Nomads of the Gods

by Gary Mark Lee

  Chapter 48. Death Skies

  Isarie battled with her father, Arm-Ra, for control of the universe and when she defeated him, she sat and wept.

  During their battle all the Elder Gods were destroyed and now she was alone.

  Her tears mixed with the blood on her hands and droplets fell upon the ground.

  A man and a woman up rose from them, she looked at them and smiled for she was no longer alone.

  Now she had The Chosen to see her face.

  From the Book of Isarie.

  General Yung's army was unstoppable. They'd moved over the land like a great steel monster, killing all who stood before them, driving onward like the fires of the Burning Time. The Shadow-men guides, led them across the Outlands, with their help, the General was able to crush any Nomads who came out to meet him. Soon there was none to stand in his way, he laughed to himself and dreamed of glory and how he would someday rule not only the Great City but all the lands of Gorn.

  He drove his troops across the open plains of Greenland’s but now, he refused to listen to his guide's warnings. After all, he had defeated the terrors of the Outlands and held his men together, to face of the warriors who came out of the night shouting, “Moric-Kan!”

  He rode proudly on a heavily armored war wagon, surrounded by his best soldiers. He knew the Gods were on his side and in the days ahead, there was nothing to fear. He watched a dusty officer run up to his wagon and shout out to him.

  “General Yung,” the Captain called, “the Guides say, we must circle to the mountains and not venture into the land ahead.”

  Yung looked at the Captain, “To the mountains?” He looked at a large stand of trees and vegetation just over the next rise, “Nonsense, there is a good location ahead to make camp, tell the commanders, we will not turn, we go forward.”

  The Captain saluted, “Very well General,” then left quickly to carry the message to the other officers who in turn would order their troops forward.

  The General peered through his heavy field glasses, scanning the terrain around the oasis they were approaching. The mountains? Nonsense, why waste time when we can drive ahead? He lowered the glasses and handed them to an aid. I have proved the stronger and soon I shall be the strongest. He smiled at the aid, “Tell the trumpeters to sound out and the drummers to beat the march.” Let them run from us, let them know fear.

  In a short time, the air was filled with the sound of triumph and the ground shook to the pounding victorious feet. They marched up the rise and could see the lush oasis before them, without warning, the grass beneath their feet began to move. At first, just a small tremble but then it grew, soon the whole surface began to move and the Yangmar at the head of the army, refused to march. They stood close together and grunted in terror, their masters lashed out at them with Rimar hide whips but still they refused to move. The Hal-Jafar jumped out of their wagons, chamber rifles ready but there was no enemy to be seen just the ground shaking violently.

  General Yung’s war-wagon stopped, the Trofar pulling it began to bellow and paw the ground. With the ground continuing to shake, the Talsonar army's leader saw something that made his blood freeze.

  As he watched, the oasis began to rise and continued growing upward until it blocked out the sun’s, turning day into night. He had no name for the monster coming towards them but any Outland's child knew, it was Ashra-Doom, Earth-shaker.

  The great Land-beast had been awakened from its slumber and now it would show what happens when a sleeping God is disturbed. With a blast of sound that shook the air, the monster moved forward crushing all in its path and sending the Talsonar soldiers screaming in terror.

  The Yangmar threw down their weapons and broke from the chains that held them. They ran back into the Spike-backs, sending them into and overturning the supply wagons behind them. The Hal-Jafar had never seen such a creature, some fired their chamber rifles but to no effect. The few remaining operational Long-Range weapons were unable to do anything to stop the titanic beast marching towards them. The huge monster's gigantic feet fell upon the army and ground it to dust.

  Soon, soldiers were fleeing in all directions, they ran screaming across the plains, leaving everything behind and never looking back. The Earth-shaker didn't stop, it moved onward destroying everything in its path. A few officers tried to fight back, they released the Runners and watched them race at the monster to exploded in fire as they impacted on the huge legs. The charges did little more than enrage the creature, they could only watch as giant tentacles swung down to pick up their soldiers, like insects and fling them into the sky. There was nothing to stop it, no guns or Disruptors could harm it, no creature could face it, nothing could be done.

