Chapter 8. Rumblings
The Sandjar are a nomadic people, who sustain their lives by gathering food from wherever they find it, they have no qualms about eating carrion or humanoids and they will also eat their own kind if necessary. Aggressive and cruel, they do not appear to be capable of reaching any higher than a Level Two in civilized behavior, on the Cragian scale of intelligence, further study is warranted.
From the Mindlock of Oshismarie Inastro Sistashion.
It had been several days, since they left the sacred valley. Arn led them well, he knew the land and where to travel, avoiding poisonous zones and conflict with other Nomads. For a while, there had been an uneasy truce, with the other tribes. They had a counsel and all the great tribes had agreed to, terms that ended the conflict. It had taken the lives of so many good warriors but War was always in the Outlander's minds, they grew up with it. It was in their blood, the sound of battle was like music to their ears. They rushed to meet their enemies, like lovers to an embrace. To die a hero on the field of battle, was the best ending to a Nomad's life. Although it was quiet now, Arn knew, it was only a matter of time, until a tribe broke the peace, then the Outlands would become a battleground once more.
The days were soft and clear, Rock-runners sat quietly in the sunshine. Sun-droppers glided overhead lazily, on a soft wind, blowing from the North. The Almadra rode over their world and it was good, Arn, the King, looked over his domain, he felt at ease. He had come to terms with his father's death, now he was the leader. He did not know what lay ahead, for himself or his people, he would meet it head on. He would live his life as a King and when his time came, he prayed, his ending would be as glorious as his father's.
He looked back over his shoulder, to see the many wagons, supplies carts of his people, they had been on the move for days, now it was time to rest. He knew by smell or taste or instinct that there was an oasis, over the next rise. They would make camp there, then they would feast and drink and tell the tribe's old stories. He looked up at the sky and knew, it was going to be a warm soft night.
Beside him as always, was Agart, he seemed to be riding taller in his saddle, his way of showing respect, to the new King. He had helped greatly over the past few days, giving advice and taking care of the little things, a King was to busy to do himself. Arn knew that without his help, Kingship would be a lot harder.
“A King is thankful,” he said, Agart heard him and looked over at his brother.
“A King does what, he has to do, he does not ask for praise or the bending of a knee.” Arn is King but he needs the Gods help, I will help him too. He looked straight ahead.
“Yes but a King is only as strong as his people.”
“Your people will follow you anywhere my lord. You are King but the Gods will guide you.” And I will follow my King.
Arn gave a little chuckle, “You do not need to call me lord, I am still just your brother, even if I wear a crown.”
Agart gave a small smile, “I think that crown, may still, be a little too large for you but I am sure, you will grow into it.” I will help you, I will help.
Arn thought of his dead father. Forgive me father, I killed you but it is our way, forgive me, “I never knew how heavy the crown could be. I remember there was a time, when I hated my father, for not being there for us. There was always some matter with the tribe, or a Holy ritual, he had to attend. I can see now, it was Kingship that kept him away from us.”
Agart looked up at the sky, “Yes, a crown can be heavy but the Gods will give you the strength to carry it.” The Gods will guide you and I will follow.
“Do you really do believe in the Gods?” His brother asked.
“Of course I do, without them, we would be nothing more than, wanderers in the dessert.” My bother has doubts about the Gods, I will help him understand.
The King gave him with a puzzled look, “We are wanderers.”
“You are wrong my young King, we know where we go.”
“Where is that?” Asked Arn.
“Where you lead us,” Agart smiled at his brother, “if you don't get lost!” We can never be lost, Isarie watches over us.
This made both of them laugh, it was not a laugh between a King and his subject but between two brothers who loved each other.
Unknown to them or anyone else, the world of Gorn was changing, for millennia, it had moved through the galaxy, just another planet, on its endless journey, through endless space. Its moons spun uncaring around it, like pearls on a necklace of the Sea People. To the creatures living upon it, all seemed well. For all things, large and the small, there is a time and a purpose. Everything is tied together, space and time, the sea and land, the Nomads and Gorn. Only Isarie and the Gods knew of the plan but in the days ahead, the knowledge of the Gods, would become known to all.
The Almadra stopped at a small oasis, to rest and refill the water wagons. The clear pool of life giving liquid, was surrounded by several Rimar and Thundra beasts. The Nomad's arrival, had scattered the creatures, they knew the Nomads would kill them, then feast on their flesh. It was better to go thirsty then to face certain death.
