Chapter 17. Mazes
Dreams are the mind looking at itself.
There are those who see clearly.
And others who are blind.
From the Book of Isarie.
Agart was dreaming, he was walking alone in a dark land, he did not know where he was, or where he was heading, the feeling filled him with dread. There were no twinkling stars or family of moons, nothing to fill his soul with warmth, only an endless cold darkness, in his loneliness he called out, “Arn?”
He did not know why, he called out his brother’s name, he said it again, “Arn, Arn, Arn my brother?” There was no answer, only more eternal emptiness, then he said something that filled his hollow heart, “Forgive me.”
He stood alone in a forgotten world, a strange dark figure came towards him. As it moved closer, it took on a shape he suddenly recognized, a woman dressed in white, her hair filled with burning stars, the Goddess Isarie. Isarie, the merciful, the all knowing, the divine; he thought.
He smiled as she walked up to him, her eyes were filled with warmth and mercy. She stood before him and held out her hand, he took it into his and felt a love he'd never known. She spoke, words that filled all the dark chambers of his tormented soul.
“The Gods will arise.”
The words echoed through his mind and into eternity, he felt his body breaking apart, falling into a vortex of endless love. He woke up.
He lay in his tent, now he knew where he was, it made him feel secure, the Goddess had come to him in a dream, it was a good sign. He knew the Madrigal, were The Chosen of the Gods, perhaps he was The Chosen of the Almadra? He smiled and began to pray, eventually falling asleep, the warm night, washed over him.
The night had been filled with rolling thunder and bolts of crimson lightning. Warm rain fell softly, as the strongest warriors stood guard over the fallen dead. The warriors stood beside their fallen comrades to make sure, no Night-fliers or demons from the pit, came to feast on their blood.
One of the sentries, reported seeing a large dark shadow, lurking near the outskirts of the camp but it disappeared when several Whiptails roared. It had no doubt, smelled the blood from the ritual and thought it was a dead Rimar or Spikeback. There was one warrior, who swore he saw a Screel but he was not believed. A demon would not come so close to the Almadra camp, they had put out all their talismans, they would ward off a creature of the netherworld.
There was one report, Arn found very disturbing, it seemed that Seeda had left her post during the night, not to be seen again, until dawn. It seemed very strange to the King, that his sister had deserted her vigil, so easily. She was one of their best warriors and would never leave her post.
While Arn sat in his tent, listening to Agart he felt very uneasy, “She was not seen until well past morning, I also heard, Almec might have been with her.”
The King sat for a moment with his chin on his hand. The fire from his Washa did not seem very warm, the days were becoming warmer now and it was not really needed. It made him feel comfortable, he liked to look into the dancing flames. After a moment, he lifted his head, “Send for Seeda, then tell the warriors to prepare to move.” Arn did not look at his brother, he kept staring into the fire.
Agart watched the King for a moment; something troubles my brother, he always stares into the fire, when his mind is heavy. “Is something wrong?” he asked.
The King looked up from the fire, “Why do you ask?” My brother can see, he has the eyes of a Sager Cat.
Agart looked at his brother hard, “I know that look, from the time when mother scolded you, for bringing mud into our tent, what's troubling you?”
Arn nodded, then smiled at his brother, “If I remember rightly, your boots were no cleaner than mine.” He stared into the fire again, the King had the look of a man far away, “Do you think our father truly loved our mother?”
Agart was unprepared for this absurd question and he had to chuckle, “What a silly question, of course he loved mother, they were chosen, to be mated, by Isarie herself.” Isarie does not make mistakes.
The King looked up at the sky, “Do the Gods pick who we shall love?” he asked. His brother was not sure where this was heading but he thought it concerned the Off-World woman. This did not, please him in the least, “You and I are Almadra, we are The Chosen of the Gods, never forget it.” He went to the tent's entrance, to leave, “I will tell Seeda you wish to speak to her,” with a glance at his brother, he left.
For a time, the King sat looking into the flickering Washa fire; there are many things to do. The wagons loaded, the warrior's armor checked, to make sure rain did not make them go rusty. The Elders must be cared for and Seeda must be punished, again, so much to do. He looked deeper into the fire, he shook his head; Andra, you are not a lovesick Burrow-baby! You are a King of the Madrigal; he told himself. Besides, the woman is far too skinny and her hair is too short, her eyes too far apart and.... Realizing what he was doing, he stood up suddenly and left the tent.
Outside, the air was fresh and clean, he could hear the Whiptails roaring, while they were being fed. Yes! That's it, I will have a large bowl of Rimar meat, a full tankard of...no, two full tankards of Po, I am a King, not a weak Burrow-baby!
