. Perhaps I am wrong, perhaps this is not my home? She thought back to her childhood and her mother Niana. She saw her kind eyes, and once more felt her soft hand on her cheeks. As she closed her eyes she heard her lyrical voice.
“You are my love made real,” she said softly, “and one day, you will give birth to a child that will hold your heart”.
Andra opened her eyes, and slowly touched the golden Journey-Nail about her neck; I have not given life, she thought. I have taken it, she held up the warrior’s symbol and looked at it hard; is this all that I will hold at my death? She placed one hand on her midsection and an image flashed before her inner mind.
She saw the face of a child, a baby with pale eyes and white skin, it was lying on a crystal bed surrounded by a strange ligh. Is this a baby, is this MY baby? She slowly reached out, to try to touch the dream-child, the image vanished in a flash into reality. She was once more back in her tent, holding her golden nail.
A warrior’s death cannot bring happiness; she told herself; I took an oath to stand by my King, but I am a woman first.
Andra sat there for some time thinking about her vision, and what it might mean. She had grown used to seeing things in dreams, and she knew that they sometimes came true. Now as she sat alone in her tent, she wished with all her heart that a future of contentment was waiting for her.
Arn, had not spoken to his mother in a long time, and although he wanted to, it was not the custom of a leader of the Madrigal, to seek comfort from the woman who gave him birth. Added to this, the fact that she was now High Priestess and a speaker of the Gods. It would seem that he was putting too much faith in the wisdom of Isarie, and not enough in his own judgment. It was a strange fact, one that the Outlanders had come to respect. They would pray and offer sacrifices at ritual days and do all the things necessary to gain favor with the Gods. That did not mean that they would put all their trust, in the heavens. They knew that the Gods help those, who help themselves. There was no better way to do this, than to have a strong King.
Arn, had been troubled by the events of the last few days, in the past, he would talk to Agart about matters of the tribe. His brother was now dead, and there was still anger in his heart, when it came to his younger brother Anais. He knew that Kuno was a man of sound wisdom, but their conversations were mostly about hunting, or women or the best strategy for winning at Chance-cards. Now he needed someone, who understood the burdens of Kingship and the longings of the heart. So he walked to the great tent of the Holy Mother, and stood waiting as the Thungodra sent word that the King wished to enter.
Inside, Egmar was enjoying a meal of roasted arrow tails, dipped in honey and warm Deep-root tea. She sat comfortably on a soft couch piled high with many down stuffed pillows. It was not her custom to pamper herself so, but lately, she had begun to seek more lavish accommodations than the sparse surroundings that had served her so well in the past. Now her chambers were set with only the finest of trappings, and the walls hung with tapestries that were once, only used at holy rituals. On ornately carved tables, sat several golden bowls piled high with sweet meadow cakes and ripened Balbar fruit. There were also cups of rare spices and herbs that she could use to her hearts content. Rather than wearing the simple robes of a Nomad, she had taken to covering herself in richly decorated garments, sewn with treads of gold and silver, and about her neck hung a large necklace of polished Sagar teeth.
Close by her, were several Handmaidens, two stood waiting for some signal from their mistress that she wished something or other, then they would run to complete those requests. Still more holy servants of Isarie, sat and played on ancient harps, made from rare woods. They sang songs of the past glories of the Madrigal, and the brave deeds of warriors,
They thought it was strange that Egmar, who had never wished to be treated in such a lavish way before, would now become angry, if her tea were to cold or the songs they sung displeased her.
To the Holy Mother, things were as they should be; after all; she thought; I am the speaker for the Gods. Then, as she took another bite of her ripened fruit, in walked a Handmaiden with her head bowed low.
“Forgive me Holy Mother”, she said softly, “ the King wishes to speak to you.”
The High Priestess put down her fruit; my son here? She thought, “send him to me”, she said, with a wave of her hand.
“As you command Holy Mother”, the Handmaiden replied, she turned and went to relay the wishes of her mistress.
Egmar then turned to her other servants, “leave me now”, she said with another wave of her scared hand, watching to make sure they obeyed. When she was alone, she turned and looked at the Book of Isarie that sat upon a silver stand surrounded by golden braziers. The light from them, bathed the sacred book in a warm glow, illuminating the dark spider that sat there unmoving. Unmoving that is, but for its glowing red eyes that seemed to be more human than before.
