Nomads The Fallen God

by Gary Mark Lee

  Chapter 16. Friend and Foe

  The Norgonie are genetically related to the Outlanders that is certain, for they share many of the same traits as their roaming brethren, unlike their Nomad kin they do not travel beyond the boundaries of their forest home. Further more they do not trade with the Ergan-Mar, the miners who live underground and supply the Nomads with life sustaining Grana. How they keep from becoming ill and dying of the plague that affects all on Gorn is a mystery, and one that I hope to solve.

  From the Mindlock of Oshismarie Inastro Sistashion.

  No words were exchanged between Andra and Arn, as they followed the Norgonie deep into their forest home. As the light of day began to wane, golden shafts of luminescence filtered down through the green canopy overhead.

  The Selacarie woman's mind, was filled with angry questions. What did he mean, when he said she was his first mate? What was the lie he told her?

  All this and more, screamed in Andra's head, as she rode beside her King. All about them was beauty and the wonders of a new land, all she could see was a dark realm of jealousy and lies. With each footfall of her Whiptail, came a stabbing in her heart and more unanswered questions.

  He said, her name was Ishea, I've never heard him speak of her before.

  She tried to quiet her mind with rational thoughts, hoping it would ease the sourness in her stomach.

  He’s a lot older them me that’s for sure, and it’s only natural, he must have slept with other women before me, after all he is a man. The more she thought about it, the more she saw flashing images of her lover, lying in the arms of the green-eyed woman, this made her belly ache even more. Then she remembered the words of her mother.

  “If you swallow sour milk, it's better to throw up, rather than keep it down.”

  My mother was a wise woman, I’m sorry I didn't listen to her more.

  Now heeding her advice, she turned to Arn, “have you slept with many women?” She asked, trying not to show anger, but her voice betrayed her, and the King knew exactly what she was asking.

  “When I was a Prince of the Madrigal, I had my pick of the maidens”, he said calmly, “and being young and foolish, I did spend nights in the embrace of warm arms”. He turned and looked her in the face, “ love did not enter my heart until I met you”.

  Andra was no longer a farm girl, she knew how some men could lie to your face, and still make you believe in their words. “If you did not love her, why did you take her for your mate?”

  To this question the King gave no answer and turned his face away. No more words were spoken, between the woman they called Moonbud and the King of the Madrigal.

  Unlike his brother, Anais had many words to speak, for he was growing fonder and founder of the young Handmaiden who sat beside him.

  “So you are the last of your family?” The Blind man asked.

  “Yes”, replied Kela with sadness in her voice. “My father was all I had, now he is gone and I......” Her voice trailed off, and although Anais could not see, he knew there were tears in her eyes.

  “We have all lost family”, he said. I have lost a brother and sister; he thought. Knowing the young woman did not want to speak further of such things, he changed the subject to a more pleasant one. “Did you know that the goldsmiths of the Norgonie are masters of their trade, and no other can match their skill. I am sure a necklace of Sagar teeth would look wonderful around your neck.”

  The Handmaiden shook her head, “a servant of Isarie cannot wear such things, we are her chosen, and only wear her talismans”.

  Anais thought this over for a moment, then smiled. “You may not be able to wear a necklace of gold, but there is no law that says you cannot own one, is there?”

  Kela shook her head (no), then realizing that the young Prince could not see her, she spoke. “No, I know of no such law, but how can a Handmaiden, dream of trading for such a valuable thing?”

  This made Anais laugh, “I may be blind but I know many Norgonie, who would pay dearly to have their secrets kept safe”.

  A Handmaiden of Isaire, is supposed to have compassion for all, of the Goddesses creations whether they are Nomad or Norgonie. The thought of having a necklace of finely wrought gold and Sagar teeth, made Kela put her hand to her neck, and wished it was hung with a forbidden dream.

  Endo pulled the hood of his robe closer around his face, he knew the land of the Norgonie, was not a place that welcomed Scavengers. It was true, he had spent a little time with his own people, before he was found by his adoptive father and mother. It was long enough to know, the forests were not safe for a Sandjar, and the people who dwelt there, could not to be trusted. Once more, he reached to touch the barrel of the Chamber rifle beneath his seat. It was reassurance that he would be able to fight back, if need be.

