Gods of Garran

The Gods of Garran: Chapter 7

A novel by Meredith Skye

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A torch lit the wall of the sleeping chamber where Norbi slept. He had hardly stirred in the few days since had been attacked by Chanden hunters. A broken arm and some broken ribs were not the worst of it—there was internal bleeding. Instead of recovering—the boy had worsened. 

Their father, Ashtan, bent over Norbi, examining him. Morrhan could feel the anger burning in his father. Ashtan had always hated the Chanden, but had never suffered an attack like this on one of his own children before—not that Morrhan knew of. Many things had happened twenty years ago during the Karther rebellion.

Finally, Ashtan left Norbi and strode from the room. Morrhan followed.

Ashtan wasn't a rash man but then, he wasn't prone to anger either. Morrhan wasn't sure what his father would do in the face of such an act by the Chanden.

And now many feared that Norbi wouldn't survive the attack.

Once they returned to the main hall, Ashtan turned and hit Morrhan full across the face, knocking Morrhan to the ground. "You fool! How could you have let him go? I left you in charge. You're useless!"

Ashtan walked over to the heat-well. The incident had caught the attention of all those in the hall. Embarrassed at the reprimand, Morrhan said nothing, but got back on his feet. He nearly pointed out that he had risked his own life to save Norbi—that he had taken on eleven Chanden and survived, but this wasn't the time for self-congratulations. His father was justifiably angry.

If Morrhan had watched Norbi better, then these things wouldn't have happened. Even going after Norbi and leaving the tsirvak could be considered irresponsible. Morrhan didn't want to bring up that subject.

Morrhan went to a nearby wall and sat on the floor in a small pile of furs. Ashtan paced for a while without speaking, his agitation growing. Finally he stopped. "I will not stand by and watch my children treated in this manner. We've suffered at the hands of the Chanden long enough! Perhaps I was wrong to turn down the Upper Steppe Clan when they asked for our help. Will we tolerate the Invaders indefinitely on our world? We should send them a message—that such things will not be tolerated by the clans!"

Channik, Ashtan's oldest and next in line as chieftain nodded, supportive of anything Ashtan did. He had always been Ashtan's favorite.

The others looked as surprised as Morrhan. This wasn't the Ashtan that they knew. Mirrhia and Derish, Morrhan's aunt and uncle, exchanged a glance.

"Ehrlinnt, you and your brothers will stay and guard the tsirvak," said Ashtan.

"Me?" argued Ehrlinnt, one of their better warriors; he was not pleased with "babysitting" duty.

"I'll stay," offered Morrhan.

His father glared at him. "No. You've stayed at home too much. I've turned you into a coward by coddling you. And I don't want any more incidents while I'm away." Ashtan strode from the room. Humiliated, Morrhan avoided the gaze of his brothers and sisters.

To Morrhan, this plan to attack the Chanden with the Upper Steppe Clan sounded crazy. Twenty years ago the Garrans had united to try such an uprising, hoping to reclaim their homeland—and they'd failed. The Chanden struck back, showing no mercy. Thousands died. After that, the Chanden sent even more Enforcers to patrol the deserts.

Morrhan had read more than one book on the wars between the Chanden and Garrans—all written by the Chanden of course. Garrans had only begun writing books (and only in the Chanden language) for the last 30 or 40 years.