Nomads of the Gods

by Gary Mark Lee

  Chapter 18. The Gathering

  Let all my children come together.

  Let them dance and talk and sing.

  Let them be as one for a time.

  Then let them go in peace.

  From the Book of Isarie.

  It took five more days and nights to travel through the Pass of Moke. Sky-Riders were not to be seen, they nested further North and rarely ventured far from their rocky homelands. They were still a potential threat, so the Almadra kept one eye towards the heavens or watched for their shadows on the ground. A final warning was their wailing cries, as they fell upon their prey

  The Riders were related to the Outlanders but unlike them, they preferred the high Mountains of Kresh. They rode giant winged reptiles, Screechers, raised from eggs and they also worshiped strange Gods.

  The tribe stopped once, to gather roots from the cliff sides and from the mouths of caves. For the young of the tribe, this was a fun time, they liked to hunt for roots and made it into a game. The King, gave a small wooden ax, to the one who brought back most, they were also allowed ride beside him, on an adolescent Whiptail. A reward every child dearly wished to be theirs.

  After a little more travel, the Almadra at last, were approaching the Great Plains of Darmock. This vast open range, stretched as far as the eye could see, an endless expanse of green grass and woodlands, with small shallow lakes. It was not like the thick jungle of far off Yug but it was teaming with life. Here vast herds of Rimar were plentiful, also, smaller Sling Backs. These four-legged reptiles, were far too fast to be caught riding a Whiptail, only a full grown Sagar Cat, could hope to run one to ground. Still the Nomads liked to try, they made it a game, to see who, could come closest to the swift creature.

  There was also a crashed Dropship on the open plain, it had fallen long ago, its rusting hulk now lay half buried in the soft ground. The mighty ship that once sailed the stars, was now a home to field birds and Burrow-babies.

  Near the lakes lived the deadly Daggermouths, large amphibious creatures that attacked anything coming near the water. Their rows of sharp teeth, could rip and tear through even a Rimar's thick armor plating. Their muscular tails contained succulent meat, a great delicacy among the Nomads.

  There were huge pods of Flame-Crests, large two legged beasts with narrow heads and sharp powerful beaks. It was well known, never to go near a Flame-Crest's nest. Their eggs, were much prized by the Nomads but a mother Crest, would defend her eggs viciously. Only experienced Outlanders, knew how to gather them safely.

  The Balbar trees were rich with fruit and the iron like wood, was used to repair wagons and war-ax handles. They might also conceal colorful but deadly Arrow-tails, small flying reptiles. They could shoot quills from their tails, causing great pain and sometimes death.

  The Greenland’s was also the home of the Ax-breakers, a large beast with a very thick shell, covering its entire body. They were mostly mild mannered creatures but could attack, with their powerful beak shaped jaws and club like tail.

  Golden fields of Kasha-wheat, grew abundantly on the great plains, it was harvested, ground on stone mills, then made into bread, any surplus they traded with the Sea People. They also made small loaves, mixed with large amounts of Ulon spice, called Stone Bread. To the Outlanders, the large amounts of spice made the bread unpalatable. It was traded with the Ergan-Mar, cave dwellers who mined the precious Grana Salt, they never ventured into the sunlight.

  The Greenland's were also the breeding grounds of the Whiptails, they would mate, raise their young and there was plenty to eat. During their mating time, the air was filled with their bellowing.

  Here, all the giant creatures of Gorn roamed free, they fought to survive and eventually they died. Their bones lay scattered over the ground, a reminder that death comes to all creatures, great, or small.

  This was also the place where the Nomads held their Gatherings.

  As the tribe emerged from the Pass of Moke, they breathed a sigh of relief, here was their homeland. There was still danger, the Shadow-men might be lurking, ready to strike but they seldom ventured out of the Poison Lands. Far to the North, beyond the Mountains of Kresh. The Nomad's strength at the Gathering, was much too strong for a raid by the Cursed of the Gods.

  The long column of Nomad wagons and riders, moved across the grasslands, as they approached their destination, the warriors lowered their war-axes. Riding with weapons raised, was a sign of aggression. If spotted by other Nomad tribes, it would be seen as a challenge, something the Outlanders did not take lightly. A challenge must be accepted, otherwise a warrior would be seen as weak, perhaps even be made an Outcast. So axes were strapped to saddles, rather than risk confrontation and any other consequences.

  The King’s Whiptail, was grunting and shaking its head, Arn knew it could smell the female whips. It was the beginning of the mating season, soon they would let them roam free and let nature take its course. They would call them back using signal horns but much like a Nomad, a Whiptail kept from its mate, was extremely dangerous.

