Nomads of the Gods

by Gary Mark Lee

  Chapter 43. Fathers and Sons

  Sons are the days unlived by the fathers.

  Daughters are the love unmade by the mothers.

  Together they hold the future in their hands.

  And bear the years of Eternity.

  Old Selcarie saying.

  The Nomads were on the move again, the Almadra had slept and been reborn, now came the time to wander the lands of Gorn and make the earth tremble.

  The proud warriors were mounted on their powerful Whiptails once more. The great beasts had eaten their fill of young Rimar and were happy to return to their masters. The newly grown warriors were given their own mount and dressed in the armor of their clan. Now they would be called upon to defend their people in battle and to bring glory to themselves and to their Gods.

  The long column of wandering Nomads stretched out like a great land Leviathan. Happy to be free once more, the air filled with song as the warriors beat time against their armor. Even the Thungodra, who were always stoic, smiled and filled their hearts with joy as they rode beside the Holy Shrine.

  Surrounded and kept safe were the Elders and the others of the tribe. They were content to feel the swaying of their wagons and the sound of the Trofar feet moving slowly over their land. It did not matter if the land had changed and old landmarks washed away by the rains. Nomads always knew where they were and where they were going.

  The huge Grana wagons, were guarded by a phalanx of warriors, the precious salt had to be used wisely and none wasted. They would not return to the Hollow Hills for a long time, it had to last until then, without Grana there was no future.

  At the back as always came the Spike-backs. The warriors had cleaned the great guns and make sure they had not been damaged during the Burning Time. The Disruptors were also checked and rechecked, they would be ready when needed.

  The Tribe's Elders began to teach the newborn children the ways of the Outlands. They would learn quickly, they would need to, there was no room for the weak. Soon the time of Choosing would take place, by then, they had to show their mothers and fathers, who was to live and who would be sacrificed to Isarie.

  The Iron-workers had done their task, crafting new armor for the young warriors. They also made their battle-axes, with those deadly weapons in their hands, they would no longer be called toothless. Their childhood was over now, it was their time to defend the tribe. When all the rituals were over and oaths taken, they put out their fires and covered the forges until they were needed again.

  In the center of the column was the High Priestess' great moving shrine. With it came the Handmaiden's wagons and numerous other vehicles carrying the items needed to perform their rituals to the Gods. Guarding the Holy Mother were the Thungodra wearing the dark armor that marked them out as the warriors of the Gods. They held their heads high knowing the Goddess would give them strength in defense of her word.

  Behind the moving shrine came the new Malock, chosen as a newborn Spikeback it would be worshiped and pampered like a Holy relic. It would be cared for and fed well until their next visit to the Great Dome of Omargash.

  Inside the Holy wagon, Obec sat in her chamber, before her on a gold pedestal was the great Book of Isarie. The old woman loved to look at it, just to be in the presence of the Word of the Goddess, made her feel good. As she sat gazing at the book, she saw the words over and over in her head. She knew every line, every letter, every small detail of each and every page, they were more familiar to her than her own face.

  How great is the Goddess; she thought; she gives us all and knows all, in her wisdom is the one and only truth. She spoke the words that gave her the most pleasure. “Orcost, Malluck, hashshem delcure, remas roc cornor, out of the darkness, into the light, the Gods will arise.” Wonderful words and I will be here to see those words made real.

  She sat back in her ornate chair and let the deep wisdom of her knowledge fill her soul and give her peace.

  In the King's wagon there was no peace. Agart did not ride his Whiptail at the head of the tribe anymore. He did not want to see the land before him or feel the wind on his face, all he cared about was drinking deeply of Po and sleeping in the depths of its warm embrace.

  His days were no longer his own, his mind no longer satisfied with the life of a wanderer. The Crown of Kingship was too heavy to bear and its weight crushed him. His waking moments, were consumed by images of his brother's and sister’s bodies, laying forgotten in the Outlands and his mother lost where no one could find her. He hid himself away and left Kuno to deal with the everyday needs of the tribe.

  At first the Spike-back commander seemed a poor choice to lead the tribe. His love of drink and women was well known and the Elders turned their faces at seeing him, they told the young of the tribe, not to look up to him. Eventually, they had to admit he was leading the Madrigal well, finding food and water as they traveled down the mountains of Koto-Car and into the open lands.

