The Punishment Of The Gods (Omnibus 1-5)

by Jake Yaniak

  Homelands

  'What is your homeland Master Whately?' Ojun asked as he dropped a log onto a blazing fire. His companions had gone to sleep and he was preparing to keep the first watch. Whately was lying on his back staring up at the stars. 'I was born in Titalo, which is called by its enemies "The Pirate City",' he answered. 'But I spent most of my youth in a place called Ramlos.'

  'We have little knowledge of the world that lies beyond these woods, and none beyond Vestron and the eastern marches of Olgrost. Our ancestors never took to the sea.'

  'In Titalo,' Whately said, 'the sea is called 'Our Mother'. It was the sea and her bounty that gave rise to us, it is the ice of the sea that protects us, and its violent waves tame us.'

  'I have never seen the sea,' Ojun confessed. 'Is it as beautiful as the stories say?'

  'It is at times. But when the wind is dead for a week, the endless waves get so dull that you begin to despair of life altogether. And the storms of the sea are such as could not be imagined upon the land. When a storm strikes the land all the trees shake and the clouds rumble. But in the sea, the whole world seems to be tearing itself to shreds.'

  'Will you ever return to Titalo?' Ojun asked after some time had passed.

  'Never,' he answered quietly. 'I am not permitted to speak of the reason.'

  Ojun nodded and looked up at the stars. 'Do the stars really speak to us, as the old prophets claim?'

  'Most certainly,' Whately said, 'But they tell their own tales, they speak but little about our own affairs. Ninud, the great Bull, for instance, dashes to and fro in the heavens sometimes lamenting, sometimes rejoicing. In every way he is wild and hateful, yet full of power and vigor.'

  'Our prophets teach us that the Great Bull teaches of the fall of Harz,' Ojun suggested.

  'It may be,' Whately sighed, 'But who can tell such things? Ninud, Isa, and the dread Brothers Septimai tell stories more ancient than the world. Who is to say that they say anything about our own day? Perhaps they speak of that which has passed in ages now long forgotten.'

  'Do you think that we are all fools then?' Ojun asked sadly. 'There are many of us who grow tired of hiding; we feel ready to march again, to fight for our land. Or at least to make an attempt. Let the Astral lords judge us!'

  'Why is it so important that you return to Vestron in the first place?' Natham asked, startling both of his companions. Whately sat up and looked at him, Ojun fixed his eyes on the monster.

  'What do you mean?' Ojun asked, puzzled.

  'Who has the right to live upon the Fiery Mountain?' Natham asked.

  'The Ohhari,' Ojun answered unhesitatingly, 'Our people came upon it in the beginning.'

  'But how does that make the land belong to the Ohhari? Was not the land there for untold aeons before your ancestors came upon it? Who did it belong to then?'

  'It belonged to nobody,' Ojun answered, straightening himself up and looking in the direction of the monster. All that he could see was the faint glow of firelight on the edge of Natham's hood. 'The Mountain belonged to nobody.'

  'You say that the Ohhari have the right to live upon the mountain, yet they live not upon it,' Natham said coldly. 'Tell me, how can a man have the right to do something but not the power? The Ohhari have the right to live upon the mountain, but they cannot. That they have a right to live there is meaningless, is it not?'

  'What I mean to say, is that they deserve to live there; that they ought to have the right,' Ojun said nervously.

  'But right now,' Natham continued, it is clear that the Merkata have the right to live there; that is, they have the power.'

  'Indeed.'

  'Why should the Mountain's first settlers have any claim upon the land? Did they purchase the mountain? Did they beg its leave ere they fixed pillars upon its slopes?'

  'I should think not,' Ojun snickered.

  'They simply arrived then, and they took it because there was no one to oppose them. They had the right to the mountain because they had the power.'

  'As is the case with all countries,' Ojun said, 'He who finds it first has the right because there is nobody to oppose his claim, nor any need to oppose it.'

  Whately took his eyes off the stars and began to listen intently.

  Natham continued his questions, 'But supposing that to be the case, how does it come to be that you believe that your people have a right to dwell upon Holy Fhuhar?'

  'It is as I have said,' Ojun insisted, 'The Ohhari found it first.'

  'But that was a different Ohhari,' Natham said, 'not a soul of which remains alive. Wherein then is your claim justified? I apprehend that not a soul among you has set foot upon the mountain.' Natham said, 'I have as much claim to the mountain of Fire as any of your woodsmen, more so even, for I drove Lord Vullcarin from the mountain myself.'

  Ojun rose to his feet as though he was going to challenge the monster. Whately looked at him intently; Natham did not budge from his seat; he feared nothing from the Ohhari captain. Realizing this, Ojun took his seat once again.

  'The Ohhari of today are but the descendants of those ancients,' Natham explained, 'You will tell me now, I suppose, that lordship of lands passes through the blood like the dark hair of the father and the blue eyes of the mother pass on to the child.'

  Ojun was clearly frustrated by all this, but the monster would not relent. Ojun grumbled, 'Yes, I suppose it must. They come to possess it because, again, there are none to oppose them.'

