Chapter 40. The Burning Time
To all things I give a time.
Night and Day.
Sun and Moon.
Life and Death.
These are things that I made.
And they are mine to rule.
From the Book of Isarie.
Krylas the Fire God awoke from slumber and sent his flames to burn all the lands of Gorn. It started in the open plains of Darmock and burned all that remained above the ground, the vast Kasha-wheat fields erupted into waves of flame that raced across the land like a demon from the fires pits of Marloon.
The fire roared over the once green expanse driving all that lived before it, those that could not escape into burrows or under rocks were consumed. The sky filled with smoke and the scent of burning flesh, creatures too old or sick to make the long journey to the Hollow Hills paid the price for their weakness. The roaring screams of dying Whiptails and Spike-backs could be heard through the long valley like one great voice crying out in pain.
Adult Flame-Crests would all die, they would let the burning death take them rather than leave their nests. Both the male and female would stand guard over their protege. As the fire raced to them their bodies would be consumed, they would die calling to each other but never leaving each others side. It was their end but their eggs would live on, warmed by the fire and kept safe under their charred remains.
The Ax-Breakers with their hard shells were immune to the flames, the heat growing more intense, was a signal for the females to lay their eggs in the soft soil. The Valley of Darmock was their breeding ground and their hatchery mounds could be seen covering the land. When all the eggs were laid and covered with earth, they would simply withdraw into their shells and let the fire pass by. They would remain like that living off their fat reserves until the rains washed the fire away, then emerge to feed on the new grass and tasty Meadow-cane. In time their offspring would break into the light and begin their fight for life.
To the South near the rivers that flowed from Still Water Lake, the Daggermouths sunk deep into the mud to escape the fires. There they would stay, sleeping in the earth until new waters came to break them free of the land, the lake itself dried up until only baked earth remained.
The fire continued South to the forbidden dwelling of Del-Godar. The pyramid city to which no one ventured, the creatures living in the dark city did not trade with the Nomads nor did they venture out into the sunlight, they lived secret lives. What monsters made their home there, no one could say, for no one had ever returned to tell what they found.
Those Rimar who had lost their way to the Hollow Hills or a Spikeback too old or weak to make the journey soon found death moving towards them in a wall of fire. The great beasts did not run from the fire, they turned and faced it, head on; they would roar loudly then charge into the fire like they would face any enemy. When the fire consumed them they still fought, striking left and right, mixing their death cries with the sound of the flames.
From the plains of Darmock the fire continued eastward through the Pass of Moke. The canyons had little vegetation to burn but they were filled with small caves and canyons that sheltered Rock-runners and Arrow-tails. Some of them found safety from the heat and remained alive long enough to lay their eggs, once the fire had passed them by. Millions died, their small charred bodies layered the ground like black stones.
The burning moved on to the Greenland’s, the home of the Earth-shakers, the only creatures on Gorn who did not need to hide from the burning death. Their bodies were too thick and their tremendous shelled backs to heavily covered with earth and vegetation to feel the heat of the sky. When the fire covered them they felt nothing, they simply slept deep in the earth, there they would draw life and wait until the Burning Time passed.
The City of the Talsonar would remain intact, the thick stone and steel walls had seen countless fires and would see many more. Once the numerous layers of the structure were lowered, there were no longer any openings the heat could penetrate through. The Great Beacon was turned off because there was no one to see it. Traders who once made their home near the city no longer worried about their stalls, they had been taken down long ago and moved into the city. There they would remain until after the rains and then they would emerge to start their lives over again.
The fire moved Southward past the Stone Cities at the equator to the green jungles of Yug, the home of the Galu, the ape-men of the Forest. With the coming of the fire, they would climb down from their sky homes in the great trees to seek shelter in the broken cities and haunted caves that lay hidden in the dense jungles. There they would spend their time feasting on Night-fliers and snake worms. The jungles were also the place of the mysterious Ragalions, little is known of them but there are legends that say they have great power and know all that is to be known.
The fire then continued to the east, to the vast forests of Caltarine where it consumed everything in its path. The forest giants burned and the smoke from them filled the sky until it darkened even the light from the suns. The beasts that dwelt in that woodland realm had to dig deep into the earth to escape the flames and heat. The cycle of the Burning Time was something they knew well and their instincts would guide them to survive.
