Nomads The Fallen God

by Gary Mark Lee

  Chapter 22. The Watcher on the Mound

  Alone am I without a home an Outcast name I bear.

  No rest for me as darkness falls for I sleep in demons lair.

  Bitter water is the wine I drink and I eat of poisoned bread.

  My place is with forgotten souls my dreams are of the dead.

  Song of the Outcasts.

  Valen sat alone on his rocky mound, watching for a night and a day, as the metal God began to change. Although he was hungry and thirsty, he did not let his quarry out of his sight. He had left his Whiptail back at the broken wreckage, tying him securely, so that he would be there when he got back. He spent the night, looking down on the graveyard of broken machines and animal bones, watching, as a thousand metal creatures, went about tending to their master. All through the night, he watched them, moving about like a swarm of Blaze-ants. Cutting, lifting, shaping, replacing old for new, to what purpose he did not know? All that mattered, was that he continued to watch his prey, in the golden glow of morning, he could see that the strange God was growing.

  What is it doing? He thought, then he remembered that a mere mortal, cannot understand the workings of a Gods mind. He decided that such questions were useless, what he did know, was that the metal monster, was feeding on the remains of the Toys of Isarie, and the fallen carcasses of legendary beasts. From his vantage point, he could see how the servants of the God, removed great sections of wreckage from the ancient machines. He saw them lift each piece into place, then with sparking points of light, attach them to the God's body, adding to the Deity's whole. They also made use of the great bones. They were drilled, and set with metal fastenings, to the sides and back of the huge monster, making it appear like some nightmarish creation of a demon’s rage.

  The God is growing that much is certain; he thought; he also knew it was of little concern. The Trofar that had pulled it, to its current position, were dead, and without their massive strength the metal monster could never move again. It may grow but it will remain where it is. He found comfort thinking this, now he would have all the time he needed, to plan and find any weakness that would allow him to strike.

  As he sat on his hill, he watched a small Rockrunner coming near. The tiny reptile kept to the shadows of the rocks, darting from hiding place to hiding place, ever watchful of predators. It stopped for a moment, turning its narrow head to one side, to gain a better view of the human. When it was certain there was no danger, it darted out, finding refuse under the strong leg of the Outlander.

  The Caladon warrior smiled when he saw that the tiny creature, had trusted him enough to come near to him. When he was young, he had had, a Rock-runner as a pet. He looked down at the gray and brown reptile, “I am sorry my tiny friend”, he said, “ I do not have food to share”. He slowly reached down, and gently stroked the scaly skin of his new found companion. “This is a poisoned place, you would do better to find another home”, and so saying, he watched the small creature scurry away. It only got a few dozen meters from his side, when the sand under it suddenly burst open. The head of a small Sand Dragon rose up, grasping it in his jaws, then dragging it underground. As Valen watched it dissappear he felt sorrow. After a while, he remembered where he was, and that the lands of Gorn, were not for the weak. He turned back to look down at the growing monster.

  I am not weak; he thought; I will find a way to kill you.

  The Darkman watched as the Repair-bots reattached his left arm to the connection points at his shoulder. They had removed it, to replace one of the drive mechanisms, which had malfunctioned, closing his fingers around a support beam, then he could not let go. The Shadowman had to stand for several hours, before a spotter robot came to free him. He had to wait until they repaired his arm then make sure that it was in good working order. Now with the new arm in place, the human took out his anger, at having to wait so long, kicking one of the small metal machines hard. The robot flew across the chamber and smashing against a bulkhead, after a shower of sparks, it laid, broken.

  The Darkman understood, the Repair-bot was just a machine, not made of flesh and bone. Anyway, seeing it destroyed gave him pleasure.

  “I am not some slave to be kept waiting!” he shouted, “I am not weak!” To show his rage, he picked up another of the small mechanisms in his metal hand, crushing it as easily as a man crushes an insect. It twitched for a moment, when he was certain it was dead, the Darkman let it drop to the floor.

  The chamber he stood in was mostly empty, the metal servants of the Orb, were now working to rebuild their master's home. They were outside, leaving only a handful to care for the glowing sphere. There was one machine that did stay behind, the Task-robot was now the central clearing place for all orders and reports that came and went to or from the Orb. It had the ability to coordinate many, different tasks at once, also to access the vast knowledge of its master. Being the only machine that had the ability to speak, it had become a reluctant companion to the Shadowman.

