But for now the sound of drums and song carried out over the land and up to the stars so that all may know that the Almadra were still strong and free.
“We have come to the belt of Isarie, let us give thanks for her guidance”, it was the King who spoke those words as he lifted a full tankard of well-aged Po to his lips. “Drink now and remember those who came before us”.
Hearing those words the warriors drank deeply of their wine.
As Arn felt the warm brew flowing into his body he remembered the brother and sister that passed over into the Afterlife, Seeda you were the light in my eyes, Agart you were my rock of wisdom.
Andra also thought of the past, Niana my mother I’m sorry I could not protect you, Simon my brother I wish you were here.
All the warriors remember those that once sat beside them shared their food and sang with them in song, they hoped that they would meet them again in the Golden Hall of Isarie and their once more tell stories of their bravery and hard won battles.
When the toast was finished they sank their teeth into freshly roasted Rimar, warm loaves of Kasha bread and Hagar soup. There were also other delicacies such as Doff-birds tongues dipped in fish sauce, heart of Polnar root mixed with freshly ground field worms, and for sweetness they ate Meadow cane cakes and washed it all down with even more aged Po.
As they ate they told stories of past deeds and victories won and lost, they remembered times of plenty and times of little, and some cried to think of long gone mothers and fathers and brothers and sisters who died in the Outlands. But even though they shed tears they were not ashamed for it was a sign of strength to a Nomad that he or she could give up their feeling for all to see.
And when all had eaten and drunk their fill they began the ritual of the Silver Moon.
Egmar had dressed herself in the long white robe with the silver embroidery, she had placed the ornate silver and ivory headdress on her braided hair and covered her scarred arms with many carved bracelets, in her hand she held the staff of the Silver Moon. The staff was made from Balbar wood and inlayed with silver and ivory, on its top was fixed a symbol of the ritual to come, it was a disk of solid silver with an inscription inset in ivory. Only a few knew the meaning of the hieroglyphs for it was a secret meant only for the High Priestesses.
Guarding her as they always did was the Thungodra, they wore their dark armor and carried their weapons at the ready, there was no danger here but it did not matter to the sacred warriors. They had taken a vow to stand by their Holy Mother at all times and they would do so no matter where they were.
Egmar walked before her Handmaidens. They were dressed in simple robes of white and their hair was held up high on their heads by an intricate weaving of ivory and silver stays, in their hands they held large silver bowls each baring a symbol of a moon. From their ears hung long rings also of sliver and about their necks draped chains of the same precious metal and as they walked they chanted a prayer to Isarie.
“Silver moon, silver moon, light in the night.
Silver moon, silver moon, beacon to our site.
Guide our path and see our face.
Watch us dance in bloods embrace.”
There was one Handmaiden who did not walk with the others; Kela was not permitted to do so because her face was not perfect. The scars that now marked her features meant that she could not perform the sacred ritual and it tore at her heart like a Whiptail ripping into a Rimar. So she had to be content to stand to one side of the Holy Mother and wait till she was called, but still she held her head high and remembered the words of Egmar.
Enor is my sister now, she thought, I am not alone.
Knowing this made the girl smile.
Osh and Endo had set their wagon near the Wall but still close enough to call out in case of danger, they too had eaten well and now sat near their Washa fire and looked up at the shining moon overhead.
They had not spoken for some time because the old man was busy writing on his scrolls. But the Sandjar was growing tired with his writing lessons and decided to put down the inscribing pen and the half-finished parchment that he had been working on, for there was a matter that had been troubling him for some time and he could not wait any longer.
“Father?” he asked.
Endo did not look up from his writings, “yes my son what is it?”
“What is this thing called sex?” the green boy asked.
This time the old man did looked up, “Sex?” he said with apprehension in his voice.
“Yes father, I have heard many people talking of sex and I wish to know its meaning”.
The Calaxion knew that this time might come but for all his knowledge he dearly wished that it might have been much later. “Sex? Well you see my son, sex is when a species wished to reproduce and increase their population, the male of their kind begins to feel a sort of yearning, unless of course your of the same sex and then it just a matter of stimulating the appropriate birthing organ, take for example the Nara-Ornari of the third moon of Utro, they must......”
“Father?” the boy, asked.
“Yes what is it now?” Osh replied.
“Is this going to take a long time?”
The old man smiled at his son, “yes---a VERY long time”.
The Sandjar boy thought this over for a moment or two, “then perhaps it can wait till morning”.
The old man nodded his large head, “yes, that would be best”, then as he was about to start writing again he turned to the boy once more, “or perhaps the day after?” When the boy smiled at him he knew he had time to prepare, but he understood that time was relative and that the morning would come far too soon.
With a blaring of signal horns and beating of drums the ritual of the Silver Moon began.
