Nomads of the Gods

by Gary Mark Lee

  Chapter 34. The Hollow Hills

  There are many things that dwell in the darkness.

  Some give life and some bring death.

  Walk carefully when you leave my world of light.

  For in the darkness I cannot see you.

  But I will hear your voice in prayer.

  From the Book of Isarie.

  Daylight found the Almadra nearing the towering mountains of Koto-Car and the Hollow Hills, the home of the Grana miners. They would trade the wagons of stone bread, dried Rimar meat and the iron digging implements for the precious green salt. After an offering to the Gods, they would travel to the deep caves of the Crystal Spiders, where they would stay through the Burning Time.

  They had weathered the windstorm and now continued their seemingly endless journey. The Nomads had traveled mostly at night, spending the days in their wagons out of the burning sunlight and intense heat. Although the Whiptails and Trofar could endure high temperatures, they were still kept under sunshades if possible and given extra water when needed. It was still very hard on the tribe's members and they longed for the cool caves and the long sleep.

  Agart had led his people as best he could but he was being haunted by the memories of his brother, sister and his mother who was no longer with them. Day after day, he thought about how he had listened to the Holy Mother's words and how he had betrayed the King to save his people. He was torn between knowing if following the laws of Isarie and his tribe was right, or if he had somehow betrayed everything he once loved.

  Riding his Whiptail under the night sky he looked up at the stars, in the past they had always made him feel content. He felt nothing, his heart was filled with a great emptiness that nothing could fill. He looked at the small moon Eka, coming up over the horizon, the moon's steady movement past the stars gave him comfort, a feeling he was a part of a universe with order and a purpose.

  How small; he thought; follow your brothers and sisters, they will point the way. He looked back at the long column of wagons and warriors, who now put their trust in him. Where do I lead them now. do I know the way? He looked straight ahead and did not look at the night sky again.

  Far back in the mass of warriors, surrounded by the Thungodra, Anais lay in Soffca's arms. Safe in their wagon and out of sight of the tribe's scornful eyes. To make his journey as comfortable as possible, Anais had insisted on bringing soft bedding and pillows. He still found the mattress a bit too hard and the burning scent sticks in a small brazier weren't the right odor. Bored, he watched a swaying oil lamp, its soft warm light shimmered over everything.

  The only thing that made his journey tolerable, was Soffca's warm body next to him. If she had not been there, he would be shouting for Touch-tenders, to see to his every need. He ran his fingers over the tattoos on Soffca’s perfect forehead. The sunburst pattern was an Icon of the Gods, Anais did not know its meaning but all Handmaidens bore such a mark. He ran his hand down her back and touched her dark hair, it lay loose in ebony waves. She smelled sweet, like a freshly cut field flower and it made his heart pound with pride.

  I have fooled the Gods; he thought; I have fooled them all, the old witch thinks she has me in her hand but I will show her that I follow my own way.

  He felt a stirring and watched as Soffca opened sleepy eyes. He watched her and saw his own reflection in her dark eyes.

  “Once you were the plaything of the Gods, now you are mine,” he leaned over and kissed her soft lips. They were warm and yielding to his advances, he kissed her hard then looked at her again, “Tell me, do the Gods give you as much joy as I do?”

  The young woman smiled and shook her head, “No,” she said softly.

  Anais smiled and closed his eyes; I have taken from the Gods, I will take what I need and then I will take more. He let the wagon's motion rock him to sleep. He did not think of his lost brother or mother, his head was too busy with images of himself, standing before the tribe, watching them bow to him.

  In the moving Shrine of the Goddess, Obec sat alone near a golden statue of Isarie. She'd sent the ever present Handmaidens away, to chant prayers and do the small but necessary things to keep the Gods content. Now alone and out of the view of prying eyes, she took out the small chest she'd shown to Egmar. She opened it and took out the icon that had caused Egmar to become so frightened. She held it in her wrinkled hand for a moment, then placed it on the low table next to her chair. She reached into the box again and took out a small colorless crystal, it was very clear and sparkled like a bright star in her hand. She placed the crystal in her lap, closed the chest and turned back to the statue of Isarie.

  At the base of the idol was an iron bowl, a small fire burned there, she placed a handful of sweet smelling incense into the flames, its perfume swirled into the air. She breathed in the pungent fragrance and let it wash over her senses, then after a moment or two, she opened her eyes and looked up at the face of Isarie.

