Nomads The Risen God

Chapter 1.

  The Hagars.

  The people of the North are not humans, and although they have many similarities in looks and movements their viciousness and instinct to destroy makes them an outcast to any civilization. From what I have seen of their remains they appear to be an offshoot of the Nomads but lacking in a higher form of culture other than a primitive will to survive. The Outlander spit at the mention of their names and called them Hagars, in their old language it means people without a soul.

  From the writings of Oshismarie Inastro Sistashion.

  Down from the lands of the North thundered those that knew no Gods. They were not demons but knew their ways, they were not Sandjar but fed on the bodies of the dead, they were not immortal but they did not die easily.

  They were Hagars.

  Creatures without souls, they were as old as the Outlanders, older some said but they never heard the word of the Goddess and killed all those that were not of their kind. They lived in the far ice-covered reaches of the harsh Northern lands and did not come down from their frozen fortress homes till the Great sun Karus grew dim and all the lands of Gorn were shrouded in ice and snow.

  The Hagars were bulky creatures and their hard bodies covered in thick hair the color of dirty snow, in looks they closely resembled the Galu from the jungles of Yug but they were far larger, half again the height of a tall Nomad. Their heads were thick with bone and their eyes were small and set deep under heavy brows above a large mouth filled with jagged teeth, their arms were knotted with thick muscle and their hands were wide and could easily crush a man’s skull. They wore furs with plates of steel armor tied here and there to their massive bodies with strong stripes of Rimar hide and they carried weapons that were taken from slain Nomads or sometimes crudely made from bits of metal from fallen Dropships or ancient machinery of the Outlands.

  They rode huge four legged beasts that were also covered from their large thick-skull heads to their massive hind legs with thick fur. These creatures are called Hagar-Ran; they were very powerful and use their massive teeth and sharp claws as efficient killing weapons. They feared almost nothing and could stand on their own even against a Whiptail. They lived in the North and killed whatever they found for food, be it Ice-worms or Sea-sliders or humans, it was all the same to them, they have only one fear, fire. But a wise Nomad will listen for their roaring and pray to the Goddess that they were not the ones being hunted. And around the campfires they would sing.

  “Fear those that dwell in the Northern lands.

  For they will come with steel in bloody hand.

  When Ice-Gods scream with frozen breath.

  Warriors know the skies will fill with death.”

  he Eternal Goddess will dance in light.

  We stand beside her and join the fight.

  And with her gift fire shall fill the sky.

  Then all who fear the sun will die.”

  “Death to the Hagars!” Arn shouted as he dug his long iron spurs into the armored flanks of his roaring Whiptail, “Show no mercy for you shall find none!”

  The sharp claws of the Kings Whiptail dug deep into the soft ground sending up clouds of snowflakes as it charged for the oncoming icemen, it opened its gaping mouth and emitted a loud roar in anticipation of the carnage that was to come.

  “Kill them all!” cried the woman that rode by his side. Andra or Moonbud as she was called by the Outlanders lifted her war ax high above her helmeted head and made herself ready for the battle, she, like her mate was filled with the killing madness and neither of them would turn away.

  In front of them rode a hundred or more Ice-warriors; their animal cries could be heard echoing through the narrow icicle shrouded canyon that the two armies now raced down. The Nomads were the same in numbers but when it came to fighting skill they far exceeded the primitive instincts of the Icemen. But they knew that many would be killed, then as the canyon walls rumbled with the sound of pounding feet the two sides met in a din that echoed in the chilled air.

  At first it was the warriors from the North who had the advantage for the weight of their beasts were greater than the mounts of the Outlanders. They crashed full force into the oncoming Whiptails and their claws began to rip them deeply. Several of the Nomads were killed outright and the Hagar’s victory cries could be heard above the bedlam, but it was not to last long for the Outlanders had a weapon that could not be beaten.

  Fire.