The Holy Mother looked into its glowing orbs and smiled, “my son seeks an audience with me, perhaps I should keep him waiting?” Egmar, knew it was an old trick, for an Elder of the Tribe, to keep someone, waiting. She knew it was a way of gaining power over that person, before she could send word that she was not ready, the King entered her chambers.
“You wish to speak to me?” she asked, in a voice that held none of the warmth of a mother, speaking to her child.
“Yes mother I do”, spoke the King, then as he walked to an ornate chair, he took in the lavish settings around him. What has happened here? He thought; this is not a place where my mother would find contentment. There were however, other matters to contend with, than the trappings surrounding him, so he seated himself and waited until his mother sat down near him. She adjusted her robe then smiled.
“What has brought you here?” she asked.
Arn took a moment to order his mind, “the days of the past have returned to haunt me,” he said bluntly.
Egmar nodded her head slightly, “we are all troubled by things that have come and gone, do not let your past mistakes turn your head from things in the present”; my son is growing weak. She glanced over at the Holy Book and the glowing red eyes that spoke to her in a voice, only she could hear. “Weakness cannot be tolerated”, they said.
The King thought over his mother's words, “surely I can be forgiven for my past?” There is room in the heart of Isarie for me.
To his dismay, Egmar shook her head, “there are some things that cannot be forgotten and they will stay wi
th us always”.
Arn looked into the eyes of the High Priestess; my mother has changed, she is no longer the woman who raised me. The King stood up, “forgive me for intruding, I will leave you now”, without further word, Arn walked from his mother’s chambers.
Egmar did not stop him from going, when he was gone, she turned to the Holy Book, “my son has grown into a weak King”, she said. In return she heard the voice of the spider, “yes he has grown weak, there is another to take his place”, and once more she heard the name.
“Rahash”.
Hearing that name she smiled, “yes, yes a strong son to lead”.
Endo follow the beckoning scent, through the maze of stone structures that made up the interior of the Norgonie fortress. He knew it was dangerous, the strange odor, seemed to override his better judgment. I was dark now, and he found himself far from the safety of his tent, in a place that was not visited by Nomads. By the light of the moons and his own ability to see perfectly well in the dimmest illumination. He threaded his way carefully, keeping to the shadows. Twice he was almost seen, but a Sandjar's instincts are keen, and he managed to keep his presence secret.
He continued onward, stopping now and then to sniff the air and convince himself that he was heading in the right direction. He made his way around the great pyramid and through broken walls that must have been another great hall or meeting place. After wandering for what seemed like hours, he stopped to smell the air once more.
It is growing stronger; he thought, and he was not wrong, the odor was increasing in strength and with it the pull it had on the young Sandjar; could this be the pheromones that my father told me about? It did not seem likely to Endo, he saw no sign of a Sandjar in the fortress, and it had been many ages, since any of his kind dared to enter the land of the Norgonie. Still the odor was there, strong, persistent and powerful, so powerful that it made the boy continue onward, when his mind cried out to him to turn and go back the way he came.
So putting aside his better judgment, he moved down a narrow corridor between two rows of stones, to see that he had come to an opening in the wall of the fortress, leading into a cave. It was at the corner of the massive fortification, where it was tied into a chunk of rock that angled up the side of a mountain. There were several tall Norgonie warriors standing guard at the entrance, beside them were fierce looking creatures. They were four legged, and in some ways, they resembled the Rackdogs of Calorum. They had massive heads and great jaws that looked like they could bite through anything. The forest people called them Drogs, and used them for hunting and for guarding. What seemed odd to the young Sandjar, was the fact that the warriors were looking INTO the tunnel, as if expecting an enemy to emerge from the darkness.
Why do they guard a cave? He thought; it would be easier to seal up the opening. Before he had time to ponder this question, a rumbling sound came from the tunnel, and a moment later, a fat Norgonie walked out, holding the guide ropes attached too four large Trofar. The huge beasts pulled a great carry wagon behind them, it was made of steel and wood with six large wheels and tall slopping sides. Even in the dim light, it was easy to see what it carried.
