Chapter 9. Shadows and Light
All the lands of Gorn are yours to rule.
Travel them well and give thanks to the Gods.
But the stone cities are the cities of the dead.
Do not live in their shadows.
From the Book of Isarie.
The pyramid city of the Talsonar, was unaffected by the Land-quake, its sheer size, Itarian steel and stone construction, made it impervious to the violent rumblings of the previous night. The inhabitants, were still very frightened and spent an uneasy night, waiting for the next shaking of their city. It did not come, the quake’s epicenter originated deep in the Outlands, there were no pyramids there. So with the sunrise, the Talsonar emerged, inspecting the damage, then got back to their lives again.
The smaller stone and mud dwellings around the city, did not fare so well, many of them were damaged or destroyed but they could be rebuilt quickly and in a few days, it would look like nothing had happened.
As for the Overlords and the High-breeders, their lives were unaffected, they knew their home had stood for thousands of cycles, it would stand for thousands more. If a few people in the lower levels died, it did not matter, things would go on as before. The power station under the city was still running and the food and wine was ready for their morning meal, everything was as it should be.
In the large counsel room, Governor Darken sat at the long conference table. He looked over the intricate maps and papers, before him. The Land-quake did not alter his plans and his thoughts were focused on the matter before him. He had just finished, listening to a rather long winded speech, by a lower level bureaucrat. It was about the damage and casualties, caused by the quake, he was getting very bored, he raised his hand suddenly, the talking stopped abruptly.
“Yes, yes, that is all very well but I do not think, a few cracked walls or broken bones, should be a matter for this counsel. Please, take care of it yourself, when you're done bring me a detailed report,” he grumbled.
The man bowed low, “Very well my lord.”
Without saying another word, Darken watched the man bow once more, then leave the room quickly.
Darken turned to his two best Generals, Yung and Leeander, both were very capable and had worked their way up through the ranks. Leeander was the smarter of the two but not as ambitious, he would be a soldier all his life. On the other hand, Yung had the look of a man who wanted more, this could be dangerous, a man who wants more, is always probing for weaknesses, to use to his advantage. Darken knew, Yung would scheme and manipulate those around him, for his own personal ends. In the future, he would have to keep, a very keen eye on Yung. The Governor pointed to a map on the table, “Now tell me, what has been done, about setting markers in the western regions?”
General Yung checked the map, “I sent three companies of men, they reported the markers have disappeared. This may be natural forces or sabotage, we cannot be certain what caused it.” Any fool knows it was the Outlanders but let him think me a fool, someday I will have power.
The Governor knew perfectly well what had happened, “Nomads you mean, every time we try to mark an area, they destroy it, if we leave men on guard, they disappear.” Yung is playing the fool again, he does it very well, watch him.
Leeander knew the Governor was right, they simply did not have enough men, to guard the markers and the city. It was a useless plan anyway, over the centuries other Governors had tried the very same plan, they all failed. He did not want to bring that, to the attention of Darken. He tried to reassure his superior, “Perhaps we could try again, fortify the markers more heavily,” he said. If we had enough men and materials we might still have the markers.
“Fortify them?” Darken asked, “More steel, more materials, more men. No, it is useless to keep trying the same thing, we need to find another way.” Always the military mind, more is always right but not this time.
Yung knew what he was driving at, “Nomads? We have tried, we offer them anything but they always refuse to give us any information, the ones we capture and torture, die long before telling us anything.” The nomads are strong, we need more men.
General Leeander could not help but to comment, “Even if they agree, they die within one cycle.”
That was also true, away from the Outlands and their people, they began to decay. After one cycle of the planet, their bodies aged, soon they were nothing more than useless burned out hulks. No amount of Grana, or any of the healers drugs or herbs, could stop it.
The Governor turned away from the table, he signaled to a waiting slave, to bring him some wine. “You are right, it must be something in their genetics that lets them roam freely, something inside them, something we do not have.” The nomads have a power, a power I want!
The Generals knew the stories about the Nomads, that they were endowed by the Gods, with a directional sense, a natural power not possessed by outsiders. They dissected several of them but found nothing. Only unusually strong bodies and nothing else, they even tried to breed female Nomads with Talsonar but they only got mutants, neither strong nor intelligent and they soon died. Whatever it was, it could not be duplicated.
