Nomads of the Gods

by Gary Mark Lee

  Chapter 6. Captives

  Those who move over the land and eat the dead, are not my children.

  They are to be driven into the dark places of my world.

  And there they will feast upon the demons that bore them.

  From the Book of Isarie.

  The old man, was not sure he wanted to be alive. The Sandjar had not killed them but it might have been better, for the past few days, they had been given bitter water and moldy food. They did not know what the food was, nor did they want to but it kept them alive. They had been beaten and abused, more for sport than anything else. The Sandjar seemed to enjoy, seeing them in pain, it was fun, they would poke them with sticks and scream at them in a language they did not understand. The tribe's small children, liked to throw things at them, generally making their lives miserable. More than once, one of the little monsters, bit them with their sharp teeth, to see how they tasted. If they fought back, the adults would strike them with dried Rimar bones or stones.

  They had been traveling over the sands, the humans did not know, which direction they were heading. The landscape seemed to be the same in all directions. Sand, rocks, and pieces of debris, was all they could see. It was hot but they managed to shield themselves from the twin suns, by covering themselves with anything they could find, in the cart, at night they shivered. They did not know, where they were being taken, all that mattered was trying to stay alive.

  Osh was laying on a load of scavenged parts and rotting flesh from the Drop-ship's dead prisoners. The old man, seemed to be a lot tougher, than even he expected. His hands were bound and the smell from the decaying flesh beneath him, was overpowering but still, he was thankful to be alive. He looked over at Andra, also bound, she was not, conscious but he could see from the slow rise and fall of her chest that she was alive.

  Andra and Osh, had talked very little over the past few days, whenever they did, the Sandjar became very angry, they did not seem to like, their captives communicating. Maybe they thought, they were planning an escape, or some other plot to harm them. Whatever it was, they would beat them, or scream loudly, until they finally learned to remain silent, rather than incur their wrath.

  The old man looked up at the clear sky, he was not sure, how they got through the last few days, or why they were still alive but here he was, alive but not much else. He decided to let things move as they would, he comforted himself with the knowledge that he had been one of the few real scholars, to make the trip to Gorn and live to see it.

  Maybe, this was meant, to be? Maybe the Gods exist and this was their plan for me, the Gods are very precise in their judgments and calculations, they must have a plan; he thought.

  He smiled, then he shook his head, he had lived a long time and had come to the conclusion that, the Gods like the future, are not to be counted on, what would come, would come. He lay back on the dead bodies and reassured himself, things could be worse, although he was not sure how.

  One thing bothered him, small red spots were breaking out on his and Andra's skin. The old man had some knowledge of Off-World diseases but did not recognize this one. He felt his vision was blurring some and his bones ached but then again, they always did.

  He had read that many who came to Gorn, acquired the same spots, it was blamed on the twin suns, or the strange Electro Magnetic pulses that plagued the planet. There were reports that a green salt called Grana was a cure. They had not been given any such salt in the past few days. He did see several Sandjar, putting small crystals into their toothy mouths.

  Could that be the Grana? He would need to examine it further, until then, the spots had to run their course. Whatever caused the redness, he hoped it would not be fatal.

  Og sat proudly at the front of the wagon, his belly was full and the carts were full of fresh meat, enough to last them for a long time. His family had worked feverishly, all through the night, gathering everything of value, from the crashed Dropship. Better yet, they had gotten away, without having to deal, with other scavengers. They even had two prisoners, they would fetch a good price in the pyramid city's markets. A strong woman was always in demand, she could be used for many purposes, a good worker or an underworld slave.

  If there was no interest from them there, the Sea People, always needed another hand, on their harvest ships. Alternatively, she would make very good eating. There was nothing better than nice fresh meat and females were more tender than males. As for the old man, he was too old to be much use and too skinny to make a good meal. However, there were ways to prepare food, he might have a good liver or heart. Og loved a nice warm heart, as long as it was not too tough. From the look of the old human, his heart would be as tough as Rimar hide, making a meal of the old man, was out. Maybe, it was best to discard him now and leave him to the Sun-droppers.

  The Sandjar leader, looked over his shoulder at the old man's frail body, he nodded, yes it was best to leave him. He was about to do just that, when he looked at his mate, she was very near her birthing time. Her belly was protruding and he could plainly see the bright yellow spots that appeared just before labor started. Next to her, was his other wife, older and unable to bear children, she was useful as a midwife. Maybe the old man could be of use after all.

  The pregnant wife, suddenly let out a cry, it was time, Og stopped the cart by a large jagged rock. When the cart stopped Andra awoke, she opened her eyes and tried to focus. Every muscle in her body hurt, she could smell the dead bodies beneath her, she began to gag.

  Osh looked at her.“Good morning,” he said.

  The young woman looked at him, “What's good about it?” she said, “and what is that smell?” She lifted herself up as best she could, with bound hands, “Still alive I see?”

  “It appears so,” Osh replied, “I told you the Gods had a plan for us, I just wonder what it is? For a time, I was assigned to reprogram the Worshiper Interface on Rowgalus Prime. They wanted the Holy Scriptures, to be more up to date, as I was adding several new passages, I came across a most interesting saying, it said, even Gods die.”

