Nomads of the Gods

by Gary Mark Lee

  Chapter 51. Moonrise

  Let all The Chosen look to the skies.

  There they will see me and my children.

  In the dark nights of your loneliness.

  Look to the heavens and know you are loved.

  From the Book of Isarie.

  In the days and nights that followed the Nomads worked together as they always had but this time they were not alone.

  The Outlanders had lived through blood and death many times, they always knew their enemy and facing them in battle, they felt the joy of war. It was their way and it was who they were. Now they put their weapons aside and sat around their Washa fires taking about what they'd seen in the heavens. Some said it was a punishment for turning against the Goddess and not following her Holy Book, while others said it was a sign to end the feuding and join together in a new world. A few said it was a trick of dark demons and they should search out those who were not of The Chosen and destroy them.

  They looked up at the night sky and saw the new moon slowly moving across the star dotted heavens, they remembered the voice that spoke to them. The voice told them, they were not alone and they would always be watched over.

  So they listened to the voice and let their hearts soften, they sat beside the People of the Shadows, the children of their bodies. They shared their food and their love with them, in return many of the Shadow-men let go of their hatred. They would no longer live in the darkness and could share the light with those they called enemy. They would return home, those who chose not to rejoin their kin returned to the Poisoned Lands. There were some in the tribes who wanted revenge for what they had done but in the end they were left alone and to the earth's darkness.

  As for the Gods, the High Priestess was gone, they found a new Holy Mother, one who knew their pain and would not speak of laws or punishments but of love and mercy. Her name was Egmar.

  The former Queen of the Almadra would now be their voice to the Gods. Egmar would guide them into a new future, a future filled with hope and love. So with Egmar leading, they buried their dead and sang their clan's songs and there was peace.

  Egmar told them to bury the Talsonar as well as their own. There was much grumbling amongst the warriors, who said they should be left to the scavengers of the Outlands. The new Holy Mother told them, the Gods look down on all and they should be treated with respect. So in the end they were all laid to rest, the Nomad graves were marked with a stone and upon the stone a war-ax was placed, so all would know who was the victor.

  Soon the different tribes were going their own way, returning to their homelands and the ways of their ancestors. Whether the peace would continue nobody knew but for a time they could say, The Chosen had come together and together they were victorious.

  Not everything was joyous, many had been killed and it would be a long time before the tribes would be strong again. The names of the fallen would be remembered with pride, they would be written in the Book of Isarie.

  Seeda’s body had been found amongst the dead, few recognized her, she was not the same person who had feasted with them. The tattoos on her face were known and marked her as a Princess of her tribe, the daughter of a King. She was bathed and clothed in a fine suit of well-made armor, a newly fashioned battle-ax was placed in her hand and a golden Journey Nail was driven through her palm to hold it fast. There was a silver bowl filled with Grana, some Hagar soup and a small loaf of Kasha bread and beside that a tankard of well-aged Po. All the warriors knew that the Princess possessed a strong thirst.

  Another bowl was placed beside her, this one held blood given by the warriors of her tribe. It was there to warn any night demon that might come for her soul that here lay a great warrior of the Almadra and she should be left in peace.

  Arn was at her graveside with Andra at his side, he wore his best armor and stood proudly as he looked down at his beloved sister's lifeless body. I will miss you my sister, whenever I see a Sun-fall I will see your golden hair and whenever I hear a roar of a Whiptail I will remember your strength. Then he looked up and spoke to the mass of warriors around him.

  “Seeda was a great warrior of the Almadra,” he called out in a strong voice. “There were few who could stand before her in battle. Along with her courage, I will remember her kind heart and warm words.” The King held up his ax, “Let all who travel this way look upon her grave and look up to the sky, then shout her name so the Gods will hear. Seeda!” he called out so that all could hear.

  Hearing the name, the warriors of the Outlands also cried out, “Seeda!” over and over again.

  Arn listened to the shouting Nomads, then he whispered so only Andra could hear, “Farewell my sister.”

  As the warriors beat their weapons upon the ground and continued to call out her name. Handmaidens lifted incense to the sky and Egmar wept bitter tears, she had lost a daughter and a part of her heart she could never replace. Wait for me in the Golden Hall, wait for me at your father's; she thought.

  As well as the Outlanders, an Off-World woman, their King's mate also wept. I never had a sister; Andra thought; but I will think of you as if you were.

