The Fallen God Page 3

  The Gods bless her, He thought...And so am I to have her by my side, Then he turned to look at the land ahead once more.

  Andra heard the thump, thump of her Whiptails feet on the hard ground, long ago she learned not to listen to closely least she fall under its spell and forget where she was, so she turned to look at the man beside her.

  As she gazed at Arn she smiled, she really did not know why? But the site of him always brought a smile to her face. She used to think it was because she was just a silly schoolgirl inside. But the many days and nights that they had spent together in their tent told her it was not just the fancy of a wide eyed farm child but the love of a woman for a man. Now as she looked at him she felt a warmth in her stomach, it was like she had just finished a bowl of Hagar soup but she knew it was more than that.

  Maybe I am just a schoolgirl after all? She thought, then she smiled to herself...Oh well, it feels good just the same. She shifted in her saddle and looked out over the landscape; there she saw a large clump of Balbar trees in the distance, there were also what looked like the remains of some ancient structures made from stone. There were tall broken columns and a half-buried dome, it might have been the home of long ago Nomads or just a forgotten outpost, “we should make camp in those ruins tonight” she said to Arn as she pointed to the stones and vegetation.

  Arn turned to look at her, “and by what reason do you think that place is safe for the tribe?” He asked with a slight air of authority.

  Andra gave him a look, “because there are no Sundroppers circling and I smell ripened fruit, I also see a good quaintly of Eul on the ground that the tribe can burn for fuel. There are also several Rimar near the trees and that means water is sufficient for drinking. We can also kill the Rimar and have fresh meat, and there is also a group of....”

  “Enough”, the King broke in, “I asked for one reason and you give me many, your beginning to sound like Osh”.

  Andra shook her head, “and what is wrong with that?” She asked, “he knows more then you or I will ever know”.

  “Yes”, the King nodded, “but can anyone understand his words?”

  Andra shook her head, “everyone but you, you’re just a dull headed Whiptail that’s all”.

  Again the King smiled, “yes, and you ride me well”.

  Andra’s faced turned a bright red hearing those words but she turned her head away so that Arn would not see, Just wait till tonight, She thought...Then we will see how well this school girl can really ride.

  Behind the warriors that rode beside the King came the many Karracks of the Nomads for that was the old name for the ingenious vehicles. They ranged in size from the large six-wheeled family construction to the smaller two person carts but they were all drawn by the strong but dull witted Trofar, the work animal of the Outlanders. These beasts were used for pulling the wagons and their milk made a nourishing drink for the young of the tribe. They worked alone or in-groups depending on how heavy a burden they were called on to pull, and the great Holy Wagon of the High Priestess had a dozen and more to carry the treasures of the Gods.

  No such treasures were in the wagon of Osh and Endo, their vehicle was filled with food, water and a goodly amount of Rimar skin scrolls that the old man used to record his thoughts upon. And there were several chamber rifles and ammunition that they had taken from the Talsonar in the Great War. With all this were baskets of artifacts and trinkets that Osh collected for study, and of course the precious Grana salt was safe inside a strong metal box. As for Endo, being a Sandjar he required very little, just food and a place to sleep when he was tired, but few if any of his species would have recognized the young green skinned boy that now drove the wagon and wore the clothing of a Nomad.

  Endo had grown into a strong and capable young man, and although he could not be called human by the strict standards of the Outer Rim he was far ahead of any of his kind in matters of talk and mind power. Under the tutelage of his adoptive father he could now speak his thoughts and ask questions that would never have entered the mind of his scavenger brothers and sisters.

  He sat beside Osh and watched the Callaxion scribbling on a large piece of Rimar parchment, “writing?” He asked.

  For a moment the Old man did not hear his words, then he lifted his large head and looked at his son, “what?” He asked.

  The green boy pointed to the parchment with one of his clawed fingers, “you writing?”

  The Old man nodded his head, “yes, I’m writing,” he said making a waving motion with the hand that held the marking tool.

  The boy shook his head, “you writing yesterday, why do you write again today?”

  Osh smiled at the boy, “because things have happened sense yesterday and I need to record them for posterity”, then he returned to his scribbling.

  Endo thought this over for a time then turned to his father once more, “I do not know this person called posterity, is he a member of the tribe?” He asked then waited for an answer calmly.

  “Well no there is no such person called posterity”, the Old man replied, “it’s a word that means those living in the future”.

  Again the Sandjar thought over his father’s words, “you write about yesterday to speak to tomorrow, but we are here today”.

  The Old man took a moment to think over what the young green boy had said then he put down his parchment and sat back in his seat. He scratched his large head as he always did when he took time to think, then after he had decided on his words he spoke.

  “Yes your right, but there is an old Callaxion saying that goes...do not mind-lock information that might become outmoded in an upgrade of your existing datacoms. Rather wait for additional material to be transferred and give you time to analyzed your statement and make corrections as needed to maintain a high level of truth tolerance and that will put less stress on your neural network”. Then he smiled at his son.

