Chapter 4. Gods and Men
War and thunder fill the sky.
Drums beat loud and deep.
March to death then race to die.
And smile as war God’s weep.
Drinking song of the Almadra.
The Nomads gathered in the great Longhouse, feasting on succulent cooked Rimar. They drank deeply of the sour wine they called Po and filled their mouths with fresh baked Kasha bread and the sweet fruit from the Balbar tree. It had been a long journey to their valley and they were glad, finally to be able to rest and eat their fill.
They sang the ancient songs and told tales of wars long ago and the glorious victories over their enemies. They sat at the long stone tables and spoke about the days past and those yet to come.
As the dark wine flowed with the night, it was inevitable, that a few minor fights would break out. It was not malice, just letting off, pent up energy and having fun. When the fights were over and minor wounds dressed, they laughed and joked, as to who had the greater strength and who would have to wait for another day, to boast and brag.
Long into the night, they sang and drank. The warriors removed their dusty armor and left their weapons in a corner of the Great Hall. It was one of the few times, they allowed themselves to be unarmed. A Nomad, is never seen by outsiders, without his weapons. This was their home and they did not feel, the need to defend themselves. Even without their battle-axes and armor, the Nomads were a fierce enemy. Tall, broad shouldered and with the reflexes of a Sager Cat, it was not wise, to make a Nomad angry, they were quick tempered and proud. It was safer to tease a Whiptail, than a warrior of the Almadra.
They lived by a simple code of honor and few broke it. If they did, they were quickly exiled from the clan, to live the rest of their lives, as Outcasts. Waste-wanderers, were lone Nomads without a home or a tribe. They were loyal to their leaders and to each other, a Nomad would rather give up his or her own life, than sit idly by, when a friend was in need.
The women of the tribe, were also strong and proud, they did not wait on the men, as in some cultures. They were all treated the same and if you wanted something, you got it yourself. The females could drink, as well, if not better than the males. They were not weak, or in need of protection, like Off-World females and those who dwelt in the stone cities. They could take care of themselves, they were strong and brave. They were not like the ill formed females of the Lowlanders, or the over painted and perfumed, Sin-Cravers of the pyramid cities. They were tall, straight and intelligent, they fought strongly and mated the same way, a Nomad woman, was worth her weight in Rimar horn and more.
The elderly or Frail-legs as they were sometimes called, had their own place in the Great Hall, a table and chairs by the great carved fire pits, there they could rest and have everything they needed. The oldest of them, were cared for like the tribe's small children, with love and respect. They were the Star Singers, spending most of their time in a world of their own. They seemed not, to care for or even recognize, those who were once their children or grandchildren. They would sit, whispering to unseen persons, or look up at the night stars and moons, speaking words no one understood. They were no longer a part of this world and seemed to listen only to the night. They were still cared for and made as comfortable as could be, they sometimes spoke to members of the tribe but their words had little meaning.
There was a council of Elders, men, and women who gathered, to give advice and wisdom to the leader, they were from different families in the tribe. With them were the Soul Shepherd’s, keepers of the faith, who made sacrifices to the Gods, when they thought it necessary. They carried the words of the Book and gave their blessing when they thought the Gods were pleased and their curses, when the signs said the Gods were angry. In reality they had very little power, that was in the hands of the Holy Mother. Soul Shepherds were little more than Nomads, who lived by the strict code of Isarie and looked down on those who did not.
Arn sat in one corner of the long hall, not eating much and drinking little, he told no stories and did not sing the songs of his tribe. He was thinking of other times and other places, of when he was a first cycle boy, learning the Nomad's ways. He remembered the days with his brothers and his sister. How they would laugh and play learning games that taught them how to survive in the Outlands. He saw in his mind’s eye, the happy days of his youth and the long journeys over the Lands of Gorn.
