Nomads of the Gods

by Gary Mark Lee

  Chapter 28. The Sky-Riders

  The Nomads have many ancient stories about how they came into being and the origin, of the many, different species surrounding them. It is mostly conjecture, having no real basis in science. Also, they do not seem to be interested, in separating fact from fiction, they are happy in their beliefs and it would make no difference, if they were true or false.

  From the Mindlock of Oshismarie Inastro Sistashion.

  There had been many deaths among the Madrigal. The land-quake at the Eye of Isarie had been devastating, good warriors were now gone or wounded and tightly families had been torn apart. A good number of wagons and their supplies, were swallowed up by the earth, not to mention the loss of several wagons, full of valuable Stone bread.

  The Nomads traveled northward for six days and nights, to escape the plains of Darmock, now they were entering the cloud topped Mountains of Kresh. The home of the mysterious Sky-Riders, a race of strange creatures, who lived high in the haunted expanse of rocky cliffs, rarely coming down from their airy homes. They rode giant Screechers, huge bat like creatures, raised from birth and trained to viciously attack on command.

  The road was a dangerous one to travel but it had to be done, to reach the Forests of Omargash, then finally Koto-Car the place where the Grana miners lived. There they would trade the wagon loads of Stone Bread for the precious green salt.

  The journey was a quiet one for the Almadra, there wasn't time to stop and mourn the loss of their people, or to perform the rites of the dead. They had to keep moving, time was growing short and there were a multitude of things to be done, things that would not wait for a glad heart.

  Andra had taken Arn's advice, she'd removed a small portion of Kasha grain each night and now the Whiptail was hers, it did as she commanded. Now and then, it tried to bite her but now she knew the tell-tail signs, when the creature was in a foul mood. It kept her limbs safe.

  Andra rode beside the King, her presence at the head of the tribe, was still a sore spot in some warrior's minds. Most came to accept her role, as the King's consort, they remembered Ashra-Doom's fate and did not want to challenge her. Others remembered how much they'd lost, wagering against her, they wanted revenge, for their bad luck.

  Arn watched Andra's riding progress, she fell off twice while the big Whiptail got used to its new master. Every time she was thrown to the ground, she got back onto the beast. The King, was impressed by her courage and stamina. Now as they rode with the steep cliffs on either side, he could not help but to think back to his childhood and how his father had taught him to keep fighting, no matter what the cost.

  Over the last few days the price of being King had been high. The loss of his sister and the strong warrior Almec. The Eye of Isarie falling and the distance growing between him and his brother. All of these things weighed heavily on his broad shoulders, the only thing that truly delighted him, was seeing Andra's face. When he looked at her, all the worries of Kingship, seemed to melt away, like the snow in the cycle of seasons.

  She would make a good mate; he thought; but the laws of the tribe say... He remembered what he told himself before...No more laws.

  Andra sat in her saddle, listening to the slow padding of her Whiptail on the hard ground. She closed her eyes and started to count the slow beat of the clawed feet. One, two, three, four. Suddenly she felt a sharp pain in her side, her eyes flew open to see the point of Arn’s war-ax, being withdrawn from her body. “Why did you do that?” she asked angrily, touching the small crack between the back plate and the front of her armor.

  The King gave her a sharp look, “Do not listen to your Whiptail, it will drain your mind.”

  Andra realized she had been drifting, “Yes, you're right, thank you,” she said.

  “If you must think of something, think of sky and water and earth, let Isarie guide you.” He looked over as she wiped her brow under her helmet; she is a strong woman. He saw she was about to lift her helmet off, “Stop!,” he said, “Do not take off your helmet.”

  Andra stopped and looked over at him, “It’s hot and I just wanted to...”

  “Never take off your helmet here,” he said, “This is the home of the Sky-Riders.”

  Andra looked up at the bright sky, “I don’t see anything?”

  “The riders come out of the sun and they like to collect heads,” he said, “Keep your helmet on.”

  Andra did as she was told, even though it felt like her head was cooking, like a field cabbage in a boil-pot. She looked around at the steep cliffs. If anyone wanted to ambush us, this would be the perfect place; she thought. Steep cliffs and no escape, we would be lake birds at rest, “Is there no other way to reach Omargash?” she asked.