Darken thought on this for a moment or two, “Is the breeding of the Yangmar, proceeding as planned?” he asked Yung
General Yung nodded, “Yes, Governor, their genetics seem to be adapting well, their offspring are developing, strong and healthy. I will make sure, we have a full company of fast runners.” “What about the Trofars?” Darken asked.
“They are weak minded but strong, they will pull, whatever you put behind them.” The General looked at the Governor, “With the mobile weapons, they will make an army, the likes of which no one has seen.” An army I will lead, an army that will make me powerful.
Darken smiled, “Very good, continue as planned, make sure the Yangmar are trained sufficiently, I do not what them running in fear, like their kind normally do, I want as many legions as you can raise.”
Yung shook his head, “No matter how well they are trained, they will never be match for the Outlanders, it would take ten Yangmar to bring down one Nomad.”
Darken looked at him, smiling; he questions my authority, I must watch him. “Then make sure we have twenty Yangmar for every Nomad warrior.”
Yung tried to reassure Darken, he would be ready when the time came but inside he knew better. Twenty to one, a hundred, a thousand and where will we find them. How can a blind army, find a sighted enemy? He managed a small smile, “I estimate their warriors to be no more than one hundred thousand, based on their combined strength, if they ever join forces against us.”
Darken hid a small chuckle, “Do not worry, they won’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Darken could see that Yung was trying to gain information. He knew better than to disclose his plan; he needs watching. “Just make sure our army is ready, when the time comes, the Nomads will not join together, that is all you need to know.”
Leeander did not want to be upstaged by his rival and he stepped forward. “My legions are well trained and ready to fight now, give the order and we will march,” he said proudly; I will lead them, I will have power!
Darken smiled at him and took a drink of his wine, “Yes I know but an army without a leader is weak and a leader without a plan is weaker. You will follow my orders, wait until the Yangmar are fully developed, with them and your men, our army will be invincible, we will sweep thorough the Outlands, like a fire storm.”
“An army lost in the Outlands will conquer nothing,” Yung suddenly blurted out, he felt a chill run up his spine, having contradicted the Governor. Fool! Your time will come!
Darken only smiled at him, “I do not intend to let those arrogant lizard riders, make a fool out of me, I have waited too long and sacrificed too much.”
He suddenly threw his drinking cup at the table, hitting it hard, sprays of red wine went all over the map laying there. The stain soaked into the drawing, turning all the lands crimson.
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br /> The two Generals did not move or say anything, they could see, Darken’s mood had turned foul. They waited, hoping his rage, would not be directed at them. They had seen many of their peers, executed for displeasing the Governor. They stood like statues, to everyone’s relief, his anger vanished as quickly as it came. He walked over to the table and stared at the map.
“Red, red like blood,” he smiled, “it is such a lovely color is it not? I believe it's the God's favorite color.” He looked at his two Generals, “Train your men, gather the supplies and stock the weapons, the Gods and I, share a love for red.”
The Gods? I am a God! He slowly turned and left the room.
Darken walked down the marble hallway, he entertained himself, by looking at the many, stone busts, lining the walls, dozens of them, all of past Governors. Some had died of natural causes, some had been killed, either in wars, or by an assassin’s hand. Being eliminated, by an ambitious senator or overlord, was rather common. He himself had foiled many plots against his life and killed two assassins, in his very own bed. It was part of being a God and deep down, he rather enjoyed it. If one day of life, was exactly the same as the next, how dull it would be, becoming a God.
Walking to his quarters, he suddenly felt uneasy, there was someone near, perhaps he would have to fight for his life once more. He stopped and reached for the golden dagger, he always carried, then he waited.
Out of the darkness of a column, a figure appeared, he was tall and wrapped in a dark cloak, it covered him from head to foot. You could only see a portion of his face, it was scarred and decayed, the rest of his body almost certainly, looked the same. The dark robed man moved closer, he spoke one word.
“Darken.”
The Governor suddenly felt afraid, a feeling he rarely experienced. Then he realized who it was.“You!” he said, “I was not expecting you,” the Governor took his hand off the hilt of his dagger; show no fear, you are a God, a God!
“Yes I know,” replied the Darkman, “I do not like to announce, my coming and going.”
Darken looked up and down the hallway, it was empty. How he got past the guards and all the way, up to this level was a mystery. He motioned the dark figure, to a corner near a large bust, then he spoke in a low voice.
