Chapter 32. The Shadow-men
Forgive us for our sins.
Forgive us for our lies.
Forgive us for our weakness.
Forgive us in your name.
Prayer of the Almadra.
Arn slowly emerged from the darkness, he seemed to move up a dim corridor, leading from the black world that engulfed him, into another place of life and movement. At first he did not want to awaken, the dark world holding him was peaceful, without the painful reality of the world he knew. He wanted to sleep forever, held in the grip of cool night and silence.
Then he saw something moving in the darkness, a figure, it came close and he saw a face, dim at first then becoming more recognizable. Although he did not want to look, he had no choice, it was the face of the woman he loved and betrayed and in his mind he spoke one word, “Andra.”
He watched as Andra came closer, he saw her clearly now, her body like witch-fire, she held out her hand, then she smiled and whispered softly to him, “The Gods will arise.” He saw her engulfed in waves of golden color like Gorn's rising suns. Then he felt the pain.
First an agonizing sensation throbbing in his wrists, like an Iron-worker's hot steel, had been driven into them. He knew there were demons in the dark pit beyond life, that would torment you for all eternity. In his mind he thought this was his punishment for betraying his love and leaving his people without a King. If that was his destiny, then he would bare it. More pain came and he opened his mouth to scream but nothing came out.
He opened his eyes. This was not the Pit of Marloon but it was torment just the same. He found himself hanging two meters off the ground, nailed to a section of iron plate. He was supported by two jagged spikes of metal, driven through the flesh of his wrists. His armor had been taken off and he wore only a strip of dirty Rimar skin, around his waist. His body was caked in his own blood from numerous small cuts and scrapes, also blood and gore from the battle with the Shadow-men
He looked down, in the golden light from the setting suns, he saw a mass of dark robed figures looking back up at him. Many of them were held long spears in their bony hands and he could hear them laugh as they jabbed him with the sharp points. He felt a rusty metal tip bite into his right side and he clenched his teeth, then it was twist backed and forth like the jaws of a gigantic Rock-worm. Although the pain was excruciating, he made no sound, he ground his teeth and pulled at the metal supporting his weight. There was more laughter, then the spear tip was removed, he was able to catch a lung full of hot air.
Despite his pain he looked around, the severed heads of Ardendra and Brawl-Lacar impaled on two rusty metal beams close to him, he could also see the remains of his warriors. Their bodies had been dismembered, he knew that in hard times, the dark robed creatures would eat Nomad flesh. He was appalled to think that the brave warriors who had followed him into the Forbidden Lands, had become food for the dark men.
He felt the sharp stab of a spear point in his back and he gritted his teeth in rage. The pain ripped up his spine and down his legs, he pulled at the iron spikes at his wrists once more. He felt one of them loosen but he stopped when he felt the spear's metal point being removed. His mind swirled with images of red fire and death, through his waves of anguish, he heard one of the Shadow-men speak, his words were slurred as if spoken through broken teeth but the meaning was clear.
“I say we kill him now and take his head.”
“No, let the night crawlers have a feast,” said another.
“Yes, then when daylight comes, the Sun-droppers will finish what they leave.”
Ignoring the agonizing pain, Arn pulled at the spikes again, he felt his flesh tearing but still he kept pulling. He felt the jab of another spear and paused in his efforts, more words but his head was spinning too much for him to understand. After a few moments, blackness overtook him once more and he heard nothing.
The twin suns of Gorn had long vanished, the Poison Lands were now the domain of the night creatures. They crawled out of their burrows to hunt for food to keep them alive. It was not an easy, there was very little to sustain them in this place. They had learned to dig for anything that might be of edible and they fought for any scraps of flesh or eggs left unguarded by other creatures. Their instincts told them that the Burning Time was almost here, they would need to store fat in their grotesque bodies, to keep them alive. They spread out over the bleak landscape, like a dark army hoping to find anything edible for their ever-hungry mouths.
