Chapter 19. The Talk-Stone
Let all come and speak from their hearts.
Let no one hold a weapon or speak a lie.
For the Talk-stone is the ear of Isarie.
And she will listen and know the truth.
The Laws of the Almadra.
By nightfall all the Almadra tents were up and their Washa fires were burning brightly. Since they were now safe in their own lands, they built a huge fire, around which all the tribes of the Nomads could gather. The flames shot high into the night sky, proclaiming to all that the Outlanders had come for a Gathering.
The air was filled with singing and the smell of hot Hagar soup. It was a very warm night but still they ate with gusto, large legs of choicest Rimar meat, cooked slowly over glowing fire pits. Barrels of well-aged Po, were drunk by thirsty warriors. Sometimes fights broke out but they were friendly for the most part, just ways of letting off pent-up aggression and testing their strength. The warriors were forbidden, to carry their axes, which was a good thing. Often, a drunken warrior, would reach for his weapon, only find it missing.
They still carried their Dragons-teeth and less serious injuries were plentiful, as they settled long-standing feuds, or argued over a mate. It was not just the male warriors, their female counterparts too, would fight over potential mates, or take offense at some remark or other. Despite the fighting and injuries, it was a joyous time for the Nomads, a time of plenty and a time of tradition.
Andra had placed her wagon, next to the King’s as ordered. She ignored the looks of disappointment, from the Elders and unflattering remarks, whispered but loud enough to be heard. The Off-Worlder, started up the fire in their Washa but she left the cooking to Osh. It was much better that way, one taste of her cooking and the old man took an oath never let her near a pot again.
While Osh was stirring the cooking pot, she changed into a clean robe, washed her hair and put a silver pin into it, mimicking the hairstyles of the Nomad women. Then Andra sat on a bread barrel, watching the Nomads, in their activities.
“It is almost ready,” said Osh, as he took a sip of the warm nourishing soup. After tasting the thick liquid, he shook his large head, “It needs a bit more Ulon spice.” He picked up a small bowl and dropped two pinches of red spice into the soup, he tasted it once more, “Yes that's much better, care for some?”
Andra shook her head, “Not right now.”
The old Callaxion continued to stir, “If someone told me, someday I wouldd be stirring a pot of Nomad soup, I'd have said they were mad. Yet here I am, cooking like a farm wife and enjoying it. I told you the Gods had plans for us.”
“The Gods want you to make soup?” There was a chuckle in her voice; I doubt the Gods are cooks. “I can’t see how, it would make any difference to anything.”
“Well, there are infinite possibilities, of cause and effect, for instance, from stirring a pot of soup, you could…”
“Are all ciphers as annoying as you?” she smiled, as she looked at the old man.
He could see, she was not interested in his knowledge, of cause and effect, “ I will have you know, Callaxions, are one of the most respected species in the galaxy. We've been in control, of some of the greatest Datacoms ever created.”
“Yes but there are no Datacoms here,” she replied.
The old man smiled back at her, “That is why I am making the soup!”
Andra watched the old man stirring the soup, “Will you be going to the Gathering?” she asked.
“No,” he replied, “You can tell me about it later.”
There was nothing, Osh would have liked to do more. There would be a lot of valuable information on the Nomad's social structure. He was however, very reluctant to leave Endo on his own. Osh was about to take another sip of his concoction, when Endo jumped out of the wagon and came over to the old man.
“Food?” he asked, pointing at the cooking pot, with a small clawed hand, “Good food?”
Andra looked around her quickly, “You'd better keep him in the wagon, I don’t think its wise, to have him running around.” Even as she'd finished speaking, two large warriors passed their wagon, they both took a long hard look at the little Sandjar.
“Perhaps you are right.” Osh took Endo by the hand and led him into their tent, pitched beside their wagon. Looking at him, he said, “I think it would be better, if you stayed in the tent, do you understand?”
The Sandjar cocked his head to one side, “Inside?” he asked.
“Yes, inside, I will bring food inside, very soon.”
Endo returned his gaze, “Food inside, good,” then he scampered quickly into the tent.