The warriors stood at attention in two long columns and waited for their King, they wore their armor but did not carry the powerful war-axes that all protectors of the tribe had. But at their wide belts hung the Twin Dragons, the long daggers that were used for defense and to kill oneself if they were about to be captured.
Behind the warriors the people of the tribe waited, they wore their best and some held the sacred Ancestor-chests in their hands, they also wore trinkets of gold and silver for those metals were abundant in the Outlands. It could be easily gathered from outcroppings and caves all over the planet so it was of little value and only of worth when fashioned into useful objects such as a cup or bowl or adornments. And it was a foolish Nomad who would weight his Karrack down with it in raw form. But the Outlanders did cherish their golden rings and silver necklaces and wore them with pride.
Beside the Elders were the children, boys and girls alike. But unlike most children they did not seem to be interested in the ritual that was about to take place, and they did not hear the drums, or the sound of the horns. They seemed only to stand and stare into the moonlight overhead and listen to music that only they could hear.
The Elders too stood with the tribe, there were some who had grown too old now to stand with their people, they were the Frail Legs, the ancient mothers and fathers who once were young but now could not dance under the stars. They were cared for by the Touchtenders and would not be a part of the ritual.
Andra stood beside Arn, the King had told her of what was to come and so she waited and held her head high knowing that it was something that had taken place for ages and would do so for ages to come.
I am now a part of this world, she thought, my life is fixed to the here and now.
Arn had seen this ritual many times but as he watched the Holy Mother and her Handmaidens approach his mind was elsewhere.
Beyond the wall lays my past, his mind said, will I remain in the present or will my heart call me back?
But before he could answer his mind there was a great blast from the signal horns and the Holy Mother came forward.
Egmar scarred face shone softly in the bright moonlight and the disk atop the staff she held in her hand flashed, she lifted her free hand and the dru
mming ceased and all was quiet
“The silver moon is above us, we have come to the belt of Isarie to pay tribute to those who traveled here and met their end before the wall”. Then she gestured to the Handmaidens at her side, “bring forth the holding bowls and take the offerings of the chosen”.
Andra watched as the white robed servants of Isarie walk forward holding the silver bowls in their hands, slowly they moved to the columns of warriors and then spoke.
“Ecardo ut metra ar farnar”, give up the offering of life”, they said as one, and hearing those words the warriors drew one of the Twin Dragons from their belts, they held them up and also spoke as one.
“Row emarra cantro etarus, we give of ourselves” and with those words they cut their forearms and let their blood flow into the silver bowls, and when they had enough the Handmaidens moved onto the next warrior who repeated the ritual again and again.
Andra watched as the tribe gave their life fluid, they believe enough to give up their blood, at first she thought of this as a backward, silly ritual meant only for uncivilized worlds and people who knew no better. Then she remembered her own past, I was ready to shed my blood for my beliefs, am I any better?
Egmar also watched the blood flowing into the offering bowls, my people still believe, they are still the chosen of the Gods, but there was another voice that spoke in her mind, she had heard it before, a dark whisper that came from her divided soul.
They are weak but someday they will be strong.
The Holy Mother heard those words but did not reply.
When the bowls were filled the Handmaidens brought them before the High Priestess and placed them on the ground at her feet. They looked up at the silver moon and repeated the prayer that they had spoken before.
“Silver moon, silver moon, light in the night.
Silver moon, silver moon, beacon to our site.
Guide our path and see our face.
Watch us dance in bloods embrace.”
Then they unfastened their robes and let them fall to the earth, now they stood naked before the heavens and before their Gods. They took up the offering bowls and lifted them over their heads; then with a soft prayer upon their lips they turned them and poured their crimson contents over their pale skin.
They stood there for a moment and waited letting the blood of the tribe slowly wash down their naked skin, then soft music began from the tribe, it was an ancient song that had been handed down through the generations. It was not a song of words but rather a gentle moaning of body and soul, and hearing this song the Handmaidens moved to the Great Wall. They solemnly passed by the bones of the long dead warriors and stood before the massive stones, and again they waited.
The sound of drums began again and hearing it they started to dance, slow at first then as the beating became more intense so did their movements, soon they were swaying and letting their souls take control of their limbs. And with the drumming the tribe of Almadra clapped their hands and beat their feet upon the ground, and repeated the words of the Handmaidens.
“Ecardo ut metra ar farnar”, give up the offering of life”.
The drumming became louder and the cries from the warrior’s rose to a sound that made the Whiptail roar and pull at their binders and still the drumming rose. The Handmaidens now danced in frenzy, spinning, leaping in delirium of wild passion.
And as the Gods looked down the servants of Isarie ran towards the wall like lovers to their love. They put out their arms wide and embraced the barrier as they would their faith and with moans of pleasure on their lips they rubbed the crimson offering into the time worn stones.