In the huge eye socket of a bleached skull, the size of three tall Nomads, two Off-Worlders, an old man and a young woman sat trying to rest. The skull's usual inhabitant, a large insect like creature with many legs and a pair of pincer claws, lay roasting over a small fire. Andra poked at it with a strip of sharp rusty metal.
“I think it's just about done,” she said proudly, then tore of one of the large claws from the creature. She broke it open with the end of her ax, then prized out some pinkish flesh, she held it out to her companion, “You want some?”
Osh took a look at the strange meat, then shook his head, “No thanks, I will have this,” then he took a bite of stale Kasha bread.
“Suit yourself,” Andra replied, then she took a bite of her meal.
If she had been alone, she would have spat it out there and then but it was her idea to cook the thing after she killed it. She did not want to look foolish in front of Osh so she chewed for a bit longer, then forced a smile onto her face, “Hummmm very good.” Then she turned her head and spat out the remaining pieces into her hand, she tossed them away with disgust. When she looked back at Osh, he was also smiling.
“You see,” he said, “I told you it would not be palatable, you may be a very good warrior but you know nothing about food.”
Andra had to admit, he was right but it had been three days since the Whiptail ran off and they were as lost as before.
The Trofar had not been harmed and although there was nothing for it to eat, Andra knew the beast could go for many days without food or water. The milk it could supply, would help to sustain them. Osh calculated they had a very slim chance of survival, Andra simply hoped for the best.
Now the twin suns had gone down, they stopped for a short rest. They would have preferred to travel at night but they knew many predators preferred the cooler darkness, than the light of day. So they decided to take the heat, rather than the teeth of a creature of the night. They made the huge skull into a temporary shelter and they put their wagon and the Trofar, under a large metal plate protruding from a machine, half buried in the sand. Now they laid back and tried not to think of the heat.
Andra tried to eat a bit more of the roasting creature. She hoped the insect's soft belly might be less revolting than its claws. She bit into the soft mass but it tasted even worse. She flung the remaining blackened body parts out of their skull home, then sat back and took a sip of Po.
She looked at the Callaxion and saw the smug look on his wrinkled face, “Very well,” she said reluctantly, “You were right and I was wrong, happy now?”
Osh continued to smile, as he looked around the giant skull that was their temporary home, “This skull, looks a lot like the ones dug up on Planet Nine-Six in the Orgalus system. They were much smaller and did not have wide ocular placements like this one. There is no mention of anything like this, in the records of Valcarus, Vandrous Yar of the Otarus Moon. Although they do seem to confirm research by Crydonus the Twenty-Third of Tricar Prime. I would have to say that I might have discovered a brand new species of Terra-giagantus.”
Andra just sat staring at her old friend; here we are staring death in the face and he goes on and on about finding new creatures, “So what? Do you really think anyone will care a thousand cycles from now?”
Osh rubbed the import hole on his head, “Well of course they will, a thousand years is a very short time from the standpoint of eternity.”
“A thousand years,” she scoffed, “That’s too far off to worry about now.”
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br /> The old man gave a little laugh, “Not really, you see the past and future, are connected by what we do now, recording it will tell those to come that we were here.”
Andra could find no fault with the Callaxion's words, “Then I’m sorry you don’t have your writing materials to record it.”
“Yes,” he replied, “I would have liked to mind-locked it.”
Andra took a small sip of Po, “Mindlocked, what is that?” She knew that she might have made a mistake, another long-winded speech was sure to follow.
“I am glad you asked me that,” Osh settled back against the smooth surface of the skull, “You see when Callaxions write something down, or mind say it to a data-comp, we remember it until we die. The words are imprinted in our minds and can be recalled anytime, as necessary. Leaving my writing equipment behind was unfortunate but not crucial, I wanted to make a record in case something happened to me.”
“Are you saying that you can remember everything that’s happen since we’ve been here?”
“Of course,” he smiled, “Can you not?”
“Well not everything,” she replied shaking her head.
