Chapter 17. The Offering of Rowgal
I am the greatest of all Gods.
My power is absolute and my wisdom is without end.
All other Gods live in my shadow and must bow down to me.
My mighty hand will destroy those who refuse to bow.
Those who sacrifice themselves to me will know everlasting life.
From the Book of Arm-Ra.
Sunbirth, saw the Madrigal and the Norgonie, still feasting and drinking inside the fortress dome. They had not slept or rested, through the night, and the sound of the music, was as if the musicians had just begun to play. Here and there, some warriors lay upon the stone floor, filled with so much drink, they did not stir when a fellow tribesman, tumbled over them, on their way to the wine barrels. There were still some fruits and breads, lying on the cluttered tables, all the Rimar meat was gone. Devoured by hungry Outlanders and Forest-dwellers, there was not a single fat Troca to be seen wiggling in its serving bowl.
At the table of the King of the Madrigal, and the Queen of the Norgonie, the conversation had turned to hunting and the danger of certain animals.
“I will grant you that Arabus birds are dangerous”, Arn said, “but they would not stand against a raging herd, of stampeding Rimar”.
To this the Queen nodded her head, “yes I agree, nothing can stand before them, Rimar are dull witted creatures”, then she smiled. “ I heard, they served you well in your victory over the Talsonar”.
Ishea had listened to the story, of how the Outlanders used hundreds of maddened Rimar, to drive the Hal-Jafar and the mutated Yangmar into a field of deadly Moonbuds, resulting in their death. Try as she might, Ishea could not help but feel a certain amount of envy, when she looked at the Half-Soul woman, now the mate of Arn. Like all good Queens, she knew how to conceal her emotions.
The King turned to look at Andra, who was feeling the effects of the nights drinking, and the jealousy that was slowly gaining strength within her. “It was Andra’s idea to use the Rimar as a strike force, she was once a great warrior on other worlds.”
Ishea leaned back in her chair, still holding half-full tankard of Po, “a great warrior you say, does she hunt also?”
Andra was not too drunk, to hear the words of the Queen, looking into her green eyes, she spoke loudly, with a bit of a slur to her words. “I’ll have you know, I once killed a Horde-wolf that was eating our cattle, and I did it with one shot!”
This made the Queen smile, “yes, we have heard, Half-Souls use hand weapons that kill from a distance, are you brave enough to risk death face to face?”
Without thinking, the Selcarie woman answered, while still looking into the emerald eyes of her rival, “death and I are old friends”, she said proudly.
The Queen leaned forward now, and held up her cup to Andra, “then it is settled, as soon as the ritual of Rowgal is done, we will start the hunt”.
Before Arn could say a word, the warriors began to beat their drinking horns on the wooden table and call out.
“Hunt, Hunt, Hunt!”
The cry, was taken up, by any Nomad or Norgonie, who could still hold their cups. The cry continued to grow, as the Elders of both tribes took up the refrain.
As the dome echoed with the chatting of the warriors, Arn looked into the face of his mate; she is a brave woman but she does not know what is to come.
Andra just smiled, and listen to the cries of the men and woman around her, she continued to smile right up to the time her head began to spin. She heard the “thud” of her aching skull on the wine stained table.
The morning suns, found Osh awake and ready for the day. He had slept soundly, and was now filled with excitement, at the wonders he was about to see. Information that no other of his kind had ever recorded. So he had risen well before Sunbirth. Gathered together his writing tools and three fresh parchments of Rimar hide, them put them into a woven carry sack. He even prepared a morning meal of leftover Hagar soup and some ripened Balbar fruit. It was not something, he did a lot now, preferring to leave the cooking to his son. The Sandjar boy, was still sleeping inside their tent, and he was eager to begin his observations.