  Endo looked into the eyes of his father, “live for now?” He asked.

  Again the Old man thought this over, “well yes I guess that conveys what I wanted to say”, he smiled, “and you know sometimes I talk far too much”.

  The boy nodded his head, “yes father, you do”.

  The old man smiled and once more began to scribble on to his parchment.

  Back at the head of the column Andra was in a heated argument with Arn, the Offworld girl was shaking her head and grinding her teeth. “All I’m saying is that a leader should not be at the head of his army, it places him in too much danger and the likely hood of death is far greater”.

  Arn shook his head, “a King should always be first into battle, it shows that he is not afraid and that fighting is necessary”.

  Andra still did not give in, “but what if you are killed, what happens to your people huh, answer me that?”

  “They would avenge my death,” he said proudly.

  Again the girl shook her head, “yes I’m sure they would but then they would have too....”, Andra stopped her words and she felt something was not right, she turned to look over the land in front of them and narrowed her eyes. “What is it?” she asked.

  Over the many days and nights from the time of their Rebirth they had grown closer in knowing what the other was feeling. It was something that they did not ask for or understand, and even the explanation from Osh about transference of thought waves and the peculiar powers of the crystal spiders did not seem to matter much. All that Andra knew was that her mind and the mind of her lover were getting closer every day.

  Arn pulled on the reins of his Whiptail and raised his hand, when he did the entire column of the Almadra came to a sudden halt and everyone waited in silence.

  There was a long moment then Arn spoke in a low voice, “do not speak and do not look him in the eyes”.

  Andra did not understand his words but she knew better than to go against the Kings wishes so she sat quietly and did not speak, she simply looked at the mysterious figure that was slowly drawing near them.

  The sunlight was at
its back forming a vague outline against the brightness; Andra squinted her eyes and tried to make out more of the detail of the creature that was heading their way. As the outline became more familiar she began to raise her weapon but a moment later Arn spoke.

  “Lower your ax, there will be no judgment here”, the King said softly, “and remember not to look him in the eyes”.

  Andra lowered her weapon but all the same she kept a tight grip on the wooden handle, then she watched at the strange figure came closer.

  It was a man riding a Whiptail, but as he came forward she could see that this was no ordinary Nomad. His armor was filthy and covered in blood and gore, it was dented and there were parts that had been cut into by weapons, one of the horns on his helmet was missing and there were numerous cuts and wounds on his weary body.

  What has happened to him? She asked herself, and then she looked at his mount.

  His Whiptail was gaunt and ill fed its ribs where clearly visible and there was blood caked on a long wound on his hind leg, its eyes where wild and it was clear to see that it had not been fed in some time, and that made it extremely dangerous. From the saddle hung the heads of several Sandjar, dried and blood stained their hollow eyes sockets still held the look of pain and fear and although she did not want to know it was easy to see that they had been gnawed on for food.

  Andra forgot the words of Arn and looked into his eyes.

  They were the eyes of madness.

  The rider moved close to the head of the column and stopped his Whiptail only a short distance from Arn and Andra. He stood motionless looking into the face of the King and the Offworld girl, he did not speak, he just stood and looked at them like a man gazing into a dark nothingness.

  His face was drawn and there was a cut over his left eye, his lips where drawn back in a snarl and there was saliva caked about his chin, but what was most appalling about him was his eyes, they were vacant, lifeless eyes. All humanity had gone, replaced by something that bore no sign of mercy or forgiveness or caring, there was only a dark mirror of hate, hate that filled every fiber of his being and radiated from his soul like heat from a Washa.

  All this Andra saw before turning her eyes away, it took only seconds but it was enough to make her shiver and grip her weapon tighter. They stood there for a moment then the rider came closer to the girl and stared into her face, he leaned near her and she could almost feel his hot fowl breath on her face.

  What does he want; she asked herself, what kind of man is this?

  She was about to strike out with her ax when she heard Arn speak.

  “We are not your enemy,” he said softly.

  The strange warrior turned to look at the King, for a moment it appeared that he was going to attack, then the Nomad spoke again, “we are not your enemy, seek them elsewhere”.

  The bloody warrior tilted his head to one side as if trying to understand the words that were spoken to him, he ground his teeth and made a low grunting sound and moved his Whiptail away from them and rode down the long column of Outlanders.

  As he moved from them Andra began to speak, “what was that, why did he...”

  But Arn raised his finger to his lips and motioned for her to remain silent. She did as he asked but turned to watch as the lone Nomad rode away.

  Osh and Endo watched as the ghastly rider passed them by. Endo had quickly told his father to keep quiet and then covered himself with a robe so that he could not be recognized. It took all the old man’s strength to remain silent as the horrific rider and his mount moved away from them and the Almadra, when it was far enough away the little green boy turned to the Callaxion and uncovered his head.

  “Deathrider”, he said softly.