  I am your right hand; she thought; grant me life so that I might do your will. Reverently she put the crystal into her mouth. A few moments later, she picked up the small-carved icon and placed it into the fire. Let those who do not see your face be forgotten. Obec closed her eyes and let her soul rise up from the withered body in which it lived, to a place only the Gods could know.

  It had been two days and one night since Andra found Arn. They sheltered in the great hull of the fallen Light-ship, to give the outcast King’s wounds time to heal. During that time, Andra did not speak to him, she let Osh take food to him and change his dressings.

  Arn had exchanged the small strip of Rimar hide for some, body armor. It was not the armor of a King but it would suffice, Osh had traded for it before they left the Nomad camp. The chest piece, leg armor fitted well and so did the helmet, it lacked the elaborate horns and markings identifying a King of the Almadra. As for a warriors ax and the dragon’s teeth, he would have to do without those. A Nomad would not, trade his sacred weapons for any amount of Sagar teeth or Rimar horn.

  Osh was amazed to find Arn's flesh had almost healed, what would have taken weeks for any other humanoid had only taken a few days for the Nomad. He'd read that the recuperative powers of the Outlanders was amazing but up until now, he put it down to exaggeration. After he examined the warrior's arm, he knew it was the truth. Osh had put large amounts of Green Grana into the King's food, perhaps that helped with the healing process too. Whatever the reason, most of the people of the Outer Rim would have called it a miracle.

  “I think you will have a full return of your tactile functions, in a day or two,” Osh said, with the air of someone who'd trained in the Academy of Healing on Delberon Three.

  Arn squeezed his hands into fists and then looked at the old man. “Yes I will be fine,” he said quietly and then he looked over at Andra, who was busy giving the Trofar some water from a large clay pot.

  Osh nodded his head in approval, “Yes I’m sure you will. Now if you don’t mind, I’d like to ask you a few questions concerning your miraculous healing capabilities and the effect Grana has on your metabolism, first of all....” Before he could continue Arn got up and walked towards the wagon, where Andra was using a jug to water the Trofar.

  “Very well,” the old man called out, “We can continue our discussion another time.” He looked around at the fallen Light-ship's hull plating and decided to investigate its history.

  Andra heard Arn’s approaching footsteps, she was wearing armor and kept her ax close to hand. She'd learned that danger can come at anytime and she'd gotten used to the metal skin, now she felt defenseless without it. As the footfalls came closer, her anger began to rise, she put the water jug down and reached for her weapon.

  When Arn was only a few steps away, she took up her ax and spun around to face him. “Stay away,” she said coldly, she held up her weapon as a warning, she would back up her words with action.

  Arn stopped, he stood looking at her, he saw the anger in her eyes and by the way her body tightened, he knew she meant what sh
e'd said. “I have no weapon,” he said, holding his hands up, to show they were empty, “I do not challenge you.”

  Andra lowered her ax a little, the rage in her eyes lessened but she still did not want him any closer. Arn lowered his hands and walked carefully around Andra, “Once I gave you a name,” he said calmly, “Moonbud, the flower that kills, I can see that it was a good name and you no longer need my protection.”

  “No, I don’t,” she replied, “I don’t need any more lies or betrayal from you, I will go my own way.”

  Arn stopped and looked at Andra, “Where will you go?”

  Andra thought for a moment, then held up her head proudly, “Anywhere I like, somewhere beyond wars, death, and pain.”

  The King shook his head and looked up, “That place lies beyond this world,” he reached down and picked up an iron bar from the ground. About a meter in length, one end had a mass of metal embedded with broken bolts and pieces of wire. Holding it in his hands, he looked at Andra, “You took me out of the Wastelands and I will do as you command. Shall I send you to a place of peace?”

  Andra stood still, her mind filled with thoughts and images, she'd kept buried in the dark corners of her memory for so long, visions of war and death and pain. She saw her comrades lying dead, burned alive by enemy Blaze-canons. She heard them scream and call out for help. She saw the faces of her defenseless mother and brother, burning as they huddled together in their home. She saw herself as a prisoner, tortured for the pleasure of her captors. All these images welled up in her, like a cone fire on her home world and she let it take her.

  She lifted her ax and swung it with all her might. Sparks flew as Arn caught the blow on the soft metal of the iron bar, he struck back with a glancing strike to Andra;s side armor. It did little damage and Andra wheeled around to swing at the Nomad's head but he ducked away just in time, the ax blade found only empty air.

