Nomads The Fallen God

by Gary Mark Lee

  Chapter 36. The Giants of the Earth

  Long ago in the Before Time the great warriors of Isarie walked free upon the Outlands, for their strength was without measure, and their hearts knew no fear.

  When they marched the ground shook, and when they shouted the sky rumbled, and when they died the Gods wept.

  We do not see them now for they slumber deep in the earth, and their sleep is without end, do not say their name and be mindful not to wake them, for when the Voice of Doom speaks they will once more walk the land and all will know fear.

  Old Nomad story

  Arn would not be turned back from looking for his mate, he vowed that he would find her, and find her he would. With him was the Norgonie Queen, and beside her was his son. He was not thinking of Ral and the hatred that was in his heart for him. He was thinking of Andra, and what he would say to her when she was found.

  I have betrayed her; he thought; I have held another in my arms, and when I did, I forgot her. It was a truth that he did not want to know. What will I say? What will I say? He drove those questions from his mind, the corridor that they were in, was growing hotter with each passing step.

  They were not sure how long they had been walking since leaving the great chamber of the deformed God. They knew it was quite some time ago, they did not stop to rest, behind them they could hear the sharp footfalls of the Wormrow following them. At one point, Ishea wanted to make a stand and face the vile little creatures, but she knew that the narrow corridor they were in, would not be to their advantage in a close in fight. Occasionally they stopped to pick a few, plump slime-slugs off the walls, to eat. The purple skinned crawlers, were not the best of foods but it would help to fend off hunger, and their moisture would slack their thirst. Occasionally they came upon a fat Troca, and although Arn found the taste bitter, he knew that it would give him strength, so he ate it without complaint.

  The Starfall was beginning to lessen as they moved, and with it the light, soon the corridor grew very dim, it also began to ramp downward. As it did, it grew warmer and warmer, it was not much at first but with each step, it seemed that the air grew heavier with heat. After a time, it became difficult to breathe. The lungpower of a Nomad, was far greater than a normal human, so they were able to proceed where others would have fallen.

  The stone walls were now very warm to the touch, and with them the pathway. Soon there were small whiffs of steam, rising from cracks in the floor and a foul smell, like sulphate or Coronium.

  The King stopped for a moment, as they came to an opening in the corridor. Ahead lay several tunnels, each one alike, all filled with the same foul smell and oppressing heat. The opening was circular with a high vaulted ceiling that was cracked and pitted with age. From the breaks in the domes rock, a greenish slime slowly dripped to the floor, forming puddles infested with crawling things, too vile to mention. There were also many skeletons about, covered in dust and spider's webbing, looking at them, it was easy to see that they were the remains of Wormrow. Many of the bones were smashed or cut in two, some kind of battle took place here long ago. Who killed them and why, could not be ascertained from the fragments.

  At the center of the opening, was a massive statue of a giant warrior. He wore thick armor and held a strange looking weapon in his hands. It resembled a chamber rifle in some respects, it was far larger than the ones that were taken from the Talsonar.

  The figure was badly pitted, and covered in webbing. Although its face bore a strong resemblance to a Nomad, it had more of a savage, animal look than the handsome features of an Outlander.

  Ever since Arn was a small boy, he had heard tales of the Ancient Ones, and how his people were once giants, how they made war with the Gods. Looking at the statue, he was reminded of those dark tales and the Nomad law that says. “The name of those warriors must never be spoken, least you wake them from their eternal sleep and they take your soul to the Pit of Marloon.”

  Let them sleep; he thought, he did raise his ax in a salute to the ancient warriors and whispered a small prayer that their souls, would rest quietly in the ages to come.

  When Ral looked at the image, he immediately realized that it was wearing the very same armor that he had seen earlier. He also knew the strange tales of sleeping giants that lived in the Forbidden City. As he remembered, the tiny hairs on the back of his neck began to bristle with fear. As a small child, his mother had warned him that if he did not eat all that was given to him, the Giants of the Darkness would come and take him away. He chuckled slightly, as he realized that he was no longer a first cycle boy anymore but a strong warrior of the Norgonie. So he drove the feeling from his mind and smiled to himself.

