Nomads of the Gods

by Gary Mark Lee

  Chapter 29. Anoc time

  To all things I give a time.

  Join together and be all that I am.

  Dance and sing and laugh.

  Share the life that I give you.

  For that time be as one.

  From the Book of Isarie.

  The Nomads had made their camp near the Breast of Isarie, a huge broken dome on the Plains of Omargash. In design and construction, it looked very much like the dome above the pit in the Valley of Omar-Ran. Instead of bones and stone, this dome was constructed from massive iron beams. It must have been far stronger than even the Itarian steel of the Outer Worlds, needing massive strength to support its now broken roof.

  Once again, the Almadra wagons were placed around the imposing dome. The heavy guns on the Spike-backs, were pointed outwards in case of attack, behind them were the Outlander's tents and the High Priestess' Holy Shrine. The Whiptails were moved to one side of the dome, with the Trofar held together on the other side. With the tribe's usual efficiency, everything was in place very quickly and all was made ready for the Time of Mating.

  The Elders put their tents far away from the warriors and took the children and the Frail-legs with them. They knew that violence would come with the Mating Time and they wanted to keep the weak and helpless, safe from the fierce emotions soon to be running rampant.

  Andra sat alone by her Washa, she listened to the beating drums. In her fire's soft light, she saw brilliantly colored Onyx birds against the night sky. They flew low over the camp and calling out in a high-pitched, piercing screech. In the moonlight, she could just make out the great machines around her, they looked like nightshade monsters, risings out of the ground to destroy all above.

  She was a bit uncomfortable watching the tribe's young women, wearing their robes backwards. It reminded her of the body-peddlers on her home world, lifting their legs as they walked, to show off as much skin as possible.

  Andra was not wearing her robe with the slit up the front, in this heat, she had very little on underneath, just a small band of soft Rimar skin, nothing more. It was much cooler like that but it also made her feel vulnerable. There was a tingling in her stomach that she had not felt, since she was in her middle years. A warm feeling that made her think of strong arms around her waist and kisses in the hidden forest clearing, near to her home.

  She remembered the first innocent kiss and the promise of things to come. She started thinking of Arn once more and the vision made her touch her lips with a fingertip.

  Oh my God? You are a schoolgirl; she thought. She took her finger away from her mouth and took a long drink of Po.

  Stop being so silly; she thought; you’re not a little child anymore. Shaking the images from her mind, she looked about at the warriors, around her.

  The young men no longer wore heavy armor, instead they had a small piece of Sager Cat skin, barely covering their genitals. She also noticed that they needed very little encouragement from the females, before they were touching and kissing. The hot wind blowing from the North, only added to their excitement, the air was heavily perfumed with sweat and the overpowering scent of lust.

  For a time, Andra sat watching, the emotions exploding around her. She turned away and took a long drink from her mug of Po but still she could not help but notice, two half-naked young people near to her, holding each other and kissing deeply.

  Then she heard an old man’s voice, “It is their mating time.”

  She turned, to see Osh standing next her, he held a thin scroll of Rimar skin and some writing implements. He looked at her, then sat down on a fallen log near the flickering Washa fire.

  “Once every cycle, the Nomads come together for their Mating Rituals,” he continued, “It seems their metabolism is geared to produce high levels of male hormones, while the females, emit a pheromone that is irresistible to the men.” He began to scribble on the scroll, “There are a very high numbers of casualties, as a direct cause of the Mating Rituals, it is a life or death situation to them.”

  Andra took another deep drink of her Po, the sour liquid seemed to ease the uneasy feeling in her stomach, “Well I've heard of meeting a man you could die for but I didn’t take it seriously.”

  “Oh it is very serious,” the old Callaxion said, nodding his large head, “To a Nomad mating is very important and somewhat complicated.”

  “Complicated, how?” she asked.

  The old man put his writing down and looked at Andra with a slight smile on his face, “Well you know that a couple can be mated if one brings food to the other and they take it.”

  “Yes, I know that.”