Although the fire burned it did not destroy, the Forest needed the flames to sweep the rot and dead from the land and make way for new life. Seed pods that lay dormant for a cycle now broke open and their contents were strewn over the baked soil. There it would take root and grow and once more the land would be green.
To the North and South the ice caps felt the grip of the twin suns and although they melted, they did not vanish, the ice was too deep. The flames were not strong enough to reach deep into the frozen depths. In these frigid domains the Ernan would stay, their time was not now, they would not come out of their icy homes until the planet left the heat of the father sun to move into its outer orbit. Then the land would turn cold and the ice and snow would emerge and with it the raiders from the Frozen Lands.
The great Markin Lightships of the would not come, their Drop-ships full of human cargo would wait and there would be no contact with the Worlds of the Outer Rim.
So, as it had done for millennia the planet known as Gorn slowly moved to embrace the giant of fire that give it life and death. There it would remain until the Gods once more took pity on its people and filled their lungs with the solar winds to blow the fire away and quench the land with their tears.
The great arena of the Talsonar had filled and emptied many times as the fire burned on outside of the Stone City. Inside those who had not been chosen for elimination watched as two Nomads defeated every challenger and soaked the floor of the great arena with the blood of their victims.
Together they had faced and defeated the best that could be offered, creatures great and small died under their weapons. The crowd watched as they bathed in the blood of victory and called out to their Gods for anyone to come and stand before them. None came forward, there was no one brave enough to face them.
With each battle the city dwellers saw the force that lived outside their home, none spoke of it but in their hearts they were afraid of what lay just beyond their domain. Inside they could boast about their strength and the power of their Gods but outside they knew it was the Nomads who ruled over all. Still, they came to the arena, they came to watch and even though they did not want to, they cheered, for the weak will always praise the strong, even if that strength is against them.
After a time the cries of victory faded, the once strong bodies of the Outlanders began to fail and they could no longer meet the challengers who came to face them. Their need for the red crystals grew stronger and stronger even as their strength weakened. They were no longer Death dealers, no longer champions of the arena, they were clowns, laughable buffoons who were there only for the amusement of the unfeeling crowd.
Stripped of their once shiny armor, they now wore humiliating costumes with feathers and ribbons. They stood in the arena they o
nce ruled and sang silly songs for the trinkets that were tossed to them. They listened to the cheers of the city dwellers and let the rotten fruit that was thrown at them cover their faces, they danced like puppets and bowed before their masters and never looked up.
As laughter filled the air they were forced to execute lowly criminals for their survival, it was mere butchery but they had no choice. They needed to live and they needed the Ice that was offered to them for their servitude. Their world now knew only the red crystals, it was their God and it filled their minds day and night, there was no other world for them, only the warm embrace of the forbidden crystals. They could not sleep in the embrace of the spiders deep in the Hollow Hills, they would not rebirth and feel strength flowing in their veins once more. They would never again ride the open plains of Darmock and hunt the giant Rimar, they would not dance under the Dome of Omargash, it was a sad life but it was the will of the Gods.
In days past, they would have ended their lives before becoming such things as they were now. That was long ago, now they did what they had to do, they were no longer ruled by the Laws of the Nomads. They were Sin-Cravers, without pride or care, they were powerless.
In the dark tunnel that led from the arena, Seeda and Almec walked alone and in their tired hands they held only a few crystals of Ice.
If anyone of their tribe had seen them now, they would not have recognized them. Their faces were drawn and tired, their once strong limbs were covered with scars and patches of rough skin that festered in the darkness and smelt of death and decay. Their eyes no longer shone with the light of the sky and sun, all that could be seen was a hollow stare of acceptance.
They walked slowly, Almec leaned on his mate for support, the wound in his leg never healed properly. He now moved with a stagger and had to drag his foot on the stone floor, they did not speak as they walked, there was nothing to say. They continued down the dark corridor as the cries of the arena faded behind them.
They continued down the many levels of the city, sometimes riding in the lifters that rose and fell throughout the great structure. They had to listen to the cheers of other riders and dared not speak back to their hecklers lest they call the Hal-Jafar and have their heads cut off. They shut their ears to the insults and turned their faces away.