  This did not ease Agart's mind, it only added to his pain. Knowing the tribe could do without him, made him feel that the Gods had deserted him. He lay back on his soiled bed and drew in a large gulp of aged Po.

  I once believed in you Isarie; he thought; you stood by my side and showed me the way but now? He trickled the warm Po down his throat; if only I could sleep, sleep, sleep.

  Each time he closed his eyes, he saw the faces of his lost family. Sleep came with time but not before tears of regret ran down a face that once knew only laughter.

  The City of the Talsonar was alive with sights and sounds. Tamar-Ran stood outside the great pyramid and gazed over a vast army of Hal-Jafar. From his vantage point, high on a supply wagon drawn by four large Trofar, he could see the open lands around the great city. The once empty earth was now filled with his forty thousand strong war machine. Each soldier was well fed and well equipped for battle, their thick armor could withstand hard blows from war-axes and Whiptail strikes. They held chamber rifles that could bring an enemy down from a great distance and they wore helmets that dampened out vibration from a Disruptor.

  There were many wagons, full of dried food and water and other vehicles piled high with weapons, ammunition, and armor. Behind these was a vast company of Long-Range weapons, each mounted on an armor-plated transport, drawn by shielded Spike-backs.

  The huge guns were the largest moving weapons the world of Gorn had seen, they could fire an explosive shell a very long distance, devastating anything it hit. Compared to the blaze cannon of other worlds they were feeble but that technology would be useless here. The Planet's Electro Magnetic waves would render them into useless piles of junk, unlike the Talsonar's primitive but effective projectile weapons.

  The Talsonar army were confident in their power, they had spent the Burning Time training and preparing themselves for this moment, to be led into the Outlands to devastate all in their path.

  The Lion-man was pleased with his men, they followed his orders and would fight at the Governor's command. They would show no mercy and would receive none. They would kill all in their way and then drink to their victory standing on the bodies of the dead.

  Even an army of thousands would not be enough to destroy the Outlanders,Tamar-Ran thought. He looked to the East he saw the answer to his concerns, there standing like iron statues in the sun, was a sight to make Tobar the God of War smile.

  The once peaceful and timid creatures known to the Outer Rim as Yangmar, were no longer harmless. They had been created, to be workers, slaves to any race that needed a workforce. Strong and none aggressive, they were bred, to be sold in the Outer Worlds. Reproducing at incredible rates when needed, they were perfect for labor camps or food for meat hungry civilizations. In the Talsonar's devious hands, they were put to other uses.

  They had been bred to fight, cycles of genetic manipulation, had weeded out timidity. Conditioning and training had brought them to a level of ferocity, unmatched by even the most depraved beasts of the Underworld. That ferocity would be needed to conquer the harsh world of Gorn.
Now they stood armored and ready to kill on command to give up their lives without thought or hesitation, they were the perfect warrior.

  The Yangmar numbered in the tens of thousands and each one was equipped with a chamber rifle. Unlike those, given to the Hal-Jafar, these could not be reloaded, the Yangmar were of very limited intelligence and reloading a weapon would have been beyond their ability. So after expelling their round, the rifles would be dropped and they would fight on with steel weapons. It would be enough, strong and standing well over the height of the tallest Hal-Jafar, they could more than hold their own against a Nomad.

  Looking at the army that would lead them way into the Outlands made the Lion-man smile. He knew war was always a gamble, the strong can lose if the Gods wish it so. He looked down at the wagon upon which, he was standing, he saw dozens of barrels of aged wine and Marsh-beer. He laughed, we may not win but I will not have to die thirsty.

  As the Talsonar army prepared for war, high in the sky several screeches circled the massive beacon. These great flying reptiles often came to the city, drawn by the blinking light, they were looking for food. So to see them was not unusual but if anyone had cared to look closer, they would have noticed, they were ridden by dark robed figures. It was said, that demons used the soaring beasts to carry them over the Forbidden Lands of Gorn. If they'd seen the scarred and rotting faces of the riders, they would have believed the story.

  The great sun Karus had burned the lands of Gorn now its power was gone. The planet's orbit took it beyond its reach and daylight no longer held death. The smaller sun, Micos, would always remain, giving gentle warmth and light, it sent a message to The Chosen, the Gods would always be with them.