The Whiptails were meat eaters and their favorite food was Rimar. Dried meat usually satisfied them and was still plentiful but their mounts were happier when fed with a fresh kill. Some, of the hunters, cornered several beasts and killed them, they carried them back to the tribe, fresh meat for the reptiles and themselves.
They made camp as they always did. The tents of the Elders and the Frail-legs in the center, around them the High Priestess and Thungodra, then the rest of the tribe. The warriors were on the outermost ring, the first to face danger, willing to die protecting their kin.
The suns were going down and the Washa fires, were starting to burn brightly. The smell of roasting Rimar meat, filled the air, along with that of fresh baked Kasha bread. It was going to be a peaceful night. Or so they thought.
Seeda was worried about her mother, she had watched her over the past few days, it seemed that she might not come back to them. The old Queen sat and cried, she looked out over the Outlands, as if expecting to see her husband return. The young woman wondered if she was becoming one of the Wailing Women, never to laugh or join in with the tribe again. She was still relatively young, so she was not turning into a Frail-leg or Star Singer. She still watched things and knew when someone were there. It seemed to Seeda, she would never overcome, the pain of her loss.
Seeda sat near the light of the Washa, she put some fresh Rimar meat into a bowl. She had cooked it, the way her mother liked it, not done too much and covered with some fish sauce. She handed it to the Queen, the old woman did not take it, she just stared into the fading horizon. After a short time, Seeda put the bowl on the ornate rug covering the sandy ground.
The Queen's handmaidens, all older women, sat next to her, as did a Touch Tender, a healer of the tribe. She knew all the herbs and potions that healed the body and the prayers to heal the soul. They cared for Egmar, making sure she had everything she needed. They had gone through the same days and nights as their beloved Queen. They knew how it felt, to sleep alone, never to see their lover again. They knew there would come a time when their Queen would return to them. They would wait, they would be there when she left the lands of sorrow, to return to the land of light.
Seeda looked at her mother again, unlike the older women, she was impatient, she wanted things like they used to be. She wanted to hear her mother laugh and sing again, she wanted to hear her soft voice and feel the warmth of her arms about her. It would have to wait, now was not the time, she looked at the bowl again.
“Did I cook the meat too long? I made sure the sauce was fresh,” she waited for her mother to answer.
She did not but she half smiled at her daughter, then turned her head away. It was hard for Seeda.
“I never told you before but I am glad you taught me how to cook, how you put up with me, I'll never know.” She started to laugh, “Remember the time I put too much Ulon spic
e in the Hagar soup, I thought you would never stop laughing.”
When she spoke about her mother, it felt like a knife was in her stomach. Looking at the once proud and strong Queen, she could not help but think, she would never see that women again. She was about to speak but instead, she got up slowly and walked from the fire's light.
The Whiptails had been attended to, their fill of meat eaten, now they stood nearby, dozing quietly. The Thundra beasts were also quiet, they were herded together, away from the meat eaters. Although they were raised from newborn and were used to being close to the war animals, they were still very uneasy about being near to them. They knew, it would not take much for them, to forget their training and feast on their flesh.
Not far away, Arn sat with Agart, they had eaten and were drinking deeply of well-aged Po and telling each other embarrassing stories from their youth.
Anais as always, was nowhere to be seen, he did not sit with his bothers anymore. He preferred to pitch his tent, as far away from them as possible. Although they would have loved to have their brother's company, it did not dampen their spirits, or the amount of sour wine they consumed.
Agart had just finished telling the same funny story, he had told a million times before, to the bothers, it was just as amusing, as the first time.
“And when I turned, I saw it was not a giant Rimar, only a Burrow-baby holding my foot!” They both burst out in laughter.
“Yes but you still had a tough time killing it, if it had not been for me, you would have ended up in its mating den,” Arn commented.
“Perhaps but I've mated with worse and if I remember rightly, it was a rather handsome Burrow-baby,” he replied.
This made the King, spit out his brew and begin to cough, Agart had to hit him hard on the back, to stop him choking. Then they both laughed even harder, after a brief time, they calmed down some and sat back on the ground-rug by their fire. Arn looked over at his bother and smiled.