The Calaxion was about to call out to his son, when the tent flaps opened and out walked the young Sandjar. He was dressed in a simple robe, with a set of walking boots to cover his ordinarily naked feet. Knowing the Norgonie did not care for his kind, he took the added precaution of footwear to hide his imprints. He stretched his long thin arms, then shook the dream clouds from his large head.
“Good morning father”, he said sleepily.
“A good morning to you”, the old man replied. He noticed, his son appeared to have slept badly, and being a good father he had to investigate. “You look tired, did you not rest well last night?”
The Sandjar boy moved slowly to their Washa, and ladled some warm Hagar soup, into a clay bowl. “No father I did not, I dreamed strange things, and awoke several times during the night”.
It was well known, Calaxions did not dream, and it was mostly true, Osh had only dreamt once in his entire life. That was when, the creature that lived inside the planet, had invaded his mind. Since that time, he had not had his rest interrupted by visions that did not mean he could not feel empathy for his son.
So he sat down on a water barrel, after clearing his throat he spoke, “so tell me what dreams did you see?”
Endo was about to speak, when he decided to take a few spoonfuls of warm soup, to give him time to think. Osh was a man of great patience, and waited calmly, until his son swallowed his food.
“Well father” the boy began, “I was lying in a shallow pond of what seemed like warm water, then I felt something touch my leg, like a crawling Ellworm. Instead of feeling afraid, it felt good, I suddenly became warm all over, and it felt like I was being pulled, into a pit of great contentment”.
Endo was very proud that his son was using such precise words, and even though he had no personal experience, he knew exactly what his son was saying. Sex! My son, is growing faster, than I thought. Taking a deep breath he spoke. “It seems, our talks about the mating habits of Sandjar, did not reach the point that would answer, your dream”. The old man scratched his head, “ why you should have such a dream is puzzling, there are none of your kind here, and no reason for your instincts to be aroused”.
Endo listened to the wise words of his father, before he could tell him about the strange odor in the air, the night before, they heard a loud “bonging” sound. The old man jumped to his feet.
“The ritual is about to begin”, he said with excitement, “come on, I don’t want to miss a thing!”
Taking up his carry sack and covering his large head with a woven cap, the old man and the young scavenger, began walking towards the great shrine of Arm-Ra.
The air was filled with the scent of morning flowers, and the ringing sound of the silver gong that called the faithful of the Norgonie to prayer. The huge cymbal, hung under the golden dome, atop the shrine of Arm-Ra, sounded only on ritual days or in times of danger. Now, it would call out with it echoing voice, to signal the gathering of the two tribes, and the ceremonial offerings that were about to be made.
All around the base of the massive pyramid, the Madrigal and Norgonie stood, the forest people wore their best attire, their faces painted, in the traditional ways of their forefathers. Young and old stood side by side, watching as the warriors of Caltarine, gathered before the great stone steps. They also wore their best, each man and women, wore a short tunic made from animal skins, fashioned with small sections of plate armor. They also wore necklaces of teeth, and bracelets of gold and silver, each held a long strong spear in their hand. Their strongly muscled arms and legs, were painted with green and brown stripes, and on their feet were thick Rimar hide sandals, set with sharp spikes at the heels. All of them carried an oblong shaped shield, made from hard wood and covered in a layer of thin but strong Itarian Steel. On its face, was a centuries old, mystic symbol. A wide belt of Rimar
hide, circled their slim abdomens, a long dagger stuck into a scabbard at their sides.
Ishea stood at the head of the warriors. She looked resplendent, in a tall headdress of feathers and gold, a long cape of Sagar cat hide hung from her shoulders, it trailed out behind her, in a show of power. She held her spear in one hand, and rested the other on the ivory handle of her dagger. She held her head high, as a Queen should do. Anyone who looked at her, knew, she was every bit the leader of the Norgonie.
Beside her, dressed much the same was Ral, he wore no headdress, but covered his skull with a well fashioned helmet, made of thick Itarian steel and set with a ring of spikes. There was an articulated flap that hung down at the back, to protect his thick neck. It too was set with long spikes. As he stood beside his Queen, he glanced over at the Madrigal warriors, seeing them brought a smile to his lips.
