The Fallen God

by Gary Mark Lee

  You wander the Outlands and forever will roam.

  Your name will not be heard in the Golden Hall.

  You will not answer the war drums call.

  Forever alone you will walk Rowgals lands.

  And lay forgotten beneath her trackless sands.”

  Hearing the words of the servant of Isarie the young Prince made a vow to himself and to whatever God might be listening.

  I will not be forgotten.

  Egmar also saw the bright moon that now hung in the night sky like a great pearl of the Western Sea. She stood on the highest platform of her Holy Wagon dressed in a simple robe with no ornamentation and listened to the merriment that emanated from the great dome nearby.

  Why do they sing? She asked herself, they have grown fat and lazy with too much food and drink, then she looked up at the moon named Rowgal, it is good that you are a large moon for there will be many coming to walk your lands. She turned from the heavens and walked to the narrow stairway that led from the observation level that she was now on down into the lower chamber of the moving shrine. As she walked she saw many young Handmaidens going about their duties and making sure those sacred artifacts and statuary was cleaned and put in their proper places. In the past they would have welcomed the site of their Holy Mother but as of late they saw a strange change in her manor and behavior. And being servants of the Goddess they could not tell of what they saw for they were forbidden to speak to any member of the tribe without permission from the High Priestess. Now when she came near them they felt afraid, afraid that she would find some fault with their appearance or their work, and rather then incur her anger they were content to turn their faces from hers least they make eye contact and begin an argument.

  So Egmar walked to her chamber without any words being spoken. Once inside her quarters she went to the ornate chair that was hers and sat down. She looked around for a moment as if she expected someone or something to speak, after a time she decided that she was indeed alone and closed her eyes.

  She was about to drift off to sleep when she heard a voice calling to her.

  “There is a God coming” it said.

  She quickly opened her eyes and gazed at the spider that was now perched on her bed, its glowing red eyes stared back at her with a baneful intelligence. Egmar had now grown accustomed to her dark companion and spoke to it as if it was an old friend.

  “Why would a God seek our company?” she asked softly.

  The dark creatures tilted its grotesque head and emitted a low rattling sound. “It does not come for pleasure, it comes to destroy”.

  There was no reaction from the Holy Mother but her faced showed a grim smile.

  Chapter 17.

  The offering of Rowgal.

  I am the greatest of all Gods.

  My power is absolute and my wisdom is without end.

  All other Gods live in my shadow and must bow down to me.

  My mighty hand will destroy those that refuse to bow.

  But those that sacrifice themselves to me will know everlasting life.

  From the book of Arm-Ra.

  Sunbirth saw the Almadra and the Norgonie still feasting and drinking inside the fortress dome, they had not slept or rested through the night and the music still sounded as if the musicians had just begun their playing. Here and there some warriors lay upon the stone floor filled with so much drink that they did not stir when a fellow tribesman tumbled over them on their way to the wine barrels. There were still some fruits and breads lying on cluttered tables but all the Rimar meat was gone, devoured by hungry Outlanders and Forest-dwellers. And there was not one fat Troca to be seen wiggling in its serving bowl.

  At the table of the King of the Almadra and the Queen of the Norgonie, the conversation had turned to talk of hunting and the dangers of certain animals.

  “I will grant you that Arabus birds are dangerous”, Arn said, “but they would not stand against a raging herd of stampeding Rimar”.

  To this the Queen nodded her head, “yes I agree that nothing can stand before them but Rimar are dull witted creatures”, then she smiled, “but I heard they served you well in your victory over the Talsonar”.

  Ishea had listened to the story of how the Outlanders used hundreds of maddened Rimar to dive the Hal-Jafar and the mutated Yangmar into a field of deadly Moonbuds and therefore their deaths. And try as she might she could not help but feel a certain amount of envy when she looked at the Half-Soul girl that was now the mate of Arn, but like all good Queens she knew how to conceal her emotions.

