Nomads The Risen God

by Gary Mark Lee

Sunbirth found the Land of Plenty filled with an abundance of laughter and contentment for the tribe of the Almadra were busy preparing for the ceremony of Horcon.

  They rose up even before the Dawn-callers cried out and although the night brought them bad dreams they did not speak of them and soon began preparing the great feast that would mark the end of the ritual and the air was filled with the smell of baking bread and roasting Rimar meat, add to this the sweet fragrance of growing grass and freshly open casts of Po and there could be very little that any Outlander could find fault with.

  Kuno, the stout Captain of the Spike-backs and Disrupters and now and then leader of the tribe sat outside his tent sipping a large tankard of Po and taking in the fresh morning air, he was dressed like always in his well-worn armor and his gruff features showed that he had spent the night in the warm arms of a willing companion and at the corners of his mouth you could see a slight smile for she had left long before dawn and returned to her own tent without conversation about when he was to call on her again or if he would think of her when she was gone? To the Captain this was a perfect woman.

  If I were a God I would have made all women like her, but then he had to chuckle for he pictured himself sitting on a golden throne surrounded by smiling worshippers and looking to him for wisdom and guidance, I have very little wisdom to share and I guide my own feet, then he looked up at the morning sky, “Forgive me great Gods for I know that I am just a hapless warrior and far too fond of drink to be a threat to you”. And he lifted his cup to the sky in a toast to any deities that might be watching.

  It was then that he saw his King approaching so he put down his tankard and stood up like any good warrior of the tribe, “It is a fine day for Horcon to make his choice” he said as Arn drew near. “Yes, a fine day” the King replied, “Have you more Po to share with your old friend?

  Smiling the old Nomad quickly poured a round of the sour drink into a large silver cup and handed it to his friend, then he picked up his vessel and they both drank deeply. When they had satisfied their thirsts they put down their drinks and the King looked at his trusted friend.

  “Did the night bring you troubled dreams?” he asked.

  To this question the big warrior only laughed, “I do not know for I was too busy comforting a lonely companion”.

  Arn shook his head, “you are a brave warrior and my good friend but sometimes I think the Gods find you when they have nothing better to do”.

  “Well if they do I am thankful to them for they fill my needs”.

  Hearing those words, the King lifted his cup, “then let us drink to the wisdom of the Gods!”

  “To the Gods” Kuno smiled then thrust his mussel into the sour wine.

  Arn gulped down his cup then whipped his face with the back of his hand, “and now my good friend I will leave you to your drink and ladies for I was chosen King and I must act like one” and he turned and walked away, but not before Kuno had the last word.

  “The Gods chose you and they are wise” he said then drained the last of his cup.

  When the twin suns were high in the morning sky the tribe of the Almadra gathered to see who Horcon would give his blessing to. All the tribe was in attendance, the Warriors and Elders, the Ironworkers and Weavers, even the ancient Frail-Legs were there and although their minds had grown weary they could still remember back to that long-ago time when they too stood before the Gods and were given their paths to follow. Everyone wore their best garments, robes of summer weaves and bright colors and the Elders held the cherished items of their families in their hands so that they would remember who gave them birth. The warrior’s armor was cleaned and shone brightly in the sunlight and in their strong hands they held the Judgments of Isarie, the heavy ax or “tooth” as it was known and on their heads, were the great horned helmets that brought fear into the hearts of their enemies.

  Inside her chamber Egmar the High Priestess of the tribe made ready for the day’s events, surrounding her were the ever present and always attentive Handmaidens, they help their mistress put on the long flowing robe of green set with golden trim and embroidered with the sacred symbols of the Gods, her arms were adorned with bands of silver and gold and on her head, she wore a headdress of colored Doff-bird feathers. When finally dressed she stood and looked at herself in a large refection plate. I am not the young woman I once was she told her mind, and her face still bore the scars that she had received when she was captive of the Shadowmen, but they could not diminish the bright eyes and the kind smile that would always be hers.

  “Leave me” she said. And obeying her wishes the Handmaidens left her chambers and she was alone looking at her reflection.

  The long cycles have left their mark she heard her mind say, how I miss my home.

  Sitting on a small table near her was a Trouble vessel, the small ornate vase that Nomads placed their concerns in and then offered them to the Gods, but there was no need for the container now but Egmar knew that it would be there if needed.