  Giants, the voice of doom, they are only stories to frighten the young; he thought, and he also lifted his dagger, it was a sign that he was not afraid. A challenge to the demons in the dark that he was ready to fight if need be.

  The Queen also knew the dark tales of the Giants of the Earth, she never thought they were anything but a myth. Now as she looked at the statue, she wondered if the ancient stories were somehow based on fact.

  The Forbidden City holds many dangers; she thought; perhaps there are still more to come? Ishea did not raise her weapon as a sign of respect, she tightened her grip, in case her question was heard by Arm-Ra and she uttered the traditional prayer to the God.

  “Ragute Ranana Trocoro Arm-Ra, all glory to Arm-Ra”, she said softly. The King did not hear her, he was trying to decide upon the best path to take. After looking at the different tunnels, she spoke, “I say we go in that direction”, she pointed at the passage to her left.

  “What makes you think we should go that way?” The Kings voice held a certain amount of mockery, Ishea was not prevented from speaking her mind.

  “The foul smell seems less in that direction, and those two tunnels are much hotter”, she said calmly, pointing to the corridors on her left.

  What the Norgonie Queen said was true, the loathsome smell was less on the left than the right. It did seem a bit cooler. Arn did not take her advice, something told him to go right. It was not something that he could explain, he KNEW that finding Moonbud, meant going into the tunnel on the right.

  “We will go that way”, he said and began to walk to the corridor on his right, for a moment the Queen looked at him, then shook her head.

  Kings are often foolish, I was always the better tracker; she thought, she also knew it was useless to try and argue with her former mate, when his stubborn mind was set. So she dismissed her better judgment and trailed after him.

  Ral on the other hand, did not want to follow either of them, he seemed to know that something was waiting for them. Something dangerous but with only a small dagger and no armor, he was forced to continue with the others. No sooner had he taken a few paces than he heard, the unmistakable sound of footsteps moving quickly behind him. He only had a moment or two before he saw dozens of angry Wormrow, pouring into the small chamber, he knew he must fight or die!

  In an instant, Arn and Ishea also realized what was happening, they turned to face their attackers, each one vowed in their hearts to fight until the end. They watched the little creatures race towards them, then a strange thing happened, as they approached the statue of the warrior, they suddenly stopped dead in their tracks. At the front of the hideous mob, was the tall leader and even though he was only a short distance from the humans, he did not leap at them but stood frozen in fear. After a moment, he began to chatter in a language that could not be understood, and as he did, the others of his kind, also began to murmur among themselves.

  They are afraid; Arn thought, of what he did not know.

  The Queen also saw them hesitate; they do not attack they have fear.

  Ral was the closest to them and seeing his chance, he rushed at the tall Wormrow, driving his dagger into its chest. The creature was caught off guard and died before he could fall to the floor. The young Prince quickly withdrew his bloody weapon, then waited for the other little monsters, to
avenge their leader, they did not. They stood still, frozen in fear, after a moment or two, they suddenly turned and hurried away, back the way they came.

  Ral could not control himself and shouted out the victory cry of his people. It echoed down the many tunnels surrounding them, soon it faded away. Ishea did not want to admit it but she was proud of her son.

  He acted foolishly; she thought; but he acted with bravery; and there was nothing more important to a Norgonie than bravery.

  Arn saw it differently; youth is foolish; he thought; they think danger is a game of Chance-cards. He remembered his own childhood and how he would race after death, it made him seem very old. So holdinf his head high, he moved into the tunnel on the right, as he did, he had to admit that Ral did kill the Wormrow with skill, and he drove his dagger deep. For a moment, he was proud to have such a strong son.