Not far from the King's tent, Seeda was lying in Almec's arms, they laid quietly, a small bowl was beside them, it contained several red crystals.
Seeda had gone back to the robe merchant, she traded everything in her pouch for Ice. She also gave him, her best pair of earrings and a very long shell necklace. Almec had also traded, with a string of large Sagar teeth and a very big Rimar horn. Between them, they got all, of the merchant's red crystals. They lay sleeping now, long past the time, when most warriors, were putting saddles onto their Whiptails and preparing for the day ahead.
A warm wind blew into the tent, Seeda opened her eyes. At first she did not know where she was. She had never felt like this before, it was not, like being unable to remember, where you spent the night. That had happened before, when she drank too much Po and found herself in a warrior's tent the next day. This was much more disturbing, for a brief moment, she did not know, which direction was North or South, or where the suns would rise, or the direction to the Hollow Hills, or the Western Sea.
For the first time in her life she was lost! She shook her head, trying to clear the cobwebs from her brain, she thought for a moment more; was this the Golden Hall of Isarie?
She remembered the dream of the night before. She was with Almec, both were naked, their bodies entwined in a warm love knot. They were being watched by the dead warriors in The Great Hall of Isarie, she could hear their shouts of encouragement, as she made passionate love. She remembered the feel of her lover’s body on hers, the sweat, the kisses, the feeling that the entire universe was hers.
Seeda closed her eyes, remembering it all and she smiled, she ran her hands over her body; other Worlds, worlds that were mine.
She continued to recall her memories. Her lover started to change, the strong warrior’s body, suddenly became a Sand Dragon with scaly coils. Instead of being afraid, she continued to claw and bite, in the fit of her passion. The creature sank its long fangs into her breast and she screamed as it's hot venom flow into every fiber of her body.
Why am I cold? Even with the warm air blowing into her tent, it felt like the cave of a Hagar Beast, she pulled the thick blanket up over herself and lay shivering. A strange dream but only a dream; she thought.
Suddenly the tent flap opened, she grunted and was preparing to scream at whoever dared to disturb her rest. She saw her brother Agart, looking at her, she knew he could see Almec, beside her but she did not try to hide him.
“The King wishes to speak with you,” he said coldly.
She could see the disapproving look in his eyes, “I will come,” was all she said.
Agart closed the flap and started to walk away. She should not have a warrior in her tent, they are not mated, the King should know about this but then, it is my sis
ter; he thought. He looked up at the morning sky; I am sure the Gods will look the other way just this once. He was also sure the Gods would hear his words. He headed for the other side of the camp, telling himself, it was to ensure, everyone had their ration of Grana. What he really wanted, was drive the image of his sister from his mind.
Seeda sat up sluggishly and stretched her tanned arms; so cold, why is it so cold? She glanced down at the small bowl beside her; the Ice? Had he seen the Ice? No, there was no look in his eyes to say he did...my secret is safe. She reached out and touched one of the small red crystals; such a tiny thing to give so much pleasure, how silly to believe all the dark stories...silly stories for little children.
Seeda felt fine, a little cold maybe but it would soon pass, besides it was a small price to pay for last night’s lovemaking. Almec had never pleased her like that before, her entire body was on fire, all her emotions washed over her, like the waves on the Orgon Sea. She ran her hands over her body again. How wonderful!
What if I left the guarding of the dead a little early, there were plenty warriors to watch over them. Besides, I have been doing many chores lately, milking the Trofar, riding on sentry duty, I deserved a little pleasure; so much pleasure.
She pressed her hands into her flesh, wishing they were the strong hands of Almec, who now lay beside her; silly stories for little children. She leaned over and kissed Almec's warm lips, he moaned softly, then slowly opened his eyes. She smiled at him, “Are you going to sleep all day? It's not the Burning Time you know.”
The young warrior looked at Seeda in confusion; who is this? Where am I?
The moment of doubt passed and he remembered everything. He returned her smile and touched the locks of her tangled hair, “Are you sure? With your hair like that, you look a bit like a Crystal spider.” She looks so beautiful, so beautiful.
Seeda put her hands to her head, she knew it was a mess, “This is your fault, you were too rough last night,” she laughed, “but it was wonderful.” Another world, she kissed him again and again...I no longer feel cold, I feel whole...whole!
Egmar had been summoned by the High Priestess, she did not know why. Whatever the reason, she rose early, putting on her best robe, she wore her hair in the traditional way of the Queens of old. She put a red mark across her forehead, denoting her sadness over the loss of the warriors. She knew, it pleased Obec, when she was acting like a proper Queen of the Madrigal and showing respect to the Gods.
