Chapter 11. The Wall
There are many structures on the planet that defy explanation, their age, and who constructed them cannot be known with any certainty. The Nomads do not ask those questions, to them the fortifications are the work of the Gods, and have been there since the beginning of time.
From the Mindlock of Oshismarie Inastro Sistashion.
The Nomads traveled West for several more days, their path was clear and they knew, the Goddess smiled on them.
On the left were the Hills of Omar-Ran, there lay the Homelands of the Madrigal tribe. They were not going to the sacred valley of their ancestors, but instead to the Forests of Caltarine. On their right were the high peaks of Gorash. The mountains there, were too steep and dangerous, for any Nomad to climb, and the winds were too strong, for the Sky Riders to make it their home. On the topmost level of those mountains flashed the Star of the heavens. From a distance it resembled the beacon that blinked from the tops of the Pyramid cities. It was too high to be reached by any traveler, and there were no Outlanders who ventured there, so its history was unknown. To the Nomads it was a thing of the Gods and only they knew its true meaning.
When any member of the Madrigal looked up at the great Star, they uttered a prayer to Isarie for her wisdom.
Heavens star we see your light.
Guiding travelers in the night.
Heavens star will light our way.
Guiding travelers in the day.
Heavens star fallen from the sky.
Hear our prayers as we pass by.
When they had finished the invocation, they turned back to their journey, knowing, they had pleased the Gods.
Ahead the land was open and filled with grass, and game to hunt, the Trofars would eat well and the Whiptails would grow fat on the flesh of Rimar. There was singing from the Karracks and all the people of the Outlands were content.
Arn led his people like a true King, he found them water and places to rest, he knew the ways of the land. When he walked through the camp at night, the Elders bowed their heads, and uttered praises to the night moons, for having such a strong leader. The warriors also lifted their cups to the King and around the campfires, they told stories of his deeds and his strength.
Andra or Moonbud as the tribe knew her, was also treated with great respect, even though she was a half-soul and not chosen of the Gods. They still smiled as she passed them, and many prayed to the moon that bore her name.
The tiny satellite, the Outlanders had chosen to call Andra was one of seven that circled the world of Gorn. Eka, Eubano, Ashsana, Italus, Rowgal, and Lomic were the children of the stars and they looked down on their mother Gorn and her creations. There was another Fromic, the Elder moon left its orbit, not long after, the day upon which Gods arose. On that day the earth moved, the land was lifted into the sky, to form the small globe that now shone like a blue river stone in the night sky. The Outlanders did not question how such a thing could be done, for they knew the infinite power of Isarie and how she could create or destroy at will.
Now the tiny blue moon traveled with her brothers and sisters through the eternal skies, making them content to know, the moons look down upon them, watching as they lived their lives.
The Madrigal traveled ever westward, they needed no compass, or direction finder to know where they traveled. Even the youngest of them had the power to know where they were at all times. It was a gift from the Goddess and the power that made them the rulers of the Outlands. It was a power that Andra was coming to know, her mind was linked to her mates, this allowed her to understand what others of her kind did not.
As she rode her Whiptail beside Arn, she felt the warm sun on her face, the soft wind smelled of grass and meadow cane.
I have the best of worlds now; she thought; somehow I have been saved and my life has been reborn. She looked up at the open sky; there must have been a God watching over me; she wanted to pray to that God but she was not sure which one it was. I don’t think there is a God for someone like me. She was no longer a Selcarie, that world and its entire people had been destroyed. Being an Off-Worlder, she could never be, a true Nomad of the Outlanders, they had been created by a master race for warfare. So unable to say for certain what God would be appropriate she looked out over the green land before her. I don’t want to pray to the wrong God; after one more unsuccessful attempt to decide on the right deity, she gave up. Now she simply looked up at the open sky and decided on a short heartfelt prayer.
“Thank you” she said softly. She smiled, believing, her words would find their way to the ears of whatever God cared for her.
