Nomads The Risen God

by Gary Mark Lee

The planetary storm that ravaged the world of Gorn finally exhausted itself and the towering waves of the Western Sea dwindled into a soft rippling surface reflecting the golden hues of the rising suns. Gone were the lightning and thunder replaced by a gentle breeze and unclouded sky but the day moons seemed far away for a strange calm hung in the air like the circling Sundroppers and although the air was clear it carried a scent of death and something that was not there before. The great Leviathans had returned to their sunless realm leaving behind fragments of shattered Lightening boats and hunter ships, bits of wood and debris floated on the glassy surface mixed with the knife edge trails of Bloodfish for they were always on the prowl for bone and flesh.

  Amid that dirge-like main a reminder of the land floated lazily, the ill-fated Brilla had vanished beneath the pounding waves but she left behind one of her towering masts as a marker for any interested Gods looking down from the heavens. The huge tree trunk was broken in two but there was still enough of it left to support one lone survivor.

  The King lived.

  Arn had managed to reach the fragment of the sunken Hunter ship and grasping the ropes that had twisted themselves around the thick mast he held fast through the storm. Gone was his armor and chain mail for it would have drug him down to the darkness now only a ragged bit of Rimar hide covered his loins exposing his densely muscled frame to the elements, his bronze body was covered in nicks and scratches and a small trickle of blood still oozed from a large cut on his right leg. His right hand held tight to the broken guide rope while the other gripped the ivory handle of a dragon’s tooth, one of two daggers that all Nomads carried around their waists, its tip was buried deep into the hard wooden mast as the makeshift raft rocked back and forth.

  As the twin suns rose higher in the sky Arn opened his eyes and took in the wet world around him, his head pounded like an Ironworkers hammer and his throat was dry as he pulled the ivory handled dagger from its wooden sheath and rose to his naked feet on the shaking mast, he lifted one hand to cover his eyes and scanned the rocking horizon for any sign of the Cronos but the place between the sky and sea was empty.

  Gone he thought, sunk to the bottom of the sea, a great wave of sorrow washed over him as he thought of his lovely Moonbud laying alone in the cold darkness beneath the water, he looked down at the battle knife in his hand and for a moment he contemplated driving it to its hilt into his heart and joining his lost love in death, she surely has found a place in the Golden Hall and I will sit beside her throughout all eternity. He lifted the weapon and made himself ready for the stinging bite of the hard steel but as he was about the drive the dagger deep into his chest something made him stop, this is no way for a warrior to die he thought, Arn had faced death many times on the battle field, the cry of war and the ring of steel on steel was music to his ears, the smell of sweat and blood was like field flowers to a Handmaiden and when the killing madness swept over him and all became a blur of kill or be killed it was a feeling that only a true warrior of the Outlands can know. Now here he was holding his own weapon to his breast with no enemy in front of him and only the languid sound of rolling waves.

  He slowly lowered the dagger, No, he told his mind, I will not die like this!

  Then something hit the mast under his feet and looking down he saw several large Bloodfish just below the surface of the water, they had smelled the scent of fresh lifeblood from miles away and now they came for the human feast.

  The King smiled with cracked lips and although he was wounded and weak from lack of food and water a sudden rush of excitement ran through his veins for what better way to end his life then to fight a predator much like himself.

  “Hungry?” the King asked in a mocking voice for he knew that Bloodfish were always ravenous, “I am Arn son of Karn and King of the Almadra, my flesh is tasty and my bones are strong, but beware I have a tooth like yours!” and he held up his dagger, “Blood is what you desire and I still have much to give!” and he cut his arm and let the crimson fluid fall into the water, this brought the scavengers of the sea into a frenzy, they snapped their jaws wildly and churned the water into a boil. Arn braced his legs and was about to leap to a horrible death when something caught his eye, far off in the distance an outline of a ship, but it was far too small to be the Cronos so there could be only one explanation, Sea Raiders, he thought, Brogalie pirates.

  The Brogalie were an offshoot of the Akuna but far more primitive, they inhabited the small islands off the main coast but they spent most of their time upon the water hunting for food and attacking any ship that came within their view, they were a rugged people who only respected strength and were ruled only by the strongest.

  Seeing the ship turning to head his way Arn stood tall on the broken mast and he smiled, my life will end in battle he thought, I can enter the Golden Hall with my head held high and Andra will be waiting for me. The King stood unmoving but his heart pounded with the blood-fury as he thought of the fight to come, but like any good warrior he knew the strength of his arm had been greatly diminished by the sun and water and looking down at the circling Bloodfish he understood what he had to do so bracing his feet as best he could and holding onto a rope end he grip his dagger tight then he whispered a little prayer to the Gods.

