Any other creature would have tried to run from the oncoming terror. It was true that the Darkman heard loud bellowing and screams from different animals that followed their instincts and raced away as fast as they could but the Shadowman did not run he simply watched the light becoming brighter and brighter.
If this is my end then let it be. He thought as he watched the thing coming closer, soon the whole night sky was lit by the glow of the falling star, then there was a massive roaring sound and a fierce heat, the ground shook with all the fury of a Landquack.
The Darkman smiled to himself, Let it come.
There was a great rush of burning air and a loud grinding sound then everything went black with dust and sand.
How long the Darkman lay unconscious on the ground he did not know when at last he opened his eyes he was half buried in sand and rocks. The landscape itself had changed, the shelter of rocks that had been his hiding place was gone, there was only an open area now filled with newly upturned dirt and some bleached animal bones.
The Shadowman dug himself out of his untimely tomb and rose to his feet, he stood unsteady for a moment or two trying to clear his vision and stop his head from spinning. After a short time he was able to see better and looked out from where he stood, there in the distance he saw what had caused the holocaust.
Some distance away was a huge Lightship. Its size dwarfed all the other machinery. It burned with small fires here and there and a great cloud of black smoke could be seen rising into the night sky. As the mornings suns were about to break over the horizon there was also a sound of metal creaking and hot steel cooling in the air.
The Darkman stood looking at the thing for some time, then with nothing more than his curiosity he drew his cloak about him and began moving towards the fallen junk star.
The suns of Gorn were high in the sky when the Darkman came to the smoking wreckage. The fires that had been burning on its metal skin were almost gone, only here and there small flames could still be seen like sea sparkles on the skin of Leviathans. The great column of black smoke that led him to the broken hulk was now only a small shaft of grayness. It was just as well that it did, there were few that ventured into this desolate Wasteland for it was called a haunted place. The Outlanders gave it a wide birth believing it was a place where demons lived or the wandering spirits of their ancestors, but the smoke might bring the scavenging Sandjar, they would risk a battle with demons if it meant finding a Dropship and its valuable cargo.
But there were no signs of the little green creatures only the rocks and bones of long dead Thundra beasts littered the landscape. With them were the ancient war machines of a time long past. There were also strange monuments and fallen structures that no Nomad could account for, the stone and steel ruins had been there long before any records were kept, so now they were simply the place where forgotten souls lived and perhaps a gateway to the terrors of the Underworld.
But the Darkman had lived with demons all his life, his people were the stuff of nightmares. The Poisoned-lands where they lived had turned them into rotting things that still lived but had no dreams of mercy or redemption, his life had been one of pain and revenge and there were no dreams of terror that could turn him away.
Now as his drew closer to the wreck of the M-91 his mind filled with strange thoughts, and they were not the images that had filled his mind for so long. Images of him standing over the fallen bodies of his enemies or watching the destruction of the Outlanders and all peoples of Gorn. No, these were images of things he could not understand, strange patterns of lights and darks and complex visions of stars and moons, and with them came a voice, a voice that grew louder as he moved closer to his goal.
At first he thought it might be the Warm Voice that spoke to him before the rising of the New moon, that voice that told him of mercy and redemption, but as he listened he knew it was another voice, a cold voice that spoke only of death.
He stood for a moment looking up at the titanic crashed ship, before him was a large crack broken into the side of the scarred hull.
What are you? His words were spoken to himself and not to the air.
You are not one of the ships that bring Off-Worlders to my land; you are something more, there were no words in a reply, just a feeling that seemed to draw him closer.
He began to move like a man in a dream, each step was not ordered, they seem to come by a will not his, he moved forward and closer to the metal monster and the voice, why do you come? Again his words were not spoken but only asked in his mind, why do you call to me?
Once more his legs moved by themselves and he walked into the great ship. The Darkman found himself in a New World, a world not of earth and stone but a place of steel and fire. All around him was destruction, wires and conduits hung like the vines in the jungles of Yug, vast steel girders were bent or broken and massive bulkhead were ripped open like the hide of a Rimar after the bite of a Whiptail.
As the Shadowman’s eyes grew more accustomed to the dim light he could make out more of his surroundings, this is what lies inside of Gods, He thought, they are no more than steel and fire, knowing this made him smile. He always believed that the Gods were like him, cold and uncaring, filled with hardness and without soft pity or the sound of tears, those who come from the stars are nothing more than fragments, dust from the feet of those who made the heavens. He started to laugh; it was a cold laugh filled with no contentment, just a sound to fill the ears. Then he stopped laughing, for once more he heard the voice and this time he could understand in words what it was saying, it was just two words but it was enough.
“Help me”, it said.
For a long moment the Darkman stood and let the words echo in his mind. Help me? He heard his mind say, what are these words to me? He was about to turn and go back into the light when his feet began to move once more.
