Chapter 45. War in the Outlands
Lift up the cup of sour Po and sing the songs of War.
Laugh and drink of battles past and open the Golden Door.
Welcome those who come to fight in glory and in pain.
We the fallen of dreams of death, we wait and watch the flames.
War song of the Almadra.
The Nomads of Gorn were on the run.
The Talsonar army came up into the Sirolian plains and destroyed all who came to meet them. They crushed the people of the Outlands like an Earth-shaker, awakened from its slumber, although they looked to their Gods, their prayers went unheeded.
The Nomad tribes rose up to meet the invader from the Stone City but every in battle they saw defeat. It was not weakness or a lack of courage, they simply did not know how to fight such an army. They were used to meeting an enemy head on, then battling hand to hand until one proved victorious. This new foe did not fight that way, they used attics unknown to the Outlanders. The Nomads fought as individuals the Talsonar fought as one.
First they fired their Long-Range weapons, the powerful shells exploded in the midst of the Nomads and panicked the Whiptails. The Nomads fired back but their guns could not reach the enemy. The Outlanders screamed in rage at not being able to return the death raining down upon them. There was more to follow, the Talsonar powered up their Disruptors, the painful sound from the sonic weapons caused confusion and scattered the Outlanders like Kasha-wheat in a summer storm. While the warriors struggling to control their beasts, their ears ringing with the horrific noise, the Talsonar sent in their soldiers.
The Yangmar moved forward, the huge warriors were fearless and fought like wild things. They fired their chamber rifles until they were empty and although far from accurate they killed many. The Nomads fought back with their fiercest warriors, their Whiptails ripped and tore into the Yangmar, striking out with their powerful tails and impaling them on their long spurs. The Yangmar did not run, the chains holding them together, made that impossible and although they died horribly, they brought down the Outlands warriors and hacked them to pieces with their hand weapons.
After the Yangmar had done their worst, the Hal-Jafar moved in for the fatal blow. These elite troops were well trained and skillful killers, fighting as one great force, they fired their rifles, picking off the Nomads one by one. Those not killed b reveled in it. The few badly injured Nomads who were not, able stab themselves through the heart with their dragon’s tooth, were tortured to death and then fed to the Yangmar, as their reward.
If a Nomad tried to stand and make a fight of it, the Runners were ordered to race towards them, exploding themselves in a holocaust of fire and smoke.
The Ozendra, Zengarie and the Caladon, all tried to repel the invaders and all were driven back by the marching steel creatures. The displaced Nomads moved Northwards seeking refuge in the lands of other Nomads, which in turn ignited bitter fighting amongst the tribes, adding to the hopelessness moving over the once proud lands of Gorn.
Soul Shepherds from the different tribes, believed the Gods were angry for their disbelief. So they hunted out those amongst them who did not pray as hard as they did, or did not give proper respect to the Words of the Goddess. They were convinced the blame for their defeats rested on the heads of those people, they made threats and accusations against anyone but themselves. Many of the accused left their tribe rather than face the wrath of the Thungodra.
The tribal Kings squabbled and old rivalries were reopened. Obec called for a meeting of the clans, to hear the words of the Goddess and find a way to reverse their defeats and regain their cherished lands. The Holy Mother sent messengers to all the tribes telling them to meet at the Skull of Balmor, there they would pray to the Goddess for the strength and wisdom to plan for victory.
As night fell, the Moons of Gorn looked down on the Counsel of Kings, unlike the meetings at the Eye of Isarie, there was no singing or dancing. They were trying to find a way to survive not settle petty disputes.
They met under Obec's Holy tent, inside, torches illuminated the many statues of the Gods, at one end stood a statue of Isarie. Standing by the walls were representatives of the various tribes and lesser clans that made up the peoples of the Outlands. They stood uneasily not knowing if the meeting would end in agreement or bloodshed.
“No! No! No!” Kadar shouted as he beat his hand upon a thick wooden table, “we must meet them face to face, it is the only way to defeat them!”
Across the table sat his old friend Balgar, the old man shook a fist at the one armed leader. “I say we must strike at them from the East, they cannot move over the sand as easily as we do.”
Kadar shook his head, “and what will that gain us? Nothing, I say we fight now and kill as many as we can.”
“And if they are stronger?” Balgar asked.
“Then we die in glory!” shouted the old warrior. “It is better than dying with a blade in the back!”
This made the other Kings shout too, each offering a plan that they were certain would work but they did not know how or why. The warriors began screaming insults and gripping their weapons ready to strike at any moment.
Sitting quietly near the Holy Mother, Anais the newly crowned King of the Almadra listened to the words of his fellow Kings. They fight like Rock-runners over scraps; he thought. Kings are no better than fools when they are afraid. He sat listening and smiled to himself, he was the only one who knew the truth, all men are fools and the Gods that made them must be even bigger fools.
