Nomads of the Gods

by Gary Mark Lee

  Chapter 25. Outcasts

  Those who do not follow my book or know its teachings, shall be made Outcast and forever roam my lands alone.

  Let none of my Chosen, give them food or shelter for they are no longer of my body and will never again see my face.

  From the Book of Isarie.

  That night saw a great many wagers changing hands. Warriors who the day before had been called Frail-legs, for betting on the Off-Worlder, suddenly found themselves very wealthy. Rimar horn, Sagar teeth, Sun-dropper claws, shells and Robox root were piled high before them, while they sat back and smiled. There were some, who said the fight wasn't fair because woman had used trickery, rather than brute strength to win. They were just bad losers and their wagers soon paid, when the Sun-Gazer made his judgment.

  Kadar had to sit and listen to the endless gloating of the Caladon King and watch as his best Whiptail was handed over to the fat leader. For a time he sat muttering curses and grinding his teeth, he suggested for one reason or another that the fight had not been a fair one. It was to no avail, the judgment of Isarie is final, still it did not stop him grumbling. After a few horns of Po, Kadar and the Caladon King, were soon laughing and telling stories about other wagers and who had come off the better.

  Ashra-Doom's body was taken from the pit, washed and laid out in his best armor, near the Talk-stone. His Journey Nail, would be driven into his huge hand, to hold his war-ax. He would be buried in the morning and set on his grave, a large stone marker telling all Outlanders that here lay a Nomad champion.

  The victor received his battle armor, as a reward for their courage. Also his strong Whiptail, spoils accorded every survivor of the pit. Andra took the armor and the Whiptail. She listened to the Almadra's endless praise, for defending their honor and staying alive. They all said that Isarie smiled on her, even though she was a Half-Soul.

  There were endless toasts to her courage and strength and many barrels of Po were opened and quickly emptied. Andra drank as much as she could but soon found herself forgetting who she was, or why she was drinking. She laughed at things that weren't funny and said she could defeat any Outlander who cared to fight. Finally, Arn took the drinking horn from her hand and guided her to a place where she could rest.

  She lay quietly in the King's tent, Nomads may not have a need for sleep but she did. The battle with the giant had taken its toll and she lay in a deep slumber, with Arn standing watch over her.

  In the soft glow of the oil lamps, the King thought her face seemed even lovelier. Arn noticed every feature, the small nose and full lips, the tiny scar on the left side of her cheek, hardly noticeable unless you looked very close. She did not have the sharp cheekbones of an Outlander and her skin was too pale even with the sun’s darkening but it was smooth and without blemish. Her dark hair was longer now and it fell over one shoulder. The flicker of the lamp, danced over its silky surface, to the King it seemed like the morning light over a lake of dark water.

  She is strong, she has courage, she would make a good mate, she would make a good Queen; he thought. He smiled; she is a Half-Soul, the laws forbid us from mating and the laws of the tribe cannot be changed! He heard a voice in his mind, a voice he did not realize was there. It said, Can I not change them? It was like the buzzing of a marsh fly and it repeated over and over again. Why? Why? Why?

  The King tried to silence the buzzing; the laws of our tribe are clear, they are the laws of Isarie and I will not break them! More buzzing. Why? Why? Why? Inside his head, the King shouted; I am King and I must not be weak, the laws of Isarie cannot be broken! The buzzing stopped and he heard a soft voice, it seemed to be calling from his heart. “Love is stronger than any law.” For a moment he did not understand what it meant, then he heard the voice again, “She loves you and that is stronger than the laws of our tribe.”

  Arn turned to see his mother standing near the entrance, she was dressed in a dark robe with only a silver belt around her waist. She did not wear jewelry and her hair was loose. She smiled at her son, “Do you love her?” she asked.

  There was a long pause as the King looked at his mother. I should lie and tell her that I do not love this woman but she will know I am lying, she always knows when I lie; he thought, “Yes,” he finally said.

  Egmar came over her son and gently touched his cheek, “She loves you, it is your destiny to be together.”

  “The laws of the tribe I cannot…”

  “You once asked me, if the laws of the tribe could ever be changed,” she said.

  “Yes, I remember,” said Arn

  “I said they could not but I was wrong, the laws of the tribe, cannot rule our hearts,” she said softly. I have broken those rules, I have gone against the Gods but I did it for love.

