Chapter 42. The Coming Storm
There is an end to misery and pain,and an end to laughter and song.
There is an end to night and day and an end to winter and summer.
There is an end to suns and worlds and an end to the universe.
There is no end to love for it was born before time and will live long after time is no more.
Old Selcarie saying.
The Great Fortress of the Norgonie, had never seen such an omen as the one at the temple of Arm-Ra. Even the oldest of the Nomands and the Forest-dwellers, could not recall an event, in legend or story that could compare, with the return of the Outland King, and the Queen of the Chosen of the one true God.
Seeing the Giants of the Earth, falling from the sky on the backs of the mighty Screechers, caused many of the Elders to cry out in terror, and to beg the Gods to save them. Seeing the strange thing that the King's mate held in her arms, caused more alarm, many said it was a demon, come to take their souls to the Pit of Marloon. Some said, it was not of this world, and should be killed. Its body burned to ash and spread to the far winds, others said that the Off-World woman, was a witch and the thing in her arms a pale omen of death.
The Nomads gathered around the King's tent, but for the warriors holding back the tribe, they would have ripped the small creature from the arms of their Queen, then burnt it over a fire. When they shouted out for the demon to show itself, Arn climbed up on a wagon, he shouted that anyone causing harm to his mate or her charge, would have to face his steel. His strong words, were added to the strength of Kuno and his warriors, those who called for violence, soon faded away.
As for the Holy Mother, she said nothing,she returned to her moving shrine, surrounding herself with the Thungodra, the same was true of the High Priest of the Norgonie. The Speaker of the Gods, returned to his temple saying that he would only commune with Arm-Ra, about the events that had taken place.
The Queen of the Forest-dwellers said little, after commanding that her son, be taken to a holding cell, she went to her tower, where her strongest warriors surrounded her.
Food and drink was given to the weary travelers, their wounds cleaned and dressed. They were also given Grana, to help them regain their strength. Darkness fell and the campfires were alight, both tribes did not sleep, there was much talking to be done, many questions to be answered.
“What is it?” Arn said, gazing upon the pale face, of the child held in his mate's arms. He was asking out loud, what many in the King's tent were thinking. Standing nearby, was Valen and next to him, his younger brother Anais, and his companion, Kela.
It is a thing of the underworld; the young Touchtender thought; its skin is like the field worms in the meadows.
Although the blind Prince, could not see, he still wondered at the thing near him. His senses told him that it was beyond his knowledge. When he reached out with his feelings, he found a wall surrounding the strange creature.
I cannot tell if this thing, is evil or good; he heard his mind say. He knew evil all to well in his past, now he wanted only good for his tribe.
Andra could feel the tension, around her, she sat calmly on her bed, holding the now sleeping infant, close to her. Thinking that she did not hear him, the King asked again, “tell me, what is it?”
To this, his mate smiled, “it’s a baby”, she said rocking back and forth.
Her words fell on uncomprehending ears, the Nomads did not understand, seeing that they did not, she continued.
“On my world, our offspring are born unable to care for themselves”, she said still rocking. “Being its mother, I need to feed it and protect it, until it is able to fend for itself”
The King approached his mate, he looked into the child's face, “and how long will it be, before it can hunt and fight?” he asked.
Andra knew that on the world of Gorn, one cycle was approximately four of her world's years, she quickly counted, “she will reach that point in about four cycles”, she replied.
This brought a gasp from the Nomads, everyone knew that an Outlander child, could walk, talk and care for itself, when it emerged after the Burning time. To think that this thing, needed to be carried about, fed and protected, for four cycles, was unbelievable, a male or female, would be a strong warrior, by the time they reached their second cycle.
“This thing is weak, it should be left out for the Sagars”, said Valen, he was a warrior of the old ways, he knew that a child who needed so much care, was a burden to the tribe. “We Caladons would never keep such a child”. Then he realized that he was a guest in the Madrigal camp and should not speak so. “Forgive me great King,” he said bowing his head, “I am not of your tribe and we are not at the Talk Stone”.