  Behind the first wave of Nomads was a row of mounted warriors each holding a chain that was attached to a large clay pot of burning Eul and oil, they swung them over their heads around and around making ribbons of flame and waited for the King to give the order to release them.

  “Force them together” Arn called out to his blood mad warriors as he hacked right and left with his heavy ax, and with each powerful swing a Hagar died screaming. He glanced over to see his mate being attacked from both sides by two howling Icemen so he pulled on the reins hard and turning his Whiptail around sharply he saw its long spike tail strike out and rake the side of one of the Hagar-Ran wounding it gravely. With a loud roar it rose up on its heavy hind legs and shook the huge iceman from its back, and then it brought its massive paw down upon the warriors head crushing it like a field melon. Now with only one Iceman to deal with Moonbud faced her opponent. His features was a mask of animal fury, eyes burning with hate and a gaping mouth that showed sharp teeth ready to rip into her soft flesh. Any woman of the Outer Rim would have screamed in terror and waited for her life to end but Andra was no such female. Trained as a soldier and accepted as a warrior of the Almadra she killed many enemies and earned the name Moonbud, the flower that kills.

  Now she evaded the crude weapon of the roaring Hagar and swung out with her deadly ax, her aim was true and it caught the Iceman at the neck and sent his thick skull flying through the air and showering her with its blood.

  Seeing that his mate was safe the King shouted out to his warriors behind.

  “Let go the fire!” And hearing his command the Outlanders obeyed, with one last swing they let go of the holding chains and the firepots sailed over the heads of the forward warriors and landed in the middle of the charging Icemen. When they hit the soft clay broke apart and fire spewed out like a rain of death, the Icemen roared in fury as the oil engulfed their hairy flesh, in an instant the battle turned to the side of the Outlanders and they charged forward shouting their terrifying battle cries.

  Enraged by the fire the Hagars began to turn and run and those that stood their ground were cut down and their bodies trampled over by the oncoming Whiptails. Now it was only a matter of watching the remaining Icemen run from the canyon and disappearing into the mist. Arn and his warriors watched them go and when nothing more could be seen of their enemy they shouted out the victory cry of their tribe.

  For a moment Andra wanted to race after them. But her soldiers training had taught her to think before she acted and knowing that more of the Icemen might be lurking just beyond the mist made her lower her weapon and breathe in the cold air to cool her hot blood.

  “Are you hurt?” asked Arn as he shook the blood from his war ax.

  “No, I’m fine” Andra replied as she wiped the dead Hagar’s life fluid from her face.

  Seeing his mate covered in the blood of an Iceman made the Nomad King feel very proud, She is a strong warrior he thought, and she is mine.

  And it was true, Moonbud was indeed the mate of the King and there were no warriors who would challenge that, and although she was not one of their kind she had proven herself over and over again in battle and with her wise words.

  And in turn Andra was content to share a tent with the Nomad, she loved him very much and would have gladly given her life for his. Now they sat ea
sy on their mounts and waited till the warriors of the Almadra were gathered around them.

  See to the wounded and gather up the dead” the King ordered.

  And his words were obeyed quickly, for Arn was the son of a King and possessed that unique power that gave him control over his people. After the King made sure the narrow canyon was safe he sent word back to their camp to tell everyone that the Hargars had been defeated.

  The Almadra had wandered through the Outlands since they had left the emerald forests of Caltarine and they did this without the King for he had left them to find his way through a dark time in his life. But they did not give up hope and when the first snows of winter began to fall he had returned to them, rescued by Andra his mate. He needed the healing powers of the Touchtenders and the magic of Grana the green salt to make his body strong again. Add to this the love of Moonbud and he was brought back from that place that was beyond pain, but it was done and now he was King once more, now all prayed to Isarie for her mercy and her wisdom for the return of their wise leader.

  And none prayed stronger then Egmar the Holy Mother for it was her son that was brought back from the pit of despair.

