Nomads the Fallen God

The Fallen God

Book Two

of

Nomads of the Gods

By

Gary Mark Lee

Illustrations by Gary Mark Lee

At

Smashwords 2013

Copyright by the author 2013

Table of Contents

Title Page

Mindlock

Chapter 1 The Last of its Kind

Chapter 2. A New Day

Chapter 3. Glory or Death

Chapter 4. The Waste Wanderer

Chapter 5. Reborn

Chapter 6. Flesh and Steel

Chapter 7. The Path of Pain

Chapter 8. The Sandjar

Chapter 9. The Sky Gods

Chapter 10. The Trap

Chapter 11. The Wall

Chapter 12. God of the Outlands

Chapter 13. The Choosing

Chapter 14. The Norgonie

Chapter 15. The Toys of Isarie

Chapter 16. Friend and Foe

Chapter 17. The Offering of Rowgal

Chapter 18. The Graveyard

Chapter 19. Questions

Chapter 20. Lords of the Greenwoods

Chapter 21. Fang and Claw

Chapter 22. The Watcher on the Mound

Chapter 23. Answers

Chapter 24. Eyes in the Darkness

Chapter 25. Deaths Shadow

Table of Contents (cont.)

Chapter 26. Dreams and Death

Chapter 27. Battle of the Titans

Chapter 28. Awakenings

Chapter 29. The Undying God

Chapter 30. The Chase

Chapter 31. The Forbidden City

Chapter 32. The Fall of the Talsonar

Chapter 33. The God Machine

Chapter 34. The Child

Chapter 35. Man and Machine

Chapter 36. The Giants of the Earth

Chapter 37. Power and Pain

Chapter 38. The Land of Smokes

Chapter 39. The Marchers of Death

Chapter 40. Prayers Answered

Chapter 41. The Valley of Despair

Chapter 42. The Coming Storm

Chapter 43. A Call to War

Chapter 44. The Fires of Doom

Chapter 45. The Mother of Voices

Chapter 46. Light and Dark

Chapter 47. When Gods Die

Chapter 48. The Pyre

Chapter 49. The Vow

Chapter 50. The Search

Chapter 51. Sunbirth

Map of Gorn

About the Author

MINDLOCK

My name is Oshismarie Inastro Sistashion, I am sure that name, means nothing to you, it is correct to say that I was once content to live my life in the quite darkness of obscurity, to die in peace and nothing more but the Gods had other plans for me, and I was moved by their hands to be reborn on a far-off world known as Gorn and there I found a new life and a new purpose.

I now have spent many cycles traveling with the wandering Nomads, in those long days and nights I have come to know their ways and their Gods very well. They are a great people in spite of their rather primitive beliefs and superstitions, without their help I would have perished a long time ago.

They have told me many stories, stories of past glories and the lives of those that went before them. I cannot say for certain if they are true or only legends that have been handed down from generation to generation. In my many years as a Cipher, I have come to realize that legend is often mistaken for truth, and that those who believe in myths are often only dreaming of things that might have been.

What does it matter?

I am very old now and have lived far beyond my time, my mind is not that of a Frail Leg, for I can still remember everything as if it was only yesterday. The crystal spiders have given me Rebirth and I am thankful for their gift, age alone is not the value of a life. It comes from what your days and nights are filled with, and what that time has meant to others.

I was once privy to the great secrets of the galaxy, for my mind has linked with Talaxion's computers and Datacoms on many far-off worlds in the Outer Rim. I have calculated the number of stars in the heavens, and the time it takes for a single tear to fall, I was one of many, and when I was outcast from that life no one noticed my passing.

Now I sit and tell stories to all that will listen, the small children of the Madrigal gather about me and clap their hands and call out my name, and I know that they wish a tale from me. You who read this might not believe what I have to say is true, I will say that I bare scars form the bit of creatures that dwell only in nightmares. My eyes have looked into the darkness and seen things that no one can understand. I can recite verses from ancient carvings in stone that were put there long before the great Lightships traveled between worlds. I have watched in awe as the giant Earth-shakers walked the land like Gods, making the ground scream under their feet, and I can hear a voice that lives deep in the earth and know that I am not alone.

I watched as the Heart of Shawcona rose into the sky and joined with the castoff fragments of a world. Giving birth to form a new moon and giving hope to all those who now look up to see it in the night.