  General Yung did not stand with his men, when he saw the creature coming, he bolted and ran from the battle like a coward. He turned once to see his command wagon disappear under one massive foot of the beast that seemed to fill the sky. He heard a roaring sound that shattered his eardrums and penetrated his body, causing his bones to break, he fell to the ground. He lay there for a moment, then rolled over and looked up at a darkening sky, with a scream, he saw it turn black and then came crushing oblivion.

  Far North of General Yung's scattering army, were a group of warriors, led by Arn and the woman known as Moonbud, they were not a tribe known to any Outlander, they were a tribe of Outcast warriors

  Men and women, driven out of their clans by the laws of the Gods, now bonded together into a force never before seen. The warrior's armor was no longer bright, it was darkly stained with Safic berry juice mixed with ash from the Washa fires, making them invisible at night. They also carried large round shields made from Itarian steel scavenged from fallen Lightships and ancient machines that dotted the land. Their Whiptails were also armored with plates fashioned to cover their vital organs. Made by the Iron-workers who came to join them and strength tested with chamber rifles taken from butchered Talsonar.

  The rifles were of little use to the warriors, try as she might, Andra, could not train them to use the weapons in battle. The Whiptails panicked at the sound of the weapons being fired close to them, causing them to throw off their riders. So the guns were put aside, apart from a few that Andra mounted to her own beast, Osh and Endo also carried some in their wagon.

  Other changes were made too, Andra insisted on the wagons being painted in colors that made them blend into their surroundings. This met with much resistance from the Elders who had inherited the vehicles from their ancestors. They saw no reason to insult their memory with gray and brown stripes, in the end they did as she asked.

  During their most successful raids, the Outcasts acquired several Long-Range weapons. These guns were too big to be carried by a Spike-back but they managed to load them onto a wagon, along with a good supply of ammunition. Now, with Kuno as their leader, they had the ability to strike at their enemy from a distance. Andra showed them how to combine their firepower to make a devastating barrage.

  The army of Outcasts made their way across the Greenland’s with a new banner flying proudly in the air. Fashioned from cloth and stained a dark red with blood, it also bore an emblem, two dragons heads facing one another. This banner told all who saw it of the coming of the warriors of Moric-Kan.

  Arn and Andra rode at the head of the Outcasts, their black armor and dragon shaped helmets made them look like demons from the Pit. Andra looked a little different, on her face she had a small tattoo. On her left cheek was the stylized image of a flower, its stem held thorns, it was a Moonbud, the flower that kills. Now all who saw it knew her name and knew her strength.

  Riding beside the duo, was Kuno, followed by an army numbered in the thousands, warriors eager for battle and ready to die for their leader.

  Arn looked up at the clear morning sky and saw a dozen or more Sun-droppers circling lazily. They will not strike; he thought; they know we are too strong. He looked at Andra beside him, she sat proud and straight in her saddle, she held her ax ready and her head was held high.
“You will be remembered,” he said quietly

  Andra smiled at him, “what did you say?” she asked.

  “I said your name will be remembered,” he replied. “They will sing songs about you and tales of your deeds will be told around the Washa fires.”

  Hearing this, Andra laughed, “My name in songs? Now wouldn’t that be something.” But what will they say, will I be remembered as a bringer of death or a savior? “I think they will sing about you more than me.” She looked out over the land and saw a large herd of Rimar in the distance. As she gazed at the huge beasts and their seemingly endless numbers an idea sprung into her mind. “Tell me what you know about Rimar,” she said.

  Some distance behind Arn and Andra, Osh and Endo's wagon was bouncing over a large rut, as it jolted the old man grabbed hold of the railing.