  “However if someone else wants the same person, he or she can take the food away. Then it is a challenge, they meet in a combat to the death, to decide who gets the right to mate.” He said proudly, “If they do not fight for their mate, it is a sign of weakness and they are branded an outcast, they must leave the tribe. The person who is being fought over, cannot refuse until the following day, then the mating rights are ended and they are free to leave.”

  Andra nodded, “Yes it's a bit complicated,” she took a sip of her drink and looked at the old man, “Have you…”

  “Mated?” The old man looked a bit annoyed at the question, “Certainly not! Callaxions do not have sex, we find it all too random and out of control.”

  “Then how do you…?”

  “Reproduce?” he asked. He watched as Andra nodded.

  “Well that is very interesting, cells are taken from the most intelligent of our species, then divided into learning abilities and adaptations. Then we splice them with segments of stored genetic material, then it is incubated in a controlled environment until an embryo is produced. They are studied further for mutations and....”

  “Yes,” interrupted Andra, “It’s all very fascinating but it seems a little...well.”

  “Complicated?” he asked, then he smiled, “It is strange but in all the worlds I have visited, when you ask about reproduction, they always say the very same thing.”

  Andra smiled and held up her drink in a salute to the old man, “Yes and I’ll drink to that,” then she took yet another draft drink of her Po. As she lowered her mug she saw Arn coming out of his nearby tent. His armor was gone and his hard muscular body seemed to glow in the light of the campfires, around his waist he wore a wide hide belt with a large gold buckle and twin daggers. His long hair was held back from his eyes by a narrow gold band and around his neck, a small gold chain held his Journey Nail.

  For a moment Andra did not know what to do, go over and wrap her arms around him, then kiss him hard like her heart wanted, or should pretend she hadn't noticed him. The old man was right; she thought; mating is very complicated.

  He glanced at her and after a moment or two, walked to where she was sitting, his movements were like a strong young Sager Cat, measured and purposeful, he held out his hand. Andra looked at him, then without saying a word she took his hand and together they walked away.

  Osh watched them go, then turned back to his writing. He had to smile, he always suspected that Callaxions, were the most advanced humans in the galaxy and as Andra and Arn disappear into the night, he was sure it was true.

  The Thungodra allowed Agart to wait at the entrance to the High Priestess' Holy Shrine. He had to wait some time before a Handmaiden came, she told the guards to let the Prince enter. He was expecting the delay, not because of some pettiness by the Holy Mother but because he knew there was much to be done for the Mating Ritual.

  He stood waiting in Obec's chambers, being reluctant to sit down without consent. He started to pace back and forth, not his usual way of waiting but he had been feeling tense and angry lately. His head filled with thoughts, he did not want in his mind.

  One thought above all, seemed to echo over and over; Arn is not The Chosen of the Gods. Upon hearing those words, spoken by his younger brother, he had become very angry. Now things were different, Arn’s infatuation with the Half-Soul, was going to destroy
the tribe and that must not happen. I promised to help my brother; he thought; but I must help my people more.

  He turned to walk to the other end of the chamber, when a curtain opened and Obec entered the room. She was ornately dressed for the Mating Ritual, with a tall gold and silver headdress and a long flowing robe of blue, stitched with silver thread. On her thin wrists she had several dark stone bracelets and her long gray hair, was wound with cords of small gold chains, around her neck hung a necklace of peerless Sagar teeth. She looked at the Prince and smiled coyly, “What can the Gods do for you my child?”

  Agart did not look her in the eye, he concentrated on a small oil lamp, hanging from a support beam, “Is Arn The Chosen of the Gods?” he finally asked.

  The old women did not answer right away, she left the words to hanging, to give her time to respond. She went to her chair and sat down, then slowly smoothed out the wrinkles in her robe, “No,” she said.

  The words were simple and to the point but they cut into Agart'a heart like the edge of a war-ax. He tried not to show emotion and kept staring into the fervent fire of the lamp, “Then why did you proclaim him King?” he asked.