I have wandered all the lands of Gorn and felt the heat of the Burning Time and the cold hand of the Iceland’s. I have sweated in the haunted forests of Yug and sat beside the primitive ape-men who rule that forbidden realm. I have seen the great Wind ships sail over the deep oceans of the Western Sea and heard the sound of the mighty Leviathans as they called out in the crushing darkness of the endless depths. I have walked with the warriors of the Caltarine forests and feasted with them in their stone walled fortress. I have sat and wept as I helped bury those that were close to me.

All these I can say with pride but it is nothing when compared to the life of those they call Moric-Kan, the Twin Dragons. It is the tales of the Nomad King named Arn and his Queen called Andra that I will speak off. Their story is one of glory and honor and will live far beyond the simple words that I have written down. So, come and sit beside the Washa fire and I will fill your cup with sour Po; we can feast on succulent Rimar and warm Kasha bread, and taste the sweet fruit of the Balbar tree.

We will dance under the walking Moons and listen to the pounding of the mating drums as they fill our souls with fire. We will close our eyes in fear at the wailing of demons in the darkness and pray to the God of destiny that they do not take our souls. We will lift our voices in songs to the brave warriors who fought them and sent them screaming back into the eternal flames in the Pit of Marloon. We will stand beside the King and die with glory and smile as the Angel of Death comes for us. We will look into the face of a fallen God and feel the cold embrace of his steel hand; we shall walk beside great warriors long dead and cower before creatures that feast on death and pain. We will lie beside warm bodies, and smell the sweet fragrance of eternal love and, know we are not alone in the universe.

All this and more we will do and the night will pass swiftly. When the suns rise and the sky is filled with a golden light, we will remember our dreams of glory and wonder at the Gods who sent us on our paths of life.

The stories, are told by me, an old man waiting to die.

But they were written by the Gods.

Chapter 1. The Last of its Kind

The Gods live in the heavens.

Their homes are the stars.

Some Gods are cast out.

But they seek shelter in the earth.

From the Book of Isarie.

The great terror ship M-91 was once the pride of the Trajion battle fleet, its massive size alone made it one of the most formidable engines of destruction to ever move through the corridors of the Outer Rim, many knew it by other names, the Terror Star or the Armageddon or a just the Ending but by whatever name it was known its coming only brought one thing.

Eternal death.

It was made from the finest Itarian steel and multi-layered with reinforcing shielding, its outer hull was then layered again with another shield of poly-gromite bonds that tripled the fazic coating, its three transverse engines gave it great speed and these were backed up by a dozen or more magnetic repulse drives, it could also sustain itself with solar power and Ion radiation if necessary, it was three times the size of the biggest Lightship of the Lomalgons or even the Precostigan fleets, its gravity field alone could disrupt most Star destroyers by simply coming near them.

As for its weaponry it had been fitted with a hundred or more particle Blaze-cannons of a magnitude ten and several more anti proton dividers, along with those long-range weapons were numerous banks of sky fire bracing guns, all of them connected to the central command-targeting computer; with a Coregranic dimensioning system that was backed up by self-repairing capabilities. There were several more banks of Hidralinite torpedoes, each one built with self-intelligence targeting, and second level reasoning but what made it the most feared battle fortress in the fleet was its Rolac gun. A one-of-a-kind technology, this weapon had the power to destroy a whole moon or fragmentize in seconds any other battle ship it might encounter, it was powered by a substance that was incredibly rare, and therefore its use was limited and against its destruction there was no defense.

The M-91 could also send out a whole fleet of encounter ships, small, fast, remote drones that could fire at other warships, and self-destruct in a powerful blast if necessary, taking themselves, and whatever target they were sent out for into oblivion, they could also be used for reconnaissance and as a last resort they could attach themselves to the mother ship and tow it to safety.

The terror ship could also restore itself; it was equipped with Task-robots that could find and make repairs, using whatever materials were at hand, they were partly organic in construction and their metal casing made them very hard to destroy, they ran on power cells, or used solar energy, and they could absorb nutrients from living matter if necessary and like all of their kind they obeyed without question any order given to them.

The crew of the M-91 was made up of living creatures but they were not what could be called human, they were made specifically for warfare, and had no other purpose, other than to find the enemy and destroy it. They were without fear or mercy, and died without protest when called upon, they could not be reasoned with, talked to, bribed, or manipulated, they would kill or be killed, there was nothing else.