Eul; Endo thought; the wagon carries Eul; now the young boy understood were the forest people obtained the burning rock to fuel their pumping system. They mined it underground and carried it to the surface in massive Karracks.
He wanted to investigate further, but he heard several more Norgonie warriors coming near, and the growling of Drogs. So he wisely moved back into the darkness, then made his way back to his tent, and the comfort of his father’s wisdom. There were many questions that needed answers.
Anais and Kela did not attend the ceremony of Rowgal, there was no need for the blind Prince to stand with his brother. Although it was the first time she had journeyed into the land of the Norgonie, Kela had no wish to see a young woman, give up her life for the satisfaction of a false God. For she believed with all her heart that Isarie was the one and only true God and that all others bowed to her. It was the teaching of her faith, and being a loyal Handmaiden of the Goddess she could not think otherwise. Now she and Anais sat near their tent dressed in simple robes surrounded by the Thungodra. They listened, to the roaring of the hungry Sagar cats, as they prowled the forests outside the fortress. Kela had just finished preparing, an evening meal of roasted Rimar and spiced Hagar soup, and although she was taught to be humble, she could not help feeling pride at the perfection of its ingredients.
“Do you prefer two pinches of Ulon spice in your soup or is one enough?” she asked, hoping to make her soup even more perfect.
“One will do”, Anais answered, as he warmed himself near the Washa fire. It was a warm night but for some reason, he felt a bit chilled. Perhaps, it was because he had spent so much time inside his tent, hiding from the world and his own fears.
“Here is your soup”, Kela said, holding out the warm bowl to the Nomad.
Anais took it from her and smelled the rich fragrance of the mixture, “hummmm, I did not know that Handmaidens were such good cooks”, he said, with a slight smile.
The young woman nodded her head, “we learn at an early age and are expected to take our turn preparing meals for the Holy Mother”. Then she sat down, on a small stool near Anais and sampled her dish. A smile crossed her lips when she tasted the thick soup, it confirmed the fact that she did indeed get the spices correct.
They ate their meal in silence for a while, then Anais turned to his companion, “do you love my mother?” he asked.
The question caught the Handmaiden off guard for a moment; why would he ask such a question? She thought. “Your mother is wise and kind, and she is the voice of the Goddess, being a Handmaiden to her, I am bound to serve her with all my heart”.
Anais heard the words of the young woman, but it did not answer his question, so he asked once again, “do you love my mother?”
This time Kela's answer was short, “yes I do love her”. She put down her bowl and looked at the blind Prince, “she is the mother that I did not have, and I will always think of Enor as...”. She stopped herself, realizing that she had used the name that was meant for only her and Egmar. “Forgive me for speaking so of your mother, for that name is only to be spoken between a parent and child.”
Anais shook his head, “there is no need to apologize, I know that you only spoke out of love”; Enor, beloved, a name that I should have spoken.
Hearing those words from Anais, made the heart of the young woman rise; he has suffered much; she, thought; perhaps now he can heal.
They ate the rest of their meal, talking about the price of a Sagar tooth necklace, and how much skill it takes to prepare a perfect bowl of Hagar soup.
Osh, ate nothing for his evening meal, he was too worried about his son, the dangers that lay waiting for him and those he might meet. It did not take a Callaxion, to know that a Sandjar, alone in the midst of the Norgonie, was very dangerous. He knew that the scavengers never ventured into the Eastern woods, they treated it as a forbidden land. Filled with terrors and evil doers of all kinds and descriptions. Near their tent, in the glow of the Washa fire, he paced back and forth, his head filled with questions.
What if they discover that he is a Sandjar, what if they kill him, before realizing that he is not a savage, but an intelligent being? He stopped for a moment at a table, set with marking tools and half-finished parchments of Rimar hide. He reached down and took up one of the practice sheets that his son, had been using to refine his writing skills. The lettering tilted in the wrong direction and there were many grammatical mistakes that any child of the Callaxion, would never have made; he has a lot to learn; the old man thought. Then, he realized that ANY lettering that a Sandjar made was a miracle, for they were a primitive species, many generations from reaching a level that would place them on the lowest rung of civilization. With this fresh perspective on his son’s abilities, he looked at the markings like a proud father. He is learning, he is learning.