Agart noticed, his older brother sitting alone in the Great Hall but he knew, this was not the time for idle conversation. His brother was about to face one of the greatest challenges of his life. He wanted to talk to him, to tell him, he would always stand by his side. He stood looking at his elder brother for a long time, he drank deeply from the ivory horn in his hand. He was about to go to his brother, when he heard his mother’s voice.
“Leave him be,” she said softly, “it is not your time or place to interfere.”
Agart looked at his mother. Mother, mother, my mother; he knew she was right but his need to be at his brother's side this night, was very strong. “I know mother but what are brothers for, if not to stand together?”
The old women shook her head, “Your brother must stand alone for this, there can be no interference if he is to be called leader, now listen to my words, if only this one time.”
The warrior smiled at his mother, “I always listened to you, did I not?” No I never listened, I was too young and smart.
The old women began to laugh, “Listen? How many times, did I tell you not to tease the Whiptails and how many times, did I have to tend your wounds, because you did not? You are a good son Agart but sometimes your hearing fails.”
“I will have you know, my hearing is perfect, it's just that, I do not understand your words sometimes,” he laughed; her words are always good to hear, she is wise, Isarie gave her wisdom.
They both looked at Arn, sitting alone, they stopped laughing. Egmar’s eyes, began to fill with tears, “With the suns I will lose two loves,” she said softly. The suns, the suns, why cannot Isarie, stop the suns from rising? She walked away slowly.
Agart still standing, watched her go; mother, my mother, I will pray for you and for my father. Then he looked down into the murky depths of his drinking horn.
In another corner of the Great Hall, there were others, who were having a better time. Seeda had filled her bowl with some very tender morsels of the best Rimar meat and a warm cut of golden brown, Kasha bread, her favorite meal. She liked food and ate her fill when she could, still retaining the strong body of her kind. She was the envy of the tribe's other females. She found a quiet corner near the warm fire pit, eager to take the first bite of her dinner. She set the bowl down, to adjust the Rimar hide cushion on the stone bench, when she turned to pick up the bowl, it was gone.
She quickly looked around her, to find the lost bowl, it was being held by the handsome Almec, who was about, to take a bite of the bread, Seeda glared at him.
“I see we have a thief in the hall of the Almadra, or is it just a little rock-hopper, come to scavenge food?”
The warrior put the bread back into the bowl and handed it to Seeda, “I am no thief,” he said defiantly, “and I am much better looking, than a Rock-hopper!”
Seeda took the bowl and sat down on the bench, “I do not know, I have seen some very handsome rock-hoppers.”
The warrior sat down beside her and smiled, “Then you do think I'm handsome? Maybe you would like to kiss me?”
Seeda spit out the small piece of Kasha bread and looked at the young man, “Kiss you? We are not in Omargash and I see no dome overhead.” She held out her bowl to him, “Perhaps you should take this as a mercy, your mind must be growing weak, you're beginning to sound like a Star-singer.”
Almec took the bowl and put a large piece of Rimar meat into his mouth, “Thank you,” he said with a full mouth, “I was feeling a bit light headed.”
Seeda stood up quickly and gave him a hard look, “What? Are you saying, kissing is some
thing only Frail-legs would do? There are many warriors, who would be pleased to kiss me!”
The warrior stood quickly, “No, I am sure most warriors, would find kissing you very pleasant.”
Seeda looked him in the eye, “Most?” she asked, then waited for an answer.
Almec just stood and looked at her. He'd learned after many years that his mouth often got him into trouble and he did not want a repeat. He sat down and looked around the room. Across the hall he saw a tall young woman, she had long dark hair and a strong supple body, she was sitting with several warriors, anyone could see, she was enjoying herself. “Ah, I think I see Arie sitting by herself, perhaps she would like my company?” Almec got up to leave.
Seeda could also see Arie, as usual the best warriors in the tribe, surrounded her. When she saw the smile on Almec’s face, she looked away, seeming disinterested in him, “I think you are right, Arie is very lonely, maybe it is the way she looks or the fact that she cannot dance.”
