Chapter 7. The Path of Pain
Any Nomad who does not defend his people will be punished.
That warrior will walk the gauntlet and feel the pain of their misdeed.
The Laws of the Madrigal.
When Sunbirth broke over the oasis the Madrigal found that one of their warriors, had not been at his post during the night, his name was Thorm, and he had just begun to be a warrior. He was tall and would have been looked upon with favor by any female of the Nomads. That was his downfall for he had caught the eye of one of the maidens of his tribe, a woman by the name of Teal. She offered to share her tent with him on any occasion he requested. When the time came for him to stand guard, his body had forsaken his mind and he left his post, to spend the night with the comely maiden. After more than one embrace, he fell asleep in the woman’s arms. He did not wake until the Suns had risen and the warriors gathered for the morning meal. Kuno went looking for the young man and found him naked in Teal's tent, with a smile on his pleasant face.
Kuno knew full well the power of a pretty countenance, it had cost him the loss of both his previous mates. He also knew, the young man had just entered his first cycle as a warrior and someday he would become a strong defender of the tribe. After much soul searching, he decided, his absence from his duty, had to be reported to the King, and the young man punished. It was a hard choice, but it was the right one. He stood outside the leader's tent and told of what he had seen. He waited for Arn's reply.
Arn looked down at the ground and did not speak for a time. He tried to think of some way that the young warrior could evade the punishment, demanded by the laws of the tribe. He knew full well, the power of the heart.
I once betrayed my tribe for a woman; he told himself, remembering the decision to become an Outcast rather than fight his brother over the love of Andra. Try as he might there could only be one outcome. He looked up at the big man by his side, “tell the people to prepare for Korath Enargo”.
The Captain of the Spikbacks wanted to say something, something that might sway the decision. He could not, so he bowed slightly and spoke the only words he could, “it will be done”. He turned and left the his king's side.
As he moved away Andra walked from the tent and stood beside Arn, “what is Korath Enargo?” She asked. She had overheard Kuno's words, and although she had learned much of the ways of the Nomads, she had never heard those words before.
Arn seemed to be staring into the morning light, he did not speak until the off-worlder put her hand on his shoulder. This made him turn from his dreaming to look at her, “it is the law of the tribe, those who break those laws must be punished”.
“So this man korath broke those laws?” She asked.
The King shook his head, “no, it is from the old language, it is his punishment, it means the path of pain”.
As a soldier of her Home-world, Andra knew the importance of following orders. It was sometimes hard to do, it often meant seeing her comrades die. In war there had to be sacrifices and she took the same chances and more than her leadership demanded. She also knew that sometimes following orders was the wrong thing to do. It was at those times her heart cried out to disobey.
She could not know that soon she too would walk the path of pain.
Being a Handmaiden Kela did not have a mate. It was forbidden by the laws of the tribe, she was promised to the Goddess Isarie. Therefore she could not be taken to a warrior’s tent, the young woman had accepted this fact for a long time. She had been chosen, at a very young age, to be a servant of the Gods. At that time, she was known as one of the great beauties of the tribe. This caused the men in the tribe to wish, the Goddess had chosen someone else to be a Handmaiden. That was long ago, before her perfect features, were ruined by a Hal-Jafar weapon, in the battle at the Heart of Shawcona. Now she was looked upon with pity by those who saw her. This caused her great pain although she never showed it, and no one heard her crying late at night, when all were asleep. Now she hurried towards the tent of the High Priestess, for there was important work to be done.
The quarters of the speaker for the Gods, had been erected next to the great Holy Wagon.
It was not the ornate tent that had been used by the previous Holy Mother Obec. That one had been destroyed in the war with the Talsonar. Along with it, many of the sacred artifacts and statuary, so cherished by the tribe. The weavers and tent makers worked day and night and soon they had constructed a dwelling as large as the previous one, without the elaborate gold and silver trappings.
There is much to do; Kela thought; she will need her blue robe and the headdress with the white feathers. She continued to pose questions in her mind, as she passed the black armored guards, at the entrance to Egmar's tent.