O
sh set the parchment back down on the table, and began to pace once more. He understood that his son was indeed far superior, to any other scavenger, but he was still a Sandjar, no matter how much he had changed. That meant danger to anyone who crossed his path. The old man knew that if confronted, he would defend himself, and the savagery of a scavenger of the Outlands was great.
He looked down at the old scar on his hand, remembering the time his son had attacked him, for denying him something he wanted. It was a long time ago and he was still just an infant. He knew deep down, under all the writing skills and articulate language, there were still the instincts of a savage. Having convinced his mind that his son was indeed in danger, Osh began to look for his woven cap and a strong walking stick. Before either of them could be found, he heard a sound and looked over, to see Endo walking slowly into the firelight.
“Where have you been?” the old man asked angrily.
“Nowhere father, I was just out walking and became lost”. Endo could see that his father was angry with him and decided to keep what he saw to himself, at least for the time being.
Osh nodded his large head, “very well, sit down and I will prepare us some food, you must be hungry”.
“I am, father”, replied the young man, “ let me prepare the meal, you can sit near the fire, and tell me more about the mating habits of Sandjar”.
Not wanting to argue with his son, and suddenly feeling quite hungry, the old man sat down near their Washa and began speaking. “Let me see, I think when we left off, I was telling you about the way the females of your species, bite the neck of the male, when they are embracing. This is not a sign of aggression, rather a signal to their mate that they are ready to receive the genetic material into the lower birthing canal. As the bite becomes more intense the male will...”
As always, the information that the Callaxion was transferring, was correct and precise in every detail, all the while Osh was talking, a thought kept running through his powerful mind.
The Sandjar never get lost!
Kuno, was not a man who asked many questions, he was content to know the here and now, and did not trouble his mind, with the future or the past. To him, the past was gone and there was nothing that he could do about it now. The future was tomorrow, and not something that mattered all that much. Now, he lay in his tent, concentrating on the woman that he held in his arms.
He had not gone to the ritual, the Long-range weapons of the tribe, had to be guarded day or night. The Captain of the Spikebacks, would keep them safe, no matter what the cost. The Norgonie, had no such weapons, they did not trade with the Talsonar, and therefore were unable to have the powerful cannon and disruptors themselves. That, had always been a sore point with the people of the forest, so anytime a Nomad tribe ventured into the Greenwood's, they always kept a keen eye on the armaments. Kuno had tripled the guard, surrounding the Long-range guns with his men. He placed them all, at a corner of the fortress, where they could see who was approaching. They could blast a hole in the wall to escape, if necessary.
When all that had been done, the big Outlander turned his mind to more pleasurable thoughts. His dreams were soon fulfilled, the Norgonie woman known as Balru, had watched the Madrigal enter her home, and her heart jumped, when saw that Kuno was still alive and as handsome as ever. Balru spent the afternoon, bathing in scented water, she braided her long golden hair, into intricate ringlets, fixing them with silver and ivory stays. She picked out her best robe, a red one that showed off her ample bosom, clean legs and strong thighs. After putting it on, she splashed herself with honey water, then went off to see if the big Nomad still remembered her.
The rest is a matter that should not be spoken about, other than to say that Kuno did indeed remember the Norgonie woman. After a few tankards of well-aged Po, they retreated to his tent, and spent the rest of the sunlight, renewing their affection for each other. Now that light was done and the night moons were moving in the heavens. Hunger was gnawing at both of them.
“I am hungry”, said the Nomad, as he rolled over on his sleeping mattress, stretching his great arms above his head, “and a full cup of Po, would also be welcome”.
Balru sat up, letting the covering fall away from her breasts. “Are you saying that you would rather feast on stale Rimar and sour Po, then lay with me?” She looked him square in the eyes, moving her shoulder slightly, to further show off her womanly charms.
Now Kuno was a man who knew many things, he knew just how close an enemy had to come, before his Spikback guns could reach them. He also knew how to place the disruptors, to maximize their resonant power, and he was a man who could lead the tribe if necessary. For all his wisdom, there was one thing he could not master, and that was, knowing when to keep his mouth shut. He turned to the Norgonie women and smiled.
