Nomads of the Gods

by Gary Mark Lee

  Chapter 26. Partings

  I will hold you.

  When the moons of the night sky no longer walk the heavens.

  I will hold you.

  When their faces no longer smile upon us.

  I will hold you.

  When the Meadow grass no longer grows in the Greenland’s.

  I will hold you.

  When you are old and can no longer dance under the stars.

  I will hold you.

  When the stars fall from the heavens and all is darkness.

  I will be there.

  I will hold you.

  Lullaby of the Almadra.

  The Gathering was slowly coming to an end, just a few more days of rest was needed and preparation for the long journey ahead. The plains provided ripe Kasha-wheat and the storage wagons were full, the water barrels were filled to capacity and dried Rimar meat was plentiful. The mated Whiptails had answered the call of the signal horns and returned to their masters. They were being prepared for one final hunt, before they carried their riders into the far off Mountains of Kresh.

  The remains of Ashra-Doom had been buried with full honors and his name recorded in the book of the Armrod. There had been reports of his body being defiled before it was laid to rest. There were wounds on his arms and legs as if he had been bitten, it might have been a small Finrat or perhaps a Night-crier. There was talk that the Almadra were keeping a Sandjar and it had caused the damage. Since no one guarding the body, had seen anything, the Sun-Gazer ruled it was the will of the Gods and there were to be no reprisals.

  That did not stop Kadar ordering a beating, for the two warriors who had been watching the body. It helped to vent some of his anger from the Talk-stone.

  “Do you have a Sandjar in your camp?” asked Kadar

  Arn looked over the dark stone at the one armed King. In the morning light, he could see deep ridges on his worn face and beads of sweat run slowly down his forehead, to disappear into his heavy eyebrows. It did not take a Soul Seer to know that the old warrior was very upset.

  “That is my affair and not the concern of the Armrod!” he answered back angrily.

  Beside the King sat Agart, his handsome face betrayed no emotion as he listened to Kadar's rant.

  “If you have a scavenger in your tribe, all the Outlanders need to know!”

  “All that they need to know, is that I am the leader of the Madrigal and I will not be bullied by the Armrod!” answered the King.

  There was grumbling from within the warriors gathered around the sacred stone, they were divided into two groups. The Almadra stood behind their King, while the Armrod warriors stood behind theirs. They were still without their weapons but their hands rested warily on their daggers in case of trouble.

  The old King wiped his face with the back of his hand, then made a low growling sound. “Errrrrrr, you are a young King and have not seen as many battles as I, you do not know the strength of the Armrod.”

  Arn clinched his fist in rage. He is trying to goad me into a challenge; he thought; I will show him that I am not a weak King. “I would not make threats, remember you no longer have a champion!”

  The old King rose to his feet, he spoke through clenched teeth, “I do not need a champion to better a little Burrow-baby like you!”

  Arn got up from his seat and leaned over the Talk-stone, “Sit down before you lose your other arm Lostlimb!”

  The warriors on either side reached for their daggers and more than one cursed, then the Sun-Gazer raised his staff and order was restored.

  Agart could see the look on his brother's face; they are going to kill each other, I must help my brother. He touched Arn’s back, when Arn turned around, he looked him in the eye. The King could see his brother's message.

  My brother is right, I am letting him anger me; he thought; there is nothing to be gained by fighting. He looked over the Talk-stone but before he could say anything Agart rose to his feet.

  “My lord, my brother and I, know all too well the power of the Armrod.” His words were slow and without any sign of anger. “Your warriors stood with us at the battle of Koto-Car and the Almadra rode with you to the valley of Ugarie, to rescue your daughter from the warriors of the Elcudra, is that not so?”

  The old King made a grumbling sound under his breath, “Yes it is so but...”

  “Afterwords, did your daughter join our tribe, so we could have strong warriors?” Agart continued.

  “Yes,” the old King admitted, “but that is another matter, I want to know if your tribe is truly Nomad, or are they breeding with the scavengers?”

  Agart had given his brother time for to cool down and remember that he was a King and not a young warrior testing his courage.

  Arn was glad of this, it gave time to think. He sat back on his stone and took a slow lungful of air, “Kadar, King of the Armrod, none of my tribe have brought a Sandjar out of the desert, you have nothing to fear.”

  My brother is bending the truth; Agart thought; the old man saved the scavenger but he has not, lied, he is learning how to be a King.

  The old King grumbled again, “Very well but if I find that you lied over the Talk-stone, it will go hard against the Almadra!”

  Without another word the old King rose and left, followed by his warriors who were shaking their heads and murmuring that the Almadra were not to be trusted.

  Arn and Agart watched them go, when all was quiet, the Almadra warriors left to ready themselves for leaving the Gathering. Agart turned to his brother, “The old man must leave us now,” he said, his voice was soft but filled with authority.

  Arn could see his brother had already decided. For Arn things were not so easily solved. “He would have little chance alone in the Greenland’s,” he said. “All we need do, is keep him and the Sandjar hidden until we leave.”

