Gods of Garran

The Gods of Garran: Chapter 25

A novel by Meredith Skye

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They traveled for days towards the northwest. Asta knew that the Chanden had settlements out there but she had never seen them. No usable roads led there; one had to go by air. Or by animal. Even the Garrans didn't visit there much. Few lived there. Many strange beasts inhabited that wild place—so many that no one had ever named them all.

Closer to the sea, the hills gave way to mountains. Trees replaced the spider-shrubs and the undergrowth grew tall and green. The ground became marshy. The storms came daily with a few breaks now and then. But the nearly constant rain brought forth rampant life in the form of animals, bugs and plants.

The Garrans never had been a boat-building culture and had superstitions about the dangers of traveling in the water. Small wonder—they had a superstition about everything. Perhaps some terrible sea-monster lurked beneath Garran's seas.

When Sindke had spoken of Traelak, Asta recognized the name: Traelak, the god of the sea. He was a feared god because to the Garrans the sea was full of myster and death. Perhaps it was their version of hell—containing all the souls that had done wrong in life.

As they traveled, Asta found it more and more difficult to make her reports to the Agency without being detected. Sindke missed nothing and always had Asta in sight, fussing over her. Somehow Sindke believed that Asta had a mystical power. The coincidence of finding the desert boy, Morrhan, with the map had convinced her. At least the map would lead them to these "god-stones." Or one of them, at least.

One morning as they journeyed, Asta got time alone to make a more lengthy report and mentioned the god-stones. The Agency was very anxious to have them—at all costs, saying that they must not fall into Garran hands.

Fighting had broken out all over Garran. Morrhan's clan had started it, and now the Chanden retaliated by issuing orders to kill any Garran insurgents. Many had died. Asta hoped this news wouldn't reach their group—the count of dead was mounting on both the Chanden and Garran sides. A war was brewing. If it came to that, martial law would force them to round up all the Garrans into camps—none of them could be trusted once they got riled up.

A similar confrontation had come about twenty years ago. The Garrans got upset at the Chanden. Instead of discussing things—they went out and killed Chanden citizens and sabotaged a factory in Karther. Shooting began at the factory, killing 25 Garrans. After that, the natives went crazy. They fought back at the Chanden in every city—attacking without adequate weapons. Throwing themselves at the Chanden until the streets ran with their blood. They killed a lot of Chanden, too, in wild random attacks on isolated towns—Asta's mother, Nona, among them.

Asta hoped it didn't come to that. Alone with these Garrans ... hundreds of miles from civilization—they'd kill her, if they found out who she was. Jarvaine would for sure. That one nourished a deep hatred in his heart for all Chanden. He always kept a close eye on Asta.

Morrhan, on the other hand, was innocent. It seemed impossible to anger him. Any contempt she felt for the Garrans washed over him like water. His large dark eyes were empty of the bitterness that so many Garrans harbored towards everything—their life, their plight, and their dead gods.

The boy was not as strong as the others, not a warrior, but the others respected him and followed him. Chief-right, she figured. It must be. Perhaps at the death of his father, Morrhan had become their leader. There was something reasonable about him—uncomfortably reasonable. She found very few Garran men attractive but something about Morrhan appealed to her. This alone annoyed her.