  Like all creatures of Gorn, the mating season for the Nomads, would soon be here too.

  The King breathed in the warm air; sweet, sweet like the hair of a woman, Andra, her hair is sweet too; he thought. Arn slapped his face. Stop! She is a Half-Soul, she is not The Chosen of the Gods, she is too short, her hair not long enough. He shook the visions out of his head, then looked over at Agart, riding happily beside him, “I think we are the first tribe here,” he said proudly.

  Agart looked across the plains and saw a thin wisp of smoke rising upwards, “It looks like the Armrod have taken a shorter route.” He pointed to the smoke, “Kadar, always likes to be the first to lead his tribe to the Gathering.”

  Arn could see the smoke now, he smiled, “Old Lostlimb, I wonder if he still remembers the time we stole his ax?”

  “How could he forget, he was so mad, I was sure all of Gorn could hear him screaming.” His brother laughed, “You'd better not call him Lostlimb, you know how he hates it.”

  “Why not? The name suits him very well.”

  “You are not a reckless Prince anymore, you are a King and Kings do not insult other Kings.” They do but they shouldn't.

  “Oh very well but you're spoiling my fun!” The King looked back over his shoulder, “At the Stone Circle, I want the Off-Worlder's wagon, next to mine.”

  Agart looked quizzically at his brother, “Is there a reason for moving the Half-Soul's wagon?” he asked. The Half-Soul’s Wagon, should not be next to the King’s! It is not our way.

  Arn could see the look in his brother’s eyes, a disapproving look that always showed on his face, when the Off-Worlders were mentioned. He was not, happy that his brother still refereed to them as Half-Souls.

  “Andra is a warrior now, she should be treated as one!” His voice sounded like that of a King.

  Agart did not like the sound of it but he did not let it show on his face; the King is taking the side of the Half-Soul, she is taking my place. “Forgive me my King, it will be done as you ask.” He rode off in a cloud of dust, created by his Whiptail.

  Arn knew, he had hurt his brother's feelings, he watched him ride to the back of the column, he smelled the warm sweet air of the grasslands. He listened to the grunting of his Whiptail and once more, his mind filled with images of Andra. He might be King but he was still a man and the mating season was fast approaching.

  The Thungodra had spent the last few days, preparing for the Gathering. They polished their best armor and practiced their marching. They knew, Obec would expect them to be at their best and the Gods would be watching. Besides being a Gathering of the many tribes, it was also a meeting of the Nomad's Holy Women. They would be meeting in the Great Chamber of Isarie, to commune with her and other powerful deities, to ask for their blessing in the days and months to come.

  Obec was the oldest and therefore the holiest of Isarie's servants. The Thungodra were in charge of guarding the High Priestess, making sure, no de
mons or assassins came near to her. A jealous leader of another tribe, might try to kill her, then their Holy Woman would have the most power. So the Priestess' guards, sharpened their axes and prayed long into the night. They did not want their names dishonored, nor to spend their time in the Afterlife, in the endless darkness that lays beyond the gulf. Or worse, burn in torment in the eternal fires of the Pit of Marloon.

  Inside the High Priestess' wagon all had being made ready, the Handmaidens had cleaned the holy robes and filled the incense burners. The statues of the Gods, were washed with holy water, collected from a spring in the Temple of Isarie. A Handmaiden who was not, allowed to touch anything else, carried the water in a golden urn. Her hands were bound and only uncovered on special occasions, when she had to pour the water. The water was known as the Tears of Isarie, it was believed to hold the secret of life itself.

  Egmar sat in the back of her wagon, she told Agart, she was feeling unwell. It was a lie of course but the Queen wanted to be alone. Agart assigned one of his best warriors, to handle the Trofar's reins.

  She felt the wagon swaying lightly and she knew they were entering the Grassland's. Her years of traveling over many, different terrains, gave her the ability to sense the land she was on, even when she could not see it. With the wagon's movement, there was a familiar sweet smell of grass and the rippling grains of the ripening Kasha wheat.

  This should have been a happy time for the Queen but it was not. Looking into the High Priestess' box, was like a dragon’s tooth, piercing her heart and removing all warmth from her soul.

  She asked herself; how much, does she know? Where did she find the carving? It was lost in the sands of Kresh, forgotten along with.... No, it must be some kind of trick, Obec is clever, she knows how to use intimidation, to get what she wants. She laughed inwardly; that's it, it was a trick.

  The Queen told herself to forget what she had seen and prepare for the Gathering. She pondered over which robe she should wear.