The Thungodra were the High Priestess' bodyguards, sworn to keep her safe at the cost of their lives. They were solemn warriors, who did not mix well with others of the tribe. They preferred to train for battle and seek wisdom from the writings of Isarie, rather than indulge in pleasures of the flesh. That had been their way, for as long as anyone could remember, and it would continue for as long as the Gods wished.
They were now few, in number, having lost many of their kind in the Great War of the Outlands. It was at that time, they were made masters of the tribe. The old priestess Obec had given them power to punish all, who spoke against the Gods. Obec was dead and her head hung from the saddle of the King. She had placed herself above the will of Isarie, so the Goddess destroyed her and made Egmar High Priestess. Now they would guard Egmar to the last warrior.
They stood silently and did not challenge the young Handmaiden as she entered the great tent. They all knew her scarred face and knew that she was the servant of Isarie, who could come and go as she wished.
Inside Kela quickly made her way to Egmar's chamber. Several torches illuminated the tent and there was a small fire burning in an ornate altar bowl in the middle of the room. The floor was covered in colorful woven rugs and there were silver vases, filled with field flowers and sweet smelling buds of the coronas plant. She stopped only once, to bow before a small golden statue of the Goddess and show her respects. After uttering a short prayer, she hurried to help the Holy Mother, prepare for Korath Enargo.
She pulled back the curtain of Egmar's sleeping chamber, and slowly went inside.
“I have come to help with your robe Holy Mother....” Her words trailed off when she noticed that Egmar had already put on her blue robe and was now adjusting the feathers on her headdress.
Egmar smiled at her, “you need not hurry child, it is done” she said.
“You should not do such tasks yourself”, the young woman commented, “that is the work of your Handmaidens not for the Holy Mother of the...” She stopped speaking, for she remembered Egmar's words. The name she told her to use in private and their bond of sisterhood. Remembering this caused her to lower her face, “I am sorry Enor, I had forgotten your words to me, forgive me for my error”.
Egmar moved to her and put her hand on her shoulder, “it is forgotten” she said softly. She turned and began fussing with the feathers on her headdress. “I think this makes me look like a ruffled Doff-bird, we must all bare our burdens!”
She does not speak like a Holy Mother, the young woman thought; I like her words. She went to the side of the older woman and helped her adjust the headdress. “The feathers need to be straight and the threads of silver should come down on the left side of the face”. It was soon done. The young Handmaiden began to straighten the folds on the ceremonial robe. “I will make sure that the bowl of Grana is filled and ready for your dedication”.
She is well trained in the ways of the Goddess; Egmar said to herself; and she will sit at the right side of Isarie in her Golden Hall.
When the robe and headdress were made ready, the High Priestess stood before a refection plate and gazed at herself.
I am no longer the girl who ran on the shores of the western sea. For a moment Egmar remembered the warm days of her y
outh, the time she danced under the open skies and felt the sting of the ocean on her face. In her ears, she heard the sharp cries of shore birds as they dipped low over the water and the waves lapping at her feet; so long ago, so long; then she heard another sound. It was not the sweet song of birds or the rise and fall of the tides. It was the sound of darkness, a cold rattling sound that brought a chill to her heart and caused her to utter a word.
“Rahash” she whispered.
Kela heard the Holy Mother say the word, it had no meaning to her. “Enor?” she asked, “is something wrong?”
The young woman's question stopped the sound and Egmar returned to the present, “wrong?” She asked, then smiled, “no, everything is as it should be”. She turned away from the reflecting plate, “come, there are things that need to be done”.
They left the chamber and made their way out into the sunlight, it did not feel warm on Egmar's scarred face and it would be some time before the echoes of darkness faded from her mind.
As the word spread that there was going to be a punishment, the tribe began to prepare. The Elders gathered together to discuss the merits of obeying the laws of the ancestors and the proper conduct of a guardian of the tribe. While the warriors made ready the ground, where the Korath Enargo would take place. After much discussion, they decided on a place, near the ancient structure and cleared a stretch of earth, of all rock and outgrowths. There was a large piece of a broken statue near the ruins. They were not sure, to which God, the statue had been dedicated, its face was badly weathered and there was no longer a name carved on its pitted base.