In the Holy Wagon the High Priestess, Egmar was also praying. She knelt before the golden statue of Isaire and spoke words, only her mind and the eternal Gods could hear.
“etaro niashto emargorana Isarie tar agro may”. The words were from the old language and meant; “Isarie forgive my sins and make me whole”. The old woman said these words because her soul, was still troubled by the vision of the black spider. Ordinarily, a spider was a sign of good luck and fortune to a Nomad. The Crystal spiders in the Hollow Hills, were the bringers of rebirth and messengers of the Gods, the Outlanders prayed to them and heaped offerings on their statues. The old woman knew from her past travels there were many, different spiders over the lands of Gorn. There were the small bluish sand crawlers of the Western Sea and the larger brown burrow hiders of the Sirolian Plains. In the forest of Caltarine lived the giant red and green vine crawlers.
Nowhere had she ever seen a black spider, and never had one spoken to her.
Before her lay the open book of Isarie, she looked upon its ancient pages and marveled at the gold leafed inscriptions, and the delicate markings that were the very words of the Goddess. Her long thin fingers moved over the inscriptions as her mind spoke the words.
All things can be found in the Holy Book; she thought; all questions answered. Hearing those words her in mind made her heart feel warm.
She lifted her head and looked at the shining face of Isarie, a shaft of light was streaming into the wagon from an opening on the side. It shone into the small chamber, where Egmar knelt, bathing the room in a soft warm light; light is the vision of Isarie watching us; she thought; Isarie would always see us.
As she looked into the kind face of the statue, she began to hear a sound, a soft rattling sound that covered the warmth of her heart with a cold hand.
Why do I hear that sound? What is calling me?
Her mind seemed to remove itself from her body and drift into the past. She was moving back into the days when she walked with the Shadowmen, and felt their pain. She was now in a waking dream, a place of images and visions that floated like a leaf on a still pond.
Where am I?
It was a question to which she already knew the answer; she was in the dark caverns of the Poison Lands. Before her loomed a black abyss that she was helpless to avoid.
It is the Burning Time; her mind said; before you are the caverns where the forgotten people sleep.
As she moved into the darkness, the rattling sound grew louder, until it resounded in her ears like the roaring of the Earth Shakers. The darkness began to engulf her, pulling her into an endless black abyss. As all became darkness, her mind spoke to her again. I have walked this path before; it said. She felt a cold embrace, much colder than the winds from the North, a cold that reached into her very soul. Am I now forgotten by Isarie, am I beyond her sight? In the darkness she saw red eyes looking at her, at first they were dim glowing pinpoints. Then they came closer and grew into flaming orbs that gave no warmth. These cannot be the eyes of the Goddess; Egmar's mind told her. The crimson eyes became a face, it was not one of any merciful God, known to the Holy Mother, it was the face of a great black spider. This is not a God, this is a demon from the pit! The old woman tried to turn away but her body was not hers, so she was compelled to stand and watch as the aberration whispered to her, like the night wind over the plains of Darmock.
??
?Rahash lives” it said.
This time she did not turn away, she looked into the face of the creature and watched as it slowly changed. The red eyes moved like flaming stars in a dark heaven, and became eyes that she had looked into before.
“Rahash” she heard herself say, “you are not dead?”
The face seemed to laugh at her, the rattling sound became a mocking cry of vengeance that drained all strength from her body and soul.
Slowly the vision began to fade and her mind drifted back to the present, the laughter melted away, once more she saw the golden face of Isarie.
For a time she did not move, and sat kneeling before the Holy Book. Slowly, the strength returned to her tired limbs, the cold that had touched her heart lifted. Her mind was filled with thoughts and images, she did not understand, her soul did not feel like her own. She gazed on the pages before her, but did not see the words, for laying on its surface, was the spider that had come to her before. This time she did not turn away, she put out her hand and touched the hairy back of the lurker in the darkness.
“You have come to comfort me”, she said softly, stroking the spider gently.
