The Punishment Of The Gods (Omnibus 1-5)

by Jake Yaniak

  'Too many have fallen,' one of them said. 'And as yet we had not so much as the armor scratched.'

  'Too precise they are,' said another. 'No mortal could hope those blows to escape.'

  'Yet not too precise for all it appears,' said another as they directed their attention to their rescuer. Now that Natham was among them he was amazed at how slender they were. They were all wearing shirts and tunics of a deep blue color. They also wore black boots with silver buckles matching the silver plated armor that guarded their lives. On their heads they wore ornately carved helmets, each with a different pattern etched across the forehead. As the sunlight struck their helms they looked like so many kings, crowned with glittering light. At their lead walked one much taller than the others atop whose helm was set a blue plume of horse hair. This one Natham perceived to be their captain. When the captain spoke and when the helm was removed, then Natham understood their peculiarity completely. There before him stood, much to his surprise, a woman, and a woman of unsurpassed beauty. To his eyes, she was such that even the radiance of the Lady of the Merkata was made to fade into gray memory. Her eyes sparkled like green flames and her hair was as black as midnight.

  Next Natham noticed that all of the soldiers, and not merely their captain, were women. Many of the dead, however, were men; these were armed with less splendid weaponry and with poorer armor than the women. There were only four soldiers remaining out of what appeared to originally have been more than a score. They approached Natham to offer their gratitude, but when they saw his face, and his terrible form they stopped in terror. The captain was undaunted, however, and turned toward her comrades in anger. 'Cowards arise!' she commanded. They obeyed at once, though none of them could bring themselves to look directly at the Monster.

  'Much do we owe to you,' she said, bowing her head low before him. The others clumsily followed their captain. 'I am called Lyris,' she introduced herself. 'I am Marshall of the Eastern Wilderness, daughter of Lenrhi, whose sire was Ollitov. May the blessings of our Queen upon you rest; and in our land may you find welcome.'

  'I am called Natham,' the monster answered.

  'From what land do you hail? For to the west only hermits, rebels and brigands dwell, yet you are none of these I perceive.'

  'We came through the forest of Olger from the land of Vestron,' he answered, 'I have lived there long, though we are not of that land or of its kindred.'

  'Tell me what news you bring of that land then,' she said in a polite yet demanding voice.

  'We do not bring news,' Whately interrupted as he drew nearer to them. All eyes turned to him. 'We bring only ourselves.'

  'And thankfully you have come in time to be our help,' Lyris said, still politely, 'Yet I would be no Marshall if I did not ask questions of those who encroach upon our borders, heroes though they may be. I ask again, what news you bring of the land of Vestron and the Kingdom of Harz?'

  Whately looked pale, but Natham answered calmly, 'The Kingdom of Harz is fallen, Lord Vullcarin has been dispossessed of the Mountain of Fire, which they call Fhuhar. The Merkata Clan of Rugna now has the dominion in that realm, though it will be long before it can be told whether they will be able to keep their newly gained lordship.'

  'Strange tidings these are,' Lyris said with a troubled voice. 'Little we have heard from that realm of late. Is there no chance that you are mistaken?'

  'None,' Natham said, though Whately shook his head, trying to silence him. 'I led the army of the Merkata through the Passes of Fire to Thasbond myself; and it was I that spared the life of Vullcarin, exiling him from that mountain forever.'

  'That ye are not mere beggars or hermits is plain enough from the Golem that here in smoldering ruin lies. But now I perceive that ye are heroes, and not mere travelers. We would be greatly pleased if ye would follow us to our encampment. From there we may take further council in safety. But now we must tend to the dead.'

  'Do you need help?' Natham said in a soft tone.

  'That we would appreciate greatly,' Lyris answered. 'We must bury the soldiers with honor and set a marker upon their mound. The hirelings, however, we can burn with fire.'