  The old man scratched his head; I wonder where Gods go when they die? He began to think about this but not for long.

  Og suddenly grabbed both of them and dragged them from the cart, hitting the ground hard, they laid in the soft sand.

  “Hey! Watch what you’re doing, you ugly green bastard,” Andra shouted at the Sandjar leader.

  She should not have, he kicked her hard in the side, then waved a heavy club at her face. He screamed at her and although she did not understand, she realized, it would be better keep her mouth shut. Og gave her another kick, then walked away, Andra lay for a moment, then lifted herself up. She looked at Osh and managed a weak smile, “I get the feeling, he doesn’t like me,” she quipped.

  Og went back to his mate, he motioned to the others, the Sandjar began to dig a wide pit in the ground. Andra could see what was happening, she whispered to Osh, “What are they doing?”

  “They are digging a pit for the birthing ritual,” he said, “As well as being scavengers, Sandjar are very good diggers. The females gave birth twice a year, most of the babies die at an early age, so they need to keep the females pregnant. When a female is ready to mate, she emits a rather foul odor and the color of her skin, changes from dark to light. She becomes quarrelsome and behaves strangely, rolling on the ground and making soft purring sounds, or so they say. Then the male Sandjar will show her his…”

  “Why don’t you tell me later?” Andra was not really interested in the Mating Rituals of her captors, she would rather concentrate, on finding a way out of their situation.

  The old man nodded, “As you wish but it really is, very fascinating.”

  Andra watched them dig, until there was a pit about three meters wide and about a meter deep. They laid a bed of some type green moss, they poured water on the moss, making it moist. The pregnant Sandjar, then lay down on the makeshift birthing bed, the females gathered around her.

  The female lay with her thin
legs apart, making grunting sounds, the other females, chatted or made soothing noises. This was to calm the pregnant Sandjar and hasten the birthing possess, Og seemed happy, everything was proceeding as it should. He did not hear the two captives whispering.

  “Now is the time to make our escape,” Andra's back was to the Bone Gathers.

  The old man looked at her with a wrinkled brow, “Escape to where? Our hands are bound and we have no food or water.” He motioned for her to look around, “I do not think we would get far, with nothing to eat or drink and no direction to travel.”

  He was right of course, it was a silly plan but it was hard for Andra to do nothing, “Yes, I guess you’re right but we can’t go on like this, much longer.”

  “Perhaps not,” he said, “but the longer the better, who knows, we might survive?”

  Andra thought; are all Callaxions so optimistic? We might survive! I’d like to have a better reply than that!

  They heard a loud cry, looking over, they saw the female had given birth. The midwife held a small greenish looking Sandjar, it wiggled in her hands, like a ground worm. The rest of the family, leaped about in joy, making loud grunting sounds. The group's females, began licking the baby clean, a way of showing affection and respect, to their leader's mate. Shortly afterwords, they laid the baby on the soft wet moss, it was still crying loudly.

  Og looked at his small child, he seemed proud. It was another mouth to feed but it would also add to the tribe's strength. To survive it needed nourishment, not the rotting flesh from the Drop-ship, or the thin milk from its mother's tit. It would need real food, food that would help it to grow and become strong, he knew just where to find it.

  He went over to the captives, after looking the old man over, he seemed to reject him. He turned to the woman, a much better choice! He grabbed her, then tore the clothing from her back, he ran his sharp claws, over the soft flesh, he seemed pleased. He roughly dragged Andra over to the newborn.

  Andra was not sure, what was going to happen. Looking closely at the small baby, she saw, it had a large slit, where its mouth should be. The baby cried out, she could see, it was lined with two rows of small sharp teeth. Fluid dripped from wrinkled lips and a purplish tongue, darted in and out, like a small snake. The thing's eyes were shut, its tiny arms, waved around like small tentacles. Andra had seen many newborn babies and always found them appealing, this one, made her shudder in disgust.

  To Og, the little baby was beautiful, as with all fathers, he was happy and protective of his child. He would do whatever he could, to help it, survive. He listened to its wailing and he knew just what it needed. He took out a small knife, bending down, he took the woman by the arm. He made a small cut on her back, the blood started to flow but not for long. Og stood back, the Sandjar females, forced Andra down near the baby, they watched as the tiny infant, attached itself to her back. Its small hands had three fingers each, with sharp claws at the end of each digit, its nursing claws. They dug into Andra's flesh and held fast, then the baby began to suck deeply. It seemed there was nothing better for a newborn Sandjar, than live Off-Worlder blood.

  Andra, was sickened, it was like having a giant leech, draining your body of life. Give me a rock and let me smash this little monster's head, I don't care if I die, just get this thing off me; she thought.

  She knew, it would be her end, it might have been worth it, to remove the parasite but she decided to let things continue. It stopped crying and made soft cooing sounds. The new mother, came to Andra, she looked at her, then she took a small piece of green crystal and put it into Andra’s mouth.

  To Andra it tasted bitter and she almost spit it out. The tasted changed to, not bad at all, in fact it was delicious. She seemed to feel much better too, it was like a courage drug. She felt new strength, a new vitality, whatever it was, she was happy to eat it.

