Nomads The Fallen God

by Gary Mark Lee

  Chapter 35. Man and Machine

  Scholars have long debated just where the soul might lay; some say that the idea of an inner collection of memories that live on after the organic portion of a creature dies is impossible. There are also wise men and women throughout the Outer Rim who would argue that a soul, is not bound by physical laws and therefore cannot be cataloged in any scientific way.

  There are those among the Nomads that believe a soul is just a part of the universe looking at itself and therefore will live forever.

  From the Mindlock of Oshismarie Inastro Sistashion.

  The Talsonar were no more.

  Their once powerful city was in ruins, and those that once dwelt inside the great pyramid, were now the slaves of Atos. How many was only known to the Orb, it controlled them and gave them work to do, if they died during their oppressive labor, there were others to take their place. Like others before them, they worked without rest or nourishment and soon they had completed their task.

  The metal God that now stood beside the fallen city, was not the one that attacked it only a few days before. Atos had now doubled in size and strength. The engines that once powered the great pyramid, would now propel the huge machine, the weapons that once defended the Talsonar against the Nomads of the Outlands, were added to those taken from the Caladon. Those humans deemed strong enough, were taken into the monstrous machine, their minds erased and filled with a new purpose, to defend their master, to kill all, who were its enemy.

  It was not only their minds that were changed, their bodies were too. The Orb commanded that the Repair-bots should choose the strongest of the workers, and replace weak for strong. Obeying their master, they set about removing limbs and internal organs, replacing them with steel and inter-working processors. Bolbecs, Talsasions, and all the strong Outer Rim species that had found a home on Gorn, were made into even stronger warriors. Now they could defend their master, with power and strength, far greater than simple flesh, could do. With the Mindlock from the Orb, they could fight as one, moving like some great war beast, to destroy all that stood before them. The only flaw was their link to the Iron God, for they must stay within the shielding of the organic brain, or their bodies would cease to function, and they would fall to the ground, never to rise again.

  Inside the metal monster, the Cyberman stood before the Orb. If anyone from his past, had seen him now, they would not have recognized him, there was very little left of Shadowman that could be called human. His arms and legs, once flesh and bone, were now made of steel, an iron mask that did not smile or frown or show what was behind its featureless surface, had replaced his wounded face. His one good eye, had been damaged, so it was removed, and a more efficient ocular vision scanner substituted in its place. Now the Cyborg man, could see all frequencies of light, he could also be supplied with data in darkness. The Repair-bots had also removed a portion of his brain, his limbs would never again feel pain, so those connections in his mind were deemed useless. They did replace the inter-connectors of his cortex, with a cordo-plexing digitators, and therefore he could receive information at a greatly enhanced speed. They also added a multi-input configuration connector to his right index finger, so that he could directly interface with the command consoles if needed.

  When all was complete, the Half-man looked at the Orb, he did not think of it, as his master. He now knew that it was just a highly advanced Organic Reactive Brain, not a God, as he once believed.

  What a fool I was; he thought; believing in such nonsense; although he now realized that he had been mistaken about the Orb, but he knew that he was correct about himself.

  “I see all, I understand all”, he said out loud.

  At the precise moment, the Orb was thinking the very same thought.

  A long way away, and very high, a giant Screecher was winging its way to the West. It was tired, having flown a great distance, carrying its prey back to its feeding nest. It had already traveled over the great canyons that separate the Sorolian plains from the Mountains of Gorash. It flew higher, passing between the snow-capped peaks of the towering range. Then down to the dense Forests of Caltarine, it flapped its huge wings, then glided effortlessly towards the broken face of the Forbidden City. All the while, it held on to the Outlander, who, had watched the fall of the Talsonar.

  Valen was still alive, the huge Screecher, was female, and it preferred to feed its offspring live food, rather than carrion that males of its species found acceptable. Now it had a tender morsel, to drop into its cluttered nest, it would watch, as its always-hungry young, quickly devoured the offering. It focused it keen eyes, then dipped its wings, preparing to float gently downward. All the while crying out, a loud warning wail to others that it was returning to its home.

  That was when the Caladon warrior, returned to the land of the living.