“My armies are growing, they will be ready soon,” he whispered.
“How soon?” The shadow man asked.
“After the Burning Time, if all goes well,” he replied; show no fear!
The Burning Time was still far off, then the rains would come, it was a long time but the Darkman knew, it was as fast as things could be done. “Very well, work fast but make sure, your soldiers are well trained and strong, the Nomads do not die easily.”
“Just make sure the Outlanders, remain enemies to each other, an army fighting amongst itself, is not an army.” The Governor moved closer to the robed man, he could smell, the faint odor of rotting flesh. He held back his urge to turn away; show no fear! “Are you sure, you can control the Nomads?”
“They are not as strong as they think, a Whiptail, is controlled by a bit in its mouth. The Nomads, are controlled by the reins of their laws, pull on those laws and they will go where I point them, it only takes a strong hand.”
The Governor could see, this was no weak minded fool, like all the others, “My army will be ready, make sure your guides will also be ready.”
The Darkman made a soft murmuring sound, “They will show you the way,” he said, “Do we have an agreement?” He held out his hand.
Darken looked at his fingers, the skin was all but eaten away, the bones protruded through the scabby flesh. The hand was still held out, waiting.
Show no fear!
The Darkman leaned close to the Governor, “I have heard that your people pledge loyalty, with a hand shake.” Darken slowly reached out, he took the man's hand, it felt like he was shaking hands, with a dead man. The robed figure tightened his grip, he suddenly realized, that his hand was immensely strong, a vice like grip that made him wince in pain.
Show no fear!
The Darkman let go of his hand, “You see, I do know how to control the reins,” he said, turning to leave.
The Governor saw him start to walk away, he called out after him, “If this is some kind of trick, I will find you and when I do, I will have your heart on my plate.”
The Shadow-man stopped and turned back, “And where will you look?” He walked away, slowly, down the hallway.
Darken stood watching him walk away, his hand hurt and he was furious that a rotting corpse, could have gotten the better of him. He would have liked to order his guards to seize him and take him to the torture chambers. His better judgment took control. If the Darkman died, then all his plans would crumble, it was better to wait.
He watched the strange man, vanish down the hallway, then he turned to the stone bust of the last Governor, beside him. He remembered the day he killed him, he cut him deep and watched, slowly pulling his entrails out. That was the day, he took over control of the Talsonar, he had waited years for the moment. He knew he could wait one more cycle, to take over, all of Gorn. He smiled and suddenly felt very well, in fact he felt like playing with his toys.
He headed for his bedchamber, his mind filled with perverted images, tinted red.
The Outland oasis, the Nomad's home for several days, was quiet. The damage from the Land-quake and fires, was repaired and the Touch-tenders had cared for the injured. Only a few Trofar, had run off but they would be rounded up soon and brought back to camp. The Whiptails had been fed well and the warriors, were making ready for the next leg of their journey. The suns were high and the tribe was enjoying a mid-morning meal.
The warriors sat together, making comments on the days past and the days ahead. They cleaned their armor and sharpened their weapons. They knew the Sandjar were about but they did not fear them, as much as they feared other Nomads. The Oasis was a vital link in their travels, it would be a prize to other Outlanders. Even with the truce, there was always the threat of an attack and if it did not come from the Nomads, there were plenty of other dangers.
Andra had been unconscious, for three days and nights, blood loss, had weakened her but she would live. Her cuts and the deep wound on her back, caused by the Sandjar baby, were cleaned and dressed. Her apparel was removed and her body washed, she now lay naked, sleeping on a soft mattress, of Onyx bird feathers.
Seeda sat next to her, when she was brought to camp, she was placed in the Princess' tent. A woman was not permitted into the King's tent, unless she was his concubine or wife. At the King’s command, she would be cared for, by his sister, until she was well. Seeda did not want the extra burden, of nursing an Off-Worlder, she already had her hands full, with her mother. The Queen's Handmaidens, could look after Egmar, so for the time being, Seeda would obey her older brother’s request.
As she poured warm Hagar soup into a wooden bowl, she suddenly heard the young woman moaning. Looking at her, she knew she was dreaming and from the look on the woman's face, it was not a happy one.