  The old woman began to remember the soft nights beside the sea and the smell of the air and the warm arms that once held her close. “Karn” she said softly, “I will come soon.”

  Egmar was thinking of her mate, the great King of the tribe that her offspring had defeated in battle so that the leadership of the Almadra could be passed down from father to son, she bore no ill will towards her child for that was their way and the will of Isarie. But along with the images of her past she saw a face that brought pain to her heart.

  Dennor forgive me.

  “Forgive me your Holyness” a voice said and Egmar turned to see a young Handmaiden standing at the entrance to her chamber. “What is it my child?” she asked.

  “The King is here and he wishes to speak to you”.

  “Send him to me” the Holy Mother replied and bowing low the young Handmaiden left to do her mistresses biding. My son here? Egmar thought, it was a bit strange for although she was his mother she was also the High Priestess of Isarie and that meant keeping a distance from the King in order to show that the leader was not under the will of the Holy Mother and she was not being influenced by the Monarch. But deep in her heart she was glad that he had come for she loved him very much and she was after all his mother.

  Arn was not permitted to enter the Holy Wagon or the tent of the High Priestess without her permission, being King had its many privileges but they ended at the threshold of the Holy Mother’s quarters and to make sure that tradition was obeyed the ever present Thungodra were standing guard, but with the consent of the Holy Mother Arn made his way to the inner chamber and entered.

  The King bowed as was the custom, “May I speak to you Holy Mother” he said.

  And bowing herself she replied, “You may”.

  But Egmar could no longer hold back her feelings and took her son into her arms, “I have missed you my son, I have missed your face and hearing your voice speaking to me as my son and not the King”. And holding his mother in his strong arms Arn was also overcome with feelings, “And I have longed to see the face of my mother”.

  They stood holding each other for a time then remembering their positions in the tribe they parted and stood looking at each other. “Why have you come to see me my King?” Egmar asked.

  “We have not spoken of my womb brother” the Kind said softly, “For several nights now I have had dreams of him and I wish to know all there is”. Egmar turned and walked to the table that held the metal head of Arn’s dead brother, she put out her hand and touched the cold metal then she turned and looked into her son’s face, “I loved him as I loved you, and because of that I went against the will of the Goddess and the result were countless deaths, the dead are beyond out help, the living are our responsibility”.

  It was clear to the King that his mother did not wish to peak of his dead brother so Arn went to the table and picked up the metal head that his ax had cut off in the battle with Atos near the fortress of the Forrest People. He looked into the dead eyes and a
s he did he seemed to hear a voice calling his name? “Yes?” he said not understanding who had spoken, then he realized what he had said and put down the metal object and turned to his mother, “I am King and you are the Holy Mother, such things are meant to be, but we are also bound by our flesh and I will always be your son and you will always be my mother”.

  He moved to the chamber entrance and with one last look at his mother he left, then the High Priestess heard the sound of drums and she knew that the ceremony of Horcon was about to commence.

  Andra had seen many rituals of the tribe and she was always fascinated about how the Nomads justified what they did, most of the time she understood the reasoning behind it all but at other times she rebelled and spoke her mind, this often brought her trouble not only from the Outlanders but from her mate, now she stood in their tent and put questions into her mind.

  I don’t see how they can simply leave it all in the hands of some ritual? She thought as she drew on her armor and began adjusting the many straps that would hold it in place on her slim but strong body, everyone should choose for themselves as I did! Then after some grumbling she fastened the last bindings and placed her helmet on her head, she took a quick glance in her reflecting plate and adjusted her long hair as all women must do and taking up her weapon she left her quarters.

  Osh was also preparing himself for the ritual but he would be recording it for posterity rather than questioning the reasoning behind it, he wore a plain robe with a hood to protect his large head from the sunlight and on his small feet he wore sandals of Rimar hide. And helping him was Alune for it was her nature to care for those in need, but this did not sit well with the old Callaxion.

  “Will you stop that infernal assisting?” He shouted.

  But the woman paid him little heed, “Your robe is adjusted wrong and I will not have a person in my care be seen like that”. “I will wear my robe as I wish” was the reply.