There are many Gods who look down on the working of humans, some are strong and others are weak but they all seek worshipers, their names are written on endless temples and statues throughout the Outer Rim. But there are others who look down from above who are not Gods.
High atop the Belt of Isarie warriors who were not of the Chosen watched as the Almadra did the will of their God, they were tall with finely cut features and bodies marked with green and brown stripes. One of them a man with a long scar on his neck and whose emerald eyes sparkled in the moonlight looked down and watched as the Handmaidens danced. His name was Ral and he was the greatest warrior of the Norgonie,
He crouched catlike and even though the light was dim you could still make out the strong muscles of his arms and legs. He wore his long dark hair in woven ringlets and about his thick neck were sets of Sagar cat fangs, he watched from his high perch for a few minutes more then he turned to a man beside him and spoke in a low voice.
“Go and tell the Queen that the Almadra have come”.
The Forest-dweller that spoke those words had watched for many days and nights as the Nomads traveled towards the East, and now he would watch as they moved into his domain.
They have come at last, he thought, now he will meet his fate.
Chapter 12.
God of the Outlands.
You are the flesh of my body.
In you beat the heart of my heart.
Do not follow the false Gods of steel.
For in them lives nothing of my love.
From the book of Isarie.
The land around the fallen battleship containing the Orb was now strewn with hundreds of empty wagons and waiting Trofar. The mighty Whiptails of the Outlanders had long sense run away leaving only the harnessed Tundra beasts, and even though there was a powerful wind blowing from the west it could not dispel the scent of death.
And that wind had summoned the scavengers of the Outlands, they came by wagon and Whiptails or by foot, Sandjars and Outcasts and the beasts of the land, and all that came for food or treasure or power never left for they became slaves to the god called Atos.
The Darkman was now the ruler over the army of the dead, he understood that they were not truly dead for they moved and worked and spoke if they were commanded to, but their souls had long sense moved into the Afterlife. But that did not matter to the Shadowman for his soul had never been a part of this world.
Now he sat in a chamber that was filled with wires and boxes and things that he could not understand, all about him flashed mechanisms and machinery. Dials and switches and glass plates that glowed with inscriptions in a language that was not his, and above it all there was a humming sound that filled his ears and seemed to him like the buzzing of a million dot flies.
And all about him moved the slaves of his god.
How long has it been? He asked himself, how long have I been here? He tried to count the days and nights but he no longer slept and there was no sunlight in the chamber, he was no longer hungry so he could not number the cycles by his stomach, there was no wind or rain or another to speak to like himself. But what does it matter when you can speak to a God.
He did know that something great was about to happen for the work of the slaves never ended and he watched as huge plates of iron were moved here and there and all matter of strange devices endlessly changed and vanished. All this told him that his God was doing what he promised to do, to make the weak strong and destroy all his enemies.
So he got up and moved past the Task robots and the many metal workers that had so diligently done the work that was programmed into them. He no longer noticed the many Sandjars and Nomads that also did as they were commanded and walked down the small corridor to the chamber of the Orb.
But as he walked his mind began to sense a world outside the dim chamber, it seemed to move beyond his body and float in a dim world of images and realities. For a fraction of time he was not trapped inside his body but was seeing through the eyes of many then like a flash of lighting in a power storm it was gone and he was once more the half-man that he was.
I am changing, he thought, I am growing beyond myself.
This made him content for he knew that he was becoming more powerful, and power was something that knew no bounds.
Then he entered the chamber of Atos. And it came as no surprise that it also had changed.
>
The glowing sphere was still at the center of the room but all about it were wires and conduits running to more strange devices and machines, and it was filled with hundreds of the small but efficient Spotters. They seemed to multiply with each passing hour, they moved in mass or individually to complete any task that their creator wished them to do.
The Shadowman came forward and looked at the great Orb, but before he could speak his question was answered.
“Soon” the glowing sphere said.
The Darkman had grown used to having his questions answer before he spoke them; he could not know that the longer the Orb was in contact with his mind the more it could see into it, it was a factor that its creators knew all about. They had made the organic mind to absorb information from selected technicians that would help it run the warship, but they also knew that prolonged contact would start a process that would end in a fusing of the two. But those creators where now long gone and there world only a burned out globe of forgotten death.
At other times the Orb did not know what the half human was thinking and this troubled the mind but only a little for it could control many different thoughts at the same time, and look into the minds of its slaves and control their actions. And while it was doing this it could calculate a thousand equations and move a single grain of sand if need be.
But it to was also changing.
It could not know that once it connected with the mind of the Shadowman it was becoming more then it had been, with each passing day it began to think of itself not as the controller of the most powerful terror ship of the Trajions, but as....?
The Fallen God Page 18