  Beside him, Osh was giddy with anticipation. He too, had heard fantastic stories about the forest people, how they worshiped a God superior to Isarie and how they hunted the fierce Sagar Cat with nothing more than a spear. How they were masters of their environment, living in vast fortresses and high up in trees. Stories of their hidden knowledge and ancient prophets, who knew the secrets of the Gorn. All this and more, made him wish, their wagon was a Volcarian land cruiser, rather than the slow moving Karrack, in which he rode. Patience was looked upon with pride by his species, and he did his best to hold back his excitement. After an hour or two of traveling through the dense forest, he couldn’t contain himself any longer.

  “I wonder how much further we will have to go?” His voice running fast now, “do you think they will take us to their main gathering place, or will we have to spend the night in these woods?” He began to scribble on his Rimar parchment again. “There are so many new species of plant life here, I really must take samples. As for the animals, I’m sure we can find evidence of mutations and genetic manipulations that will strengthen my visions with the underworld being”

  This made the old man remember his dreams in the Hollow Hills, when he, Andra and Arn took refuge during the Burning time. Sleeping in the gossamer cocoons of the Crystal Spiders. The time when he first heard the soft words of the powerful benevolent creature that lived deep in the earth and controlled the lives of all living things above it.

  I wonder if I will speak with it again?

  That was something he could not answer, so he decided to occupy his hungry brain with more questions. “They say that the Norgonie hibernate under the roots of ancient trees, giving birth to only one child rather than the twins of the Outlanders, I wonder if...”

  “Father”, interrupted Endo.

  “Yes what is it my son?” Replied the Callaxion.

  “Do you remember, when you told me to remind you when you were talking too much?”

  “Yes I do”.

  “I am reminding you,” the Sandjar said quietly, he turned to look his father in the eyes. He is a good man, he sometimes pains my ears. This thought, brought a smile to Endo’s face, he remembered that he had no ears to speak of, just small protrusions above an intricate sound channel.

  For a moment, the old man was angry with his outspoken son; I am his father, how dare he interrupt me when I am speaking! Then, he realized, Endo was only doing what he had been told to do. “I’m sorry”, Osh said, “I was only thinking of myself”. He tried to think, of a way to make it up to his growing son. “Perhaps this is a good time to continue our discussion on the mating habits of Sandjar?”

  As with all young men, this brought another smile to Endo's face, he nodded his large striped head.

  “Very well”, said the old man, then he cleared his throat and began to speak, as if he was giving a speech to the Counsel Heads on his Home-world. “When a Sandjar female has reached her birthing age, she begins to emit a strong pheromone from the scent glands behind her ears. This odor, in turn triggers a sexual response from the males of her tribe. Those who have also entered a cycle when they are capable of reproducing. It is at this time that the male’s protective genital flap begins to...”<
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  It was also when, the young Sandjar boy, forgot all about the Norgonie, and began to dream of warm nights and the scent of sweet pheromones on the night air.

  The Thungodra are strong warriors, at an early age, they are chosen, to be the guardians of the Holy Mother. They take an oath in blood, to stand by her side against all who may harm her. They were both male and female. They did not lay with each other, or mate. This was so they could concentrate better on their substantial fighting skills, and pray to Isarie for wisdom. They did not mix with the other members of the tribe, keeping to themselves, in small tents around the moving shrine of the High Priestess. To many, it would seem a lonely life, and one devoid of love. To a Thungodra, it was the best of all possible worlds, they believed, their devotion to the Goddess, would assure them a special place in her Golden Hall. There they would stand by her side, throughout eternity.

  Now they rode their Whiptails, close to the Holy Mother's great wagon, watching the forest line closely for any sign of danger. Inside the wagon, Egmar read from the Book of Isarie.

  The chamber where she sat, was small but comfortable, she had light from a window, although it was diminishing quickly, with the setting of the suns. There was a very well made silver brassier, filled with a scented oil, she could light, when it became too dark to read. As the light drew dimmer, she did not reach for the striker nor close the Great Book. Instead she remained where she was, and continued to stare at the delicately hand written, pages that bore the sacred words of the Goddess.