These cannot be the rulers of the Outlands; he thought; from the stories I have heard, they should be much taller.
Nearby, apart from the Norgonie, stood the Madrigal. Their steel armor, shone in the morning light and their horned helmets, made them look taller than they were. Each held their war-ax, and all made sure, it had been well cleaned and honed, to razor sharpness. Behind the warriors stood the Elders of the tribe, they too wore their best robes and many carried the sacred Ancestor-chest, Nomads held so dear. Next to the Elders, stood the men and women of the Madrigal, also wearing their finest attire. The hair of the women, was braided in intricate designs that showed off their gold, and silver, and ivory, stays. Around their necks, hung great necklaces of shells and precious stones. Shell, also hung from their ears and their wrists. It was the treasure of the sea that brought envy to the heart of a Norgonie woman, rather than mere gold or silver.
Everyone knew it was a vanity, the women should not have flaunted at a religious festival, but no man, dare say that to his mate.
Andra did not care if her hair was attractive or not, her head felt as if it was going to split in two. The short time she had spent unconscious, was not enough to drive the swarm of buzzing Dotflies from her mind. Now she stood on shaky feet, trying not to vomit all over her armor. She squinted against the brightness of the day, as for the night before, she had no memory, other than a hatred for green eyes, and a dream about hunting a Horde-wolf.
Why did I drink so much? She asked her aching mind, then came another banging of the gong and her head reeled with throbbing pain.
Arn on the other hand, felt well and strong, for the physiology of a Nomad, allowed him or her to drink all night, and be able to fight all day if necessary. His remembrance of last night’s activities was fresh and clear, it also brought trouble, he knew full well, what Ishea had in mind, when she challenged Andra to a hunt.
I will protect her; he thought as he glanced at Andra; I will keep my promise to her, and always stand by her side.
Once again the air filled with a great, “BONG”, the King turned, to see his mother and her Handmaidens approaching.
First came the Thungodra, their black armor shining, like great dark beetles, their thick steel helmets covered their faces, so that they resembled the insect even more. They carried war-axes and other weapons, they marched to the sound of ceremonial drums. Behind them walked the servants of Isarie. The Handmaidens, had stained their naked bodies red, with the juice of Safic berries, as was the custom for such rituals. They did however, wear a thin strip of Rimar hide, around their waists and necklaces of gold and silver. On their heads, were tall headdresses of Doff-bird feathers, studded with precious jewels of red and blue. Each one, held a golden bowl filled with Grana, as an offering. For it was commanded, they give that which is most valuable to the tribe, the green salt was the greatest gift of their Goddess.
Following the Handmaidens, carried on a litter fashioned from ivory and gold, sat their High Priestess. She was held high, by several strong Thungodra, each one holding the rail of the litter in one hand, and a staff with the flag of the Madrigal in the other.
Egmar held her head high, and did not look to either side, as she was being carried. She wore a long graceful robe of finely woven fabric. It was bright red, with sacred symbols embroidered in gold and silver, although the garment was ancient in age, it looked like her Handmaidens, had just made it. On her head, she wore a fantastic headdress of dyed feathers and gold, It rose up like a great red wave, drawing attention from the old woman’s scarred face. Around her neck, hung a heavy necklace of silver and colorful shells, on each of her thin fingers, there was a large ring set with a jewel. In one hand, she held a golden bowl filled with Grana, while in the other she grasped an ivory staff, topped by an intricately cast sunburst of gold.
With the pounding of drums and the sound of signal horns, the procession moved to the steps of the great temple and stopped. There they waited, as the moon called Rowgal hung over their heads. In the bright sunlight, the celestial globe, could still be seen clearly. Its orbit was close to the planet, and with it three other celestial bodies moved through the heavens, Ashsana, Lomic and now Andra, the smallest moon named by the Nomads. The Norgonie, did not welcome that name, the tiny blue moon, was known to them as Amura, the name of their first Goddess.