  The King smiled at her, “Yes but it would take far too long, we need to get to the caves of the Ergan-Mar, as fast as we can.”

  Andra wiped her brow again, “Well as long as it gets us out of this heat.”

  The King looked at her, “Heat?” he asked.

  “Yes,” she replied, “On my home world it got very hot in the during summer but it was nothing like this.”

  Arn had to chuckle, “This is not your summer, the Burning Time will soon come and then it will get hot!”

  Andra felt the rays of the suns on her face, like the blast from a blaze cannon. She looked up at the two burning disks in the sky, she then over at the King. If I had to fall in love; she thought; why couldn’t it have been on a cooler world? She rode silently for a time, then to take her mind off her burning brow, she tried to think of something cooler. Just as she was filling her mind with the thought of snowflakes, Arn spoke.

  “Tell me about your world.”

  Andra did not really want to talk about her home, it brought back too many dark memories but she something inside, made her answer anyway, “Selcarie was a wonderful place, we had green valleys and wide oceans. There were great cities with many people and the air was fresh and clear,” she said; all that is gone now, nothing left.

  “Then why did you leave?” he asked, “was the hunting poor or did you need more Grana?”

  She gave a little smile and shook her head, “No, there was plenty to eat and no one needs Grana there.”

  The King turned to look into her eyes; the heat must be hard on her, everyone needs Grana, “Is the King on your world strong?”

  “We have no King, everyone votes, to elect a leader,” she replied.

  The King was not sure if the heat was affecting her mind, the idea of not having a King was very strange to him, “Without a King how do you keep peace?” he asked with a chuckle.

  Andra thought for a moment, “Well we elect a group of representatives and they meet to discuss things and then they pass laws, to make sure that everyone is treated fairly.”

  Arn listened, letting the words sink into his mind, “What if those laws are unjust, do you challenge those responsible to fight in the pit?”

  “No, of course not,” Andra replied, “you can’t go around, challenging anyone who mistreats you to a battle to the death.”

  “Why not?” the King asked.

  “You have to press charges against that person, then it goes before a court, where a lawyer speaks for you. Then another group of people, decide who is telling the truth and who is lying. If you lose, you can file for an appeal, to try your case again,” she said rather proudly, “It’s how things are done on most worlds.”

  The King nodded his head, “Now I understand why you came here,” he said with a smile.

  At the front of the column, behind the warriors, the tribe's wagons moved ever on wards. On the right between two wagons carrying water was Osh's wagon. He calculated that there might be a slight temperature drop, out of the direct sunlight, between the two large water containers. It might have been true in theory but he still felt the same, hot!

  He held the reins in sweaty hands, to give him some relief from the burning light, he tried to keep his head under the sun shade he had made. Beside him was a clay pot filled wit
h a mixture of water and Po. He took frequent sips of the liquid, as he went over many calculations, about how much heat a thin body like his, could tolerate before dying. He came to the conclusion that the temperature had to raise several degrees more, before he would be in trouble. That made him feel a bit better.

  He looked at the empty seat beside him. I wonder if Endo survived the earthquake; he asked himself; I wonder if he found food and shelter, I wonder if he misses me, I wonder? He stopped himself from thinking about the young Sandjar; it will do you no good, he is gone and you must forget him. He looked back into his wagon, he saw baskets of shell necklaces and piles of Rimar horn. There were also many Sun-dropper claws and Sagar teeth, laid out on an ornate rug. He smiled, he knew that wagering was an activity frowned upon by most scholars like himself but he was glad he'd placed bets on Andra to win in the challenge pit. It made him one of the wealthiest men in the tribe, knowing that lifted his spirits, despite what his colleagues back home might say.

  He took another small sip from his water pot, then he began to calculate all the different ways of winning at Chance-cards.

  Agart did not ride beside his brother, his Whiptail was next his mother's wagon. She had taken the Seeda's death hard, she was resting quietly in the back of her wagon, while a Touch-tender handled the Trofar's reins.