Some said it was Nor, the guardian of the gate to the underworld, the God had a great pair of horns jutting from its head. It was clear, this statue bore no such feature. Others said it was Jar-Acur, the God of animals. That was soon rejected, that God was female and this one bore no likeness to a woman. After more talk, it was agreed that this was indeed Atos the God of war. For near it was found the remnants of a hand, holding a mystic weapon, a thunder bolt that could rain death on warriors and turn their bodies to flame.
Knowing that disturbing the rest of a God as strong as Atos, would surely bring destruction upon their tribe, the warriors made certain that the statue remained where it was, and no one should touch it.
As the activities for the ritual continued, there was also the constant bickering amongst the offspring, which disturbed those who wondered about them, the Mothers who had borne children during the last Rebirth. There was also, their strange behavior. Sitting for hours staring into each others eyes, then striking out in fits of rage that left them bloody and torn. Other times, when they would begin to speak in riddles, then scream as if they were being attacked, all of this made those who bore them uneasy. They scratched their heads, trying to understand the reason for such actions.
They consulted the Touchtenders, who prescribed herbs and potions to alter the behaviors, all medicines failed. There were some, who thought it was the work of Soul Seeers, Witches of the Outlands, Possessors of the Evil Eye, those who fed upon the innocent. So they put talismans around the necks of the children and offered sacrifices to the Gods, for their wellbeing, all of this met with failure. In the end, they agreed that it was the will of Isarie and a burden that must be endured.
Osh was very excited about the ritual that was to come, he delighted, in recording information on the Nomads, filling parchment after parchment with details of those rites. How was he to know that the pain and suffering that he was about to see, would be nothing compared to the anguish that would be his.
“Now where did I put my hat?” the old man said, as he frantically searched outside his tent for the small woven cap that he liked to cover his large head. The hat itself was worn and not very attractive, but it fitted his oversize cranium perfectly. It kept the heat of the twin suns from burning the skin where his hair was thin. “I know I had it yesterday, now it seems to be missing”, he turned to Endo who was standing not far away cleaning out the Washa of ashes. “Have you seen my hat?” he asked in frustration.
The young Sandjar stood looking at his adoptive father, he could see that the cap in question was hanging by its neck cord, at the old man’s back. “It is behind you” he answered, then watched as the Callaxion turned around to stare at the ground.
“No, it is not here” he said, then turned back to look at his son; perhaps he does not understand my words; the old man thought. He put up his thin fingers and made a gesture around his head, “a hat, it is a woven covering that I use, to cover my head. To protect it from the heat of the suns and keep it warm during the cold of night”.
Many times, Endo did not know the meaning of some words but this was not the case now. He walked over to the hatless old man and moved the missing headwear so it could be seen. “It was behind you father”, then he made a jest, “this is your front” pointing to the man’s breastbone, “and this is your back”, touching the Callaxion on other side.
It had been recorded by many people that the Sandjar could not laugh, now it was easy to see that they were wrong. A soft grunting sound emerged from the mouth of the young joker.
All this was not lost on the old man; my son is becoming more civilized with each day, for only intelligent creatures can laugh. Thinking this made Endo feel content, for the Sandjar of the Outlands were not creatures of kindness and did not know laughter in their hearts.
There was no laughter in the tent of Anais, and although the day was bright and clear it felt cold inside the tent of the blind Prince.
The days and nights that passed in the oasis were all the same to him. He knew it was day because of the warmth when he touched the inside of his dwelling and the sounds of people going about their work just outside. When night came he heard very little, it was at this time, he would venture beyond his tent to breathe the evening air. He did this, because he did not want to be seen by his tribe, knowing that he was a thing of pity, brought more pain than the cut of a dagger.
He would stand just outside his tent and listen to the cries of the Nightflyers and Arrowtails that made their homes in the branches of the Balbar trees nearby. Sometimes he could hear the roars of the Whiptails and Spikebacks as they pulled against their tie downs, trying to free themselves. Mostly he just stood and wondered, why the Gods had let him live rather than sending him to the Pit of Marloon.