She waited quietly in the High Priestess's antechamber, she had been waiting for some time now. Maybe, she wanted tell her, how well my son was leading the tribe? No, she thought; she didn't want Arn to be King. Maybe it was to compliment her, about the ritual of the dead the previous night? Maybe, I acted like a Queen.
She waited. An old trick, keep them waiting, let them worry why, they were called before the Gods! I have been Queen too long, to be frightened by her old tricks.
She sat waiting quietly, knowing there was nothing else to do. She heard a noise and turned to see Obec and several young Handmaidens, walking slowly towards her. The old woman was wearing a long white robe and a headdress that was much too imposing, for such an occasion.
She dresses for a ritual, Egmar thought; she thinks it will turn my head like a child's.
Obec walked up to the Queen, she smiled, “I hope I did not keep you waiting too long?”
Her words were far too sincere, “Not at all, it was very short wait,” said Egmar. She watched as the old woman, continued to smile; behind that smile she is scowling, she is playing games.
Never-the-less Obec still continued to smile, “Of course, shall we sit and enjoy a nice cup of Deep-root tea?”
Deep-root tea, she must be trying to impress me, it is rare and not for everyday use; the Queen thought, “Yes that would be nice,” she replied.
The old woman motioned to one of the Handmaidens, she bowed low, then left to bring the tea.
“Now I suppose you are wondering, why I summoned you here?” Obec continued, still smiling.
Summoned? You do not summon a Queen, you ask. She was feeling her power today, “Well I wasn't sure but I knew it wasn't very urgent, after all the tribe is in good hands, is it not?” She is treating me like a fresh chosen Handmaiden, on her first day of rituals, from the first day we met, so long ago, she has always treated me differently,
Obec did not like the question; Karn is dead now, your power limited, you should be on your knees, praying to the Gods for guidance. She did not voice her thoughts and continued to act politely, “The time for the Gathering is growing near, after that, the Mating Rituals. I want you to help me, pick a suitable mate for the King.”
“I will do what I can,” Egmar replied; that old tradition is no longer enforced, a King chooses his own mate, then the High Priestess blesses the union.
The old woman looked hard at Egmar, it did not show on her face but she was not pleased; how dare this, this, former Queen question me! If only she knew what the Gods had in store for her, how she would beg forgiveness for her arrogance. That will come soon enough, now it is time, to see, how much strength, this old Queen still has left.
The old woman got up slowly and went across to an altar, upon it, was a small wooden box. It was beautifully carved and on its lid was the symbol of the Goddess Isarie. She brought it over to the Queen, then waited for her to stand, before handing it to her, “Open it,” she said softly.
Egmar had seen the box before, she knew what was inside but she decided to play along, she opened the box. Inside were three small compartments, one held a cup full of Grana, the High Priestess' own green crystal, blessed by the Gods. The second compartment, was half full with black Crystal. The Queen knew this substance all too well, it was Tral, Black Grana. A deadly poison, used at the Choosing Time, seeing it now gave her a chill.
She tried to hide her feelings but the old woman could see a look of fear in her eyes. She watched as the Queen looked into the last compartment.
Egmar’s heart skipped a beat, she felt the strength leave her legs and she almost dropped the box. As she staggered, the Handmaidens rushed over and took her by the arms, she was helped into her chair, the box handed back to the High Priestess.
“Are you alright my dear?” the old woman asked. Her voice was full of sincerity, false but disguised after years of training. She thought something much different; the Darkman was right, now I have what I want, weakness! “Sit and regain your strength, you have been doing too much, you should rest.”
The Handmaiden returned with two cups of hot Deep-root tea, the Holy Woman gave one to Egmar, “Here drink this, it will make you feel better.” Weakness!
The Queen took several sips of the warm tea, then sat back in her chair. Her heart was pounding in her chest, like a war hammer and her hands were shaking. She tried to act like a Queen of the Almadra, “Yes thank you, I am feeling much better now, I do not know what came over me, I am sorry if I frightened you.” The carving, she has the carving...she knows!
“Oh not at all my child,” the old woman purred, as the eyes of the Goddess, I have to see many dark things; I see into your heart, it is weak!
The Queen took a few more sips of tea, “I'm sorry but I would like to return to my tent and lay down.”
“Of course,” the old woman motioned to her Handmaidens, “Take the Queen to her tent, make sure she has everything she needs.”
The Handmaidens bowed, then helped Egmar out of the High Priestess' tent. When they were gone, Obec sat, holding the ritual box in her thin fingers, she opened it slowly and looked inside. The Holy Grana was intact, as was the Tral, the last compartment, made her smile. Laying at the bottom of the box, was the small carved statue, the one given to her by the Darkman.