  Arn looked deep into his mother's eyes; my mother is wise and she loves me but does she only say, the words I want to hear? “Mother,” his voice was soft, “I am King of the Almadra, if I break those laws, I cannot be King.”

  Egmar wanted to tell him the laws were for others and not for her son but she could not, she knew the laws were for everyone, otherwise they would mean nothing, so she said nothing.

  She put her hand to his cheek again, “You are my son, you are loved by me no matter where I go.” She bowed low and walked out of the tent.

  Arn stood in the center of the chamber, he did not move or speak, the buzzing in his head was gone, he listened for what his heart might say. He heard a rustling noise, behind him Andra was lifting her head from a soft cushion, her eyes opened slowly and she saw Arn.

  He gazed into her eyes and in that moment, all thoughts of Kings and laws vanished like mist over a morning lake. He went to her side and sat down, he touched her hair and then her face, he kissed her. No more laws, no more laws; he thought.

  Andra felt his soft kisses on her lips, at first she thought she was still asleep, then she realized she was not. I’m not a Selcarie or a soldier or a schoolgirl, I’m Andra and I love him; she thought. She took his face in her hands and kissed him with all the love that was in her open heart. She gave him all her love and felt his heart beating against her chest.

  Obec listened, while Anais recounted what he had seen at the fallen Dropship. She had suspected it for some time but it was good to know, her suspicions had turned out to be true. Now she could use the information in many ways, she could confront the King and then watch his reaction. The High Priestess went over to a small ornately carved bed in a corner of her chamber, she sat down on it. She took a small cup from a table by the bed, it was made from gold and in it, was some warm Deep-root tea, she took a sip.

  If the King says the story is untrue, he would be calling his brother a liar; she thought. There is no love in Anais' heart for his brother but there may still be some in the King's. He may say it is true but then he would be going against the laws of the tribe and that would mean his end. Arn is no fool, unlike his brother, he may say there is no proof and that is true. It would be one brother's word against the others and everyone knows, Anais is a fool, no I cannot go to the King.

  She took another sip of her tea.

  I must wait until I can show the whole tribe that Arn is not a strong King and he is not The Chosen of the Gods, then he will be made Outcast and Agart will take his place.

  Another sip.

  Agart is a true believer in the Gods, he can be controlled, until the time is right for him to be replaced.

  She took one final sip of tea and put the empty cup back on the table, she stood up.

  After the Burning Time; she mused; yes, I must wait until then, I can put that fool Anais at the head of the tribe. He will think he controls me and will make him believe it. I will wait, until I have everything in place, the cleansing will begin.

  A soft smile pulled at the High Priestess' lips. The Gods will arise.

  “Holy Mother?”

  The old woman turned to see a Handmaiden standing at the chamber's entrance.

  “Yes, what is it?” Her voice, angry at
the interruption.

  “Prince Agart wishes to pray before the altar, Holy Mother.”

  Agart here? Why does he want to pray here? “Tell the Thungodra to let him enter,” she said.

  The Handmaiden bowed and was about to walk away.

  Obec smiled, “Tell Soffca I wish to speak with her.”

  “Yes Holy Mother,” she bowed once more, then left.

  There is something troubling the Prince, a troubled mind is a book waiting to be read. Obec went to a dressing table and picked up the ornate headdress sitting there. She placed it over her stringy hair, then looked at herself in a large refection plate; I will go to the Prince to ease his mind and I will see into his heart; she thought. She adjusted the headdress and smoothed the wrinkles on her robe, then she heard Soffca’s soft voice.

  “You wish to speak to me Holy Mother?”

  The old woman turned to see the slim form of her Handmaiden standing with her head bowed.

  “Yes” she said, “I want you to prepare the Statue of Isarie for prayer.”

  “At once Holy Mother.” The young Handmaiden bowed and left the chamber.

  Obec looked at herself in the refection plate again. Fire and Steel. Fire and Steel; she thought.

  Agart took a long time before he decided to ask the High Priestess, to allow him access to the Holy Shrine. He'd walked back and forth all afternoon, listening to his mind as it spoke to him of laws and his duty to his tribe. He also listened to his heart, it told him of love for his sister and the pain his mother would feel, seeing her made Outcast.