“Those were good times, ages ago, the way you tell a story, always makes it seem like yesterday. You could always make me laugh and father, always said you were the best...” His voice trailed off, as he remembered the events of the last few days, he stopped smiling and looked into his drinking mug.
Father forgive me!
Agart knew what his older brother was going through, he felt the same but it was different, when you were responsible, for your father’s death. Nothing could have changed the days past but he still felt sorry for Arn. He took a sip from his mug and looked at his brother, “There was nothing you could have done, it was the will of the Gods, no one can stand before them,” he said.
Arn looked at Agart, then at the night sky, he could see the small moon called Eka, “Does Eka do what the Gods say, or is her path her own?” He asked.
Agart looked up at the small moon overhead, “Eka is a small moon but she has brothers and sisters, Eubano, Ashsana, Lowmic, Italus, Rowgal and Fromic, they are all set on a course chosen by the Gods. They cannot change what is to come but they have brothers and sisters traveling with them, they are not alone.”
Arn knew his brother believed in the Gods with all his heart, he was a wise man and a good friend. Like the moons of his world, he would have someone to travel with him, together they would be strong. He lifted his drinking mug and saluted his brother, he was about to speak, when he spotted his sister coming towards them, he motioned to Agart.
“I think we are going to have company,” he said.
Seeda came into the firelight and stood warming herself for a moment, she was talking to herself. The brothers knew that when she did this, it was better to leave her alone for a time. They knew she would talk to them soon enough and waited patiently. They did not have to wait long.
She suddenly stopped muttering and looked at Arn. “Well, are you just going to sit there, or are you going to offer me a drink?” she said impatiently, “You may be King now but I can remember when you were just a little sand runner.”
Arn went to get her a mug of wine, Agart put a hand on his arm to stop him, “I will get the Po, you are King now, it is not your place to take orders.” He gave his sister a hard look, “You would be wise to remember that,” he got up and went for more wine.
Seeda sat by her brother, they both looked into the Washa fire, “I am sorry,” she said softly, “you are King now and it was wrong of me to talk to you in such a way. Forgive me.”
Arn looked at her without smiling, “As King I should have you punished, perhaps a day or two, staked out over a Rock-worm nest.” There was a long pause as he tried not to smile but then it got the better of him and he laughed out loud, “You were correct in saying that I was a little sand runner.”
“Yes you were,” she laughed, “you turned into a great man and a strong King though but to me you will always be that little sand runner.”
She looked up into the night sky, Arn could see, she was thinking of their mother. He knew that time would heal her wounds but it was difficult for his sister to accept. He decided not to bring up the subject and to think of a happier things to talk about.
“Almec was looking for you earlier, I think he has something for you,” he said, then waited for his sister to smile.
Seeda continued to stare into the night sky, Arn spoke again, “Arie was looking for Almec, do you know where his tent is pitched?” He knew this would get a fast reaction from her.
“What? Arie? When did she ask? What did you say?” Hearing that her rival was on the prowl, was just the thing to bring his sister out of her sadness. She jumped to her feet and looked around, “Do not worry about the drink, I have something to do.”
She quickly left the fire light and began looking for her love's tent.
She was just vanishing from sight, when Agart returned with a full flagon of Po. He looked around for a moment then saw his sister leaving, “What did you say to Seeda, she looks like she is going hunting?” he asked.
Arn smiled and held up his mug so it could be filled with more wine, “Oh that, well let us just say, I am getting better at being a King,” he replied.
Agart did not understand what his brother was talking about, so he smiled and filled his mug to the brim. He sat down near the fire again, “Did I ever tell you about the time I killed two Rimar with one blow?”
Arn had heard this tall tale many times but he was in the mood for laughter, he smiled at his bother and shook his head.
“Well then, it all started when I was out on a hunt…”
The King took a deep draft of his Po and settled back for another good story.
At the other side of the Almadra camp, was Anais' tent, it was easy to spot, it was the only one without a Washa fire or laughter. The youngest brother, just sat inside his shelter drinking alone. He had been uneasy for the last few days, every time he looked at his eldest brother, he saw only the Kingship that ought to be his.
Drinking heavily from his mug, he could not help but hear, the words, Obec had spoken ...The Gods are not content, Arn is not a leader of the Almadra. He kept running them over and over in his mind. The old woman, would not have spoken such words to me, if they did not mean anything but if the Gods didn't want Arn to be King, why did they make him one?