  The King turned to look at Andra who was feeling the effects of the nights drinking and the jealousy that was slowly gaining strength inside her. “It was Andra’s idea to use the Rimar as a strike force; she was once a great warrior on other worlds”.

  Ishea leaned back in her chair still holding half-full tankard of Po, “a great warrior you say, does she hunt also?”

  Andra was not too drunk to hear the words of the Queen and looking into her green eyes she spoke loudly but with a bit of a slur to her words. “I’ll have you know I once killed a Horde-wolf that was eating our cattle, and I did it with one shot!”

  This made the Queen smile, “yes we have heard that Half-Soul use hand weapons that kill from a distance, but are you brave enough to risk death face to face?”

  Without thinking the Selcarie girl answered still looking into the emerald eyes of her rival, “death and I are old friends” she said proudly.

  The Queen leaned forward now and held up her cup to Andra, “then it is settled, as soon as the ritual of Rowgal is done we will start the hunt”.

  And before Arn could say a word the warriors began to beat their drinking horns on the wooden table and call out.

  “Hunt, Hunt, Hunt!”

  That cry was taken up by any Nomad or Norgonie who could still hold their cups. The cry continued to grow as the Elders of both tribes took up the refrain.

  As the dome echoed with the chatting of the warriors Arn looked into the face of his mate, she is a brave woman but she does not know what is to come.

  Andra just smiled and listen to the cries of the men and woman around her, and she continued to smile right up to the time her head began to spin and she heard the “thud” of her aching skull on the wine stained table.

  The morning suns found Osh awake and ready for the day, he had slept soundly and was now filled with excitement at the wonders he was about to see and the information that no other of his kind had ever recorded. So he had risen well before Sunbirth and gathered together his writing tools and three fresh parchments of Rimar hide and put them into a woven carry sack. He even prepared a morning meal of leftover Hagar soup and some ripened Balbar fruit. It was not something that he did a lot now, preferring to leave the cooking to his son, but the Sandjar boy was still sleeping inside their tent and he was eager to begin his observations.

  The Calaxion was about to call out to his son when the tent flaps opened and out walked the young Sandjar. He was dressed in a simple robe with a set of walking boots to cover his ordinarily naked feet for knowing that the Norgonie did not care for his kind he took the added precaution of footwear to hind his imprints. He stretched his long thin arms and shook the dream clouds from his large head.

  “Good morning father” he said sleepily.

  “And a good morning to you”, the old man replied, then he noticed that his son appeared to have slept badly and being a good father he had to investigate, “you look tired, did you not rest well last night?”

  The Sandjar boy moved slowly to their Washa and ladled some warm Hagar soup into a clay bowl, “no father I did not, I dreamed strange things and awoke several times during the night”.

  Now it was well known that Calaxions did not dream, and it was mostly true for Osh had only dreamt once in his entire life, and that was because the creature that lives inside the planet had invaded his mind. Sense that time he had not had his rest interrupted by visions, but that did not mean he could not feel empath
y for his son.

  So he sat down on a water barrel and after clearing his throat he spoke, “so tell me what dreams did you see?”

  Endo was about to speak when he decided to take a few spoonfuls of warm soup to give him time to think. But Osh was a man of great patience and waited calmly until his son swallowed his food.

  “Well father” the boy began, “I was lying in a shallow pond of what seemed like warm water, then I felt something touch my leg as if a Ellworm was crawling. But instead of feeling afraid it felt good, then I suddenly became warm all over and it felt like I was being pulled into a pit of great contentment”.

  Endo was very proud that his son was using such precise words and even though he had no personal experiences he knew exactly what his son was saying. Sex, my son is growing faster then I thought. So taking a deep breath he spoke. “It seems that our talks about the mating habits of Sandjar did not reach a certain point that would have had an answer to your dream”; the old man scratched his head. “But why you should have such a dream is puzzling for there are none of your kind here and no reason for your instincts to be aroused”.