  It was well past nightfall when all their labors were finished. The soldiers, which were all women clad in the same silver mail as the survivors, were laid in rows one next to the other with their armor cleaned and polished, their spears at their right sides and swords upon their breasts. Their helms were set under their left arms and their slender shields were lain atop them almost as a blanket. All afternoon Lyris wandered the clearing with tears streaming from her eyes, gathering what leaves and flowers she could find upon the frozen ground. After a while she had enough to lay a small laurel crown upon each woman's brow. Their long hair was combed and laid upon their shoulders in braids, tied with strands of crimson string. Altogether there were fifteen fallen women, which Lyris called 'soldiers'. Around their bodies was built a small wall of uncut stones which was then filled with earth until the soldiers were completely buried. On the top of the mound was set a large stone upon which she carved the words, 'Rest, Brave Marin Dead'.

  There were many more men laying dead in the clearing, which she referred to as 'hirelings'. These she had Natham pile into a mound and set on fire. When all their labors were ended they brought from their provisions some sort of soft bread and some spiced meat. This they heated on sticks and ate hot. Of all that they had they shared generously; they had much to spare, having lost the greater part of their number in the battle. Quite to Whately's horror, the soldiers unabashedly plundered the belongings of the 'hirelings', taking what seemed to be of value, burning or burying the rest. Lyris took from one, whom Natham took to be the leader of them, some silver amulet with a bright red gem in the center. This she put about her own neck and tucked the jewel beneath her shirt. The women took no notice of the travelers' amazement in this.

  'I take it these men are not your countrymen?' Whately later asked.

  'Indeed not,' Lyris scoffed. 'These are men. But the Marin are women only.'

  'Truly women only?' Whately asked thoughtfully.

  'Indeed, Marin Quendom admits no men.'

  'Yet it is as you have said,' Whately pointed out, 'You are the grand-daughter of an Ollitov.'

  Lyris nodded, 'Indeed, we have no men, but that means not that we have not the need for them. Whether for the increase of our Kingdom or for their strong arms in times of war, we must make what use of them as we may.'

  They spoke very little that night. The women had unbound their hair and put dirt under their eyes, which Whately took to be some sign of mourning for their fallen companions. The skies were clear and bright that night and an unseasonable warm wind blew across the clearing, calming them and slowly lulling them all to sleep. Each of the women took turns keeping watch, though Natham slept not at all that night. Whenever one of them was awakened to keep watch they found him sitting there silently adoring the stars above. He seemed not to notice their rising and going to sleep. Lyris, when it was her turn to watch, drew nearer to him as if to speak, but when she saw how ardently he studied the heavens she thought better of it and left him undisturbed.

  Of Marin Quendom

  Olgrost begins in the east where Vestron ends; it has for its eastern border the dark woods of Olger and the Veste Mountains upon whose hills the trees of that forest grow. This great woodland is called the Forest of Kolohi by the people of Dalta City, but is simply referred to as Eastwood by the Marin. This forest stretches almost from the northern edge of Olgrost to the Zoar mountains in the south, some one hundred and seventy leagues or so. From the habitations of the Ohhari to the end of the wood in the west and the beginning of Olgrost proper it is somewhere between seventy and one hundred leagues, depending of course, upon the route of travel. Due west from the passes of Veste, through which all travelers from Vestron must pass, lies the ruins of that once great city of Kolohi. Another sixty or seventy leagues to the west is Lake Pelil, upon whose northern shores was built Marin Fortress, from w
hence the Quendom of Marin is ruled. On the southern shores of that lake and beyond, stretching over a hundred leagues to the Sea of Kollun, is the land of Hilgram, where the men are said to be wild and treacherous. All that lies between Marin Fortress and the passes of Veste is claimed by Marin.

  Marin occupies a place of power, almost at the very center of the land of Olgrost. It lies on the water, which gives it not only protection, but influence, since so many in that land depend upon it for life and sustenance. Due north of Marin Fortress is the Frozen Coast, where the ancient fables say Queen Wellin is imprisoned. But there are none who have verified the old accounts, nor are there any who have found the haunted tower in which she is said to be imprisoned.