  My brother is thinking of the Off-world woman; thought Agart; he knows it would hurt her, to see the old man evicted, “You must not let the Half-Soul into your heart,” he said.

  Arn looked at his brother and thought; he knows I have feelings for Andra but does he know I love her? “A woman is just a woman,” he said, “My heart is my own.”

  Agart looked at the dark stone in front of them, he placed his hand on the smooth surface. “This is the Nomad's Talk-stone, it is sacred before the Gods, all who speak before it must tell the truth, tell me now that you do not love this woman and I will believe.”

  For a moment the King did nothing then he put his hand on the stone, “My heart is my own,” he said.

  Agart examined his brother's eyes, they were clear and showed no sign of deception. He smiled, “I believe you,” he reached out and took hold of his brother's hand, he looked into his eyes again. He lies, his heart belongs to the woman he's lied to me. He's lied before the Gods, I cannot trust him again; he thought: perhaps Anais was right, perhaps Arn is not The Chosen of the Gods.

  At the same time Arn’s mind was full of his own thoughts; I lied before the Talk-stone, I am a weak King.

  The brothers did not speak of their thoughts and there was nothing more for the sacred stone to hear.

  Some distance away, outside the Eye of Isarie, Osh was sitting with Endo, near a small pond. He knew it was dangerous to be that far from his wagon but he wanted to be out of sight. They were both wearing the long robes, they wore at the battle pit, they helped when they walked into the Greenland's. If anyone saw them, it looked like a Nomad taking his son or daughter into the Plains of Darmock, to teach them its ways.

  Osh looked at his adopted son while he played with a small Rock-runner he'd caught. I was wrong, I cannot change his nature, he is what he is; he thought.

  He reached into a small pouch on his belt and drew out a tiny piece of dried Rimar meat.

  Endo dropped the Runner and grabbed the tasty treat from Osh. From under the hood helping him tolerate the bright sunlight, he saw his father’s eyes, “Good, food,” he said, he began to devour the dry flesh with gusto.

  Osh wat
ched him eating and thought; I've taught him to speak and how to act like a human but he is not one of us, he is not human, he is what he is. He looked at the Sandjar's clawed hands and remembered the night when he'd woken, to find him licking blood from them. He remembered the look in those large yellow eyes a look of pleasure. He knew instantly what had happened; they do not know for certain it was Endo who feasted on the giant's body but they suspect it and soon they will come for him.

  The Sandjar ate the last morsel of food and looked over at the Callaxion, “More food?” he asked.

  “No, no more food,” was the reply, “There will be no more food for you.”

  Endo cocked his head to one side, a gesture used by all-intelligent creatures of the galaxy, when they were uncertain, “No more food?” he said, “More food there?” he pointed a claw at the distant Nomad tents.

  The old man shook his head, “No, no food there.” He cannot stay, he must leave.

  Endo moved his head to one side again, “Where food now?” he asked.

  Osh pointed to the vast expanse of open range around them, “There is food, go find food now!” His voice was louder now and filled with authority, “Go and find food, now!”

  Endo suddenly backed away from his adopted father, he had never spoken to him so harshly and it frightened him.

  “Is mother there?” he asked, “Mother will give me food.”

  Osh’s heart felt like it was going to break but he knew, what had to be done. If the Sandjar remained, it would only be a matter of time, before he hurt or even killed a human, then they would surely kill him. He also knew that the odds of him surviving on his own, without the help of other Sandjar, was very slim but it was still a chance. “No,” he said shaking his large head, “Mother will not give you food, you must find food alone!”

  Endo looked out over the green grass, young as he was, he sensed danger out there, making him more afraid. He stood up and moved a few steps away, then looked back at the old man, “Will mother hold me?” he asked in his tiny voice.

  Osh regarded the large yellow eyes thoughtfully, he had seen many things reflected back in them before. Hunger, pain, weariness, delight, he had never seen what he saw now, love!

  He fought back his tears but he knew there was no turning back, so he spoke in a loud clear voice, “ No! No mother, no mother anymore, now go!”

  Endo moved away from the old man, he held up his hands, fearful of being struck by his father.

  Osh watched him walk away, then he picked up a small stone and held it up, “No mother! No father! No food! Go!” He threw the rock at his son.

  The rock missed the Sandjar's head but it was enough to make him run away. Endo went distance away before turning to look back at his adopted father.

  Osh could still see the look in his eyes but it was a different look, sadness. The old man picked up another small rock and threw it, “Go!” he shouted “Go away!” The rock missed by a wide margin but it was enough to make Endo run across the green grass.

  Osh watched him go, he watched him until he disappeared behind some large boulders and a small growth of Balbar trees. He stood for a long moment, then he wiped the tears from his eyes and spoke to himself in a low voice, “Good-bye, son.” Sadly he turned around and walked slowly back to the Eye of Isarie.