  Near her stood a Handmaiden waiting, she was there, in case the Holy Mother needed food or drink or anything that might enter her thoughts. As she stood there, she could hear whispered words coming from her mistress. At first, she was thought Egmar was repeating the ancient wisdom, recorded in the sacred book. She listened intently, then she knew this was false. The Handmaiden, had read and re-read the Holy Book many times, and knew each and every letter in it, nowhere had she found the words, being uttered now. It was, as if she was speaking to someone, who was not there? From time to time, the High Priestess would stop and listen, as if an unseen guest was talking back to her.

  All this made the Handmaiden feel very uneasy, thinking her mind had become like that of a Frail Leg. Only the fact, she was the Holy Mother, stopped the young woman, running to fetch a Touchtender. Instead, she remained where she was, commanded to stand, she tried not to listen to the strange words of the Speaker of the Gods.

  At the head of the forest riders, Ishea turned to look at the young man riding beside her. How fast Ral has grown; she thought; I can remember when he was just a small boy and now he is the strongest of my warriors.

  Ral was indeed the greatest of the Norgonie, he had proven himself in battle and killed many enemies of his people, he had hunted the savage Sagar cat, and their pelts now hung in his quarters. For all his strength, he was better known for his temper rather than his wisdom. A trait he had inherited from his father. All the tribe knew not to raise his anger, lest they be impaled on his spear.

  Now he rode quietly and staring straight ahead, he seemed at ease. If you looked closely, you could see, his fist clenched his weapon tightly, and the muscles of his arms rippled in anticipation.

  My waiting is over; he thought, he gripped the handle of his spear, with a strength that could break a Nomads neck.

  As the last rays of light vanished from the forest, the Norgonie led the tribe of the Madrigal, to their ancient fortress.

  The trail had changed from packed earth, the result of being walked upon by forest creatures. Now it was a road of stone bricks, made by the hands of man. As the clawed feet of the Whiptails began to walk on the hard stones, they began to move, differently, it was not what they were accustomed to. It did not go unnoticed by Andra.

  This is not a simple trail through a forest; she thought; this is a well-constructed road, meant to carry heavy loads. She began to see other signs of a higher civilization, vine-shrouded columns, broken statuary, markers, and more. All this was once a great city, what happened to make it a ruin? She looked closer at her surroundings, she saw many of the great trees had dwellings in their thick branches. The arboreal homes, were round in construction, with covered roofs and pathways, leading from one tree to the next. Making it possible to travel a great distance, without touching the ground. She also noticed, small creatures swinging through the air, on hanging vines. At first she dismissed them as some kind of small ape, then she realized, they were not primitive humanoids, but young children.

  She had to smile, as she saw them laughing and calling out to each other in play. Dangling high overhead, she realized, one misplaced hand or a broken vine meant certain death.

  The Norgonie might be masters of their forest, but they have a lot to learn about being parents. She suddenly felt an aching in her heart, as if a child, was being taken from her arms. Why she felt that way, she did not know, it made her put her hand to her breast; my child, where is my child? Then she heard a blaring of signal horns and all further reasoning was cut short.

  The stone road turned round a dense corner of massive trees, there silhouetted against the setting suns, was a stone structure that could have easily rivaled the Great Fortresses of the Youngonrie. Its shape was octagonal, with massive stone walls, towering almost as high as the Great Wall. At three corners, could be seen a tower, topped by a steel roundhouse. The last corner merged into a hillside that continued on into a jagged mountain. There were small windows and openings, high up along the walls, and the Selcarie woman, knew exactly why they were there.

  Gun ports; she thought; this place was built for war and nothing else.

  As they drew nearer, she saw a stone bridge over what was surely a man made moat. At the far end of the bridge, was a door of massive proportions. The heavy wood and steel portal had iron hinges the size of Trofar. At the center of the massive barrier, hung the skull of a beast, with a mouth that could have easily swallowed a Whiptail.

  The moat itself, was filled with brackish water, and around its banks lay many large and well-fed Daggermouths. There were skeletons of animals, mixed with human remains. She looked higher, and could see more bodies, hanging from spikes, driven into the huge stones of the wall.

  They must be criminals or worse; Andra surmised; she knew, her own people were capable of far worse things. Having seen, how the Outlanders treat those convicted, of breaking their laws. She turned her head away, and tried to think of other things.

  Arn was also thinking of other things, things that had not entered his thoughts in a very long time.