In Andra’s sleeping mind, images flashed, she saw a landscaped of open plains and in the distance, she could see a strange dark mountain. Above it, was a sky filled with lightning and thunder. The imaged changed, she saw herself standing, surrounded by thousands of dead bodies, they were bloody and their faces looked up at her, in terror. She stood still, as the bodies started to rise from the ground, followed by shaking, it grew more intense, until she thought it would burst her heart. She saw the dark mountain, slowly rising into the air, she heard a voice, a voice filled with quiet love.
“The Gods will arise,” it said, then the world around her, exploded in fire.
Andra sat bolt upright and let out a scream.
Andra's vision started to clear and she focused on Seeda, who was watching the young woman, she smiled, holding out the bowl of warm soup.
“You better eat this, if you want to heal those wounds,” she said.
Andra was not sure what was
happening, the last thing she remembered, was running over the sands, then a tall man standing next to her, then nothing. She reached over her shoulder, expecting to find the Sandjar baby still attached to her back. When she found she was at last free of the little parasite, she knew things could only get better. She reached out slowly and took the warm soup.
She smelt it, then quickly took a large gulp of the thick broth. She may have had better meals but right now, it was the most wonderful thing, she had ever tasted. She took several more mouthfuls and then smiled, “Thank you, it’s wonderful,” she said, holding the bowl out for more, “I’d like some more if I could?”
Seeda always liked it, when people complimented her cooking, it was almost as good, as when she was told, how well she wielded a warrior’s ax. She poured more warm soup into the bowl and handed it back to the young woman.
“Go easy on the Hagar soup, you will need to get used to real food again, after spending time with the Sandjar. They're mostly carrion eaters but I'm sure you already know that. So tell me, how did a Half-Soul like yourself, like being a blood mother?”
Andra looked at the Princess, “What do you mean Half-Soul?”
Seeda began cutting a loaf of fresh Kasha bread, “A Half-Soul, you know, an Off-Worlder, someone who is not The Chosen of the Gods, it is not your fault.” She handed some bread to the young woman, “I'm sure the Sandjar baby did not care one way or the other, you are lucky my brother found you in time.” Why did my brother bring such a weak thing home? Her hair is too short and her legs to skinny.
Andra took the fresh bread and put a small piece into her mouth, “Your brother found me?” she asked.
“Yes and the laws of the tribe say, anything that is brought out of the wastelands, is their property, so I guess you belong to Arn now.”
When Andra heard this, she stopped eating, she threw the bread across the tent and gave Seeda a hard look, “Listen, I don’t belong to anyone, understand? You can tell your brother to take me back right now, I’d rather take my chances in the dessert, than be somebody’s property.”
Seeing the young woman angry, made Seeda feel a lot friendlier towards her; this young woman has courage, perhaps she is strong. Perhaps we can be friends.
She had always believed, all Off-World females were weak and they walked with their heads down. Seeing the sudden fire in Andra's eyes, changed her mind right away. She knew, they would be good friends, even if she was not one of the God's Chosen, “I think you should tell him yourself, Kings prefer to hear news from the source, rather than the messenger.”
Andra was about to ask, what she meant by “King,” when the flap to the tent opened, in walked Arn.
Andra had been to many worlds and seen many men. Being a strong, healthy female, she had several devoted lovers, she considered herself, a good judge of the species. She had never been struck, by the sight of a man like this one, until now. His eyes were dark and piercing, long hair, pulled back and fixed with a leather thong. He stood ramrod straight and his shoulder were broad and strong. A girl could get lost in those shoulder; she thought. Andra was going to say something but somehow forgot, as for being naked, it seemed right!
Arn was also taken by the young woman. Last night, in the dim light, he had not really seen her, back at the camp, she was taken away immediately, for her wounds to be tended. Now, she was awake, the light from the open flap, streamed into the tent and onto her naked body, he could to see her very well. She was not as tall, or strongly built as the Almadra women, her hair was cut far too short and she did not have body tattoos, so attractive to Outlanders. There were some scars but they were not heavy or deep. Nomads were used to their mates carrying scars. There was something about her that said, she was not a Half-Soul, or a weak kneed city-dweller. This was a woman any man, or King, would be happy to have as his mate.
Seeda could see, her bother was staring hard at the young woman, She decided to say something, before he turned into a statue, “Well are you coming in, or are you going to let the warriors, see your property naked?”
Andra suddenly felt, naked, she grabbed a small blanket near to her and covered herself. Arn smiled and tried to sound like a King, “Um yes, well I came to see how she is,” he stammered, then he righted himself, “will she survive?”
