Chapter 30. The Oath of Blood
You are my children.
In you, flows the blood of my life.
Do not let that blood mix with those who are not my Chosen.
For their souls, are cut in two by their sins.
From the Book of Isarie.
Throughout the warm night, the Outland warriors danced and mated. The ancient Dome of Omargash, echoed to the frantic screams of men and women, as they let the heat of their passion, pour out into each other.
They devoured the pungent flesh of the sacred Malock and drank deeply of the Spikeback's red blood. They made frenzied love and danced wildly until they fell to the ground, utterly spent. The earth beneath the broken dome, was strewn with naked bodies, some living and some dead. Killed by the hand of their brothers or sisters, as the fire in their blood took control of their souls. Later when the veil of lust lifted from their eyes, they would mourn. They would be buried and songs sung in their honor but there would be no pity. It was their way and the way of the Goddess and it was written, that only the strong would survive.
When the last of the revelers danced no longer and their sweat-stained bodies were drained of all sensation, they closed their eyes and dreamed strange visions they did not understand. Their minds were filled with images of titanic wars and cruel death, they heard wailing screams in the endless darkness and flashing images of mysterious worlds beyond worlds. They fell through monstrous black holes of time and space, they danced on far away moons and brilliant stars and throughout it all they fought, they killed and were killed. Their hands were stained with the crimson blood of the worlds but they were not afraid, it was their life and their soul, nothing mattered but war and more war. The timeless universe was filled with unending death and they were the eternal reapers of that universe.
Through the crimson sky they saw an image, a figure moving in the turmoil of their minds, it came closer and then they saw its face. It was the face of Isarie smiling at them, they saw her warm eyes and heard the softness of her musical voice, she lifted up her hand and reached out and then she said, “The Gods will arise.”
The Goddess reached out and touched their hearts, it warmed them in the darkness of eternity and beyond. As they stood feeling the warmth of a love that cannot be described, the image slowly broke apart and disappeared into the stars and there were no more dreams.
The night passed quickly and as dawn began to break over the Land of Omargash, the beating of the drums came to an end and all was quiet.
Obec had watched the Mating Ritual through the night, she saw her people choose a mate and fight to keep them. Around her, the Thungodra stood guard, even though they might be tempted to join the naked bodies around them. They had taken a blood oath, to protect the Holy Mother and they would keep it at all cost. They filled their ears with bark bee, wax so they could not hear the beating of the ritual drums, which would fill their blood with fire.
The Handmaidens also were unmoved, as the Almadra women danced and chose their mates. They had learned to control their instincts and passions and to obey the word of the Holy Mother. It was difficult for the young novices, to resist the call of their bodies. To keep their minds pure, they close their eyes, while repeating passages from the Book of Isarie. Still the lust was in them and it showed on their faces, sweat mixed with tears, as they stood through the night.
They did not dream or see the image of Isarie, holding out her hands to them. They did not hear she speak or see her loving eyes looking into their souls.
As the first rays of sunlight broke, the High Priestess rose slowly from her chair and stood gazing over the rocky ground beneath the Great Dome. She lifted her head high and in a loud clear voice she spoke, “Let it end.” She turned to look at Soffca, who still stood, holding the large mallet.
The young woman looked back, “As you wish,” she said. She went behind the Holy Mother, to the gong and struck it three times.
Bong...Bong...Bong!
As the gong's last echo died, the Holy Mother turned and walked from the dome. Her mind was filled with images, a vast sea of fire and steel. I have done the will of Isarie; she thought; I am her right hand.
The Touch-tenders reported that the Queen had not returned to her tent. They searched the entire camp, trying to find her but she was nowhere to be found, so they went to the King but he was missing too.
Before the first rays of sunlight broke over the Land of Omargash, Arn had saddled his Whiptail and left the Great Dome, with him went a dozen or more strong warriors. They had made a pledge to stand by their King and even though it went against the laws of the tribe, they gathered up their weapons and armor and rode out with their leader into the Wastelands.