  Endo listened to the wise words of his father but before he could tell him about the strange odor in the night before they heard a loud “bonging” sound and the old man jumped to his feet.

  “The ritual is about to begin,” he said with excitement, “come on I don’t want to miss a thing!”

  And taking up his carry sack and covering his large head with a woven cap the old man and the young scavenger began walking towards the great shrine of Arm-Ra.

  The air was filled with the scent of morning flowers and the ringing sound of the silver gong that called the faithful of the Norgonie to prayer. The huge cymbal hung under the golden dome atop the shrine of Arm-Ra and sounded only on ritual days and in times of danger. Now it would call out with it echoing voice to signal the gathering of the two tribes and the ceremonial offerings that were about to be made.

  All around the base of the massive pyramid the Almadra and Norgonie stood, the forest people wore their best attire and painted their faces in the traditional ways of their forefathers. Young and old stood side by side and watched as the warriors of Caltarine gathered before the great stone steps. They also wore their best; each man and women wore a short tunic made from animal skins fashioned with small sections of plate armor. They also wore necklaces of teeth and bracelets of gold and silver and each held a long strong spear in their hand. Their strongly muscled arms and legs were painted with green and brown stripes and on their feet were thick Rimar hide sandals set with sharp spikes at the heels. All of them carried an oblong shaped shield made from hard wood and covered in a layer of thin but strong Itarian Steel and on its face was a mystic symbol centuries old. A wide belt of Rimar hide circled their slim abdomens with a long dagger stuck into a scabbard at their sides.

  Ishea stood at the head of the warriors, she looked resplendent in a tall headdress of feathers and gold, a long cape of Sagar cat hide hung from her shoulders and trailed out behind her in a show of power. She held her spear in one hand and rested the other on the ivory handle of her dagger, she held her head high as a Queen should do and anyone who looked at her knew that she was every bit the leader of the Norgonie.

  Beside her and dressed much the same was Ral, but he wore no headdress but rather covered his skull with a well fashioned helmet made of thick Itarian steel set with a ring of spikes. There was an articulated flap that hung down at the back to protect his thick neck and it too was set with long spikes. Now as he stood beside his Queen he glanced over at the Almadra warriors and seeing them brought a smile to his lips.

  These cannot be the rulers of the Outlands, he thought, from the stories I have heard they should be much taller.

  Nearby but apart from the Norgonie stood the Almadra, their steel armor shone in the morning light and their horned helmets made them look taller than they were. Each held their war-axes and all made sure that it had been well cleaned and honed to razor sharpness. Behind the warriors stood the Elders of the tribe, they too wore their best robes and many carried the sacred Ancestor-chest that Nomads held so dear. Next to the Elders stood the men and women of the Almadra also wearing their finest attire, the women’s hair was braided and done up in intricate designs that showed off their gold, silver and ivory stays, and around their neck hung great necklaces of shells and precious stones. Shell also hung from their ears and from their writs for it was the treasures of the sea that brought envy to the heart of a Norgonie woman rather than mere gold or silver.

  Everyone knew it was a vanity that women should not have flaunted at a religious festival but no man dare tell that to his mate.

  Andra did not care if her hair was attractive or not for her head felt as if it was going to split in two. The short time she spent unconscious was not enough to drive the swarm of buzzing Dotflies from her mind, so now she stood on shaky feet trying not to vomit all over her armor and squinted her eyes against the brightness of the day, and as for the night before she had no memory other than a hatred for green eyes and a dream about hunting a Horde-wolf.

  Why did I drink so much? She asked her aching mind, then came another banging of the gong and her head reeled with throbbing pain.

  Arn on the other hand felt well and strong for the physiology of a Nomad allowed him or her to drink all night and be able to fight all day if necessary. His remembrance of last night’s activities was fresh and clear, but it also brought trouble for he knew full well what Ishea had in mind when she challenged Andra to a hunt.

  I will protect her; he thought as he glanced at Andra, I would keep my promise to her and stand by her side always.