“That's why my people so important,” he said proudly, “We can recall everything that happens, every word, every sound, every small detail, it is in our minds although we must be interfaced to a data-com. Then all we have to do is open our Mindlocks and everything is recorded. It's really rather simple but I have to admit, as I grow older it's becoming harder and harder to remember it all.”
For a moment, Andra let the images of their past days flood through her minds eye. She saw Arn'a face and remembered the night under the Great Dome, she saw him walking away, leaving her alone.
I remember; she thought; but I don’t want too.
She shook her head and looked out at the night sky and the silhouettes of the great machines against the bright stars, they seemed like monsters from her childhood nightmares. Huge beasts ready to snatch her out of her warm bed and drag her screaming into the dark night. Then she remembered her mother's bedtime song.
Sleep and dream in crystal caves.
Where emerald birds fly on the wind.
No shadows of night will find you there.
Only softened kisses of one who cares.
She looked over at Osh, “Do you think anyone will remember me?”
Osh gave her a reassuring look, “Only time knows the answer to that and time is relative, it doesn’t mean the same thing to everyone.”
Andra looked and him and smiled, “You said, doesn’t”
Osh gave her a questioning look, “Did I?”
“Yes you did, it’s the first time I’ve ever heard you use a contraction,” she laughed.
The Callaxion scratched his large head, “Well it seems that being in close, proximity to you has contaminated my language.”
“Oh that’s alright, it does not matter,” Andra replied.
“You said does not instead of doesn’t,” he said, then he laughed, “It seems we are both undergoing a change.”
“Yes we are,” said Andra; change is what I want.
Egmar did not know how long it was since she was taken from the Dome of Omargash. The last thing she remembered was a dark figure coming towards her, then a bony hand being forced over her mouth, the smell of rotting flesh and then nothing. She awoke to find herself surrounded by luxury but unable to remember how she got here or why? She still wore the robe she was wearing when she was taken but the small bell was missing.
She sat on a bed made from animal bones and covered with the thick fur of a Hagar Beast. The walls were stone and she surmised that she must be in some sort of cave. There was a table and chairs, also made from bones, with pieces of rusty metal and wire joining them. There were some crude bowls and cups on the table and a small bowl of Grana. Apart from the foul smell, it would have made passable quarters for a Queen.
She looked at the steel door separating her home from the outside world and waited quietly. She'd finished the plate of overcooked meat, given to her by a dark robed female who didn't speak. She tried to engage her in conversation many times but she said nothing. She took the empty plate away and refilled the jug of water, set on the bone table. Egmar thought she was female because of her size and the way she moved. The heavy hood was pulled over her head so her features remained hidden. She had the hands of a woman but they were ghastly, skeletal hands with mottled skin and pieces of flesh slowly rotting on the bone. Whatever face was under the hood, the Queen knew it must be one of horror. Egmar knew all about the Shadow-men, she had seen their bodies lying dead on the battlefield after an attack. She had never seen a live one, this close before. She prayed to Isarie, hoping this was not the Pit of Marloon and that she might see her children again.
Egmar heard a creaking sound and the heavy door opened, a small dark robed figure entered the room and went to the empty plate on the table. She picked it up and was about to leave, when the Queen rose from her bed, “Tell me your name?” she asked.
The figure stopped then turned in her direction.
“Please tell me who you are?” she asked again.
Egmar was certain she was about to answer, when another figure entered the room. This one was tall, she knew there was a strong man under the dark robe. He pointed a bony finger at the robed woman and then at the door, “Go,” he said.
The woman left the stone chamber quickly, she shut the door behind her. There was a long pause while the Queen and the Darkman, looked at each other.
Egmar could not see his face, like the woman, he wore his hood up, covering his features. She watched him walk to a chair and sit down, still he did not speak. The Queen sat down on the bed and stared at the figure. What does he want; she thought. If he wanted me dead, he would have already killed me, he wants something but what?
She watched the dark figure take out a small bell, he held it up and shook it. There was a soft, ting, ting, ting it filled the room, then he put the bell down on the table.