Having no other choice, the Touch-tenders went to Agart and told him of his missing mother. The Prince immediately gave the order, for all warriors to search for the missing Queen. Though they had not slept, they obeyed their new King and rode out in all directions. They pledged to bring Egmar back with the heads of whoever took her.
Andra sat quietly in Agart's tent, the sunlight slowly filtered in, through the small gap in the entrance flap. She was wearing the same robe she wore in the Great Dome but her Dragons-teeth were not on her belt. She watched as Agart, poured a cup of warm Po, he walked calmly towards her and held out the small clay cup, “Drink,” he said.
Andra struck out with her hand and sent the cup flying, it shattered against a support pole. She looked straight into the Prince's eyes and said, “If you touch me, I’ll kill you,” her words full of venom.
Agart moved a pace or two from her then said, “Unlike my brother, I would never mate with a Half-Soul.”
For a moment Andra was confused; he has me brought here but he doesn’t want me, why?
Agart poured a drink into a small gold cup, then turned back to face Andra, “You are wondering, why I would fight with my brother for you and then not want you.”
The look on the Andra’s face told him his statement was correct, “I challenged my brother to keep our people strong.” He took a gulp of his Po, “You are a Half-Soul, no matter what name you are given or how many warriors you kill, you are not The Chosen of the Gods and never will be.”
Andra stood up, “Then if you do not want me, I’ll be leaving.”
She headed for the entrance to the tent, when she lifted the flap, she saw two large warriors standing guard. They looked back at her and she could see from the look in their eyes, they were not going to let her pass. She turned around and went back to her chair.
“Arn will never let you keep me here,” her words were strong but she knew they held nothing more than faith.
Agart took another drink from his cup, “Arn is no longer King, the laws of our tribe say that he is an Outcast, the Gods say that I will be the new leader.”
Andra remembered what Osh had told her about being mated, “Then I challenge you!”
Agart came over and looked her straight in the eyes, “I will not toy with you like Ashra Doom, I will kill you quickly.”
Andra did not know if he was bluffing or not but she knew his words held some truth. She decided to hold her tongue; know your enemy; told herself; find his weak spot then strike.
Before she could put any plan into effect, the Prince turned to her, “You are a Half-Soul and do not belong in the tribe of the Almadra, you and the old man, are free to go.”
Andra did not ask questions, or wait for Agart to change his mind, she got up quickly and left the Prince's tent. She did not know where she was going, all she knew was that she could not stay with the Nomads any longer. She wished the Dropship, had crashed into the earth, rather than letting her live on a planet where she was not, wanted.
It had been three days, since Seeda and Almec had left the Pass of Moke, they'd traveled day and night since. On the evening of the fourth day, they were attacked by a large group of Sandjar. The little green creatures, had spotted the lone Nomads and set a trap for them, near a small water hole. When the Outlan
der's thirsty Whiptail came to drink, they sprung their trap and fell upon the two warriors. Their plan did not go as expected and their quarry escaped, killing several of them. They inflicted damaged on the humans and captured their food and supplies, it was a poor reward for their efforts but still something. The Sandjar watched the Nomads and their injured Whiptail, racing off towards the Grassland's and the Home of the Talsonar.
A day later, Seeda and Almec sat huddled around a small fire, built from a fallen Balbar tree and some Eul that was lying nearby. The night was very warm but they found the fire, very pleasant. They found a small rock outcropping, it gave them some protection against the wind and hid them from any creatures that might attack.
Seeda had a cut across her left arm and had several deep scratches from the Sandjar's sharp claws. Almec's leg was badly wounded, the injured was above his right knee but they were still alive. They sat treating their injuries with Rock-worm juice, Seeda squeezed the many-legged insect and watched as its juices dropped over the deep cut on Almec’s leg.
“How does that feel?” she asked.
“Better,” he replied and then he smiled, “You should have been a Touch-tender rather than a warrior.”
Seeda picked up another dead Rock-worm that was lying nearby, she rubbed its fluid into her arm, “If I were not such a good warrior, we would be dead now.”
Almec shook his head, “I am sure the Gods will say, I was the better warrior.”
“What?” she replied angrily, “By my count, I killed six while you only had only four.”
“Yes but I killed mine with one blow.”