  The land near the Hollow Hills was green and filled with all creatures of the Outlands. There were great herds of Rimar roaming free and with them came the Whiptails. With so much prey, they were content to feed at their leisure and were not a threat to the three humans who crossed the land.

  Arn led the way with Andra at his side, it was a strange sight. Their dark armor and reptile like helmets made them look like a hideous mix of Sand Dragon and Outland warrior. To the Nomad it would be a welcome image, in the stories of his tribe, it was said, that in the plains near the Poison Lands were many terrible creatures. Monsters, neither men nor beast, demons that could take on the image of a Nomad but were devils from the Underworld. Like the Screels of nightmare stories, they could take your soul and carry it off to the Pit of Marloon, there to stay for all eternity.

  It would also strike terror into the hearts of those, who might want to harm them. This pleased Arn, he had been taught his by father, fear is a weapon just as strong as a battle-ax. For a moment Arn’s mind was occupied with memories of his youth and his mother and father.

  Andra pulled him out of his past into the present. “How old are you?” she asked suddenly.

  Arn seemed unprepared for the question. “Grow old?” He thought for a moment or two, “I have seen twenty-two cycles since my first rebirth, in the time of the third moon of Rowgal and the war of the hail fire.”

  Andra mulled this over. “How many days and nights make up a cycle?”

  Before Arn could answer, Osh gave an explanation. “I can answer that for you, the planet takes approximately fourteen hundred and sixty days to complete an orbit of the great sun. So if you calculate in terms of the cycles of most Outer Rim beings, Arn is in the range of eighty-eight Rim-cycles, or years as some call them, give or take a few.”

  Osh smiled but Andra did not.

  Eighty-eight years! I'm just twenty-four, my God, I'm just a schoolgirl; she thought.

  The realization that the man she had chosen to be her mate, was in relative terms almost four times her age, made her feel a bit uncomfortable. Then she remembered the time spent in his arms and the doubt soon faded away.

  They walked southwards away from the Hollow Hills for the whole day, towards the plains of the Greenland's. That night, they rested near a cluster of rocks and ate well on a half-eaten Rimar carcass. Beside it lay the body of a dead Whiptail, the two creatures had killed each other in battle. Now they would give life to the other beasts of the Outlands. When the Humans found them, they had to scare off several Daggermouths from a newly filled lake nearby. It was a dangerous but having fresh meat to eat made it worth the risk. Osh hid in the rocks while Arn and Andra faced the creatures, working as a team, they drove off the reptiles. They cut a large quantity of flesh from the fallen Rimar and feasted upon it, as the night sky filled with stars and the moons began to dance in the heavens.

  Andra's stomach was full but she could resist putting one more piece of the succulent meat into her mouth. She chewed it thoroughly then swallowed. “I never thought I’d taste real food again.” she lifted a canteen of water to her mouth and drank deeply.

  Arn was still hungry, biting into the barely cooked flesh with gusto. “They say that meat killed by your own hand tastes the sweetest but this will do for now.” He took another large bite.

  Osh would have been happier with soup or some warm Kasha bread but there was nothing else. After making sure his meat was thoroughly cooked, he ate his fill, his only complaint was; there was no well aged Po to sip after the meal. He sat back against a rock and patted his belly then let out a large burp. “Pardon me,” he said, embarrassed. Then he looked at the small fire, burning low in the fire pit. “It’s strange but in all the worlds of the Outer Rim fire has the most names.” He was about to go into a long explanation of those various names, when he saw a strange look on his companion's faces. “Is there something wrong?” he asked.

  Before he got a response the air was filled with screams, in an instant the attackers were upon them. In the flickering fire. They seemed like demons from the pit but as they came closer, it was easy to recognize the faces of blood mad Sandjar.

  Arn and Andra moved like lightning, they took up their battle-axes and began swinging as the first wave of scavengers came within their reach. The first five Sandjar went down fast, their bodies cut in two by the sharp edge of the human’s weapons. It did not stop another dozen or more from leaping over the bodies of their fallen comrades and striking back.

  The Sandjar weapons were crude but effective and they used them with great skill. Clubs and jagged pieces of metal, could kill just as easily as a well-honed blade. The human's armor was very tough and deflected most of the attacks, with each rush of the scavengers more of them met death.