  The Holy Woman sat back in her chair, she placed her claw like hands on her lap. “The Gods ask us to do many things, things that we do not want to do but our eyes are not, the eyes of the Gods and cannot see what they see.”

  Agart listened to her wise words, “I see the here and now and I see my brother being turned away from his people by a Half-Soul woman.”

  Obec saw the look in his eyes. He is jealous of his brother and thinks the woman will force him to betray his people, I can use this for the will of Isarie. She leaned forward and her words were soft and low, “The Gods made your bother King but that was in the past, for all things there is a time. It may be right for another to take his place.”

  When he heard those words, Agart stopped looking into the small flame and turned to look at the Holy Mother. She wants me to betray my brother, he told himself. She wants me to take his place and become King, can I do such a thing, can I choose between my brother and my people?

  The old woman toyed with the Sagar teeth around her neck, “Your brother is King but he is not The Chosen of the Gods. Now you must make a choice, to let a Half-Soul come between you and your brother, or save him from himself, to save your people.”

  Agart looked around the chamber, he could see many small icons of their Gods and deities. His gazed fixed on a golden statue of Isarie; I must help my brother, I must save my tribe., “What must I do?” he asked in a soft voice.

  With those words, his mind seemed to clear, there were no questions any longer, only a road that must be traveled, to a place only the Gods knew.

  Obec smiled at the Prince; I am the right hand of the Goddess and he will be my weapon. She pointed to a chair, “Sit and we shall talk.”

  All was quiet around the Queen's tent, the warriors had gone to the great Dome and only a few Touch-tenders remained outside, in the event that Egmar needed them. To pass the time, the Touch-tenders sat telling stories of other nights and other Mating Rituals, they passed each other slices of warm Kasha bread, dipped in spicy fish sauce.

  Inside the Queen was busy, tidying up and putting things in their proper place. It was well known, that she liked to have an orderly tent. When all was done to her satisfaction, she sat on a small wooden chair and rested.

  As she looked around, she seemed to hear the voices of her children playing outside, she remembered how they would laugh and pretend they were being attacked by the Shadow-men and how.... She stopped reminiscing and closed her eyes. So long ago; she thought; so many cycles, where did they go?

  She did not know if she had fallen asleep for a moment but she heard a voice calling.

  “Mother?”

  She opened her eyes to see Seeda standing before her, she was dressed in her shining armor and holding her war-ax. Rather than being frightened of this ghostly image, the old woman smiled to see her lost child, “I am here,” she said softly.

  Her daughter held out her hand, “I will wait for you,” she said.

  Egmar smiled, then closed her eyes, when she opened them again, the image was gone. Although she was alone in her tent with only her memories now, she did not cry. She felt satisfaction, certain in the knowledge that someone would be waiting in the Golden Halls of Isarie.

  In one of the broken tunnels that led into the Almadra Mating Dome, two lovers waited quietly. Arn and Andra, were out of view of the other warriors, who were moving into the giant structure to start the rituals. Andra sat waiting for the King to speak, she noticed his eyes seemed to be darting around, as if he was waiting for something to attack them. In the distance, she could hear the call of tribe's large drums, their beating seemed to coincide with the hammering of her young heart.

  As she looked at the King, she suddenly felt afraid. Maybe it was the way his hand kept closing, then opening and then closing again, as if he was squeezing the life out of some creature or enemy. She saw the knots of corded muscle, rippling up his thick arms and knew he could snap her neck in an instant, if he wanted, she could run but where could she go? He would easily run her to ground, before she got any distance away, so as she looked at him, she put one hand on the hilt of her dagger.

  Andra watched the King begin pacing back and forth, he turned to her, “What are the rituals on your world for being mated?”

  Andra felt uneasy as she answered, “You mean when a man and a woman want to spend their lives together?”

  “Yes,” he answered.

  Andra cleared her throat nervously, then spoke at a slow deliberate pace, while she tried to remember what her mother had told her. “Well, firstly the man takes you out for walks in the moonlight, then after a time there is kissing and hugging. Then more time until he asks you to marry him and then he gives your parents several Horca and a set amount of trade goods, depending on how much...”