Yes, by any standard of destruction the M-91 was a thing of nightmares.

That was many ages ago, the Trajion wars were long over, and the massive battle star fleets gone, the glory that once belonged to the great Lightship was long past, and its time was coming to an end.

For many cycles it had wandered aimlessly through the Outer Rim alone and without purpose, other than to stay alive and wait for orders, it now lay hidden inside the corona of the third magnitude star called Procus; there it orbited and let the universe pass it by.

Inside the main control room there was only silence, the command crew that had once sat at the controls and fought bravely for victory over its enemies were now long dead and their corpses lay like dried and broken manikins about the room, they had lain that way for a long time now, there was no one alive to dispose of their remains.

The great ship was no longer capable of war, its Itarian hull was pockmarked with weapons fire and great chunks of plating were missing. In places its inner workings could be seen, like an open wound in the gigantic beast, its drive engines were silent and the once deadly Blaze-cannons had very little ammunition left in their stockpiles. The powerful Rolac gun had no energy to emit its beacon of death so it orbited the great sun like a tiny metal moon and drifted with the solar winds, and the Outer Rim forgot its name.

but it was not dead!

The M-91 was a Mindlock ship, deep inside, surrounded by layer upon layer of shielding, was the organic reactive brain or ORB as it was called. It was not what you might think of as a creature, for it was only made up of mind cells charged by energy from the solar collectors, it did not feel or understand things as we might know them, it did know enough to realize its time had come and this made it even more deadly. It had been programmed for destruction and without anything to destroy it could not fulfill its main purpose.

It had thought over its existence for some time, wallowing in its central programming, to hunt down the enemy and destroy it but it realized that without its weaponry it was incapable of carrying out that command. It had tried more than once to self-destruct by ramming into one of the enemy’s battle ships. It was unsuccessful. Its Armageddon device was not functioning; therefore, it was unable to end its existence in the event of being captured by the enemy as ordered.

Now it drifted around the great sun and let the Repair-bots do their work, the obedient worker drones had kept the great ship mostly intact by using whatever broken or damaged parts they could find in those sections that were no longer working, they had also removed several larger decks and let them be consumed by the fire of the sun, all that remained now, was an old and broken warship that everyone had forgotten.

The Orb did not understand this, the war was still raging, and would do so for a long as its mind continued to function, there could be no other existence for the M-91, without its weapons it was doomed to endless cycles of waiting and thinking and nothing else. For many cycles it planned and re-planned attack formations and strategies that would make it victorious in any battle situation, it devised intricate attacks on thousands of different enemy positions and how to defeat a combined force of hundreds of warships if necessary. Over and over, it made its plans, always revising, tinkering, eliminating all flaws or any alternate scenario other than victory, it worked on this nonstop and without rest.

Then it gave up.

There came a time when all plans were useless, all strategies un-workable, with no weapons and no drive engines it was not a force anymore. It took many more cycles for the Orb's mind to finally come to the conclusion that its existence was futile and that it had no purposes anymore.

So now it simply waited, waited for a time when it could end its uselessness, and put an end to its existence.

It wanted to die.

As it did from time to time the Report Drone moved into the central command section and began its task of checking the maintenance of the great ship. The drone was one meter tall and resembled a Polmar water terminal, it was round with several tentacle-like arms that could manipulate controls and open hatchways. Its central brain was organic, and had been programmed with all the necessary information to understand the working of the M-91; it also had the access codes to allow it to interface with the Orb.

It moved on its feeler treads passed the withered hulk of a long dead crewman, and opened a small access port in the computer control station, this gave it an interface with the weapons array controller and it began making connections, there was some sparking and more than once the interface had to be reconnected but in a short time the drone had access.

Interface command report, all information as to the functioning level of the weapons, command level one, report then it waited as the weapons began to respond.

reeeee peorrrties reporritsss, reporting----weapons off line, alllllllll arkeee all, all armament is nonfunctioning at this time, its mechanical voice was somber and without emotion.

Understood, the drone replied also without emotion, report is unacceptable, continue working on weapons and make all necessary repairs as soon as possible.

Unmannered underarm, -----understood said the weapons array.

