This was all the reformed Sandjar needed to sustain them and if they wore out or were damaged too much for repairs they were process into more food for the living.
It was a horrible site to anyone looking at the pitiful creatures but not to the Darkman, to him it was just a way of getting something done.
Atos has great power, he told himself, and he will use that power to destroy all that stand in his way. This was something that the Shadowman liked to think about, and it made him smile, then as he looked at the workers around him he saw a figure approaching him, and with his new eye he scanned it. But there was no image in his right eye just the heat and magnetic outlines of the Sandjars, how can this be? He asked himself, and then he realized that he could see the figure with his left eye, the eye that was still human.
And as he watched the figure came close enough for him to know its face.
Mother? His mind said, then his mouth repeated the words, “mother?”
He told himself that such a thing could not be but the image still stood before him, and then it spoke.
“The God you serve is false,” it said.
The Darkman looked into the face of his mother and even though he knew that the image was not there a part of him still replied, “He is real, you are not”, then he closed his eye and when he opened it again the image had disappeared. He scanned the chamber carefully with his right eye and found no trace of the Nomad woman, but even though he found nothing of the image it still haunted his mind.
It is a trap of the mind he thought a trick of my eye. And he laughed for he knew that he was correct, but still the vision haunted him and no matter how hard he laughed he could not drive it from his thoughts.
What thoughts the Orb had could not be put into words, but it can be said that it had a purpose and a plan.
First it would repair itself; this would take time and workers. But time had little meaning to the sphere and as for workers it would manufacture Repairbots, Spotters and Task machines to do the work and added to that it would capture organic creatures and reprogram them to follow instructions that would shorten the reconstruction time. It already had a group of Savengers working without rest, refitting motivation devices and up-grading power units, but there was much more work that needed to be done.
It had reached out with its mind link and touched the ancient machines that were scattered around it, and although they were primitive in construction they could be salvaged for parts and basic materials that with time could be reformed into a weapon. And with that weapon the Orb could continue with its prime program to find and destroy.
But in order to do this it needed more workers.
It had scanned the primitive minds of the Sandjars and found them to be a greedy species, this it would use, so it formulated a plan, it would offer them what they wanted and then take from them what it needed. So it left the wagons and carts of the scavengers where they had stopped and programmed several of the creatures to make a fire and smoke that could be seen from a great distance, and when this was done it waited. For it knew that from its detailed warfare diagrams that an enemy will attack if it thinks that it will succeed.
It was night when the first of the Outlanders saw the fire from the Sandjar camp.
The Ozendra were once a great and powerful Nomad tribe but the war with the Talsonar had greatly weakened their strength. The once mighty Nomads had lost many strong warriors and their King in the battles with the Pyramid people and they could not recover. The new leader a man called Hasgar was not prepared to wear the crown of Kingship; he was not the son of a King but an Elder of their tribe. He had no real experience at warfare and did not know the best hunting lands or where to find good shelter. And even at this time of their cycle when food was plentiful his people went hungry for the hunters were few and the Whiptails weak and the young would take another cycle to become grown and be able to add to the tribe.
And to make matters worse the precious wagons of Grana had been lost in a landslide in the Pass of Moke, this left them at the mercy of the Plague that infects all the creatures of Gorn and will kill all those who do not have the green salt. So the once proud Outlanders had resorted to scavenging and raiding the Sandjars for their provisions.
They traveled across the Sirolian Plains and then up to the mountains of Omar-Ran, all the while evading predators and trying to stay alive. At last they came to the sands of the Wastelands and there they followed the tracks of the Sandjar wagons hoping to ambush them and take their supplies. Now Hasgar stood looking down at the huge remains of the fallen warship and the scavenger wagons that were gathered around it.
“Tell the warriors that we will not wait for Sunbirth, we will attack tonight”, his words were directed at a young member of the tribe by the name of Dar. He was tall but thin and had only been made leader of the Whiptails because their old commander had died two days before.
“I will spread the word my King” he said then turned and went off to do as he had been commanded.
Hasgar was short but with wide shoulders and thick arms, he had been an Ironworker once so that answered the question of his massive bulk. His eyes were dark, as was his hair; he had no mate now for she had been killed in the Great War along with his two sons. But he still believed in the Goddess and prayed to her every night.
“Isarie grant us what we need,” he said softly then turned and went back to the tired Whiptail that was pawing at the soft sand. He approached it warily for it had not been fed in two days and that made it extremely dangerous, so when he got near its horned head it lunged out and tried to take one of his arms off to ease its hunger. But Hasgar swung out his other hand and struck the beast on his nose.
“Artock!” he cried out, “you will have food soon”, then he grab the reins in one hand and put his boot into the stirrup and pulled himself into the saddle, he untied the war-ax that was hanging on the right side and looked up at the night sky.
It was overcast and there were now moons showing, luck is with us, he thought they would not see us coming.