  “Watch where you're going,” he shouted to Endo, who was doing his best to hold onto the reins, “you will throw me out of the wagon if you keep driving like that.” He adjusted his robes and picked up the dried Rimar skin parchment he was writing upon, “and slow down, we will get where we're going soon enough.” He picked up his writing pen from the floor and looked for the Safic berry juice, he used for marking, “Now where did my ink go?”

  As he looked around, the wagon hit another rut, sending the old man tumbling into the back of the wagon. As he tried to pick himself up, Endo started to emit a sound that could only be called a laugh, although it was very guttural and ended with a loud snort.

  Osh righted himself in his seat and looked at Endo, who was shaking his head and continuing to make the laughter like sounds. “What's so amusing?” Osh asked. He realized what he was asking. Sandjar aren't supposed to laugh, maybe he is learning more than I know. “Did you think that was amusing?”

  Endo looked at his father and pointed to him with one of his clawed fingers. “Yes much laughing,” and then he snorted and started to chuckle once more.

  For a moment the Callaxion was very angry, he looked at his son and heard the laughter filling the air. He soon forgot his embarrassment and started to laugh too. “Well, I guess I have something else to add to my observations, Sandjar can laugh.”

  He found his ink and started to write once more, a look came over Endo's face. He pulled the reins to one side, causing the wagon to strike a large rock, the impact made the vehicle shake and Osh was sent tumbling forward, causing ink to splash all over his clean robe.

  Several wagons near to the old Callaxion's, heard shouts of rage mixed with the sound of laughter.

  North of the Heart of Shawcona, Anais the newly crowned King, rode safely in his well-guarded wagon. Unlike all other Madrigal leaders, he did not ride in front of his warriors on a strong Whiptail, battle ax in hand. This King lay upon soft cushions with a cup of aged Po held tightly in his fist. Other King’s wore war-armor, under blazing sky and freezing winds but this one wore an embroidered robe of the finest material and sat safely out of the elements. While leaders past thought only of their people's welfare, this one filled his mind with ways of punishing them.

  Beside Anais lay Soffca, naked, she had been with him day and night since he'd become King, making sure he wanted for nothing. When he was hungry she brought him food, when he was thirsty she filled his cup and when he spoke she listened to every word. She lay quietly as he finally finished a long and very detailed description of how he would rule the Outlands, when the Talsonar were defeated.

  “Then I will have them build a new Longhouse in the Greenland’s, one twice the size of any other. There I will have a great throne made from solid gold and beside it, one of silver just for you.” He took a gulp of his well-aged wine, then looked at a quiet Soffca. “Would you like that?” he asked.

  Soffca nodded and smiled at him, “Yes,” she said softly.

  The young King smiled back, “Of course you would.” He took a few more sips of his fragrant wine, then he looked at a wonderfully carved statue of the Goddess Isarie. It leaned against the inside of the wagon along with a pile of gold and silver, several large Rimar horns and a basket of polished shell necklaces. Bounty taken from the Outcasts before they were driven from the tribe.

  As he looked at the icon, his face showed something it had not shown for a long time, remorse.

  He turned to look at the naked woman lying on his bed. “Do you love your mother?” he suddenly asked his companion.

  Soffca thought for a moment. “Yes, she gave me everything.”

  Anais looked into his drinking cup, “My mother gave me nothing, she was far too busy caring for my brothers and sister than me.” He paused and took a sip from his golden cup. All I wanted was for her to see me; he thought; to talk to me, to hold me, now she is gone, gone. As quickly as it appeared, the remorseful look vanished, to be replaced by the cold look of a man, who cared for nothing. “She is gone and good riddance, let them all go, I do not need them, I do not need anyone!” He gazed into Soffca's eyes, “Just you.”

  He put his empty cup down and took his forbidden lover into his arms, for a brief time he forgot his hate.