  Agart wanted to tell his mother that Seeda wasn't dead but he held his tongue. He knew it would ease her mind but he knew, it was the right thing not, to tell her that her only daughter had gone against the Laws of Isarie but it troubled his mind.

  If I tell her that Seeda is still alive; he thought; she will want to know why, she made herself an outcast. Then I would have to say, her soul had fallen to the red crystals and she was doomed to the Pit of Marloon.

  The Prince looked up at the bright sky above and at the blazing sun’s. If I look at the suns I will go blind; he thought; does looking at the truth also make one blind?

  It was a question to which he had no answer; I wish the suns would burn such thoughts from my mind. He lowered his head and listened to the slow footfalls of his plodding Whiptail.

  The High Priestess' wagon rolled through the Mountains of Kresh, being surrounded by Thungodra, there was no fear of an attack from the Sky-Riders. The dark armored guards scanned the cloudless sky for any signs of the reptile men, they kept close together, listening for the high pitch screeching that signaled their flying enemy was near.

  Inside the moving shrine, Obec sat in her ornate chair, gently turning the pages of the Holy Book of Isarie. She carefully lifted each delicate page until she came to the listing of The Chosen ones. Here she would write the names of the dead, so future Outlanders would see who came before them.

  Next to her were two young Handmaidens, they would be ready to serve the Holy Mother at her slightest gesture. They watched her take up the long Arrow-tail feather in her thin hand, then dip the end into a small gold jar containing the fluid of Rock-worm heart. The dark blood was used for writing and it was also a deadly poison.

  The old woman began to carefully write the names in the Holy Book, what the Handmaidens did not know, was that not all the names of the dead were written down.

  Obec looked at the book; Morban, yes he believed in the Gods and followed their teaching; she thought; his name deserves to be in the book. She took the quill and wrote his name on the thin of Rimar skin page. Then another name came to her mind; Valcar, no, he once said my punishment of his son was too harsh, his name does not belong in the book.

  Another name; Carmorgon, Carmorgon? Her voice was not the loudest at prayers but she did bare three strong sons and they now serve me in the Thungodra. She wrote her name in the book and so it went down the list of names. Some written and some not, it was not the will of Isarie that left out the names, it was the cold heart of a vengeful old woman.

  Anais rode very uncomfortably in Soffca's wagon, the constant rocking and bumping over the rough terrain made him even more irritable than usual. To compensate for his bruises, he drank down several tankards of aged Po. Now he lay back on his mattress and tried to think of something better than the oppressive heat and his sore back.

  He tried the usual things, how he would torture several warriors who had teased him as a boy, telling him, he would never be a good warrior and end up an Outcast and a Waste-Wanderer. He pictured them screaming, as they were being staked out over a Blaze-ant mound, or being thrown to a Sand dragon. He would love to see the look on their faces, as they were dragged down into the sand, to their deaths.

  It did not seem as much fun as it used to be, maybe he was getting bored with his cruel imagination, maybe it was time to make his fantasies real?

  He looked over at Soffca, as she knelt naked, washing herself in a large iron basin. He watched as she lifted handfuls of clear water onto her face, then slowly rubbed the dust and sweat from her eyes and mouth. He smiled as she dipped her long slim fingers into the water once more, then touched her lips and forehead in a silent prayer to Dietas, the water God for her gift.

  When I am King, she will be Queen; he thought; she will be the perfect Queen, silent and obedient.

  He watched her stand up and take a silver brush from a small stool, to comb her long dark hair. Her body swayed with the wagon's movement and she seemed to know when to bend this way or that way, to meet the ups and downs of the rocky road.

  Anais took a deep gulp of his well-aged Po, then closing his eyes, he laid back on his rocking bed. When I am King; he smiled to himself; when I am King.

  Suddenly the wagon jumped violently as it hit a large rock, the tankard he was holding, shifted in his hand, its contents spilling over him and the bedding.

  “Artock!” he screamed, as loud as he could, to make sure the driver heard him, “Watch the road!” Then he lowered his voice, “Fools all of them, I live in a nest of fools!” After drying himself with a rough towel, he watched as Soffca braided her long hair. Any other time, he would have been happy to sit and watch her but for now, he concentrated on how he would torture the wagon driver, when he became King.