He smiled at Seeda and she realized he was just playing games, she made a grumbling sound under her breath, then continued to rub the Rock-worm juice into her arm. The soothing ointment slowly eased the pain in her limb and she laid back on a rock near to the fire, for a time neither one of them spoke, then Almec turned to her.
“How is the Whiptail?” he asked.
Seeda lifted her head and looked over at their mount, “She is injured but I think she will survive long enough for us to reach the Talsonar City”
“And if she does not, what then?”
“Then we will walk,” she answered.
“And when we can walk no longer?”
“Then we will crawl!”
Again there was a long pause until Almec spoke again, “You should leave me,” his words clearly and plainly spoken.
The Princess turned to her lover, “Your leg will heal quickly and you will survive, even if I have to carry you.”
Another pause.
“We have no food and we are injured,” he said quietly, “It is better that one should live rather than, two die.”
Seeda did not look at him, “We will both live and no one will enter the Afterlife.”
Almec turned his head away; she will die if she stays with me, it is the will of the Gods that I die here. He looked back at her, “You are a stubborn dull headed Spikeback that would rather fall into the Pit of Marloon, than admit she is wrong!”
When Seeda heard these words, she jumped to her feet, “And you are a weak backed Trofar that no longer gives milk!”
The two stared at each other for a moment but did not speak.
He is trying to anger me; she thought; he thinks I will leave him if he makes me angry enough. She began to mumble under her breath, Almec heard her grumbling and knew why she was making such noises.
She is trying to calm herself down; he told himself; she needs more time to forget the feelings in her heart, “A Trofar would know better than to mate with you!”
Seeda drew her daggers and leaped upon the injured warrior, they rolled together over the hard ground, biting and clawing at each other. Then with a sharp movement of her legs, Seeda gained the advantage and found herself on top of her lover, with her knife at his throat. They lay there for a moment, each one glaring into the eyes of the other.
Kill me and live; he thought.
If I kill him I will die; she told herself.
She lowered her weapon, got off his chest and sat beside him, she laid back and looked at the night sky. She spoke in a soft quiet tone, “We have no home, we have no tribe, we only have each other,” she looked at him, “There are no Other Worlds but you.”
For a time they did not speak, they simply looked at each other. They found all they were looking for there. Worlds beyond worlds no longer mattered, they were too far away and too small to hold their love. They would find all they needed in each other.
Seeda took her dagger and made a small cut in her arm, carefully she directed a few drops of blood into Almec’s mouth, “Our bodies are one, our souls are together,” she said.
Almec tasted the blood and gazed into her eyes, “From long ago yesterdays and throughout all our tomorrows, we will be one.”
They kissed, it was not the kiss of a man to a woman, or a token between to lovers. It was the kiss of two souls, who would stay together until their world was dust, throughout all space and time, until all the worlds beyond worlds were no more.
It was two days before the Almadra warriors returned to the Great Dome. They had searched the land far and wide but found no trace of their beloved Queen.
It was a painful for the tribe, to think they might have lost their Queen, as well as the King and the warriors who had chosen to go with him. There was nothing more to be done and they began loading their wagons, in readiness for their journey to the Land of the Ergan-Mar and then onward to the Hollow Hills.
Agart had not been officially crowned as King but he was the obvious choice, said the Holy Mother and no one wanted to challenge both the strength of the Prince and the power of the High Priestess. So the Elders of the Tribe, gave their blessing and bowed their heads to the will of the Gods.
The new King did not order a search for the Off-Worlder. She had gone with the old man, taking only her Whiptail and a Trofar to pull a wagon, full of supplies. The Callaxion acquired what they needed, by trading his vast fortune of Rimar horn and other items, for enough food and Grana, to keep them healthy for some time.
For Agart, it was better that way, he would be rid of the woman and the old man. He would not be blamed, as for his brother and mother that was a far different matter. He sat in a chamber of Obec's Holy tent and he started to question the wisdom of Isarie, “I did not want to become King, I only wanted to do what was right for my people.”
Obec sat in her chair and listened to the Prince, as he told her what troubled him. She listened to every word but her wrinkled face, showed no sign of her feelings.