  Safe under the Heart of Shawcona, the Shadow-men waited. They had traveled to the great rock and hidden themselves in the many dark caves at its base. They would be safe there, out of sight of all Gods and men. In the darkness of their hideaway, they made ready for the battle ahead, they sharpened their weapons and re-strung their bows with fresh, sinew from the hind legs of a dead Whiptail. The strong fiber would propel their deadly shafts over a great distance to strike deep into the hearts of their enemies. It was not enough just to kill those they hated, they also took time to coat the iron tips with the poison of the deadly Moonbud. Even if they did not die from an arrow strike, they would soon be screaming in pain and wishing they had.

  There was one amongst them who wished no one harm, Egmar knew her words would fall on deaf ears. Try as she might, she could not turn the Shadow-men from their path of vengeance and so she tried to ease their pain, with ancient remedies she'd learned from the Touch-tenders. She bathed their cracked skin in the juice of the Hovock plant and used Rock-worm juice to ease their pain. It was not much but it helped her to feel that she deserved the name, mother that so many called her.

  She sat in her wagon looking at a small table that held several bowls of cooked Rimar, Kasha bread and some sweet fruit. She picked up a few morsels of food and put them into her mouth, she chewed slowly, then looked up at the Darkman, who was sitting across from her.

  “Are you not eating?” he said in a soft voice.

  Egmar had gotten used to her lost son's horrific features but she still felt pain when she saw his cold eyes.

  “I am not hungry tonight,” she replied, she took a small sip from a silver cup and looked at the Shadow-man. “You were gone a long time, where did you go?”

  The Darkman took a piece of meat from his bowl and held it up with his claw like fingers. “The grass eats from the earth, the Rimar consume the grass, we consume the Rimar, we are swallowed by time and time, is devoured by eternity. All things are food for something else,” he smiled and put the meat into his mouth.

  Egmar shook her head slowly, “Is there nothing that gives your heart pleasure my son?”

  The Darkman leaned back in his chair, “Pleasure?” he asked. “Those who have pleasure are never satisfied, they live their lives seeking even more pleasure until they die. Pleasure? Yes, one day I will be fulfilled.” He reached out and poured himself a cup of wine, he drank some then spoke again. “When all who made me what I am, are dead and I sit drinking their blood, like I drink this wine, then I will have pleasure.”

  Egmar reached across the table and touched the Darkman's rotting hand. “When there is no love in your heart, everyone is an enemy and no one can destroy them all.”

  Her son pulled his hand away, like a Blaze-ant had bitten him. “I will,” he proclaimed. He smiled, turning his features into the face of a laughing demon. “From the north come the people of the Outlands, from the South come the Talsonar soldi
ers, soon they will meet here. Each thinking they will have victory, each believing the People of the Darkness will come to their aid.” He took a small sip of his wine, “They are fools, they will destroy each other and when their bodies lie rotting in the sunlight, they will know how we feel. How we have lived our lives, how we have suffered and then all the lands will be ours and even the Gods will have to bow to our power!”

  Egmar sat quietly looking at her son. How much he has suffered; she thought; how bitter the years of his life. “Is there nothing for you my son? Nothing that will quieten your soul?”

  He shook his head, “No, nothing, for I have no soul.” Then he stood up and left the wagon. Outside he saw his people gathered around small fires, readying their weapons for the battle ahead. They did not speak or sing or dance, they did not pray to Gods for courage or mercy for their souls if they fell on the battlefield, none of that mattered anymore.

  Walking amongst them, the Darkman could not help but think of the life that might have been, of a world in the sunlight, filled with the sweet sound of wind and rain and life. The sweet dream soon came to an end and his thoughts turned once more to revenge and a sky filled with death.

  The ground quaked, it rolled all over the Greenland’s and shook the Mountains of Kresh and the great Western Sea. To the Nomads, it meant their victory would soon be at hand, the shaking was a sign from the Gods to The Chosen of Gorn.

  When the Talsonar felt the ground move under them, it meant their victories of the past weeks had been enough to awaken the Spirits of the Earth a signal that a new order was about to begin. A world ruled by the iron hand and will of their leader.