  As the columns of Nomads moved up the steeply inclined road over the Mountains of Kresh, Andra thought she saw a large bird in the air. She watched it circling for a moment or two, then looked over at Arn, she was about to say something but he spoke first.

  “Yes, I see it,” he said, “Do not look at it.”

  Andra could see that his eyes were fixed straight ahead not, at the sky.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “A Sky-Rider but do not let him know you are watching him.”

  Andra did as she was told and kept her eyes forward, “Will he attack?”

  “No, they do not strike alone,” he answered, “He is scouting, to see who invades their mountains, if we continue without provoking them, we will be safe.”

  It was hard for Andra not to look up, even when the shadow of a winged creature, passed over her face, still she did not disobey the King. Then she could stand it no more, she turned her head to one side and saw a strange creature, sitting on a large outcropping of jagged rock. Deep-set eyes looked at her without blinking.

  It was a mottled yellow, bat like creature, with large leathery wings and a nightmarish face with long fangs. It had clawed feet and even from this distance, she could smell decaying flesh. She had seen similar things on other planets, creatures that could only have been made by the feverish mind of a tormented God. Then she noticed there was an even stranger looking thing on its back.

  It was a human of some sort but calling it human, might have been stretching the word a bit to far. It was about three feet tall and had the same yellowish skin, as the creature it rode. It had a large bald head, set with dark eyes without pupils, its mouth was more of a gash in a formless face. There was no sign of a nose, just two large holes where a nose should have been. It sat on the back of the flying beast, in a makeshift saddle of bones and matted fur. It made no sound but stared at them with unfeeling eyes.

  Andra slowly tu
rned her head to look straight ahead but she griped her ax tightly and strained to hear the sound of any movement from the creature. It did not move, it just sat watching as the Nomads passed by and only one of them looked in its direction.

  As Osh's wagon passed the rock it was sitting upon, he stared at the strange creature. An arboreal reptilian species with a symbiotic relationship; he thought. It must have a very substantial lifting power. He wanted to stop, to make some measurements, until he saw the beast's huge claws and decided against further investigation.

  After the Outlanders had passed, the Sky-Rider pulled on his Screecher's reins and flew upward into the cloudless sky. Dipping its parchment wings the Screecher moved easily through the warm air. Soon it caught an updraft, holding out its long wings, it rode effortlessly upwards. It flew over the ridges of rocky pinnacles until it was high above the Nomads and the pass to the high plains of Omargash.

  The Screecher dropped from the sky like a falling star, then landed on a cliff jutting over the barren lands below, all around were weathered caves and hollows, homes to the Sky-Riders. The sounds of many Screechers, mixed with the hot wind blowing from the North.

  The rider climbed down from his mount, he walked in an off balanced manner, until he was standing by a worn statue of some sort of demonic God. It was misshapen and had a mouth filled with dagger like teeth. The rider bowed before the stone idol, then moved into a darkened cave. He stopped and watched as a tall figure, wearing a dark robe and hood came forward. As the figure held up a hand, rotting flesh and claw like fingers could be seen.

  The Darkman approached the Sky-Rider and spoke to him in the sing-song language of his kind, “She sawnas misssaroco etarray nich,” he said, then pointed to the Nomads who were now just specks in the distance.

  “meesh etarray nich ticar,” was the Sky-Rider's response. Then the creature turned away from the Darkman and went into the cave.

  For a few moments, the dark robed man stood, looking out over the Mountains of Kresh, He did not feel the hot wind on his rotting face, nor smell the faint hint of burning weeds. He just stood like an evil God overlooking his dead domain, he glanced across at a sharp mountain peak and into the Land of Omargash. The great dome; he thought; the place where the lies begin.

  With a flourish of his robe, he turned and walked over to the great winged reptile that had borne him to the Sky-Rider's caves. He mounted the huge creature and pulled hard on the nose chain. The beast let out a long high-pitched scream, then it rose sharply upwards into the sky, carrying its rider away from the Mountains of Kresh and towards the Land of Omargash.