Once again, the shrine's gong of rang out, and all turned to look at the top of the great pyramid.
Out from under the golden dome, came two dozen or more young men, they were the Holy men who served the God Arm-Ra. Unlike the Nomad's faith, only males were permitted to perform the sacred rituals, and walk in the holy places of their faith. They were tall with shaven heads and tattoos on their foreheads. They were naked, with strong bodies covered in a blue stain, made from the leaves of the lotus blossom. They wore headdresses, of ivory set with blue jewels, and carried golden bowls filled with more lotus flowers. At their throats, hung necklaces of ivory, and great fangs of Sagar cats, together with their long sharp claws. They moved solemnly and formed themselves in a half-circle, around a mass of carved stone that stood at the entrance to the dome. The stone itself, was a translucent green, stained with dark streaks of crimson. It resembled the head of a cat, with two large red stones as eyes.
They lifted the golden bowls slowly up and down, and chanted in a language that had not been spoken in a thousand years.
“Ragute Ranana Trocoro Arm-Ra”, it was from the ancient language, it meant, “all glory to Arm-Ra”.
From where Egmar sat, she could see clearly the face of the High Priest. He has not changed, he is still as arrogant as ever.
All this, was not lost on the Calaxion, he and his Sandjar son, had seen all this from a vantage point not far from the proceedings. They had found, an out-of-the-way place, atop a mass of fallen stone and steel that had once been a tower of some kind. They made their way up there, until they could see all the activities that were not taking place. They had not been noticed, the Norgonie and the Outlanders, were far too busy to notice one old man and a young boy, who kept his features hidden by a hooded robe.
Osh, could hardly keep up his writing because of all the things, he was seeing.
“This ritual, bears a strong resemblance to the ceremony of fertility on Candoris in the Bergena system”, he said, as he scribbled hastily on his parchment. “I wish I had brought more scrolls and a fresh pot of ink.”
Endo was not listening to his father, once more the strong odor that had aroused his mind the night before, hung in the air. He tried to ignore it and concentrate on the ritual below, the more he tried, the harder it became. He turned his hooded head and sniffed the air with his flat nose.
What is that odor? He asked his mind; and why does it call out to me? He felt like, he should go and follow the intoxicating fragrance to its source, when he heard his father’s voice again.
“Hand me a new writing point, this one's tip has broken.” When Osh turned to his son, he seemed to be far away, “did you hear me?”
Coming out of his trance, the young boy looked at his father, “what did you say?”
The old man shook his head
, “I said to hand me another point”, to emphasize to his words, he held up the broken tip.
It only took a moment or two of fumbling through the woven bag, then the Sandjar held up a brand new writing point, he handed it to his father.
“Thank you”, the old man said, then went back to his observations. “It seems, the Norgonie society, is based on a religious hierarchy much like the Outlanders, while the Nomad's faith, is ruled by females, the forest people are led by males”. To have finally proven the point, made the old man very content and a slight giggle escaped his lips. He continued to watch, writing down all, he could see. He was so content with what he saw that he did not notice his son, silently slipping away to follow a call on the wind.
Andra did not know how much longer, she could stand under the bright sunlight, her head was pounding like the molding hammers of the Ironworkers. Her mouth, tasted like she had eaten a bowl full of blanket lice. She remembered, once she was a lieutenant in the army of the Selcarie, and she never missed a formation, no matter how much celebrating she had done the night before. Now she fought down the urge, to empty her belly and held her spinning head high.
Beside her, stood Arn proud and strong, from time to time, he couldn’t help but glance over at the Queen of the Norgonie and remember days of old.
It was so long ago; he thought; but I see it as if it were yesterday.