  The Darkman paced back and forth in the dim chamber, making grumbling sounds under his breath. He did this for some time, then he turned to look at the glowing orb. He could see that it’s light was dim, and he knew that now was not the time, to ask questions of his God, so he turned to the Task-robot nearby.

  “How long are we to stay here?” he asked, still pacing back and forth.

  There was a clicking sound, then the metal creature spoke to him, “how long, how long is what?” it answered back.

  The Shadowman moved to where the robot stood and shouted at it, “how much time, are we going to spend in this place!”

  Again there was more clicking, and again the robot spoke, “as much time as needed, to replace outmoded interactive mechanisms, and incorporate redesigned elements into a coordinated unit that meets the parameters needed for survival”.

  The Cyberman had heard such babble from this metal creature before, and it always made his head spin, now all he wanted to do was get away from the nonsense of its words.

  “Is it safe to leave this chamber?” he asked.

  “You wish to exit this complex, and seek the uncontrolled environment of the outside?” the robot asked.

  The Shadowman thought this over for a moment, it had been a long time since he had been outside, and he was not sure that doing so, would be a wise thing. My enemies are outside; he thought; it is dangerous. He looked down at his new metal legs; I can run now if need be, he lifted his new arm; I can crush them if I want; finally he gazed through his new eye; I will see them coming near. So putting faith in his new body, he smiled at the metal creature, “yes, take me outside”.

  “As you wish”, without another word, the Task-robot began to lead the human out of the chamber.

  The Orb watched the half man, half-machine leave his side. It did not matter, now they were bound together, whatever he knew, the sphere knew, no matter where he went. Although the great pulsing mind, did not know it then, they would soon become far closer.

  It took many twists and turns, before the Task-robot finally lead the human to a thick steel door, the hatchway, was not like any gateway the Shadowman had seen before. Instead of a square opening with hinges and a handle, it was round, with nothing that could be turned to open or close it. It was also much smaller than he, to exit through, he would have to bend low and move on his hands and knees.

  “Is this the only way out?” The Darkman asked angrily.

  “It is the only way out for you”, replied the machine, “all other exits, are being used for the transfer of materials, they will not be available at this time”.

  “Oh very well”, said the human, “open the door”.

  Once again the Task-robot made a clicking sound, suddenly the airlock began to open, and there was a burst of fresh air, into the small corridor.

  The air is sweet; thought the Shadowman, he tried to remember the last time he had smelled the outside world, he couldn’t. The door opened all the way, and he could see a shaft of light pouring in. At first, the brigh
t light hurt his mechanical eye, causing him pain, but after a moment, the reactive lens of the ocular device, compensated for the abundance of sunshine, and he could see without pain.

  “When you wish to return, the door will open”, the Task-robot told him, “ do not journey far from the central shielding barrier”.

  The Darkman did not understand what the metal creature was saying, he nodded his head anyway, then he bent down and crawled through the airlock, into the outside world.

  Valen could see many Sun-droppers in the sky, they were more of them than usual. They had smelt the rotting carcasses of the dead Trofar, and now they swirled about in greater numbers, than he had ever seen. He knew they would not attack him, it was far easier, to feast on the fallen Thundra beasts, than face the weapons of a warrio. His Whiptail was out of sight, back at the broken turret. As he looked at them, he wished that he too could fly, and see all the lands of Gorn, with the view of the Gods.

  It must be a wondrous feeling to fly; he thought; then he realized that the Sky Riders were masters of the air, and he had no wish for that life. They are a dirty people, who pray to a false God. Thinking on this, he reached down and took his Journey-Nail in his hand, he held it up to look at it. When I die, who will drive it into my hand to hold my ax? This caused him pain, for all warriors wish to be buried with their weapon in their hand. To be able to carry it with them into the Afterlife, he was now an Outcast, no Outlander would break the law and perform the ritual.