Thinking of the Gods was something new to the Prince, all his life he scoffed at the notion of all-powerful beings, controlling the stars and all who lived below them. He had plotted and schemed to take power for himself and make his people bow down before him. He had dreamed of the day, when his brothers and sister and all the people of the Madrigal would worship him. For a time he had his wish granted, but now those days were gone, vanished like the mist over the plains of Darmock. He was alone in a world of darkness.
“Why did I not die?” These words were not directed at himself, but at whatever Gods might be listening. He received no reply. He was not asking those words because he hoped to be given a place in the Great Hall of the Goddess. He now knew full well that his fate would be the fires of the Pit of Marloon. The Gods want to see me suffer here first, before taking my soul to the fires; he thought; they play with me, like a Whiptail plays with a wounded Rimar.
That idea made the blind man get up from his sleeping mattress and stand tall; I will not be a toy; he thought; I will find a way to cheat the Gods and evade the tortures waiting for me! Thinking on this, he began to wonder, how to make his oath come true?
The suns of Gorn were high in the sky, when the ritual known as Korath Enargo began.
The warriors stood in two rows with their armor glowing in the light. They were twenty in number, both male and female, there was no distinction between men and women, when it came to fighting for the tribe. In their hands, they held seven lengths of Rimar hide, woven together at one end to make a grip. The loose strands, were a meter in length, and coated with Rockworm venom. This poison brought great pain, to anyone who was bitten
by the sharp jaws of the underground creature.
The whips were called “Anarish Noc-Ator”, they were words of the old language, it meant “The tail of the Dragon”. This was a reference to the sharp tail tip of the deadly Sand Dragons that hide under the earth. When disturbed they would spring up, to grab unlucky travelers and drag them down to their deaths.
Behind the warriors stood the Elders of the tribe, each one held their Ancestor-chests, these carved boxes held fragments of bone, the remains of their fathers and mothers going back generations. They also contained bits of pottery, ivory carving, small statues and all manners of objects that were venerated by each family. It was a reminder of the traditions that bound the tribe together and the laws that must be followed.
Standing together behind the Elders were the members of the tribe. Fathers and mothers with their offspring close by, they had dressed in their finest robes and put on their best silver and gold jewelry. It was the tradition of the Nomads to wear their best when observing a tribal ritual. Most of the time these proceedings were in praise of the Goddess or to bury their dead. Ceremonies that must be done to appease the Gods, for the gifts they had been granted. This time it was different, this time it was to inflict pain.
Arn the King stood inside his tent waiting for the ritual to begin, with him was the half-soul woman, who was now his mate.
Both he and Andra, had just finished dressing in the bright ceremonial armor of the Madrigal. It was not the ancient plating, they had worn when they took the name Moric-Kan, the Twin Dragons. The armor worn during the Battle with the Talsonar, was now put away, in two strong wooden chests. It would not be worn for a ritual such as this. In their ceremonial armor, they still looked like tribal leaders.
They had chest plates inlaid with gold and silver, under that a closely woven metal shirt to protected them further. In case an ax point or Shadowman's arrow, pierced the outer skin. On their legs were overlapping plates of Itarian steel likewise inlaid with precious metals. They wore heavy boots with long spurs, needed to urge the thick-skinned Whiptails into battle. Their arms had bracers fitted with sharp spikes for close quarter fighting, around their waists were wide belts holding the ever-present daggers, carried by all Nomads.
As Andra adjusted the strap on her wrist, she looked over at the man who had carried her out of the desert and made her his own. Even in the dim light inside their tent, he looked handsome. He had a straight nose and hard cut cheekbones. The left side of his face bore three tattoos that marked him as a King of the Nomads. His long dark hair was tied with a strip of Rimar hide, a woven lock fitted with small gold trinkets hung upon his left cheek. He was tall and well built, with wide shoulders and lean hips, looking at him made Andra smile.
I had to travel over many worlds to find him; she told herself; but find him I did. She picked up the horned helmet, sitting on a table next to her, “do I need to speak at the ceremony?” she asked.