For a brief moment, it was yesterday, he was standing in a forest glen surrounded by a fortress of sweet smelling flowers.
The great gong sounded, and visions of flowers vanished, he was once more a King, standing beside his mate.
As the sound of the gong faded in the air, a man emerged from under the golden dome, and moved to the green stone. He was old and bowed, with a thin beard the color of freshly fallen snow. His weathered face, was deeply lined with age. A long hooked nose and jutting cheekbones, gave him a countenance not, easily forgotten. His eyes were deep blue and seemed to reflect a wisdom that only comes with age. On his slim body, he wore a long billowing robe of green cloth, trimmed with silver thread. On his bald head, sat a crown of sorts, with delicately forged figures of animals and humans, all intertwined in a riot of life. His hands, which were free of implements, were wrinkled and the long fingers, were claw-like in appearance.
His name was Ormandis, he was the holiest man of all the Norgonie. He was not one of the Forest-dwellers. His age was uncertain, no one was present at his birth, those who were alive when he came to Caltarine, were long since dead, some said he was the oldest of all the Nomads. That could not be proven to the contentment of the Outlanders. They suspected, he prolonged his life by witchcraft, and he also might be wearing a spell mask, to hide his true features. One of a demon that shows him as a man. None of this was spoken in front of a Norgonie, for they worshiped their High Priest as a spokesman of the Gods, the wisest of men. If any Forest-dweller had heard such a remark, it would surly lead to bloodshed.
Now, Ormandis stood before the green stone, and spoke in a loud clear voice that carried over the wind, like that of a man half his age.
“It is written that in the beginning all was frozen night, and no creature moved in the darkness. Then came the light, and with it the Gods emerged, for they were made from the stars. For ages unknown, they dwelt alone and without worshipers, until Arm-Ra and the Goddess Nigor, held each other in their arms and began to mate. That mating, shook the heavens and the very stars trembled. When their ecstasy could go no higher, Nigor dug her fingers into the flesh of Arm-Ra until blood dripped from her hands. The blood fell from the sky and landed on the earth, we now stand upon, and we, the chosen of the Gods, were created. For that life, we owe a debt, a debt that must be repaid, or our world will feel the wrath of judgment. Now, it is time we return the blood debt to the Gods, and ask for their blessings, so that we might live under their protection”.
With his speech ended, he turned to see a young maiden, being led towards him from under the dome, by two Holy men. She was young and beautiful, with a slim strong body and long flowing hair. She was naked, except for a fantastic headdress of Doff-bird feathers, dyed to rainbow colors. Her arms and legs, were covered in sacred symbols, and on her forehead, she bore a tattoo of a moon. Her eyes were dark green, and seemed to be looking out at a landscape, only she could see. There was also a small smile on her full lips, as if she was about to speak to her lover. None of this was seen by the Norgonie worshipers below, for they now started to sway back and forth and fill the air with a low chant.
With the chanting, the warriors of the forest began to call out, as they did, they beat the shafts of their spears against their shields, and stomped their feet on the hard ground.
The Madrigal also began to call out, slow at first, then louder and louder as the warriors of the Outlands took up the call. Soon war-axes were striking the ground, and Nomad feet pounded into the earth, until it seemed like they were going to shatter the world under them.
Andra watched, as Arn took up the chanting and beat his weapon into the dirt, sending up bits of earth and dust. With all the noise, her head began to spin, she did not turn away, but stood tall and straight by her King. You can get through this; she told herself; just hang on and be strong.
High atop the pyramid shrine, Ormandis heard the sound of his people, it made him content. The Norgonie are strong, we are the chosen of the Gods. He turned, and motioned to the two men who held the naked girl's arms. They slowly led her to the green stone, they lifted her and laid her face up on the sacred rock. She did not move, or try to fight, as they held her by her slim arms, even when they pulled them over her head, then down, so her naked breasts pointed up at the sky.