  The speaker of the Gods sat in her chamber surrounded by her loyal Thungodra, it was warm inside for the outside openings had been closed and small braziers added much needed heat to the great wagon. Still the old woman wrapped herself in a long cape of fur and sipped a freshly brewed cup of Deep root tea. The rare tea was very hard to find and should not have been drunk by a Holy Mother for it would have been seen as an indulgence by the faithful. But Egmar saw it as only a slight sin and always prayed very hard afterwards to satisfy the Gods.

  She took another slow sip of the delicious brew then put the delicate golden cup on the small table before her, she sat there for a moment or two letting the taste of the tea fill her senses then she turned to look at the ornate book lying before her.

  The Book of Isarie she told her mind, its wisdom is complete; it was not an easy thing she did now for the former Queen still remembered her madness when she turned from the face of the Goddess and walked in the darkness of sin. I was forgiven for by Isarie herself.

  And it was true for the Goddess did indeed show herself to the old woman in the forests of Caltarine and there she told her of the love that would always be hers and why she had been used by the Gods to save her world.

  As the old woman placed her hands on the ancient scriptures she looked over at a small wooden table in the corner of her chamber, there sitting beside a small golden statue of the Goddess was a strange site. The quarters of the Holy Mother were for her comfort and a place where she could reflect on the writings of Isarie and the wisdom of the Gods so in keeping with that tradition it was furnished to suit those ends, a soft bed, a few tables and chairs, a chest for clothing and many well-carved statures depicting all the different Gods and Goddesses that the Outlanders prayed too. It was not a place of luxury and did not have the trappings of a Kings tent or even those of a wealthy family. But it was enough for Egmar for she found riches in her faith but never the less the thing that sat on the table was strange indeed for it was a severed head.

  Looking at it you would have thought it was a helmet of some kind. Well fashioned from steel and iron and made to fit the whole head rather than the helmet that most Nomads wore. It had no horns like most Outlanders armor possessed and it seemed a bit too large for a human head, but the most startling thing about it was its eyes. They were not the eyes of anything natural, they were made of glass and steel and looking into them you saw no soul.

  My son, Egmar said in her mind, my forgotten son.

  And it was true for the strange metal head once belonged to the one she named Rahash, but known to others as the Darkman, the Shadowman that caused so much pain and death before being destroyed by his twin, King Arn.

  The Holy Mother found the ruined head on the smoldering battlefield and brought it back to be buried, but she found that she could not bring herself to entomb the last remains of her abandoned child in the cold earth. So breaking the sacred laws of her tribe she place the relic in her chambers so that she might look at it and remember the great wrong that she had done to her dead offspring.

  “I am sorry my son” she whispered, “but I had to choose and the Gods guided my hand”.

  But her words did not ease her pain for she knew that the choosing was hers and hers alone, so turning away she opened the book of the Goddess and began to read.

  Some distance from the Holy Mother another wagon sat alone, it was not a large Karrack my any means and only one small Trofar pulled it. But was far greater than what should have been needed for only one man and a companion. Beside it was a tent that was also very plain in appearance, without markings or symbols to ward off demons or other dark creatures of the Outlands. The wagon itself was not ornately painted like all the others of the tribe, but it did bare a simple appearance that told everyone that it was the home of the wise man from the stars.

  For all its plainness on the outside the inside was a treasure-trove of knowledge for the old man was a gatherer of wisdom. Filling much of the wagon along with the necessities of life were artifacts and samples of the many places and things that the Callaxion had seen and done. There were baskets full of carved stones and rare animal bones, racks of different plant species and minerals, glass bottles of colored liquids and powders of all kinds. But what filled the greater part of the Karrack was a large amount of Rimar hide scrolls all of them written by the Off-World scholar. The information contained in those parchments would have been greatly prized on any planet of the Outer Rim and would have surely garnered the author a richly deserved prize by any of the great universities, but for now they would belong to a little known seeker of truth who sat huddled against the bitterness of winter.