  He spent hours trying to make up his mind, he thought about asking advice from his mother but it would only cause her pain. He could ask the Elders to make a judgment but he knew well enough, what their judgment would be.

  Outcast!

  There was no one who could help, only the Gods, only their wisdom and mercy could relieve him of this burden and show him the path he must take. He waited calmly at the tent's entrance and watched while two Thungodra barred the entrance with ax and war club. He looked up at the night sky, many stars were breaking through the clouds, then he heard a woman speak.

  “The Holy Mother welcomes you.”

  It was the same Handmaiden as before, inviting him in. The Thungodra pulled back their weapons and he entered the tent. Inside the air was heavy with incense and the sweet smell of field flowers. Hanging from the tent supports, by gold chains, were several brass oil lamps. In the middle of the room, was a large iron brazier with a fire. He heard the slow devotional chanting of the Handmaidens, as they sung evening prayers.

  He expected to wait awhile, before the Holy Mother would see him. He knew, Obec often used that trick, on those who displeased her. Much to his surprise, Obec came through a chamber flap, smiling she approached him.

  “Yes my child,” she said with a soft smile, “How can the Gods be of help?”

  Agart, was caught off guard by the High Priestess' sudden appearance, “I wish to pray before the statue of Isarie,” he said bluntly.

  “Is your heart troubled my child?” she asked.

  Agart saw through the smile on her face. She wants me to tell her, why I'm here; he thought; she must not find out about Seeda. “No,” he said, “I want to pray for the tribe and ask the Goddess to bless us.”

  The old woman scrutinized his face. He is hiding something, something I will know; she said to herself, “Very well, come with me.”

  Agart followed the High Priestess into an adjoining chamber. It was small compared to the huge entrance room but large enough to house an intricately worked gold statue of the Goddess Isarie. It was almost three meters high, the round base, was inlaid with ivory and precious stones. Strings of field flowers were laid around the base, as well as Balbar fruit and trinkets, all offerings to Isarie. One of The Goddess' hands, pointed to the heavens, the other pointed to the ground. Her features showed kindness but there was also a slight hint of anger in her eyes. In the dim light of the oil lamps, the golden surface shimmered like the sunrise over the Mountains of Kresh.

  Obec bowed before the statue, then she turned to the Prince, “I will leave you now, the words you speak to the Goddess, are for her ears only.” Then she turned around and left the chamber.

  Agart stood looking at the statue for several moments. He was trying to form the words in his head, so the Goddess would understand his meaning and not think he was a child asking for toys. He went to the statue and fell to his knees, he moved in close and spoke quietly, so no one could hear, “Hear me Great Isarie, it is not for me that I pray, it is for my sister.”

  He said what was in his mind and in his heart, he hoped the Goddess would hear him and understand. He whispered about the things he'd seen and what he knew to be sacrilege against the Gods, he started to feel better. The Goddess forgives all, she will forgive my sister, she will forgive me; he thought.

  Seeda sat quietly outside her tent, she watched as Almec stirred a large pot of Hagar soup. Although she had not eaten in some time, she did not feel hungry. She was thinking of Agart and what he had seen. He will not tell Arn; she assured herself; my secret is safe. She looked up at the moons overhead, they were moving in and out of the blue clouds and it seemed to her that they were playing. Can I let my brother hold my pain, while I go free? She asked herself; am I a warrior or a Saduk?

  She put out her hands out to the warm fire, with the warm winds from the North it felt very pleasant, she looked up again. How fast the day has passed, I was going to do something, what was I going to do? She remembered the Ice and her promise to lay it before the statue of Isarie. The day is gone now and there is always tomorrow, or the day after, she told herself. She held her hands out again; how pleasant the fire feels, so nice on a cold night like this.

  “The soup is ready.”

  Almec's words brought her out of her thoughts, she blinked her eyes and looked at the large cooking pot.

  “Would you like a bit of Ulon spice in your soup?” he asked.

  “No, nothing, I'm not hungry.” she said softly.

  The young warrior knew, she hadn't eaten in a long time and poured her a large bowl of the hot mixture. He put a wooden spoon in the bowl and took it to her. If she takes the bowl from my hand, we will be mated.

  It was a sneaky way to get her to acknowledge their union but he was growing tired of her rejections and decided trickery was called for. He went to her side and held out the bowl.

  Seeda looked at the hot soup, “Put it on the ground,” she said.