  Again and again, the two combatants struck, then moved back, circling each other and looking for an opening to strike. The sound of weapons hitting against each other filled the fallen Light-ship's hull and echoed over the Poison Lands like a war drum.

  From a distance Osh watched as the pair battled, he thought about intervening but there was little he could do. It was better to let the conflict run its course, then see to the combatant's wounds. Osh could see that Arn wasn't using his full strength, he was merely defending himself, letting Andra vent her rage, rather than trying to defeat her. He decided to stay where he was and let them settle their differences.

  After several minutes of intense fighting, Andra was breathing very hard and her blows were losing some of their power. She moved back and observed Arn's eyes, she was hoping to find them burning with hate but to her annoyance they showed nothing. This made her even angrier and she swung her ax with all the power left in her tired arms.

  Arn dodged the blow and suddenly reached out to grip her wrist, he forced Andra backwards until she dropped to her knees, then he twisted her arm until her weapon fell to the ground. Arn bent down and took her into his arms. “Shall I sent you to the Afterlife? Or will you stay? We can share our pain, together.”

  Andra let all her emotions pour out, she did not consider her future. She saw neither tomorrows of sunlight and joy, nor darkness and pain. All she felt were the strong arms of someone who cared. She closed her eyes and held her man tightly, “I will stay,” she said softly.

  Egmar had lost all track of time. Without the suns or stars, she could not be sure how long she had been held captive. She counted the coming and going of the dark robed woman, who brought her food and drink. She slept well enough but in the darkest recesses of her mind, she saw horrific images. Dark robed faces leering at her and burning eyes that filled her soul with terror. She heard voices and screams, then she would wake with a start to find herself alone.

  She sat on the fur covered bed and prayed, she asked the Goddess for peace and understanding. She recited verses from the Holy Book and made an offering of the Grana Salt they had provided for her but her heart was still troubled and her mind was filled with questions.

  The Darkman's words still echoed in her ears; I am your son; and the feelings she had when she first saw his eyes and thought; you are my son.

  Is this a punishment for betraying Isarie, for not letting my son die? Egmar opened her eyes and looked around the small room; am I to stay her through all eternity, is this my world now?

  She closed her eyes again and let her thoughts move through the years of long ago, back to when she was just a young woman holding a small boy in her arms. She saw herself walking over a dark and barren land, she looked up at the stars and heard a soft voice singing a song to a young son.

  You will always be a part of me.

  I will always see your face.

  We will always be together.

  Wait for me for I will always come.

  More images of wind and sand, a dark crystal, cries in the night, then weeping and a hand reaching out for her. More wind, a young boy screaming, a mother turning away, the pain of a thousand nightmares, then darkness.

  Egmar opened her eyes, the room was still there, as it had been before. The table and chair were still in place, all was the same, nothing had moved. I am still here, there is no one waiting for me.

  She heard the harsh scraping of metal on metal, the iron door that led into her dimly lit room, slowly opened. Three dark robed figures stood looking at her, they were small and she was certain they were female. Their faces were all but hidden by their hoods but the Queen could see small patches of rotting flesh and dim eyes looking at her.

  One of the figures made a gesture and said, “Come.”

  For a moment Egmar was unsure if she should go with them or stay where she was. She realized it would be useless to try to stay if they wanted her to come with them. They could easily take her against her will if necessary, even drag her out of the room. Something the Queen could not allow, with her head held high, she rose and walked across the small room, she stood before the dark robed women.

  “I am ready,” she said with all the dignity of her rank.

  The women moved apart and they left the room, one of them led the way into a long, dimly lit hallway, then they walked down a long corridor. She passed a number of corridors and could hear soft sad moaning and whimpering, glowing eyes watching as she passed. The smell of rot and decay became stronger, the foul odor of rotting meat or the smell of boiled Rimar skin, hung out to dry at a tannery. From each dark corner came the strong smell of death, it took all of Egmar’s willpower to keep control of the feeling of sickness as she followed the dark robed woman. Eventually the twists and turns of the tunnel came to a larger chamber.