It was not the nature of the Nomads to attack at night; they preferred to meet an enemy in the light for they wanted to see the faces of those they killed. But this was not war, this was survival and that meant taking advantage of the darkness to increase their chances for victory. Hasgar also check the wind for he knew that Sandjars could smell danger from a great distance, but his luck seemed to be holding for the wind was not at their backs and therefore their presents wouldn’t be given away.
When he was certain that all was ready he looked back at his remaining warriors, they were not many. Isarie will smile on us, he thought, he was sure of this because his people believed in the mercy of the Goddess and even with little to offer they had performed all the rituals and prayers that she required. So with a simple prayer on his lips he spoke to his warriors.
“togasttra emo entralac” he said.
And his warriors repeated the words, “togasttra emo entralac”.
It was a prayer in the old language; it meant, “Give us your strength”.
Then the King raised his hand in a signal to follow him into battle.
As the Darkman sat near the Orb his mind was still troubled with the image of his mother, he had told himself over and over again that the ghostly apparition was nothing more than a phantom that had somehow made its way into the fallen Gods ship.
It was a wasteland witch, he thought, she must have worn a spellmask so that she appeared to be my mother, but even in his thoughts he could not help but feel that he was wrong, and before he could stop himself he spoke her name.
“Mother” he said softly.
The light from the Orb brighten, “what is mother?” it asked.
The Sphere had scanned the mind of the Shadowman but it had not looked for information that wasn’t directly linked to its primary goal, that of making war and destroying its enemies, so when it heard the word that the half-human spoke it became curious.
“What is mother?” the Dar
kman said as he turned to look at his new God, “it is the person who gave me life”. Then he turned away, a life that was not a life, these thoughts gave birth to the days and nights of wandering in the Poisoned-lands and the longs cycles of pain that he had endured since the Shadowmen found him. She bore me but left me to die.
The Orb knew quite well what had made it, the mind creature remembered waking with all the knowledge and power that it needed to fulfill its purpose. It remembered the first image it saw when it came into being, the image of the female holding the small creature in its arms. Then once again it focused all its mind-power on that image trying to solve the mystery of what that tiny being was for?
Suddenly it felt the approach of the enemy.
And when it did the Shadowman also saw the images in his mind, Nomads, he thought they are attacking. He rose to his feet and looked up at the glowing sphere, “they are the enemy, destroy them”, his mind filled with a thousand commands and he knew that Atos the God of war had awakened.
Hasgar dug his long riding spurs into the flanks of his racing Whiptail, to his left and right rode the warriors of the Ozendra, each one holding their war-axes and shouting out the battle cries of their tribe.
They cannot escape the old leader thought we will be victorious. This made the heart of the King race for he knew that he had saved his people and would lead them another day.
So onward rode the tribe, each one eager for battle and each one willing to die for their clan, the air filled with war cries as they fell upon the unsuspecting Sandjar. In frenzy the warriors rode into the camp of the scavengers expecting to find the green creatures armed and ready for battle, but they were wrong. There was no one to fight the camp was deserted. There was only a campfire and a cold emptiness.
Hasgar pulled up on the reins of his Whiptail, when he did the other warriors also ceased there war cries and lowered their weapons, they stood there for a moment or two then the old King looked around at the empty wagons.
“Where are they?” he said, his question was not directed at anyone in particular but rather a question for the Gods to answer. They are not in camp? In the dim light he scanned the Scavengers wagons and tents, everything was in its place, the cooking pots, their storage wagons, even their sleeping pits, all was there but without their owners, what magic is this? The old King asked himself, then he turned to a young warrior near him, “look about the camp, find the Sandjar” he said.
The young warrior obeyed his King and dismounted his Whiptail and began looking around the foul smelling wagons.
Hagar felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up, and in his mind he suddenly felt that something was coming near, what that thing was he did not know but all his instincts told him to flee, to escape, but he did not. He had come too far to turn and run into the night, they needed supplies and no matter how much his skin prickled or his instincts called out to him he was not about to leave empty handed.
I will not be cheated he thought Isarie will not abandoned us now.
The young warrior also felt uneasy, but he would never disobey his King so he kept searching about the scavenger’s Karraks. But before he could find any sign of Sandjar he moved to a darkened side of a tent and they’re standing before him like an aberration was a figure dressed in a dark robe. Quickly the warrior raised his ax and confronted the intruder.
“Who are you?” he asked his voice shaking a bit from fear.
The dark robed creature moved out of the shadows and closer to the young Ozendra warrior, now his face shone in the light from the campfire, there he saw a creature not of flesh and blood but one of metal and scars and before he could rise his weapon to strike the thing spoke.
“I am the servant of Atos”, it said.
The warrior felt a steel hand around his throat and iron fingers digging into his flesh, he tried to scream but no sound came from his lips, as he felt his neck bones crack he closed his eyes and all became darkness and death.