For a moment the King seemed not to hear her, then he spoke, “no, there will be little to say”, he too picked up his helmet and pulled it onto his head. He adjusted it some, then began to move to the entrance of the tent. Andra also put on her helmet and started to leave, she stopped when the King turned to her. “Do not speak...no matter what you see”.
With those words they left for the ritual.
It was only a short time later when all was prepared. The young warrior called Thorm was brought before the King and made ready for his punishment.
As the tribe looked on he was stripped of all clothing and made to stand naked, his hands were bound behind his back with a strip of tough Rimar hide. This was done not by the warriors but by his mother and father. They took responsibility for their son and would not stand idly by as he walked the path of pain. His eyes were covered with a band of cloth and fitted tightly so that no light would show through. This meant that whatever was to come would have to be accepted in darkness.
As this was being done, Osh and Endo stood off to one side, trying to find a place, hidden from view, where they could observe the proceedings. They did this because the Nomads were still not comfortable with a Sandjar in their tribe. They knew that he had been a great help in the defeat of the Talsonar. It was still not enough to overcome the fear of what he was or what he might do. Knowing this, the old man always tried to find a place, where they would not have to put up with the disapproving glances of the Madrigal. Now after some searching, they decided to stand very close to the fallen statue of Atos, the God of War.
“Where is my marking pen?” Osh asked as he searched his robe for the small metal device. After a moment he found what he was looking for, and proceeded to search for the strip of parchment, he was going to use, to take notes. Under different circumstances he would not need to do this, he had the ability to Mindlock all that he saw and heard, then transfer it to the powerful Tollacian Computers that ran most of the Outer Rim. However since there were no such devices on Gorn, Osh had to use the ancient way of recording. He would write all that he saw for those who would come later.
Endo watched his father find the elusive marker, a blast sounded from the signal horns and the ritual of Korath Enargo began.
Arn spoke for all to hear, “this warrior has broken the laws of the tribe, he left his post to lay with a woman in her tent. By the laws of our people, he will walk the path of pain!”
With those words the warriors, who were standing with Rimar whips, began to chant. “Korath Enargo” over and over again. They lifted their feet and to the drum's beat brought them down hard on the ground, sending up puffs of dust. In a moment the beat, was taken up by the people of the tribe. They clapped their hands together and continued to cry out “Korath Enargo”, until the air filled with their voices.
Andra stood close to her mate and did not speak, inside she was troubled; the warrior is little more than a boy; she thought; he broke the law but he should not have to suffer this. She wanted to speak out and ask for the young man to be shown mercy, she remembered the words of her King and kept her mouth closed.
Egmar also did not speak, for the young man had not broken the Laws of Isarie but the Laws of the Madrigal. There was no need for holy words, still her presence and the presence of the Handmaidens was required. The young servants of the Gods were not naked, as required in many of the Goddess' rituals. They wore long robes of black cloth sewn with silver thread, around their necks hung necklaces also of silver with blue and green, and red stones set in them. Their hair was braided with carved ivory stays, long earrings dangled from their lobes.
In their hands they held golden bowls full of Grana, the precious green salt. It was the gift of Isarie and far more valuable than all the gold and silver trinkets that adorned their bodies.
When the chanting reached a fever pitch, the King raised his hand and the young warrior began his punishment. With his head held high he took a step and was immediately struck with the Rimar skin whips of the first warriors. They bit into his flesh and left bloody marks that were even more painful because of the Rockworm venom. Thorm grit his teeth and took another step, again whips struck him and more marks appeared on his flesh. He did not fall and continued to walk the gauntlet.
As all this was being done, the people of the Madrigal continued to cry out, “Korath Enargo” as loud as they could scream. They pounded their feet upon the ground too. The Elders lifted the Ancestor-chests to the heavens and yelled as loudly as anyone, the mothers and fathers did the same, the only ones who did not cry out were the young. This was strange, for being children they should have been caught up in the frenzy of their parent’s excitement, instead they stood like statues. No screams came from their small mouths.
Andra stood silent by Arn's side, her mind began to cry out; this is not punishment, this is torture; she thought, it took all of her will to hold her tongue and not speak her mind.