In turn, the creature looked up at her, and spoke in words that she could understand.
“Yes”, it said, “I will be with you...always”.
It was late in the afternoon when the Madrigal first saw the Great Wall.
It stretched from the North as far as the eye could see and to the South until it vanished into the Mountains of Gorash. It was made of great stones that must have been cut and moved there from the mountains on either side. What force could accomplish such a task was beyond the knowledge of the Outlanders.
When Andra saw the barrier, emerging from a mist that drifted up from the ground, she could hardly believe her eyes. She had seen the great structures of the Youngonrie and their massive fortresses were beyond words. She had never, seen a sight such as the one she now looked upon, before she could speak, Arn answered her question.
“We call it the belt of the Goddess”, he said.
It looked nothing like a belt to the Off-World woman, slowly she began to see the wisdom in its name. If you think of the land as a being, then it just might resemble a belt around its waist. Figuring this out made Andra smile, she began to think that she was becoming more and more like an Outlander, rather than just an orphan of the stars.
To Osh the Great Wall was just another very interesting feature of Gorn.
With Endo handling the reins of their Trofar, it left plenty of time for the old man to record his observations. As the Karrack moved towards the huge wall, he began to search about for a fresh scroll of Rimar hide to mark upon.
“Now where did I put that scroll?” Asking not only himself, but his son too. “I know I had three clean scrolls and I put them right next to me I don’t....” He stopped speaking when his thin nail-less fingers, touched what he had been looking for. “Ahh here they are”, he said proudly, then he began to look for his bottle of ink.
Endo watched his father fumble through a pile of artifacts, until he came up with the small silver container. He watched him open it and dip his marking implement into the black fluid, then begin to write.
He continued to write as they moved closer to the huge fortification, then the young Sandjar spoke.
“Father?”
“Yes my son”, replied the old man, not looking up from his work.
“Are we going beyond the wall?”
“Yes, I think we are”, said the Callaxion, as he continued to write.
There was silence for a time, Endo spoke again. “No Sandjar has gone beyond the wall...I am afraid.”
Hearing this made the old man put down his scroll and look over at his adopted son. “I am afraid also”, he replied, “we cannot let fear keep us from finding out what is there. Fear is something we must overcome, if we want to learn”.
“You are never afraid” Endo said.
This made Osh laugh. “You are incorrect, I sometimes become very afraid, there is an old Outer Rim saying that goes...fear is waiting in the darkness, so you must always look to the light.”
Again there was silence as the young Sandjar thought over the words of his father, then at last he spoke again.
“You sometimes loose things, but you always find words”.
Hearing this from his son made the old man very proud. He is learning; he thought; someday he will teach me.
Anais, in his wagon also knew that the Great Wall was near. It was unclear to him, how he knew this, all the same, he knew the Belt of Isarie was coming near, and they would be there just as Sunfall arrived.
Now, sitting in the darkness of his world, he thought of the days ahead.
We travel to the Forests of Caltarine, there we will feast with our brothers and sisters and sing songs to the Gods.
Hearing his mind say such things, was become more and more frequent to the young Prince. In the past, he would have laughed at the thought of Gods and paying homage to them. Not now, for he had very little left to him, and he did not want to find himself, in the burning fires of the Pit of Marloon. Now as he swayed back and forth on his soft mattress, he looked into his heart.
We are leaving the Outlands... perhaps I can leave my old life behind? This was an idea that made the blind man think even harder; I know the wall is near...I am beginning to know many things.
What those things were, Anais did not understand, he would wait and find out, after all he had no other place to go.
It was almost Sunfall when the tribe of the Madrigal reached the Great Wall.