When they reached the lowest level they continued down the dark tunnels, down, and down, level after level until the smell of death filled the air and the sound of great engines was all that could be heard.
They moved past the workers, who did not see them, they were now just another pair of dammed souls in the bowels of the earth. They were weak but not yet weak enough for the sub-creatures in the darkness to feed upon them. Those monsters who made the hidden places their homes, would wait until all life was gone before they came out to feast. They could smell death coming and they watched with anticipation as the two Nomads passed them by.
With the heat from the nearby furnaces, Seeda was able to help her lover into their home. After all the time that had passed since they first came here there was little to show they had been here at all. The small chamber was still mostly empty, just the pile of rags for their bed and the dripping water pipes overhead. There were some boxes and a small wooden table they'd found, with some rusty pieces of metal and broken stone Almec had managed to construct a small shrine of sorts. An, altar to Isarie, he liked to look at and reminded himself of times long passed.
Seeda lowered Almec onto their dirty bed and then went to fill a chipped clay cup from the dripping pipe, when the cup was full of brackish water she took it to her lover and handed it to him. “It's not Po but it's all we have,” she said, with a slight smile.
Almec took the cup and drank its contents down greedily, as he did Seeda looked at one of the dark patches on his arm, the flesh was broken and there was a greenish ooze seeping from the wound.
He is dying; she thought. He is dying and it is my fault.
Almec finished his drink and handed the cup back to Seeda, as he did he saw the look in her eyes. She knows I am dying; he thought; and she blames herself. He smiled at her and reached out with his hand, “Come let me hold you,” he said.
She came and sat down beside him, she felt his arm around her body, “I think you're getting better,” she said with a sad confidence. “It will not be long before you're strong again and we can…” She stopped speaking and regarded his weakening eyes with concern. He knows I'm lying, he knows the truth, “I'm sorry,” she said softly.
She felt his arm pulling her closer, “Do not say such things, the Gods may not hear you but I do,” he said, “In all the days since I first saw you, I have never regretted a single moment.”
Seeda laughed a little, “You are a good warrior but a bad liar.”
There was a pause as he looked at her, “Not a moment,” he said.
Seeda leaned her tired head against his shoulder, she looked over at the small shrine in the corner of the room. In the dim light she could barely make out the broken icon that was supposed to represent the Goddess Isarie. It was not really a statue to the Goddess, it was a figurine of an Iconie harvest God. The features were close and it was all they had, she looked at it hard, “Do you think we will be welcomed into the Golden Hall?” she asked.
Almec thought for a moment, “I think so, after all, I'm sure the Pit of Marloon would never hold us.”
It was a sad joke but it still made them laugh, after their thin laughter had died, Seeda looked at her mate, “If there is an Afterlife I do not want to be alone,” she said quietly.
Almec leaned over and kissed her cheek, “You will never be alone,” he said, “we are Nomads, we can never be lost, I will find you no matter where you are.”
They spoke no more and lay back on the pile of rags, they felt cold in spite of the heat from the furnaces but soon they were asleep. They forgot all care and let themselves dream in the embrace of each others arms.
Deep in the Hollow Hills the Nomads of the Outlands did not dream. As they lay sleeping in their silken cocoons, cared for by the Crystal Spiders their minds remained dark. They did not see visions of green pastures or fly over the great Mountains of Kresh. The warriors did not hunt Rimar or battle in the eternal wars of the heavens. There were no rainbow lands filled with Meadow-cane and talking Burrow-babies for the tribe's young. The Handmaidens did not sing songs to the Gods and Obec did not see the face of Isarie.
The sleep of the Nomads was without time or space but as their minds lay dormant their bodies were undergoing great change. The Crystal Spiders were feeding on them but their bite did not hold the fatal venom of the dark creatures in the jungles of Yug, their bite was the gift of the Gods.
The spiders would draw out impurities in their blood and replace it with a fluid that rebuilds old worn out tissue. Bones that were weak or once broken were made strong again, muscles, nerves, and organs were made perfect. Every part of their body was repaired and filled with new life.
The young who now lay in the arms of their mothers, grew, their small bodies would not be the ones they would awaken too. They would no longer be the children of the tribe, they would be adults, fully-grown and strong. They would be the ones to carry on the tribe, their days as being cared for were over, they would now be the ones who cared for others.