  Egmar could see a stream of sunlight pouring through a hole, at the top of a domed part of the rock, she was glad to see daylight again. The finger of light went down to a carving on the chamber's floor. A huge astrological symbol with markings and Signs of the Zodiac, the writing was unknown to her. She only recognized a few etchings, a spider, an Earth-shaker and other creatures of Gorn. In the center was a carving of a man and woman, standing side by side and holding weapons in their hands.

  The chamber was huge, almost half the size of the Great Dome of Omargash. The ceiling, high above them was supported by massive iron beams and numerous cross members. There were countless tubes and conduits of all sizes and shapes, they ran down the walls into metal casings and machinery, the Queen didn't understand the purpose of any of it. She saw large chunks of rock that had fallen from the roof, now strewn about the floor.

  There were wide cracks in the floor and as Egmar passed over, she looked down to see more strange machines. They were silent and looked like they had been unused for centuries. There was layer upon layer of them stretching into the dark depths. Why they were here or their purpose, the Queen did not know, she simply put it all down to the will of Isarie and thought about it no more.

  The Queen was led to the center of the vast chamber, she saw a circle of
stone steps leading up to a dais, several meters above the floor. On top of the dais was a large stone chair and a half circle of columns, each the girth of a warrior. Two were broken, the rest intact, they looked strange to her, although covered with rock, inside they were metal, with wires and supports in strange configurations. Each was topped by a glass globe, two of which were broken, inside these she could see more intricate mechanisms that must surely have been made by the Gods. As she got closer, she saw a figure standing by the columns, she recognized the tall stature and black robe. It was the Darkman.

  The blacked robed Handmaidens stood before the stone stairs, then they pointed to the dais. The Queen understood, it was an invitation to join the tall man at the top. Egmar waited for a moment, then carefully climbed up the cold stones until she was standing next to the creature, who said he was her son.

  The Darkman pulled back his hood, in the sunlight she saw his face clearly but this time she did not draw back in horror, this time she observed his cold eyes.

  “Why have you brought me here my son?” she asked.

  The man took a step forward, “My son,” he said, it was not a question, more of an answer to himself. She watched him close his eyes and say the words over and over again, then he looked at her, “You know the truth then?”

  Egmar came closer to him, “Yes, I know now that what you said is the truth.”

  She held out her hand to him but he drew back, “No, do not touch me,” his words were not a warning, they were more like words of anger, “I do not want your pity,” he said softly.

  The Queen moved closer still and put her hand on his cloaked arm, “Is pity that painful to you?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he replied and then his voice became angry. “Did you pity me when you left me to die, did your heart feel pain or did it sing as you walked away, listening to my cries for you to come back?”

  She took her hand away from his arm and turned from him, “I did what I had to do, what the laws of my people told me to do,” she said softly.

  “Your laws?” he asked, “Your laws told you to kill me but you just left me in the wastelands. You left me to wander alone under an unforgiving sky and a dark endless night. You are the one without pity, look what you and your false Gods have made of me.”

  The Queen turned to him with tears in her eyes, “You are my son, I tried to give you the dark crystal, I tried to send your soul to the Halls of the Goddess but I could not.”

  “So you left me alone,” he spit out the words as his eyes shone with a deep fire, “You left me alone!”

  The Queen fell to her knees and put her hands over her face. “Yes, I left you,” she sobbed, “I once sang you songs, I told you I would never leave you, that I would hold you throughout eternity but I lied, I lied.” Egmar let the pain she'd carried for so many cycles flow out of her in bitter tears, the chamber echoed to her regretful sobs.

  The Darkman stood over her, “Yes you lied but your dream of bearing a King came true, my brother leads our people while I hide in the shadows, I am the nightmare in the dream.”

  Egmar took her hands away from her face and rose, she looked at her outcast son and placed a hand to his tormented face. “No, you will always be in the sunlight of my heart,” she moved her fingers over the rough dry skin, “Will you forgive the Gods, will you forgive your people, will you forgive me?”

  The Darkman took her hand from his scarred face and shook his head, “Do you think a few words can replace a lifetime of suffering. I will never forgive the Gods, I will never forgive my people and I will never forget what you did to me but there might be a way to ease your suffering.”

  He lifted his ruined hand high, the Queen heard the sound of feet in the darkness, she watched dark robed figures entering the chamber.