  A little to the north and some one hundred and fifteen leagues to the west from Marin lies the great city of the elves named for their Lord, Dalta, who was one of the six elf fathers.

  The history of Marin begins more than two millenia ago, when the dread wars between Xanthur and the elves first began. Xanthur was revealed to be the Lord of the men of Lapulia in what the elves considered the millennial anniversary of their first coming. Immortal, he spent five hundred years ordering the continent of Dominas until his might was supreme and his army invincible. His first strike was against the Verder kingdom of Kolohi, which once occupied the western forests of Olgrost, the very forests in fact from which Natham and Whately had just emerged.

  Xanthur accomplished his victory in this way: He seduced Queen Wellin, the wife of Kolohi, and by her influence rendered the whole kingdom helpless and weak. Through many fell lies she deceived both her husband and the kingdom's generals until they were wholly incapable of defending their realm. His army swept through the wooded realm with ease, the warriors of Kolohi being confused and disillusioned. His commander in that campaign was a dark and wicked man of Snakhil named Vantu. By his cruelty, the forests of Verder and the mighty cities of Kolohi lay in ruins by the end of three years. All the wealth and learning of a thousand years lay now in utter ruin. Kolohi's sons were slain, it is believed, and he himself disappeared from history. The elves say he sleeps in some deep vault, awaiting some fated hour at which he will return. It is more probable, though, that he perished during the wars of those days. His wife, being a traitor, was confined by Vantu in a high tower on the northern coast of Olgrost, where some say she dwells still. It was also in this era that the Harz Nobles invaded Vestron, though a connection between them and the lord of Lapulia has never been officially acknowledged or conclusively proven.

  Vantu next turned his sword against Dalta, hoping to rid Dominas and Olgrost of elven lords forever. But his vice overtook his might and upon taking the eastern fortress of Lepani he captured and made a spectacle of Dalia, the daughter of the elf lord Dalta. Her betrothed, the mighty Thuruvis of Dadron, marched with five hundred warriors from Dalta City to meet Vantu in battle at Lepani. In the fields to the west of the fortress, Thuruvis' small band of elven warriors humiliated the northern arm of Xanthur's army, slaying nearly a third of Vantu's army in three days.

  Thuruvis, mourning the loss of his beloved and finding revenge to be an insufficient reward for his labors, left those shores forever, swearing never to look upon the eastern lands again.

  Left in chaos, the men of Olgrost battled for power. Wars washed the land in blood, kingdoms arose and fell, lords and generals slew one another for honor and for fame. Duels, daring deeds, horrid crimes and terrible battles raged in every quarter. Dalta confined himself to the western shores of the continent, unwilling to expend his might to quell the raging mortal factions. 'No longer shall the immortal bleed for the mortal,' he declared.

  In the midst of this chaos there arose one of the most peculiar tribes that have ever lived in Tel Arie. The founder of this tribe was a half-elf named Marin. She was the daughter of Dalia, the princess of Dalta, and of Vantu, mightiest of Xanthur's devilish warriors. The blood of immortal royalty flowed through her veins and the strength of one of the bravest mortals was in her arms. When she was but seventeen years old she was deeply affected by the suffering of those women who were forced to live under the shadow and thunder of their husbands' ambitions. She personally witnessed the outrages of war when an army of brigands invaded the small northern village where she and her patron had taken refuge along with several other dispossessed families. The women of that village were captured by stupid brutes of the worst sort, forced into slavery, sold and divided. All this was for the sake of man's lust for power and conquest, she perceived. Men rose and fell as heroes, but women and children fell by the wayside as worthless chattel or as victims. What sympathy their plight inspired only served to further fuel the fires of war and hatred. Every crime inspired an equal crime as revenge. The outrage against her village was met with violence, and the barbaric invaders were slain with the swords of yet more barbarians. 'What brave men!' she scoffed, even in that hour.