  When Valen opened his eyes, he thought that his soul had left his body, and was floating up to the land of the dead. He knew that he should have been carried there by Isarie’s Handmaidens, not in the claws of a Forrest Screecher. The young warrior, was not one to panic, so he held still, trying to think of a way out of his predicament. It was not easy, he had never flown before, and his stomach longed to expel its contents. He fought down the urge to vomit, and hoped that the Gods would somehow, look kindly on an Outcast.

  The Screecher cried out twice more, then glided into a large opening, in the side of the stone city. It floated over dozens of other nests, where ravenous young, stretched out their long necks and gaping mouths, trying to snatch the human from the claws of the flying reptile. Their efforts were futile, after gliding deeper into the broken fortress, the huge bird fluttered over her nest.

  Valen knew that he had only seconds to save his life, he began striking his fists, against the hard scales on the Screecher's leg. It seemed to have no effect, and a moment later, he was falling towards the open mouth of a screaming chick. It seemed that the Gods did indeed smile on him, at the last moment, the hungry chick, turned its bulbous head, and he fell into the soft nest and not into the snapping jaws. Before the screaming chick, could turn to strike, the Caladone warrior took a broken leg bone, a former meal, and smashed in, the screaming chick's brain. The other chick that was in the nest, began to dine on its sibling, gaving the young warrior, time to climb quickly out of the nest and run for his life.

  Behind him, Valen could hear the angry cries of the female, as she watched her chick, being devoured. He did not turn to look back, he continued to flee. Before him, was a jumble of abandoned nests, broken stones and huge vines that entangled the upper levels of the Forbidden City. Holding the broken bone as a weapon, the Outcast plunged into the thick vegetation, where he would be safe from other hungry birds of prey. He sat to catch his breath, and wondered how, he was going to escape his lofty prison. After pondering his predicament for some time, he decided to move on. He had gone only a short distance through the tangled vegetation, when he heard more screeching sounds, poking his head between two great roots, he saw a forbidding sight. Before him, were hundreds of huge Screechers. Not nesting females, these were males, twice the size of their mates. Their size, was not the only difference, their huge bodies, were covered in thick plating. It would make them invulnerable to arrow or spear. Their heads, were covered in spikes and more plating, their sharp beaks, could hold a full-grown Nomad with ease. Their wingspread told the young warrior that they could carry prey of immense weight, and their clawed feet were strong enough to grasp a Trofar, without effort.

  They perched on ledges and broken beams, squabbling amongst themselves, for left over scraps of food. Now and then, one would lift its great wings, and fly off, to scavenge the Caltarine Forrest. There were armor-clad skeletons, of very large warriors, scattered about. Looking at them, and the huge flying beasts, the Caladone, remembered old stories from his childhood. One in particular, told of ancient warriors of immense size, who rode on the backs of enormous reptiles, they rained down death and destruction, on their enemies. Now loo
king at the remains of the giants, and the towering Screechers, he thought that the fables might be true.

  Valen watched the beasts for a time, trying to make up his mind about the legends. Moving with the skill of a Sagar cat, he hurried away from the flying reptiles, and the long dead warriors. He made his way downward into the lower levels of the Forgotten City.

  A long way from the heights of the Forbidden City, deep under the earth, another Outcast was also trying to find a way out.

  Endo had tried several plans to save himself and his people. Each time they were met with failure. Being a son of his father, he understood that defeat only comes when you no longer try, so he began to formulate yet another plan of escape. Beside him, Mog swung his digging tool, great chunks of Eul, fell away from the tunnel wall, rolling downward. They were picked up and carried to steel carts, pulled by other Sandjar. These carts would in turn, be pulled to the main tunnel, loaded into the great wagon, then taken to the outside. This endless cycle, of work and more work, was all the Sandjar knew, it was their world, the only world there would ever be.

  Now they had a new leader, a Coraw that came from above, he spoke to them in the darkness. From one Sanjar to another a word had spread, a word carried by a female. Rawna listened well to her mate as they lay together, as she went about her work, she spoke that word.

  The word was Freedom.

  Of course it meant nothing to the Scavengers, they had no language to speak of, but the word still moved from worker to worker. With each telling it grew and grew, until it became as important as food or water or air.

  As Mog dug, he turned to Endo, smiling at him, he said the word.

  “Freedom.”