  As the light of the twin suns bathed the Sirolian plains in a golden light, the Princess of the Almadra was laid to rest. Her grave was marked with several large stones, they were marked the warrior woman's name and her deeds. The Nomads piled armor from the defeated Talsonar upon the stones until they formed a steel monument.

  In future days, all who saw the shrine knew who lay there and they shouted her name to the heavens.

  Obec's remains were also found, her broken and mutilated body was brought before Arn. For what she'd done to his brother and the tribe, he cut off her fire scarred head and attached it to his riding saddle. There it hung for many cycles, as a grim warning to those who might place themselves above the laws of the Nomads and the will of the Gods.

  Now all was quiet in the Almadra camp, soon they would leave the Sirolian plains and return once more to their life of endless wandering. Tonight they would sit quietly and look into the flames of their fires and remember, all that they had seen and done, it would be told and retold along the long journey of their people.

  In their nights they would hear a faint whispering, a small voice telling them they were not alone. Below, in the darkness of their world, something was watching them, keeping them safe from outsiders and those who do not believe. The Outlanders would whisper back to the voice and tell it of their lives and wanderings and the voice was content.

  Now all the people of the Outlands gathered around their fires and sang together. They sang of wars and victories, of death and pain, of love and mercy. The young would listen to the songs and in time, sing them to their children and their history would be handed down so all might know and believe. It was their way and it was right.

  Arn and Andra sat around the Washa fire near Osh and Endo's wagon. They had taken off most of their armor but their war-axes were by their side. They'd feasted on tender Rimar meat, Kasha bread and bowls of Hagar soup, with plenty of Ulon spice, all washed down with several tankards of the best Po. They talked of things past and things to come.

  Andra took a sip from her cup and looked at her old friend, “When I first saw you, I thought what a strange old man you were and how did he ever get where he was.” Then she laughed, “later, I realized it was because you talk far too much.”

  There was more laughter and Arn spoke up. “You were a burden at times but you proved your worth in the end.”

  Endo looked over at his father, “He has taught me many things and I will learn many more.”

  “Just make sure he doesn’t talk your ear off,” Andra chuckled. She saw Endo touch the small flap of skin at the side of his head. “I will be careful,” he replied.

  They all laughed some more, all, except Osh. He adjusted his long robe, then smiled, it was clear there were things on his mind other than making jokes around the fire, it did not go unnoticed by his companions.

  Andra looked at him, “Is
there something troubling you my friend?” she asked.

  Osh turned to her but didn't speak. So Andra tried again, “We have come a long way and it looks like you were right about the Gods having plans for us. So tell me what’s wrong?”

  There was silence, then Osh said, “Isarie does not exist,” he said softly.

  Andra and Arn just sat looking at the old Callaxion, Andra shook her head, “What are you talking about?” she asked. From the look in his eyes, she knew what he was about to say would be painful for Arn but she could see it had to be said.

  Then he began to speak, this time, not with the words of a cipher. “Millenniums ago there was a race of beings whose knowledge spanned the galaxy. They had powerful minds but they were weak of body. They wished to rule over all the worlds of the Outer Rim, so they decided to create a race of warriors to fight for them. They used their skills to make the most powerful and fierce soldiers that ever lived. To do this they needed a planet where they could create and train them to their will. They searched long and hard and finally the found the perfect world, a world of extremes, there they set about their work.”

  Osh took a sip of his Po and continued to speak, “They labored in the dark places of the earth for they shunned the light of day. When at last their work was finished, they had an army to conquer the heavens. Then something went wrong, they'd also created a being, an organism, a life force that broke free of their laboratories, it found refuge in the deep reaches of the planet, there it found safety. There it lived, growing in the darkness, until it reached to all the places of its world and its power was greater than its creators. So great that its very thoughts could send out pulses that could destroy.”

  The electromagnetic waves, they come from the creature; Andra thought.

  The old man continued his story, “It had the power to stop technologies, to end their power and kill them with a disease without a cure. After they died, only their warriors were left, not wanting to be alone, the being gave them a crystal, it held life.”

  Arn looked at Osh but did not speak. Grana, the Salt of the Earth; he thought.

  Taking another sip of his Po, the Callaxion continued, “So for ages the warriors roamed the land, then another race came to their world, a race whose name is now forgotten. They tried to take the lands for their own but eventually they died too, leaving only empty monuments to their glory. More ages passed and in the Outlands, a nation of wanders rose up, people who were created for war and would fight to keep the land for themselves. To answer questions without answers, they created a Goddess and Gods, to pray to and give them comfort in the night.”