The drone removed its interface connection and started to move away, the report of the weapons being nonfunctioning was expected, it had made that very same report for over one hundred cycles, always the same report, none functioning at this time, always the same but that did not matter to the command drone, it would continue to ask that very same question a million times if necessary, it was programmed to ask, and would do so forever.

Now the drone moved over to the main console, there it wheeled around another dried corpse and once more began to access an input port in the console, this time it was seeking out the crew manifest, it searched for a moment or two then found the right terminal and plugged itself in, there was some sparking again, and for a moment the whole control room luminescence dimmed but after another few seconds the light came back on, and the drone began its questioning.

Report on condition of crew it asked, then waited, there was no response from the crew manifest and it asked again, Report on condition of crew...Report...Report, it waited.

With a flash of sparks the console came alive and began to make its report, condition of crew is nonfunctioning, they are dead, the last words of the manifest were not something that had originally been put in by the programmers and for some unknown reason the console had taken on a slightly different reporting manner than it should, it might have been the hastily adapted brain cells that it was constructed from, these came from a species known as the Caltrotie, they were a very intelligent race but prone to over dramatizing situations rather than just giving out the pertinent facts, They are all dead, and they are going to stay that way, I mean once you are dead you are dead, right? It spoke.

The drone listened to the console then made the proper response, I do not need more information than necessary, do not waste energy, then it began to disconnect from the terminal.

As it turned away the console spoke once more, Sure just the facts from now on that is not going to bring back the dead is it? Then it made a grating sound that might be considered as a laugh, if you believed that an information console was capable of laughter.

Now the Report Drone moved to the section of the bridge that controlled the power of the great ship, it was fully functional, and had been channeling all its memory banks onto the problem of getting the engines back online. In the last few cycles, it had made some progress by removing all non-working sections of the ship, and attaching gravity drive repulse engine, planning to make the war ship moveable, the work had been slow due to the outside temperature and the lack of shielding on the Repair-bots when they were sent outside, many of them were now useless, and with fewer workers, it was getting harder and harder to make the necessary repairs, still the work went on.

The Report Drone moved to the Main Control Console, and plugged itself in, this time there were no sparks, and the drone asked its question quickly, Report, what is the condition of the engines?

The Report Drone did not have to wait long for an answer, Engines are nonfunctioning, the voice of the console was clear and precise.

The answer from the Report Drone was also precise, understood, what is the progress on alternative locomotion?

But this time the Report Drone did not receive the answer it was expecting, for many cycles it had been asking about the alternative locomotion adaptations, and always received the same answer; working on repairs, this time the answer was only one word.

Working.

Nothing more, nothing less, but with that single word came the information the Report Drone had been waiting for, Clarify, is the alternative locomotion drive able to move the ship?

Again, a simple answer, yes.

With a more advanced mind controlling the drone, it might have shown some sort of emotion, on hearing that their long wait was now over but the drone did not possess such a mind and it simply replied.

Understood.

Saying nothing more it removed its attachments and left the control room.

It would have been an easy thing in days long past to relay the information to the Orb, it would have taken only a millisecond for the control link to be connected and all pertinent details downloaded to the central brain but those connections had been destroyed in the last battle, now all information had to be taken to the core of the ship, and verbally transferred to the main controller.

The Report Drone moved along the corridor, past Repair-bots and mummified crewmen, then into a small elevator that would take it to the very center of the warship. It took more than one attempt to get the elevator to work, after some cross connecting, the Report Drone was moving downward. It passed the crew's quarters and supplies, passed the ammunition depot, and into the bowels of the layered shielding where the Orb was confined. As it passed through the shielding it shuddered slightly, the Magnetic Repulsors always did this, and it made the Report Drone jump slightly, then it centered itself and continued on its way.

The elevator stopped twice, to move past the metal shielding doors that kept the central command area safe, from all outside radiation. It could withstand even a direct hit from a Tri-boron warhead. It always took some time for the elevator to open, the Report Drone moved from one transport to the next; it had to be done, to keep the central core safe. The second elevator, took the drone down three more levels, and finally opened, to let the robot out, then shut again.

The Report Drone, moved on a narrow connection, to the Orb location; the great brain itself was housed in a clear Metiplexon container. It was round, and measured almost ten meters across, the brain itself, was a grayish color, and moved occasionally in a wave like motion. Its nourishment, came from conduits that ran from the power processing area, and directly into the brain. It was not, a complex situation, just simple organic proteins, to keep it alive and well.