  No sooner had he spoken than, he was struck over the back, by the whip of a Norgonie guard, who yelled, “get to work you filth! Freedom is something that you will never know.” He struck the big Sandjar across his back again, hard enough that a thin line of blood, began to flow from the wound. Mog did not cry out, he simply turned, to look into the guard’s face. The Norgonie warrior, did not strike him again, but turned and walked away. Perhaps he saw that any further punishment, would be useless, or maybe he noticed something in the Sandjar's eyes. Something that had not been there before, something that all oppressors fear, something they cannot fight against.

  Hope.

  Mog looked at Endo, his Coraw, and smiled at him. Endo knew that Hope mixed with Courage, can bring Freedom. He in turned smiled at the big Sandjar, nodding his head, “freedom will come”, he said softly, “I promise that to you”. Endo went back to the endless digging, somehow the heavy digging tool seemed lighter in his hands, he knew that there would come a time, when he would fulfill that vow to all his people.

  Egmar, no longer practiced the rituals of the High Priestess, she did not pray or read from the Book of Isarie, or speak to those, who came to her for solace. She spent her days and nights, in pleasures of the flesh.

  Once, Kuno had come to her asking for her help, to calm the anger that was growing in the tribe, about the return of their King. She only scoffed at his concern, she ordered her guards, to remove him from her sight, never again allow him into the Holy Wagon

  While others, ate only Kasha bread and drank stale march beer, she feasted on young forest loppers and drank only well aged Po. She stuffed her mouth with meadow cakes, Hagar soup, and what she did not eat, she threw to the floor. She watched as her Handmaidens, bent low to clean up. when it pleased her, she selected the strongest of her male Thungodra, and had them lay with her at night. When she tired of them, she would call her young Handmaidens, to sing to her, to dance naked in the torch light, and do all matter of vile things. She did all this and laughed, she knew that there were no Gods, and that her life had been a lie.

  Now as the others slept, she rose from her bed, wearing only a thin garment of finely woven threads. She walked carefully over the bodies of sleeping revelers. Making her way out of the chamber, she walked to up the long stairs, leading to the upper level of the wagon, then moved outside to the observation deck. There she stood, looking up at the stars, she saw the night moons slowly making their way across the heavens.

  The moons are just moons; she thoughtp and the stars are only stars; she no longer view them as jewels in the robe of Isarie, she smiled at the many foolish ideas that she once held so sacred.

  From this day forth I will listen only to my mind and not my heart; then she heard a voice.

  “He is coming”, she heard it say, looking down, she saw her dark companion sitting on the carved railing of the deck.

  “Yes he is coming”, she replied to the ebony spider, “and when he comes, he will destroy those who are the enemy”, she raised her arms to the night sky, she reached out, and spoke a single word with her mind.

  Rahash!

  Alongside the fallen city of the Talsonar, the Darkman heard her voice.

  “Rahash?” he heard himself say, as he rose from the place where he sat, listening to the information that was now streaming into his mind. Hearing a word he did not know, caused him to set aside coordinating the tasks of the many Repair-bots around him, and put his mind to solving this riddle. He focused his now powerful memory, on every mention of that word, although he could now scan the information files that were as vast as any Trolacian computer, he could not answer the question.

  He was about to connect himself to the multi-word language bank, when he heard the word again.

  “Rahash.”

  This time he saw an image that he knew, could not be, still it was there, his mother Egmar. She stood before him, wearing only a thin garment of finely woven threads, he could see that she wore the face of her youth, not the one she wore, when he last saw her.

  He tried to scan the image with his new eyes, no matter what level he used, heat, radiation, magnetic, refractive meda-faceing, she still remained the same. So he knew that the figure dwelt within his mind and not in his ocular range.

  “Why do you haunt me?” he asked coldly.

  Far off in the Caltarine fortress, his mother answered.

  “Come to me”, she said, “come and destroy all those who abandoned you”.

  In the chamber of the Orb, her son replied, “yes, I will come”, if he could have, his face would have shown a smile, “I will come and destroy!”

  The image vanished from his mind, and he looked up at the glowing sphere, “did you hear?” he asked his fellow God.

  There was no need to ask, the Orb was now part of his mind, he already knew the answer. He turned to the Task-robot, “set course for the forest of Caltarine.”