  There is more but it will come in time; he thought.

  Then he looked at the Nomad, “You and your people were made for war, it’s your purpose, it is your place in the universe. We all have a fate and we all have Gods, perhaps I am wrong about Isarie, my Gods live in worlds beyond this one and I do not know if they exist or not. Yours lie beneath your feet.”

  Arn sat not moving, then holding his battle-ax, he rose and looked straight at Osh. “You lie old man,” he said. Then he slowly moved away from the fire and into the night.

  Andra was about to go after him when Osh spoke up. “No, leave him for a while.”

  Andra wanted to be at Arn's side but she listened to her old friend's words and let her mate walk away. She sat down again and observed the fire for a time, then at the Callaxion. “When you spoke, you didn’t sound like your usual pompous self, you sounded more like a story teller, why?”

  Osh smiled at Andra, “Well I guess even an old cipher like myself can learn,” he smiled. “I just wanted to transfer my Mindlock in a way that was not to upsetting.”

  “The dreams, the voice, it all meant nothing?” she said softly.

  The old man shook his head, “Everything means something, when I first came here I was just an old man waiting to die. Now I have a family and a new beginning, we cannot see the hand that moves us, we can only live the time we are given and learn from those days and nights.”

  Andra listened to her wise companion., she looked at Endo sitting beside him. He can learn and so can I; she thought. She looked up at the night sky; Osh is wrong, there are Gods above us but it takes a lifetime to see their faces.

  Out beyond the light of the camp's fire, Arn stood alone and in silence, his mind was filled with countless questions, questions that ate at his soul and cut into his heart.

  I betrayed a Goddess that did not exist but my prayers were answered; he thought; how can this be? He looked up at the night sky and in his mind he heard the three questions of Isarie.

  Do you know my book.

  Do you follow its teachings.

  Do you believe.

  He was suddenly filled with a strength he never had, not strength of the body but strength of the soul. I know your book Goddess but I know so much more now. I will follow your teachings but I will follow my heart first. I believe in the woman at my side but do I believe in you?

  As he watched his world's moons arcing slowly through the sky, he heard someone call him.

  “What troubles you my son?” his mother was standing near to him. She was dressed in a simple green robe with a small silver bell around her neck. Her scared face looked beautiful to her son and her eyes shone with love. She came closer to him and put her hand on his arm. “I can see in your eyes that something is fighting inside you.”

  Arn looked at his mother, “Agart is dead, while Anais sits inside his tent alive, for his treachery, he should die.”

  Egmar looked deep into her son's eyes, “Will you kill him?” she asked softly.

  Arn shook his head, “No, he is helpless now, let him live in his darkness, it is punishment enough.”

  “The Gods will reward you my son,” she said touching his arm lightly.

  Arn looked at his mother, “I asked once, if the Gods hear our prayers, what if the Gods do not exist, where do our words go?”

  His mother smiled at him, “They go where Gods are born.” She placed her hand over his heart, “They go here, Gods are our hearts calling out to us, they live or die by the way we feel. To say they do not exist, is to say we do not live and we do not love.”

  Arn listened to his mother's words. He looked at her closely, he knew her scars would heal in time and she would be there to hold him when his heart was in pain. “You made me what I am,” he said quietly, “You are my Goddess,” he reached out, took her into his arms and held her. In that brief moment, he knew, the old man was wrong, they were not alone in their journey through life. He knew there would always be a mother to love the Goddess and a forgiving heart, where she could live.

  His mother released herself from his embrace and smiled at him. “Your father would be proud,” she said, “you will be a great King,” with one last look she turned around and left.

  As he watched her go, he thought he heard voices calling, voices from his past, voices of his childhood and in the darkness of the night he could almost see his brother and sister's faces. They were sitting at a long table in a great Golden Hall, filled with laughter and the songs of his people and his father was sitting with them. He watched as the old King lifted a silver cup to him and bowed his head, then the images vanished as he heard footsteps coming.

  He lifted his weapon, not knowing if an enemy was coming to kill him but walking towards him in the dim moonlight, he saw Andra. She looked beautiful, her long hair flowing gently in the wind, she stopped in front of him.

  “Are you going somewhere?” she asked.

  “No,” he replied, “I will stand with you always.” He kissed her softly, a kiss that held the love in his heart and it was a kiss they would remember for the many cycles ahead of them.