There was another striking of the great gong and the High Priest took a small ritual dagger from beneath his robe, and held it high over his head.
“We are the servants of Arm-Ra, we offer this blood to you”.
Without hesitating, he drove the dagger hard into the naked chest of the young girl, a few moments later, he had cut out her heart. With the still beating organ in his bloody hand, he turned to the now silent worshippers below, and spoke so all could hear.
“Arm-Ra is the greatest of all the Gods!”
Saying this, he threw the bloody offering down on the stone steps, where it continued to roll, over and over again, marking the stairway of the Gods, with the blood of a virgin.
Andra, watched the red offering of the Norgonie, tumble down the worn steps of the great shrine, then she turned and emptied the contents of her stomach onto her feet.
Nearby, Ishea turned, to see the woman, Arn had chosen to be his mate, becoming sick at a sight, she had seen many times, and it made her smile.
Arn has chosen a weakling to stand by his side; she thought; this is no Moonbud, this is a flower that has lost its thorns.
From her chair, the Holy Mother watched the ceremony of Rowgal, in the past, her heart would have gone out to the poor girl, who had offered herself to the Gods in payment, with her life. Now, her heart lay unmoving inside her chest, no tears filled her eyes, she simply looked down at the golden bowl of Grana in her hand, and at the dark creature that lay there.
It turned its red glowing eyes to the old woman, and spoke in a voice only she could hear. “A death here and there, what does it matter to the universe?”
Hearing those words, Egmar smiled, “yes, what does it matter”, she said softly.
Andra, turned her face away from the Holy Shrine and looked into the eyes of Arn. He did not look back, holding his head high and showing no sign of emotion. Seeing that she was alone in her feelings, the Selcarie woman, walked away from the ceremonies, leaving the side of her King.
By doing so, she did not see the Handmaidens climb the steps of the pyramid, to place bowls of Grana at the base of the green stone. She did not hear them, as they prayed for the soul of the young girl, who had given her life for her faith, and she did not see the tears in their eyes. She did not watch, as Egmar was carried up the long stairway, uttering a p
rayer to Isarie that the soul of the dead girl found a place in the Golden Hall. She did not witness the Holy Mother, pouring Grana onto the stone floor and see it blown away by the wind.
The one called Moonbud, did not know that the body of the dead girl, would be reverently carried, to the resting-place of the virgins. There, she would be washed and dressed, in a robe of white with a crown of lotus blossoms upon her head. After three days of prayers, she would be placed in a crypt of finely carved stone. A statue of her, would be placed in front of its door, so that all would know who lay within. Her name would be recorded on the wall in the Chamber of Time, so that all the people of the forest would know, she had given her life for her God.
In the many worlds of the Outer Rim, there are rituals of faith. Some cultures worship their deities by song and dance, some by setting aside a day to pray and listen to the words of Holy Men and Women who speak for the Gods. On some worlds, they give gold and silver, and precious Triliniam and Corrason to show their devotion. On other planets they offer up animals of all shapes and descriptions.
There are some who make a pact with all-powerful beings, and in exchange for their piety, they receive wisdom and the power to know right from wrong. There are some, who chastise themselves with whips and hot irons, in the hope of driving out demons that have possessed their souls.
Some give the blood of their people.
They do this, by killing victims captured from their rivals. They burn them, over great fires or impale them on iron spikes, before vengeful statues, inside blasphemous sanctuaries. Others give their innocent young, and stand idle as they cry out to their mothers and fathers, before being tossed into the dancing flames of sacrificial fires. They do all this, to show devotion and faith, they sleep well at night, knowing, they did it all, in the name of their Holy Gods.
All these things pale, in comparison to those who give of themselves, for they do not ask a blessing to make their lives more content or wealthy. They simply offer up their flesh, and put their trust in the Gods, to grant them everlasting life.
Whether that wish is granted or not, we the living shall never know. None can say, what becomes of a worshiper when they no longer worship.