  To the Outcasts the shaking was an omen of things to come, a sign that they would triumph, the old ways were breaking apart and a new age of the Nomads was at hand.

  To Osh it was something else entirely, he sat by his Washa fire under a night sky crackling with electricity and full of clouds that rolled in, then suddenly vanished leaving flashes of red and green and blue. He felt uneasy, it wasn't just these strange storms raging overhead or the prickly feeling over his body, like a million crawling Blaze-ants. It was a small voice in his head, a voice he'd heard before in the dark cave in the Hollow Hills. A voice that wasn't a voice, knowledge without knowing, Osh ignored his companions and the delicious meal they were enjoying, he stared into the fire.

  That voice; he thought; answers, answers to questions, almost, a feeling? He heard Andra speaking to him, “Osh? Osh, are you alright?”

  The old man shook his head and looked across the fire at Andra. “What? Yes, yes I’m fine,” he said, “I was just thinking.”

  “You think too much,” Arn said with a laugh, “There are just so many thoughts that can be done in one day and you've used them all.”

  Andra took up the lighthearted ridicule, “Yes, let it all go for now, join us.”

  Osh nodded his approval, “Yes, you're right.” He took a spoonful of Hagar soup and savored its spicy taste, he looked at Andra, “Don't tell me you cooked this?”

  For a moment Andra looked pleased, “And why not?” She remembered what a disaster she was at cooking and her she knew that it was far from a secret from those present. “I didn't cook it, so what?.”

  Arn was just about to say something, when Endo pointed to himself, “I cooked the soup, I cooked good,” he said proudly.

  Osh smiled at his son, “Yes, you cooked it to perfection, you’re learning very well my son.”

  The Sandjar looked very pleased then he turned to Andra. “Did I cooked good mother?” he asked.

  Andra looked at Endo, then at Osh. “Why does he keep calling me mother? I didn't give birth to him, therefore I'm not his mother. Tell him to stop calling me mother.”

  Osh looked at his friend, “Tell him yourself.”

  Andra looked over at Arn, then at the Sandjar, she inspected his large yellow eyes, wanting to see a creature that neither knew love nor feeling of any kind. In those eyes lived something that separates those who dwell in the light from the vile beasts of the darkness. In those eyes was intelligence and love, the love of a son for his mother.

  He hurt me; she thought; but all children hurt their parents, am I just a bringer of death or can I be more, a giver of love? In that instant of time, she thought she saw her mother standing behind Endo, smiling, then like a phantom she was gone.

  A giver of love? She smiled and held out her empty bowl to Endo, “Your soup was delicious, may I have some more?” She did not say anything else but it was clear, she was telling Endo she cared for him, that she would be his mother.

  Endo took the bowl and poured hot soup into it, then handed it back to Andra, “Good soup, father taught me, I teach you?”

  Hearing Endo offer this skill to Andra made her laugh, “You’re going to teach me? Now I’ve heard everything.”

  The Sandjar nodded, “Yes, anyone can learn.”

  A great laugh broke the air as Arn repeated his words. “Did you hear him? Anyone can learn.” He looked at Endo, “I was wrong about you, you may not be a warrior but you're Lord of the Cooking Pots.”

  There was more laughter and it continued far into the night, lightening the hearts of those who heard it

  Darken watched the flashes of light in the night sky, he stood outside his tent, trying to count the bolts of lightning streaked across the churning sky. He wondered if the Gods were watching. Tomorrow we will reach our goal; he thought; a place the Guides call the Heart of Shawcona, there Leeander and Yung will join with me and defeat the last of the Nomads. These words in his mind made him feel strong. I will be a strong God for my subjects. I will show them that the weak have no place in my world. He looked up as a bolt of lightning flashed close overhead and when the parasites are gone, I will have strong toys to move as I wish, toys fit for a God.

  He looked out over the campsite and smiled, the camp fires reached out as far as he could see. He knew it was filled with soldiers, toys who would do as he wished. He went back into his tent. Standing at the opening he gazed at Seeda, laying naked on his bed. Beside her was a bowl of red Ice, he could see a few crystals caked around her mouth. It didn't really matter, she was just a bed warmer, nothing more.