“If being King, means I have to see my mother and brother destroyed, then I do not want to be the Almadra's leader.”
The old woman allowed a slight smile to show her face, “I have told you, we cannot see through the eyes of the Gods but I can tell you what they have told me. They say, Agart is King and that he will lead the Almadra in the ways of the Goddess.”
The Prince tried to see beyond her words, into her heart but the old woman's eyes, were shut to him. Is she lying to me and telling me only what I want to hear, can I trust her, can I trust her? “And what of my mother the Queen, is she dead or alive?”
The old woman closed her eyes as if to see the future, “The fate of the Queen is in the hands of Horcon but she is one of The Chosen and Isarie will smile upon her.” If the old Trofar isn't dead, she soon will be.
Agart listened to the High Priestess' words and her words seemed to comfort him, even though he didn't want them to. I must trust in the Gods, they will guide me. The prince slowly rose from his chair, “Thank you for your words. I must go now and see to my people.”
The old woman lifted her hand, “Do not worry my child, her name and the name of your brother, will be written in the Book of Isarie, for all to see and to be remembered.”
“Thank you your Holiness,” he said, he bowed and left the chamber leaving the old woman alone.
Obec stood up and left her chamber, she walked past several Hand
maidens, who were busy packing the sacred relics and making ready for the journey ahead. They bowed as she passed, then watched her enter the place, where the Book of Isarie lay on a stone pedestal. The old women went to the book and placed her hands on the golden inlaid pages.
“Talmec rasue etaris Isarie, I am your servant Isarie,” she opened the book and looked at the names in the tribe's long past. “You made us The Chosen of the Gods, your book is the will of your heart and I will be your right hand.” The old woman looked at the pages, which had the names of those who would be remembered. She did not pick up the writing pen or record any new names, she simply closed the book and left the chamber.
Andra and Osh, did not know where they were going but as long as it was far from the Almadra, they did not care. They headed North, or at least they thought it was North. They were heading in that direction when they entered into the Land of Omargash, so Andra figured it was as good way to go for now. She used a tall peak in the distance, as rough heading and guided her Whiptail towards it.
Osh had not had very much time, to make up his mind about leaving. He saw Andra hurriedly putting on her armor and loading her Whiptail, she said she was leaving the camp. He tried to question her but all he got was fragments of events and short answers, mixed with a great deal of profanity and her view of how untrustworthy men were. He could see that she was leaving and nothing would change her mind, so rather than be alone, he decided to go with her and leave his fate to chance.
Now as he sat holding his Trofar's reins, trying to match the pace of Andra's Whiptail, he calculated their odds on staying alive. We are alone in a land we do not know; he thought; we do not know where we are going, or what we will find when we arrive. We have no friends or any idea how to survive the Burning Time. After he factored in all the variables, he decided their chance of survival was very poor, “Do you know where you are going?” he shouted out to Andra.
Andra pointed with the ax she held in her right hand, “Yes,” she shouted back, “that way.”
“And why would that way, be any better than the another?” he called out.
Andra turned in her saddle and looked at Osh, “Because I have a good feeling about it, trust me.”
Osh thought about this for a moment, “Trust is a not very effective way of knowing, which direction,” he said coldly, “It would be much better to have a precise heading before we undertake a long and dangerous journey.”
He heard nothing more from Andra and decided that any further questioning would be useless, so he busied himself, trying to calculate how many ways a person could die.
As she guided her Whiptail, Andra watched the huge derelict machines around her. She knew they were wrecks and would never move again but that did not stop her from feeling anxious and a little afraid. It must have been the military training that kept her alive in so many battles, taking over and that was OK with her. Thinking about the past days and how her heart had betrayed her, only made her feel like an angry schoolgirl again. How could I have been so stupid; she thought; I let my feelings run my life, I should have been more careful, it won’t happen again.
She could feel the intense heat on her helmet and was about to take it off, when she remembered Arn's words and stopped. Maybe not everything he told me was a lie but from now on, I will not let my guard down.
As she rode on, she could not help but remember, the beating of the Mating Drums and the feel of the warm night air, on her naked body.
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