He never really believed in the Gods anyway, to him they were just fantasies for the weak-minded. Ghost stories to frighten little children and tales to be told around the fire pits; but what if they did exist, what if he was wrong? If the Gods did truly exist, maybe the old Priestess' message was a prophecy. He shook his head; the Gods do not exist, you're acting like a fool!
It would take more to convince him but it was the beginning of a plan, he would talk to the High Priestess again. He would flatter her and ask her to speak of the Gods plans. He knew, like all people young or old, weak or strong, there must be something she wanted. Maybe together they could fulfill a prophecy, one he would love to come true. The death of his brothers and the King's crown for himself.
He smiled and took a very long draft of his
well-aged Po, he settled back on his bed and dreamed. He always had the same dream, his brothers and sister were dead, the Almadra were bowing to him and he was laughing, the deep powerful laugh of a King.
Some distance from the Nomad's camp, moving quietly over the sands were the Sandjar wagons. They had been heading to the oasis and could smell the fresh water, not far ahead. They were eager to rest and sort out the valuable goods, they had scavenged from the Drop-ship.
Og was happy, his second wife had come through the birthing, without complications. His young son was strong and quite good looking, by Sandjar standards. He had a nice greenish color and large bright eyes, to help him see in the dark. He was glad, he hadn't killed the Off-World humans. The young woman was a very good wet nurse, her strong young blood, was just the thing to help his little son grow. Someday he would lead the tribe, have many mates and bear many strong children. He looked at his little son and smiled.
Andra was in hell, over the past few days, she was forced, to be the host, to the horrible little creature, now attached to her back. It had been sucking endlessly, of her rich blood and she was near the edge of insanity. All she could think about, was getting the horrible leech baby, off of her and smashing in, its head. She was too weak do so and it would mean certain death, for her and Osh, if she did.
Osh had witnessed the torture, his companion had undergone for the last few days. He did what he could, to ease her misery, he talked to her, when no one was listening and gave her encouragement. She in turn, shared her food with him and even gave him, a few granules of the strange green salt. Surely this was Grana? So important to this world. He had read about the mysterious substance but never seen it. It was something of a miracle drug, on other Outer Rim planets, it had great medicinal qualities. Some regarded it as a gift from the Gods. He was sure, Andra would not have survived the blood loss, caused by the life-sucking creature on her back but for the salt.
The Sandjar wagons moved slowly, they reached a crest, where they could look down at the oasis. Og knew, their plans would have to change, his large eyes could see the Nomad's tents, even in the dim light. There was no way a Sandjar caravan, could face even a few Nomads, let alone a full regiment, it would be suicide. Og was thankful, he always approached a watering place from downwind. They would not be detected by the smell of rotting flesh, now they would have to keep traveling. The next oasis was several days or more away but with luck they would be able to make it. They could stop the wagons now, to take a short rest before starting anew.
He signaled for the wagons to stop, the Sandjar started checking their supplies, to make sure everything was secure, for the journey ahead.
When Andra felt the wagon stop, she opened her eyes, she hoped it was a bad dream. The Drop-ship, Sandjar and the maggot thing, clawing into her back. It was no dream! She could feel the tiny teeth, digging into her flesh and the intense pain it caused. She had endured torture as a prisoner of war, she hadn't cried out then but this was different. The slow endless sucking of her blood and the smell of the little monster's body waste, dripping down her back. It was driving her crazy, she had to do something soon, otherwise she would lose her mind.
She looked at Osh, who was watching her, his look told her, he was feeling her pain. She looked around to see if anyone was nearby, they were busy with other matters. She decided to talk to her companion, “I’m going to try to escape, are you coming?”
The old man quickly looked around; suicide, it would be suicide! “You will be killed by the Sandjar or the Outlands, for sure, do not do it.”
“I can’t take this any longer, better to die now, than live another day like this. I’m going,” she said with determination.
From the look in her eyes, Osh could see it was useless to argue. It was her life, her decision, he had to decide if he wanted to stay behind, or go with her. There was a lot to consider, he started to calculate the odds. What would be their chances in the wasteland, what about food, or water, or the creatures that must surely be there?