The old man went to the cooking pot, “I never saw anything, eat like he does.” He used a large ladle to fill some clay bowls with hot soup, then he headed for the tent. Just as he was about to enter it, he turned back to Andra, “Eat what you want but do not, do anything to the soup!” he went inside the tent and closed the flap.
Andra grumbled under her breath, “I’m not that bad a cook.” She looked across at the King's richly decorated tent, two armored warriors stood guard.
Above the tent was a large flag flying proudly, embossed with a symbol, a silver spider against a black background, the insignia of the Almadra. This flag, had flown over many battlefields and was well known to all Outlanders. Many Almadra had died, fighting for the flag bearing that insignia, they would continue to fight for it, as long as they drew breath.
The Whiptails and the tribe's other beasts, were let free, to roam the Greenland’s. They had been trained, to return when the signal horns sounded. They might lose a few to predators but it was the best thing to do, it was mating time and no one stood in the way of a Whiptail on heat.
As Andra stood watching the King's tent, she could feel something in the air. The air is warm tonight; she thought. It feels nice on my skin; she ran her hands over her arms, then up the sides of her body; so nice. Osh spoke of the mating time, when the Nomads choose a husband or wive. He said the time would be here very soon, maybe it was now. She touched her face; mating time, strong arms around my body, Arn, schoolgirl! She pulled her hands away from her face and paced back and forth; she was being silly, why would a King be interested in a defeated soldier?
She scolded herself for acting so foolishly, then poured herself a bowl of Hagar soup and tasted it; not bad, not bad at all, Osh is annoying but he does make wonderful soup. She took several mouthfuls, of the tasty concoction, then she saw Arn, emerging from his tent.
He was dressed in his finest armor, the skin of a Sagar Cat was draped over one shoulder. His long hair, was tied back by a silver cord and he wore two golden bracelets around each wrist. Beside him, was Agart, dressed much the same but without the cat skin. They stood before the tent talking.
Agart adjusted the colorful cat skin on his brother's shoulder, “Remember, you are not a protected Prince anymore, you are a King and leader of the strongest tribe of the Nomads, now act like one.”
Arn adjusted the Dragon’s teeth at his belt, “You worry too much,”
“You do not worry enough! Remember what I told you and above all, do not call Kadar, Lostlimb, he's bad enough when he's drinking and doesn't need pushing further.”
They walked away from their tent, when Arn noticed Andra, standing by her fire, he stopped, “Wait here,” he said, then he walked over to the Off-Worlder.
Agart watched his brother, going over to the Half-Soul; my brother has feeling for this woman, she is taking my place; he thought.
As the King walked towards her, Andra quickly put down her bowl of soup. Is he coming over here? What does he want? I am a schoolgirl! She tried to act as if she was looking for something.
“How is the soup?” asked the King.
Andra gave him a little smile, “ I think it's good,” she picked up her bowl and held it out to him, “Would you like to try some?”
Without a word, the King took the bowl and had a taste of the thick soup. He smiled, “You
r cooking has improved I see,” he took another spoonful, swallowed then looked at her, “A bit too much Ulon spice but very good.”
Andra gave a slight smile, “You're right, it does have too much spice, next time I’ll use less.” I'll tell Osh to cut down on the spice.
Arn put the bowl down, “I need a good warrior, to guard me around the Talk-stone, come when you are ready.”
Andra watched him leave, thinking; Talk-stone? What is a Talk-stone? I must find out, after all, a woman who can cook, could certainly find out what a Talk-stone was! She went over to their wagon and lifted the flap, to see Osh sitting beside the Sandjar, “What is a Talk-stone?” she asked. Before the old man could reply, she asked another question, “And where is my armor?”
Agart had been looking for Seeda, to tell her, she should be beside the King, at the Talk-stone. She must not be missing from the Meeting of the King’s. Seeda’s tent was near to the King's tent but being beyond the light from the surrounding fires, it was in darkness. She wasn't inside either, she hadn't been seen, since the setting of the suns.
