Gods of Garran

The Gods of Garran: Chapter 10

A novel by Meredith Skye

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A hint of dawn stole across the red desert sands, waking the Sand Plain Clan from slumber.

As soon as Morrhan awoke, he remembered with a pang of regret that his sister, Crysethe, had followed without permission. Somehow he'd been blamed. He groaned and got up.

The group left the ravine and traveled across the Dry Sea. Sometimes in the spring this place filled with water, but now it was parched and dry-a source of salt for all the Garrans. But the place was a wasteland, where no one lived. The winds blew fiercely, discouraging both plants and animals from inhabiting the place.

To the east lay the White Sands of Vannith where mile of miles of sand dunes covered the land, choking out all other life. Water there was scarce.

Morrhan's thoughts were dark as they rode their yithhe through the desert sands. Crysethe rode up near Ashtan, favored by him despite her stupid stunt of following them. The others still avoided Morrhan, as though he were cursed. Speaking against Ashtan was not something members of the Sand Plain Clan usually dared. Dissension wasn't tolerated where leadership decisions were concerned. There could only be one leader. And no matter how crazy a plan Ashtan came up with, he was well-loved by all.

On the other hand, Morrhan was a puzzle to tribe. The warriors tolerated him, as many times his ideas turned out to be useful.

Morrhan knew he thought too much. At times he wondered about his own mother-was she truly of the Sand Plain Clan? In the past, whenever Morrhan had asked his father about her, all he would say was that she was dead, and then refuse to talk about it.

The Dry Sea stretched as far as the eye could see-a barren, flat, salty valley, devoid of variation. The morning stretched on as endlessly as the plains they traveled. They spoke little as they crossed it. The place had an eerie feel. Sometimes as Morrhan stared out at the white sands, he thought he saw it move, as if it was alive.

The sun was high in the sky, and still they had not stopped for lunch. They pressed onward through the white desert, traveling swiftly, as though pursued by some enemy.

Morrhan rode near the rear. His aunt and uncle, Mirrhia and Derish rode up further ahead of them. Two of his cousins, Rollech and Tylol, followed behind him. His cousins kept a nervous eye on the desert.

A sound alerted them and all three turned to the rear as something lunged at Rollech, knocking him off his mount. The creature's white fur matched the color of the landscape, making it nearly invisible. Some sort of wolf or dog. Morrhan drew his dagger. Another beast sprang up against Tylol and brought him down. Both Tylol and Rollech were fighting a losing battle against the slim, white dogs whose teeth tore at them.

"Attack!" yelled Morrhan, finding his voice. He looked behind him and saw a whole pack of the white-furred creatures, their white eyes a bare outline against their fur as they ran towards them.

Spurring his yithhe, Morrhan put some distance between him and the beasts. "We're being attacked!" he shouted again. He whirled and drew his bow. Soon he shot at one of the dogs on Rollech, dropping it. Now more beasts caught up and bounded past the two fallen comrades towards the group.

The other clan members had stopped and turned their yithhe to see what the trouble was. They seemed confused, looking for the enemy. The beasts' white fur made them difficult to spot and their name came back to Morrhan's memory-voltche, salt dogs. Deadly creatures.

Morrhan strung another arrow and shot, missing his target. "Help!" he cried.

Ashtan wasted no time but lunged his yithhe towards the rear as did those closest to him. A moment later, the rest of the clan sprang into action. Soon the dogs were everywhere and Morrhan struggled to get a clear shot. Quickly he rode over to Rollech and Tylol, who lay on the ground. The beasts had moved on to other battles.