  Osh was not use to the cold for his Homeworld had a constant temperature and saw no winter or summer, and although he had spent considerable time on other worlds he had never adapted to the extremes that Gorn was subject too. Now the old Callaxion sat near a burning fire of Eul by his tent trying his best not to let the cold wind chill his tired bones.

  “Why do the Gods always find me to torment?” it was not a real question for the old man knew that the cold wind and the adverse climate was only the result of the planet moving further away from its primary star and not the wonton act of vengeful deities. But knowing this did little to cool his anger. “Endo, Endo! Where is that boy?” then he remembered that his adopted son was no longer traveling with him for he was mated now and had his own tribe to care for.

  You are getting to be a silly old man, he told himself as he pulled the thick fur robe tighter around his slim shoulders, and took a deep sip of his tea that gave him some comfort against the biting cold. But knowing that the odds of seeing his son again were very small made the chilling wind seem even colder.

  The aged man did not travel alone for with him was the strange girl that was born from the body of the Kings mate. She was called Niana, it was not a name that a Nomad would give to a female of the tribe, but her mother was Andra and that was the name of her mother. And Moonbud loved her mother very much and saw the same look of love in the eyes of her daughter, and being a mother, she overlooked the other things that set her apart.

  All Nomads no matter what tribe they belonged too were similar, tall, strong and able to withstand the hardships of their world without complaint, they lived off the land and the land cared for them. They sang and danced and loved the feel of the warm suns on their faces.

  Niana did not. The young girl was small and thin with pale almost translucent skin; her features were delicate and bore a resemblance to the images of the Goddess Isarie. And while the eyes of the Outlanders were dark her eyes were a deep blue and seemed to look beyond into a world that only she could know. She did not venture out in the light of day and only when the moons rose in the night sky would she emerge from hiding and walk under the stars.

  She spoke very little and her a
nswers seemed to have a hidden meaning, but what set her apart from all others was the fact that she did not eat.

  Nomads relished the taste of fresh Rimar and the smell of warm Kasha bread; they ate heartily and drank deep of well-aged Po. But the strange girl would not fill her mouth with such things; she only consumed the precious green salt called Grana. The crystal was considered a gift from the Gods, to be taken with ceremony and used as an offering at religious gatherings. The Salt of the Earth they called it and no living thing on Gorn could survive without it that was because of the Plague that infected everyone and that had no cure, consuming Grana at regular intervals was the only way to keep the Angel of Death at bay. All these things and the fact that she was born from a union of a King and an Off-Worlder made her an Outcast, someone that should be avoided. And seeing that she would be in danger if left on her own Moonbud asked her old friend to let her ride in his wagon and make sure she was not alone. And to make certain that she would not be harmed by an overzealous Nomad the King ordered that no Almadra should cause her harm under penalty of death.

  Now the young girl sat quietly in the back of the old man’s Karrack, near her was a small Washa, the indispensable stove that all Nomads carried with them. Mostly used for preparing meals it now occupied a corner of the vehicle and sent out a radiant heat from the Eul that it burned. But Niana did not feel the heat or the cold, she simply sat and looked into nothingness, but that nothingness was filled with wisdom that only she could understand.

  When the battle with the Hagars was over the Nomads gathered up their dead and bore them with them as they returned to their camp, there they would be washed and dressed in their finest armor and laid to rest. The golden Journey-nail that hung around their necks would be driven into their hands so that they might hold their weapons as they moved into the Afterlife. The Handmaidens would sing songs and the Holy Mother would bless their devotion to the Goddess and write their names in the Book of Isarie so that generations to come would remember their names and know that they died defending their tribe. Then the King would speak of their strength and how they had fought well and died well and ask the Goddess to give them a place of honor in the Golden Hall. And when all was done they would put them into the earth with a cup of Well-aged Po and a plate filled with succulent Rimar and fresh Kasha bread. And then all the members of the tribe old and young would place a stone on top of their graves and weep for them and ask the Gods to welcome them.