There would be others to take their place, the women who danced under the Great Dome and mated with their lovers would give birth to a new generation of Nomads. They would not be the helpless babies born to females on other Worlds of the Outer Rim. Their young would be able to walk and after a short time talk, they would not suckle at their mother's breast, because they had already drunk the life milk of the Gods.
The old of the tribe would have their lives prolonged, the many cycles they had already lived would continue, their tired limbs would feel the strength they once knew. It would not be the power of the warriors but it would be enough to let them roam once more over the lands of their birth and for that they would be grateful. Once more they would sing song
s to Isarie for her gift and dance under the twinkling night sky.
Agart was glad for the sleep without dreams, there would be no visions to haunt him in the night and there would be nothing to awake him from his slumber. There would be no demons whispering to him of betrayal, he would sleep and see nothing but the silent darkness he wanted so badly. It was a time he would remember in the days to come, a time where he found peace.
Anais lay with his arms around the one person he cared about. He'd fallen asleep looking into her eyes and would awake to see her face. He too would remember this time but there would be no peace, just an emptiness filling his soul.
Far from the Hollow Hills and deep in the mountains of the Poison Lands Egmar dreamed. The creatures that dwelt in the dark places under the earth were not the Crystal Spiders of the Hollow Hills. Their bite did not bring a sleep of peace, their venom gave new life to the Shadow-men and prolong their days but it did not make their bodies whole. Their flesh would continue to decay even as their strength grew. The unseen poisons in the lands of Kresh had changed the spiders, they were no longer pure, they were no longer the true gift of the Gods.
As the spiders did their work, the People of the Darkness continued to dream and their dreams were not filled with peace and rest. They were nightmares. They saw horror and pain, death, and destruction, endless dreams of darkness and terror. They could not wake, they could only lay silently listening to the screams of their souls.
In her dreams, Egmar saw the faces of her children. She saw them dying, being ripped to pieces in the jaws of demonic Whiptails. She saw her daughter burning in an undying flame that rose up from the very heart of the universe; she reached out for her mother, calling her name and begging to be taken into her arms. She saw Arn and Agart battling each other in an endless fight for the Kingship of the tribe. They hacked each other with weapons of fire and steel and all the while she saw Anais standing by, laughing as their bodies were hacked apart. She watched as Karn lay dying in the battle pit, his hand reaching out for her, calling her name, she saw his warm eyes and heard his strong voice. She saw his head fly from his body to land at her feet but still she could hear his voice calling out to her.
All the while she stood unable to move. She had to live the dream over and over, seeing the ones she loved die, then die again. She heard them crying out and was helpless to do anything. It felt like she was in the Pit of Marloon and there was no escape.
Arn and Andra lay together, their sleep was peaceful, there were no dreams to break the silence of their minds. Although Andra was not a Nomad, the Crystal Spiders still did their work. They drank from her body and filled it with their gift but they knew something that Andra did not. She was carrying a child.
For the first time in his many years of life, Osh understood what dreaming really meant. At first, he did not know he was dreaming, he had never seen or known such a world as the one he was in now. It was filled with strange visions that came and went as flashes of time. At first they seemed real, he thought he'd awakened and then, by some power unknown to him, he'd been transported to a far off world, where all things were possible.
When he saw things that could not possibly exist in a universe of time and space; he wondered if he was dead and this was the mystical Afterlife. He looked around but saw no Gods or demons and felt neither pain nor pleasure. Surely this was not a place to find your reward or punishment?
Another thought entered his mind, something he knew about but had never experienced. In his world it was not needed, they were created to bring order to chaos. To use their superior minds, to program the universe's computers, that was all there was and nothing more.
Now as he floated in a shimmering sea of golden stars, he realized he was the first of his people to experience this wondrous thing. Imagination! He felt himself smile. Imagination, how strange, how wonderful.
The land he saw was of infinite detail and perfection, more than he had never known in his waking life, in his ordered mind all the creatures racing before him were precise and correct. There were no imperfections, no blemishes and nothing could be called flawed, in his mind all things were in their proper place, it was his world.
So he let it continue, he let his thoughts run wild, worlds came and went in an instant and each was filled with wonders that words could not describe. Each world held a lifetime of precision only a Callaxion could understand.