  High above them, Valen was slowly making his way downward. The thick vegetation had cracked many levels of the upper portion of the great city, and the Caladone warrior made use of them to climb downwards. It was slow going at first because the huge twisted vines, made it difficult to move, as he descended the light from above grew dimmer, and the plant growth lessened. Soon he was free to move about on the stone and steel flooring, he still had to keep a careful lookout for openings that would cause him to plummet to his death. He managed to hold onto the broken bone weapon that he had used to escape the Screechers. It was not much but it was all he had. He was lucky in one respect, the vegetation that grew around him, yielded fruit that was not unpleasant to the taste, and he filled his empty belly until he could eat no more. Water was another problem, although there were pools of the life giving liquid about, they were brackish and filled with crawling things. The young warrior had gone much longer without water and he did not complain.

  He now sat on a twisted root that protruded upwards from a large break in the floor. He held the broken bone weapon in his hand. Running his fingers over the pointed end of the large femur, he decided it was not as sharp as it could be, so he began scraping it against a nearby plate of pitted metal. As he did, he looked over and saw a small furry creature slowly poking its head out of a hollow limb of a tremendous tree that must have risen up many levels from below. The creature was about the size of his fist with large hind legs and smaller arms, it had very large eyes and ears, and a long twisted tale. It sat there for a moment or two, trying to decide if it should run or come closer, in the animal world there are two questions, can I eat it or will it eat me?

  Valen could see that the small mammal was not a threat, so he smiled at the fur-covered creature. “You have found a very good home little one”, he said softly, “around you, is food to eat and you are too small for the Gods to notice”. He put down his bone weapon and took a small red fruit from an overhanging limb. Tearing it in two, he handed one half to his little companion. The creature hesitated for a moment or two, then it came out of its burrow and sniffed the ripened offering. It did this several times, then reached out with its tiny fingers to take the fruit from the human.

  “I must seem a God to you”, the young warrior laughed, “ I am just an Outcast”, hearing his own words, started him thinking. If I am his God, and I pray to other Gods, does that mean that those same Gods look up to greater ones than themselves? This in turn, made him think even deepe; and maybe those higher Gods, worship stronger beings, who pray to more powerful deities and then they build temples too...? He stopped thinking, for he knew that it was a mind-journey without end, and he did not want to start down that perplexing road.

  Valen took the bone weapon in his hand and stood up proudly. He had a path to follow, his enemy was still out there and he would not stop until he saw it destroyed. So he placed the other half of the red fruit, near his furry friend and began looking for a way downward. As he did, he heard a great rumbling from above, glancing up, he felt water dripping over him. Although he could not see the sky, he knew that Dietas the Goddess of Water, was pouring rain from her jug, giving life to the earth. Even though he was the Supreme Being of small furry creatures, he still got very wet.

  Far below the Caladon warrior, the King of the Madrigal, would have traded a wagonload of Rimar horn for the cooling rain. The corridor now felt like the inside of an Ironworkers furnace, all about were more Wormrow remains, giving homes to crawling insects and small spiders. The walls of the narrow tunnel, were too hot to touch and the soles of the Nomads thick boots, began to burn as if he was treading on hot coals. With the heat, the Nomads mind began to wander, thoughts that would not have been there in the cool Outlands, now danced in his head like embers from a campfire.

  Is this the pathway to the pit of Marloon? The King asked his mind; perhaps I have died and my soul has been sent to that burning land? It was something that he could except, he knew he had betrayed his mate and the Gods would punish him. He did not want to leave this world, without finding Andra, so he offered a small prayer to Nor, the powerful God who guards the entrance to the Underworld and the Pit of Marloon. If I am dead let my soul wander this place until I find her, then you may feast on my flesh. It was another vow, added to the many that he had already offered.

  Beside the King, the Queen of the Norgonie, also prayed. Her God was Arm-Ra and he did not look kindly on weakness, so she whispered that the heat should become greater, to prove her strength, and have the great God take notice of her life. This is like a night in the Icetime; she boasted; I wished I had brought my thick robe! Deep down, she wished that she were back at the pool of the Death Shadows, feeling the sacred water on her tortured skin.

  Ral did not pray, he held his head high, he did not want to show weakness to his father and mother; they think I have been defeated; he thought; soon I will show them I have not!