  It all looks the same; his mind returned to that day long past when he rode beside Karn his father. He was only a young Prince of the Madrigal. He saw his father's scarred face, as he rode, strong and proud. His eyes beaming with pride, as he led his son forward, to meet the people of the forest for the first time, he remembered his words.

  “The Norgonie are a strong people, do not show them weakness or they will destroy you.”

  Those words, were as true today, as they were long ago.

  Thoughts of his father vanished, as the air was filled with another blast of signal horns. As the sounds echoed in the air, the woman called Ishea, halted her Rowgor before the massive portal. She lifted her long spear high above her head.

  “Open the gate.” She called out in a strong voice, “it is Ishea, Queen of the Norgonie, who commands it!”

  She lowered her weapon and the immense door began to open, the huge hinges made loud grating sounds as they slowly pivoted on their fulcrums. The colossal skull had been cut down its center, so that when the doors opened, one half moved to the left, while the other moved to the right. Exactly how the door opened, was a mystery to the Outlanders, there was no chain to pull, nor any sign of a beast, to supply the power needed. Still the door opened, and when all was clear, Ishea lifted her spear once again, the long column of Nomads and Forest people began to enter the great fortress.

  At the back of the Almardra, leading the Spikeb
ack warriors, Kuno was glad, their long march was almost over.

  I wonder if Balru will remember me? Thoughts of flashing eyes and ample breasts, brought a smile to the Captain's face. He and Balru had spent numerous warm nights together, sharing many tankards of spiced Po. She was the only female ever, out drink the lusty Nomad, and he always held a special place in his heart, for the Norgonie woman.

  The time for drinking and warm arms would come later, now was the time to command his men. He turned to look back over his shoulder, and called out in a voice that made his warriors take notice.

  “I want all the long-range weapons cleaned, and the Disruptors checked. If anyone drinks a drop of Po before that is done, I will have their head on the end of my ax!” The thought of well-aged wine made him reach for a small canteen hanging from his saddle, after checking that no one was watching, he took a deep draft of the fiery drink. After the warming liquid entered his stomach, he wiped his face with the back of his hand. He did not feel guilty about disobeying his own commands.

  What is the use of being captain if you have to follow orders? He told himself, then smiled again and began to think of warm arms once more.

  It was almost dark now, with only a few red and purple shafts of light, casting long shadows on the ground. Inside the fortress of the Norgonie, bonfires and torches bathed the surroundings in a warm golden glow.

  As the Queen entered her stronghold, a great cheer rose up from the people of the woodland. Young and old alike cheered with loud shrill voices, while the elders beat their chests and cried out to dark Gods for the safe return of their matriarch. Hundreds of strong painted warriors, raised their spears above their heads and uttered wild war cries, sending Arrowtails, fluttering out from their nests. Above it all, the sound of great pounding drums and the echo of horns.

  As Andra crossed the bridge, her heart began to pound, not out of fear. She had entered many strange fortresses during her years as a soldier. To stay alive, she had trained herself to control her emotions. It might have been anticipation but it wouldn’t account, for the feeling of falling in the pit of her stomach, and the strange images that flashed into her mind.

  Green eyes and a warm mouth? Like a phantom the images were gone and she looked over at her mate riding next to her; it is his heart I feel; she thought; it is his visions in my mind.

  Indeed it was the King's thoughts that crept into her head, try as he might, he could not drive away the face of Ishea.

  Why does my mind betray me when I love only Andra? Arn could command the death of any of his tribe. His word was law, and there were none who would challenge him. To his heart, his commands were as useless as a Dotfly against the wind.

  It took some time for the Nomads to secure the wagons, and do all the things necessary for their camp. As they did in the Outlands, the Madrigal placed the Elders in the middle, surrounded by the warrior’s tents. The great moving shrine of the Holy Mother, was set near the Temple of Arm-Ra.

  The Whiptails had to be fed and held safe inside a large pen. Far enough away, to keep the Spikebacks safe. The Trofar, were all given great handfuls of tender grass, mixed with forest greenery. They would now eat and rest, then eat again, to make up their fat reserves, depleted by the long journey.