  I will die and there will be no one to place me in the ground. Saying this to his mind, brought a tear to his eye, he wished more than anything, to be allowed into the Great Golden Hall of Isarie. There he would feast and sing and be with his ancestors, once more to see the face of his mother and father, to be content for all eternity. Feeling the wet tear run down his cheek, caused him to release the golden spike and turn back to the matter at hand.

  As he looked down on the iron monster again, he was shocked to see a human coming out of the body of the God.

  The Darkman, felt the sunlight on his scarred face once again, despite of his contempt for all things warm and peaceful, his cold heart warmed a bit. He walked slowly on the metal skin of his new home, listening to the clanking sounds that his heavy legs made. Although he knew that the iron surface must be very hot from the rays of the twin suns, he felt no pain. He moved along a narrow ledge, then made his way down to a ramp, where dozens of Repair-bots moved up and down, carrying all sorts of bits and pieces. They moved out of his way when he came near, and soon he was standing on the hard ground of his planet.

  He looked around the landscape, he saw all the activity that was taking place, he saw huge machines, cutting away at the broken toys of Isarie. Smaller ones lifting parts that he could not name. All around him, were thousands of tiny metal creatures, scurrying about like so many Blaze-ants. Each one, knowing where it was going, and not colliding with others of its kind. What they were doing and why, did not matter, all that concerned the Shadowman, was that his master was controlling them. He knew this because he could feel it in his mind, it felt like a tiny buzzing deep inside his brain. Every so often, images flashed in his new eye, a sudden view of things that were not there an instant before.

  He stood for a moment more, as many strange imaages raced across his mind. He saw great battles in the stars, and massive ships being blown apart. He saw whole planets burning, like so many coals in the fires of a Washa, and he saw moons spinning through the heavens, before colliding with their parent worlds. All this and more he saw, and he knew it was not his past life that came before him. He had never seen such things, finally he saw something very strange, it made him to wonder.

  He saw a female holding a small creature in her arms, a tiny human like thing that she cradled against her, like it was a precious thing. What the small being was, he did not know, and before he could wonder about it, further, the image vanished from his mind.

  What was it? He thought; why did she hold it so?

  Then he realized that thinking of such things was a waste of time, so he drove it from his head.

  The Darkman walked away from his master, he began to wander in the mass of steel and bones that made up the Graveyard. All the while, thinking of what was to come, and the vengeance that was to be his.

  When Atos is ready, he will destroy all in his way; knowing this made him smile, for all his miserable life, he had wanted only one thing. To take revenge on those who cast him out. He had tried to do this once before, by pitting the Talsonar against the Outlanders, he had failed. Seeing thousands of his brethren killed in the attempt, did not matter to him at all, all that really mattered, was his hatred.

  He continued to wander, further and further from the great machine, all the while, filling his mind with images of dead Nomads, and a planet without enemies. He looked up he to see a man sitting on a mound. Ordinarily, he would not have been able, to see him so clearly. He had the sun at his back and was only be a tiny outline, set against a rock formation. His new ocular device, gave him many times the vision range of his human eye, and he could make out the features of the man, as clearly as if he was standing next to him.

  A Caladon warrior; he thought, there was no mistaking the markings of that tribe, the design of their helmets and armor, it was a Caladon warrior without question. Why would an Outlander, come here? At that moment, he realized that the man was following both his God and himself. He will warn others of his kind, and they will come, he could not allow this to happen. Atos was not ready for battle and needed more time. Lifting his metal arm, he started to move towards the mount and the interloper who was watching him.

  Valen could see the human walking towards him, he did not run. Instead, he stood up and let himself be seen, then he lifted his war-ax above his head. It was a signal that he was ready to fight and would face him man to man.

  If he wishes to test my strength let him. He knew that he held the high ground, it was better to let his enemy come to him, rather them go down to meet him. He also remembered the pain when he drew near the metal monster. How this human could withstand that torment, was something that made him wonder.

  Perhaps he has an amulet, or knows some magic that allows him close to the creature? Thinking this only made him more willing to fight, if he possessed such a bauble or knew the magic words, he too would be impervious to the power of the iron monster.

  Let him come; Valen thought; I will defeat him and steal his magic.

  Once again the Caladon waved his weapon above his head, shouting out the war cry of his tribe.