In height it was almost as tall as an Earth Shaker. It had massive stone blocks, inset with steel and bone. Columns running from the ground to its highest point, on top of those columns were covered turrets made of iron. Clearly this was a fortification meant to cut off an invader. At the place where the Nomads had arrived, was a large iron door. It was wider than the Holy Wagon and reached almost to the top of the wall. Its huge hinges were set with bolts the size of Karrack wheels, and any ground cannon of the Outer Rim could pass through it. It had no lock, just a massive steel chain fixed to one side of the huge door and the rest laid on the ground. The links of the chain were as thick as a warrior’s leg and could pull a massive weight without breaking. There were also, two cast figures on its face, one male, the other female. They were dressed in ancient armor and held weapons in their hands. You could tell by looking at them, they were not Nomads. They wore strange looking attire, their bodies were tall and slim.
The surface of the stone barrier was cracked and pockmarked with age. Here and there, a great stone had come loose and fallen to the ground. There was one other thing that set it apart from any wall known in the Outer Rim.
It was stained with blood!
Andra and Arn, were the first to see the mass of bleaching bones at the foot of the wall. They were leading the tribe and it was their duty to be the first to meet danger. Moonbud looked at the field of dried human and animal skeletons but she could see no danger there, only the remains of some forgotten battle.
A battle that had no victory; she thought, and as she did, she remembered her own time of war and the loss of her Home-world. Do my mother's and brother's bones lay unburied?
The image of her family filled her mind. Her mother, Niana and her brother, Simon seemed to call out to her, from a place beyond the knowledge of her mind. Before she could answer, Arn spoke to her.
“The dead never die,” he said.
This brought the woman out of her dream and back to the world that was now hers. She turned to look at her King.
“Who were they?” she asked.
Arn looked out over the field before the wall, “they were the ancient ones”, he said solemnly, “they were our past”; I must not speak their name.
Andra wanted to ask more questions but before she could, Arn began shouting orders to the warriors at his side.
“Draw the wagons together, place sentries at all points and gather the El
ders in the middle, make sure the Holy Wagon is well guarded and have the warriors gather for a feast”.
Upon hearing his words several of the warriors rode off to relay his commands to the tribe.
The King turned his attention back to his mate. “Do you know the ritual of the silver moon?” he asked.
Andra shook her head (no).
“Then I will teach you”, the King said, digging his spurs into the hind legs of his Whiptail, together they rode off, to see that all was in place for the night.
Osh and Endo, also saw the wall and the graveyard at its base. Although the Callaxion had seen many wonders in his travels through the Outer Rim, he had never seen quite such a sight. He took a few moments, to take to calculate how many man-hours, such a thing would have taken to build. To that, he added the amount of material that it must contain. Then, using the standard reference points set down by Virtranius Olandra of Urotota Three, he finally came to a conclusion.
“One million two hundred and forty-seven years”, he said to his son, “and that is calculated in the standard cycles of the Outer Rim, not those of this world”.
This of course, meant nothing to the young Sandjar, he had come to expect such utterings from his father from time to time. He knew, he was not of this world, and had once spoken with the Gods. Growing up with the Callaxion, had taught him to ask questions, so he did as he was taught.
“What do you mean father?” he asked.
Being asked questions was what the old man liked best. Drawing himself up, he spoke in a clear voice. “Well, I was simply saying that in standard man-hours, it would have taken a very long time to construct such a massive creation.” He looked closer at the skeletons strewn upon the ground. “And its can be said with a great deal of certainty, a battle of some short had taken place here, and the warriors....” His voice trailed off as he looked closer at the bleached bones; that is strange! The skeletons seem to be of a much greater size than any other Nomad remains, I have seen. Quickly, he calculated the height of the legs bones and the upper torso, then added the skull and came to a remarkable conclusion. These warriors were much larger than even the tallest of the Madrigal. Knowing such humanoids once existed and that their bones now lay bleaching in the sun made him wonder.
Who or what had defeated them?
The night was clear, and all the people of the tribe, sat around their Washa fires, singing songs to the stars. Some danced wildly, filled with the energy of youth, letting their spirits free. The Elders did not stop them, they too remembered the time when they were young, and listened to the song of life in their hearts.