  The stronghold of the Norgonie was very large, its thick outer wall of rock, surrounded a series of wood and stone structures, these were mostly in ruin. What had once been a strong interconnected set of domes, square buildings and towers, was now a pale shadow of its former self. Here and there, some dwellings were well cared for, without much sign of decay. The large dome in the middle was still strong and could be used to hold thousands of people. It was made from stone with great supporting beams of steel, mixed with colossal bones, much like the huge Breast of Isarie in the far off land of Omargash. The walls inside and out were heavily decorated with picture graphs and carvings, detailing the history of the Norgonie, and there triumphs over enemies. These, were not easy to read, because of the effects of aging, vines, and the trees that now clung to the stones.

  There was a series of aqueducts, fanning out from a central well that used an ingenious pumping system. The pump itself, was made of steel, with a main wheel connected to several other smaller wheels, they moved together, to drive a massive piston. This piston drew up water from deep underground, and emptied it into a vast holding pool, from this, many smaller channels, ran out in all directions, carrying water to every corner of the fortress. The power to turn the pump, came from steam, at the base of the great machine, was a furnace, stoked day and night, with an endless supply of Eul.

  Near the central dome was a great shrine, it was the tallest structure of all, it had a striking resemblance to the pyramid cities of the Off-Worlders. There was a long sloping set of stairs, running up to an entrance that would allow twenty Nomads to march inside, shoulder to shoulder. At the top of the structure there was a dome covered in gold, it was cracked in places, but its flaws did not detract from its rare beauty. It was not the only place where precious metal was abundant. Statues and bar-reliefs, were also layered with gold and silver, everywhere flashes of light glinted off rare stones and polished ivory. All round the temple stood statues of different Gods and Goddesses, a vast pantheon of deities that ruled all the heavens and the earth.

  The night moons, were high in the evening sky, when the Outlanders finally sat down with their brethren, and began to feast on all the delicious food, the people of the forest had prepared for them. The central dome was filled with warriors, Elders and the nobility of the Norgonie. They sat at long wooden tables heaped with succulent meats, breads, and fruits of exotic appeal. The people of the forest ate a far wider variety of food than the Nomads of the Outlands.

  Of all the nourishment the Norgonie provided, there was one delicacy, the Nomads did not touch, it was called Troca. It was a fat green worm-like creature, as big as a warrior's middle finger. They had large scaly heads, with two hard pincers that could cut into flesh or through hard rock if necessary. They resembled the Rock-worms of the Outlands, they had yellow markings over there hairless bodies and only stubs for legs. The Forest-dwellers ate them with relish, no Outlander could tolerate their bitter flesh. There was one more thing the Nomads found appalling, the Norgonie ate the Troca live!

  The air was filled with the sounds of laughter and song, both tribes enjoyed stories of honor, and victories, and deeds that would be retold at other gatherings. It was best, they left their weapons outside, some of those tales evolved conflict, between Nomad and Norgonie. It sometimes led to fights between the storytellers. That was to be expected at such feasts, and the occasional quarrel, was not looked upon with much concern.

  While there were many things, the Madrigal and Norgonie had in common, there were many things upon which they did not agree. Taking food to another, was not a sign of marriage between the forest people. Their custom, involved a rather complicated set of rituals that sometimes brought death. It was also true that the Norgonie did not trade with the city dwellers or the Ergan-Mar. The miners, who dug deep in the earth for the precious Grana salt. How they remained healthy, was a mystery that would soon be solved.

  Arn and Andra, sat near Ishea, surrounded by warriors of both tribes and several Elders. They had removed their armor and wore simple garments of cloth and Rimar hide. They retained, the two daggers, carried by all Nomads, their war-axes were left outside the dome. Ishea on the other hand, wore a very impressive outfit, of finely woven threads that enhanced her ample figure showing off her strong limbs to great advantage. She also wore a large gold and silver headdress, set with rows of colorful feathers, around her neck, hung a necklace of polished Sagar teeth. All this made her look like the epitome of strength and beauty. This was not lost on Andra, seeing her dressed in such finery, only added to the jealousy that was now eating away at her, like a Rockworm in stone.

  The Queen lowered the jeweled drinking cup, and wiped her full lips with the back of her hand, “so, are our banquette tables as a
bundant as you remember them?” She asked with a smile.

  Arn nodded, “the fruit is as sweet as before”, he replied, “the Norgonie have remained strong,” he added. He looked into her eyes; she is the same, no time has passed.