The drone approached the sphere, then spoke, in a loud clear voice. Report Drone One conveying information to Orb, awaiting orders. There was a long pause, as the drone waited for a response from the Orb, after some time, with nothing silence, the drone spoke once more, Report Drone One conveying vital information to Orb. Respond! Silence.

As the drone was about to speak once more, the Orb's voice filled the room. What is the information? The voice was clear without emotion.

The drone quickly responded. Reporting that we have the capability of movement, awaiting orders.

The drone had delivered information to the Orb for a very long time. It had told it, basically the same thing over and over again, it had grown used to hearing, the same reply to its words. They were always without emotion, or any sign of hidden meaning or vagueness, now, it heard something it had not heard before, a slight rise in the Orbs voice levels.

We are free? it asked.

The drone was not sure just what the word free meant, and it had to think it over for a short time. It could not come to any qualified answer for that question, so it decided to just give the information it had already given, We can move the ship now, it said.

This time the response from the Orb was cold and calculating set course out of the corona, it said dryly.

At once, replied the Drone, and what coordinates shall be set into the navigation console? it asked.

Anywhere replied from the Orb.

Again, the drone spoke, and what will be our attack plan, it asked.

There will be no attack plan at this time the Orb shifted slightly in its globe.

Understood said the Drone, what shall be our goal, so that navigation will know, when we have reached it?

Again, the Orb moved in its sphere, our goal is to terminate it said simply.

Understood, replied the Drone, then it turned and started down the narrow corridor.

Drones were built to carry out orders, and to work for a central purpose, they asked questions so their orders could be carried out quickly and efficiently, life or death meant nothing to them, it was just another order to be carried out, if you watched the small robot moving down the ramp, and out of the central command, you might have noticed that it was not moving very fast. Perhaps its power cells were running low and it needed recharging, or maybe there was a slight malfunction in its motivators, or maybe there was a sudden surge in the gravitational plating? its power cells were well charged and its motivators had recently been upgraded, and the gravitational plating was working perfectly so the only thing that might have slowed its motion was something impossible.

It did not want to die.

Whether it wanted to terminate, or not, was unimportant to what needed to be done. After passing through the shielding, and rising up through many levels in the elevator; the drone moved once more, into the Central Command Bridge. There it went to the Navigational Console, and plugged itself into the terminal. It waited as the proper coding was input, then began to transfer the orders to the ship.

Prepare for movement out of the corona, it spoke calmly.

The Navigational Console had not been used in a very long time; however, its last orders were sufficiently clear that it did not need to be reissued a new directive, to stop the Ship being pulled into the fiery heart of the star, it had followed its programming, using its Anti-gravity Repulsors, it had kept the ship at a set distance within the sun's corona, it had done its duty, when it was issued completely new orders, the organic brain was not sure it had heard properly.

Repeat orders it said.

The Report Drone answered it quickly, prepare the ship for movement out of the corona.

This time the Navigational Console was sure it heard correctly, so it began making all the necessary adjustments to the sensors and checking its heading, the next question was simple enough, what is our destination? it asked.

Again, the reply came fast, make heading for termination.

The console screen in the control room flickered to life and began showing hundreds of different star charts and Outer Rim coordinates, I do not find a destination designated as termination, I will need clarification, it said, as it continued to show hundreds of other star charts.

The Report Drone began to move away from the console, and headed for the exit door, when the Navigational Console called out again, I will need clarification as to the designation.

The Report Drone stopped, and its main sensor turned to the console, find an enemy, it said, then left the room.

It took some time for the Repair-bots to check and recheck the couplings on the alternate locomotion drive units, they were just makeshift components from the main drive engines and would only make a movement level of point one, it would just be enough, to take the M-91 out of the corona, and into the space lanes of the Outer Rim once more, so after the Repair bots completed their checking and all Report Drones had given the go ahead the warship began to move away from the great star.

As the broken hull of the once mighty warship left its flaming home, there was no fanfare, or cheers to mark its leaving, many cycles ago it had been christened in blood, by its builders, and its Home-world rejoiced in the knowledge that it now had the most powerful engine of destruction, ever conceived by intelligent minds, those builders stood proudly, and saluted the M-91 and its crew as it moved into the stars and into battle, they were sure that it was their destiny, to conquer the Outer Rim, and bring all others under their rule, that was long ago, and those builders and their Home-world, were now just a ring of asteroids, circling a dead star, all their glory forgotten, and all their dreams of conquest ended.