  “Very well but the opening on the side should be worn left to right not the other way around, it makes you look like a Frail-Leg”. “Right or left a robe is a robe” the old man said as he pulled the tie around his waist. To this the old woman just shook her head, “Have it your way, I was just trying to help you understand our ways, you did say that you were a scribe of sorts and writers of wisdom should know what they set down in words”.

  Osh was about to again lash out at the interfering Touchtender when he began to think about her words. She is correct, you are a historian now and there are things you need to learn, then he looked at the smiling face of his companion, even if they do come from such an annoying creature. So gathering up his pride and setting it in a safe place he spoke, “left to right you say?”

  “Yes” the woman said with a smile. Reluctantly the old man began retying the robe but his wounded hand got in the way and seeing his difficulties Alune stepped in. “Let me do that for you” she said and began correcting the wardrobe mistake.

  And looking into the face of the woman Osh couldn’t help but see that she did have kind eyes and the smell of field flowers, but he shook that silliness from his mind and quickly looked about him. “Where are my marking pens, ink and scroll?” he asked. And just as quickly Alune picked up his writing tools that were sitting on a small table near them, “I have them here, are you ready now?” she asked. The old man nodded his head.

  “Very well” she said, “I have a place picked out for you so that you can see all that happens”.

  And without more words the two began to walk to the place where the ritual of Horcon would take place, and Osh did not protest when the Touchtender put her hand on his arm to help.

  The ritual drums pounded, the signal horns blew loudly and the children of the Outlanders lined up to see how the Gods would choose them, to call them children would be a mistake if you were an adult of the Outer Rim for the offspring were tall and well-formed and would have seemed more like young adults rather than youngsters that needed looking after and they would have been correct. But these were not the prodigy of other worlds these were Nomads.

  The strange way the Outlanders gave birth was a wonder of the heavens for they could only bare infants once in the cycle of their planet, the females got pregnant a short time before their hibernation period and during the long sleep of the Burning Time the children were born, but they continued to slumber as the Crystal Spiders did their work and grow by their mothers side and when the time came for them to enter the world they could walk and speak. Then during the long winter, they would continue to grow and learn what they needed to understand, writing and reading of sorts was taught by the elders but most Nomads considered it of minor use for their wisdom was passed by word of mouth from the Elders but it was useful in the reading of the Book of Isaire, the book that guided their lives and taught them the path that the Goddess had chosen for them. They were also shown the workings of the Touchtenders, Ironworkers, Warriors and all the other professions that made up the tribe, in that way they could understand the needs of others and how they all worked together to keep the tribe strong, and now as the warming days came they would take their place alongside their parents and add their strength to the tribe. An important part of the time was finding their destinies.

  Kalgar-Rune lead the Thungodra as they marched alongside the High Priestess and her Handmaidens, they walked in precision for they knew that the Gods would be watching and they did not want to appear lacking in their duties, they looked powerful in their armor and holding their weapons and everyone knew that it would be a foolish thing to challenge them. They paraded from the Holy Wagon, across the green pasture and to the place that was selected for the ceremony.

  As they did the sky once more flashed with lightening a being that there were no storm clouds it brought concern to many of the tribe, but there were far more important things ahead and arguments about the weather could wait until later.

  The gathering place for the ritual was a cluster of large boulders that was called Katara in the old language or the Family in the wordings of the Outer Rim, it resembled a man and a woman with two small children at their sides, the rocks were worn and ancient for they had been blown by fierce winds and baked under the burning sky, they had seen many cycles of the Nomads come and go and the journey of the moons overhead and yet they still survived. And for that reason the Outlanders worshiped them for they wished to be like them, strong and lasting.

  In front of the group of stones was set a long ornate table, it looked much like the one that sat in the great longhouse of the Nomads in Omar-Ran but this one was strewn with wonderful things, a great battle ax with a golden blade and a handle made from carved Balbar wood, next to it sat a pair of heavy tongs like those used by the skilled Ironworkers of the tribe, but unlike those useful items this one was made of fine silver with handles fashioned from Sagar cats teeth, further down the table was a weavers shuttle, this one was beautifully made with inlays of fine shell workmanship and it was clear to see that it was never meant for manufacturing.

  The Touchtenders had also left their mark, it was a large golden bowl with markings of the many Gods and Goddess the looked over the Nomads, it was much like those use to heal the sick and wounded but this vessel never held any herbs or potions.