After a few moments, he stopped, this was really not the place for mathematics, it was a matter of instinct. If she left or died, he would be alone, either way, he did not want to end his life like that. As for dying, he had resigned himself to that in the Drop-ship, yet he survived. He was also sure, they would die, when the Sandjar captured them but they lived still. By all his calculations, they should have been dead days ago. Maybe all his figures meant nothing, maybe it was just the will of the Gods, or plain old luck.
He decided not, to stay, they would live or die, together, “What is your plan?” he asked.
Andra didn't have a plan, she just wanted to a run but the question made her think. She decided it would be better, to take some time to figure out, what they intended to do.
Seeda had looked everywhere for Almec, she was still angry that Arie, would get to him first, to start spinning her love-web, like a crystal spider. It was well known, that her rival, was quite taken with the young warrior, she had tried several times, to take him.
She is a good dancer and quite attractive but her hips are a bit wide. Her hair wasn't very shiny but she does know how to cook well and the warriors say, she would make a good mate and bear strong children. The more she thought about it, the more she grumbled under her breath and the angrier she became, by the time she found Almec’s tent, she was in no mood for talking.
Almec was sitting quietly next to his Washa, enjoying at bit of roast Rimar and the company of a good warrior friend. A rather stout fellow named, Kuno, his face was pleasant with a beard and bright eyes. He was a very good warrior and hunter, from the girth of his belly anyone could tell, he loved to eat. They had brought down the first Rimar today, now they were trying to decide who was the better hunter. Kuno gulped down a piece of roasted meat, followed by a large amount of well-aged Po.
“Yes but if I had not forced the beast in your direction, you would never have made the kill,” he said to Almec, with some meat, still in his mouth. This caused him to choke and the young warrior, had to hit him on the back.
“Go easy my hungry friend, its looks like that Rimar, still has a bit of fight in him,” Almec said laughing.
His friend spat out the meat and caught his breath, “Yes, I think you're right, maybe we had better kill it all over again,” he laughed.
Almec chuckled, then his face turned serious, he stared into the murky depths of his drinking horn, “Tell me my friend, do females weaken your arm?”
Kuno understood what his friend was asking, like everyone in the tribe, he knew Almec was in love with Seeda but who wouldn't be? She was a real beauty and many warriors had tried to get her into their tent but none succeeded. He also knew, what a woman could do to a strong warrior, “Yes,” he said, taking another long gulp of his sour drink, “The Goddess Isarie, saw that men were powerful and someday they might challenge the Gods. So she made women, to cloud their minds and warm their hearts.” He took another long drink, “As for me, I would rather take a sharp ax, than a sharp toothed women.”
Almec knew his friend was trying to make him feel better but he was not thinking of women generally, he was thinking of just one. Kuno poured more Po into his drinking horn and smiled, “Isarie may have made women but men made Po, our gift to us.”
Almec nodded his head in approval, “I see you are a great philosopher, as well as a mighty warrior.”
His large friend, nodded his head then lifted his horn to Almec, “I will drink to that.”
He was about to speak, when Seeda came into the light of the Washa fire. She took one look at her future mate and glared at him, “Where is she?” She said angrily.
Almec looked around in wonderment “where is who?” He asked.
Seeda began to pace up and down, next to the fire. She took out one of the gold daggers at her belt, a sign, she was very upset! Warriors never unsheathe, one of their dragon’s teeth, unless they are going to use it. When Kuno saw, she was not in the mood for talking, he got up slowly and wisely m
oved away, “I think I hear someone calling my name, eat well my friend and do not let your arm be weakened.”
Almec watched his friend go, it was better he did, he preferred to be alone with the angry woman. He watched her moving back and forth, like a she-cat on the prowl, he took a few sips of his drink. After a while, when Seeda stopped muttering to herself, he said, “Thirsty?” He held a tankard of sparkling Po towards her.
Seeda stopped pacing about and moved closer to the fire and Almec, she looked at him, then the inviting tankard of wine. She was still very angry with him but she was also very thirsty. In the end her thirst won out, she put the dagger back into her belt, then sat down, next to her future mate and accepted the peace offering.
She took a deep gulp of the sour wine and sat looking into the fire, her anger was subsiding, she relaxed. She did not say anything for a minute or two, then turned to Almec, “Do you really think Arie is a good dancer?” she asked.