Seeda and Almec, were some distance from the Eye of Isarie, they had been walking across the green land and finally they sat, near a small pool of clear water. They were wearing their best armor and carrying their war-axes, it was dangerous, to be away from the wagons at night but they wanted to be alone.
The night was warm and clear, above them, their world's moons, moved across the sky. In the distance they could hear the tribes singing, mixed with the cries of the mating Whiptails and buzzing Blaze-Ants, inside their mud towers.
Seeda looked up at the night sky, “It's cold,” she said, pulling a thick Hagar fur, over her shoulders, “I don't remember it being this cold, at this time of the cycle.”
“Perhaps it's a wind from the North?” Almec said with a smile; there is no wind but do not start an argument. He moved closer to his love and put his arm around her, “Is that better?”
Seeda pulled his arm from her shoulder, “I'm not a Frail-leg and I do not need your body warmth!” Still, I am cold!
They did not speak for some time, they sat listening to the distant cries, a loud roar from a Whiptail, broke the air. Seeda looked over, “Do you think Whiptails fall in love?”
Almec had never thought about that before; Whiptails, why is she asking about Whiptails? He tried to think of an answer, “they only mate once in a cycle, I do not know, if they yearn for their mates, the rest of the time.”
Seeda thought this over for a moment or two, “We've made love but we are not mated.”
The young warrior wasn't ready for a comment like that. He tried to think of something that would make it sound like he did, “I have not brought you food and you have not filled my bowl, in the eyes of the tribe we are not mated.” He looked up at the night sky, “Isarie sees all and in her eyes we are one.”
Seeda started to mumble under her breath, it was not an angry grumbling, she was thinking up a suitable reply. It went on for a time, then at last she said, “If you think I will serve you, before the tribe like a Handmaiden, you are a fool!”
Hearing this insult, made Almec very angry. He suddenly stood up, holding his ax tightly, “Was I foolish to lay with you, was I foolish to stay with you, when you broke our tribe's laws?” He shook his weapon in her face, “I must be a fool, to think you would ever be mated to me!”
Seeda jumped to her feet too and held her ax, as if she was ready to battle, “Why would I want to mate with you, you are nothing but a weak backed little Rock-runner!”
“Mating with a Whiptail, would be far better than with you!” he screamed back, then he swung his ax.
Seeda blocked his attack and their axes sparked in the air. She swirled around and aimed a blow at his head, he ducked just in time. He moved backwards and they stood glaring at each other, her eyes flashing with battle frenzy.
“I will kill you!” she screamed.
They remained looking at each other for some time, both ready to fight, both ready to die if need be.
Almec lowered his weapon, “I was a fool yes but even a fool can learn.” He turned and walked away.
Seeda watched him go; let him walk away, I wear no mating rings. She heard the mating cries of the Whiptails and looked up at the little moon called Eka; so small? Was it larger when I was young? Mother would sing to me of Eka
The words echoed in her mind then she began to sing softly.
Little moon, little moon, so high and far away,
Moving through the silent sky till Isarie brings the day,
Little moon, little moon, please sing to me of night,
I see your face and sing your song till morning brings the light.
She stood looking up at the night sky, a warm wind softly blew across the open fields, it made the Blaze-ants murmur inside their earthen towers but to Seeda it felt very cold.
The Thungodra, stood to attention around the High Priestess' Holy wagon, even with a truce in effect, it was still their duty to protect Obec. They also knew, the Holy Woman would not, forgive any error in protocol. Therefore, they were watchful of each and every person, who came near the wagon, ready to fight if called upon.
Anais would rather have stayed in Soffca's tent but the King insisted, he was present at the Talk-stone. He felt uncomfortable in ceremonial armor but it was tradition, he must sit beside his brother, so all could see, the Almadra were strong.
Soffca’s tent was small and had been sparsely furnished but now it was well decorated. Anais had given orders, for it to be made more comfortable. A large sleeping mattress, filled with the best Doff-Bird feathers, which made it, very comfortable, was moved in. Also a large wash basin and several chests, filled with clothing and jewelry. They had their own table for eating with chairs. Their food was served on the finest gold plates and silver goblets for their Po, it was a tent fit for a Prince, rather than a Handmaiden of Isarie.