  Next to her tent, Seeda in her best armor, was busy loading her Whiptail with supplies, she packed extra rations of Kasha bread and dried Balbar fruit. There was a thick Hagar skin over her saddle and two blankets behind the high back rest. There was the usual supply of Grana Salt, always carried when riding and in several small pouches, a variety of things a warrior would take on a long journey.

  Seeda looked for the small pouch of red crystals that forced her to leave the tribe. After she told Almec she was leaving, she'd tried to throw it away several times but each time, she retrieved the pouch. She searched desperately for the little bag and its precious contents, she looked under the robe she wore when she washed herself. Then a voice

  “Saduk!”

  She turned around, her mother was standing there, she wore a plain robe and her hair was undone, she smiled at her daughter, “Have you forgotten your name?” she asked.

  Seeda stopped looking for the pouch and smiled, “Saduk, little cat, the name you used to call me, no, I have not forgotten.”

  Her mother came to her and hugged her hard, then she stood back and looked at her daughter. “You are no longer a little cat but I can call you what I wish,” she said. She is no longer my child, she no longer needs me.

  As Seeda looked at her mother, she suddenly realized she would never see her again but she held back her emotion, “Yes mother, you can call me whatever you wish.”

  Egmar looked around at the disarray in the tent, “I hope you'll take better care of your things when you are mated.” I will not see that day.

  “Yes, of course, you taught me that a man needs more than a warm arm, to make him satisfied,” she said with a smile. I will never be held in my mother arms again.

  The Queen started to tidy up, “I know Almec would fight a Sager Cat, if you asked him but helping around the tent, would take more courage than he has.” Almec will make you a strong mate and you will have strong children.

  Seeda watched her mother pick up a small rug, underneath was the pouch. Her mother went to put it aside. Seeda took it from her, “Here, let me help you,” she said, quickly putting the pouch onto her belt. “How did you ever find time to raise us, when you were doing so much cleaning?”

  “I had help from the Gods,” she replied as she shook out the small rug. She stopped and looked at her daughter; the Gods will watch over you and I will hear them speak of you in the Hall of Isarie. The Queen put the rug on a nearby barrel, then sat on it, she held her arms out to her daughter, “Come here,” she said.

  Seeda went to her mother and let her hold her, it was warm and reassuring, she could hear her heart beating through her soft robe. It made her remember her playful childhood and all the times she came to her mother, who would hold her tight in her strong arms, “I love you mother,” she said softly.

  “I love you too my little Saduk,” the Queen replied warmly and your father loved you too, the Gods will care for you.,

  Seeda held her mother tightly; I will never see her again, I am lost.

  They stayed like that for a long time, the Queen did not want to let her daughter go. She wanted to hold her until the suns overhead were gone and then long into the night. She wanted to hold her until the moons looked down on them and Sun-birth broke over the Mountains of Kresh. She wanted to hold her for all time but she could not. She remembered the words she spoke to Arn, the night before he became King. There is a time for all things and they must run their course. Her time was coming to an end and there was nothing to be done.

  Seeda felt her mother's arms around her, it felt good, nothing could harm her now, all she had to do, was let her mother hold her. This must be the feeling in the Afterlife; she thought; to be held for all time and to know you are loved.

  She knew this could not be, she had broken her tribe's laws and she must leave. She pressed her face against her mother’s chest once more, then she let her go, “If I do not pack quickly enough all the good Rimar will be gone,” she said.

  Her mother smiled at her daughter, “Yes and I must be going too, I have many things to do.” She started walking away, then she stopped and looked at her daughter again, “Come to my tent tonight Saduk, I have something for you,” then she left.

  Seeda watched her go, it was the hardest thing she had ever done, she wanted to run after her and hold her again. She wanted time to stand still, or better yet to return to those careless days, when she was just a little Saduk, not a warrior of the Almadra. Those days were gone but none would pass without her remembering her mother's strong arms holding her close.

  She went to her Whiptail and loaded the last of the supplies on the back of the saddle, she checked her battle-ax was where it should be. As she tightene
d the cinch, she heard Almec's mount coming towards her, Almec was sitting on his mount, with all his supplies arranged neatly over his saddle.

  “Are you ready?” he asked calmly.

  She took her horned helmet from the ground and put it on, then she grabbed her Whiptail's reins, she put her riding boot into the stirrup and mounted. The creature pulled forward strongly but she pulled it back, the beast grunted once, then waited for the command to move.

  Almec looked at his love, her face was calm and showed no emotion but he could see her eyes were wet with tears, “Do you want to speak to the King before we go?” he asked.

  “No,” she replied, “There is nothing to be said.” She pulled hard on the reins and dug her sharp spurs into her restless mount's sides, the Whiptail gave out a loud roar then ran swiftly across the Greenland’s.

  Almec gave his beast the sign to follow, soon they left the Eye of Isarie far behind. They left their families, their friends, their tribe, they would no longer sing together around the Washa fires, or hear the signal horns calling them to battle. They would not dance naked under the moons during the mating time, they would not journey to the crystal caves of re-birth, or undergo the Choosing. All was left behind.

  Now they were Outcasts and all they had, were their memories.