Hasgar was becoming more and more uneasy, the prickling at his neck was now a pounding in his heart, it was like the beating of the Ironworkers hammer on cold steel, everything told him to run but he did not listen and remained where he was. The Whiptail under him began to paw the ground and emitted loud grunting sounds, a sure sign that danger was near, but still the old King did not flee.
I am not a child, he told himself, there are no ghosts here, Isarie will protect us.
As he whispered a prayer to the Goddess he saw a dark robed man come into the light of the campfire.
The other Whiptails also began to pull at their reins and grunt, their riders had a hard time controlling them and the air seemed to fill with a cold chill even though the night was warm.
“Who are you?” the King of the Ozendra called out, “are you a demon of the Outlands?” as he spoke those words he raised his war-ax as a sign that he was ready to fight.
With slow deliberate steps the Darkman moved towards the frightened leader, in the dim light of the campfire he seemed not of this world. But rather a creature of the Dark Gulf, he continued to move to the center of the warriors then he stopped and looked hard at the old King.
“Who am I?” he said, “I was once one of the forgotten, a wanderer in the Outlands, but now I am the fear in the darkness, I am the cold wind of death, I am an ending!”
For a moment there was no response from Hagar, and then he raised his weapon and spoke in a loud voice so that all his warriors could hear his words and bring courage to their hearts.
“I am Hasgar, King of the Ozendra and we do not fear you for we are the chosen of the Gods and Isarie!’
This made the Darkman smile, “not anymore” he said coldly.
This affront to the Goddess made the Old King furious and he pulled back his arm to throw his ax at the blasphemer and cut off his head.
But as he was about to do so he felt a cold hand grasp his body, suddenly his arm refused to move and a his mind heard a strange voice, it spoke to him with a power that filled every fiber of his being.
“You are weak but soon you will be strong” it said.
Hasgar watched with horror as strange metal creatures came scurrying out of the darkness, they moved like great sand beetles and seeing them struck a fear in his old heart that had never been there before. With a thunderous loud roar the Whiptails of the warriors began to buck and thrash about sending their rider’s crashing to the ground. They were unhurt inside their armor but when they tried to stand they found that they couldn’t, they lay there helpless as their beasts bolted into the night and left them behind.
Hasgar was also thrown to the ground, he still held his war-ax in an iron grip but he could make no use of it for his body was no longer his own.
What has happened to me? He asked himself, have we been taken by a demon from the pit? He tried with all his might to move his arm but it was held with a power far beyond his, then he watched as the dark robed man came forward surrounded by an army of metal monsters. He ground his teeth and foamed at the lips as the scarred faced man looked at him with one good eye and one that reflected the firelight making it appear that it was ablaze.
“You are no longer the masters of the Outlands” the Darkman said, “there is a new power and I am his eyes”.
It took only a short time for the Task robots to do their work, they picked up the helpless warriors and took them to the main processing chamber and there the Repairbots did what they were programmed to do. They found that the bodies of the Nomads were far superior to the rather substandard level of the Sandjar, so they did not have to replace many parts, they simply removed that portion of the brain that controls movement and individual personalities and replaced them with interaction responders. This would allow them to work as a group and efficiently complete the tasks assigned to them.
Hasgar was the last of the warriors to undergo this process, and as his mind was being destroyed he spoke a prayer to the eternal Goddess.
I know your book, I follow its teachings, I believe.
A moment later he forgot why he had made such a prayer and then he forgot everything.
Chapter 11.
The Wall.
There are many structures on the planet that defy explanation, their age and who constructed them cannot be known with any certainty, but the Nomads do not ask those questions, to them the fortifications are the work of the Gods and have been there sense the beginning of time.
From the Mindlock of Oshismarie Inastro Sistashion.
The Nomads traveled West for several more days, their path was clear and they knew that the Goddess smiled on them.
On the left were the hills of Omar-Ran, there lain the homelands of the Almadra tribe but they were not going to the sacred valley of their ancestors but rather to the forests of Caltarine. On their right were the high peaks of Gorash, the mountains that were too steep and dangerous for any Nomad to climb, and the winds there too strong for the Sky Riders to make it their home, and on the topmost level of those mountains flashed the Star of the heavens. From a distance it resembled the beacon that blinked on the tops of the Pyramid cities. But it was too high up to be reached by any travelers and there were no Outlanders who ventured there so its history was unknown. But to the Nomads it was a thing of the Gods and only they knew its true meaning.
So when any member of the Almadra looked up at the great Star they uttered a prayer to Isarie for her wisdom.
“Heavens star we see your light.
Guiding travelers in the night.
Heavens star will light our way.
Guiding travelers in the day.
Heavens star fallen from the sky.
Hear our prayers as we pass by.”
The Fallen God Page 16