  In the corner of the wagon, was a large wooden chest, richly carved with mystic animals and figures. It was her mating chest, it had been her mothers before and her mother's before that. It had been handed down, from mother to daughter, through the ages. It was one of her most cherished possessions.

  She went over to it and ran her hands over the warm wooden lid. After unlatching the strong lock at the front, she opened the chest and carefully searched through its contents. It contained an assortment of brightly colored robes, all well made and embroidered in styles, fit for a Queen. With great care, she lifted them out, one by one, then she looked them over.

  The green one? The one with the silver treads, embroidered around the neck, or perhaps the red one? No! That one is too ornate, not appropriate for the Gathering, besides, it makes me look fatter than I am. Carefully she placed the garment by her side and continued searching...Not the yellow one, too tight around the neck and too loose in the middle, no, that won't do.

  At last, she found what she was looking for; Yes! The dark blue one, with the tribe's emblem on the sleeve, the right color and it was a perfect fit.

  It would be...Maybe it was not a trick? Maybe it was the truth? Somehow, Obec knew the truth, she knew.

  The Queen put the robes, back into the chest and closed the lid. What should I do? I am Queen and Queens do not lie! This in itself is a lie, is it not? Everyone lies sometimes, the time I lied to Karn, when he made me, that horrible Hagar soup, too much Ulon spice but I said it was perfect, a tiny lie yes but still a lie!

  She looked at a small golden statue of Isarie, she kept by her sleeping mattress. Has my whole life had been a falsehood, an empty shell, like a Sword Breaker, whose skeleton lays bleaching in the sunlight?

  She tried to drive the thoughts from her head; it is foolish to think the old women could see the past. What is done, is done, there is nothing, to be done about it now. Obec is The Chosen of Isarie and the Goddess sees all, was it the will of the Gods that my secrets should be revealed? Does Obec really know? How could she, it was so long ago, so many cycles now, so many memories...Memories...Memories...

  “Stop!” she cried out.

  She listened to the wagon wheels, turning slowly, she smelt the soft fragrance of the meadow grass. She picked up a pair of long silver earrings, then placed them against her wrinkled face, she looked into a reflection plate.

  They were very nice, Karn, had traded a set of Sagar teeth for them, he had hunted the dangerous beasts, to get enough teeth, to trade for the jewelry. This cat, almost killed him but he emerged in one piece, just! He said it would make her look good at the Choosing…

  The Choosing. She put the earrings down and looked at herself in the reflection plate; can the laws of the Almadra be changed? Can anyone, fool the Gods? The Queen saw her eyes were filled with tears; who is this woman, is she a Queen or an empty shell? Putting her face in her hands, she cried softly but she did not want the tribe to know of her tears.

  Andra had spent the last few days, listening to Osh, endlessly repeating words to Endo. She was very surprised, when the little creature, began to repeat them.

  While listening to the Sandjar, she could not help but think, about her own family. My mother, my brother, all gone now, my Home World gone, the land barren and burnt, my comrades dead or imprisoned. What will happen now? Will all record of the Selcarie, be lost? Am I the last of my kind? She gripped the reins tighter, then she heard Endo say a strange word, “Mother?”

  Andra turned sharply, the little creature was sitting next to her. He was looking at her and she could not tell, if he was smiling or baring his teeth. Either way, it made her feel very uncomfortable, he spoke again, “Mother?”

  “He thinks you are his mother,” Osh came from the back of the wagon, holding a small clay pot, “It is because of the blood you gave him, it imprinted on him, now, he thinks you are his mother.”

  Andra looked away from the Sandjar, “Then he is dumber than I thought.” The little green creature, sat staring at Andra.

  Osh climbed into the seat next to Endo. He settled himself, then held out the clay pot, “Here you are my son, a nice bowl of Rock-worms with fish sauce.”

  Endo took the bowl and began to eat heartily, this seemed to please the old man, “Do you like the food?” He watched him eating, “Is it good?”

  “Good” said the little Sandjar, in a grunting voice, “Very good.”

  Osh beamed with pride, he pointed to the small creature, “There you see, I have proven beyond all doubt, a Sandjar can be articulate!”

  “So you taught him a few simple words, so what, back home, my Thall-bird could say a lot more words, than that thing.”

  “Maybe so but a Thall-bird is bred to talk, a Sandjar....” Osh had to choose his words carefully, “Sandjar can be a very unpredictable creatures but they are not dangerous, as long at you treat them with kindness.”

  “What if you don’t?” she asked.

  Osh, did not want to answer that question, so he decided to change the subject. He looked out over the grasslands, “This is good farmland, you could grow almost anything here.” He looked at Andra, “Do you know how to grow things?” he asked.