Anais pulled his arm brace on and looked over at Soffca, who was helping him to get dressed. She was naked and in the soft firelight, her skin seemed to glow like cave crystal.
“I wish this was funeral armor, I would be very happy, if my brother, was being laid in his tomb.” I will live to see the day! He pulled the other arm brace on and stood looking at himself, in a large reflecting plate. “This useless, Meeting of the Kings, all they will do is talk, talk, talk, endless words of lies and deceit, I am sick of hearing words!”
Soffca just looked at him, she said nothing, the Prince took her into his arms. “That is why I love you, we have no need for words,” then he kissed her, she kissed him back, then they parted, “When I am listening to their lies, I will think of you.” Another deep kiss.
He stood back, to look at her, then he started pulling his armor off, “No, I will not go, let them scream all they want, I am not a slave to be summoned and told what to do!” He threw his helmet across the tent, where it clanged against a statue of Isarie, “Let my brother have his say, someday his voice will be silent and I will speak instead!” He pulled the last of his armor off and laid down on the soft sleeping bed. He looked at Soffca; let them scream, she is so beautiful.
Soffca could see his eyes, filling with lust, she came to him and laid beside him, she began to kiss him.
Anais held her close; is there, love in her heart for me?
The Handmaiden ran her hands over his body, she kissed him hard, again and again.
Does she love me?
Soffca continued to kiss him, then she heard the ring of a soft bell, she stopped and looked at him with gentle eyes, “I must go.” Before the young Prince could do anything, she rose and naked still, she left.
“Where are you going, come back!” Anais called but his words had no effect, she did not return. The Prince did not know what to do, he became very angry; dam all Gods! Someday I will be King and I will cast out the Gods; he thought to himself. His rage softened; there are no Gods! Tales to frighten little children, let them pray, it does not matter, let them pray. He closed
his eyes and filled his head with visions of Gods bowing before him.
Outside the tent, Soffca could hear the measured ringing of the prayer bells. She paused for a moment, then walked into the night. She could hear singing and laughter, from the many tents around her but she did not listen, she only heard the bells, calling the righteous to worship. She walked slowly to the High Priestess' dwelling, as she approached the Thungodra guards, they lowered their weapons and let her pass.
Inside the large tent, the air was filled with incense and the sounds of chanting and small bells, rung by the Handmaidens. She walked towards the magnificent Altar of Isarie, it was surrounded by baskets of fresh fruit and freshly picked field flowers. The well carved face of the Goddess, shone warmly in the flickering firelight. Soffca came before the Goddess and bowed her head in reverence.
Naked, she stood before the statue and lifted her slim white arms skyward, then she spoke in a low solemn voice, “Forgive me Isarie, I am the servant of your heart, forgive me.” She said a prayer in the old language, none but the Handmaids of Isarie, could understand its meaning. Soffca was asking the Goddess of the Heavens, to grant her mercy and strength for the days ahead.
Some distance from the Priestess' tent, stood the Frail-leg's wagons, they were placed in a safe and quiet section of the camp, where they could be attended. They ate quietly, then they sat looking up at the night sky, all the while, Touch-tenders comforted them and listened to them singing softly.
They sang songs of the old times and of companions long dead but it was not a sad time, they smiled as they sang and now and then, spoke to the family members who visited them. Their words had little meaning, when spoken to, they did not answer, they just smiled and looked upwards.
The Nomad's Great Longhouse, was filled with the best warriors from the many tribes. They feasted and drank deeply, they sang the ancient warrior songs. The air was heavy with oily smoke, from the fire pits, now roasting huge legs of Rimar meat. The smoke hung like a cloud over everyone and it stained the carved wooden rafters, covering the structure. The roof beams, were in the shape of mystical dragons and creatures of night dreams. The walls were painted with the stories, of long dead warrior hero’s, it showed them defeating demons of earth and sky.
In the center of the hall, was a stone circle, in the middle was a large black rock, the Talking Stone. The stone was round and carved with intricate mystic designs, from the Before Time. Here the King’s, Elders and warriors, would meet, to speak their mind, on any subject and no matter what was said, they were not to be physically attacked.