The young warrior did not understand why she should ask, for a long time, he had tried to understand, how a woman’s mind worked. Maybe it was only for the Gods to know and not him. They were strong and brave and made good warriors, they could withstand the hardships of the Outlands, as well or better, than any male. They were The Chosen of the Gods and keepers of the Holy Writings and Rituals.
He decided to leave it the Gods, he would try, to deal with Seeda, “She knows, the sound of the Mating Drums, well enough,” he replied.
This made Seeda smile, it was, well known that Arie had a reputation, for being rather easy to get into a warrior's tent. She was always the first, to start mating dances, when that time of the cycle came. She felt rather silly, about being so jealous, when it came to Almec. He was smarter and knew better, than to jeopardize their relationship, with a night of pleasure with her rival. She decided to drop the whole thing and enjoy the fire and the wine.
“She does have, rather wide hips,” she added, they both laughed and clinked their tankards in agreement.
Suddenly, they froze like statues, something was not right, they were not sure what but their Outlander's instinct had been awakened. The rest of the Almadra felt it too, the young and the old, something was coming, something big!
Sitting quietly around the fires, the Frail-legs looked up at the night sky, for days and nights, they had not spoken or sang songs to the stars. The Touch-tenders knew, something was different with them but no one knew what. The Frail-legs seemed to move as one, smiling, they slowly lifted their withered arms, then they whispered words no one understood.
“The Gods will arise,” is all they said.
The ground started to shake, at first, a slow rumbling, then it started to grow stronger. The Whiptails woke and began pulling frantically at their ties. The Thundra beasts made grunting sounds and move together, as if they were being attacked. Small Rock-runners darted for safety.
Arn and Agart, dropped their wine and stood, the King shouted one word, “Land-quake!”
The earth began to move, like it had been struck by a Gods hammer. Tents collapsed and Washas fell to the ground, sending sparks and fire everywhere, warriors grabbed their weapons and the children cried out.
Arn shouted orders at his people, “warriors to arms, gather the old together, protect the young!”
As the ground continued to shake, the Nomads obeyed.
The Sandjar were in a panic, Og tried to keep order but it was useless. The green creatures ran about screaming, giving conflicting orders to family members, who were not listening. The women cried out and the Elders, hid their heads in their hands.
This was the chance Andra had been waiting for, plan or no plan, there would not be a better time to escape. With the tribe in a panic, they could run for it. The little blood sucker, clawing into her back, started to scream in a high pitched voice. Andra turned to the old man, “It’s now or never,” she cried.
Osh looked at the panic, around them, he decided, the odds were on their side, he nodded his large head.
Their hands were still tied but their feet were free, with a sudden bust of strength, they both got up and ran for their lives.
Og had been busy trying to restore order, the Land-quake was still moving the ground. He would have to wait until it stopped, to become the leader again. He glanced towards his young son, just in time to see, the Off-World woman and the old man, running over the sand. With a loud cry, he picked up a bone club and ran after them.
With the ground still moving under their feet, Andra and Osh, raced away from the Sandjar, as fast as they could. The green baby, seemed to sense he was being taken from his family, he dug his sharp claws in, clinging on with all his might, he started to bite with his razor teeth.
Andra felt the pain in her back but it did not stop her try for freedom, her adrenaline was pumping and nothing, was going to stop her being free. She looked back, she saw Osh not far behind, she also saw the Sandjar father, heading right for them.
Og could see his baby and Andra ahead. He was small but his large flat feet, made running over the soft sand, much easier, than it was for the humans. He would soon catch her and when he did, he would kill her. She had outlived her usefulness anyway, she would make a fine meal for the tribe. Uttering wild cries, he started to gain on his prey.
The Land-quake was subsiding, the Whiptails were calming down and the Thundra beasts, ceased bellowing. The warriors had protected the young and old, now things were returning to normal.
Seeda and Almec, had done what they could to restore order. Seeda had helped several tribe members, escape the fires and saved one young girl, from being trampled by an out of control Whiptail. Almec at her side, had pushed her out-of-the-way, when a Tundra beast, came out of the dark in a rage. They stood beside Egmar and her Handmaidens, the Queen was unhurt. The camp started to quieten down, they looked at each other and smiled, they had done well.
