The Fallen God

by Gary Mark Lee

  That was a question that all its mind power could not answer, for it did not have enough information to make a proper determination. It knew that it had a purpose again, to make war and destroy the enemy, it did not matter that it had never been programmed to fight on land and its particle blaze cannons no longer functioned. It did not matter if its numerous banks of sky fire bracing guns were destroyed, and it was of little concern that there were no hidralinite torpedoes. It did have its main destroyer weapon the all-powerful Rolac gun, but without its rare power source it was useless.

  It did however still had its shield of poly-gromite bondings and triple fazic coatings and it still had energy from its organic and solar power supplies. And that was enough to allow it to function on Gorn when all other mechanisms failed. And it could still repair itself and make changes as it saw fit. And now it was using those capabilities to their fullest.

  All its slaves had been working without rest and now their purpose was about to reach its end.

  Outside the fallen warship there was much going on for the Orb now sent out small but very important mechanism, the were the size of new born Burrow Babies, but unlike those harmless ground creatures these metal creations shone in the sunlight like spiders. They numbered in the hundreds and scurried out of the terror ship like Blaze ants from their mound, their bodies made clicking sounds as they moved outward, and the Trofar that where still attached to the abandoned wagons began to grunt and paw the ground with their large flat feet. And their grunting turned to roars as the metal crawlers climbed onto their wide backs and up to their massive skulls, and then the Thundra beasts filled the air with animal screams as holes were drilled into their flesh and into their minds. But they stopped roaring when the controller robots penetrated their brutish brains and made them slaves of the Orb.

  Now they stood quietly and waited for their old masters to come and unhitched them from the Karracks and supply wagons, then they moved quietly to a place some distance from the fallen ship and waited. The Nomads and Sandjar workers also waited, but they did not wait long.

  The sky was clear and the wind from the West had subsided, there were only Sundroppers to look down and witness what was about to take place. At first there was only a soft buzzing sound, not much different than the buzzing of the Marsh Bees during gathering time then the buzzing grew. It turned into a humming, then into a sound like the cracking of Doff bird eggs when their chicks broke through their shells, that humming rose higher and higher until it began to shake the ground and send the small Rockrunners racing for their hiding places.

  And inside the chamber of Atos the Darkman was afraid.

  What is happening... is my god returning to the heavens?

  The room began to shake violently, several of the small Repairbots overturned on their treads and lay on their sides franticly waving their tentacled arms and beeping repeatedly. The Shadowman watched as the Orb began to glow and fill the room with a strange blue light, and with the light came more shaking. Violent jolts, shifting, breaking, and with it came the sound of ripping metal.

  Have the gods sent a landquack to destroy me? The Shadowman could no longer contain his fear; he fell upon his knees and cried out to the glowing sphere.

  “Do not destroy me my god, do not end my life!” he shouted.

  The room grew even brighter with the cold blue light and then the Orb spoke.

  “It is not the end of your existence; it is a new beginning of mine”.

  A great sound filled the air of Omar-Ran, it moved the earth and echoed into the Hollow Hills and beyond. It was a sound that no Outlander had ever heard before; it was a sound that had never been heard by mortals.

  It was the sound of a God being born.

  The broken hull of the fallen battleship began to break in two, the great steel plating ripped like the robe of a maiden during the Mating ritual, chucks of armor and useless weapons fell to the ground and more debris was piled on top of that. The impulse drive engines broke from their moorings and crashed into the sand sending up a great plum of dust and smoke. Fuel tanks that had not yet been emptied of their volatile contents burst into searing flames as they plummeted to the ground, and rivers of fire began to fan out from the containers.

  Then with a tremendous breaking sound the outer hull burst apart and like the Nomads after the Burning Time the Orb was reborn.

  All the useless machinery and non-functioning devices that had been a part of the broken hull where now discarded, what remained was only the essential mechanizes that would allow the Mind to continue to operate. The gravity drive engines had been modified so that their repulsive force fields where turned downward making the weight of the hull many times less. Its food supplies, heating and cooling and its capability to manufacture where all still there. It had remade itself.

  It was new.

  The shape of the new container was essentially round; here and there outcropping of machinery could be seen but for the most part it resembled a moon that had fallen from the sky. There was one thing that had been added, the one thing that would be needed to complete its mission, it could move.

  The Orb had sent out its workers to salvage the great iron wheels and treads that lay among the ancient machines around it, they work without rest to bring the devices to their master and attach them underneath so that the Sphere could travel over land. They did not bring back all that they could for some ventured to far from the electromagnetic shielding that surrounded the Orb and they ceased to function.

  Now there was only one more thing to do, the walking dead attached the Torfar to the newly reborn metal creature. Dull-eyed Outlanders fixed them to long chains that ran from their master to the harnesses that where still around the strong necks of the beasts. The Sandjar worked beside their one-time enemies to make sure that the Trofar where fed from the storage wagons and enough water were drunk before the real work began.

  And when all was made ready Atos came alive.

  The controller robot again began to make clicking sounds and when they did the Trofar began to move as if they felt the sting of traveling whips.