Directly overhead shone Rowgal, the silver moon. The Outlanders had given it that name because its surface was smooth and reflected the light of their twin suns. At certain times of their cycle, when the sky was clear, the moon shone with such a brightness, it seemed, as if Rowgal was made of precious metal. That orb, along with its brothers and sisters, marked certain places where the Nomads needed to be for ritual days. Now the silver moon was overhead and they were before the Great Wall. It was the time to feast, and carry out the task, the Goddess asked of them.
The Madrigal followed the orders of their King, the Holy Wagon and the Elders were placed at the center of the camp, with them the Grana, around which the members of the tribe rested. The warriors gathered in a circle, encompassing everyone, and made sure, all was safe. Lookouts were posted and several Outriders moved back and forth, near the wall, to make sure, no enemy was hiding in the shadows. There was little chance of that here. Sandjar did not come this far from the Greenland's, and they were still too far from the jungles of Yug for any Galu to attack. Still they watched and listened, for Gorn itself was sometimes a thing to be feared.
The sound of drums and song carried out over the land and up to the stars, so that all may know, the Madrigal were still strong and free.
“We have come to the belt of Isarie, let us give thanks for her guidance”, it was the King who spoke these words, as he lifted a full tankard of well-aged Po to his lips. “Drink now and remember those who came before us”.
Hearing those words the warriors drank deeply of their wine.
As Arn felt the warm brew flowing into his body, he remembered the brother and sister who had passed over into the Afterlife; Seeda you were the light in my eyes, Agart you were my rock of wisdom.
Andra also thought of the past; Niana my mother, I’m sorry I could not protect you, Simon my brother I wish you were here.
All the warriors remembered, those who had once sat beside them, shared their food and sang with them. They hoped, they would meet them again, in the Golden Hall of Isarie. There once more to tell stories of their bravery and hard won battles.
When the toast was finished, they sank their teeth into freshly roasted Rimar, warm loaves of Kasha bread and Hagar soup. There were also other delicacies, such as Doff-birds tongues dipped in fish sauce, heart of Polnar root mixed with freshly ground field worms. For sweetness they ate Meadow cane cakes and washed it all down with even more aged Po.
As they ate, they told stories of past deeds and victories won and lost. They remembered times of plenty and times of little. Some cried, thinking of long gone mothers and fathers, or brothers and sisters, who died in the Outlands. Even though they shed tears, they were not ashamed, for it was a sign of strength to a Nomad, to allow their feelings to be seen by all.
When all had eaten and drunk their fill, they began the ritual of the Silver Moon.
Egmar had dressed herself, in the long white robe with silver embroidery. She had placed the ornate silver and ivory headdress, on her braided hair. Covered her scarred arms with many carved bracelets, in her hand she held the staff of the Silver Moon. The staff was made from Balbar wood, inlaid with silver and ivory, fixed on its top was a symbol of the ritual to come. It was a disk of solid silver, with an inscription inset in ivory. Only a few, knew the meaning of the hieroglyphs, it was a secret, known only to the High Priestesses of the Tribes.
Guarding the High Priestess as they always did, were the Thungodra, they wore their dark armor and carried their weapons at the ready. There was no danger here, but it did not matter to the sacred warriors. Their vow was to stand by their Holy Mother at all times, and they would do so, wherever they were.
Egmar walked before her Handmaidens. They were dressed in simple robes of white, their hair was piled high on their heads, using an intricate weave of ivory and silver stays. In their hands, they held large silver bowls, each baring a symbol of a moon. From their ears hung long rings, also of silver, around their necks, draped chains of the same precious metal. As they walked, they chanted a prayer to Isarie.
Silver moon, silver moon, light in the night.
Silver moon, silver moon, beacon to our sight.
Guide our path and see our face.
Watch us dance in bloods embrace.