  They continued on in silence, not wanting to speak and waste their energy. Soon there was very little light from the Starfall, they had to grope their way, using their weapons to feel the edges of the tunnel walls. Now and then, they tripped over a broken skeleton or slipped on the crushed body of some slithering creature. After a time, the tunnel opened up into a large chamber, they found themselves standing before a great iron door, forged with an image that Arn knew well.

  Nor; he told his mind, there could be no mistake, it was plain to see, the iron face had three large eyes. Two for the daylight and one for night. The head also possessed, two great ears, much like the Nightflyers of the Outlands. Having such ears, Nor could hear the tinniest sound that of condemned souls trying to escape the burning Pit.

  Two huge Drog like animal statues, stood crouching on either side of the entrance, they were twice the size of a Nomad and had great jaws, filled with teeth the size of daggers. These were the Soul Chasers, the furious beasts who feasted on the flesh of the dead.

  Again Arn thought he had died and that he was being led to the Afterlife. Why then did he still hear Andra calling to him? Was she also dead and waiting for him beyond the door?

  If she has passed from this world; he thought; then I will follow her to the next. True to his word, he began pulling on the huge iron portal.

  Seeing the image, Ishea also thought that the Afterlife lay on the other side, she knew the Guardian of the Gate by another name but it still sent a chill up her spine, despite of the terrible heat. When she saw the King trying to open the gate, she went to his side and put her hand on his arm.

  “We cannot go further”, she said softly.

  Arn simply looked into her green eyes. “You may go back, I will not think less of you but I must go on.” He pulled with all the massive strength in his great arms and wide back, the door made a creaking sound, then slowly opened. When the gap was wide enough to enter, the King took one last look at the Queen.

  She once held my heart; he thought; may she fined her way to the Golden Hall; he went inside.

  For a moment, Ishea listened to her body, it told her that she must rest now, and find a way out of this place; you have done all you could, turn back now and return to your
people. Then she began to listen to her mind and it told her something else; you made a promise and you must keep that vow. At last she listened to her heart and it told her to stand beside the man she loved.

  Now there is a saying among the wise men and women of the Outlands.

  When your body speaks you forget your mind.

  When your mind speaks you forget your heart.

  When your heart speaks you forget everything.

  Ishea had never listened too closely to the wisdom of the ages, she was a woman of action. She let her heart guide her in matters of right and wrong, so the Queen of the Norgonie followed the King into the unknown.

  Ral stood and watched as his father and mother, went into the entrance, for a brief time, he was content to let them go. Then he realized that for all the bragging of his mind, he did not want to remain behind. Making an excuse that he wished to see the Pit of Marloon for himself, he gripped his dagger and entered the great door.

  Once through the iron gateway, the trio found themselves at the entrance to a massive enclosure. Cut from solid rock by a means they did not understand, it looked like the walls had been melted, not dug by pick or shovel. The air was thick with smoke and fumes, it smelled heavily of death and decay. There were great columns supporting the vaulted roof, they like the walls, rippled with molten layers that looked like wax, dripping down a candle. With the fumes, was a reddish glow emanating from the openings, having traveled to the Land of Smokes, the King knew that it was molten rock.

  The eternal fires of the Pit; the King thought.

  Looking beside him, he saw a great iron plate, supported by two massive steel chains. The surface of the plate, was covered in more strange writings and symbols that had no meaning to the Outlander. He looked at it, suddenly he realized exactly what it was.

  The Voice of Doom!

  The huge gong was the height of three tall warriors and pitted with age. In the dim light of the Starfall, it held a great fear for the Norgonie Queen; when the voice speaks the dead shall rise. It was a story from her childhood, try as she might to dismiss it as a foolish tale to frighten children, a chill still rose up her back.

  Ral also felt fear, although he was a strong a brave warrior of the Norgonie, he still carried the primitive dread of the unknown. This iron symbol held his deepest superstitions and dark beliefs, still he did not show his fear.

  Arn looked at the instrument of the Gods, his face showed what he was thinking.

  It IS the Pit of Marloon; the King thought; now I know that I am truly dead; there lying on the cracked and broken floor, were the remains of ancient warriors.

