The Fallen God

by Gary Mark Lee

  But Endo was not listening to his father for once more the strong odor that had roused his mind the night before hung in the air. He tried to ignore it and concentrate on the ritual below but the more he tried too the harder it became; he turned his hooded head and sniffed the air with his flat nose.

  What is that odor? He asked his mind and why does it call out to me? He felt like he should go and follow the intoxicating fragrance to its source when he heard his father’s voice again.

  “Hand me a new writing point, this one has broken its tip” but when Osh turned to his son he seemed to be far away, “did you hear me?”

  Coming out of his trance the young boy looked at his father, “what did you say?”

  The old man shook his head, “I said to hand me another point” and to add to his words he held up the broken tip.

  It only took a moment or two of fumbling through the woven bag then the Sandjar held up a brand new writing point, he handed it to his father.

  “Thank you”, the old man said then went back to his observations. “It seems that the Norgonie society is based on a religious hierarchy much like the Outlanders but whereas the Nomads faith is ruled by females the forest people are male instituted”. To have finally proven that point made the old man very content and a slight giggle escaped his lips. He continued to watch and write down all that he could see and he was so content with what he saw he did not notice his son silently slipping away to follow a calling on the wind.

  Andra did not know how much longer she could stand under the bright sunlight, her head was pounding like the molding hammers of the Ironworkers and her mouth tasted like she had eaten a bowl full of blanket lice. But she remembered that she was once a lieutenant in the army of the Selcarie, and she never missed a formation no matter how much celebrating she had done the night before. Now she fought down the urge to empty her belly and held her spinning head high.

  And beside her Arn also stood proud and strong, but from time to time he couldn’t help but glance over at the Queen of the Norgonie and remember days of old.

  It was so long ago, he thought, but I see it as if it was yesterday.

  And for a brief moment it was yesterday and he was standing in a forest glen surrounded by a fortress of sweet smelling flowers.

  The great Gong sounded and vision of flowers vanished and he was once more a King standing beside his mate.

  As the sound of the gong faded in the air a man emerged from under the golden dome and move to the green stone, he was old and bowed with a thin beard the color of freshly fallen snow. His weathered face was deeply lined with age and a long hooked nose and jutting cheekbones gave him a continence that was not easily forgotten, his eyes were deep blue and seemed to reflect a wisdom that only comes with age. He wore a long billowing robe of green cloth trimmed with silver thread on his slim body and on his bald head sat a crown of sorts with delicately forged figures of animals and humans all intertwined in riot of life. His hands were free of implements but were wrinkled and the long fingers seemed claw-like in appearance.

  His name was Ormandis and he was the holiest man of all the Norgonie, but he himself was not one of the Forest-dwellers. His age was uncertain for no one was present at his birth, and the ones who were alive when he came to Caltarine were long sense dead, some said he was the oldest of all the Nomads. But that could not be proven to the contentment of the Outlanders for they suspected that he had prolonged his life by witchcraft and that he also might be wearing a spell mask to hide his true features, that of a demon that shows himself as a man. All this was not spoken in front of a Norgonie for they worshiped their High Priest as a spokesman of the Gods and the wisest of men, and if any Forest-dweller had heard such a remark it would surly lead to bloodshed.

  Now Ormandis stood before the green stone and spoke in a loud clear voice that carried over the wind like a man half his age.

  “It is written that in the beginning all was frozen night and no creature moved in the darkness. Then came the light and with it the Gods emerged for they were made from the stars. And for ages unknown they dwelled alone and without worshipers until Arm-Ra and the Goddess Nigor held each other in their arms and began to mate, and that mating shook the heavens and the very stars trembled. And when their ecstasy could go no higher Nigor dug her fingers into the flesh of Arm-Ra until blood dripped from her hands, and that blood fell from the sky and landed on the earth that we now stand upon and we the chosen of the Gods were created. And for that life we owe a debt, a debt that must be repaid or our world will feel the wrath of judgement. Now it is time we return that blood debt to the Gods and ask for their blessings so that we might live under their protection”.

  And with his speech ended he turned to see a young maiden being led from under the dome towards him by two Holy men. She was young and beautiful with a slim strong body and long flowing hair; she was naked except for a fantastic headdress of Doff-bird feathers dyed to rainbow colors. Her arms and legs were covered in sacred symbols and on her forehead she bore a tattoo of a moon. Her eyes were dark green and seemed to be looking out at a landscape that only she could see, there was also a small smile on her full lips as if she was about to speak to her lover. But none of this was seen by the Norgonie worshipers below for they now started to sway back and forth and fill the air with a low chanting.

  And with the chanting the warriors of the forest began to call out, and as they did they beat the shafts of their spears against their shields and stomped their feet on the hard ground.

  The Almadra also began to call out; slow at first then louder and louder as the warriors of the Outlands took up the call. Soon war-axes were striking the ground and Nomad feet pounded into the earth until it seemed like they were going to shatter the world under them.

  Andra watched as Arn took up the chanting and beat his weapon into the dirt sending up bits of earth and dust, and with the noise her head began to spin. But she did not turn away and stood tall and straight by her King. You can get through this, she told herself, just hang on and be strong.