Arie had been Seeda’s rival, ever since they were children, she always got more attention from the boys and was a favorite within the tribe. Everyone knew, she was a very good dancer and that she wanted Almec. Whenever Almec wanted to tease Seeda, all he had to do was mention her name.
“I heard, she is a very good dancer, one of the best. I remember when she used to dance like a wind rider,” he said off handed.
This was too much for Seeda, she jumped up, spilling her bowl onto the stone floor, “Wind rider!” she yelled, “More like a lame Earth-shaker, if you ask me!” She looked down at her broken bowl, then back at Almec, “Now look what you have done!”
She was about to storm off, Almec touched her arm, “I am sorry, maybe I was mistaken about her dancing.”
Seeda looked at him, she wanted to stay angry but she could not, she knew deep down, he was only trying to make her mad and it had worked. She sat down on the stone bench, “Why not bring me another bowl and we can discuss it,” she gave him a little smile.
She knew that if she took the food from his hand, they would be mated, she would not fall into that trap. When he comes back with the food, I will make him put it on the floor.
Almec also knew, if she took the food from his hand, she would be his mate. He also knew, Seeda would never fall for the trap. She is just seeing how far I will bend. He looked at her and smiled, “Very well, I will get you a new bowl but it will be empty.” I want to fill her bowl, I want her to take it from my hand.
He started to walk away, Seeda called out after him, “A large horn of Po, I am very thirsty.”
The young man turned to her, “You can that get yourself,” he said, then walked away. Seeda glared at him but she had to smile. She found her mother was beside her, she was looking at her daughter.
“You should not tease him daughter,” she said, “someday he will be your mate and it is better to live together without a war.”
She knew her mother was right, about them being mated someday but she did not want to acknowledge the fact, “I would rather mate with a Spikeback than, that foul smelling swamp drifter.” She started talking to herself, so that only she could hear, she did this a lot and everyone knew it as the sign, she was in a bad mood.
Her mother understood her daughter but it did not stop her sitting next to her and taking her hand. “You do not have to pretend with me my child, I bore you and raised you, I know what lives in your heart, you know it too.”
Seeda knew, her mother was right as usual but it is hard for a daughter, to see the truth from a parent, “He is a good man and a good warrior,” she said, “but he knows it. I do not want to end up, a weak willed bed warmer, never knowing the life I want.”
Egmar smiled at her daughter, her voice low and calm. “We must all do, what has to be done, as your bothers and I do. It is our way and the way of our ancestors. You will still live your life, no one, can take that from you.”
Seeda held her mother’s hand, “Yes, you and father taught me well, I will make you proud, father will...,” her voice trailed off; my father, my father!
Egmar was also thinking of her mate, she looked past her daughter into the nearby fire pit, “We must all follow our paths.” Wherever they lead.
Outside the Great Hall, the night sky was clear and empty of clouds. Tonight, the valley was bathed in the soft warm glow, of three of Gorn's, seven moons, shining brightly. In the distance, the cries of the grazing Thundra, could be heard and the other animals of the valley. There was a soft wind blowing, carrying the smell of the night-blooming flowers and the pungent odor of the mating Sun-droppers. Large dangerous lizard like gliders, they built their nests in the great caves, at the far end of the canyon.
Karn stood on an outcropping not far from the Longhouse, the old warrior was not eating or drinking tonight. He was thinking of the long years, now behind him, his boyhood and the faces of his father and mother. He remembered their worn features clearly and their voices. He saw them, as if they were standing beside him and he was a little boy again. He could smell the Rimar meat, his mother cooked for him and the songs she sang, as she rocked him to sleep.
In a vision he watched his father, Alma-kan, the great warrior and leader of the tribe, riding on his Whiptail, holding his head high in the bright sunlight. He remembered how he was taught to hunt the wild Thundra beasts and the swift Flame-Crests. How he stood defending his people in the great battles of his time. He hoped, his father would have been proud of him now, he hoped, his long years as King had been good ones for his tribe.