Only one thing was left to show they even existed, a broken and powerless hulk, a warship that once struck terror into every planet of the Outer Rim, now nothing more than a weary soldier looking to find peace.

Chapter 2. A New Day

The Gods are eternal and you live in their shadows.

There is a beginning and end of things and I see all.

The days of the past are connected to those of the future

But death is not an end to the will of my heart.

From the Book of Isarie.

Karus and Micos were brothers in the sky, the Burning time was long past, and the long warm days of the Growing time was now, this was a time of plenty for the Nomads; the great herds of Rimar stretched as far as the eye could see, and vast fields of Kasha-wheat covered the land like a golden blanket of life, the Goddess Isarie had made it this way for her children, and they were thankful for her wisdom.

The Great War with the Talsonar was over, and although the losses to the Outlanders were great, they were not vanquished, the Almadra had lost many good warriors, the Nomads would assimilate others into the tribe, those that no longer had a clan to follow would join their ranks, even the Thungodra would find new members, they were a fellowship who took an oath to guard the Holy Mother, they would do so until the stars no longer shone in the night sky.

Arn and Andra had been mated, they were joined by the new Holy Mother and she blessed their union with all the favors of the Gods, the tribe had sung the old songs of love, and drank to their long life, although many of the Elders still did not look kindly on a Nomad being mated to an Offworlder, they held their tongues and did not speak of it.

Egmar was content with her new life, her body still bore the many scars from her time with the Shadow-men but her soul was not hardened by the past events of the war with the Talsonar. She had seen her husband die by the hand of her son, it was the way of their tribe and it could not be otherwise, Arn could not become King without facing his father in the Challenge pit and killing the leader of their tribe so he could wear the crown of Kingship.

Even the loss of her second son Agart, did not weaken her belief in the Goddess and turn her away from her faith, she did still have pain when she thought of her only daughter lying under the rocky ground in the Sirolian plains, she knew that Seeda always loved the Greenland’s, and her soul would rest easy knowing her name was written with pride in the Book of Isarie.

Now, she rode in the great wagon of the High Priestess and listened to the turning of the wheels, as they moved over the hard ground, the huge wagon was many times the size of a regular vehicle of the Outlands, it was pulled by not one or even two Trofar, no, it took a dozen, and more, to move the shrine over the land, its eight wheels were many times the height of a tall warrior, and as wide as an adult Rimar, it had three levels, each one with a purpose, the lower level for storage of holy items and the hundred things needed to appease the Gods, next came the quarters of the Holy Mother, and an altar for prayers and sacrifices, on the top most section was an observation platform, used to look over the lands of Gorn, and up at the heavens.

Inside Egmar thought of her youngest son Anais and it saddened her because she knew he would never see again, the wounds to his eyes at the battle near the Heart of Shawcona would never be healed, even with the power of the crystal spiders and Rebirth, he would always walk in darkness, she knew it was a punishment from the Gods for the transgressions against them.

She now sat quietly as the wagon moved, the old woman wore a thick robe, and over her thin shoulders was a cloak made from the skins of fattened Burrow babies, she also had a small woven cap on her head that she had knitted many years ago, it was a rather worn hat and not at all fitting for the speaker of the Gods but Egmar always loved the headpiece and it reminded her of happier times. She sat in peace and sipped from her cup of Deep-root tea, the drink was made from a tuber which was difficult to find, and rare among the tribes, she understood it was an indulgence, and being a Holy Mother, she should not have taken pleasure in its delicious taste, but she did anyway but with each cup, she prayed for Isarie's forgiveness, hoping to resist the temptation next time.

Near to her were the small personal items she had used when she was Queen. She still slept in the old bed that Karn had made for her so many cycles before, next to the bed, sat the Ancestor-chest, held dear by all Nomads, inside were many of her mother's trinkets and her mother’s before, the small keepsakes were not of much trade value, but they had a high price as treasures of the heart, close to the chest, and sitting on a carved table was a small golden statue of the Goddess, it was well made, and anyone could see it was the work of the Sea-people, its base was encrusted with shells and pearls of a goodly size, the statue had been in the possession of Egmar from her youth, it was one of the most treasured items the Holy Woman possessed, she looked at it, smiling, she knew her life was now fulfilled and the rest of her days would be spent helping others and in worship of the Gods.