As he floated over a vast shimmering sea of circuits and data-comp patterns, he heard a voice. A voice he had not heard before, it seemed to call his name but not from a world of sound. It was as if he was, hearing thoughts, of such complexity and clearness, it seemed as if he was communicating with a God.
Using his minds to speak he answered the call. Who are you? There was no reply, only an echo in his mind, he spoke again, this time emptying his brain of all but one thought. Who are you? To his great surprise he received an answer.
“I am all.”
It was a voice but not a voice, it did not answer, he answered himself. It filled his entire mind and echoed in his soul, it made him shudder. Calling up all the power of his ordered mind, he spoke to the voice within. Are you there?
There was no reply and for a moment that seemed to last forever, he waited. Then an echo from whatever held him, he heard it again and again. They weren't words, just feelings that only his mind could understand but they were as words spoken to him.
“I am everywhere.”
Suddenly his mind exploded in a sea of sight and sound, it filled all the reaches of his consciences and more, information flooded into him and he was powerless to stop it. He saw flashes of places, things, beings the like of which he did not understand, creatures with vast minds able to calculate streams of data unheard of by the Callaxion. He heard a mind speak that let him know without words, to Mindlock ages of time into subconscious. It was almost too much for the old man, the power of the voice speaking to him was beyond anything he had ever encountered. It was not a creature of this world, it was by all standards of intelligence, a God.
He heard the voice again.
“Know and understand.”
He saw other images, things beyond his ability to understand but he knew that in time he would understand. After a time that could have been forever, the voice stopped and the images slowed until they were gone; they'd left behind a wealth of knowledge that would answer questions yet to be asked.
Am I going mad? The old man asked himself; is this a world of madness I shall never leave?
He called out in himself once more but there was nothing echoing in the deep places of his mind. It was quiet once more, it was once more his mind and his alone. There was silence, the echo faded and the dream ended, there were no more visions to disturbed the old man's sleep.
When Seeda opened her eyes, she thought she heard a voice calling out to her but when she looked around the chamber there was nothing. She heard Almec's rasping breath and she knew he'd reached the end of his days. She watched him and could see he was dreaming the Dream of Death.
For a time she sat next to him, holding him in her arms and thinking of the life they'd had together. She remembered the first time she met him, both of them young and eager to grow up. On that day they'd fought over a Rock-runner that they both wanted to capture. When it found a hiding place in the deep crevasse of a boulder, they blamed each other for not being fast enough. For a long time afterwards, they did not speak to each other and she put sand in his Hagar soup.
After their first rebirth, she thought he was the most arrogant warrior in the tribe; always showing off and riding his Whiptail close to her, every chance he got. In the quiet of her tent she could not help thinking of him. She memorized his features and from far away, she could tell the difference between his armor shining in the sunlight and that of another Almadra warrior.
Almec; she said to herself; Almec, the best of all worlds.
As her mind drifted into a world of remembrance, she heard her name being spoken. She looked over to see Alm
ec's eyes open, he had a feeble smile on his lips.
“Where are we,” he asked weakly, “is this the dome of Omargash?” his eyes showed he did not know where he was or why. Seeda put her hand to his face, “Yes, we are under the Breast of the Goddess and the Mating Drums are pounding.”
It was not the Mating Drums he heard, it was the relentless pounding of the great machines of the underworld but hearing her words, the young warrior smiled. “Will you dance for me?”
“Yes, I will dance, I will dance only for you and the fire from my arms will burn you,” her words were soft and filled with love.
“And will you bring me food?” he whispered.
Seeda’s eyes filled with tears as he held him tightly. “Yes, my love, I will bring you a great leg of the Malock and many tankards of well-aged Po. Together we will eat our fill and we will laugh and sing together. Then we will make love under the night sky and when we mate, Shawcona herself will be jealous.”
She saw his tired eyes fill with a spark of life, she saw him smile like he used to. “Then we are mated?” he asked.
“Yes,” she replied, “we are mated.”
Almec lifted his hand to her face and touched her cheek. “Then I am satisfied.”
Seeda felt his cold fingers fall from her face and watched him close his tired eyes. She heard a faint rush of air escape his lips and she heard him say in a whisper.
“Seeda.” Then there was nothing.