  'Ah but there is,' Natham said, 'The Harz oppose them, and more than oppose them; they conquer them. The Harz Nobles came to lord it over the fiery volcano because there are none to oppose them. They have the same right as the Ohhari; nay, they HAVE the right, while the Ohhari can only speak in 'oughts'.'

  Ojun was silent for a minute, thinking very hard. 'What would you have then?' he demanded, 'Shall any man have a home? Shall everyone have the power to take from his neighbor whatsoever he desires? Where would it end? It would be war eternal!'

  'Is it not war eternal already?' Natham scoffed. 'Your love of a land long lost is as evil as the conquest of the ancient Nanthormen, who slew your god and stole your mountain. Tell me, on what does mankind base its claim to own the earth itself? Everywhere men cry out, "My home!", "My Country!"; "My Kingdom!" I know not when it began; but I would have men leave off owning something that cannot be possessed. It is like taking the ocean herself into a bottle, or the North wind into a wineskin; who can own the earth? What men really have lordship over when they fancy themselves to be lords of the earth are simply their rivals.'

  Ojun sat still for a while, considering all that had been said.

  Natham spoke again, this time with a hint of gentleness in his voice, 'I would have you go home, master Ojun; home to your wife and your countrymen. Go home and live in your happy valley; grow strong in that valley. Give up the vain hope of a land that could no more belong to you than the sunset or the starry lords above. If the stars demand, as your prophets claim, your eventual return to that hideous volcano, then let the stars take care of their own prophecies. Live at peace in the land that you have been given. The Ohhari do not have a right to the Mountain Fhuhar. Even if you should slay the Merkata down to the last man and cast their witch into the deep well of Oblindin, you would still have no right to the land. You would only have power over the Merkata.'

  Whately sighed, 'I pray that an age will come in which all men come to believe even as you have spoken, Natham. So much suffering has been created on account of such quibbling and rivalry, and we all have had our part.'

  'Indeed,' Natham sighed, 'This has been on my mind ever since I began to fight against Harz.'

  Ojun seemed almost sad as he spoke; tears were behind his eyes, though he never let them fall to his cheek, 'I hope such an age comes also. We have perhaps let the fires of vengeance burn within our hearts for too long. How can our children grow in happiness when their first lesson is that our life is not what it ought to be, and how can our men keep their eyes fixed upon their labors when
they believe all our work in these hills and valleys to be vain and temporary. How can our old men shut their eyes in death without believing themselves to be failures, leaving our ancient homeland to fester under the heels of the Nanthormen, or now the foul Merkata Clan?'

  The fire burned low as they sat, now all of them in silence. Finally Ojun laughed, 'When I return to my home, master Natham, I will remember your words. I will look upon it as home indeed, and not some tent to dwell in while the gods plot revenge against mankind. I will look upon the face of my wife and tell her that we are home and that there we will remain, to age, to laugh, to die, to love, no longer in the shadow and shame of history.'

  Chapter VI:

  In Marin Quendom

  Battle Sounds

  Ere long the travelers came to a place where no trail or path remained. 'We have come to the uttermost end of the land of the Ohhari,' Ojun said. 'And here we must part ways, you to pass into the wild and we to return to our home. May the gods of heaven smile upon you. I am sorry that I can give you no better direction than to tell you that to the west lies the land of Olgrost and the Quendom of the Marin, where no man rules. If you pass through that land and follow the coast to the north you will come at last to Dalta City, which was once called by our ancestors Pendeltha, the city of gods. I cannot tell you the best course to take, nor can I tell you anything of the countries and the people of that land.'

  'You have done much for us already,' Whately assured him, 'For that we are grateful; and we will never forget the hospitality of the Ohhari.'

  Ojun lowered his eyes, 'Were it left to me I would welcome you to remain among us, but such was not the will of our elders.'

  'I understand,' Whately said with a bow, 'May the gods shine upon your path.'

  'I trust that they will,' Ojun said with a bow of his own. The two shook one another's hands and turned each to their own fates.

  Nothing more is known of the fate of the Ohhari beyond this tale. It is said that still to this day, in some deep and wild place of that valley there remains a hidden realm of woodsmen; still, no doubt, looking to the stars. What will become of them, however, and whether they will ever return to Fhuhar in power only their prophets can tell.

  Duri took the lead once more, though he warned Natham that beyond the forest of Olger he could not promise to lead them with any degree of confidence. The road became very difficult for the horses beyond this point, for there were no roads for them to follow and many steep places that they must climb. Whately considered sending them away, to meet their fate in the wild or to return to the Ohhari if they could. Natham, however, insisted upon bringing them and even bent his own great strength toward helping them through the wilderness. At last they came to the top of a very tall hill from which they could see league after league of gentle westward slopes before them. To their south they could see the mountains of Zoar, as Ojun called them, rising into great jagged spikes and towers of rock.

  'We are getting close to the ancient Verder Kingdom of Kolohi,' Whately said as they began their descent. 'Here it is said the Elven lord Kolohi established his kingdom in days long past. Out of grief because of his wife's betrayal he lay himself to sleep in a great vault beneath the mountain. There he lies still, it is told, awaiting the renewal of all things.'

  'You say 'Elven lord', Natham commented, 'That word I have heard only a few times.'