  The Shadowman now possessed the power to control the Task-robot, so it obeyed, “at once my God”, it said, then connected itself to the Command Consoles to began coordinating, its orders.

  The powerful steam engines began to pump, and the metal monster began to move. Inside were new workers, slaves who would never rest, or question or understand, their minds had been erased, and only the thoughts of their master, would move them now.

  Outside a heavy rain began to fall, with it came thunder and lightning, and a strong wind from the West. The monstrous machine, did not feel or see, and therefore did not look up at the blackened sky, and ask if the Gods were angry? It simply moved away into the darkness, leaving behind the remains of its enemy.

  High above the people she now detested, Egmar turned away from the night sky. She slowly returned to the chamber, where she would wake those who were sleeping, then command them to entertain her. Being the High Priestess, they would not refuse. While the naked Handmaidens danced and sang, they would see their mistress smile at them. She moved her hand in a stroking gesture, as if she held something in her arms, they could see nothing, and they were too afraid to ask.

  He is coming; Egmar thought, as she held her black companion in her arms; and when he comes I will be free.

  The City of the Talsonar, had once been a great and powerful place, its people feared and its governor omnipotent. Now it was only a dwelling of
the dead or dying, it would never again, send its soldiers out to ravage the land. Dropships would never fall from the sky again, bringing new slaves for the city masters. There would be no more fights to the death in its arena, for the pleasure of the powerful. The great geothermal furnaces that gave the city life, were now cold, the workers that were forced to tend them, would now care for their iron master instead. The beacon that once sent out its light, to guide the lost back to their home, no longer flashed. It was all gone, destroyed by a metal God that had fallen from the skies.

  In the long cycles of the future, perhaps others would come and rebuild the Great City, for now it would be a place where only the dead would live, and those lost souls seeking a place to hide.

  It was only the second time in the long life of Osh that he had ever dreamed.

  The first time was deep in the Hollow Hills, when the Guardian entered his mind, and spoke to him of things he did not understand. The Hollow Hills were a long way away, and it was not the Burning Time, never the less, the Callaxion saw images before his inner eye.

  I am dreaming; he told himself, hearing that, a great feeling of contentment swept over him, he thought that, he would never know the joy and freedom of that wondrous place again.

  He stood alone in the central hall of the ancient Callaxions library, surrounded by millions of programs and many more information files. It was all the knowledge of the Outer Rim that had been accumulated by the Mind-lock capabilities of his species. To Osh it was the greatest place of all.

  If there is a paradise; he thought; then this surely must be it!

  He began to walk slowly through the cavernous chamber, greedily taking in all the incredible sights before him. He saw the cortex glob of the vanished Molpolus, who had reached the furthest point of the galaxy, and returned to tell others of what they learned. He moved past the collected writings of the Vorgus, a creature whose brain, consisted of millions of smaller minds, all floating on a vast green sea that covered its home world. He stood for a time before the statue of Morn, the inventor of the Trolacian computer, he recited the complex equations that were needed to access the inner workings of those vast collectors of knowledge.

  At last he came to the vortex of his dream, he stood before the central collection integrator that coordinates all incoming and outgoing knowledge of his species. It pulsed with power, as its trillions upon trillions of processors, and molecular feedback circuits, flashed like a million stars in a million heavens.

  There can be no better place than this; he told himself; everything I need is here.

  The Vortex began to flicker and spark, as he looked on, the Central Collector changed into an image of Atos, the Nomad's God of War, as he gazed at it the figure, it spoke to him.

  “I am coming”, it said, although it was only the second time that the old man had ever dreamed, he knew that this was very unusual.

  Stone does not speak; he thought.

  He heard another voice speaking to him. “I wanted to thank you for being my friend”, it said. Hearing those words, the Callaxion turned to see a young woman with dark hair and a pleasing smile, looking at him.

  “Do I know you?” he asked, he had forgotten all memory of Andra, and the time they had helped each other, to survive the perils of Gorn.

  “You gave me hope when I had none”, she said softly.

  Who is this strange woman? He thought. “You must have mistaken me, for someone else”, he said shaking his large head.