  The Darkman moved up the rise directly towards the Nomad, knowing that he had no weapon, he paused for a moment, he took up a jagged piece of steel that was protruding from the ground. It was over a meter in length and as wide as a man’s hand, its edge was raggedly shaped and sharp enough to cut flesh. In the hands of a warrior, it would make a formidable weapon. Taking the steel in his iron hand, he headed for the invading Outlander.

  I will kill him; he thought; and I will take his head back as a trophy.

  As he moved further and further from his master, his head began to ring with pain, and it was not only his head, his legs started to lose their strength. With each step, the power that they once held began to wane, he stumbled again and again. He continued to move forward, trying to ignore the growing agony, then his leg collapsed under him and he fell to the ground.

  “What has happened to me?” he asked in a painful voice. He tried to rise up, but took only a few steps before he fell once again. This time, his left arm refused to stop his fall, and he tumbled head first into the hard earth. He lay there for a moment with his limbs unable to move, his head bursting with pain. He tried to look up at the warrior on the mount, to see if he was coming to attack. His new eye failed him, and all he could see was a swilling blur, without shape or color. His one remaining human eye, could see that the Caladon was not coming closer.

  Valen could see that his enemy had fallen. For a moment he wanted to race down
and cut off his head. Twice more, he shouted the wild war cry of his tribe, then he beat his ax upon the ground. It was then that he remembered the pain when he had drawn close to the great monster, so he stayed where he was. It was very difficult to do this, he was a warrior of the Outlands, bred for fighting. He managed to keep control of his instincts and remain on the mound.

  Below the Darkman spit out his rage, “what, has done this, to me!” he screamed. There was no one to hear him, the many Repair-bots and Spotters, were not programmed to respond to his commands. He lay there cursing the heavens and uttering words that cannot be spoken here. After venting his rage, he managed to roll over, using his remaining human arm, he began to slowly pull himself back, the way he came. Each movement was agony, but his will to survive was great, he mentally dismissed the pain, dragging himself closer to his God.

  For every meterretreated, the pain in his head lessened, and the power in his legs and arm began to return. Soon he was able to stand up and walk with shaking steps, after a time, he was able to move as well as before. His eyesight became clear, and he turned to see the Nomad looking down at him, before he could stop himself, he shouted out with all his strength.

  “Tell all the people of the Outlands that Atos has come!” He raised his iron fist and shouted out once more, “ATOS HAS COME!” Laughing he turned, and walked back to the God that would make his threats come true.

  That night Valen returned to his hiding place, the winds from the west began to rise, and he knew that a great storm was coming. He managed to kill the small Sand Dragon that had eaten the Rockrunner by cutting his arm and letting the fresh blood drop on the ground. He waited until the underground reptile poked its scaled head out, then cut it off with his ax. He dug the rest of it out of the earth, taking it back, to share with his hungry Whiptail. It was not a good meal, the flesh of a Sand dragon is sour to the taste, with nothing else to eat, there was no choice.

  A light rain began to fall on the outside of the broken dome, Valen lay back on his saddle, and thought about the words that the man had spoken.

  Atos he said, Atos is the God of war; the Caladon warrior knew all about the legends surrounding the warrior God. He remembered the story of how Shawcona, the Goddess of Love, wanted him as her mate. He refused, for he loved war and death, more than he loved her. She in turn was so unhappy, she tore out her heart and flung it to the ground, it became a great rock, known as the Heart of Shawcona. He also knew that the Heart had risen up into the heavens to became part of the new Moon called Andra. He had seen this with his own eyes, but if he could see a new moon being made, maybe he could also have seen the God of War, return to Gorn?

  Is the metal monster the God Atos? It was a question that made him think further; if it is indeed the War God, how can I hope to defeat it? He knew there were stories about Nomad warriors, fighting demons and monsters from the Pit of Marloon, there were even legends of Nomads past, whose strength was so great, they could fight with a God. He also knew that he was not a warrior of legend, he was only an Outcast of the Caladone. There would be no songs, sung around the campfires, about him, no one would remember his name.

  As the rain began to come down harder, Valen lay back and closed his eyes. After a time he slept, and in his dreams, he saw himself walking alone in a dark world, without warmth or light, a forgotten moon filled with forgotten people.