There were others watching the ritual and they did not remain silent. Although Osh and Endo could see not very well, the tribe was now raising their han
ds over their heads as they chanted, making it very difficult to see what was happening.
“Can you see what is going on?” the old man asked of his son.
The Sandjar boy shook his head, “no father, I cannot”.
In desperation the Callaxion looked about him, then smiled when he saw the fallen statue laying nearby, “come with me” he said. He then moved to the large stone carving. As he approached Osh noticed the strange carvings and intricate details covering the stones at the base of the monument. Like everything of interest he stored it away in his mind, knowing he could retrieve the information at a future date.
Now with the help of his son the Callaxion managed to climb up and stand high enough, to see quite clearly. “Yes, yes this is much better now,” he said. He began to watch all that was taking place intently.
There was much to see for the young man was only halfway down the corridor of warriors, although his back was bloody and torn he did not fall.
This made the King hopeful; he is strong; he thought; perhaps he will survive.
Seeing that the warrior was still standing, made the tribe shout out “Korath Enargo” even louder, the chant echoed throughout the oasis and into the nearby open lands. The Whiptails could smell blood now so they tugged against their tie downs and roared. The Spikebacks heard the roaring and joined in the chorus of bellowing Thundra beasts. With the air filled with chanting and roars, Andra watched as the young man fell to his knees.
It is over now; she thought; he is down; she was mistaken, the warriors continued to strike the fallen warrior and the chanting did not stop. She looked at Arn, and spoke quietly, so no others could hear. “You must stop this” she said softly, there was no reply from the Nomad. He simply stood stoic with his head high, his face showing no emotion.
Why doesn’t he stop this? She asked herself; what kind of man did I give my love too? Andra turned back to see the young man slowly rise to his feet. With halting steps he walked the last few paces of the gauntlet. The warriors no longer struck him, the chanting ceased and the air was calm.
Egmar had watched all this with the Handmaidens by her side. In the past seeing a young man hurt so badly would have brought tears to her eyes and she would have rushed to his side and offered whatever she could to ease his pain. There were no tears in her eyes, being the High Priestess, she should guard her feelings, and not let the laws of the tribe dictate her actions. lt was not the case, her heart felt no pity.
Why do I not cry; she asked herself; has my heart become stone? It was a question, she could not answer, and before she could ask another, the air was filled with the blast of signal horns once again.
Arn nodded his head and two strong warriors came forward and lifted the bloodied warrior up and carried him away. They would take him to the tent of the Touchtenders, there he would be cared for, seeing this made Andra content.
Thank the Gods it’s over; the thought of not having to witness more of such cruelty, made her sigh with relief. She waited for Arn to say, the ritual was over, it was not to be, she saw him raise his hand once more.
“Bring the woman forward” he said loudly.
She watched as a young and attractive woman was led to the gauntlet of warriors, then made to stand looking at the king. Once more Arn spoke so that all could hear, “this woman laid with a warrior, knowing he should have been at his post, for this she will be punished”.
The Off-Worlder gazed in horror as the woman was stripped of her robe, her hands tied behind her back. No! She thought; they’re not going to do the same to her as they did with the man? She did not want to believe such a thing could be possible, when she saw the woman's eyes being bound, she knew they intended to make her suffer the same fate.
All of this was not lost on the old man. From his vantage point he saw the young man being beaten then carried away. Although he was a Callaxion and should have been above such things, he could not help but feel pity for the warrior. He also knew, it was the way of the Nomads and a part of their culture. Gorn is a hard world and hard laws must be followed to survive. It was an intelligent statement worthy of an advanced race like the Callaxions, The old man feelings still cut deep into his heart.
Endo had different thoughts on the matter, he had seen and done much worse in his young life. Sandjars had to be tough, they were scavengers and at the mercy of most of the creatures of the Outlands. My people would have killed him and his body divided amongst the tribe; he told himself, there was the smell of blood.
The olfactory senses of a Sandjar were very acute, they could smell death from a great distance and even though he had been raised by humans, he still had to fight against the urge, to feast upon the wounded Nomad.
