The Fallen God

by Gary Mark Lee

  And what that voice said only they knew.

  Anais spent his time in his tent, it was of little matter to him if the suns were shining or the sky was filled with clouds, alone in his darkness he saw only his own soul and that soul was not filled with light.

  He now sat by himself not speaking or moving but his mind was filled with thoughts. Is this how it will be he asked himself only endless nights of darkness and the pity of my people to torment me? He moved on his sleeping mattress and adjusted his robe to remove a wrinkle under his right arm, I was once the King and now I am just a laugh clown for their amusements. He moved again to scratch an itch on his neck, they think they can laugh at me and point and say there was once our leader but now he is just a blind beggar!

  He rose from his bed and began to move about his tent. He did not trip his feet nor strike his head for he had grown use to his surrounds and the Touchtenders that raised the tent always put his belonging in the very same places each time, so now he moved back and forth like a Sagar cat in a cage.

  I will not be a clown to the tribe, I will not let them point at me and whisper behind my back. He closed his fists tighter my mother thinks she can sway me with sweet cakes and words of that float on the wind, his fingers bit into the palms of his hands. They think that the Gods did this to me as a punishment, a burden that I must bear, his face tightened into a look of pain, I would rather die!

  The last words that ran through his head made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and as he stood listening to his mind speak and suddenly found a way out of his darkness and away from the eyes that would see him.

  Die!

  That simple word filled him with pleasure; if I am dead then I will be free.

  Without thinking more he moved to the small chest that sat in the corner of his tent, it was not the ornate holding box of a King of even a Prince, it was just an ordinary container made from rather poor Balbar wood and bore no decorations of any kind. But it still was a box and Anais opened the lid.

  He quickly felt inside, his long thin fingers felt the touch of three robes and two pairs of walking boots, a belt with carry pouch and a few odds and ends that held no meaning for the blind Prince. But with a bit more effort he was able to find what he had been looking for, two well-made daggers that the Nomads called the dragon’s teeth. These were the knives that all warriors wore at their waists, they were made from the finest Itarian steel and these particular weapons had handles of finely carved ivory, after all they were made for a King. In days long passed Anais had worn them with pride, he delighted in parading through the camp and letting everyone see how mighty he had become, but now there was no one to see them.

  The fallen Prince took up one of the daggers and withdrew it from his Rimar hide sheath, he felt the edge of the blade, still sharp, this made him smile, it will cut deep and fast. He opened his robe and placed the weapon point against his naked chest, one quick thrust and there will be no more darkness, only the Afterlife.

  He tensed his muscles in anticipation of the blade, one quick thrust and all will be ended, he smiled to himself thinking of his pain ending, only the Afterlife!

  Then he stopped.

  He stood like a statue for a moment, then what? He asked himself, what would happen in the Afterlife? For most of his life he did not believe in a world beyond this one, he had rejected the ways of the tribe and did not pray to Isarie or any of the numerous other Gods that filled the pantheon of the Outlanders beliefs. But now as he was about to die he reexamined those ideas, what if I am wrong? What if there is a golden hall of Isarie and I was not allowed inside? This made him lower the blade from his body, what if there are Gods and I am judged? This idea made him move back to his sleeping mattress and sit down, he still held the dagger but he no longer felt the desire to end his life, what if I am judged and sent to the Pit of Marloon? Then he imagined the endless torments that the demons that lived there would inflict on his body, all the pain and more pain for all eternity.

  With a loud grunt he through the dagger away, it flew through the air and struck a table and knocked a small silver bowl to the floor, it rang out with a sharp din then it lay silent.

  In a few moments the tent flap opened and a young girl poked her head into the chamber.

  “Is there something wrong?” she asked.

  The Prince said nothing.

  “Is there something you need?” she asked again, but again there was no reply and after a moment or two more she left the tent and once more the Prince was alone.

  He sat there looking into the darkness with blind eyes, and all the while he thought about the retched life that was now his; he had turned his face from the Gods all his life. He had plotted and schemed and betrayed his bothers, sister and his tribe, he had wish that he was the one who held all the power and he had tried to fulfill that dream by whatever means he could. But now that dream was over, he was awake in an endless darkness that would be his home till the ending of his days.

  So he sat and wept, for although his eyes where blind they could still see into his soul.

  In the tent of Egmar things were different, she had risen long before the break of daylight and began her prayers, she had done this all her life and it always made her content. So like all days she rose and washed her face and hands, she picked out a robe from her clothing box and dressed herself for the day ahead. She arranged her hair simply, not elaborate like most of the women of the tribe with ivory pins and stays. She always thought it made her look too much like a Sincraver and not a proper woman of the Outlands, she was taught this by her mother when she was young and it had stayed with her ever sense. When her hair was completed she put on a few gold and silver trinkets that appealed to her, a small bracelet and ring that bore the insignia of the tribe, then fully dressed she lit the brassier in front of a small statue of Isarie. All this was usually done by a Handmaiden for being the Holy Mother she was supposed to be waited on my the young novice priestesses. But after a few times of having them clutter around her like Blaze-ants on a fallen beast she sent them away and from that day onward she did all her morning chores by herself.