The young warrior saw the look in the eyes of a young Touchtender, they seemed to look right through him, then the look was gone.
Kela left the King's tent, after a moment, Anais also ventured outside, he followed in the young Handmaiden's footsteps, they stopped by a wagon, away from the warriors. When the young Prince finally stood by her side, he reached out and touched her on the arm.
“What troubles you?” he asked, in a kind voice.
Being blind, he could not see the pained look in the woman's eyes, but his heart told him that she was not content.
“I just needed to feel the open air”, she finally said, even a sightless man, could tell that she was not speaking the truth, not wanting to press the matter further, Anais pulled her into his arms.
“It has been a long day and I am weary”, he said, “let us go to my tent, and let the night pass”.
Feeling the warmth of the young woman's body against his, he turned and slowly walked away.
Egmar paced deliberately, back and forth in her private chambers, she was alone, save for the dark companion. It sat unmoving on the ornate table nearby. She moved like a Sagar cat in its lair, as if waiting to spring on a helpless forest lopper, and devour it, in a fury of blood and pain.
“How could he have returned?” she asked, “no one has ever returned from the Forbidden City”. She moved to one of the glowing torches in the corner, and stared into its warm light. “and what is that thing that the Half-Soul held in her arms?” She turned and looked into the burning eyes of her companion, “why did you not tell me of this creature?”
The black spider moved to a piece of stale fruit, lying next to it and appeared to suck the rotting juice from its blackening surface. “I was not told of this thing” it said, “such a small creature, cannot alter the events that are to come”
Hearing the reassuring words of her dark counselor, the High Priestess walked over to the table and sat down in her chair. “No, such a small thing, cannot stand against the power of Rahash.” Knowing that she spoke the truth, she smiled and picked up one of the bits of vile fruit, she placed it into her mouth.
Vitranius was also troubled by the events of the day, unlike the Voice of Isarie, he knew that it was not the work of the Gods, for they did not exist.
The High Priest, had removed his sacrificial robes, he wore only a simple garment of fine cloth, he looked even older than before, the day had drained him of his strength. He would soon regain it, he chewed on Tran Crystals and ate great quantities of Troca, all washed down with well-aged Po.
Ishea has come back and she brings giants with her; he heard is mind say, as he sat staring into space. Around him were several strong Norgonie warriors, next to them were his loyal monks, he wanted to be surrounded, by those that would die to protect him. The Nomad King also lives, and the half-soul is with him. The old man suddenly rose and started to pace back and forth, “the woman has brought back a child from the Forbidden City, how can this be?” He spoke out loud now, he knew that no one would dare repeat his words to others, least they die on the fortress walls.
Being a Calaxion, he was well aware of how species reproduce, a baby was not, something he hadn't seen before. It was the manner of its coming, and why should the Half-Soul want to care for it?
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“I have not come this far to be frightened by a helpless child.”
For all his words, he did not sleep that night, he continued to ponder the meaning of what he had seen.
Life or death, was not part of the equation in Osh's future, he lingered in a place between this world and the next.
He still laid quietly in his chamber, guarded by two strong Norgonie warriors least he awake and try to escape. The warriors saw him sleeping soundly, soon they became bored and began to play Chance-cards, on a small table in one corner of the room. They were taking a great risk, if they were caught shirking their duty, they would be punished severely.
There is an old Nomad saying. “Boredom is the womb of mischief.”
It still held true, they put down their weapons, soon they were bickering, about who was cheating and who was not.
If the Calaxion Outlander had been awake, he could have quickly relived the two guards of their possessions, he had learned long ago, all the calculations needed, to become a winner in that complicated game. However his ordered mind, was deep within itself, floating in a timeless place far beyond the world of Gorn.
“I am at the beginning”, Osh said to himself, it was indeed true, all about him, were the breeding pods of his race. The chamber that he was standing in was immense, filled with level upon level, of egg shaped incubators, each holding a tiny creature, shaped by his world's bio-genetic engineers. Nourishment was precisely regulated, each tiny infant was monitored by a central data system to ensure maximum efficiency. When the children reached a certain time in their development, they would be taken out and placed into learning centers, where their minds would continue to be trained.