He stood, looking out over the long valley and wondering about the Afterlife; will my father and mother be there to welcome me? Will I have to wait long, to see Egmar again?
There were many questions, without answers, it was much easier, to let them go and think about the sunrise. With it, would come an end and a beginning. He could do nothing to change it, with the morning light, all his questions would all be answered.
Unseen by his father, his youngest son Anais, watched in hiding, crouched behind a jagged bolder, he looked at the old King. He did not look upon him with love, or even respect, he hated him. He hated his father for not paying him more attention, when he was a boy. He hated him for not giving him more power, within the tribe. He hated him, because he was the youngest son, with little chance of being made leader. Most of all, he hated himself. He was not tall or strong, the tribe did not like him, he was not, happy. The only thing that gave him strength, was his hate, it had always been his companion. He lived for hate, wanting nothing more, than to vent his hate on others. He spent his whole life, waiting for the chance, he knew, one day, his hate would be freed.
He watched for a long time, dreaming of the days ahead and his plans for revenge, he turned and walked slowly towards the Great Hall's entrance.
He heard a woman's voice.
“The Gods are not content!”
He turned quickly, expecting to find one of the many enemies, he was sure he had. Instead, he saw the withered face of Obec, the High Priestess of the Almadra. She looked ancient with her tattooed face and dark piercing eyes. He felt as if, she could look right through you, into your mind and see your heart’s desire. It was strange seeing her alone, she hardly ever went anywhere, without her loyal Handmaidens and personal guards. She stood in her dark hooded robe, not seeming to feel the night air, or anything else. It was safe to say, everyone in the tribe feared her but all listened to her, she was the tribe's Voice of the Gods, second only in power, to the King.
Anais looked into her black eyes, they had always frightened him as a boy, when he looked at her now, he still felt a slight shudder.
“The Gods are not content,” she said again, “they say that Arn is not a true leader for the Almadra.”
Anais did not believe in the Gods, he did not believe in anything but his own wants and fears. After a moment or two, he summoned up the courage, to look into her face.
“If the Gods were truly powerful, why would they allow themselves to be anything but con
tent? As a soul shepherd you should know that.” He spoke with a sudden air of defiance; she thinks I fear her, she is wrong!
The Priestess stared at him, she was taken aback, by the unhappy brother's sudden courage but did not show it...He is afraid, I can see it in his eyes, that is good. She pointed to the night sky, with her claw-like finger, “Can you count the number of stars in the night sky? Do you know where the winds go when they leave the land? Have you marked the year of your death?”
Anais shook his head, “No, no one knows such things.”
“Then do not question the Gods, who made the stars and the wind and you.” The old woman came closer towards him, Anais moved back a little, frightened of her, no matter how much he wanted not to be, “The Gods have spoken to me, they say that Arn is not the one to lead.”
Anais let the words run through his head; The Gods are not content, Arn is not to be King. He was not sure, what the old witch had in mind but he liked the idea of his older brother, not being made King. How he wished, his brothers were dead and he was King but it was not to be. He looked at the old women, “You are too late with your prophecies, the suns will rise and with them a new King will be chosen.”
He started back towards the Great Hall, he took a few steps, then he heard the old woman say, “The suns rise then set, there are many days and nights ahead, only the Gods know where they lead. Do you hear the Gods speak?”
Anais shook his head; I do not hear the Gods, because they do not exist!
The old woman smiled at him, “Well I do,” she walked away from Karn's youngest son.
Anais watched her go; The Gods are not content, Arn is not to be King? There are no Gods but belief in them gives power and I want power. He felt a little better now, he even smiled; foolish old woman, someday I will be King and you, will fear me.
Then he went back into the Great Hall and left the night to itself.
Nomads of the Gods Page 5