  The Thundra pulled with all their massive strength; hundreds of them all pulling at once, that power could have drawn a Leviathan out of the Western Sea or toppled the Finger of Solus in the Northern lands. But it had been harnessed to pull a God that had fallen from the stars.

  The Grunting of the Trofars mixed with grinding wheels and the sound of rusty metal. Once, twice, three times they pulled but still the great metal moon refused to move. Then on the forth try it broke free of its sandy home and began to lurch forward, only inches at first then as the ground fell away from the huge wheels it continued onward with greater speed.

  The Darkman felt the chamber move, and as it did the Orbs blue light turned to a soft green.

  We are moving, this made the Darkman smile, at last we are free.

  The Shadowman looked down at the metal arm at his side; he lifted it to watch the long spider like fingers open and close, I can no longer feel flesh in my hand, but I will know when I break their bones. Then he looked at the tireless leg that had replaced the useless appendage that he use to have, I can no longer feel the grass but I will know when I crush my enemies. Then he looked around the chamber with the vision of a God, I no longer have the eyes of my birth, but I will see the end of my tormentors. Then he gazed at the face of his master, I never prayed but yet I see the face of a God! And this made him laugh.

  The Orb had seen many things through the eyes of information gatherers and its creations, the mind watched as they worked, ate, slept, and fought for their lives. And he watched as they died, he could see the fear in their eyes and could feel the terror in their souls when their minds were opened. All this it understood for it was information that was valuable in warfare and for victory, but there was one thing it never understood.

  Laughter.

  That was something that had eluded the all-knowing mind and a thing that it would never come to know.

  Su
nfall was just beginning when the Orb began to move from the hidden valleys of Omar-Ran and into the endless Sirolian Plains. It left behind the remnants of its former self and the powerful weapons that had once destroyed whole planets. It left behind the encounter ships that had forced the star fleet of the Morrogon into a black hole near the outer ring of Ortuse, it left behind the sky fire guns that decimated the gravity mines of the Frocor alliance. It left behind the hidralinite torpedoes that could penetrate the strongest shielding and explode sending out a pulse wave that would shatter the strongest Itarian steel, all this power it left behind because it was now useless. But there was one thing that it did take with it, the one thing that it could not exist without.

  Its will to destroy.

  So the Trofars pulled and the soulless Nomads and Sandjar walked beside them, they did not know where they were going and with their minds empty they did not care, they were all just gloves of the Orb and its will filled them.

  But there was one who still could think and wonder at the thing that it saw.

  Valen was once a strong warrior of the tribe of the Caladon, but he had been made Outcast when he refused to bow to their new King. He was tall and strong with a handsome face except for a long battle scar that ran from his right cheek up into his dark braided hair. He now sat astride is weary Whiptail and looked down from a high ridge at the mass of moving Trofar and the strange wagon that they pulled.

  And although the young warrior had a quick mind and was able to stand before an enemy without fear he still could not keep his heart from beating like a hammer of the Ironworkers.

  What is this thing? He asked his mind, it this some new weapon of the Talsonar?

  But he knew that the army of the Pyramid City had been destroyed and that its strength was gone, and he was sure that no Shadowman could build such a monstrous thing as he saw before him. The people of the dark have returned to their land, he assured himself. He thought it might be a trick of his eyes so he closed them and waited for a moment to let his mind rest and utter a small prayer to Isarie to grant him clear site once more. But when he opened them again the THING still remained.

  This is no witches trick or a false image of the sand and heat, and he knew that he had not eaten any Boda, the dream mushroom that brings phantoms of the mind and sometimes death. This thing before me is real; it was then that he knew what to do, I must warn my people, for this creature brings death.

  The Caladon warrior dug his spurs into the flanks of his mount and all though Valen was branded an Outcast and no longer the chosen of the Gods he was still a warrior of the Outlands and he would not run from battle.

  Now the twin suns vanished from the sky and the night moons replaced the brightness of the day with the cool light of the evening.

  Eka was once the smallest of the family of the night. The tiny moon was the patron of the young and the children of the Outlanders use to sing to her and ask that she soften the hearts of their mothers and fathers when they had broken some rule of their tribe. And it was Eka that they prayed to for gifts during the festivals of the heavens when all the Nomads gave thanks to Isarie for her wisdom and love.

  The face of Eka shone with a light the color of a Corvas shell on the beach of the Western Sea; it looked down and smiled on all the creatures that came out when Karus, Gorn’s huge sun and its little brother Micos went to sleep. For ages it had traveled with its bother and sisters and watched all the wonders that took place on their mother below. But now it saw a site that it had never seen before. A creature not made by the wisdom of the Gods but by the nightmares of demons.

  Chapter 13.

  The Choosing.

  One is to live and one is to die.

  That is the choice that you must make.

  But do not weep for those that are gone.

  For they will live forever at my side.

  From the book of Isarie.

  The ritual of the Silver Moon was now over and it was time for the tribe of the Almadra to begin their journey once more.