“Does that sound please you?” he asked.
The Queen said nothing, the dark figure spoke once more, “Does the sound fill you heart with love, does it remind you of warm nights and the promise of new life?”
His words had a sharp edge to them, they made Egmar feel afraid. Like all Queens, she held onto her fear, her face showing nothing, other than calm, “Yes” she said, “The sound pleases me.”
The Darkman laughed softly, “I see you are a woman who is easily pleased.” There was another pause, as the robed man picked at a small patch of rotting skin on his left hand, “And do you find comfort in reading from the Book of Isarie?” he asked.
He knows our ways; she thought; how does he know our ways? “The words of the Goddess bring me peace, it pleases me to know she cares for us,” she said.
“And does this please you also?” the Darkman asked, pulling his hood back.
Egmar could now see the well hidden face, in spite of herself, she had to turn away. It wasn’t from disgust, it was from pity. Poor soul; she thought; poor soul. She turned back to look into the face of horror, “No, it does not please me,” she said softly.
The Darkman laughed softly, “I suppose you are going to pray to Isarie and ask her to grant me mercy and heal my wounds?”
Egmar nodded, “Yes, I will pray for you.”
At those words, the Darkman rose from his chair and shouted, “Liar!” He moved closer to Egmar and pointed a thin finger at her face, “You are filled with nothing but lies, you pray to empty Gods and make offerings only to yourselves, you and your people are nothing!”
He calmed himself, then started to walk around the cave, “Tell me, do your quarters meet with your approval?” he asked.
The Queen looked around for a moment, “Yes, they are quite acceptable.”
The Darkman bowed slightly, “Thank you, I hoped they would be to your liking, after all a Queen of the Almadra must be treated with respect.”
He knows who I am, he is a Shadow-man bu
t he knows. Egmar asked a question, “Why have you brought me here?”
The Darkman did not look at her, he continued to check her surroundings, “I thought you might want to be with your people.”
Egmar tried to understand him but she knew Shadow-men had strange ways, their actions were sometimes unpredictable, “If you want me to be with my people, you should have left me where I was,” she said.
The Darkman turned to her, “Look at me, do you know who I am?”
The Queen shook her head, “No, you are not known to me.”
The Darkman walked towards her, then he bent down and spoke quietly to her, “Don't you know me mother, I am your son.” He reached out and touched her arm with a cold hand.
To Egmar, it felt like a piece of rotting Rimar meat, left out in the sun for too long. The Queen looked at him, “You are not my son,” she said flatly.
The Darkman moved back and stood looking down on his captive, “We all have to make choices, yours was to forsake your child. Mine was to find the mother who abandoned me to the Wastelands.”
She looked at his face again, she began to see beyond the dead glow of his yellow eyes. She reached out with her mind and her heart, moving into the Darkman's soul. She felt something, something she had not felt since she was a young woman. The feeling mother has for a lost son.
The Darkman turned from her and went to the door, “We will speak again,” he said. The Darkman disappeared from sight.
Egmar sat on the bed not moving or showing any sign of the cold terror filling her heart. She wanted to pray but could not remember any words from the Book of Isarie. All she could see, were the cold yellow eyes set in a face of horror.
After the unpleasant meal in the giant skull Andra and Osh got back into the wagon and continued their journey. Andra knew it was best to travel at night, to avoid the blazing sunlight. The moons of Gorn were high overhead as Andra and Osh made their way across the barren land. After a few hours of listening to nothing but the footfalls of the Trofar and endless discussions about where they were, they decided to stop and take stock of the situation.
“I think we should head in that direction,” said Andra, pointing to an immense rock on the star backed horizon.
“And what makes you think we would be any better off going that way?” asked Osh, gesturing to a mass of huge bones in the distance.
Andra looked at the bones then back at the great rock, “Well nothing really but I have a good feeling about it.”
Osh wiped his wrinkled brow, “A good feeling? That doesn’t sound like a scientific way of making a decision.”