  Suddenly, Andra had an embarrassed look on her face, “Not really but anyone can see, this is good land,” he doesn't need to know my parents were farmers and I'm a farmer’s daughter.

  “Yes very good land,” he looked at Endo, “Can you say good land?”

  The Sandjar stopped lapping his soup, he looked at Osh, “Good land” Then went back to his food.

  Andra said nothing, she listened to the little creature, sucking deeply and making purring sounds. She saw Agart riding fast towards her, quickly she turned to the old man, “Better hide Endo, here comes trouble.”

  Osh knew exactly what she meant, when he saw the Prince coming near to them. He took Endo's bowl of soup, then pulled him into the back of the wagon.

  Agart maneuvered his Whiptail alongside Andra’s wagon, when the dust cleared, he looked at her, “Pla
ce your wagon beside the Royal tent tonight, by the King's order.”

  He rode off quickly, Andra watching him go, then thought; beside the royal tent? Why? What’s going on? A trick, maybe a way of spying on her? She began to smile; beside the royal tent, it was something to think about.

  The old Callaxion, came to the front of the wagon, “What was that all about?” he asked.

  “We’re setting up our tent, beside the King’s tonight.”

  The old man thought about this for a moment, “There is an old saying, no one knows it origin but it seems to fit this situation.”

  “And what is that?” she asked.

  “Keep your friends within your viewing limits but keep your enemies in close-proximity.”

  Andra had heard this saying many times, although the wording was different, she learned it during her soldier's training. At the time, it seemed a rather silly saying but now it made sense, was she growing wiser, or just thinking about warm nights?

  It was late in the day, before the Almadra finally reached there destination, there in the middle of the vast open plains, was the Eye of Isarie.

  It was a huge circle of titanic stones, each monolith, the height of several tall men and carved with images and inscriptions. Each had, the insignia of the many, different tribes on their faces, the Ozendra, Bal-borie, Caladon, Maringar, all the tribes had their markers. Here wagons and warriors would make camp.

  Between the huge blocks, were the sacred stones of the King’s, all Nomad Kings, past and present, were there. Each bore the name and the deeds of their Kingship, some of them, were worn by the wind and rain, their images almost gone. A few had been broken, they lay half-buried in the ground, these were the Forgotten People. Those tribes that had been destroyed, or like the Argonie, had destroyed themselves. Their monuments just lay there, there was no one left now, to tend to or carve new stones for them. Only the Book of Isarie remembered their names.

  Near the Eye, stood the Great Longhouse of the Tribes, it was a gigantic stone structure, made in the style of the Almadra Longhouse. It was immense, it could easily hold thousands of Nomads and more. It was built so long ago, no one knew how it was built. With the great stones that made up most of the building, there were metal beams and plates from fallen space craft. It was both old and new and it was where the tribe's Kings met to discuss treaties and make judgments.

  Some distance from the Longhouse, stood the Temple of Isarie. To the tribes, the Holy of Hollies. The High Priestesses from the different tribes, came here to pray and read from the Book of Isarie. It was round, with a stone dome, held up by huge pillars, made from a dark smooth stone. The tents of the Thungodra surrounded the temple, they guarded the Holy Women, allowing no one, entry to the temple. Unless they had permission from the Holy Mothers. If anyone, other than a Priestess or Handmaiden, came too close, they were killed instantly. Even a King was not permitted into the Holy Shrine, it was the Place of the Gods.

  Andra had placed her wagon, next to the King's. When the tribe's Elders saw that the Off-Worlder, had been given a place of honor, it made for whispered conversations in their tents. There was also some grumbling among the warriors. A King should not do something like this was, it was not the way of the Madrigal. The King’s tent should be placed in the middle of the camp, surrounded by his warriors, the strongest, placed closest to him. The King's brothers and sister came next, then the Elders and so on, it had always been this way, for as long as anyone could remember.

  The King was asking them to change their ways, he was their King but to change? It cut deep into the Nomad's hearts, their traditions were their life. They had followed these beliefs an age, changing them was unthinkable. The laws were handed down, from their ancestors, who received them, from the great Goddess Isarie herself.

  If anyone questioned those laws, they need only look in the Holy Book of the Goddess, there it was written for all to see. It was not, possible to change, it was as it should be, this knowledge, brought comfort to the Outland's people.

  Still, they were warriors, so they were bound to the word, to their King, rightly, or wrongly, they would obey.

  So Andra and the old man, were permitted to place their wagon and tent, next to the King’s but there was still much grumbling, in the warrior's tents.