  She looked into his eyes as she talked, she could see, he did not understand a word she was saying. She stood up and moved over to him, her hands let go of her dagger and she felt a calm come over he. “On my world we love like you do, our hearts lead us and we follow,” she said.

  There are no Half-Souls; he thought; we are not The Chosen of the Gods, the Heart of Isarie beats for all of us, love is stronger than any law. The words of his mother, rang in his head as he took Andra into his arms, “I do not know your Gods or your ways,” he said, “but I love you and I ask you to be with me.”

  Andra regarded his eyes thoughtfully and saw her reflection in them, she held him close, “I will stand with my King,” she said softly.

  Arn took her by the hand and led her out of the tunnel into the Great Dome. He walked a few paces then stopped, he looked up, through a large broken portion of the curved ceiling, at the night sky. He could see the moon called Ashsana and he pointed to it, “You see that moon?” he asked.

  Andra looked up, “Yes, that’s the moon you call Ashsana.”

  The King smiled, “Yes, when her face shines over the Great Dome, we choose our mates, I will choose you.”

  She suddenly felt her face become hot and the heat was not from the wind blowing from the North, it was her feeling for her love; I am loved. Under the night stars and the face of Ashsana, they were mated, at least in the mind of the Off-Worlder.

  The King held Andra close and kissed her lips softly, they parted and he gazed into her eyes, “When the time is right, this is what you must do.”

  Under the Breast of Isarie, the Almadra Mating Rituals, were about to begin. The Handmaidens, had prepared the traditional feast for the warriors, they had killed the Malock, the Holy Spikeback, kept in a special wagon and not allowed, to walk. Over many months, it grew huge on Meadow grass and Kasha bread, now it had been ritually slaughtered, stuffed with a mature Flame-Crest, taken from open plains of the Greenland’s. This in turn, was filled with nine young Burrow-babies, bathed in fish sauce. Then the whole carcass, was rubbed with U
lon spice and Grana and slowly roasted over an open pit in the middle of the Great Dome for a day and a night. The smell of the beast cooking, only enhanced the excitement of the already agitated warriors.

  The females no longer wore their robes, only a tiny strip of Rimar skin to cover their genitals and a small belt to hold their Dragons-teeth. Their long hair was undone and moved like meadow grass in the wind. They still wore the Journey Nail around their necks but alongside it, hung a small golden bell. As they moved it tinkled out a little song, it was known as the voice of Shawcona. It was said, that its delicate chime could drive away a demon.

  The young women formed into a group, near the cooking Malock, they swayed gently to the beating of the Mating Drums. They lifted their strong arms to the night sky and called upon Shawcona, the Goddess of Love to watch them dance. Their movements were soft and graceful, like sky birds on the wind. They closed their eyes and moaned softly, letting their firm breasts sway gently. They listened for a time to the chiming bells, letting their sweet sound fill their souls and call up the passion from their wanting bodies. After a time, they started moving their hands over their skin, then in time to the pounding drums, they lifted their legs high, then brought them down hard onto the ground. They did this again and again, until there was a gentle cloud of dust around their feet, at the same time they swayed gently and soft moans escaped their lips.

  Eager men stood around the women, clapping their hands together or beating their fists against their naked chests. They grunted, ground their teeth and lifted their heads high, to cry out in an animal roar that echoed their emotions. They wore their Journey Nails around their necks and the Dragons-teeth in a wide belt. Only a band of Sager Cat hide, held their now eager manhood's in check, their eyes were filled with one emotion only, lust!

  The Anoc time was a night of body over mind, a time of madness and desire, a time that knew neither love nor kindness.

  Anais lay in Soffca's tent, he drank heavily of Po, until he was seeing small demons moving about the room. He could hear the faint beating of the Mating Drums but it did not fill his heart with lust or even warmth, all he felt was anger. Fools; he thought; silly fools, there are no Gods to dance too and the beating of drums will not make it so. He took another long drink from his cup. I am no fool and you will not see me, naked under the empty sky, like a Sin-Craver in the streets. He turned over on his soft bed and fell asleep listening to his own unloving heart beating slowly, in a song no one would hear.