  A broken toy; he thought; but still useful. He walked purposefully towards the sleeping female.

  The Outland tribes, led by the Almadra made their camp some distance from the Heart of Shawcona. They dared not go closer to the scared rock lest they lose their ability to wage war against the Talsonar soldiers.

  Obeying their ancestor's the laws, they made camp, away from the landmark and not too close to the fields of Moonbuds, in bloom under the lightning skies. They took comfort, knowing Obec, the High Priestess and the other Holy Women of Isarie, had assured them, the Goddess would come to their aid at the right time. With her divine power, she would destroy the invaders and return the land to the care of the Outlanders.

  So as the heavens flashed and thunder boomed, the women who spoke for the Goddess met under Obec's Holy Tent and listened as she told them of things to come.

  “Isarie will guide us,” Obec said with a firm voice, “if we trust in her power, we will be saved.”

  Around a large table sat many Nomad High Priestesses. Behind each, stood a tall powerful Thungodra each had a mark on their face denoting their tribe, their ears were filled with wax to prevent them hearing. They wore dark armor and held sharp battle axes, in the flickering torch light, they seemed like dark warriors from the Pit of Marloon.

  Handmaidens, dressed in a simple red robe with a thin band of gold around their foreheads stood around the room. Each held a silver tray filled with sweet fruit, tea and other things that might be needed. They waited quietly and would stand there all night if need be, it was their duty to their mistresses and their Goddess.

  With their safety assured the Holy Women waited, the most powerful sat closest to Obec while those of lesser authority sat at the further away. Writings in the Holy Book said, all The Chosen are equal in the Eye
s of the Goddess but this passage was often overlooked when it came to seating arrangements.

  Samtha had waited a long time for this moment, ever since their meeting in the underground chamber near the Eye of Isarie. She prayed and dreamed of the time when all of Gorn would know the laws of the Holy Book. She stood up and spoke loudly, “The words of our Holy Mother are true, we must trust in the Goddess, only she can stop the Half-Souls who walk our lands.” Samtha sat down.

  Another woman stood up, it was Elna, the blind Priestess of the Armrod. She held up her thin hand, her words were soft but strong, “Samtha is a wise woman and her words are true but I have heard, there is another power in the land. Two dragons in the west, striking terror in all who see them.”

  There was a low murmur from the Holy Women, it ended when Obec stood up once more. “There is only one power, the power of the Goddess, all else is nothing.” She let her words sink in, then spoke again. “I have said that we are the hammer and when the Shadow-men come they will be the anvil. Together we will forge a weapon that will destroy the unbelievers and any phantom creatures that strike in the night.”

  A loud boom of thunder shook the tent and Obec took full advantage of it, as a sign from above. “You hear that? It is the weapon Isarie used to defeat Arm-Ra, beating in the heavens, its power will be ours, for we are The Chosen, we are her true children.” She reached out and took a few Grana crystals from a golden bowl. When she did the holy women also stood up and took some, of the green crystals from a bowl in front of them. Obec closed her eyes and spoke with the voice of authority. “Togasttra emo entralac, give to us your strength, the Salt of the Earth.”

  The others around the table repeated the Holy Mother's words. “The Salt of the Earth,” then they put the sacred crystals into their mouths.

  Outside the tent, the Thungodra stood guard, they watched the flashing sky and bolts of lightning striking the ground. One glowing shaft struck a wagon, blasting it into a million fragments and killed several warriors sitting nearby. As the camp ran to aid the victims, the dark armored warriors stood unmoved. They were told to guard the tent and they would do so and even if Atos the God of War stood before them, they would not desert their posts.

  The storm continued to rage all through the night, bringing howling winds, torrential rain and fear. All the lands of Gorn felt its power, reminding those who looked to the sky of forces undreamed of, waiting in the darkness.