She sat there for a long time, she did not know when life left his body or how long she held him in her arms. There was no sun or moon to mark the time and no one came to offer gifts of sorrow.
There would be no Handmaidens to sing songs of his bravery, there would be no warriors standing guard over his body, to protect it from demons of the Outlands. His name would not be written in the Holy Book of Isarie and no stone would mark his grave.
Seeda looked at the small idol on the scavenged alter. Maybe the Gods do see us? She prayed to herself; maybe they'll take pity on his soul.
She cried, thinking of him wandering the barren lands of the Afterlife without her. She wept to think of him standing outside the Great Doors of the Hall of the Goddess and not being allowed inside. She thought of him alone and forgotten, a warrior without a home or people; she saw him walking in the endless nothingness of the Afterlife, cold and hungry, bringing more tears to her eyes.
When all her tears were spent, she stood up and went to the dirty pile of rags that had been their resting-place. She reached under the tattered layers of cloth and took out something wrapped in a dirty white cloth. She untied the strip of Rimar skin holding the bundle together and took out a worn Almadra war-ax. The weapon was old, its handle cracked and the blade's edge was pitted and covered in rust. It was no longer the great Judgment of Isarie, it was a feeble reminder of a power that had long since vanished.
They had traded all they had, their armor, the Dragons-teeth, their clothing and even the golden Journey Nails that once hung around their necks. All was gone now, given to the red crystal sellers in exchange for a handful of dreams.
Seeda could not let her lover pass into the Afterlife without his Tooth. After they had given up their axes to a fat Oleian for Ice, she returned to him and offered the one thing she still had to trade, herself.
She never told Almec of her time with the merchant, she knew, he would have killed him and never forgiven her. She couldn't let him travel into the world beyond life without his ax, so now she took it to her mate's lifeless body.
She didn't have a golden nail to hold the weapon to his lifeless hand, so she tore a piece of her clothing and knotted it around his fist, securing the handle as best she could. She had no fresh baked Kasha bread so she took a few small breadcrumbs from the floor; she put them into his left hand, as an offering to any Gods he might meet. She took a piece of Grana she had in her pocket and placed it into his mouth for strength. There was no well-aged Po to fill a golden cup so she touched one of her tears and gently wiped it across his parched lips.
“It is not much,” she said quietly, “but it is all I have.”
Then calling up all her strength, she lifted his body and carried it from the filthy chamber they called home. She could not leave the body to the Underworld scavengers, they would soon smell the corpse she carried and come to claim their share. She would not be strong enough to fend them all off so she did the only thing she could.
With her legs shaking from the effort, she moved to the edge of a ramp, below lay the open furnace of the cities power supply. She could see the dancing flames and feel the intense heat from the Mega-boiler, it felt good to her; the warmth filled her body and stopped the cold that was now, always a part of her days and nights.
She stood for a moment or two, trying to think of some comforting words to ease her aching heart. There were no words to convey what she felt. Mere mortals could never speak those words, only the Gods and the Wailing Women of the Outlands could utter them.
In her sadness she remembered a passage from the Book of Isarie. With trembling lips she began to recite. “We are The Chosen of the Gods, we come to you and offer our bodies to you, do with them as you will.” Summoning the last of her strength, she lifted Almec high over her head and flung him into the burning flames below.
The effort brought her to her knees and she lay there for a time with her eyes closed, breathing the hot air in long slow gasps. She heard nothing except for the relentless pounding of the great machines and her own heart, after a time she staggered to her feet and looked down into the blazing furnace.
Her mate was gone, the flames had consumed him in an instant, there was nothing to show his passing; only a burning heat rising up, touched the face of the forgotten Princess.
Seeda had spent her life dreaming of other worlds and planets circling distant suns, holding secrets to fill her soul with wonder. Her whole life was looking up, away from the world that gave her birth and the people who cared for her. She dreamed of those worlds and would have given anything to sail on the endless Seas of the Universe.
She stood looking into the funeral flames of her one true love and she finally realized, all those worlds no longer had meaning to her. She had found all there was to be found in the warm arms of her mate, now that was gone forever.
She was alone.
As the fire dried the tears from her eyes, she would have gladly traded all the timeless planets of the Outer Rim for just one more hour in her lover’s arms.
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