“She will live to see the day,” Seeda replied, “shall I have her brought to your tent?”
Arn knew, it was his sister’s way of teasing him but before he could say anything, Andra spoke up, “I’m not going to any tent, with anyone. If you try I'll…,” she held up the wooden spoon she'd used to eat the soup.
The King had to smile, seeing the young woman and her weapon, either she was very brave, or very foolish. “I would never fight a woman with a spoon,” he said, turning to his sister. “Make sure she is cared for and dress her.”
He left the tent, Seeda could not stop herself laughing at her brother, he might be King but to her, he would always be a little Rock-runner. She spoke to the young woman, “It looks like my brother is glad he brought you into camp.” My brother likes this Half-Soul, can a King, mate with a Half-Soul?
“That was your brother?” Andra asked, with a look of disbelief; the Nomads are a handsome race, their men are very strong.
“Yes, well one of them anyway,” she looked closer at the young woman. She wants to mate with my brother, I can see it in her eyes, a King does not mate with a Half-Soul! “He is a good man and our King and Kings do not consort with Half-Souls,” she said.
This was meant as a threat but Andra was not listening, maybe it was the loss of blood, or the events of the past few days, whatever it was she suddenly felt weak. She lay back on the soft mattress and closed her eyes. She had a strange dream, she was swimming in a soft warm lake, a man was watching her, a tall man with broad shoulders.
Not too far from Seeda's tent, near the clear water of the oasis, Osh sat quietly, eating a bowl of food. During the past few days, he had eaten his fill of Rimar meat, Kasha bread and drunk wine. The Madrigal, had proven they were not the savages, he was meant to believe. True they were by no means a civilized group, by the standards of the galaxy, they were still very primitive. They had however, treated him with kindness and given him food and shelter, by doing so, he was now indebted to them.
The strange spots on their bodies, had vanished now, the green salt they had been given, seemed to be the cure. The old man saw that the precious mineral, was carried in special carts, well guarded by large warriors. Once he tried to get a sample for analysis, he stopped, when a war-ax was pointed in his direction.
So for now, he watched the Nomads intently, there were very few first hand accounts, of the life of the Nomads. No scholar had ever spent time with them in the Outlands. Any information about them, came from trader's stories, or the few, who managed to escape the World of Gorn. Their testimony could hardly be considered scientific evidence. So the old man felt very enthusiastic, he would be the first true recorder, of the everyday life of an Outlander.
He wished he had a Datacom import connection, then all he needed to do, was Mind-Say his information, to be instantly filed and categorized. Looked around, he knew there was little chance of finding a workable computer.
He smiled and took a sip of Po, he found it very, sour but it was the only strong drink they had. Still, it was better than plain water and each day, it seemed to taste better. He took another sip, then looked at the sleeping Sandjar baby.
It was quiet now, that was good, the little creature only woke when the twin suns went down. Then it cried for food throughout the night, falling asleep again at Sun-birth. He was regretting his decision to rescue the baby, maybe he could hand it over to someone else, once he got it back to the Nomad's camp? Then he remembered what he had been told, “Anything brought out of the desert, belongs to the person who brought it out.”
He was stuck, he could not bring himself to kill it, no matter what the Nomads told him to do. He was at his wits end though, constant lack of sleep and havin
g to spoon Rimar blood into the child’s toothy mouth. He took another draft of his Po and settled back to relax, thankful for this tiny break from fatherhood.
On the other side of the oasis, they were repairing the damaged carts and filling water jugs. The Frail-legs were sitting quietly as always and seemed content. They did not speak of the events of the previous night and no one had heard the words they spoke. Even if they had, no one would have understood them, it was their secret.
Anais was not pleased as always, his tent had been damaged and he was forced to spend the last few nights, in his brother Agart's shelter. He hated it, not because of the sparse decorations in the tent, or that his mattress was not very soft. It was the constant yammering of his older brother, it made his life even more miserable. He had to listen to endless stories of their childhood, how he had been the brunt of many tricks and how small he was, compared to the other young warriors. To Agart, everything seemed to be a joke, after the first night, it was too much for him and he took every opportunity to be alone.