  So, it was done and when it was over the Elders returned to their tents and the children went with them but the warriors sat long into the night and told stories of their courage.

  Andra sat near a large fire of burning Eul, she had removed most of her armor but retained the closely-knit chain mail worn over a woven body suit of soft cloth. On her feet was a pair of heavy skin-boots with fur lining and over her shoulders hung a warm cape of white fur. Like all Nomads her war ax or Tooth as it was known lay near her, always ready in case of attack, she sipped a tankard of warm Po and listened to the other warriors as they recounted the events of the day.

  “I was the first into battle,” said one warrior as he took a deep draft of his sour brew.

  “That is because you were behind me!” said a tall female near him.

  “I had already killed three Hagars by the time you both entered the fight” bragged another as he bit into a chunk of juicy meat in his thick hand.

  Moonbud had to smile as she listened to the talk around the campfire, no matter where you go all soldiers tell the same stories of courage and bravery. And having been a lieutenant in the army of the Selcarie her words were true, she had fought in many battles and sat around many campfires and listened to men and women tell of their heroics. She also knew that it was mostly to hide their fear and the sorrow that they felt for those that did not return.

  Next to her sat the King, he too was listening to the stories of bravery and how they had defeated their enemy. He still wore his armor and here and there it was stained with the blood of a Hagar, on his head he wore the horned helmet of the Nomads and around his waist hung the two daggers that the Outlanders called the dragon’s teeth. Over his wide shoulders hung a dark fur cape and it seemed to add even more size to his strong frame. He took a deep drink of his Po then he turned and looked into the eyes of his mate and suddenly stood up and spoke in a loud clear voice.

  “We are victorious, but we have paid a price”, he lifted his cup to the night sky, “may the Gods smile on those who died and may they sit in the golden hall of Isarie until the end of time”.

  And hearing the words of their wise King the warriors stood up and lifted their cups skyward and spoke as one. “Isarie roc torgo, Isarie is great!”Andra had also spoken the words for she was learning the ancient language of the Nomads, she found that certain words held more meaning then the common language of the Outer Rim planets which was the way that most humans communicated now.

  When the toast was over and the warriors once more returned to their tales of courage Arn suddenly got up and moved away from the blazing fire, and seeing her mate do this Andra did the same. They both walked some distance from the others and then stopped by a large jagged bolder that had fallen from the high cliffs, they did not speak for a time but looked up at the night moons that moved slowly through the star speckled heavens.

  “It will be a clear sky tomorrow,” said the King in a soft voice, and he was glad of that for the skies had been strange lately and hard to predict.

  “Yes, it will”, replied Andra, but she knew that the weather was not what was on the mind of her mate, ever since they had lay together in the Hollow Hills during the Burning Time they had shared the ability to know what the other was feeling. That power had proved itself a blessing and a curse, but it was something that they had together and now the Off-World girl reached out and saw the image in the mind of her mate.

  Darkness, he sees only darkness.

  It had taken a very long time for the King to return to what he once was, when he had eaten the Death Shadow flower he had forgotten all that he was and became a warrior of death and destruction. He had wandered the Outlands killing all that crossed his path and would have continued on that dark road if not for Andra finding him and returning him to his people. All through the long dark winter she stayed by his side, nursing him, talking to him, forcing him to remember all that he once was. Sometimes it seemed that he would never see the light of reason again, but their love was strong and in the end, they were reunited.

  With light there comes darkness and no matter how hard she tried the shadows were always near.

  “Look at me” she said.

  Slowly Arn turned his gaze from the night sky and looked into her eyes. She lifted her hand and touched his cheek.

  “I will always be here for you”, her voice held more than words, it was filled with love.

  The King did not speak but he took her into his strong arms and held her tight, as they stood there, high overhead the tiny moon that had risen when the Goddess gave birth slowly moved through the night sky. The Nomads had named it Andra after the mate of their King and all who looked at it knew that Isarie was watching them and that they were not alone.