After a time, Obec, surrounded by the other High Priestesses, Thungodra and Handmaidens calmly put up her hand.
It took a few moments for the shouting to die down but it did. When all was quiet once more Obec began to speak. “We are The Chosen of the Gods and being so we will have victory but there may be a price.”
Kadar spoke, “What price is that?”
Obec looked at his scarred face, “Obedience,” she said quietly. There was a low murmuring as the warriors repeated the word under their breath. Obec spoke again, “Obedience to the Goddess!’ She rose and purposefully moved amongst the Kings. “We are The Chosen of the Gods that is certain but we are being beaten by Half-Souls, why?” She let her words hang in the air, “because some of us are not true believers. Some of us do not pray with their hearts, some of us have forgotten the words of the Holy Book. That is why the Goddess has turned her face from us, that is why we are driven from the land, because some amongst us are not of The Chosen!”
There was more murmuring, then Balgar stood up. “If that is so tell us what must be done,” he said soberly.
Obec moved over to the statue of the Goddess and placed her withered hand upon it. “Those who do not believe must be made Outcast.”
Balgar spoke again, “This is not the time to weaken our forces.”
The tent echoed with the old King's words as many warriors repeated them in agreement. Obec turned to look into Balgar's face, “The Gods made time and space, would you questioned their power?”
The King looked back into Obec's face but there was no reply.
Obec continued, “We must trust in the Goddess, we must put our faith to the test and do what must be done.” While the many Kings were thinking her words over, she looked at the statue. I will be your right hand; she thought; and the Gods will arise.
Anais still sat with a smile on his face, now he rose and left the Counsel of Kings and walked steadily to his tent. Behind him he heard the voices of the Kings rising up and starting to argue once more but it did not matter, he had realized long ago, in the end they would bow to Obec's will. Although they ruled their people, their belief in the Gods ruled them. So with a self-righteous smile on his face, he passed between the Thungodra guards into his tent.
It was much different inside to his old quarters, it was fit for more than a King! When his brother died he took over the tribe's leadership, no one challenged him, Obec saw to that. Kuno and some of his warriors said he was unf
it to rule, she banished from the tribe, made them Outcast. The Thungodra made sure that all objectors to Anais, remained silent,in fear of their lives. The remaining warriors held their tongues.
I am King now; he told himself, it is I, who rules. How he got his Kingship did not matter, he was the Leader now and he would rule as he wished. So he took the contents of his brother's and his lost mother tents, he ordered a grand new shelter made just for him. Now it was filled with a display of wealth and power far beyond any other Outland King. There were chests filled with ornate robes and piles of Rimar horn of great length. There were baskets of Sagar teeth and Sun-dropper claws, gold and silver cups and bowls, casks of aged Po and a table heaped with fresh Kasha bread and succulent Balbar fruit. There were carved chests that once belonged to the outcast warriors and in them were treasures that had been handed down through the ages. There were tables and chairs cut from the finest woods. Gold braziers burned rare incense from the far reaches of the Outlands.
Now it was all his but strangely it did not have any meaning to him, it was just so much junk to the new King. What mattered was that it belonged to him and no one else, he had power and he savored every moment of his new Kingship.
He stood drinking and looking at his power, then looked at the large mattress on the rug-covered floor. Soffca lay upon it naked, she looked to be asleep, her long dark hair flowing over the embroidered pillow like waves of ebony wheat. She was the only thing in the room that had any meaning to Anais. Looking at her made him feel good, the heart that felt only cold and pain warmed as he looked at her; she is lovely; he thought; and she loves me.
He went to the bed and sat upon it, Soffca opened her eyes and looked at him, without a word she reached up, took him into her arms and kissed him.
In the distance, the voices of the Kings could be heard as they continued to shout their arguments, about what to do and when. Inside the new King's tent, there were only the soft sighs of rapture.
In the days and nights following their victory over the Sandjar, Arn, Andra, Osh and Endo made their way over the land, West from the Skull of Balmor, near the Mountains of Kresh but far from the Poison Lands. They lived off the earth, they could not kill Rimar without a Whiptail to ride but they found meat and drink and they were satisfied.
Osh spent much of his time talking to Endo, teaching him the ways of civilization. The young Sandjar learned fast and in no time at all, he could speak many new words and he adapted well to his new family. He could drive the wagon and gather food, his sense of smell was exceptional and more than once, he led them to a fallen beast or some other source of nourishment. Arn even retracted the unkind things he'd said about him.
Endo even began to learn the ways of combat and could soon wield a spear and dagger quiet well, the only one who did not seem to care for their new companion was Andra.