There was one Handmaiden, who did not walk with the others. Kela was not permitted to do so because her face was imperfect. The scars marking her features, meant, she could not perform the sacred ritual. It tore at her heart like a Whiptail ripping into a Rimar. She had to be content with standing to one side of the Holy Mother, to wait until she was called upon. Still she held her head high, and remembered the words of Egmar.
Enor is my sister now; she thought; I am not alone. Knowing this made the woman smile.
Osh and Endo had set their wagon near the Wall, still close enough to call out, in case of danger. They too had eaten well, and now sat near their Washa fire, looking up at the shining moon overhead.
They had not spoken for some time because the old man was busy writing on his scrolls. The Sandjar was growing tired of his writing lessons. He decided to put the inscribing pen down and leave the half-finished parchment, he had been working on. There was a matter that had been troubling him for some time and he could not wait any longer.
“Father?” he asked.
Endo did not look up from his writings, “yes my son, what is it?” r />
“What is this thing called sex?” Endo asked.
This time the old man did look up. “Sex?” He said with apprehension in his voice.
“Yes father, I have heard many people talking of sex, I wish to know its meaning”.
The Calaxion knew, this time might come, despite all his knowledge, he dearly wished, it might have been much later. “Sex? Well you see my son, sex is when a species wished to reproduce and increase their population. The male of their kind begins to feel a sort of yearning, unless of course you're of the same sex, then its just a matter of stimulating the appropriate birthing organ. Take for example the Nara-Ornari of the Third Moon of Utro, they must......”
“Father?” the boy, asked.
“Yes what is it now?” Osh replied.
“Is this going to take a long time?”
The old man smiled at his son, “yes......a VERY long time”.
The Sandjar boy thought this over for a moment or two, “then perhaps it can wait until morning”.
The old man nodded his large head, “yes that would be best”. As he was about to start writing again, he turned to the boy once more, “or perhaps the day after?” When the boy smiled at him, he knew he had time to prepare. He also understood, time was relative, and the morning would come far too soon.
With the blaring of signal horns and beating of drums the ritual of the Silver Moon began.
The warriors stood at attention in two long columns, waiting for their King. They wore armor but did not carry their war-axes. Like all protectors of the tribe, they had hanging from their wide belts, the Twin Dragons. Long daggers used for defense and to kill themselves rather than be captured.
Behind the warriors, the people of the tribe waited. They wore their best and some held the sacred Ancestor-chests in their hands. They also wore trinkets of gold and silver, for those metals were abundant in the Outlands. It could be easily gathered from outcroppings and caves all over the planet. So it was of little value, and only of worth when fashioned into a useful object, such as a cup, a bowl or adornments. It was a foolish Nomad, who would weigh his Karrack down with it, in raw form. The Outlanders, did cherish their golden rings and silver necklaces though, wearing them with pride.
Besides the Elders, were the children. Boys and girls alike, they did not seem to be interested, in the ritual, about to take place. They did not hear the drums, or the sound of the horns. They only to stood and stared into the moonlight overhead, listening to music, only they could hear.
The Elders stood with the tribe. There were some, who had grown too old to stand with their people. They were the Frail Legs, the ancient mothers and fathers, now unable to dance under the stars. They were cared for by the Touchtenders and would not be a part of the ritual.
Andra stood beside Arn, the King had told her, what was to come. So she waited, with her head held high, knowing it had taken place in ages past, and would do so for ages to come.
I am now a part of this world; she thought; my life is fixed to the here and now.
Arn had seen this ritual many times before. He watched as the Holy Mother and her Handmaidens approached, but his mind was elsewhere.
Beyond the wall lays my past; his mind said; will I remain in the present or will my heart call me back?
Before he could answer his mind, there was a great blast from the signal horns and the Holy Mother came forward.
Egmar's scarred face shone softly in the bright moonlight. The disk, atop the staff she held in her hand flashed, she lifted her free hand and the drumming ceased and all was quiet
“The silver moon is above us, we have come to the belt of Isarie, to pay tribute to those who traveled here and met their end before the wall.” Then she gestured to the Handmaidens at her side, “bring forth the holding bowls and take the offerings of the chosen”.