The signal horns sounded once more and the ritual of Korath Enargo continued. This time it was something, the Selcarie woman could not witness. As the first sign of blood showed on the helpless woman's back, Andra clutched her mate's arm. “Stop this” she said, “stop this now!” There was no reply, “you can’t let this go on”, she pleaded, again no answer from the King. So she gripped his arm tighter, “stop it, stop it!”
At last the King looked into her eyes. “Do not speak!” he commanded.
The air filled with chants of “Korath Enargo” and there was more stamping of feet and clapping of hands. The warriors struck the back of the helpless woman but she managed to keep on her feet. She screamed in pain and her fingernails bit into the palms of her hands until blood flowed, still she continued to walk the path of pain.
Please Gods do not let her fall; Andra prayed. The Gods did not hear her for as she watched the young women fall to the ground and continued to be struck by the whips of the Nomads. She screamed as the venom of the Rockworm, did its work, flowing through her veins, like the hot metal of the Ironworkers.
Andra couldn’t take anymore; stop it, I must stop this; before she could hold her words she shouted out.
“STOP IT!”
Suddenly all was silent as the people of the Outlands ceased their chanting and beating of drums. They looked at the woman who was the mate of their King and waited.
There were tears in Andra’s eyes as she looked over the faces of her adopted tribe.
“What’s the matter with you people, can’t you see she is hurt, why don’t you...” before she could speak further the King touched her arm and spoke to his people. “The punishment is done” he said loudly then watched as two warriors came to the fallen woman and looked into her face.
After a moment one of them spoke to their leader, “she is dead my lord” he said.
Hearing those words forced Andra to turn away from her mate and leave the ritual known as the Path of Pain.
Arn wanted to run after her but he was the King and being so he had to remain until the ceremony was finished, “take the body away” he told the warriors, “prepare it for burial”.
There was only silence as they lifted her up and carried her away.
Egmar watched her lifeless body being taken to her tent, she still could not cry; why do I not hurt, as she must have? She asked herself; have the scars on my body reached into my heart? There was no time for more questions for now it was her time to speak. She moved forward so all could see her and spoke in a voice so all could hear.
“The ritual of Korath Enargo is the law of the Madrigal, there are other laws greater than ours”. She gestured to Kela, who was standing near her with a golden bowl filled with Grana, the gift of the Gods. The Handmaiden came forward and offered the bowl to her Holy Mother. Egmar spoke again, “let us now receive the gift of the Goddess and give thanks for her love”, she took a small portion of the green salt and put it to her lips.
“Togasttra emo entralac, give us your strength”, she said, then put the crystals into her mouth.
The gift of Isarie filled her body and she prayed to herself; the Goddess is merciful; she thought, then something crossed her mind; why did she punish me? These words in her mind, had never been there before, with them came the rattling soun
ds of the darkness. Her thoughts, were broken by the words from the tribe.
“Togasttra emo entralac, give us your strength”, they called out, and took the green crystals into their mouths.
Egmar raised her hand once more, “the Goddess is content”. She looked at her son.
Arn also raised his hand, “the Korath Enargo is finished”.
With those words the Path of Pain ended.
As the tribe walked away a warrior suddenly noticed Osh standing on the head of the War God, “valcoush, sacrilege!” He cried out, “he dishonors the Gods!”
Others of the tribe, turned to see the old man, and the shame that he was bringing on the tribe.
“He has offended the Gods,” cried out an Elder.
“Atos will punish us!” Said another.
“We are doomed!” Shouted a warrior.
The words, were taken up by the tribe, for the Gods were not to be offended. To do so would bring destruction upon them and their entire world. With screams of revenge they moved towards the Callaxion and the young Sandjar.
Osh saw the angry Outlanders coming for him and he quickly got down from the broken statue. He tried to explain his misconduct, “it was not my intentions to desecrate an image of a God. If I had known the carving was of great significance, I would have made other arrangements to view the ritual, please accept my apologies”.
His words fell on deaf ears and the Nomads continued shouting.
