The Fallen God

by Gary Mark Lee

  In the dim light of Sunfall he could not see much and he dare not light a fire in case the sound was an enemy drawing near. So he stood there in silence waiting for the noise to return.

  He did not wait long.

  From just outside the dome he could hear padded sounds as if something was walking slowly, it did not have the heavy footfalls of a Whiptail and the ground was much to hard for Sand dragons, but never the less there was a sound. Slowly the Nomad warrior moved to the opening that he had come through then stopped to listen once more.

  Another sound.

  It drew nearer and nearer so the Outlander braced his feet and readied his weapon.

  It cannot be a Nomad for this is forbidden land then he realized that it was a mistake to believe in that for he was here. A Rimar has four feet and I hear only the sounds of two. And before he could ask his mind another question a huge head leaned into the entrance to the dome.

  It was a large skull with a massive beak and two small darting eyes, in an instant Valen knew what had awakened him, a large Doff-bird.

  Slowly the two-legged creature moved out of the wind and into the chamber of the Nomad, it was a male of its species with long arching head feathers and colorful markings down its long thick neck and over its barrel like body. When it was out of the wind it stood for a moment and stared at the human, as it did it tilted its great head from side to side as if trying to size up the Nomad for a future meal.

  Valen knew that the huge bird was a meat eater and that it could easily kill a warrior with a strike of its hooked beak or impale it on the sharp spurs on his hind legs. He quickly glanced over at his Whiptail who grunted and roared at the site of the Outland predator. But there was no time to reach his mount and use it to combat the hungry bird so he decided to stand and fight rather than being struck down from behind if he tried to run.

  He will try and rip you with its beak, the young warrior thought; if you miss he will turn and try to rake you with its claws.

  Valen crouched down trying to give the bird a smaller target and just as he did the creature let out a loud screeching cry and came for him. Just has he had predicted the bird led with its huge head, the Nomads reflexes were just quick enough to jerk his body to one side and the sharp mandibles of the Outland walker missed his face by a fraction of an inch. Then just as he moved past Valen swung his ax but missed cutting into the thick neck of the bird. Now the two turn round to face each other again.

  The Whiptail pulled against his reins hard but like all harnesses of the Nomads it was fashioned with links made from Itarian steel and could withstand three times the force of an angry Thundra beast.

  With the wind howling outside the two combatants circled each other, Valen kept a keen eye on the head of the creature, for he knew that Doff-birds signal there intent with a slight nodding of their beaks.

  He will try and jump now he reassured himself, be ready.

  And no sooner did his mind say those words then the creature let out another cry and jumped high into the air with its sharp claws spread wide and ready to rip him apart. But the Nomad was prepared and as it arched to the ground he struck upwards and the edge of his ax cut the body of the bird from its neck down to its belly. A flood of blood sprayed over the Outlander. The creature let out a long screeching cry then the flightless bird fell to the ground dead.

  Valen waited for a moment or two to make sure the powerful legs of the creature would not convulse in a death throw and kill him. They did twitch for a few seconds then they laid still. With his weapon at the ready the young warrior approached carefully then when he was sure the bird was dead he lowered his ax. He wiped the blood from his eyes with the back of his hand and turned to his Whiptail.

  “At least we will not starve,” he said with a smile.

  It was well known that the meat of a Doff-bird is very tuff and stringy and does not make for a good meal, and raw it is even more unpalatable but the Nomad warrior did not care. Later as he sat chewing on a large handful of raw flesh and watching his Whiptail devour the last of the great bird he smiled.

  Hunger makes the best spice he thought then continued to eat the tuff meat as if it was well-roasted Rimar covered in a warm fish sauce.

  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, but unlike their Nomad kin they do not travel beyond the boundaries of their forest home. Furthermore they do not trade with the Ergan-Mar, the miners that live underground and supply the Nomads with life sustaining Grana, how they keep from becoming ill and dying of the plague that covers all of 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 and as the light of day began to wane, and golden shafts of luminescence filtered down through the green canopy overhead the mind of the Selacarie girl was filled with angry questions.

  What did he mean when he said she was his first mate? What was the lie he told to her?

  All this and more screamed in the head of Andra as she rode beside her King, all about them was beauty and the wonders of a new land but 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 never heard him speak of her before.

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

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

  “If you swallow sour milk its best to throw it up then 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, she tried 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 Almadra 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, “but love did not enter my heart until I met you”.

  But Andra was no longer a farm girl and 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?”