  The tribe members watched the new baby suckling, they had another member now. They would let the new mother rest for a time, then they would continue their journey. Their carts were full, there was much to be thankful for. Some of them, took small wooden drums from the carts, they built a fire, a body that was not too decomposed was selected, they began cutting it into small portions. There would be a feast tonight, a celebration of new life, they started dancing around the sandpit, they would continue for the rest of the day and far into the night.

  Not too far from the Sandjar, the Almadra were on the move. They had a new King to follow, Arn led them over the sand and rock, like his father had before him. Riding on his Whiptail, he thought about all that was to come. Will I be a great leader like my father, will I be able to find the Rimar herds and fresh water. He shifted in his saddle; what of the other tribes, the Hal-Jafar, the Wind riders, the Talsonar, Earth-shakers, Shadow-men. Will I be able to defend against them? I now know, why my father had to be strong, I will try to be the same.

  Agart rode beside his brother, in the valley of the Madrigal, in a stone tomb, they had laid their father to rest. He would remain there for all time, when they came back, they would pay their respects to him. Sacrifices would be made to the Gods in his name and prayers offered, so his soul could enter the Afterlife. Agart had done all that was required, now he would stand by his new King. He would do whatever was needed, to keep the tribe strong and appease the Gods, it was his place in life and he was satisfied.

  Anais was not at his usual place at the head of the column, he rode beside the High Priestess' huge wagon. He was not thinking of the past few days and the death of his father, that was all done now. He was thinking about what the old Holy Woman had said, “The Gods are not content.” What did it really mean?”

  It was a message to him from the Keeper of the Faith, Obec was letting him know, she was not, satisfied with the choice of King. If she was not pleased, there might be a way of using it, to his advantage. He rode near to the wagon, to send a message to the Priestess, he smiled to himself and dreamed of the days to come.

  Seeda and her mother, sat quietly in their cart, they had not talked much over the last few days, Karn's death, was still fresh in their minds. Seeda heard her mother crying softly late at night, she knew, she was mourning her mate. There was nothing she could do, she hoped her mother would return to them someday, she did not want her to become a Wailing Woman. Females of the tribe, who spent their lives in mourning, never smiling or laughing. It would take time but she knew the day would come.

  Egmar sat beside her daughter but she did not feel the motion of their wagon, as it bounced over the rocky terrain. She was thinking of her lost love, over, and over. She saw an endless vision of the days and nights of their lives together. So many years, where had they all gone? Was it all a mere flicker in time and space? Will Isarie remember our names?

  She remembered everything clearly, every laugh and tear, every fight and sorrow, she cherished them now, it was all she had. Memories, so many memories. Memories can appear clearer than reality, all the bad times are forgotten, only the clear light of love remains.

  The Almadra were heading towards one of the great stone cities of Gorn, it was the home of the Talsonar, the city dwellers. The tribe would trade with them for essential goods and materials, they did not like the Talsonar and the Talsonar hated them.

  The city was filled with Off-worlders and Waste-wanders, in the minds of the Madrigal, it was an evil place. A place where Sin-Cravers lived and High-breeders looked down upon everyone else. If they had not needed what the Talsonar had, they would never, have gone near the place.

  They did need what they had, they were the only ones, who could supply them with the weapons they needed, to keep them safe from their enemies. In ancient times they fought with hand weapons and the war beasts they rode. They faced their foe, man to man, living or dying by strength and skill. When the outsiders came, they brought with them guns and explosives. They traded with the Outlanders and soon, all were corrupted by their power. The people of the stone cities got what they needed, Grana to keep them alive.

&nbs
p; The green salt was carried in special heavily armored carts, pulled by four Trofar, a phalanx of warriors, guarded each wagon. Without the Grana, there would be no trade and without the weapons, they would be vulnerable to attack from their enemy. It was an uneasy alliance, one that could prove fatal.

  For now it was a necessary evil, they would go to the city and trade, they would take the weapons and return to the Outlands. It was the only way, there was nothing else they could do.

  Arn led the tribe over the sands, like all his kind, he did not need a map or any device to guide him. As far as he knew, there was no navigational machine or instrument that would work on this planet, it kept them safe. Any outsider, who ventured too far into the wastelands and lost sight of a marker or the pyramid city's beacon, had little chance of ever finding their way out. Only true creatures of Gorn, had the six sense of direction, they always knew exactly where they were.

  The city people, had tried many times, to discover their secret, they always failed. If they built too many markers into the Outlands, the Nomads destroyed them, they did not allow markers to be placed between cities. They hoped the Off-worlders would kill each other, battles between pyramid cities, happened frequently but still most of the cities, were still inhabited. They traded with the many, tribes of the lands of Gorn.

  The secret of traveling without becoming lost, belonged to the Nomads. An Outlander, would not betray his tribe, by leading them into the desserts or other lands. It was one of their most sacrilegious offenses, it would surely bring down the wrath of the Gods, onto the offender. The Outlands belonged to them, it was their home and always would be.

  Although time is forever, beings are finite, the wheels of time wait for nothing and no one, grinding both Gods and men alike beneath their weight.