  They lay, row upon row, their mummified bodies still wearing heavy armor, each one held a strange looking weapon in their huge hands. They surely numbered in the thousands, perhaps more, the light was dim and only a small section of the undead could be seen. They were covered in webbing, and scurrying over them, were millions of colorless spiders. They bore a strong resemblance to the Lurkers in the Darkness, the crystal spiders that gave rebirth to the Nomads, healed their wounds and increased their strength. The huge warriors, lay as if in sleep, never to awaken. There was one more thing that the Outlanders could see clearly.

  They were all giants!

  Arn was tall for his kind, the smallest of the dead warriors, was two heads taller than the King. The others were far more than that. Looking at them, the Nomad knew that the ancient legends were true.

  The giants of the earth! He thought; this is where they rest.

  If Arn had looked closer, he would have seen that not all of them had sunken faces or skin the color of tanned Rimar hide. Some appeared as if they still might awake if the Gods so deemed. Gazing at the vast underground graveyard, the King thought hard on the stories of his past, then uttered a word that was forbidden by his ancestors long ago.

  “Honnagar”, he whispered.

  As soon as that name passed his lips, the King knew that he should have never spoken that terrible word. Believing himself dead and facing the Pit of Marloon, he forgot the laws of his tribe.

  I am dead now; he thought; I will never see Moonbud again; the feeling that his mate lay ahead of him was just a trick of the Gods. Further punishment for his betrayal of the one he loved. Knowing that he would never hold Andra in his arms again, made the rage burn in his mind. Being a great warrior of the Madrigal, he raised his war-ax high above his head and called out in a voice loud enough that the Gods could hear.

  “HONNAGAR!” he screamed.

  A madness rose up in him, it was not the killing rage of battle but something far more violent. It was the madness that comes over a man, when he has lost his mate. The vengeful mind-shroud that fills the soul with a pain, far beyond that of the senses. Knowing that he would never again see the Outer Rim woman again, made him lose all fear, he struck out with hate.

  He took his war-ax and struck the great gong by his side, once more screamed out the name,“Honnagar!”

  Again and again, he beat his weapon on the pitted face of the Voice of Doom, with each strike the air filled with a mighty sound that made the Norgonie Queen, cover her ears and bend her knees.

  He has left this world and entered the land of madness; she thought.

  The King continued to beat his ax against the Iron Voice, all the while he called out “Honnagar!” over and over again. At last, he had spent all his fury and strength, he let the ax fall from his hand. He stood there like an Outland God starring into the dim light of the Chamber. She is gone; he thought; I am alone. Then in a voice barely above a whisper, he spoke. “Let it end”, he said.

  We cannot be sure if the eternal Gods did indeed hear the Madrigal King's sacrilege, some lesser God of the Pit must have, for there came a sound that made the blood run cold in Arns heart. At first it seemed like a soft wind had entered the burning crypt but there were no openings for air to enter or exit. It was more like the whistling of the night breeze over the grain fields on the Sirolian Plains. Then the Nomad realized just what he had heard.

  Deep breathing.

  At first he thought it was a trick of a demon, hiding in the darkness or an echo of their presence, multiplied by the walls surrounding them. He quickly realized that this was not some jest of nature, his breath was hard and fast while the chamber sound was slow and labored.

  Ishea also heard the breath-wind and unconsciously she stood close to Arn. The Queen had faced many enemies both human and devil, she had killed many Sagar cats and other great creatures that dwelt in the Caltarine Forrest. Those were dangers that she knew and could fight with spear and claw. Now she was faced with something that she could not understand, it made her heart turn cold.

  Arn has summoned the demons of the dark; she thought, and she began to utter a saving prayer to Arm-Ra.

  Ral was also afraid but his face never showed it, he simply stood with his feet braced, holding his dagger hard in his hand, ready to fight and die like any warrior of the Norgonie.

  Let them come; he told his heart; let them come and fight.

