Chapter 20. The Word of God
The words of Isarie are written for all to see.
Hear the words and know their meaning.
In the light of understanding is the way of truth.
To speak the words without knowing is falsehood.
In that darkness lies death.
From the Book of Isarie.
Far from the laughter and merriment of the Gathering, stood the Temple of Isarie. The holiest place of the Nomads. The great dome could clearly be seen, by the soft moonlight and the ceremonial fires burning near the Thungodra tents. There was no singing or feasting, only the soft rhythmic chanting of the Handmaids and the low murmuring of the dark warriors, praying to the Gods for strength and the power to kill all enemies of The Chosen.
Inside the temple was the Great Statue of Isarie, it was taller, than a dozen tall warriors and carved with such skill that any Nomad, would say it was made by the Gods themselves. It showed the Goddess, standing with one arm raised in a blessing, while the other held a war-ax. She wore a horned helmet, similar to the tribe's warriors and she wore armor plating over her long robe. Her face was delicate with forgiving eyes and a soft gentle smile. Hanging In front of her, from a strong steel chain, was a large golden bowl, filled with precious Grana Salt, an offering to the Goddess, it was a gift from The Chosen, for her many blessings.
Around the statue were smaller, beautifully carved stone statues, they represented the Holy Women of the Goddess. The style of the designs and wear on the stones, showed their great age. At the base of each statue was an offering of flowers and a golden bowl of Grana. The air was filled with the sound of Handmaidens, chanting the ancient prayers, over, and over again, they lifted glowing braziers of incense, up, and down, to show their devotion to the Goddess.
Amid the ringing of ancient gongs and the tinkle of ritual bells, the Holy Elders of Isarie entered temple. They were dressed in long red robes and wore the high headdress of their tribe. They held long rods, of gold and silver, their faces marked with ritualistic symbols. They walked slowly, accompanied by a group of female warriors. All dressed in strong armor and holding a weapon, males were not, allowed to enter the temple, so each tribe, provided a female, warriors to guard their spiritual leaders. They were not allowed to hear, what was said by the Priestesses, so their ears were plugged with tallow.
Once inside the Temple, they walked single file, down long stone steps to a chamber, cut from the rock itself. It was a very large and the walls were carved, with images of the Nomad's Gods and Goddesses. There was a collection of metal plates and unknown devices, from fallen Lightships and the bones of long dead land creatures. In the center was a pool of clear water, its surface still and its depth unknown. The water was a deep cold blue, occasionally a small bubble would break the surface, where or what, it came from was unknown.
Being the oldest and therefore the wisest of the Priestesses, Obec led the Holy Women into the chamber. It was her right and her privilege, she held her head high, walking with slow measured steps. The Holy Women gathered around the pool, then they sat on the smooth stones seats. Behind each one, stood a female warrior, chosen by her tribe after many trials to proved her strength and courage. To be a protector of the consecrated water, was a great honor, coveted by many females warriors.
When they were all seated, Obec spoke.
“In the beginning there was Isarie. She made the planets and the creatures of the land and sea and air. She bore many children, who are the Gods of all things, we give thanks to Isarie for life and for her gift of life, the Salt of the Earth.”
The Holy Women stood up and took a small pouch from their robes, they removed a small green crystal, then lifted it skyward.
“The Salt of the Earth.”
They put the crystal into their mouths and swallowed it, then speaking as one, they said, “Isarie is great, we are your servants,” then they sat down.
Obec waited a moment, then asked, “Do The Chosen of Isarie dream?”
One of the Elders stood up, she looked at Obec, she was Samtha, High Priestess of the Bal-Borie. She was short with gray hair and known for her devotion to the Goddess. She even Outcast her own son, for speaking out against the Gods. Her voice was clear and strong, “The chosen dream your holiness.”
Obec thought this over for a moment, “And are their dreams the same?”
Samtha answered, “Yes, they dream of things long past and things to come, it is a sign from Isarie”
“And do the dreams speak the words of the Gods?” A moment passed while Obec waited for a reply; I know the answer but it is better they hear it from another.
Samtha lifted her head high, “They say, the Gods will arise.”
A soft murmuring went around the room, as the Elders of Isarie, said the words over and over.
Obec lifted her rod and there was silence once more. “I too have dreamed, the time of the Goddess is growing near, we must clear the way for her return and those who are not chosen, shall be cleansed by fire and steel.”
The Holy Women whispered under their breath again, “The Gods will punish them and we will stand on the right side of Isarie.”
Another Priestess, rose from her stone, tall and thin, Oman was the Holy Woman of the Ozendra. She was not liked by the stricter spiritual leaders, they believed her, to be too lenient with those who spoke against the Gods and her views sometimes, bordered on sacrilege.