  Andra looked up at the night sky, she saw the shining moons of Gorn, Eka, Rowgal, Fromic and all the children of the heavens. Another moon now traveled with its brothers and sisters, a tiny moon, over millennia to come, it would slowly grow and shine upon the world below.

  A moon the
Nomads would someday call Andra. It would help to guide them and they would tell stories of how it came into being, with each telling, its legend would grow until the name symbolized the power of a Goddess.

  Andra, also known as Moonbud looked at her mate, “Where are we going?” she asked.

  The Nomad smiled, “Wherever you like,” he replied.

  “Will we be together?”

  “Yes,” he said gently, “through this world and all the worlds to come.”

  Before them lay the lands of Gorn, there to do as they wished with it. They would travel it together, feeling all the pain and joy it held. After they journey through all the great Forests, haunted jungles and forbidden lands of their world, they would be buried together in the Valley of Omar-Ran and their tomb, far greater than any before. On the crypt's stone doors, the images of twin dragons, Moric-Kan would be carved.

  In ages yet to come, Nomads still unborn, will sing songs to their name and they will lay offerings at its entrance. They will fall on their knees, beat their breasts and pray to their Gods to grant them a life filled with as much honor and glory as those who sleep within.

  Their names will be written in the Book of Isarie, as long as the stars shine, the wind blows and the moons journey through the heavens. The people of the Outlands will read their names and they will never be forgotten.

  ENDINGS

  Now my journey is almost complete, I sit looking down on my home, the world that bore me, a world I left to seek wisdom amongst the stars. I cried over a life without meaning but now as I look on the land below me once more, I can see it holds all the answers I will ever need.

  Soon I will fall from the stars as once did my mother and I will see the green pastures and listen to the mating cries of the Rimar. I realize, we are no different, we all look for someone, to care for us, to hold us in the long nights of loneliness.

  I look at my clawed hands, they once held so tightly onto my mother’s back and would not let go. I look at my reflection in my Dropship's window and I see the green face of an old Sandjar, who once looked to his father for love. Beyond I see the children of Gorn, I see the small moon named for my mother, I see it following its brothers and sisters across the heavens. One moon missing, Fromic for it has left its orbit and now wanders thought the Outer Rim. Perhaps, it too is seeking wisdom and maybe someday it will return to the mother, who gave it life, as I do now?

  I know children must someday leave those that gave them life, I also know, they will always carry in them a part of those who came before. With each child, the fragments become smaller, perhaps that is the way of the universe. We are all pieces, moving apart to reach the hidden places in the darkness, someday we will all come together again. The cycle of life and death will start once more, a future I will not know. I close my tired eyes and see the loving faces I have missed so dearly.

  Will they be waiting for me? Or will the cycles of rebirth have ended for them and I will find only emptiness? These questions are soon to have answers. Greater questions, asked by intelligent beings of the Outer Rim, are there Gods? Is there an Afterlife? If there is, will those I loved be waiting for me? Answers to these questions I do not have, in all my wandering I have only found more questions.

  As my end draws near, I have come to know one great truth, it gives comfort to my failing heart, the one thing all creatures great and small want, to be loved.

  I walk the trackless lands of my birth and I see Nomads still roaming, strong and free. I hear the beating of Mating Drums and the roars of the Whiptails. I listen as naked Handmaidens sing ancient songs to the Gods and I hear the laughter of children playing in the endless grasses of the vast Sirolian plains. With each step, my soul finds peace, my tired eyes dim but once more, I see the faces of those who loved me. I see them reaching out to hold me and I am content.

  I am home.

  Map of Gorn

  Gorn

  Reference map only, electromagnetic waves make accurate readings impossible, guide stars and electronic markers will not function on the planet's surface and only indigenous lifeforms know how to navigate.

  About the Author

  Gary Mark Lee was born in Pasadena California in 1947, he graduated high school then went into the art and entertainment field. He worked for many special effects companies in the mid 1980’s and then went into the theme park design business, he has worked for the Walt Disney company, Warner Brothers and Universal Studio’s.

  Gary doesn’t consider himself a writer but more of a story teller, Nomads of the Gods is his first attempt at writing a novel.

  He and his wife Margaret live in the Riverside area of Southern California and enjoy watching old movies, having friends over and their two very spoiled dogs.

  Gary has written a number of movie scripts and short stories. All the drawings and illustrations in this book, were done by him. Nomads of the Gods is the first book in a three part trilogy. Book Two, NOMADS The Fallen God is finished and should be available on Amazon/Kindle very soon, the last book, is being written.