  The breathing grew louder, soon it was joined by a rustling sound, like a venom-viper moving in the undergrowth. A creaking of metal on metal, rusted and aged, joined the sound, in the dim light of the forgotten crypt, the King saw something begin to rise up from the dusty floor. At first Arn thought it was a trick of the light or perhaps a phantom, born from the heat and thirst. After shaking his head and rubbing the back of his hand over his tired eyes, he saw that he was not dreaming and cursed himself for speaking the forbidden name, he watched as the dead began to rise.

  The dust of countless ages, started to fall from their ancient armor, the small creatures of the darkness that had once made their homes in the webbing of the sleeping giants began to scurry away. The dead men rose up one by one, great warriors of the past, now living in the present, huge all-powerful and supreme, their long sleep now over. They numbered in the hundreds and more, each one the worth of a dozen warriors of the Outlands, their rusty armor was thickly fashioned wi
th spikes, protruding from elbows and legs. It covered them from head to foot and would easily turn the blades of war-axes and Chamber rifle projectiles. Their faces could hardly be seen, large helmets covered most of their features, what flesh could be seen was scarred by fire and steel. They also possessed strange looking eyes, they seemed to have no pupil or coloring, they were pale and lifeless like the eyes of a serpent. There were deep marks on their body plating, this told the King that they had seen many battles and fought many enemies.

  Honnagar; he thought; the Giants of the Earth.

  He watched in awe as the warriors began to move towards him, their feet pounded on the dusty ground and it shook the chamber like a passing herd of Rimar. They did not speak or show any emotion as they lumbered to where the King stood unmoving. They seemed like men in a trance, marching without knowing, unaware or uncaring of their surroundings, following a silent command that only they could hear.

  Ishea stood close to Arn, seeing the oncoming warriors and knowing that they could never overcome such an enemy, her mind whispered a prayer to Arm-Ra; if now is the time of my death, let me die beside him.

  Ral offered no such prayer, for like all youth, he wished only to die a glorious death' let them come, he thought; I will show them how a Prince of the Norgonie faces death. He braced his feet and crouched low, making himself ready to leap on the death warriors to die amongst them.

  Arn was also ready, he took up his weapon, gripping the handle of his ax tightly. He held it up so that he might look at the worn edge of the metal, “we have fought many battles you and I”, he said softly. “Now we will fight one more, drink deep!”

  Hearing those words, the King suddenly forgot all worries, he no longer felt weak from the oppressive heat, his throat did not cry out from thirst and he forgot why he had come so far. Now the fighting madness began to rise within him, he longed to rush into battle, swinging his weapon and watching it bite deep into flesh and bone. It was the way of a Nomad, it was what they needed, it was their food and drink, it was their world.

  Arn walked forward away from the others, he stood tall and proud as the iron giants marched forward. His once shining armor was now pitted and dark, filth and slime of the underworld, covered him from head to foot. Still he was a King, a leader of warriors and a terror to his enemies, no outer stain, could diminish the vestige of his leadership.

  So when the first of the dark warriors was within reach, he called out to him in a voice without fear.

  “Come and face me if you dare, for it is Arn of the Madrigal that stands before you”. One of the giant warriors raised his weapon and pointed it at the Nomad. The King shouted out a war cry in the old language.

  “TRAGO DAR RAMANA!” It meant, “Death is afraid”.

  Then something strange happened, the ancient warriors stopped in their tracks, they lowered their weapons, and stood motionless for a time, breathing in the hot air. Then the largest of them, came forward and stood before the Outlander. He was almost twice the height of the King, his face bore a long scar across the left side of his jaw. He stood there like a great mountain of steel and death, then he spoke.

  “Narga entaro?” the giant said.

  For a moment Arn did not understand, then he realized that the huge warrior was speaking to him in the same ancient language but with an unfamiliar accent. Still the meaning came through, he was asking if he was a King?

  Now in the ancient language of the Nomads, the name King, had many meanings. It could mean Leader, Ruler, or Commander, or it might mean, “he who rules all”. It was a name to which one must show respect.

  Arn still held his weapon tight, as he replied, “et toras na entaro”, he said, (yes I am King).

  Hearing those words, the ancient warriors, bent their knees and bowed before the bewildered Nomad. He could not know that they were bred to follow a King, and they had waited through the millennia for one to come.