  Obec had seen many, mating times and she knew that a new generation of The Chosen, would be born from this meeting. Surrounded by the Thungodra and her Handmaidens, she sat on a stone dais, high above the multitudes of men and women, soon to be in the throes of the Mating Ritual. Her heavy stone chair, was directly in front of a large copper gong that hung from a massive wooden beam, supported by two columns of stone. It bore a strange symbol of a large spider, surrounded by many figures, both male and female. The intricate design and workmanship, made it seem to have been made by a God's hand, not one of this earth.

  The Holy Woman watched the warriors surrounding her, she knew they were almost ready to begin, she looked up at the night sky and the pale surface of Ashsana, it was almost directly overhead.

  The time is almost here; she thought; I am the right hand and I shall hold the weapon. She looked over at Agart, standing near the dais, she saw the look in his eyes and how his fist opened and closed. She could see his chest rising and falling and knew he was ready, to allow the seed she had planted in his mind to grow.

  How powerful the Gods are, Horcon chooses the roads we must take and I point the way; she smiled to herself; I am the right hand of Isarie and I will do what must be done.

  Arn and Andra, moved past the eager throng of lustful male warriors, who surrounded the females. As they passed, several young men tried to grab the Off-Worlder but a look from the King and a blow to the side of the face, soon put an end to their pawing.

  Although Andra was frightened, she did not show it, she walked beside Arn, holding her head high. If an Outlander had seen her now, they would never have guessed that she was a Half-Soul. Remember who you are; she told herself. You are lieutenant Andra Oseira, first infantry division, Omega Five, Moonbud the flower that kills. Dance, take the food, do not let anyone take it from you. She had rehearsed the Mating Rituals, over, and over in her head but there had been very little time. She hoped, she would remember everything she had to do.

  The King and Andra moved in front of the warriors, he looked at her, his voice hardly audible above the surrounding noise. “Remember what I told you and all will go well,” he said, then he smiled at her, “You are Moonbud, you are strong.”

  Andra took a deep breath, “I will remember.” She walked away from him, towards the young women, after a moment's hesitation, she let her thin robe fall to the ground. Except for the small band around her waist, she stood naked.

  Remember Arn’s words; she told herself; you are not a schoolgirl anymore. For a moment she stood still letting the warm wind blow across her naked body and through her hair, then she closed her eyes. You are Moonbud, now dance!

  Listening to the slow rhythmic beating of the Mating Drums, she lifted her arms up and started moving her hips from side to side. You are strong, dance. She listened to the sound of the drums, she could hear the small bells ringing, as warm bodies moved around her.

  Ting, ting, ting.

  Listen only the bells; she told herself; forget all else, only the bells. She listened intently and her fears slowly melted away, she felt a part of everything around her, no longer an outsider. She was one of many, her small naked feet began to move and she could feel the warm earth underneath her toes. It felt good, it felt alive.

  Arn watched his love moving to the sound of the Mating Drums. He let the weight of Kingship fall from his shoulders, he felt only the beating of his racing heart and the hot blood rushing through his veins. The entire world seemed to stop, there was no future or past, no Gods or demons, no Afterlife or endings, there was only the sound of the pounding drums. He began to clap his hands and beat his foot upon the ground, he let the pungent odor of sweat and lust around him, fill his nostrils and his soul, his mind filled with only one thought.

  Moonbud, I must have her.

  Obec watched carefully from her chair, she did not feel lust or love, she only felt a cold longing, a need for something she'd always wanted and she knew it would soon be hers.

  Power!

  She looked up at the night sky; the time is now, let it begin. She knew there was no need for talking, it would do little good anyway, her words would fall on empty ears. The warriors were now deeply into Anoc time, there was nothing to be said. She motioned to the Handmaiden beside her, “Let it begin,” she said in a low voice.