She looked at the statue and closed her eyes, The Gods have been merciful with me; she thought, I have prayed to them, and they have seen fit to grant me a good life, my people are safe now, the Goddess is all powerful; She opened her eyes and took another sip of her warm tea.

What she did not know, was that the mercy of the Gods is sometimes harsh, and not all prayers are answered.

Behind the great wagon of the Holy Mother was the rolling enclosure of the Molock, the sacred beast, it would be fattened then sacrificed at the mating ceremonies in the Great Dome in the land of Omargash but that time was far off and the Spikeback had little to fear. After the great wagon, came the wagons bearing the precious Grana, the green salt that all creatures of Gorn must have to survive, it filled several large wagons and was heavily guarded, for without it, they would soon become sick with the plague that infects all Nomads and die in agony. Lastly were the wagons of the Iron-workers, the skilled men and women who made the armor and weapons for the tribe, their great furnaces were always kept hot but there was little smoke for they burned Eul, the hard dark rock that is plentiful over all the Outlands.

At the head of the column of Almadra rode the King and his mate and Arn stood proud and strong in his saddle looking regal in his armor and holding his warrior's ax in his hand, his eyes looking straight ahead as his tall strong body swayed easily to the movements of his Whiptail, he gazed over the landscaped and smiled, there for as far as he could see was open Greenland’s and a crystal clear sky, ahead of them lay the lands to the East, the great Forests of Caltarine, the home of the tree people.

He turned to look back over his shoulder where he could just make out the tall peaks of Omar-Ran fading into the distance then he looked up to see several Sun Droppers circling overhead but he knew there was little to fear from the fly reptiles for they never attacked a large group of Nomads, preferring to wait until they could find a lone traveler or a weak creature of the Outlands. He glanced down at his saddle and there hanging by a strip of Rimar hide was a brown and dried skull, its long gray hair was matted with dried blood and there was little skin left on the white bones. There were few, who could have recognized the head of Obec, the once powerful High Priestess, was now only a ghastly ornament for the leader of the Almadra.

The King smiled to himself, you once spoke for the Gods but you have little to say now, Then he turned to look at the woman riding by his side.

Andra looked beautiful in her shining armor and helmet, her skin had taken on a golden-brown color from the warm suns, anyone looking at her now would think she was a true Nomad, a native of the Outlands. Around her neck hung the golden Journey-Nail of the Outlanders, it would, at their funeral, be driven through the hand, holding their weapon for the Afterlife, her hair was now long and flowed in the wind like the dark wing of a Call bird but it did not cover the mating rings that the other females of the tribe wore when they had taken a mate simply because the Off-Worlder did not follow that practice.

She held her war-ax in her right hand, and with the other guided her Whiptail like a well-seasoned warrior, her body was hardened by the rough life of a Nomad and the only thing missing was the attractive facial tattoos worn by every female of the Nomads. She did bare one small marking on her face to the left side of her cheek, a tiny image of a flower, the Moonbud, the flower that kills, it was the name given to her by the King, and the name by which she was known in the Outlands, the tattoo was small and could not be seen from a distance but it was of little matter to the King, as he looked into her face, he still felt the same longing he had the first time he saw her.

The Gods bless her, he thought, and me, by having her, by my side, He turned to look at the land ahead once more.

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

As she gazed at Arn she smiled, she really did not know why the sight 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, they had spent together in their tent told her it was not just the fancy of a wide-eyed farm child but rather 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 where 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 Sun-droppers circling, and I smell ripened fruit, I also see a good quaintly of Eul on the ground that the tribe can use to fuel their fires, there are also several Rimar near the trees, and that means there is sufficient water for drinking, we can also kill the Rimar and have fresh meat, there is also a group of....

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

Andra shook her head, and what’s wrong with that? She asked, he knows more than you or I will ever know.

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

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

The King smiled, yes, and you ride me well.

Just wait until tonight, she replied, then you will see how well this school girl can really ride!

A great smile shown on the face of the King, then darkness cannot come to soon.

After the warriors riding beside the King traveled the Nomad's many Karracks, the old name for the ingenious vehicles, they ranged in size from the large six-wheeled family construction, to the smaller two person carts. They were all drawn by the strong, 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 upon to pull, the great Holy Wagon of the High Priestess carrying the treasures of the Gods, had a dozen or more.