Perhaps it was because she remembered the painful days and nights when she bore the little green horror on her back, feeling it sucking the blood from her body. Maybe it was just the way he looked at her, with eyes that held intelligence but were not quite human. It was not just the intelligence they showed through, something else made Andra feel very uneasy. The look of love!
They sat around a small fire, near to an ancient fallen Dropship, Andra refused to look at the scavenger and stared into the flames. Arn and Osh didn't notice because they were deep in argument over the planet's history.
Arn shook his head and took a drink of the very sour wine, he'd found in the wagon. It was a foul drink but it made the Nomad's head spin. “The Children of Isarie have always been here, it is our home, where we belong, to say we came from beasts are the words of a Frail-leg.”
Osh casually stirred the contents of a cooking pot, heating over the fire. “It is a well known fact that intelligent creatures come from a lower form of a species, which evolve into a higher form. There are many books on the subject, take for instance the collected works of Ivor Toillec, now he said…”
“There is only one book and it was written by the Gods,” Arn said, “your books may be of use on other worlds but here there is only one law.”
Osh looked hard at the Nomad, “Haven't you, given up the Gods and no longer follow their laws? Or do you still believe in them?”
Arn took a gulp of his drink and smiled at the old man. “I may not follow their laws but I would still not tread on their shadows.”
Hearing this from the Outlander made the Callaxion smile. “Yes, my people have an old saying, do not erase outmoded programs you may need them someday.”
Arn lifted his cup to the old man. “Then here’s to Gods and programs.” He took a deep gulp of his drink and looked at Andra. “Tell me, to what Gods do your people pray?”
Andra continued to look into the fire. “Our Gods are dead,” she said quietly.
Arn shook his head, “Gods cannot die, they live forever.”
Hearing those words, the Andra turned to look at him. “They die, when their worshipers, are destroyed.” Then she stood up and picked up her tooth, she walked away from the fire into the night.
Arn watched her go, he then got up and walked after her, leaving Osh and the young Sandjar to eat alone.
Endo turned to his father, “Mother is sad,” he said.
Osh poured some soup into a bowl for his son. “Yes, mother is sad, now eat your soup.”
Out of the firelight and with only the moons for light, Andra stood close to the Dropship and listened to the night. In the far distance she could hear a herd of Rimar bellowing, beyond them, the cry of a lonely Whiptail. To Andra, it did not matter, she was thinking of other places, other worlds.
I shouldn’t be here; she thought; I don’t deserve another life, I don’t…
She heard a sound and thinking it might be an enemy she lifted her weapon, then she saw Arn walking slowly towards her, he came close and put his hand on her shoulder.
“There is a shadow over you,” he said, his voice just above a whisper, “What troubles you?”
Andra did not answer straight away, she just looked at the sky. “You never asked how I came to your world.”
Arn turned her, so he could look into her eyes. “The Gods sent you,” he said smiling, “they sent you to me, they knew I needed a strong warrior by my side.”
“No,” Andra said shaking her head, “I am no warrior, I am nothing.”
Arn did not understand her, he took her into his arms. “You are Moonbud, a warrior of the Outlands and together we are strong.”
She pulled away from him with tears in her eyes. “I am nothing, I don’t deserve to be here,” her voice trembled with emotion. “You think I am a great warrior, a brave soldier but I’m just a coward.”
Arn moved towards her, his arm out to her but she moved away from him and continued speaking. “Listen to me, I was once a lieutenant in the Selcarie army, our world was attacked and I went to war. I saw many battles and my men died around me by the thousand, we were pushed back until we were all that stood between our world and the enemy, one last stand. We fought hard but we were beaten, when the time came for me to die with my troops, I ran! I ran!”
Andra let out a long breath of air. “Later I was captured and sent here to die, now I live while all my world burned, my world and my family.” she looked hard at Arn. “So you see I’m not brave or strong.” She looked up into her lover's eyes, “I am a coward, I am nothing.”
There was a long silence then Arn held her. “All warriors know fear, a coward never admits it.”
He took her close and under the stars, he kissed her, then they parted. Through her tears, Andra looked into his eyes, “Maybe Gods can forgive me but can you?” she asked.
Arn still held her tightly in his arms, “I am your trouble vessel, give me all your darkness and together we will walk in the light.”
Andra looking into her lover's eyes for a long time. They did not speak, there was no need, they were beyond words, needing only to look into each others eyes and hear the words in their
hearts.
Isarie was not the God of the Selcarie, their Gods no longer heard the prayers of their believers. Whether they died or simply vanished into the black gulf between eternities no one could say. Perhaps there is a place where Gods go when they die, there they watch new Gods being born and smile to themselves, knowing there are others to take their place.
Nomads of the Gods Page 46