She looked at Obec, then spoke in a low voice, “Your holiness, does not the Book of Isarie, tell us to forgive those, who cannot see the face of the Goddess clearly, are we not cup sharers?”
The old woman smiled at her, “It also says, The Chosen of the Goddess, shall make all of Gorn their home.” She waved her rod over the clear pool of water, “The Goddess has given us this world to rule and there is no room for Half-Souls.”
Omani waited until the murmuring stopped, then she spoke again, “Your own King, made a warrior out of a Half-Soul, is she now, The Chosen of the Gods?”
Obec's eyes flashed when she heard those words, “She is not of The Chosen. Kings come and go but the word of Isarie is eternal!” I will stand on her right side! The old woman took a moment to regain her composure, “We will speak only the truths of the Goddess, if those words are not enough, then say nothing.”
Omani paused before she spoke, “The Book of Isarie is a great truth but are there are other truths, not written in the book?”
Obec's face showed no emotion but her hands tighten around her staff, “The book is the truth, the only truth! All that is needed, is the word of the Goddess and those who speak otherwise, are not of The Chosen!” Fire and steel, I will see it come true.
Omani recognized the threat against her, saying anything else, she sat down.
Samtha rose from her seat, “There have also been reports, of the Frail-legs singing to the stars, I say they hear the song of Isarie and listen to her voice.”
Obec had heard this too, she was not sure, what it meant but she pretended she did, “Yes, they are close to her heart and being so, they have heard her love. Let the Frail-legs sing but let no one question their song.”
Samtha bowed her head, “It will be done,” she sat down.
Another Priestess stood up, she called Elna, her tribe the Armrod. She was blind but still strong and well respected by the Nomads, “I am blind but I see the face of Isarie, if the tribes go to war with the Half-Souls, many will die. When mothers ask, why their children died, what shall we tell them?”
“They will say it is the will of the Gods and their souls now sit in The Great Hall of Isarie, waiting for the Day of Judgment.” The day grows closer! Obec’s voice grew softer, “Our people are warriors, without war they grow weak and a weak people are soon conquered.”
Samtha looked at their leader, “What must we do?”
Obec spoke calmly, “A time is coming, when all of Gorn will rise up, a time of renewal and rebirth. We shall rise with them, we shall lead them and all creatures of this
world will know the word of Isarie. The Chosen and those who dwell in the shadows.”
There was a loud gasp, as the Holy Women turned to one another.
“Does your holiness speak of the Shadow-men?” Samtha's words were filled with apprehension.
“Yes” she replied calmly.
The words brought Omani to her feet again, “Your holiness, you cannot mean we will join the Shadow-men, they are outcasts, vile beasts who feed on the dead!”
Again Obec spoke softly, “Isarie will guide us, the Shadow-men are an anvil, The Chosen are the hammer. Together we will beat the Half-Souls into dust. Then we will break the anvil and all of Gorn shall be free.”
Omani shook her head, “To join with the Shadow-men is forbidden, if the people knew their true heritage, they would.....”
“They will not, find out!” Obec's voice was final, then it softened, “The Shadow-men will be our allies, they will come out of the Poison Lands and we shall lead them.” I shall lead them.
Omani shook her head again, “The Shadow-men cannot be led, they know no laws and follow no leader.”
Obec smiled, “They will have a leader and he shall be led by us, with them, we will be strong enough, to bring down the Half-Souls.”
Omani shook her head, “It goes against the word of the Gods.”
Obec took a step forward, she looked directly into Omani's eyes, “I am the word, we will join, we will drive all others into the stars, we will be free!”
Elna stood up now, “The Book of Isarie says that freedom lies within us and not in the land we walk. I have looked into the darkness that is not of the word and I have seen the horrors that wait to be freed,” she sat down.
Omani rose and stood tall, “We are the voices of Isarie, I shall not tell my people to walk with the Shadow-men.”
Obec held her head high, her thin fingers grasped the golden rod tightly and her back stiffened, “Those who stand against the Word of Isarie shall be outcast.”
For a moment the two women stood looking at each other, the fate of the world now rested on their shoulders, who would prevail? Would the will of Obec, be strong enough to stand against the revolt against her authority. The old woman knew that all her planning and prayers, would be granted or destroyed in the next few seconds, she waited.
Omani sat down.
Obec smiled.
“Orcost, Malluck, hashshem delcure, remas roc cornor!”
The Holy Women spoke as one.
“Out of the darkness, into the light, the Gods will arise!”
Obec closed her eyes; fire and steel, now it can begin.
Nomads of the Gods Page 21