Around him, the cold chamber of the breeders vanished, only to be replaced by an even colder place, were learning would continue.
“This was my childhood,” he said softly, he watched as hundreds of young children, were taken one by one. They were laid on operating tables, small input ports, were quickly implanted into their tiny skulls, by skilled technicians. This would allow them, direct access to the powerful Tollacian computers that ran most of the great civilizations of the Outer Rim.
The vision vanished to be replaced by the very same children, sitting for day after day, learning the demanding skills, they would need, to interface with the powerful Data-Com’s. In all that time, they were never held in warm arms, or had loving words whispered into their ears. They never knew their parents and their parents never knew them.
They say that dreams are gateways into the soul, if that is true, then the heart of the old Calaxion was in need of love.
There was one, who indeed loved the old man, but he was deep in the bowels of the earth, a prisoner of the Forest-dwellers.
Endo and the rest of the Sandjar, had felt the ground shake, when the Forbidden City was destroyed. Although they were far from that haunted place, the deep tunnels that were their home, emitted a foul odor that could only come from burning rock, and gases deep underground. The guards, and the vicious Drogs that usually watched over them, fled the noxious air, the olfactory senses of a Sandjar are far superior to that of a human. They were equipped with a series of filtration systems in their lungs, and therefore, were able to withstand the vile vapor, continuing to breathe unharmed.
Seeing that the overseers, would not return for some time. The young Sandjar, suddenly found the opportunity he had been waiting for, he ordered the strongest workers, to begin undermining the great gates that held them prisoner. The huge iron portals, were set with large hinges, against the rock of the entrance tunnel. Each hinge had several massive bolts, embedded deep into the hard rock. With time and hard work, the bolts could be cut away, and the gates made to open, then freedom would be theirs.
Now unseen by the Norgonie, the slaves went about their work, led by the faithful Mog, he was the strongest of them all, and it was his hammer that beat the hardest. He worked without rest, as he did he spoke a word, over-and-over, the word was... “Freedom.”
Being “Coraw”, or leader, Endo stood back and watched, as his people began their bid for the surface. Beside him was Rawna, being the leader's mate, she did not need to dig with the others, as she stood looking up at the young Sandjar, she spoke to him.
“You once gave me food, will you give me freedom?” she asked softly.
“Of course I will,” he said with a smile. Then he began to remember and think about his father’s words.
“A gift is meaningless, real value comes with effort.”
He shook his head, “I was wrong, freedom must be earned”, saying that he took his place with the others and began to dig. When Rawna saw him laboring with the others, she moved quickly over to her mate, they worked together, side by side.
For an age, the Sandjar slaves, had worked deep in the earth, they labored for their masters, digging the burning rock from the earth. Now they were digging for their freedom, men and women, singing with contentment, replacing the usual sounds of slaves under the yoke.
The night was almost over, as Arn sat beside his mate, he looked over to see the young child, safe its sleeping mother's arms, looking at the pale creature, he suddenly felt very alone.
She holds the thing, like she once held me; he thought; will she ever hold me again?
It was a strange question to ask his mind, he knew that she still loved him, he could feel it in his mind. At the same time, he also felt that her love was being pulled, by the tiny thing she held.
All mothers love their children; he heard his mind say, still he could not help but feel that the little creature, was taking something, he wished was only his, away. Perhaps this thing is a demon, wearing a false mask?
He suddenly felt the urge, to take up his ax and dive it deep into the skull of the little monster. Following his instincts, he stood up and grasped the handle of his tooth tightly. He lifted it slowly over his head and was about to strike, when the eyes of the creature suddenly opened, it stared at him.