  They came from their tunnels to the vast openness of the underground dome. Like a dark army of Blaze-ants, the sound of their marching feet filled the air. Some adorned themselves with robes, while others wore small iron or steel plates, laced together with strips of Rimar skin to make battle armor. Others held shields and maces or makeshift axes and swords, there were bowmen and spear bearers, all wore battle dress. They numbered in the thousands, men, and women, all with rotting faces and torn bodies, some were missing hands or arms, others were without eyes or lips. They were an army of the walking dead, warriors from the dark Pit of Marloon, they were the Shadow-men.

  Egmar watched them fill the chamber, she knew there were many others, beyond the dome who could not come inside. She wondered how many there were, it would be a formidable army by any standard, with the dark people standing motionless before the dais, the Darkman turned to the Queen.

  “These are the forgotten people,” he said, “they are your Goddess' outcasts. We have no names or Gods or future, we have no King or Queen, no mothers or fathers, we do not live, we survive.” He moved a few paces towards the edge of the dais and looked out at the mass below. “There were other mothers too, who could not grant mercy to their children, they also left them to the Outlands, some die but others survive. We find them and bring them here, we multiplied but we were cursed, this land is not the Great Plains of Darmock, nor the Golden Hall of Isarie. This is a dark place of forgotten souls, here all is poisoned, we eat Green Grana and live but our lives are a walking death.” He turned to looked at his mother, “Is this the mercy, your Goddess gives to her chosen?”

  The Queen did not answer, she just looked at her tormented son, she saw him gaze up at the shaft of light coming into the chamber.

  “We live in the shadows, we listen and learn, we see and understand, we don't whisper prayers to, or ask favors of the Gods and we don't make sacrifices to them. Soon all of Gorn will know our power and they shall bow down before us.”

  He motioned to a small figure who was standing next to them on the dais. The woman’s face was all but eaten away and she only had one eye. She held an ebony box in her bony hands, she moved over to stand beside the Darkman, he opened the box and reached inside. Withdrawing his rotted hands, he held them out to his mother.

  “In your book of lies, it says, Isarie gave you the Salt of the Earth.” He opened one hand to show her the green crystals of life, “In this hand I hold the promise of the Goddess.” He opened his other hand, “In this hand I hold our God.”

  Egmar looked, dark crystals, Tral; she thought; Black Grana, the Mercy of Isarie.

  She heard her son speak again, “On the day of choosing, you were supposed to give this to me, to let me die while my brother lived to rule but you did not, you just left me. Now the crystals are our mother and father, they keep us alive but without hope. You were once a Queen with many choices, now I give you only two, you can take the dark crystals and go to whatever Afterlife is waiting for you, or you can stay with us and share our pain. You will be one of us, our forgotten Queen, now choose.”

  Egmar looked at the hands before her, one held an end to all her misery, she could put the dark crystal into her mouth and let all days and nights slowly drift away.

  Karn will be waiting in the Golden Hall for me, I will sit with him and Seeda will be at my side for all eternity. She looked at the green crystals. If I stay I will feel the dark hand that holds my son.

  She looking into his eyes, she saw hate and pain and terror there, she looked beyond his eyes into a place that only a mother could see. She saw a small boy who she'd left to die in the emptiness of the Wastelands. Could she turn her back on her son once more? Could she walk from this world into the next?

  She remembered the Song of the Maidens.

  No shadow will find you, all will be in your dreams.

  The moons will see you and they will smile.

  In the arms of your birth you will rest.

  Till the night sky is empty of stars.

  I will still hold you.

  She reached out her hand and took a small green crystal, “Once, I walked away from you, I will not do so again.” She put the gift of Isarie into her mouth, then she turned to the
mass of dark figures below and spoke in a loud clear voice. “You are no longer forgotten, I was once the Queen of the Almadra but now I am one of you.”

  There was silence as the Darkman came forward. He looked down at his people, “We have no Gods, we follow no laws, we live in the shadows and hide from the light of day. We have no names but we call each man or woman, brother or sister. We don't pray, or read from a Holy Book and we do not have a King.” He turned towards his mother, bending his knee, he bowed to her, “Now we have a Queen.”

  With these words the Chamber of the Shadow-men, erupted into great cries, weapons pounded the stone floor and women screamed as they beat their breasts. They began to dance and the sound of drums mixed with the shouts of joy. The dark men and women moved around the dais as one. They did not care about tomorrow or the days beyond that. For a brief moment, they let the pain of their pitiful lives fall away, once more feeling the warm arms of a caring mother, holding them and their unloved hearts.