  Soffca came forward, she was completely naked, her body covered in red powder and her long hair was pulled back from her slim face by a gold ring. She was carrying a large wooden mallet. She bowed once then looked at her mistress, “As you wish,” she said.

  She went behind the Holy Women to where the giant gong hung and lifted the mallet. She struck the copper plate, with all the strength of her small frame, it emitted deep metallic sound that echoed everywhere. The sound drove hundreds of Night-criers that had made their home in the cracks and rain holes, out of the Great Dome. They swept low over the dancers then fluttered off into the star strewn night sky.

  The beat of the drums became more intense now and the women warriors began to dance faster and faster. They lifted their arms high and moved their hips from side to side, thrusting them without care or thought. Their naked breasts were moist with sweat and they breathed the warm night air, in gasps of lust.

  Andra danced under the night sky too, she forgot her nakedness and her mother's rigid upbringing and she let her inner self emerge. The wanton soul that had never been freed before, came out and moved her slim body, like a puppet-master moves his creation. She listened to the beating drums and forgot
everything else, she forgot pain and sorrow, lonely nights and empty days, she forgot her past and all it had taught her. She let it all go and let the warrior's lustful scent and the beating of the Mating Drums, take their place.

  Soffca lifted the mallet once more and struck the gong again. Bong! The sound of the drums went louder and louder.

  Arn stamped his feet on the hard ground, he clapped his hands hard and listened to the beating drums. Around him, warriors shouted and cried out to the heavens and he did the same.

  Soffca struck the gong again. Bong!

  The drums beat even louder, the dancers moved faster and the warriors shouted like maddened Whiptails.

  As the frenzy of lust and the sound of the drums reached their zenith, Obec lifted her wrinkled hand and called out in a loud voice, “Let it begin!”

  The warriors cried out in one long animal scream. They moved as one, male, and female alike, raced to the fire pit and began ripping and tearing at the roasting Spikeback. Hundreds of strong hands reached out in a frenzy, they tore chucks of bloody flesh from the Malock carcass. When they were satisfied that they had enough, they moved away, holding their prize in clenched fists. It was like a Fang fish attack, wave after wave moving in and ripping at the huge animal.

  Andra, was almost trampled by the mass of warriors, pressing in around the Spikeback. She stood her ground and managed to grab a fistful of half cooked meat, before moving back from the fray. She held the warm meat close to her body and more than once she had to defend herself from another naked female, who tried to take it, she was determined to keep what she had. Pressing through the mass of bodies, she went to an open space and quickly looked for Arn but she could not see him. A young male warrior hold up his prize of Malock meat to her.

  He is offering me food; she thought; do not take it. She shook her head but the warrior made the offer again, this time she pushed him out-of-the-way and shouted, “No!”

  She moved further away from the Malock and she looked around her once more. At last she saw the King, a short distance away. Feeling the lust swelling up inside her, she started pushing through the mass of naked warriors, holding the meat to her breast.

  Give the food to the King; she told herself; don’t let anyone take it away. She had almost reached the King, when she saw a young woman hold out food to him. For a moment, it looked like Arn would take the offering. She is trying to take him from me, don’t let her!

  Arn was deep in the mating trance now, he saw a woman holding out food to him, he could not understand why he should not take it; take the food! Words pounded in his head, mate, mate, mate!

  He reached out slowly and was about to take the bloody meat but Andra got there first, She said nothing but struck the woman hard on the side of the head, she went down like an axed Rimar. Andra looked at her, then turned to the King, “Who was that?” she asked.

  The sight of his lover fighting for him, brought the King to his senses and he smiled, “Her name is Arie.” Arn held out his hand, it held a small piece of Spikeback meat.

  Andra looked at it for a moment, it is not a Horca or trade goods; she thought; but it is enough, she took the offering; it is enough. Suddenly someone took the meat from her hand, she turned to see Agart standing beside her. His eyes were filled with rage and his teeth were clenched so tight that the cords of his neck, stood out like bands of steel. He looked at her, “You are mine!” he said violently. He forced her other hand open and the food she had fought so hard for, fell to the ground.