  It took a full day to pass through the door in the Great Wall, for the barrier was meant to keep intruders from the lands to the East and only the strongest could pass. But the Almadra had come this way before and they knew how to open the massive portal.

  First they took up the long steel chain that lay before the stone rampart; they could have attached it to their Torfar but it was their tradition that they must open the door by themselves. So the warriors gathered up their strength and when all was ready the King gave the order and they pulled with all their might.

  Andra also pulled for she was a warrior and if she hadn’t she would have to suffer the scowls and rebuffs of the tribe.

  At her side the King added his strength to that of the tribe. And as he pulled he look into the face of his mate, she is strong and she is mine, but has he saw her eyes widen with effort he could not help but think of other eyes, eyes that were not dark like Andra’s but green and filled with fire. Will those eyes till know me? Then he drove those eyes from his mind and shouted out to his people.

  “Pull! Pull till your backs break!”

  And hearing the command from their King the warriors dug in their heels and pulled with all their might.

  Osh had calculated the strength of a full-grown Nomad to be the match for any two strong humanoids of the Outer Rim, and the warriors of the Outlanders numbered in the hundreds. Still it took three tries before the doors moved and with each try the Almadra prayed to their Gods and promised offerings of gold and silver. The effort was immense and blood flowed from the hands of many as they gripped the huge chain, muscles that could break a man in two were taxed to their limit and some of the warriors fell to the ground in exhaustion but still they pulled. Finally the gate began to move and with shouts and cheers from the warriors it opened and the Outlanders pass from their land into the domain of the Norgonie.

  When all the wagons had moved through the portal the Nomads marched to the other side and took up another great chain and again pulled with all there might. And when all their strength was spent the door closed and the Almadra once more looked to the East and the green forests that lay ahead.

  They traveled for two more days and with each passing day there was fear for the children.

  It was known to all the tribe that their offspring were not acting as they should and their behavior became more erratic. They would scream when no danger was near or sleep as if they were in the cocoon of the crystal spiders, and when they woke they would fight among themselves or sit for hours unmoving. There was nothing that the Touchtenders could do for they had tried all combinations of herbs and concoctions to no avail.

  And when all the medicine of the Outlands failed they asked the help of the Gods, but even the wisdom of the Holy Mother, and offerings of field flowers and Meadow cane heaped before the stature of Isarie could not heal the sickness that was afflicting their young.

  And now there was nothing more to be done.

  But still they continued to pray as they moved into the lands of the Norgonie, it was unlike anything that Andra has ever seen. The land was green and grass grew high, great fields of Kasha-wheat were everywhere and the Nomads filled their supply wagons with ease. There were fat Rimar in great numbers but they were smaller and without the thick armor of the Outland beasts, these made them easy to kill and every night the warriors feasted on their succulent flesh.

  There were also great twisted trees that hung low with fruit that was as sweet as any Lovecake that Andra had ever received, and overhead could be seen flocks of Lake Birds and Sundroppers. Huge outcropping of Eul were everywhere so the Ironworkers filled their fire bins with the burning rock and mothers knew that their Washa fires would burn brightly. And as with all the lands of Gorn there were remnants of great machines and skeletons of creatures that were not recorded in any Datacoms of the Outer Rim.

  As the Nomads traveled they passed by crumbling ruins of deserted temples and the altars of forgotten Gods. At last they came to a pl
ace where they would rest, it was by an outcropping of red rock that rose high in the air and around it were scattered many great stones each one carved with ancient writings and symbols that not even the Elders could translate. But it was a peaceful place without demons or their shadows, it was a place where one could sleep in contentment and listen to the singing of the stars and for this reason they named it the Place of Dreams.

  And so the Almadra rested and cared for their young, but even this quite place could not chase away the darkness that was slowly moving over the souls of the children. So for three more days and nights the Nomads prayed.

  And on the fourth day the Gods intervened.

  “My child is dead!” that was the cry from the mother who held the lifeless body of her daughter in her arms, beside her stood her mate, and together they shed tears of grief. The woman whose name was Tarrana looked up at the sky through thick clouds and cried out so that all could hear, “the Gods have forsaken us, Isarie has turned her face away!” she looked down at the lifeless face of her child and repeated the song that her mother had sung to her.

  “I look into your face and see the past of my life.

  There I see the days of my young and the nights of my love.

  In all this world there is none that I love more.

  In all this world there is none that holds my heart.

  I look into your face and see all that I am.

  And all that I will ever be.”

  And when that song was done her eyes shed more tears of sorrow.

  The father of the dead child was a strong warrior of the tribe but for all his strength he could not hold back his pain. He stood with his armor glowing in the light from their Washa and lifted his great war-ax in his hand, “come and fight me!” he shouted, “battle with me for the soul of my daughter!” But the angel of death did not come to fight and in frustration he beat his weapon upon the ground and wept more tears because he could not shed his blood to see his daughter live once more.

  And his was not the only tears to fall that night for all through the camp the shouts of dismay echoed like the Western Sea in the Caves of Tomorrow. The children were dying and there was no one who could stop it.