She closed the box and sat back into her chair, her thoughts raced through her mind like a Burrow Baby through its cavern. There were some dark places in her mind, where she had never been before. Having seen the look on the Queen's face, when she looked inside the bo
x, gave her the courage, to open those dark caves in her soul.
She closed her eyes and spoke in a soft voice, “Orcost, Malluck, hashshem delcure, remas roc cornor, out of the darkness, into the light, the Gods will arise.”
The twin suns were high in the sky, before all the wagons were loaded and the Almadra on the move, once more. The Pass of Moke, led into a narrow canyon, steep cliffs rose up on either side and cut into them, were dozens of other canyons and even more beyond those. If anyone other than a Nomad, had ventured into these canyons, they would become hopelessly lost. All the canyons looked alike, there was nothing marking them or any other way to tell one from another. It was a complex maze able to swallowed an army.
To the Nomads it seemed natural, like a walk in an oasis, they traveled through the rocky trap, singing as they did. The warriors still kept watch, their war-axes at the ready, At their head as always, was the King, his brother at his side.
Agart was not in a good mood, the strange dream of the previous night, had plagued him all morning, like swamp flies around a dead Spikeback.
He heard the words the Goddess had spoken to him again, “The Gods will arise.” What did they mean? Were they a prophecy of things to come? Should he tell the High Priestess of his vision? If it was a message from the Gods it was his duty to speak to Obec but then what about his calling out his brother's name and the other words, “Forgive me.”
What did they mean? He looked over at his brother, “Do you sometimes have doubts?” he asked.
Arn looked at his brother; a strange question? What has gotten into him on such a fine day? “Doubts, of course, I sometimes doubt if my ax is sharp enough, or if my Rimar meat is cooked enough or…?”
His brother spoke again, “No, I mean doubting yourself?”
This is not the brother I know, he is always the sure one, the one with the right words, now he asks for my counsel, why? “A warrior who does not doubt himself, once in a while, does not live long, doubt is what keeps us alive.”
Agart smiled; our father’s words, spoken so many times! “You were listening when father yelled at us.”
“Well perhaps a little,” he replied, “in the end I learned by my mistakes.”
His brother's face became serious, “Will you forgive me, my mistakes?”
Arn could see his brother’s eyes; he is asking me for forgiveness. There is nothing to forgive, “of course, as soon as you make one!”
Agart felt much better, “You're right, you are the one who does not know, Meadow-cane from Welt Grass.”
The King shot him a look, “That was not my fault, it was you, who told me to take a bite. It took a whole week, before my mouth stopped itching.”
His brother started to laugh, “Remember how mother kept putting Rock-worm into your mouth, to stop the pain? I'm sure it was delicious.”
The Maze of Moke, filled with the brother's laughter, it mixed with the tribe's traveling songs, causing the cliff floaters, to dart from their nests and fill the sky with their shimmering wings.
Andra made sure, her wagon was close to the one in front, lest she became lost in the puzzle, of this unforgiving world. Holding the reins of her bouncing wagon, she looked over at Osh, he was holding a small bowl of raw Rimar meat. The Sandjar child was standing by him, waiting for another piece of food. He made several low grunting sounds, then said a word Andra understood.
“Food?”
Osh had to smile, “You see, I told you, he has spoken his first word!”
“So what, any child as big as this one, should be yammering like a Cartaran politician,” she snickered.
“Ah yes, any humanoid child but this is an Endo-Nomarus species, they are not, supposed to be able to speak, as we do. I think I may have to re-write the information about the Nomarus species, in this sector.” If only I had a data-comp, to mind-say the information.
Andra saw the pleased look on the old man's face, “Well just don’t teach him too many words, its hard enough, listening to you all day long, without that thing, talking my ear off.”
The old man stopped smiling, “Why do you call Endo a thing? He has intelligence and feelings just like us.”
This made Andra laugh, “Feelings? That creature has no more feelings than, than...” She looked around and as the wagon passed by, spotted a large rock, “than, that rock,” she pointed a finger at the bolder.
Her Trofar made a loud grunt and she watched in amazement, as the rock began to move. It lifted itself off the ground and lumbered away from the Nomad's wagons. It had six large legs, its back was covered in a thick hide, it blended perfectly into the landscape. As it moved away, Andra turned to her friend, he was smiling.
“There is an old Callaxion saying, do not judge an informational program by its search number,” he handed another piece of raw meat to Endo.
Andra hated being wrong but she decided to let it go and concentrate on keeping the wagon on track.
While chewing his food, the Sandjar uttered another word, “Good!”
It took all of Andra's strength, not to look at the old man, to see his smiling face, would have been more than she could stand.
Nomads of the Gods Page 18