He walked alone through the camp, there were few warriors, who cared to speak to him. When they did, it was about things that mattered very little. As for the Elders, they showed him respect but he could tell, it was a formality, they were not really interested in him. They were all tiny creatures anyway, after all he was a Prince and they were his subjects.
He began to think about Obec's words.
“The Gods are not content?” he muttered to himself.
He knew, she was telling him something he wanted to hear, as he stood near the water at the oasis’ edge. He felt somebody nearby, always uneasy, he turned to see a young woman, dressed in a scarlet robe, looking at him.
He saw her face and the red tattoo marking her forehead, this was Soffca, one of the High Priestess' Handmaidens. She had a soft clear face and bright eyes. Anais knew her from his childhood, before she was chosen, to be a keeper of the Holy writings, then hidden away from the tribe. Since then, she was not allowed to speak, dedicating herself to the holy rituals. Seeing her again, brought back forgotten memories.
He remembered how they had played as children, even playing fools jokes on his brothers, he even kissed her once. It was an innocent kiss of course but it was one of the few times, he felt anything other than hatred for his tribe. Any warmth he ever had for another human being, was for this young woman.
Soffca looked at him for a moment, then slowly walked towards him, when they were a few feet apart, she stopped. Anais was not prepared for what happened next.
“Come,” she said.
It was the first time the young Prince, had heard her speak in a very long time.
She turned and began to walk away, without thinking, Anais followed her. He did not know where they were going or why. Something made him feel this was an invitation he dare not refuse.
He followed her as she walked slowly towards the High Priestess' wagon. As they approached, he saw the black armored Thungodra, standing guard as always, challenging anyone who came near. When they saw Soffca, they lowered their weapons and bowed their heads. She passed by without looking at them, she made her way to a large tent that housed the Holy Woman and her Handmaidens.
The ornate tent was very large, decorated withe intricate designs, marking it as a place of worship. The tent poles, were made from the huge leg bones, of a Hagar Beast. It was large enough to hold, the movable shine used for rituals and sacrifices. Two large Thungodra drew back the tent flaps, as Soffca and Anais reached the entrance, they went inside.
Inside it smelled of incense and perfume, a large copper brazier was burning in the middle of the room. There was a carved altar stone, used by all the High Priestesses since the beginning of time. Its sandstone surface stained a deep reddish color, the blood of countless animals, sacrificed to the Gods. There were many statues of the Gods, held sacred by the tribe. Anais, had been inside the High Priestess' guarded tent, a only few times but never alone. This was a great honor for him but also a matter of some concern.
His mind began to race with all manner of thoughts. What was this all about? Was this a trap? If I suddenly disappear, who would question Obec? No one! She could have him killed, or worse tortured, who would know? He suddenly felt very afraid; perhaps it is better to turn around and go back the way I came.
Before he could decide, the Holy Woman came into view, she was dressed in a long white robe and wore a tall headdress. It seemed rather out-of-place to Anais; who would see her anyway? Put it all down to vanity, nothing more.
Obec walked up to him, then looking at Soffca, she said. “Bring fresh Po and some ripe Balbar fruit.” The Handmaiden went for the refreshments, then the old woman motioned for her guest to sit.
Anais saw a carved chair on a large colorful rug, near the brazier and sat down, Obec sat down on a similar but much larger chair near to him. There was an uneasy moment of silence, then she spoke.
“You are a wise man Anais, the Gods are pleased with you,” she said, with a slight smile. Through you, The Gods will work, you will be their hammer!
He always liked to hear good things, said about him but he was wise enough, to know that flattery was a form of manipulation. He was now sure that torture or death, was not on the crafty old woman's mind. She wanted something, he felt more at ease and settled back into his chair. “Give the Gods my regards, when you speak with them next, if they’re not too busy,” he smiled a little; she wants something from me. That's why she summoned me.
“Do not mock the Gods too much my Prince and never mock me,” her voice turning from warm to cold.
Anais felt a chill run down his spine; I could disappear! “I did not mean any disrespect to you, I was just…”
“Talking?” She said.
The old woman smiled, it seemed out-of-place on her wrinkled skin, her sharp features were more inclined to a frown, “Tell me, was it hard to keep up with your brothers? Seeing them grow strong and pleasing your father so much.”
“I kept pace,” Anais did not like thinking about his childhood; my father is dead now, dead and gone, there is no Afterlife!
“It must have been very trying, seeing them gaining so much attention. Especially, since you were so much smarter than they,” said the old woman.