  Arn grabbed his brother by the arm and spun him around so he could look him in the face, “No! This woman is mine!” His voice was so loud, those warriors around him, turned to see who had made a challenge. They watched as Agart drew his daggers and planted his feet to face his brother, “If you want her, then you will have to take her,” his lips were drawn back and his words came in short gasps.

  Andra watched the King unsheathe his Dragons-teeth, then crouched low ready to strike. They moved around each other, trying to find a weak spot to attack. My God! She thought; they’re going to kill each other; she did not know what to do. The frenzied warriors around them formed a circle and some began to shout for blood.

  The King watched his brother's slow movements, he could see that this was not a joke or trick. Agart was deadly serious, so there was nothing to do but to fight and kill. Can I kill my brother? Arn thought; can I kill my brother? Hot blood pumped in his veins and he could feel the fighting madness, taking over his mind. Kill him, kill him.

  He tightened his grip on the daggers and he was about to spring. He noticed his brother had lowered is right arm, just enough to make his neck an easy target, for a well-placed blow. Kill him, kill him. The words echoed over in his mind. Kill your brother! The King’s mind filled with visions of death and destruction, wave after wave of red ruin and chaos, he heard the screams of the dying and it was like music to his hears.

  Kill him, kill him.

  He raised his weapons and tensed his legs, ready to jump and drive the point of his blade deep into his brother's flesh; kill him, kill your brother! Then he heard another voice, small and far away, it was like a faint echo in a dark cavern. Your brother, he is your brother.

  This was the time for which Obec had long waited, she rose from her chair and lifted her hand. The Handmaidens called out in one loud clear voice, “Hear the words of the Gods!” The Mating Drums fell silent and the dancers stopped dancing, they turned to listen to the Holy Mother.

  The High Priestess looked down from her dais, torch lights flickered over the blue of her robe and flashed on the tall silver and gold headdress. Against the massive gong behind her, she looked small and fragile but her voice was strong and held the power of the Gods, “A challenge has been given, will the King of the Almadra fight?”

  The warriors turned to look at their leader, their blood was hot and pounded in their ears. They waited for the King to accept the fight to the death, as any one of them would.

  Arn looked at his brother's eyes, he could see the furious blood gaze, he had seen so many times before. The look was turned to him now and not their enemies; if I do not kill my brother, he will kill me; he thought. Can I kill my brother? He gripped his dagger handle tightly and his fighting instincts began to take over; kill your brother...kill him.

  Time seemed to stand still, he saw the many days and nights when he and his brother, had sat beside the Washa fire, talking of their dreams and their adventures. He remembered the many times, they'd hunted together and the battles they'd fought side by side. He remembered all this in an instant, then he felt the weapon in his hand and saw his brother's face.

  Suddenly he let the knife fall from his hand; I cannot kill my brother, I am not the King of the Almadra.

  Andra watched the blade fall to the ground; he won’t fight for me, I am not loved.

  The old Priestess smiled as she saw the un-blooded dragon's tooth, lying on the floor of the Great Dome. She heard the gasp from the warriors, as they watched their King refuse to fight, she heard them grumbling and saw the scowls on their sweat stained faces. The time is now. She lifted her hand, “A challenge has been given and the challenge has been refused, Arn is no longer King, let all the Almadra now call him Outcast!”

  Andra looked at the King, their eyes met but she could see no love there, only sorrow. She watched him walk away, she did not hear the men or women around her, crying out that the King had been defeated, she only heard the pounding of her heart and felt only the pain of each beat.

  Obec watched as Arn walked away leaving the Half-Soul behind. The Gods are wise; she thought; and I am their right hand. Her face showed a soft warm smile, it was not, meant to be seen by anyone, it was intended only for the Gods.

  Arn moved slowly through the throng of warriors. He could hear them whispering and growling as he walked past but he did not listen to them or the curses that some of them uttered under their breath. It did not matter anymore, now he was an outcast, no longer a Nomad of the Outlands.