  'The Elves,' Whately explained, are what they call 'gods' in Vestron. Malia herself, I apprehend, is no more than an elf, and the Merkata are what they call 'half-elves'. In this land, in Olgrost I mean, they call them not 'gods' at all. The old city of Dalta, of which Ojun spoke, was once their capitol. From there he challenged the might of the Quendom of Marin, and for many ages, kept their ambition in check. But no rivalry can be eternal. In the end, Dalta, the lord of the elves of that land, was slain in battle against the Ollitov, which is what the Marin call their highest commander. In time the city fell and the elves were slain or exiled. For this reason, the Marin entertain no illusion about the god-hood of the elves. Among the Vestri and the Merkata the immortals are rare enough that men take them to be more than what they are. In my own home they are called simply 'Wise Men', and in the eastern places of Weldera they are called 'Ancients'. But all of these speak of one and the same sort of creature. But of their origins, no man can tell, and their histories are so full of contradictions that it would be impossible to say anything about them without absurdity.'

  'Then you have studied their histories?' Natham asked.

  'Indeed,' replied Whately, 'But that was many years ago in places that I do not wish to remember.'

  Another three weeks passed before any sign of human habitation passed before their eyes. The weather had been fair, and the air grew warmer as they descended into the west. After a few more days the land flattened out and they came across a ruined city, now barely to be discerned amid the trees and bushes that had grown upon it. Whately took it to be one of the old cities of the eastern elves of Kolohi. 'The stones, or at least what remains of them, are cut too well to have been done by mortals. There is no limit to the skill of the deathless.'

  They passed through the sorrowful place in silence, coming at length to a small river over which a great stone bridge had once stood. The river was frozen still and the rubble from the bridge made a path on which they were able to lead their horses across. On their left hand they could see looming up tall above them one of the great stone pillars that mark the beginning of the mountains of Zoar. When scarcely they had reached the other side of the water, however, they were startled by a strange sound.

  It was like a continuous roll of thunder, though very faint and intermixed with the sound of clanging metal. From where they stood a thin stream of silver smoke could be seen rising into the sky. It was impossible for them to tell from whence the smoke came and how many leagues lay between them and the its source.

  For three days they pressed on, always trying to discover the cause of the noise. It would flare up each morning and make its raucous for several hours before abruptly coming to a halt. And each day the sound came from a different place, so that it was very difficult for even Duri to track. But on the fourth day they came to the edge of a small cliff overlooking a clearing. There the mystery of the rumble and smoking and clanging was solved.

  In the clearing below they saw dozens of bodies sprawled out lifeless across the ground. There were several armed warriors yet standing, all in silver plated armor holding slender shields and long spears. But the travelers only looked at these for an instant, for it was the foe against which these soldiers were battling that possessed their attention. Towering over the soldiers was what appeared to their eyes to be a man of iron. Thick black smoke poured from his nostrils, he shook and rattled and clanged as he moved, each time sending a pillar of smoke from his head. In his right arm he bore a great spear, such as no mortal man could lift, stained with blood. In his other hand he carried a great mace with jagged spikes upon which still clung the dripping flesh of his victims. This iron giant lunged forward again, and thrust its spear forward. The spear pierced one of the soldiers through the stomach with incredible precision and speed. The soldier let out a scream and then fell to the ground in agony. The others rushed away and took up their defense several paces back. The iron soldier was slowly backing them against the cliff wall.

  Whately looked desperately around, trying to think what to do. But he was a strategist, and there are some situations for which there are no strategies. He broke into a sweat and tugged at his hair, his face pale with horror. It was not fear that he felt, but compassion. His torment was in the fact that he could see no means of saving the men below. He knew not who they were or what their reasons were for battle, but he could not bear to watch them be ripped to shreds by this iron marvel.

  While he was thus preoccupied, Natham leaped from the cliff, landing on the ground before the giant. Amidst a field strewn with shattered shields and mangled bodies he held aloft mighty Admunth, the shield of
Vullcarin. The giant struck first with the mace, but the shield withstood it. Natham lost no time and grabbed the mace with his right arm and ripped it from the giant. The metal groaned, but the mace broke free and dropped to the ground with a thud. The spear came swift and sure, but Natham had already set his shield in place to bear the blow. The point was turned aside and went deep into the earth. Natham dropped the shield and leaped upon the giant.

  The two mighty powers thus struggled for the field. Smoke poured from the giant's nostrils in mighty streams and the roar which he ever made grew louder and fiercer. He cast Natham away and made a lung at him with the spear. But Natham leaped aside and grabbed the spear with both of his hands, breaking it in two. The giant pulled back its fist as if to punch him, but Natham was too swift for him. He drew his sword and thrust it into the center of the giant's chest, piercing the armor. The sword broke and a dreadful scream rent the sky. The giant smoked and fumed and then flew into a blind rage, swinging its fists wherever it could. Natham knocked it to the ground and tore its limbs from its body until it was just a smoldering heap. Eventually the roaring ceased and the constant stream of smoke relented. By the time Whately made it down into the clearing, the giant was slain and the soldiers were searching for survivors amongst the fallen.