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

  Unlike his brother Anais had many words to speak for he was growing fonder and founder of the young Handmaiden that 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 that 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, and knowing that the young girl 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 others can match them in skill, I am sure a necklace of Sagar teeth would look wonderful around your neck”.

  But the Handmaiden shook her head, “a servant of Isarie cannot wear such things, we are her chosen ones 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 laws, 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. But the thought of having a necklace of finely wrought gold and Sagar teeth made Kela put her hand to her neck and wish that it were hung with forbidden dreams.

  Endo pulled the hood of his robe closer around his face for he knew that the land of the Norgonie was not a place that welcomed Scavengers. It was true the he had spent little time with his people before he was found by his adoptive father and mother. But it was still long enough to understand that the forests were not safe for a Sandjar and that the people who dwelled there could not to be trusted. Once more he reached to touch the barrel of the Chamber rifle beneath his seat and reassure himself 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, and how they were masters of their environment living in vast fortresses and high up in trees, and stories of their hidden knowledge and ancient prophets who knew the secrets of the Gorn. All this and more made him wish that their wagon were a Volcarian land cruiser rather than the slow moving Karrack that he now found himself in. But patience was looked upon with pride by his species and he did his best to hold back his excitement. But after an hour of 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 that I really must take samples, and 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 refuse during the Burning time and slept 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 and bare only one child rather than the twins that Outlanders birth, 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 but he sometimes pains my ears. This thought brought a smile to Endo’s face for 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 that the green boy was only doing what he had been told to do. “I’m sorry” Osh said, “I was only thinking of myself”, then he thought of a way to make it up to his young but 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 the face of Endo, and 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 Homeworld. “When a Sandjar female has reached her birthing age she begins to emit a strong pheromone from the sent glands behind her ears, this odor in turns triggers a sexual response from the males of her tribe that 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...”

  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 and take an oath in blood to stand by her side against all that might wish to harm her. They were made up of both male and female, but they did not lay with each other or mate, they did this so they might better concentrate on their substantial fighting skills and pray to Isarie for wisdom. They did not mix with the other members of the tribe and kept 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. But to a Thungodra it was the best of all possible worlds for they believed that their devotion to the Goddess would assure them a special place in her Golden Hall, and there they would stand by her side throughout eternity.

  Now they rode their Whiptails close to the great wagon of the Holy Mother and closely watched the forest line for any sign of danger, while inside Egmar read from the Book of Isarie.

  The chamber where she sat was small but comfortable, she had light from a window but it was diminishing quickly with the setting of the suns. There was a very well made silver brassier filled with scented oil that she could light when it became too dark to read, but 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 waiting Handmaiden, she was placed there in case the Holy Mother needed food or drink or anything that might enter her thoughts, and as she stood there she could hear whispered words coming from the mouth of her mistress. At first she was certain that Egmar was repeating the ancient wisdom that was recorded in the sacred book but as she listened closer she knew this to be false. The Handmaiden had read and re-read the Holy Book many times and knew each and every letter put down in it and nowhere did she find the words that were being uttered now. For it was as if she was speaking to someone who was not there? And 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 and if it was not for the fact that she was indeed the Holy Mother the young woman would have thought her mind had become like that of a Frail Leg and run to fetch a Touchtender. But instead she remained where she was commanded to stand and tried not to listen to the strange words of the speaker of the Gods.

  At the head of the riders of the forest Ishea turned to look at the young man riding beside her, how fast Ral as 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. But for all his strength he was known more for his temper then his wisdom, a trait that he had inherited from his father and all the tribe knew not to raise his anger lest they be impaled on his spear.

  But now he rode quietly and stared straight ahead, he seemed at ease, but if you looked closely you could see that his fist clenched his weapon tightly and the muscles of his arms rippled with anticipation.

  My waiting is over, he thought, and then 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 Almadra to their ancient fortress.

  The trail had changed from the packed earth that comes with being trod on my for
est creatures to a road of stone bricks made by the hands of man. And as the clawed feet of the Whiptails began to walk on the hard stones they began to move in a way that was far different than what they were accustomed to, and this did not go unnoticed by Andra.

  This is not a simple trail through a forest, she thought, this is a well-constructed road that was 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? And as she looked closer at her surroundings she saw that 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 and at first she dismissed them as some kind of small apes, but then she realized that they were not primitive humanoids but rather young children.

  She had to smile as she saw them laughing and calling out to each other in play as they dangled high above her head, but then she realized that one missed placed 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, but 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 and there silhouetted against the setting suns was a stone structure that could have easily rivaled the great fortresses of the Youngonrie. It was octagonal in shape 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 girl knew exactly what these were for.