  High atop the pyramid shrine Ormandis heard the sound of his people and it made him content, the Norgonie are strong, we are the chosen of the Gods, he turned and motioned to the two men that held the arms of the naked girl. They slowly led her to the green stone and lifting her they laid her face up on the sacred rock. She did not move or try to fight as they held her by her slim arms and pulled them over her head then down so that her naked breasts pointed up at the sky.

  There was another striking of the great gong and the High Priest took a small ritual dagger from beneath his robe and held it high over his head.

  “We are the servants of Arm-Ra, we offer this blood to you”.

  And without hesitating he drove the dagger hard into the naked chest of the young girl, and a few moments later he had cut out her heart. And with the still beating organ in his bloody hand he turned to the now silent worshippers below and spoke so that all could hear.

  “Arm-Ra is the greatest of all the Gods!”

  And saying this he threw the bloody offering down on the stone steps where it continued to roll over and over again marking the stairway of the Gods with the blood of a virgin.

  Andra watched the red offering of the Norgonie tumble down the worn steps of the great shrine, and then she turned and emptied the contents of her stomach onto her feet.

  Nearby Ishea turned to see the woman that Arn had chosen to be his mate become sick at a site that she had seen many times and it made her smile.

  Arn has chosen a weakling to stand by his side, she thought this is no Moonbud, this is a flower that has lost its thorns.

  From her chair the Holy Mother watched the ceremony of Rowgal, and in the past her heart would have gone out to the poor girl who had offered herself to the Gods in payment for her life. But now her heart lay unmoving inside her chest and no tears filled her eyes, she simply looked down at the golden bowl of Grana in her hand and at the dark creature that lay there.

  It t
urned its red glowing eyes to the old woman and spoke in a voice only she could hear. “A death here and there, what does it matter to the universe”?

  And hearing those words Egmar smiled, “yes, what does it matter” she said softly.

  Andra turned her face away from the Holy Shrine and looked into the eyes of Arn, but he did not look back and held his head high and showed no sign of emotion. So seeing that she was alone in her feelings the Selcarie girl walked away from the ceremonies and left the side of her King.

  And in doing so she did not see the Handmaidens climb the steps of the pyramid and place bowls of Grana at the base of the green stone. She did not hear them as they prayed for the soul of the young girl who had given her life for her faith, and she did not see the tears in their eyes. She did not watch as Egmar was carried up the long stairway and utter a prayer to Isarie that the soul of the dead girl fined a place in the Golden Hall. She did not witness the Holy Mother pouring Grana onto the stone floor and see it being blown away by the wind.

  And the one they called Moonbud did not know that the body of the girl who now lay dead would be reverently carried to the resting-place of the virgins. And there she would be washed and dressed in a robe of white with a crown of lotus blossoms upon her head. And after three days of prayers she would be placed in a crypt of finely carved stone and a statue of her would be placed in front of its door so that all would know who lay within. And that her name would be recorded on the wall in the Chamber of Time so that all the people of the forest would know that she had given her life for her God.

  In the many worlds of the Outer Rim there are rituals of faith, some cultures worship their deities by song and dance, some by setting aside a day to pray and listen to the words of Holy Men and Women who speak for the Gods. And on some worlds they give gold and silver and precious Triliniam and Corrason to show their devotion, and on other planets they offer up animals of all shapes and descriptions.

  There are some that make a pact with all-powerful beings, and in exchange for their piety they receive wisdom and the power to know right from wrong, and there are some who chastise themselves with whips and hot irons in hopes of driving out demons that have possessed their souls.

  And some give the blood of their people.

  They do this by killing captured victims of their rivals; they burn them over great fires or impale them on iron spikes before vengeful statures and inside blasphemous sanctuaries. And still others give their innocent young and stand idle as they cry out to their mothers and fathers before being tossed into the dancing flames of sacrificial fires. They do all this to show devotion and faith and they sleep well at night knowing that they did it all in the name of the Holy Gods.

  But all these pale in comparison to those who give of themselves, for they do not ask a blessing to make their lives more content or wealthy, they simply offer up their flesh and put their trust in the Gods to grant them everlasting life.

  Whether that wish is granted or not we the living shall never know, for none can say what becomes of a worshiper when they no longer worship.

  Chapter 18.

  The Graveyard.

  There are many places that you may roam.

  From the Isles in the Western Sea to the great mountains of the East

  But do not go into the lands that are forbidden for there lies death.

  From the Book of Isarie.

  Valen had stayed within his hiding place as the winds raged outside for a day and a night, now the air was quiet and it was time to return to his journey of vengeance.

  The young Caladon warrior had rested and regained his strength; he had managed to kill a young Doff-bird that had wandered into his hiding place. It was surely the offspring of the huge Outland fowl that he had battled and defeated a short time before, and with its flesh now filling his belly he felt that he could take on an Earthshaker.

  His Whiptail was also content, it had devoured the remains of the scavenger bird and could now go many days without eating, so he stood quietly as Valen tightened the saddle strap and placed the carry bags over its back. He checked his armor and fixed his war-ax to his saddle horn and adjusted the twin daggers and pouch around his middle. He pulled on the great horned helmet with the marking of his tribe and when all was made ready the Nomad looked his beast in its large yellow eyes.