“No! Stop! I will not go...stop! But his words meant nothing to the thing that was now forcing his feet to move on their own; he was like a man in the grip of a Sagar cat. His useless right arm began to rise, and the wound in his leg that caused him to limp was forgotten, whatever force was controlling was not going to allow broken bones or scarred flesh to stop it. He was helpless and at the mercy of something stronger then himself.
He moved forward. Passed more broken metal and things he did not understand, passed the shriveled bodies of long dead crewmen and the sparking fragments of Repairbots and service drones. He moved into corridors that were littered with junk and debris and then he came to a door, it was intact and made of thick Itarian steel.
“Why do I do this?” He asked out loud, but his words only echoed in the empty corridor. His hand moved as if by an unseen force and he reached out and grasped the wheel lock on the heavy door and began to move it round and round, “let me go!” he shouted, but again there only came his own words reverberating back to his ears.
He turned the wheel and then pulled with all his strength, there was a grinding sound and the door opened. Inside there was a metal stair way leading down, and before he could utter protest he was drawn into the shaft and began to move into the bowels of the once great war ship.
The Darkman had never seen such wonders in his life. As he descended into the body of the buried war ship he saw deck levels filled with devices that he could never understand. His world was one of rock and stone, earth and sky, water and sand, but this world bore no resemblance to the land of light, this one was dim, cold and without life.
I am being taken into the underworld, He thought, but the idea did not frighten him, he had lived most of his life in the darkness and with pain.
Krylas and Dietas live in the pit of Marloon, if they want me so be it, let them burn me it will not matter, you cannot scar a scar.
With his arms and legs moving without his consent he traveled ever downward, past the crews quarters and supplies sections, passed the ammunition storage, always down. After a time he came to the layered shielding of the inner most section of the ship, there the magneti
c repulses made the metal bits on his robe move. They pulled at his ragged garments and then tore free causing even more rips in his filthy clothing. He had a jagged length of steel that he kept tucked inside his Rimar hide belt in case of attack, but the magnetic waves tore it free and it flew away from him to clang against a bulkhead cutting his arm and causing blood to freely flow.
But this did not stop him, the Shadowman moved ever downward and all the while the Voice called out to him, always the same two words.
“Help me”.
The light grew dimmer as the power of the ship began to fade; it should have ended when the M-91 made contact with the planet. All ships that came to Gorn and stayed here to long were hit by the Electromagnetic waves that emanated from the core of the planet, it was what kept the world free of all higher technologies and what made the Outlanders masters of the lands.
When the Great War with the Talsonar ended and the new moon rose into the heavens it was revealed that there was a creature. A being that lives in the earth, that being thinks, and feels and is aware of all things on its world. That creature is responsible for the devastating waves of energy that destroys all computers and generators. That was revealed to the old man who the Almadra call Osh, it was his ordered mind that the being spoke to and made its presents known, it spoke to all intelligent creatures on Gorn, it was their guardian, their savior.
Their Mother.
But all this did not matter to the Darkman, and why there was still luminance coming from the small light modules he did not know, he was being draw into the heart of the ship by a force he could not overcome, and that was all that concerned him.
I am in the underworld now, he told himself, the place where demons rise. The light continued as me moved like a man in a dream, and all the while he heard the voice calling to him.
“Help me”.
The Darkman understood the words but they meant nothing to him, how can I help a demon from the pit?
He kept moving.
After more time past, how long he did not know for all the twisting and turning had clouded his mind and made the minutes seem like hours, but at last he came to a final door and with much effort he opened it.
And before him he saw a God.
The Orb floated inside its clear Metiplexon container, the hoses that connected it to the organic nourishment containers were still intact, and there were still several Repairbots working, they moved about in their programs adjusting flow meters and power relays.
The Darkman stood motionless as he stared at the fallen God. Is this the face of the Gods? He thought, are they like the great touch devils that dwell in the western sea? But before he could answer his mind questions he heard the voice once more.
“Help me” it spoke again.
This time the voice was clear and the force of the words made the Darkman close his eyes in agony, “your words are pain!” he screamed, then waited for the pain to ease, it did and he opened his eyes.
The force that had ceased his body was no longer there, he could have turned and found his way back to the sunlight and the world he knew, but as he looked at the Orb he found his feet moving towards it slowly. “Why did you call me, why does a God need my help?”
He was only a few meters from the Orb now; he could see its flesh undulating inside its Multiplexon sphere. He could make out the tiny flashes of energy that moved over the folded surfaces of the God, and he felt his rotted skin prickle at the power of its words.
“I need you to help me,” it said in mind words, but this time they did not hurt.
The Shadowman moved a few steps forward and spoke in a low voice, “what help can I give you?” he asked.
The words that the Orb replied were not the words of a God.
“Help me die” it said, HELP ME!
The mind of the Shadowman reeled, he staggered on his feet clutching his head in pain and crying out to the Gods for mercy, then he fell to the floor and all became darkness
Chapter 5.