  When all was done she stood in front of a reflecting mirror and gazed at her image. There she saw a woman she hardly recognized, for her face still bore the scars from the time with the Shadowmen and she knew that no matter how many re-births she might obtain they would never fully heal.

  It was the will of the Goddess she told herself and I will not question her judgment.

  She was about to turn away when something made her stand looking at herself for a moment more. As she stood there looking at the scarred thing she had become she thought she heard a sound, she did not know what the sound meant or what had made it but it made her shiver.

  What is that? She asked her mind what is that sound?

  It was like the noise that a sand viper makes when you step on its burrow or maybe the cry of a chatter bird? No that cannot be, there were certainly no serpents in her tent and she knew that chatter birds only live in the deep Forrest of Caltarine and would never come this far out of there communal nests. But the sound was still there. A rattling sound that she was sure she heard before? But just where she could not remember.

  Then she heard a voice that made her turn away from her refection and the rattling stopped.

  “Holy Mother?” the voice said.

  Egmar turned to see a young Handmaiden standing at the entrance to her tent, in an instance she recognized the face, she was Kela, there was no mistake it was her for her face bore the deep scar that she had received in the battle with the Talsonar. The girl was short with a trim body and long dark hair, her face was common but well-made and her eyes where blue rather than dark like most Nomads. On her forehead between those eyes she had the sunburst tattoo that all Handmaidens bore.

  “Come in my child” Egmar said softly, and then she watched the girl come in and stand before her.

  “Do you wish anything Holy Mother?” the girl asked all the while keepin
g her hands down and her eyes fixed on the floor.

  The High Priestess reached out and touched her chin, she lifted it slowly till she was looking the girl in the eyes, “why do you not look at me?” she asked smiling.

  Kela shook her head, “it is not my place to look at the voice of the Gods,” she said softly.

  Egmar again lifted her head so that she could look into her soft eyes, “I am not the voice of the Gods, like you I try to hear their voices”.

  This made the young Handmaiden gasp, “you should not say such things, you are there word made flesh and you should be....”

  “I should be bowed and prayed to or I will punish you?” the older woman asked.

  She watched at Kela nodded her head in approval.

  This made Egmar laugh, “I can see that Obec has filled your head with her poison, but she is not here so come and let us sit and talk as women rather than as Holy Mother to Handmaiden”. She lead the girl to two carved chairs that were sitting in a corner of her tent, the girl waited till Egmar was seated then place herself on the remaining chair, but she till refused to look at the Holy Mothers eyes and kept staring down at the ground.

  “I am not on the floor child “the former queen said, “but if you like I will lie upon the ground and we can talk that way”.

  This made the young girl look up, “no please, that would be a sacrilege against the Gods”, she said with a tremble in her voice.

  Egmar made a small laugh again, “Isarie made the ground so I do not think she would make it a sin to lay upon it” and with those words the old women got up and sat herself upon a small woven rug on the floor of the tent. There she beckoned the young Handmaiden to come join her, so with hesitance Kela got up and placed herself on the rug near the Holy Mother.

  “There, now that we are sitting and speaking eye to eye tell me why you did not want to look at me?’ Egmar waited but there was no reply from the young girl, instead she tried to hide her face with a long strand of hair from her head. The former Queen reached out and took the hairs from her hand and then she spoke, “it is true that your face bares a scar and to some you would not be called beautiful”.

  These words made the girl face frown, and you could see that Egmar’s words had cut her deeply, then the Holy Mother spoke again.

  “But you can see that my face also carries marks, and that makes us sisters”, then the old woman smiled.

  Hearing these words made the Handmaiden feel like a weight had been taken from her back, she looked at the Holy Mother and a small grin crossed her face. To some it would not have soften their hearts and made them think that the girl was still anything other than a broken creature of the Outlands, she still bore the horrible scar on her face and nothing was going to change that. But from that day forward she would not look down at the ground and cover her features when walking among the tribe, from now on she would look up at the sky and know that she was still one of the Chosen.

  Kela took the hand of the High Priestess in hers and held if tightly, “thank you Holy Mother,” she said with a smile.

  Egmar shook her head, “do not call me Holy Mother, from now on when we are alone you may call me Enor”.

  This made the young girl smile more, for Enor was a name not used often by the Outlanders for it was a word used to describe the Goddess Mother Isarie. It meant that Egmar now considered her like a daughter and would do all the things that a real mother would do, it was a great honor for the Handmaiden and she knew it. And it brought tears to her eyes.

  “Thank you Holy...” she stopped herself for a moment then continued, “thank you Enor, I hope that I can be worthy of your gift”.

  The old woman held the girl’s hands in hers, “you will do what is in your heart” she said softly “and that will be enough”.