The King had looked into the face of death many times, and he was not afraid. Being a Outlander, he was willing to give up his life, at any time to defend his tribe. He had hunted Sagar cats and stood fast as they charged for him. He had killed a full grown Daggermouth, as it tried to drag him into the darkness of Stillwater Lake. He had swum with Fang fish in the Western Sea and he did not run from the horrors of the Valgor Chasms. Now as he looked into the child's blue eyes, he felt his strength ebbing away. Deep in his mind, he thought he heard a voice calling to him.
“Do not fear me”, it said.
Hearing that voice, the weapon fell from his hand, he turned and left the tent.
Outside, he could see the morning suns begin to rise, with them would come a new day. He also knew that something was coming, something that would be more terrible than, all the demons he had ever faced. Once again his Nomad instincts, began to take control, he felt the blood rising in his veins. His strong heart begin to beat with a terrible vengeance, he was a creature bred for warfare, knowing that it would be soon, made his soul content.
Then he felt something else, something he had never felt before, a strange feeling that someone or something, was standing very close beside him. He had felt this only once before, as a very small child. The feeling vanished and again he was consumed by a burning desire to fight.
I will not fall; he told himself; I will not fall. Then he heard another voice, whispering in the back of his mind.
“You have already fallen”, it said, and the King knew that it was true.
There was one great warrior, whose voice was not added to those in the meeting dome. Ral had gone against the Queen's wish, and for this he must be punished. So he was taken away and placed in the very same cell that one held the Blind Prince.
Unlike the Outlander, he did not sit quietly, to ponder the ways of the Gods. He was a Norgonie, and the one thing that all Forest-dwellers hated most, was confinement. He paced back and forth like a caged Sagar cat, testing his strength against the iron bars holding h
im. The bars were made from the best Itarian steel, and would not give, so after a time, he sat and stared out of the small window, into the night sky. He did something he did not do often, he began to consider his actions, and why he did what he did.
Now to any civilized people of the Outer Rim, this would seem the right thing to do, but to a Forest Dweller, it was very uncommon, they were creatures of instinct and action. Elders of the tribe, did their thinking for them, it had always been that way. The Queen would give commands and they would obey, thinking, was not, necessary and therefore a waste of energy. As he sat alone, he had no choice but to ask himself questions that eluded his mind.
The King of the Madrigal, lied to my mother and abandoned me; he thought; and yet she lay in his arms, and fought beside him in the Forbidden City. How could she do such a thing?
Ral was a great warrior, his victories were many, both on the battlefield and with the tribe's young maidens. Yet for all his conquests in the arms of lust, he never let love enter his heart. For him it was a weakness, something to weaken the arm and make slaves of men.
Love is for the weak; he told himself. He knew that his mother was a strong Queen, therefore she could not love the Outlander, his mind still questioned.
Why did she hold him in her arms, he could had killed me, he did not, he saved me from the Wormrow and a burning death... Why?
These and more questions, continued to run through his mind as he sat, long into the night, listening and trying to understand.
Far from the Norgonie Fortress, deep in the Woods of Caltarine, the Giants of the Earth, sat listening to the cries of wild beasts, and the howls of ungodly things of the night.
Acora Morinnor, the Arena of Blood, had called to them and they had come. Perhaps it was the ghosts of the slain that summoned them. The long dead warriors who had fought and died in the crumbling ruins. Or maybe the blood soaked ground still needed feeding? Perhaps they simply found the Nomads and the Forest-dwellers too weak to be near. Whatever the reason, they mounted the giant Screechers and were borne to the sacred ruins. They had returned their “Naro Entaro” or King, to his warriors.
They did not look up at the stars, or the night moons, moving slowly overhead. They did not speak as they sat waiting for Sunbirth, there was nothing to be said. They did not sing ancient war songs, to give courage to their hearts, or seek the warmth of soft arms to comfort them. They were creatures made long ago, by a race seeking to conquer the galaxy, their long sleep did not change what they were or what the future held for them.
To kill and be killed.
They waited for their King to call them, to stand by his side, this they would do to the last man. Until then they sat alone in the great arena, feasting on the raw flesh of freshly killed Sagar cat and drank deep of the burning blood.
Nomads The Fallen God Page 43