  He was disappointed but did as she asked, then he started to eat his soup. I was wrong to try to trick her; he thought; I do not want her as a mate through deceit. After a few spoonfuls of the spicy broth, he put the bowl down and put his hand on Seeda’s arm.

  The Princess knew the touch, it was not a touch of passion or remorse, it was a touch that asked, if she needed to say something.

  Without thinking Seeda blurted out the words, “Agart knows.”

  In an instant, Almec understood why she wasn't eating; he knows, he knows and there is nothing I can do; he thought. “Will he tell the King?” he asked.

  “No,” she answered; he knows it would force him to make us Outcasts.

  “Then our secret is safe,” there was a half-smile on his face, “We have nothing to fear.” He looked into his lover's eyes, he saw something he feared, something he tried not to see.

  Seeda knew what she had to do, she could not let her brother carry the shame of her weakness, she had to save him, even if it meant her life, “I must go,” she said.

  Fewer words could have cut him so deeply as those, he did not want to acknowledge them but he did. She was asking, no! She was telling him, she was going to leave the tribe, she was going to become a Waste-wanderer, an Outlander without a home or people. He also knew there was nothing he could say or do to stop her.

  “Then I will go with you.” he said; where she goes so will I.

  Seeda saw the look in Almec’s eyes, a look no one but she could
understand, it told her she would never be alone. She would always have him, in this world and all others. She smiled at him, “Would you hand me that bowl?”

  Almec picked up the clay bowl, he held it out to her and she took it from him. Without the warrior's cheers, or the banging of ritual drums, without the tribe's approval or the King’s blessing. With only the stars and the playful moons overhead watching, Seeda, warrior and Princess of the Madrigal, was now mated to Almec, warrior and hunter. They held each other and even though they felt cold, the heat of their love comforted them.

  The night passed quietly for the Nomads, after a long day of feasting and drinking and the excitement of the challenge pit, the Outlanders were happy to rest. They still posted guards who watched the skies for any sign of Sky-Riders and heard the Whiptails, roaring as they mated. There was little to fear, so mothers slept deeply and their children, dreamed of wagons full of sweet Meadow-cane and fat Burrow-babies, frolicking in the grasslands.

  There was one rather odd event, when the largest moon, Fromic was directly overhead, the Frail-legs suddenly left their soft beds and left their tents. The Touch-tenders watched them go but did not stop them, it was not their duty to control them, only to see they came to no harm. They followed them onto the open plain of the Greenland’s. The Frail-legs stood looking up at the stars for a moment, then they said something, something the Touch-tenders had heard before but still did not understand.

  “The Gods will arise,” they said as one.

  The old people began to dig the earth.

  Agart prayed before the statue of Isarie, he recited all the verses, asking for forgiveness and repeated them over and over. He told the Goddess all he had seen and his sister's transgression. He asked the golden Goddess to forgive her and lift the burden of the Red Crystal from her heart. As the first rays of morning broke into the Holy chamber, he got of his knees and looked at the statue's face.

  Isarie is all-merciful; he thought; she will hear my prayers and they will be answered.

  He bowed low and left the chamber. As he walked through the Holy tent, he saw the Handmaidens busily with the morning rituals. He watched them replace the field flowers, offerings to the many Gods and Goddesses, that filled the heavens of the Nomads. He heard them singing softly as they worked and it filled his heart with gladness.

  She will hear my prayers, she will forgive; he walked out of the tent into the warmth of the morning suns.

  Obec watched him go, she did not sleep that night and her frail body was aching from the activities of the last few days. She would have loved to go to her chamber to rest but she was too excited. She walked to the Chamber of Isarie, she stood for a moment then bowed her head in reverence to the golden statue. She moved around to the back of the figure and tapped lightly on its shimmering surface. A small door opened, it was so finely fitted into the statue that it could not be seen, except under close examination. The door revealed a hollow in the statue, large enough hold a person, a Handmaiden hidden inside slowly emerged.

  Soffca straightened herself up and faced the Holy Mother.

  Obec's face showed a faint smile, “Did you hear?” she asked.

  “Yes Holy Mother,” answered Soffca.

  The old woman’s smile broadened, “Come, we shall talk.” The High Priestess walked from the chamber of Isarie, leaving the Goddess alone with the wilting flowers at her feet.