  “I think we have rested enough”, he said with a smile, “now it is time we follow our vow”, the warrior put his boot into the stirrup and pulled himself onto the back of his mount. Taking up the reins he dug his long spurs into the flanks of his Whiptail and they raced out of the broken machine and into the morning sunlight.

  The day was bright and clear, the winds of the days before had erased the storm clouds away leaving only an open blue sky and the day moons slowly moving overhead.

  Valen rode away from the broken steel shelter quietly; as he did he filled his lungs with the clean fresh air and felt the warm sunlight on his face. This was how a Nomad lived, free and strong, going where he would and trusting in his strength and his faith to carry him to victory. It was the way of an Outlander and it was right.

  The Caladon warrior rode up a small rise and looked out over the land, there was little sign of the great iron monster that he swore he would find and kill. The winds of the last few days erased most of the tracks but there was still enough to show where it had crossed the earth. And with the indentations in the ground where the huge treads of the steel monster had moved there were many half buried remains of Trofar, Nomads and Sandjar, their bodies now only scraps for the gathering Sundroppers. As Valen looked down on his fallen brethren he wanted to stop and give them a proper burial but there was no time now and as he urged his mount forward he uttered a small prayer and asked forgiveness of the dead.

  All morning the young warrior followed the trail of his enemy through the Toys of Isarie, all about were broken machines of immense size, steel skeletons that rose up and bore witness to the battle that once must have raged here. And as Valen rode his mind was filled with questions.

  Why did the Gods place such things here? He asked his mind, and why do they called his a forbidden land, there are no dangers here, this is a land of the dead. And to make certain of that he scanned his surroundings looking for any sign of demons or monster that might attack him, but all he found were harmless rock runners and an occasionally lumbering shellback. There was vegetation here and there but not the great open grasslands that should have been abundant, instead it was spotty with patches of brown and small pools of dark foul smelling oil. There was one thing that the Nomad knew well for amid the ancient remains were great outcroppings of Eul, the black rock that Nomads burn as fuel.

  It is a poison place that is certain, but there are no monsters here.

  With his mind trying to figure out his questions he came up over a small hill littered with iron and large Eul rocks, and looked down at the Steel God.

  It was sitting amid a mass of machinery and the remains of great ivory skeletons, the mass of steel and bones stretched out in all directions and would have supplied the Outlanders with enough Itarian steel for a thousand years and more. The dead creatures that lay strewn about were as large or larger than a full-grown Earth Shaker, they were of strange shapes and the bones were as thick as the great trees in the Caltarine forest. As Valen looked down on the mass of steel and bone he knew that a great battle had once been fought here but it also troubled his mind.

  Why would toys fight with animals? To this question the warrior had no answer, but it did not matter for he had found his enemy and now he would destroy it.

  But how?

  Valen was one of the best warriors of the Outlands, single handed he had fought and killed two strong Armrod who had sought to cut off his head for an insult they had heard him say, and he had stood before a charging Rimar and lived to tell the tale. On his leg he bore the deep scars from a Daggermouth that had grabbed him near Still Water Lake. And he had never back down from a challenged to his honor. But now he fac
ed an enemy that seemed invincible.

  He knew that a good warrior always knows his enemy, so heeding his own words he got down off his Whiptail, tied it to a clump of metal jutting out of the ground and behind a boulder that would shield it from the site of the metal creature. And taking his war-ax in his hand he moved up to a point where he could see he enemy clearer.

  His keen eyes took in the massive size and strange shape of the beast, he knew it moved by the strength of Trofars so he now summarized that it was a vehicle of some sort, much like the great Karrack of the High Priestess of the Nomads.

  The God must travel inside, he thought, but now that the Trofar are dead it cannot move.

  Knowing that his enemy was now helpless made Valen smile for he understood that he need only find a weak spot then attack that place till he was victorious. But as he looked at the great iron beast he saw no such place, all that he could see was a mass of thick steel without a mouth or eyes or heart to strike at. All creatures have failings; I will find a place where my ax can bite.

  Inside the sphere the Darkman looked down at the two metal legs that now supported his cybernetic body, the pain that had come with his flesh being cut away and replaced by steel appendages had gone away, and now he felt only an unrelenting energy.

  I can walk without pain now, and as he thought about the days and nights that he had wandered in the Outlands weak and afraid it made him angry. But then that anger vanished with thoughts of his new strength and his God. He looked up at the glowing sphere and saw it pulsing with life. It was my destiny to find Atos and become his servant, but thinking the word “servant” made him turn away from the Orb, I will not be a servant forever how he would do this he did not know but he knew that someday he would find a way.

  Easing his mind with this idea he turned back to look at his God, all about him scurried the Repairbots, Spotters, and all the other metal creatures that he now had grown accustomed too. Here and there he saw a mindless Nomad or Sandjar but they were growing few in number now, their bodies unable to continue with endless work. And when they fell they were taken outside and left to the scavengers.