“A man's stomach, always comes before his heart”, he said with a slight chuckle.
Hearing this, Balru jumped to her feet, taking up her robe in her hand. “You are a dumb beast Kuno of the Madrigal!” she shouted. Without further words, she stormed out of the tent, not stopping to wrap herself in her garments.
Kuno did not chase after her, instead he lay back on his bed, staring at the ceiling.
Why do ALL women act like women? He asked his mind, then he realized how poor a world it would be, if men only populated it.
High atop one of the corner towers of the fortress, Ishea lay on a large bed, covered in the soft skins of many Sagar cats. The room was large, but it was not the pampered chambers of a Queen, by any means. The Norgonie woman, preferred it that way, she found the trappings of wealth and power, an offense to her nature. She was most comfortable with a sparse, strong accommodation,. So the room, was filled with trophy of the hunt, and weapons, gathered from her enemies. However there was something she did indulge herself in, they were the heads that she had taken in battle.
They sat, impaled on spears, lining one side of the tower room, in the firelight from silver braziers, their hollow eyes, looked out at the Queen as she lay upon her bed. Ishea, wore only a small garment of soft Rimar hide, her dark hair was undone, laying about her dusky shoulder's like the black wing of a Nightcryer. She had removed her necklace and the ornate rings from her long fingers. Her ivory handled dagger, lay on a small table nearby. The green and brown stripes that covered her strong body, had been washed away. Now, her skin seemed to sparkle in the torch light, like the dark waters of forest streams. Outside, could be heard the wild cries of Sagar cats, the howling filled her with longing.
He has come back to me; she thought; he has returned and found me strong. With those words echoing in her mind, she reached under, the pile of skins that she used to rest her head upon, and drew out a pink sea shell. It was not a large one, only half the size of her hand. It was elegantly curved, with a smooth inner side and a soft luster that sparkled in the torchlight. Soft and beautiful; she thought, as she ran her fingers over the smooth surface. Then she turned it over and touched the other side. It was covered in sharp spikes; dangerous to the touch. She held the gift of the sea in her hand, letting the flickering firelight dance off its surface.
A small smile, pulled at the corners of her mouth. He promised to take me to the sea, he promised, we would hunt the great leviathans, he promised too... The smile vanished from her face and she threw the shell down on the bed; he promised many things----all lies!
She stood up and moved to a table, where a golden pitcher and two cups sat. She took up the pitcher and poured its contents into one of the vessels. She began to pour a second cup of sour wine.
“Will you join me in a cup of Po?” she asked.
She turned to see Ral, standing near the entrance to the tower. He still wore the green striping and carried his deadly spear in his hand. He looked at her and smiled, “I did not think my footfalls could be heard?”
The Queen took up the two cups and moved towards the young Norgonie. “You are a great warrior Ral,but you still have much to learn.” She handed one of the cups to th
e young man, who took it from her, and drank down several mouthfuls of the strong drink. Then with his thirst quenched, he moved to a large chair and sat down roughly, still holding the half empty-cup in his hand.
“Why do you wait, why not kill him now?” he asked, gripping the handle of his spear in his strong hand.
Ishea, shook her head, “no that would be too quick. I want him to suffer as I have suffered, then when he has lost everything, he will die”.
Hearing this, Ral nodded his head in approval, “yes let him suffer”, he took another gulp of his Po. After wiping his lips with the back of his hand, he looked at the Queen again, “ we must be careful, an animal in pain, is the most dangerous”, he said.
At this Ishea smiled broadly, “that is true, but you have killed many wounded beasts, and killing this one should be an easy matter”. She moved slowly too one of the severed heads nearby, and looked into its shrunken face and vacant eyes. “When all is done, his head will join the others, and seeing it will comfort me on long winter nights.”
Ral leaned forward in his chair, his voice was low, “you hate him that much?” he asked.
Ishea walked slowly over to the young warrior, in the dim torchlight, her green eyes burned with a magnificent fire, “that and more, for he was no mate to me and no father to you”.
Ral said nothing, for there was no doubt in his mind that the words of his mother were true, and that there were no longer questions that needed answers.
Nomads The Fallen God Page 20