  It was almost dark when the Almadra had their camp set up and the Washa fires burning, all through the wagons you could smell the roasting Rimar meat and the scent of fresh baked Kasha bread. The Nomads had an ingenious method for grinding the tuff grains of the Kasha stalk, first they gathered it up in great quantities in the vast fields of Darmock. They stored it in large clay pots fixed to the side of their vehicles, and when they wanted to bake they would open a device fixed to the hub of their wagons, inside was a small grinding stone and an inner wall of rough metal. They poured in the grains and then sealed it up, as they drove over the land the axle would turn and automatically grind the tuff grains into a fine flour, it was one of many such devices that the long cycles of traveling had driven the Nomads to invent.

  Now as darkness fell the tribe gathered around the fires and ate their evening meal, then when all stomachs where filled they would sing ancient songs and dance under the moons and all would be contentment. They would forget the bloodstained rider that had passed them by and when the small children asked whom the Nomad was they would not answer. Rather they let the warm night air fill them with merriment and all the hardships of their lives would melt away in the pounding of the drums and the laughter of their souls.

  Arn and Andra sat beside the still water at the heart of the Balbar trees; they had spread their cloaks upon the ground and made a makeshift bed of sorts. Beside them burned a large fire of Eul. The pool of water was crystal clear and floating on its quiet surface were dozens of water lilies that filled the air with a sweet fragrance, surrounding the water where the remains of a temple of some kind. There were massive stone blocks and broken columns that at one time supported a large dome. And here and there were broken statuary and alter stones that were used for rituals to the Gods. How old the ruins were was unknown but it must have lay that way for ages, a silent monument to time and the winds of Gorn.

  The King and Andra were some distance from their tents and far enough away from the campfires that they would not be seen, it was not what a leader of the Almadra should have done, after all he was the King and should have taken more care in his safety. But there were none amounts the tribe who would challenge the Nomad for his recklessness so now they sat together and let the night slowly fall around them.

  Overhead in the branches of the Balbar trees small Arrow-tails darted from trunk to trunk and now and then a Dotfly or Whisperwing would flutter close to them and they would swat the air to drive the annoying insects away. In the distance could be heard the roar of a Rimar or the screech of a Doff-bird, but for the most part the night was still.

  Andra smiled, as she looked at a moons refection in the water, “it is a quiet night” she said softly, “long summer nights on my world were wonderful. I remember how I loved just sitting outside by my home and listening to the night birds calling to each other”, if the girl had spoken those words in the past it would had caused her pain. But now with the love from Arn she was able to speak of her war ravaged Home-world without tears.

  Arn moved a bit and took off his helmet and loosened the straps on his leg armor, “yes, it is a good night, there is little to fear here, well maybe just a water weaver or a tree chameleon, and there could be a young sand dragon that might....”

  Andra began to laugh, “don’t you ever just relax?’ he asked.

  The Nomad gave her a questioning look, “danger does not rest,” he said grimly.

  There was a pause for a time as the two looked up at the night sky. Then the girl broke the silence, “who was that Nomad we saw today?” she asked.

  Arn did not answer her and it looked like he did not hear her question, this was a deception that Andra knew well when he did not want to discuss things, why do all men use the same trick? She asked herself; “I said who was that warrior today” this time she said it much louder so that there would not be any mistake about hearing her request.

  Arn turned to look at her eyes, “he was a dead man,” he said calmly.

  This made the girl laugh a little, “Dead men don’t ride” she replied.

  Again there was a pause then when the King saw that it was useless to try and hide the truth he spoke once more, “we call them Blood-seekers, or Deathriders, they are without a soul and live only for revenge”.

  This time it
was the girl who did not speak for a time, she could see from the look in her mates eyes that this was something very serious to the Nomads and the smile left her face, “how does that happen to them?” she asked.

  Arn got up from the ground and took a few steps from where he was sitting. He turned his face from his mate and seemed to look up at the stars, “when a Nomad loses everything and there is nothing more to hold him to his life he can choose to leave it and live a life of soulless wandering”. He turned to look at the girl, “there is a flower that grows in the forests, it is called the Death-shadow, it can take all your pain and leave you without your memories. All is gone except your hate, you move but do not live, you feel no pain or sorrow, you are the dead walking”.

  The words from the King made a chill run up Andra’s spine and in spite of the warm air it made her shutter, then it passed and she felt like her old self once more.

  “That’s enough”, Andra cried out, “we are safe tonight so let’s not hear any more about the living dead”, she then began to take off her armor and moved her war-ax away from her.

  Arn smiled at her, “as you command your highness”, he said this when he wanted to annoy her, he knew that being an Off-Worlder meant that she could never be crowned Queen, but it really did not matter, she was still treated with all the respect due one.

  Andra also knew when her mate was teasing her, and any other time she would have challenged him to a game of words but tonight she was not in the mood for games. Tonight she felt something much different, “it was a long journey today but for some reason I don’t feel tired”.

  The King looked at her as he removed his breast plating and his arm guards; her body had become stronger over the past days, “you are becoming a strong warrior that is certain”.