  Beside him, Andra stared down at her plate of half eaten food. Something the Queen noticed too, “is something wrong with your plate?” she asked; perhaps Half-Souls do not have the same sense of taste, as we do?

  The Selcarie woman looked up and smiled, “no, not at all, it's just that I’m not very hungry”, she said coolly. She thinks that outfit will impress me, it would look better on a swamp pig!

  The Queen did not reply to this answer, turning once more to Arn, “I have heard of your victory over the Talsonar and the time you spent as an Outcast. It is good that you have returned to your Kingship, and follow the teachings of your tribe”.

  “I owe it all, to the woman who sits beside me”, he said proudly, he lifted his cup in the air, “a toast to Moonbud, the flower that kills, may she always remain at my side!”

  Hearing this, the other warriors at the table lifted their cups and repeated the words of their King.

  “Moonbud, the flower that kills”, they shouted!

  Although Ishea lifted her cup, she did not repeat Arn's words, she remembered other words that he had spoken long ago.

  He has become a true King; she thought; he can lie without betraying his heart.

  Andra listened to the shouts of the warriors and smiled at her mate. When the praises died down, she turned to look into the green eyes of the Queen. The knot in her stomach began to turn once more; when he laid in her arms, did she hear the same words, he whispers to me?

  High above the floor of the central dome, Ral sat in a small niche overlooking the feast below. He looked down like a Sun-dropper, about to fall on its prey.

  He thinks, I have forgotten; he told himself; I have not!

  Thinking those words, the warrior turned from the festivities below, and began to walk down a narrow corridor, leading into a flight of steep stairs. He walked down the stone stairs, until he came to a wooden door. Opening it, he moved out into the night air, without stopping, he continued to move away from the dome, away from the laughter and song.

  Osh and Endo did not attend the feast, they did not want to draw attention to themselves. They had learned from previous experience that remaining unseen, was the best defense against harm. It was almost the same words, he had spoken, when he and Andra had first met, a Callaxion never forgets. So heeding his own advice, the old man sat near his Washa fire, and continued to write all that he had seen on his arrival in the fortress of the Norgonie, as he did he talked.

  “Did you notice the amazing mechanism that pumped the water? It was definitely of a type that is used on the desert world of Plannos Six, but on that world, they use fossil fuels, not steam power, to drive the pump”. Osh scratched the input port on the side of his large head, “I calculate that the amount of Eul needed, to achieve a high enough temperature, to induce steam would require a large work force”. After rechecking his figures, a question entered his mind; I have not seen any outcropping of Eul, or supply wagons, I wonder where they obtain their fuel?

  Endo did not hear his father. He was still, very apprehensive, about being near the people that his kind had warned him against. Try as he might, he could not shake the feeling that he should flee, putting as much distance between him and the Forest-dwellers, as he could.

  Now as he stood over a pot of rich Hagar soup, he pulled the hood of his robe, even closer over his face. There is danger here; he thought; danger and..? Why his mind said those words, he did not know, perhaps his instincts as a Sandjar, were calling out to him. Warning him of something that was nearby, or perhaps it was something more? He leaned over, and smelt the delicious fragrance wafting up from the warm soup. He let his keen sense of smell, take in all the spices and delicate flavorings. It needs a bit more Ulon; he thought. He reached over to a small table, set with clay pots and containers, picking up a bit of spice, between his clawed thumb and the first digit of his three fingers. He put the seasoning, into the thick broth and smelt it again. Still he was not content, he then realized the smell that was overshadowing his soup, was coming from somewhere else. Before he could settle on the direction whence it came, his father spoke to him once more.

  “I think that’s enough writing for tonight”, he turned to his son, “that smells wonderful, how about pouring some into bowls for us and we can eat?”

  It did not take long, for the young Sandjar to fill two clay bowls with the hot soup and cut two thick slices of Kasha bread. With a pitcher of well-aged Po, they sat down near their wagon and began to dine.

  “Hummm, delicious”, the old man said, as he let the warm stew flow slowly into his abdomen. “I think you are becoming the best cook in all the Outlands”, saying nothing more, he continued to spoon his dinner and munch on mouthfuls of Nomad bread.