  Once again the air filled with a great “BONG” and the King turned to see his mother and her Handmaidens approaching.

  First came the Thungodra, their black armor shining like great dark beetles and their thick steel helmets covering their faces so that they resembled the insect even more. They carried war-axes and other weapons, and they marched to the pounding of the ceremonial drums. Behind them walked the servants of Isarie; the Handmaidens had stained their naked bodies red with the juice of Safic berries as was the custom for such rituals. They did however wear a thin strip of Rimar hide around their waists and necklaces of gold and silver, and on their heads were tall headdresses of Doff-bird feathers studded with precious jewels of red and blue. Each one held a golden bowl filled with Grana as an offering for it was commanded that they give that which is most valuable to the tribe, and the green salt was the greatest gift of their Goddess.

  Following the Handmaidens and carried on a litter fashioned from ivory and gold sat their High Priestess, she was held high by several strong Thungodra each one holding the rail of the litter in one hand and a staff with the flag of the Almadra in the other.

  Egmar held her head high and did not look to either side as she was being carried; she wore a long graceful robe of finely woven fabric. It was bright red in color with sacred symbols embroidered in gold and silver, and although the garment was ancient in age it looked like her Handmaidens had just sewn it. On her head she wore a fantastic headdress of dyed feathers and gold, It rose up like a great red wave and drew attention from the old woman’s scarred face. Around her neck hung a heavy necklace of silver and colorful shells and on each of her thin fingers there was a large ring set with a jewel. Her one hand held a gold bowl also filled with Grana while the other grasped an ivory staff topped by an intricacy cast sunburst of gold.

  With the pounding of drums and the sound of signal horns the procession moved to the steps of the great temple and stopped, there it waited as the moon called Rowgal hung over their heads. In the bright sunlight the celestial globe could still be seen clearly for its orbit was close to the planet and with it three other celestial bodies moved through the heavens, Ashsana, Lomic and now Andra the smallest moon named by the Nomads. But the Norgonie did not welcome that name and the tiny blue moon was known as Amura, the name of their first Godde
ss.

  Now once again the gong of the shrine rang out and all turned to look at the top of the great pyramid.

  Out from under the golden dome came two dozen or more young men, they were the Holy men who served the God Arm-Ra, for unlike the Nomads only males were permitted to perform the sacred rituals and walk in the holy places of their faith. They were tall with shaven heads and tattoos on their foreheads; they were naked with strong bodies covered in a blue stain made from leaves of lotus blossoms. They wore headdresses of ivory set with blue jewels and carried golden bowls filled with more lotus flowers. At their throats hung necklaces of ivory, the great fangs of Sagar cats mixed with their long sharp claws. They moved solemnly and formed themselves in a half-circle around a mass of carved stone that stood at the entrance to the dome. The stone itself was a translucent green stained with dark streaks of crimson; it resembled the head of a cat with two large red stones as eyes.

  They lifted the golden bowls slowly up and down and chanted in a language that had not been spoken in a thousand years.

  “Ragute Ranana Trocoro Arm-Ra”, it was from the ancient language, it meant, “all glory to Arm-Ra”.

  From where Egmar sat she could see clearly the face of the High Priest. He has not changed; he is still as arrogant as he always was.

  All this was not lost on the Calaxion for he and his Sandjar son had seen all this from a vantagepoint not far from the proceedings. They had found an out of the way place, atop a mass of fallen stone and steel that had once been a tower of some kind, there they made their way up until they could see all the activities that were not taking place. They had not been noticed for the Norgonie and the Outlanders were far too busy to notice one old man and a young boy who kept his features hidden by a hooded robe.

  Now Osh could hardly keep up his writing with all the things that he was seeing.

  “This ritual bares a strong resemblance to the ceremony of fertility on Candoris in the Bergena system”, he said as he scribbled hastily on his parchment. “I wish I had brought more scrolls and a fresh pot of ink”.