  Andra watched him disappear into the mass of naked warriors; I’m not loved; she thought. She turned to Agart who stood beside her, she looked him in the eye, “You will never have me!” Her voice was strong and did not show any of the pain that filled her young heart.

  The Prince's face was no longer a mask of rage, he simply looked at Andra, “It does not matter,” he said. He took her by the hand and they walked away from the Great Dome.

  Away from the dome but near enough for her to hear the Mating Drums and the soft tinkle of the bells, Egmar stood quietly beneath the moons of Gorn. Her presence at the Mating Ritual was not required so she didn't wear the red robe or headdress of the Queen. She wore a simple brown garment, her hair pulled back by a golden ring. Her feet were bare, she only jewelry was the earrings, she had been given by Karn when they were mated and a small golden bell around her neck.

  She was near to an iron beam, next to a cluster of large rocks, it was the place where she had first met her husband. She was just a young woman then and he was the son of a King. They had fallen in love just the same and when he brought her food while the warriors looked on, it was the greatest day of her life.

  She looked around in the moonlight, for a moment, she thought she'd made a mistake and this was not the place of long ago. Then she noticed a symbol etched on the iron beam, it showed two figures holding hands. They were crudely drawn and looked like they had been drawn by a child rather than a Prince of the tribe.

  Karn was never good at drawing; she remembered.

  She laughed a little and placed her weathered hand on the image. She held it there for a long time, letting her mind move back to those long past days, when she was loved and all the days ahead of them, seemed so far in the future. I miss you my love. I have tried to be strong but the years have darkened my heart. She took her hand away from the rusted iron and looked up at the night sky, “You and our daughter are waiting for me, you sit in the Hall of Isarie and sing the songs of our tribe.”

  Egmar walked a few paces and looked over at the Great Dome. She heard the slow beating of the drums and the soft tinkle of the bells, then she heard the loud sound of the gong being struck, once, twice, three times. The air was filled with the screams of the warriors and she knew that her son was mated; our son has a strong woman by his side and she will help guide him when I am gone.

  She looked up to the sky again, her eyes were wet with tears, “Forgive me Isarie, let me sit with those I love and let me hold them to my breast.” I miss the sea, I miss its soft sounds and its endless rocking.

  The Queen mother began to dance, slow at first then as the sounds of the Mating Drums began to fill her soul, she danced faster. She heard the small bell around her neck calling out like a meadow bird in its nest, she moved faster and faster. She felt the years melt away from her aged body, now it felt like it did on the night she danced under the Great Dome for her lover. Her tears were soon dry, she smiled and started to sing the maiden's song.

  Take me into your arms.

  I am the wind and the rain.

  You are the earth and the seed.

  Together we are one.

  Together we will grow.

  She danced faster and faster, her naked feet glided over the rocky ground and she lifted her arms to the night sky. Her long hair flowed and sparkled in the moonlight, she laughed like she did when her heart was young and free. Her old body was no longer tired or afraid, she had shed her outer shell to let the newborn flower bloom.

  Take me in your arms.

  And let me feel your strength.

  Let me dance in your heart.

  As you will sing, in mine.

  Together we will grow.

  Egmar stopped and looked into the darkness, then as if in a dream, she saw a figure coming to her. A tall strong man holding out his arms, as he came close she saw his face, the face of her lover and King. She smiled and held out her arms to him, she spoke in a soft whisper that held all the love her heart had to give.

  “Take me.”

  She watched as the figure started to change, her mind forgetting the image of the dead King, it was slowly replaced by the all too real figure of a tall man, dressed in a dark robe and hood. As he came closer she could make out the face under the hood, a face of horror and death, she opened her mouth to scream but a claw like hand covered her lips. As she looked at the man's dark dead eyes, she felt herself fall into the blackness of unconsciousness.

  The Darkman looked at her face for a moment or two, then picked her up, like a man picks up a child. Silently, he carried her to his winged mount and they flew off into the night sky, leaving the dome of screams for the quiet home of the stars.