Anais, had stayed hidden in his tent, the whole time, he feared for his life and only his life. As others, were praying to Isarie for deliverance of the tribe, he was shaking with fear, begging the Gods to save only him.
Arn had acted like a King, cool, and calm, he had been a rock to his people. The warriors stayed at their posts, waiting for further commands. The ground no longer shook and the night seemed quiet once more. Agart was at his brother's side throughout the shaking, ready to defend his people or do as his King ordered. When he realized it was over, he turned to his brother and smiled.
Calmly he asked,“The ground had an itch, now what were we talking about?”
Arn was about to comment, when he heard someone crying out, in the moonlight, he saw a young woman and an old man, heading straight towards him.
Andra had seen the light of the fires, she decided, anything was preferable to being held captive by the Sandjar. With hands tied, she ran as best she could, yelling as she approached the oasis.
Not far behind, Og was gaining fast, he could see the Nomad's fires too and knew, he must reach his son soon. The Sandjar and the Nomads, were old enemies, the Almadra looked upon the little green people, as parasites, scavengers, to be killed if they got in your way. The Sandjar hated the Nomads, because of their strength and for not leaving any scraps, for them. Og ran with renewed strength.
Andra was about to give up, she gasped for breath and her heart was pounding like an Iron workers hammer. The little monster on her back, had stopped crying but still held on to her flesh, with all his might. She could feel his rasping tongue, digging into her muscles, making the blood flow down her back. As she came over a rise, her legs gave out, she fell to the ground.
Osh made it to her side, he tried to lift her up but she was too weak. He considered leaving her there and making his escape. He carefully inspected her half-closed eyes and knew he could not abandon her, they had come a long way together and would end together.
“It's alright, I am here,” he said quietly, then he waited.
He heard movement nearby and expected death but when he looked up, he didn't see a
green Sandjar but a tall young man.
Arn took one look at the young woman and the green thing on her back. Balling his large fist, he struck, a hard blow to the baby's head, it went flying from her back, hitting the sand hard, it lay still. Andra was free of the creature, she wanted to say something but she passed out before words came.
A moment later, they were surrounded by a group of well-armed Nomads. The warriors seeing their King, charge into the night unarmed, had immediately followed him. They circled him, glaring out into the darkness, holding their war-axes, ready to defend him against anything.
Osh was not sure, what was going to happen but he felt, these men were not going to kill them. He stood up and held out his hand, “I am Oshismarie Inastro Sistashion but you can call me Osh,” he said with a slight air of pride.
Arn looked at him for a moment, then held out his hand, “I am Arn, King of the Almadra,” he said proudly. He looked at the unconscious woman and the deep wounds on her back, “Sandjar?”
“Yes,” the old man replied.
“This female is your mate?” The King asked.
The old man smiled and shook his large head, “No, she is a friend.”
Arn reached down and picked Andra up, she half opened her eyes, to look into the face of her savior, she had enough strength to utter one word, “Thanks,” then she closed her eyes.
Arn signaled to his warriors, return to camp, they went back to the oasis, with their King.
From a distance, unseen by the Nomads, Og watched them leave. He had seen the blow to his baby's head and saw him lying in the sand nearby. Although by the galaxy's standards, the Sandjar were a primitive species, they were not without feelings. As he looked at the lifeless body of his young son, he felt great sorrow. As a father, he loved his child, he would wait until they were gone, then retrieve the body and bury it a properly.
It was not to be, as the Nomads moved off, Osh was stopped by the wail of a small child. He went over, to where the little Sandjar lay, he looked down at the small green infant. There was a cut on his head, where Arn had struck him but he was still alive.
Questions ran through the old man’s mind. Do I leave him or take him? Yes, he is a savage little monster to be sure but he is still just a baby...can I leave him to die. He looked around in the dim moonlight, to see if Og was nearby, he saw nothing; maybe he is there, maybe not, if I leave him, he would surely die.
He could not bring himself, to walk away, he still had some mercy in him, he decided to pick up the baby and take him along.
From a sand dune, Og watched his son being taken away, he wanted to run after him but to face a company of Nomads, would mean death, to him and his baby. He crouched behind the sand dune, continuing to watch, until the Nomads and his son, were gone. Slowly he walked back to his people, he vowed someday, somehow he would have his revenge.
Nomads of the Gods Page 9