 

  “Togasttra emo entralac, give us your strength”.

  Then he thrust his bleeding arm into the water, as he expected the hungry predators lunged for his wounded limb with their jaws opened wide, as the first one came within striking distance the King jerked his arm and plunged his weapon into the tuff flesh of the monster just under the head then using all his might he pulled the heavy creature up and onto the rocking mast. The thing bucked and heaved wildly and it razor sharp teeth snapped at the air in a death frenzy to kill whatever was killing it but Arn managed to allude the powerful jaws and drawing his dagger out he let go of the rope and grasping one of the fins of the beast he drove his knife again and again into the thick hide, the Bloodfish trashed about then slowly it gave up its life and lay still across the wooden mast.

  Arn had very little strength left but taking what he had he cut deep into the belly of the creature and pushing his arm up to the elbow in warm flesh he found the massive liver of his dead foe and cut it free then he lifted his naked foot and pushed what remained of the dead monster back into the churning water where it was quickly devoured by the remaining scavengers of the sea. The

  King wasted no time and sunk his teeth into the spongy flesh, the warm liquid from the salvaged organ tasted like the sweetest of offerings to any God, and his empty belly was more than content to welcome the still warm flesh, Arn ate quickly for he could see that the ship that had been some distance away was now visibly closer, his thirst now satisfied he took up his dagger once more and prepared to face his new enemy like a strong warrior of the Almadra.

  The blood stained deck of the Vengeance was alive with activity for they had seen the rising of the Leviathans and hoped to profit from its destruction of the Hunter ships, the captain a very tall and seasoned veteran of many sea battles knew that it would have been suicide to attack a ship load of Akuna and Outlanders for they would never be a match for such a pairing, there was however a good chance that they might find some lone survivor to torture for sport and then feast on his flesh or better yet a strong female who could satisfy their animal lust before they killed her. Now the captain whose name was Torcor-nan a word in the old language meaning half-face for his own features had been mutilated by a Nomads ax leaving him with a horrid continence and a deep hatred for all Outlanders.

  “Pull the oars you filth” he shouted as he pointed his heavy war club in the direction of the fragment of Hunter ship, “Tonight we feast on dry-lander!” and no one defied his orders for he was a strong warrior who had killed many men and who was known for his savage strength and unquenchable desire for blood and he was particularly fond of Dry-lander flesh.

  The Dry-lander was a term that the pirates used for a person not of the ocean f
or most of them were born at sea and considered themselves the rulers of all the water, and there were few who discounted that fact for their ships were fast and carried warriors to all parts of Gorn’s oceans, the ship itself carried a compliment of fifty or more Brogalie and that many and more in slaves, these poor souls were taken from all over and forced to row the ship when the wind was not sufficient, they numbered perhaps sixty or more, more than the pirates themselves but they were chained to their oars and subdued by the lash so they could do little to take revenge for the punishments that they frequently received.

  “Faster!” roared the captain for he was eager to reach his goal and see what gift the sea had in store for him and as he licked his lips a thin trail of saliva trickled down chin for half his mouth had been torn way exposing broken teeth and a lapping tongue.

  Arn stood quietly on his rocking home, he concentrated on his body and the small weapon in his hand, how he wished that he had his ax and armor, what a battle I would show them he thought but although he didn’t possess the trapping of a warrior of the Outlands he still had their heart, a heart that would not stop beating easily, a heart that did not know fear, I will face them one by one then he remembered the lessons that his father had taught him.

  “Find their leader, cut off the head and the body will die”.

  They were wise words and would serve him well very soon.

  It took only a short time before the Vengence had reached its goal and as the slim ship came within an ear shot of its prey Torcor-nan stood on the prow and shouted out to the human, “Better to die in the water little man for your blood will be our drink!”

  The King was quick to return, “My blood is far too strong a brew for children like you so far better to turn about and return to the breast of those who gave you birth!”

  Hearing those words sent the tall Brogalie into a fury, “You will fill the air with screams when I reach you!”

  The slaves were given the order to stop rowing and the ship slowly came to a halt very close to the broken mast of the Hunter ship, and seeing that it was within reach Arn did not hesitate and gathering up his strength he leaped onto one of the outstretched oars with a bound landed on the wooden deck very near the captain, he stood there with his dagger bracing his feet and his eyes burning with fury, “Here I am half-face, kill me if you can!”