  The woman came closer and looked into his eyes, “without you I would have died”, she said quietly, “I wanted to thank you, for giving me my life”.

  Osh turned away for a moment, trying to understand the strange words that he had just heard, when he looked back, the woman was gone.

  It must have been a dream; he told his mind, he realized that something very wrong, was taking place; she cannot be a dream, but I am dreaming now, how can this be? Then he heard yet another voice.

  “Father?” it said.

  The old man, turned to see a young Sandjar, looking at him, for a moment he did not know who this creature was, or why he would call him father.

  “I am afraid you are in error”, he replied, “I cannot have a son, and even if I was capable of such a reproductive feat, the outcome could not be a species like yourself”.

  “ I am your son” the young Sandjar said. “You took me out of the desert and raised me as your own.”

  This time the Callaxion did not speak, he knew that he was still dreaming, and talking to a phantom is a useless endeavor, so he turned and started walking away.

  “Where are you going father?” the Sandjar said.

  “I have work to do, and knowledge that needs recording” the old man replied.

  “ I love you”, said the young Sandjar.

  Hearing the word love, Osh stopped and turned to face the Scavenger; love? He remembered the definition that was listed in his collected mind,

  Love, an emotional feeling for someone or something that brings pleasure.

  He looked into the eyes of the green young man, and he started to feel something, stirring deep within his heart; is this love or is my dream becoming reality? Then as he stood there, the mind world around him, began to melt like the wax of a candle. The great chamber shifted and cracked then crumbled into a million fragments that fell silently into nothingness. All the while, the old man looked into the young man's eyes, he listened to the calling of his heart. When at last his dream was done, he and his son, stood in a landscape of emptiness, he realized something that few ever know.

  A universe of knowledge is nothing without love.

  He moved to where the green young man stood, he reached out with his thin arms.

  “I love you son,” he said softly, then father and son embraced, the moment seemed like an eternity.

  He opened his eyes.

  He lay there for a moment or two, as he continued to hold his son in his empty arms, then the moment passed, he sat up and looked around. He was back in his prison chamber once more, surrounded by the cryptic knowledge of the Overlords, it meant nothing to him now, all that he wished to do, was look into his son’s eyes once more.

  A universe of knowledge is nothing without love, He told himself, knowing that he was an old man, he wished that he had understood that simple fact many cycles ago.

  Anais was still a prisoner of the Norgonie, he did not feel anger towards his jailers, he knew that he had long ago made himself a captive of his own fears. In the days and nights since, he had let light into his soul, he was becoming freer than he had ever dreamed he could be.

  He sat quietly in his tower cell, he felt a small stream of warm sunlight touch his face; light is the gaze of the Gods; he thought; we are blind without it. It was an old saying of the Nomads, he now understood that it was wrong. I see more now than when I had sight; understanding this, he wondered if seeing was a curse of the Gods and not a blessing?

  He heard footsteps, he knew that Kela and two Norgonie, were drawing near, in other moment the steel door to his chamber opened, then closed. He was left alone with the young Handmaiden. For a time they did not speak, the blind prince understood why, the last time they had been together, he had told her to go away.

  “Why did you come back?” he asked, in a voice that was filled with both longing and questioning.

  “I came back because I had too”, she said softly.

  The young prince shifted on his filthy bed, “being a Handmaiden of Isarie you could do no other”.

  The scarred young woman, moved to where he sat, she put her hand on his arm, “it was not the Goddess who told me to return to you”, she said warmly, “it was my heart”.

  Anais had been a prince of the Madrigal, the strongest tribe of the Nomads, he had also been their King, holding the power of life or death over them. On a whim, he could have ordered the most beautiful of the maidens, to lay with him in the night and singsongs to his glory. In the morning, he could have ordered their deaths. His tent
was once filled with the gold and silver treasures of the Outlands, he drank the finest of wine and ate the sweetest of meats. In all that time, he did not have the one thing that was now offered to him, because he had no love to offer in return. As he felt the touch of Kela’s hand on his flesh, he let the last part of his closed heart open.

  “You should not love me”, he said, “my future is a dark one”.

  “Then we will face the darkness together”, she replied.

  The blind prince reached out and took the Handmaiden into his arms, and they kissed, although he could not see, he knew that the Light, had at last entered his heart.