  Endo did the same. Throughout the meal, he could not help but notice, the strong odor on the wind, and the stirring it brought to his loins.

  Near the wagon of the Holy Mother, Anais was also feeling something in his heart. He sat close to his Washa fire, with the Handmaiden Kela, to attend him. Surrounding them but out of earshot, were the Thungodra, they would guard him and the High Priestess, in case the Norgonie turned on them, or a Sagar cat found its way into the fortress. The blind Prince, listened to the sound of food being prepared, and the voice of the servant of Isarie.

  “I have prepared many meals for the Holy Mother, so I do not think, you will be disappointed”, Kela said. She finished placing a fresh cut of Balbar fruit, beside the juicy Rimar meat and boiled songbird eggs on a plate. Also there was a small bowl of Hagar soup, and for dessert, two freshly baked cakes, filled with Meadow cane. To wash it all down, a large cup of spiced Po. By any standards of the Outlands, it was surely a sumptuous meal.

  When all was ready, she walked the short distance from the preparation table to where the son of her mistress sat. She was about to tell him to hold out his hands, but before she could, he reached for the plate and took it from her.

  This made the Handmaiden smile, “your sense of hearing is getting very strong”, she said, sitting down near him, to wait for him to sample her cooking.

  Anais sniffed the plate in his hands, “it smells wonderful”. He used his fingers to fill his mouth with a bit of Rimar meat. “Hummm it’s just the way I like it, thank you”.

  This brought a smile to Kela's face, “I knew you would like it, I cooked the same thing for my father when he was...” The thought of her dead father, made the young woman turn from looking at the Prince, to staring up at the bright moon, directly overhead.

  Being blind, Anais could not see what she was doing, but his words sounded as if he could. “Rowgal, is the moon the Gods never visit because it is the place were Outcasts go, when they die”.

  Kela had also heard this story, looking up at the barren face of the moon, she believed the legend to be true. “Yes I have heard that same story”, she said quietly, then she began to sing a song.

  Nomad of the Wastelands no land is your home.

  You wander the Outlands and forever will roam.

  Your name will not be heard in the Golden Hall.

  You will not answer the war drums call.

  Forever alone you will walk Rowgals lands.

  But lay forgotten beneath her trackless sands.

  Hearing the words of the servant of Isarie, the young Prince made a vow to himself, and to whatever God might be listening.

  I will not be forgotten.

  Egmar, also saw the bright moon that now hung in the night sky, like a great pearl of the Western Sea. She stood, on the highest platform of her Holy Wagon, dressed in a simple robe with no ornamentation. She listened to the merriment that emanated from the great dome nearby.

  Why do they sing? She asked herself; they have grown fat and lazy with too much food and drink. She looked up at the
moon named Rowgal; it is good that you are a large moon, for there will be many coming to walk your lands. She turned from the heavens, and walked to the narrow stairway that led from the observation level she was now on, down into the lower chamber of the moving shrine. As she walked, she saw many young Handmaidens, going about their duties, and making sure the sacred artifacts and statuary were cleaned, and put in their proper place. In the past, they would have welcomed the sight of their Holy Mother, as of late, they saw a strange change in her manner and behavior. Being servants of the Goddess, they could not tell of what they saw, for they were forbidden to speak, to any member of the tribe, without permission from the High Priestess. Now when she came near them, they felt afraid, afraid that she would find some fault with their appearance or their work. Rather than incur her anger, they were content to turn their face away from hers, least they make eye contact and begin an argument.

  So Egmar walked to her chamber, without any words being spoken. Once inside her quarters, she went to her ornate chair and sat down. She looked around for a moment, as if she expected someone or something to speak, after a time, she decided that she was indeed alone and closed her eyes.

  She was about to drift off to sleep, when she heard a voice calling to her.

  “There is a God coming”, it said.

  She quickly opened her eyes and gazed at the spider, now perched on her bed, its glowing red eyes, stared back at her with baneful intelligence. Egmar had now grown accustomed to her dark companion, and spoke to it as if it was an old friend.

  “Why would a God seek our company?” she asked softly.

  The dark creature tilted its grotesque head and emitted a low rattling sound. “It does not come for pleasure, it comes to destroy.”

  There was no reaction from the Holy Mother, but on her face was a grim smile.