  Osh tried to help as best he could, the spear umbrella, he'd fashioned came in very handy. More by luck than skill, he managed to impale one of the green creatures before he was overwhelmed by three more and rendered unconscious by a club blow to the head.

  Andra saw her companion fall into the hands of the Sandjar but she was powerless to come to his aid, she was trying not to be killed by the scavengers. She was thankful for her new found strength and with her already formidable fighting skills, she was holding her own.

  Beside her Arn was taking a heavy toll on the Sandjar, the battle fury was upon him again. He struck right and left in a maelstrom of death and destruction, what his battle-ax did not cut to pieces, he smashed to death with his iron fist. When one of the green creatures leaped on his back and tried to sink its teeth into his neck, he reached up and grabbed its jaw, pulling hard until he ripped it from its skull.

  For every Sandjar they killed two took its place, soon the bodies were heaped high and the ground was soaked with blood. Still they came, the humans fought back like a machine of death, they were fighting as one, each movement coordinated with the other. They seemed to know what needed to be done and how, there was no wasted movement or loss of attack, they were no longer two warriors, they were one.

  Andra could feel when she needed to duck the swinging blade of her mate and when to strike at an enemy he had missed. Her mind began to fill with the images of battles, she could not possibly have been in. Wars in the Outlands, long before she came to the planet. She let the joy of fighting take over a
nd felt elation in delivering death.

  The scavengers continued to attack but the power of the warriors was too much for them. Despite their savage efforts, they were soon reduced to a mere handful. They suddenly stopped to take stock of their strength. Lowering her ax, Andra drew in gasps of air and shook the sweat from her eyes, standing back to back with Arn, she heard him growling under his breath.

  She glanced over at Osh, he was being held to the ground by two Sandjar but appeared to be unhurt. She looked at the remaining scavengers, in the flickering fire light, she could see their leader's face, she suddenly realized who she was fighting. She was looking into the cold uncaring eyes of Og.

  How he got here she did not know but she knew all too well, the pain she would suffer if she fell into his clawed hands again. Then with a wild cry, the Sandjar came for them again, the first scavenger to come within reach died on Andra's ax. The remaining two leaped over their dead companion and fell upon her. They ripped at her with their jagged teeth and stabbed at her armor with sharp fragments of steel. Andra dropped the ax and drew out her daggers, she cut a Sandjar's throat of with one and sunk the other into the remaining Sandjar's chest.

  Arn cut one attacker in two with a swing of his weapon, then in a fury of battle joy, he fell upon the others using his fists only. A Sandjar bit into the unprotected flesh on his arm, he crushed its skull with a blow from his free hand. Then he broke the neck of another, tossing the lifeless bodies away, he looked around for more to slay.

  The Sandjar had had enough, they ran off, leaving three behind, Og the leader and the two holding Osh down. Andra looked directly into Og's face, she could see the primitive hate burning in his yellow eyes and knew he would not run. She tensed her muscles and waited for the attack that was surely to come, she did not wait long. With a wild scream Og came for her, he swung his club at her head, she ducked clear, then she drove her dagger deep into his chest, he fell to the ground.

  As she looked down on him, she almost felt pity, he reached out for her with a clawed hand, she kicked him in the face with the hard heel of her boot. He fell back with a mass of blood covering his face, he twitched on the ground for a moment then died.

  There were only two Sandjar left to deal with, Arn and Andra moved stealthily towards them. One of the creatures suddenly placed a sharp piece of metal against Osh's neck and chattered something neither of them could understand. They did not need to know, it was a clear message, if they came any closer the human would die.

  Arn knew the Sandjar mind quite well, he had fought them many times and knew that killing was a way of life for them. Killing one old man would be of no consequence to them. Wait and watch; he told himself; you must kill with the first strike.

  There was a tense moment, the humans did not know what to do. While they were watching, the other Sandjar suddenly struck out with his fist, hitting his comrade on the side of the head. The creature fell back, then regaining his senses, he ran off into the night.

  Arn and Andra fell upon the remaining Sandjar, he put up little resistance and soon they had him at their mercy. Arn held the green creature and Andra raised her dagger to drive it into his exposed heart. Then the Sandjar said a single word that made her drop her weapon and stare in amazement.

  He said, “Mother?”