  At that moment Egmar thought of her lost daughter Seeda and of the times she had with her. She remembered the many times she scolded her and tried to teach her wrong from right, she heard her voice once more telling her how much she loved her, and in turn Egmar remembered all the times she spoke of love to her. But if she had said, “I love you” as many times as there were grains of sand in the dunes of the Sirolian Plains it would not have been enough.

  This girl is not my daughter, she told herself, but I will love her all the same.

  She drew the girl close and put her arms around her and held her, in turn the girl hugged the Holy Mother tightly.

  This made Egmar remember a song from her childhood, a song that her mother had sung to her and now she would sing it to the girl.

  “In all your days and nights you will not be alone,

  For I will come to you and together we will be one,

  You will not cry alone, you will not laugh alone,

  For I will be your right hand, and you will be my left

  And together we will hold each other”.

  It was a very old song, far older then either Egmar or her mother, who had written it or why was unknown, but it did not matter. The words still meant the same thing and would do so for as long as mothers know love.

  On the other side of the camp far from the tent of the High Priestess and near a broken column of the fallen structure stood the quarters of the Off-World human called Osh. A strange old man, who many of the tribe did not fully trust, it was known that he had helped in the defeat of the Talsonar and that he knew many things. But he was not one of the Chosen and prayed to no God, he also kept a Sandjar in his wagon and treated it like a son, all this and the fact that he would always win at Chance-cards made him someone who was not to be trusted.

  How could they know that his mind was one of the greatest of the Outer Rim, able to Mind-lock with the great Tollacian computers that held all the knowledge of worlds beyond worlds and could calculate the number of grains of sand in the Dunes of Gorn. But that life was not his anymore, outcast from those worlds he now was just a member of the tribe, and could no longer know the workings of the stars.

  Endo had risen well before dawn for like all his people he preferred the night to the day, and although he had learned to sleep when the suns died he still like to rise well before the light and begin his day.

  So like always he gathered Eul from an outcropping near their wagon and lit the Washa fire then drew fresh water from the oasis lake, he encountered a few guards that had been posted throughout the camp in case of attack but they said no words to him. The Nomads still found it very difficult too fully except the little creature as one of their own. They did not harm him nor do any of the things that an Outlander would normally do upon meeting up with a Sandjar for everyone knew that he was under the protection of the King. But they did not welcome him either. It did not matter to Endo; he had grown use to their hard looks and let it all pass without a curse or disapproving grunt. Now that the suns were up and the camp was alive he heard the sounds of his father rustling around in their tent.

  “Where is my sandal?” the words where familiar to the young green boy for he knew that his adopted father was an early riser and he would not be in a good spirit till he had his morning tea and a bite of food.

  “Where is that sandal?” he screamed from inside the tent, “I left it right here by my mattress and now it’s........” His words trailed off as he found what he was looking for, a moment or two more and he was outside dressed in a dark purple robe and a woven cap on his large head. He stood in the entrance way for a short time taking in the bright sunlight and letting his eyes adjust to the glare then he slowly walk to the Washa fire and warmed himself.

  Endo poured some hot tea into a silver cup and handed it to his father, “this will warm you” he said, then poured himself a cup also.

  The old man sipped the warm tea slowly; it was good for his son had made sure the leaves where fresh and then added just a bit of meadow cane to the mixture. With each sip his mood improved and the day did not feel so early. After several more mouthfuls Osh felt that he could now face the morning with courage, “the tea is very good today son, much better then
yesterday”.

  For a moment the boy looked at his father, he tried to understand why he would say such a thing, and it filled his head, the same tea, the same water and the same cup? He thought hard on the subject and that was difficult for the young Sandjar for they were a species that relied more on their instincts then the power of reasoning, why say the tea was better than before? But he also knew that the old man often said things that made no sense, like there being other worlds with creatures living on them that did not need to hunt for food. And that he had come here in a huge wagon that moved through the stars without the need of Trofar, or that the metal ships that the Sandjar scavenged for food where not sent by the Gods.

  But Endo did not feel the need to question his father on these things; it was enough that he liked his tea.

  When Osh finished his drink he began to take out his writing utensils and a fresh scroll of Rimar skin parchment. He had traded a set of Sargar cat teeth to a Nomad for a small writing table and chair, it was well made and suited the old man nicely for it allowed him to rest comfortably and be able to make writings for a long time without feeling tired.

  The Calaxion laid out the parchment and open the clay pot that held the ink; he took up the marking tool. It was made from the quills of a Doff-bird and was easy to hold in his thin fingers, he dipped the tool into the ink and began to write.

  Endo watched him as he took some fresh grass from a carry bin on their wagon and fed the Trofar. The great beast munched the green shafts and grunted as the young boy rubbed it’s horned head, then after a moment of watching his father Endo spoke, “why do you write so much?” he asked.

  Without stopping the old man replied, “Because there is much that needs remembering”.

  The boy thought this over for a moment, “Yes, I remember you saying that people in the future will want to know what we did”, he said as he came over to his father. He stared at the marking that were being placed on the scroll, “can I learn how to make such marking?” he asked pointing at the Rimar skin.