Andra removed her small backpack, “Well if you have any better ideas, I’d love to hear them.” While she waited for the Callaxion to reply, she took of her heavy helmet and ran her hands through her hair. Osh cleared his throat, “Well it seems to me that your way would expose us to undo danger, while my way would at least take advantage of the natural surroundings and enhance our chances for survival.”
He has no ideas any better than mine. She nodded, “How about a compromise, we head that way.” She pointed to a cluster of rusty machinery and large dried bones, directly ahead.
Osh could barely make it out in the darkness but he had no reason to disagree, “Very well, we will head that way.”
He started to calculate the odds in his head but the difference between one direction or the other was too small to matter, so he stopped calculating. Instead, he busied himself remembering his time on Alcon Six, when he had to calculate the number of sand crystals on the shores of the Vermilion Sea.
Arn had been hanging from the iron plate, where the Shadow-men had nailed him for many hours. He awoke to intense pain, it moved up his arms, into his shoulders. He tried to move his hands but they felt like balls of fire on the ends of his arms. Through blurry eyes, he looked up at the night sky and the moons overhead, he tried to remember their names, as a distraction from the anguish burning in his mind.
He looked around again, his warrior's bodies were gone now. No doubt taken away by the Shadow-men, to be feasted upon later. His only companions were the severed heads of Ardendra and Brawl-Lacar. They looked at him with cold lifeless eyes. Why did I lead them to their deaths?
He felt a great anguish, knowing he'd done this to them. Then he felt something else, he looked down and saw several large sand beetles slowly crawling up his torso. They were as long as his finger and had a hard black shell. Their front legs ended in two heavy pincers, perfect for ripping small chunks of flesh from the bones of creatures they found, dead or almost! En mass they could strip a fully grown Spikeback clean, in a single night. Fortunately there were only a few of them. It would take them several nights to remove the flesh from a human.
Arn watched as they climbed up to his neck, they probed his face to find his eyes, this was where they would start to feed. Arn opened his mouth wide and stuck out his tongue. It took all his will power to stay still while one of the large insects crawled onto his mouth. Suddenly, Arn clamped his jaw shut, there was a loud snapping noise as the creature's shell, split open. Its warm fluids poured down Arn's parched throat.
Arn let the liquid from the insect relieve his thirst, then he chewed the remains, it made him feel much better. He felt another beetle cutting into the flesh of his back, he forced his body sharply backwards, crushing the creature against the plate behind him. The insect's body fell to the ground and the other insects started to eat the body of their comrade, giving the human a temporary respite.
Arn let his rested head back to against the plate, he looked at the metal spikes holding his arms. If I stay here the suns will kill me; he thought. He closed his eyes. I have been a weak King, I do not deserve mercy, I should die. The pain in his arms it ripped through his mind again and he let himself fall into the dark cool world that dwells between this one and the next. He drifted quietly into the Netherland free of all want or need.
How quiet it is here, no questions, no answers, no laws. He listened to the words in his mind and it gave him peace. He heard another voice, it was like a dream within a dream. There were neither words nor sounds but something told him, he could not let his life end, he must fight, fight to survive, live another day and fight, then he saw some images.
Earth, Wind, Fire.
They moved across his inner eye, on top of the images he saw a face, the face of Andra. With the images burning into his soul, he began to pull with all his might, hot fire burned in his limbs but still he kept pulling. He opened his mouth and cried out to the moons and the stars, he pulled with all the strength of his body and soul. The cords of muscle on his arms, stood out like bands of steel. Blood began to flow from his wrists, where the metal spikes pierced them.
With the sound of ripping flesh, he tore his right arm free. Without stopping he grasped the spike that pinned his left arm and ripped it from the giant bone. He fell forward onto the soft sand and lay there gasping for breath. After a few moments, he turned over to look up at the night sky, then he rose painfully to stand unsteadily on naked feet. He did not know what the Gods had in store for him next but he would meet it standing.
Nomads of the Gods Page 33