Andra watched as the white robed servants of Isarie, walked forward holding the silver bowls in their hands. Slowly they moved to the columns of warriors then spoke.
“Ecardo ut metra ar farnar”, give up the offering of life”, they said as one. Hearing those words the warriors drew one of the Twin Dragons from their belts. They held them up, also speaking as one.
“Row emarra cantro etarus, we give of ourselves” and with those words they cut their forearms letting their blood flow into the silver bowls. When they had enough, the Handmaidens moved onto the next warrior, repeating the ritual again and again.
Andra watched as the tribe gave their life fluid; they believe enough to give up their blood. At first, she thought of this, as a backward, silly ritual, meant only for uncivilized worlds and people who knew no better. Then she remembered her own past; I was ready to shed my blood for my beliefs, am I any better?
Egmar also watched the blood flowing into the offering bowls; my people still believe, they are still the chosen of the Gods. There was another voice that spoke in her mind, she had heard it before, a dark whisper that came from her divided soul.
They are weak someday they will be strong.
The Holy Mother heard those words but did not reply.
When the bowls were full, the Handmaidens brought them before the High Priestess and placed them on the ground at her feet. They looked up at the silver moon and repeated the same prayer as before.
Silver moon, silver moon, light in the night.
Silver moon, silver moon, beacon to our sight.
Guide our path and see our face.
Watch us dance in bloods embrace.
Then they unfastened their robes, letting them fall to the earth. Now, they stood naked before the heavens and their Gods. They took up the offering bowls and lifted them over their heads, then with a soft prayer upon their lips they turned them, pouring their crimson contents over their pale skin.
They stood there for a moment and waited, letting the blood of the tribe slowly wash down their naked skin. Then soft music from the tribe began, it was an ancient song, handed down through the generations. It was not a song of words, rather a gentle moaning of body and soul, hearing this song the Handmaidens moved to the Great Wall. They solemnly passed by the bones of the long dead warriors and stood before the massive stones, again they waited.
The sound of drums began again. Hearing it, they started to dance, slow at first then as the beating became more intense, so did their movements. Soon they were swaying and letting their souls take control of their limbs. In time with the drumming, the tribe of Madrigal clapped their hands and beat their feet upon the ground, repeating the words of the Handmaidens.
“Ecardo ut metra ar farnar”, give up the offering of life.
The drumming became louder and the cries from the warriors, rose so loud, it made the Whiptails roar and pull at their binders, still the drumming went on. The Handmaidens now danced in a frenzy, spinning, leaping in the delirium of a wild passion.
As the Gods looked down, the servants of Isarie ran towards the wall like lovers to their love. They put their arms out wide and embraced the barrier, as they would their faith. With moans of pleasure on their lips, they rubbed the crimson offering into the time worn stones.
There are many Gods who look down on the working of humans, some are strong and others are weak. They all seek worshipers. Their names are written on endless temples and statues throughout the Outer Rim. There are others who look down from above, who are not Gods.
High atop the Belt of Isarie, warriors who were not of the Chosen, watched as the Madrigal did the bidding of their God. They were tall with finely cut features and bodies marked with green and brown stripes. One of them, a man with a long scar on his neck and whose emerald eyes sparkled in the moonlight, looked down and watched as the Handmaidens danced. His name was Ral and he was the greatest warrior of the Norgonie,
He crouched catlike and even though the light was dim, it was still possible to make out the strong muscles of his arms and legs. He wore his long dark hair in woven ringlets, about his thick neck were sets of Sagar cat teeth. He watched from his high perch
for a few minutes more, then he turned to a man beside him and spoke in a low voice.
“Go and tell the Queen, the Madrigal have come”.
The Forest-dweller who spoke those words, had watched for many days and nights, as the Nomads traveled towards the East. Now he would watch as they moved into his domain.
They have come at last; he thought; now he will meet his fate.