Endo knew the look of hatred, he had seen it on the faces of the Nomads every day of his life and he knew, they wanted to hurt them. He also knew, a single Sandjar and an old man, was hardly a match for the vengeance of the tribe. Still he would try to save himself and his father from death. As they gathered around them, shouting, Endo braced his feet and lifted his clawed hands ready to strike.
“Kill the Sandjar”, one Nomad shouted.
“Destroy them both,” yelled another.
Then the attack began.
The old man tried to defend himself but it was useless. He fell to the ground and felt strong fists battering him, kicks from booted feet made him grunt.
Endo did better, with his sharp claws, he managed to keep from being overwhelmed and inflicted several deep cuts, to the arms and bodies of those who attacked him. A lone Sandjar was hardly a match for one Nomad let alone a whole tribe. Soon he too went down under a wave of shouting warriors.
They would have died there and then, if a voice had not called out. “LET THEM BE!”
Hearing the command, the warriors stopped their attack and moved back from the bloodied old Callaxion and the Sandjar.
Arn the King had come to their rescue, beside him stood Kuno and a small group of warriors. They held war-axes in their hands and formed a circle around the old man and the scavenger. It took only a moment for the shouting to stop.
“They are not to be harmed,” the King said in a loud voice, “now go!”
There was grumbling by many of the Nomads, but the word of the King was obeyed and the people of the Outlands walked slowly away from the statue with their hatred.
Arn turned to the warriors standing with him, “take them to their tent and summon the Touchtenders”.
His was obeyed, Endo and the old man were taken away.
When all were gone, except the King and the Captain of the Spikebacks, Kuno spoke, “Atos is a vengeful God, he will not forget”
The King said nothing, and there were no more words as they left, the fallen statue of the war God.
When Sunbirth came, the Madrigal gathered together to bury the young lovers, who had walked the path of pain.
The Anarish Noc-Ator had not killed the warrior known as Thorm, but when he awoke, to find the woman who had opened her tent and her arms to him, had died. This was something his heart could not forgive. So taking his dragons teeth, the two daggers carried by all Nomads, he drove one into his chest and took his own life.
His body was washed and dressed in his armor. His Journey-Nail, the small golden spike, always hung around the neck of warrior, was driven into his fist to hold the handle of his war-ax. Now, he would have it to defend against demons in the Afterlife, and it would be with him in the Golden Hall of Isarie.
The woman known as Teal was also washed in scented water, then dressed in a fine robe of white, her hair was braided and fixed with ivory and silver stays. Around her slim neck was placed a colorful necklace of ocean shells and Sagar teeth. Because she loved the taste of Meadow cane, a large stock was put into one hand.
A grave was dug and their bodies lowered into it, side by side, their hands were placed into each others, so they might walk together in the Afterlife. Beside them was a freshly baked loaf of Kasha bread and two full cups of well-aged Po. When all was done, they were covered with earth, and the song of remembrance sung for their passing.
In all the days of the future we will see your face.
In all the nights of our dreams we will touch your hand.
In the winds of the sky we will hear your name.
In the ground of the earth we will feel your love.
When we die we will listen to our children.
Sing the song of remembrance to us.
Later that night Egmar sat alone in her tent, before her was the Great Book of Isarie,
In the dim light of a brazier she could see the gold and silver inlay of the cover. On its front the sacred emblem of the Outlanders, two Great Suns intertwined. She looked at it for a time, thinking of all the names that had been inscribed on its ancient pages. All the lives that had been lived, then when they were finished, they would continue to live in the writings of the Holy Book. She opened the inlaid Rimar skin cover, and turned the worn pages to the section that held the names of those who had passed into the Afterlife. She went down the names slowly until she came to her daughter.
Seeda; she thought; you were the laughter in my heart, and now that laughter is gone.
Then she saw the name of her son; Agart, you were the strength in my soul, now I grow weak.
Seeing the names brought pain to her, she pictured them sitting at the right hand of the Goddess and with them was her mate Karn; wait for me my love; she prayed.
She thought of the two young Nomads who had died that day. They were not great warriors nor had they exalted themselves in the eyes of the Gods. Because they had followed their hearts instead of their minds, their names were written in the Book of Isarie, so all would know and understand their eternal love.