She is playing games with me, she wants something, “Is that why you invited me here, to talk about my childhood?” He asked.
Obec picked up a small icon from a low table next to her, “Do you know, which God this is?”
Anais looked at the small figurine, its head was a sand dragon, “All Gods look alike to me,” he smiled mockingly; silly woman, there are no Gods.
“This is the God Horcon, the God of Destiny, he knows the future, he decides who is to live and who is to die.” She handed it to the Prince, “Take him, he may show you, things to come.”
He took the small idol and scrutinized it; there are no Gods. “Tell me Horcon, what will the weather be like tomorrow?” he laughed mockingly.
Obec did not laugh. She pointed a thin finger at him, “He hears you, as do I, do you see only tomorrow? What about the day after, or the day after that? Do you want to know your future young Prince?” I know your future, you will be the hammer and I will hold you in my hand.
Anais put the small statue down, “My future is my own, I do not need any God, to mold it for me.” There are no Gods and there is no Afterlife.
The old women sat back in her chair, “I know what lies before you, you want to be King, you want to rule. You want to see your brother’s, bow down before you, the Gods can make that happen, I can make that happen.”
She is talking treason! Will she go against the King? What does she want from me? He suddenly felt cold, if anyone but the most powerful woman in the tribe, had said those words, he would have laughed. The Keeper of the Faith, the Sayer of the Holy Writings, he leaned close to her, “How?” His eyes were suddenly alive.
Before Obec could answer, Soffca returned with the wine and fruit. She put the silver tray down on t
he floor, then knelt down to pour two goblets of Po. She handed one to the High Priestess and the other to Anais. She cut the sweet Balbar fruit into small portions, making them easier to eat.
“I will be plain with you,” the old woman said, taking a sip of the Po, “we cannot see the future with the eyes of Isarie, only she, knows the paths laid out before us. If we are humble and open our hearts and minds to her, we come to understand our role, to guide those Kings, who cannot see her wisdom, those who may lead us astray.”
Anais looked at the old woman; this is not a plan, this is mind riddle, this is not a Holy Woman, this is just another unhappy creature, I can deal with this woman. I can use her. He leaned closer and said softly, “You want to get rid of Arn and take control of the tribe yourself?” He took a deep gulp of the sour wine. If he was correct, the next words out of the old woman’s mouth, would either confirm his beliefs or see them crumble.
There was another tense moment, the High Priestess took a small bite of the Balbar fruit, then chewed it slowly. He thinks he knows me, he thinks he can use me, good, let him believe that for now. She too, spoke in a low voice, “As I said, you are a wise man, now I am wondering, you are a brave one also? Kings do not give up their crowns easily, sometimes they must be forced.”
Anais took a bite of the fruit, it was very sweet, he liked the taste of Balbar. He loved the taste of revenge even more, he had waited years for a chance like this. He always felt, it was only a matter of time, before an opportunity arose and he would seize it, now was the time. With the power of the Gods behind him and his own greed, there was nothing to stand in their way. “Kings can lose their crowns in many ways,” he said, “a dagger in the darkness, or in the fires of mistrust. A King without his people is not a King, he is just a wanderer of the wastelands.”
The old woman smiled, she knew, this young man, would live up to everything she hoped for. He was greedy, vain and had no love for his brother, or the will of the Gods. She only felt contempt for him but she had learned not to show her true feelings, she smiled at him, then bit into another piece of fruit.
“The Gods were right when they told me about you, you are a wise and brave man,” she remarked. She looked down at Soffca, waiting quietly for her mistress' command, “Soffca my dear, would you take Anais, to rest in your quarters, he seems tired.”
Without question, the young Handmaiden got up and took him by the hand, Anais did not resist, he followed her into the Holy Shrine's hidden chambers. As they disappeared from view, the old women went to the stone alter, in the middle of the tent. She took a gold cup and poured what appeared to be blood onto the stone. Slowly, it ran down the sides, mingling with the other red stains. Obec looked at the stone intently, she spoke in a voice only she and the Gods could hear.
“Orcost, Malluck, hashshem delcure, remas roc cornor,” it was the old language, only spoken by the High Priestess to the Gods, it meant, “Out of the darkness, into the light, the Gods will arise.” She bowed her head saying nothing more.
Nomads of the Gods Page 10