  Not only in war did she discover inequity and injustice. From their earliest days she noted a disparity between men and women, nay, even before their birth there was a distinction. Every mother and every father, every grandsire and matron alike pined and prayed for a strong son for their first-born. A daughter was at best accepted, but never hoped for. If a woman gave birth to seven or eight daughters she was suspected of witchcraft. On the other hand, to give birth to five or six strapping boys was an honor that only the favor of a god could explain.

  From their earliest day, boys were tutored in letters and lordship while girls were trained in sewing and servitude. Young men were brought up to be brave and strong, seeking lordship over kingdoms and tribes, cities and nations; but if they could have none of these, at the very least they were lords over their women. Women, on the other hand, were brought up to be servants of their fathers first and later of their husbands. A noble and lordly woman might hope at the most to become the servant of some great warlord or some kingly noble, which is simply to say that a woman's highest achievement was to become the thrall of a still greater master.

  The effects of these inequities extended even beyond old age and into death. For gray hair and wrinkled skin are a sign of maturity and wisdom to the man; to the woman they are signs of strain and ugliness. They both die, but only the man is remembered, first in the names of his children and later by historians and poets. The woman is often forgotten even before she is put in the grave. Ere the rising of the Marin Quendom there were some who could recall the names of their sires for nearly twenty generations. But no one could remember the name of his great grandmother.

  Men had from birth to death every advantage and every honor; they were bred to be valiant and brave, wise and virtuous. Women were raised to be servants, submissive and simple.

  Yet for all their brave deeds and noble thoughts, men could not find peace. War erupted again and again, each peace only fueling the fires of the next conflict. The horrors of that time killed many women, but it made those who survived strong. Of those survivors, Marin became chief, lending her strong arms and her half-elven wisdom to their plight. She trained women in the arts of war and proved herself to be her father's daughter in battle. Thus was born the Marin Tribe, the root and foundation of what would become the Quendom of Marin; a nation of women, led by and established by mothers and sisters, who were no longer content to watch their families and homes fall to pieces in the fire and ash of war. This was in the fifteen hundredth and forty-second year of our age.

  The Marin tribe first made use of their strength to guard the northern villages from invaders and warlords, who often came to those lands when they needed to hire warriors or gather taxes for their wars. But no taxes returned to the men of the south from that region in the year the Marin tribe first appeared. Lord Ollitov, the greatest warrior in Olgrost in those days, rode north to make an end of this insurrection of 'bond-women'. He was bested in a duel against Vantu's daughter and sold his city and his freedom for his life. He was made her husband, and forever afterward, as the custom is in the Quendom, the Queen and King are name
d Marin and Ollitov. But Marin refused to take lordship over Ollitov's lands and people. She only demanded that whatsoever woman wished to leave her life of servitude behind and join her in the Tribe would be permitted to do so.

  The Maiden Festival

  There is an impracticality of a She-Tribe, certainly of a Quendom, that I am confident my readers have already considered. If the Marin Tribe consists of women only, and if later the Quendom itself admits no male citizens, how is the society maintained and propagated?

  The solution to this problem arose very early in the history of Marin Quendom, even while Marin yet lived. Every autumn, just after the harvest, the Marin Tribe holds what is called 'The Maiden Festival', the revelries of which are famous throughout all the civilized and especially throughout the uncivilized world. It is spoken of with cheers in Titalo, indifference in Kollun, jeers in Lapulia, and disdain in Lakil. About the various contests, games, celebrations and feasts of the Maiden Festival, little needs to be said. Suffice it to say, the whole purpose of the Festival was to increase the population of Marin through the birth of daughters come springtime. The sons of Marin, however, were surrendered to the fathers as soon as they were weaned, and delivered to their doorsteps without pomp or ceremony. There was a famous case of a young man named Cedrinos who had no less than seven baby boys left on his doorstep in the space of ten days. He became quite famous in all the ale houses and back alleys of Olgrost, though much less famous with his wife, who became step-mother to all these hungry toddlers.