  Ordinary the sea raiders would have instantly killed anyone who dared cross their path but his man had issued a direct challenge to their leader and according to the crud laws of their fellowship the leader must face that intruder alone. Without saying a word the huge captain lifted his club and came charging at the Outlander like a maddened Rimar, Arn waited for him cooling and as he swung his crud weapon he ducked under it and it missed his skull be a fraction of an inch then he struck upwards and cut deep into the side of his opponent, the wounded pirate let out a howl of pain and spun around to attack again but the Nomad was too quick for him and moving like a Sagar cat he avoided a blow that would have crushed in his ribs and again delivered a cut to the left arm of the captain.

  All this was being watched not only by the shouting sea raider but by the downtrodden slaves and seeing that one of their kin was getting the best of their tormentor sent them into cheers of encouragement, they beat their fists on their oars and rattled their chains letting loose the blood fury that was inside them for revenge.

  Their shouts were music to the ears of the King and jumping to one side to avoid the heavy war club he caught a glance at their bonds and noticed that they were held fast by one long chain running through leg irons and attached to a lock at one end, but that was all he had time for as the captain streaming blood for his wounds lunged for him again, this time Arn caught a blow on his right shoulder that torn the dagger from his hand and sent him flying, that blow would have broken the bones of an ordinary man of the Outer Rim but the King was an Outlander and far tougher then a weak human on another world so lifting himself up quickly he bent his powerful legs and as the Brogalie moved in for the fatal blow he leaped to one side and jumped onto his back then clamped his right arm around the pirates thick neck. Torcor-nan let out a grunt and tried to pull the Nomad off him but Arn had wrapped his strong legs around the bandit and continued to tighten his grip on the captain neck, seeing that his club was useless now Torcor dropped it to the wooden deck and grasping the arm of the Outlander he tried to loosen the stranglehold as the slaves continued their maddened screams, they made so much noise that the Brogalie began to lass them with Rimar hide whips but this only made them howl louder and they began to pull at their holding chains hoping to free themselves and join in the fight.

  All the while Arn held fast to the Captains neck, the fighting maddens was on him now and all that mattered was killing his foe, the muscles on his right arm stood out like cords of steel and he clenched his teeth so tightly blood began to trickle down his lips, harder and harder he pulled as the shouts of the slaves filled his ear then he heard a loud “Crack” and he knew that he had broken the neck of the of Torcor-nan.

  The King let go as the tall man fell to the deck and stood there as the astounded crewmen looked on and in that instant Arn grabbed the heavy war club of the dead captain and moving to the gunnels he brought it down hard on the rusty lock that held the slaves in check, seeing that they were now free the captives rose up one by one and flung themselves in a fury at the Brogalie, it did not matter if they were unarmed for it was better to die in battle then the slow death of a slave, screaming for blood they took up whatever weapon they could find, boat hooks, bits of steel and wood and use them to bring death upon their persecutors, Arn lead them swinging his club and cracking the skull of anyone within its deadly reach. But the pirates did not give up their lives easily and many of the slaves died, but no matter how many they killed two maddened warriors took their place howling like demons from the Pit of Marloon and one by one they gave up their lives and covered the deck of the Vengeance in blood and torn flesh. As the suns began to set the fight came to an end, all of the Brogalie had been killed and half of the slaves, Arn stood on the quarter deck coved in blood from head to foot and looked at what was left of the combatants.

  “You are free now” he called out in a loud voice, “If there are any who would challenge me come forward now and let the Gods decide who should lead!”

  None spoke a word for they owed their lives to this man from the sea.

  “Very well, those that made you slaves are now dead so throw their bodies into the sea and wash down the deck, warriors do not live in filth!”

  The freed warriors were quick to responded with a shout of joy and raced to carry out their new captain’s orders and when all was done the King washed his wounds in sea water then feasted on dried Rimar meat and drank deep from casts of well-aged Po and when his thirst was quenched he stood on the prow of the Vengence and looked out on the rolling water under the night moons of Gorn.

  Moonbud, my mate is gone the told his mind, there is nothing to go home too now. It was true that he was still King of the Almadra but he always found the crown a heavy one, to them he was dead and his body lay at the bottom of the Western Sea, perhaps it should stay there? Kuno was a strong warrior and he knew that he could leave his tribe in capable hands, he would regret not seeing his mother again but he understood that she would find comfort in the arms of her beliefs. Looking out at the vast expanse of water around him he suddenly felt strange as if a burden had been lifted from his shoulders, he was free now, free of all responsibility, free to go where he wanted without thinking of his people first, and freedom was a power he could not turn away from.

  King of the Almadra he no longer was perhaps he would become ruler of the Western Sea?