This was the one place in all Gorn, where a warrior could insult another and they would not be challenged to combat. It was a way, for the Outlanders, to say what they truly believed, it was a safe place.
Around the stone, were seating places for the tribes, each tribe had their own stone marker and a flag, bearing their insignia. Arn and the other Kings would talk here.
Arn and Agart stood near the talking stone, with them, were several large Almadra warriors.
Arn looked around the hall, “Where is Seeda? She should be here by now.”
“I have sent for her, she will come,” Agart replied; my brother is worried that she will not come, why?
“Is there something, you are not telling me brother?” Arn studied his brother’s expression, he knew Agart was holding something back, “Is there anything?”
Agart smiled, “No nothing, she is fixing her hair, you know how she likes to show off.” He knows I am lying but he will not challenge me.
Arn laughed a little, “Yes I do, I wonder why women care so much about their hair?”
His brother laughed back, “Because we do!”
They laughed together, then the King looked around again, “Is the Queen comfortable?”
“Yes, I ordered the Touch-tenders, to see to her needs.”
The King smiled, “They will be kept busy,” then his face became more serious, “Where is our little brother?”
Agart shook his head, “Let him be, he is talking to the Gods.”
Arn gave a chuckle, “Good, let the Gods listen to his complaints,” he watched his brother smile.
“That is why they are Gods, they have infinite patience.”
They both clinked their drinking horns then drank deeply, then the King's smile turned serious, “Do you think our father is watching now?”
Agart put his hand on his brother shoulder, “He sits on the right side of Isarie, he is satisfied.” The Gods are all powerful and they know our hearts...I will help my brother.
He was just about to say something, when he saw Andra coming into the Great Hall. She looked every inch the warrior, her armor shone in the firelight and she had painted her face, in the manner suited to the occasion.
Andra felt a bit uncomfortable in the armor and with her painted face; this is not the look of a Selcarie soldier! If Sargent Reynolds were here now, he'd call me a weak backed farm girl and make me run the obstacle course, until sunrise; She told herself. She looked around at the warriors and the tall stone columns; my home world no longer exits and Reynolds died in the Battle of Pagar Prime, am I alone? She stopped thinking about the past and turned to the present; Moonbud, the flower that kills.
She adjusted the Dragons-teeth around her waist and strode into the Great Hall, like a Whiptail among Rock-runners.
As she passed numerous warriors, she heard them muttering under their breath, she picked up a word or two, Half-Soul, Off-Worlder and others, she was sure they were insults. No one said anything to her face and she took that as a sign, she had some respect among the Outland's warriors.
Arn watched, as Andra walked towards him, she carried herself like a warrior and her hair was getting longer, in spite of himself, he had to smile, this did not go unnoticed by his brother.
Agart could see his brother watching the Half-Soul woman as she approached, his heart beating faster and decided it was better to leave, than sit with the Half-Soul. “I think I will see what is keeping Seeda,” then he got up and walked away, passing Andra as he did. She didn't look at him but walked over to the stone, next to Arn, before she could say anything the King spoke.
“Sit.” was all he said.
When Andra sat down, there was a grumbling from around the Talk-stone, they were not, happy about having an Off-Worlder sitting in a place, meant for a tribe leader.
Before anyone could speak, there was a beating of drums, the signal for the Gathering to begin and a great shout went up from the warriors.
A tall thin man with a red robe came forward, he was a Sun-Gazer, a Holy man, who had chosen to stare into the suns of Gorn, until he went blind. It was a way of showing his devotion to Isarie. Sun-Gazers believed, they would be rewarded in the next life, for their sacrifice. The Nomads treated them with great respect and called upon them to oversee the Gatherings and make judgments if needed.
The old man came forward and raised a long wooden spear, his voice was strong and clear, despite his age. “Here we meet, here we talk, here every mind shall have its say, let no one lift a weapon, let no one say an untruth, let the Gathering begin.”
Again there was a great shout, then the Nomad Kings, came forward and took their places around the dark stone.