Reborn.
From my body will come life.
From the stars will come death.
From the weak will come strength.
From the strong will come love.
Ancient Nomad saying.
The Almadra had spent the night quietly in the green embrace of the oasis. They did not go into the ruins because they believed they were haunted and they stayed clear of them least they are taken by a demon or a creature from the pit, for although the Nomads feared nothing of their world they still believed in sorcery and spells and the curse of the Gods. And all the logic and diagrams from Osh could not make them change their ways.
When Sunbirth broke over the horizon they once more began the many things that needed doing, they would stay in the safety of the green place for a few days more, time enough to rest and prepare themselves for their endless journey.
The morning broke late to the King and his mate; they had spent the long night in passionate lovemaking and when their lust was spent they laid in each other’s arms. The night had passed quickly and they did not close their eyes till just before the night had ended and the suns shone on their faces, the glare filtered its way into the overhanging branches of the Balbar trees then down upon the sleeping faces of the two huddled lovers.
Slowly Andra opened her eyes; she lay there unmoving for a moment or two looking up at the filtering light and feeling very content.
Morning so soon? She asked herself, she knew they would soon return to their tent but that did not stop her from longing to stay longer. She slowly moved her hands over her warm body and it made her sigh, it was a wonderful night, she looked over at Arn smiling, I dreamed of him last night, we were standing by a river and the suns were shining brightly. Then the smile fell from her face, he had been gone for a long time, and I was looking for him she reached out and was about to touch his face, I wonder what he dreamed?
Her finger felt his skin and he opened his eyes, “I dreamed the same dream,” he said.
In the past such a comment would have made the Off-World girl wonder but in the days and nights sense they had been reborn in the Crystal caves they had grown together. Their minds were linked in some way that neither of them could fully understand; Osh had tried to explain the phenomenon saying that the spiders that brought renewal to their bodies had also shaped their minds. It was because there had never been a rebirth of a human and a Nomad before, and as they laid together in the underground caves and slept through the Burning Time they had been molded to understand each other’s feeling, and sometimes know what the other was thinking. But all this had little effect on the Outlander, he simply said it was the will of the Goddess and that it should not be questioned.
Andra knew it was linked to the Crystal spiders in some way but she no longer cared for long scientific explanations and just excepted it for what it was, a way to be closer to the man she loved.
She put her arms around the neck of the King and drew him closer to her, “forget passed dreams,” she said softly, then she drew him closer and they kissed. But even as they kissed the girl could not help but think of the vision and wonder where had he been?
The tribe of the Almadra was once the strongest of the Outlanders, but the war with the Talsonar had killed many of their best warriors and destroyed many families. Now it was a matter of question wither they were still masters of their domain, or if that had been passed on to one of the other tribes. Maybe the Armrod or the Caladon, both strong and resourceful, but there was always the Maringar or Ozendra to contend with, the truth be told all the Outland tribes and lost much, but they would soon return to the strength that made them the rulers of Gorn.
The Burning Time sent them into the Hollow Hills and there they slept and felt the bite of the Lurkers in the Darkness, the Crystal spiders. Their women gave birth to sons and daughters, and when they woke those very same children would soon become the new warriors and the protectors of their people.
First there came the Choosing, that time with the m
others and fathers decided who of their offspring should live and who should die. It was the way it had been done sense the beginning of time, and it was the way it should have remained till time was no more. But there had been no Choosing, the war with the pyramid people had halted that ritual and when the war was over the tribe could not bring themselves to cast out their children, children that they disparately needed to fill the depleted ranks of their warriors.
So they let them live.
The days and nights passed and the children grew fast; they learned to speak and to understand the ways of the Outlanders. In a very short time they were one with their mothers and fathers and the tribe was content to let them live. It went against the words of the Goddess but surely she would find the mercy in her eternal heart to allow their offspring to live rather than be taken into the Wastelands, and there taste the gift of the dark crystal Trall. Then wait for the Angel of Death to take them by the hand and lead them into the Afterlife.
So the children grew.
They ran and played with each other, they sat and ate there food with each other, and they listened to the words from the Holy book.
But they were not content
No one knew why, but they began to quarrel among themselves, sometimes the fighting would bring serious wounds that needed the hand of a Touchtender and in a few cases the fight would end in death. Although they mourned the loss of the child they did not punish the one responsible, for death was a common thing to the Outlanders and they accepted it as the will of the Gods.
The children would also sit for hours just staring at each other and not saying a word, or they would laugh at things that were not amusing. And sometimes they would simply walk around and around like a wheel on a cart not looking up at the sky or down at the ground, it made the Elders wonder at such a thing, for in all there cycles they had never seen such behavior in their children. And there were times late at night when all other were asleep that the brothers and sisters would come together under the stars and seemed to be listening to a voice that only they could hear.
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