  Far from the Mountains of Kresh and the lands of the Sky-Riders, Seeda and Almec were leaving the Pass of Moke and were about to enter the Greenland’s. Both of them were riding Seeda’s Whiptail, the Land-quake had shifted boulders in the pass and one had come crashing down, breaking the leg of Almec’s mount. They had no choice, other than to destroy the beast. As well as their Whiptail, they also lost some supplies and all their water. With luck they would find more on the open planes laying before them.

  Seeda pulled back on the reins and her tired beast came to a halt, it slowly pawed the soft ground and snorted, as the Princess scanned the surrounding land.

  “The Earth-shaker has gone, it will be safe to travel,” she looked up at the suns overhead, “I think we can cross several more miles before Sun-fall.”

  Almec pointed to a stand of Balbar trees in the distance, “Make for those trees, there is sure to be water there, then at Sun-birth we can head…”

  For a moment, he was not sure, which direction to take, a feeling he had never known before, it lasted only a moment or two, then passed, “We will spend the night in the trees,” he said finally.

  Seeda dug in her spurs and her Whiptail galloped towards the Balbar trees and safety.

  Three more days passed before the Almadra had traveled down the Mountains of Kresh into the lands they called Omargash. This land was unlike any other Andra had seen on Gorn. It was a wide expanse of sand and rock, large jagged boulders dotted the landscape and all about were the rusting hulks of gigantic machines. They were not Drop-ships, they were far bigger than anything, Andra had seen on any world. They were even bigger than the titanic Youngonrie tanks, she fought against in the war. They stretched as far as the eye could see, some had large holes in their armored sides, the result of blaze cannons or worse. Whatever battle had occurred here, it must have been incredible, a war to decide the fate of a world or even a galaxy.

  There were as usual Rimar, grazing on the low vegetation that grew around the bases of the rocks and in patches over the rocky terrain. They were not the great herds of the Greenland's but enough to supplement the nomad's dried meat supplies and allow the warriors to use some of their pent up energy. There were wild Spike-backs, Whiptails and many of the other types of smaller creatures that were everywhere on Gorn.

  As the wagons passed one particular wreck, Andra saw what looked like a giant claw, thrusting out of the ground. Its half-moon like fingers, could have easily picked up a dozen or more Whiptails and their riders, then crush them like a human crushing a Blaze-ant. Andra looked at the giant claw then turned to Arn, “Why do you call this place Omargash?” she asked.

  “In the old language, it means the place of screams,” he answered, “they say it is where Isarie killed her father, to gain control of the universe.”

  Andra pointed to the rusting hulks around her.“What are these machines doing here?”

  “Those are the play things of the Gods,” he replied.

  Andra remembered her toys when she was a girl, she had a small stuffed Horca and several dolls, her mother gave her a Fluff-kitten but it ran off.

  She knew these machines were not toys, they were engines of war and destruction, how they got here, she did not know. They passed in the shadow of one of the huge machines and for a moment they were out of the beating rays of the twin suns. The shade felt wonderful, relieving the burning heat that was slowly building up. It was welcomed by all, as the Outlander's wagons slowly moved into the Land of Omargash.

  Andra could see a marked change in the Nomad's attitude. The young warriors argued among themselves and many fights broke out, some ended in bloodshed and there were some deaths. The Elders of the Tribe kept the children in their wagons and everyone seemed on edge. Even the King was showing a restless mood and more than once, he yelled at Andra for what she thought to be a minor offense. Andra rode beside Arn but she was careful with her words.

  “How long will we be here?” she asked, as she looked around at the rusting machines.

  The King did not look at her, “Not long, the Burning Time is growing near and we must trade with the Earth-eaters before then.”

  “Earth-eaters, who are they?” she asked.

  The King turned towards her and half smiled, “The Ergan-Mar, the people who dig the Grana, we call them earth-eaters. They are malformed and smell very bad but we must trade with them for the Salt of the Earth. Surely you have such creatures on your world?”

  Andra shook her head, “No we don't, well we do have people who dig underground but they mine for precious metals and they look like me.”

  The King gave a small laugh, “Your world sounds very strange,” then he looked at her, “but I'm glad you left there, to come here, the Gods must smile upon you.”

  Andra was not sure who was watching her, all she knew was their gaze was very hot.