  The Handmaidens were not left out, there laying on the wooden counter was the sacred Book of Isarie, the very words of the Goddess set down in writing and the laws that governed the tribe and all who wish to live in the shadow of her love.

  There were more icons on the tabletop, items that related to the many crafts and vocations that made up the life of a Nomad and now they would be used to know what fate was in store for those who the Hand of Horcon moved.

  Andra stood close to her mate, she looked every bit the consort of a King, her armor shone in the bright light and she held her head high, but inside she was still troubled by what was about to take place. They should be allowed to make up their own minds, and the more she thought about it the angrier she became, but she held her tongue
and reached out with her thoughts to the one who stood beside her.

  Arn stood proud and strong and anyone who looked at him would have said the he was indeed the chosen King, but deep in his mind he still wished to know more of his dead brother, my mother is wise and a favorite of the Gods, he thought, but then he felt the touch of someone else in his mind.

  Ever since they had been reborn at the end of the Burning Time Arn and Andra had shared a power that made them very formidable and help give them the name Moric-Kan, the Twin Dragons, they could read each other’s mind. But before the young girl could touch the thoughts of her mate deeply the signal horns gave out with a loud blast, the Holy Mother moved forward and the ritual began.

  Egmar held a staff in her slim hand, it was made of fine wood and topped with the symbol of Horcon, a well fashioned head of gold set with eyes of crystal, she stood silent for a time then began to speak. “The time has come for us to witness who the Gods choose, it is a time of great sadness for those that were once called child will now be called by the names you shall give them. And in the cycles to come they will add to our tribe and make us stronger in the eyes of Isarie for she and only she can know our fate and start us on our path to serve her, Tar orgar mar Horcon row, Horcon guide their hand!”

  With those words, the young began to come forward one by one, they were dressed in simple robes of white for they did not want to disturbed the wisdom of the Gods with bright colors or flashes of jewelry, the first to the long table was a strongly built male he stood there for a time looking at the many items on display then slowly put out his hand and placed it on a warriors ax.

  “It is done” Egmar called out, “Horcon has chosen a warrior!”

  After the male came a female, she had a kind face and bright eyes, she also stood looking at the many symbols before her then put out her hand and placed it on the Golden bowl of the Touchtenders. “It is done” Egmar said again, “Horcon has chosen a healer!” And so it went one after the other, each child put their hand on an emblem and each knew their fate.

  Andra watched as the ritual took place and soon it brought a smile to her face, I worried for nothing, the children aren’t force into a life they do not want, they choose for themselves.

  But she knew better than to say this to her mate or any member of the tribe for they believed as they believed and would never call into question the wisdom of the Gods.

  From a high rock above the gathering Osh watched the ritual of Horcon take place, Alune had selected a perfect place to see everything that was going on and she had also helped the old man reach the top with his writing tools. Now the Callaxion hurried to mark down all that had taken place and it was easy to see that he was very content. “The Nomads mix religion with wisdom and together they make a strong outcome”, Osh said this out loud forgetting that the Handmaiden was standing nearby. “Of course,” Alune said, “The Gods are all powerful and we must follow in their footsteps”. “Yes of course” said the old man but it was easy to see that his words bore a goodly amount of sarcasm. “You do not believe in the Gods?” the woman said.

  “Well that is a matter of how you define a God, you see there are many different thoughts on the definition of a deity, take for instance the writings of Tormor Ratal of Magnicon four, he said that…” But then Osh stopped talking for he could see that all his knowledge would be useless in the face of a devote worshipper, “Perhaps we could discuss all this back at our wagon with a hot cup of tea?” “Yes, that would be nice” Alune said, and taking the hand of the old man, she helped him back to their Karrack and there she quickly began brewing a pot of her finniest Deep-root tea.

  In the back of the wagon Niana sat quietly for the daylight was not her home and she rested during the day, she had a small place for herself among the many artifacts and scrolls that Osh had collected in his journeys, it wasn’t much but it was enough for her, it was a curious thing to see, for she did not sleep on a soft mattress of Doff-bird feathers like most Outlanders, her bed consisted of nothing more than earth. A layer of soft dirt was her comfort space and she lay on it like a Burrow-baby, what dreams she had we cannot say for her thoughts were not those of a creature of flesh and bone and although she was bore from a human each passing day moved her closer to her real mother and closer the greatest event in the long history of Gorn.