No such treasures were in the wagon of Osh and Endo, their vehicle was filled with food, water, plus a goodly amount of Rimar skin scrolls that the old man used to record his thoughts upon, also there were several chamber rifles and a large amount of ammunition, these weapons had taken from the Talsonar, in the Great War. As well as these deadly guns, there were baskets of artifacts and trinkets collected by Osh for study, and of course the precious Grana salt, 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 young male now driving the wagon not just from his quiet demeanor, but rather the Nomad clothing he wore.

Endo had grown into a strong and capable young male, 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 speech and mind power, under the tutelage of his adoptive father, he could now speak his thoughts asking 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.

Endo 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 holding 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 since yesterday and I need to record them for posterity, he replied 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? then he waited calmly for an answer.

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, 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 scratching his large head as he always did when he took time to think, after he had decided on his words he spoke.

Yes, you're right, 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 will give you time to analyzed your statement, make corrections as needed to maintain a high level of truth tolerance, it 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, 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 Offworlder 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 likelihood of death is far greater.

Arn shook his head, a King should always be first into battle, it shows, he is not afraid and it is necessary to fight.

Andra still would not give in, what if you are killed, what happens to your people? Huh? Answer that!

They would avenge my death, he said proudly.

Again, Andra shook her head, yes, I’m sure they would, then they would have too, Andra stopped her speaking, 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, knowing what the other was feeling, it was something they did not ask for or understand, 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 Andra knew was that her mind and the mind of her lover were becoming 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 slowly drawing near to them.

The sunlight was at its back forming a vague outline against the brightness, Andra, squinted, trying to make out more detail and as the outline became more familiar, she began to raise her weapon, 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, all the same she kept a tight grip on the wooden handle, she watched as the strange figure moved closer.

It was a man riding a Whiptail, as he came forward, she could see this was no ordinary Nomad, his armor was filthy and covered in blood and gore, it was dented and parts of it had been cut 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 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 it had not been fed in some time making it extremely dangerous, from the saddle hung the heads of several Sandjar, dried and blood stained and their hollow eye sockets still held the look of pain and fear, although she did not want to know, it was easy to see they had been gnawed on as 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 Offworlder, 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 were 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 without mercy, 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.

Andra saw all this before turning her eyes away, it took only seconds but it was enough to make her shiver and grip her weapon tighter, the beast and the man stood there for a moment, then the rider came closer to the Andra and stared into her face, he leaned towards her and she could almost feel his foul hot 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 and for a moment it looked like 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 being spoken to him, he ground his teeth and made a low grunting sound, and moved his Whiptail away from them, then he rode down the long column of Outlanders.

As he moved away, Andra spoke, what was that, why did he...

Arn raised his finger to his lips and motioned for her to remain silent, she did as he asked and 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, then covered himself with a robe so 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, then Endo turned to the Callaxion and uncovered his head.

Death-rider, he said softly.

The tribe remained silent as the ghastly Nomad moved passed them and disappeared in the distance.

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 tough grains of the Kasha stalk, first they gathered it up in great quantities in the vast fields of Darmock then stored it in large clay pots fixed to the sides of their vehicles, when they wanted to bake, they would open a device fixed to the hub of their wagons, inside was a small grinding stone with an inner wall of rough metal, they poured in the grains then sealed it up and as they drove over the land the axle turned and automatically ground the tough grains into a fine flour. It was one of many such devices the Nomads had been driven to invent over the long cycles of traveling.

Now as darkness fell the tribe gathered around the fires and ate their evening meal and when all their stomachs where filled, they would sing ancient songs and dance under the moons, and all would be content. They would forget the bloodstained rider who had passed them by, and when the small children asked who 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, all around 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 lain 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 amongst 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 Dot-fly or Whisper-wing 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 moon's refection in the water, it’s 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 Andra had spoken those words in the past it would have caused her pain, 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, then 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? She 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 Andra 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 there would not be any mistake in hearing her request.

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

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

Again, there was a pause and at last the King saw it was useless trying to hide the truth so 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 Andra who did not speak for a time, she could see from the look in her mate's eyes, this was something very serious to the Nomads, 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 Andra, 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 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 shudder, 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, and she 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 she could never be crowned Queen but it did not matter, she was still treated with