A novel by Meredith Skye

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The city of Koshke hid snuggly built into the side of steep, red cliff walls. The erratic adobe buildings blended into the surrounding rocks, making the city hard to see from a distance, Asta noticed. Such above ground cities were rare among the Garrans who preferred to live in caves beneath the surface. The buildings were neither straight nor level, so everything had this tacked on, sloping look. Some segments were bigger, others smaller, all connected to each other in a big mass.

Asta followed Molot through the randomly placed structures towards a large round building, several stories high. This one held the Clan Conclave. Inside gathered people of all types: the red-haired men of the northeast; the brown-haired clans of the south, and the dark-haired plains people. Asta was surprised to see that there were quite a few women on the council. She had been afraid gender would be a problem, but it surprised her how open-minded the Garrans were.

What other assumptions had she made about the Garrans that were wrong?

Too bad they were so uncontrollable. They could almost work with these Garrans. Maybe they weren't all as primitive as she thought.

Molot escorted her inside. He smiled at her and introduced her to everyone he knew—and he seemed to know everyone.

To Asta, they looked like a ragged bunch—dressed in tattered desert clothes. Many men were unshaven with straggly, long hair. Many of them looked like they could use a bath, even the women. Everyone she met plied her with questions about her family and who she knew in Koshke. Asta relaxed once they began the meeting.

A woman named Sindke, one of the old tribal elders, stood and addressed the group. Her skin was wrinkled and her body shrunken with age, but her pale aqua eyes were bright and piercing. Her voice sounded stern, like an old mother, but authoritative. She was a person to be listened to.

"People of the Clans, hear me," she began. "A time of unrest has split our people, as though we had been wounded by a dagger. Some of the clans have taken it upon themselves to seek trouble with the Chanden invaders, attacking them."

This made Asta uncomfortable—as though somehow the Chanden had caused the problem.

"Before long, we may find ourselves at war with people who have come from the sky. We must decide what to do," the old woman said.

"They killed the gods!" shouted one gruff-looking man. Others joined into the conversation. The suggestions that came were diverse and disturbing.

"Burn a few of their buildings down, that will show them!"

"I say an eye for an eye," cried an old man.

A young woman stood, maybe a few years older than Asta, a short, freckled girl with reddish-yellow hair. She identified herself as Kresha of the Upper Steppe Clan. "I call for war! The atrocities of the Invaders has gone on long enough. We should all rise up as one against them!"

Asta had been warned about the Upper Steppe Clan and their general refusal to obey Chanden laws.

This brought a large shout of support from the crowd. Asta's heart beat faster, hoping the group didn't turn into a mob. However, she noticed that not all of the Garrans shouted in support of this.

The old woman raised her hand in a bid for silence. "This plan has been proposed before and rejected—for many reasons. You know this."

Another man stood. "I am Jarvaine of the Dark Cloud Clan." This tall warrior had a prouder look than some of the others. He wore a leather vest and leather pants, trimmed in red and purple. His shirt was finely woven, again in red and purple, perhaps the color of his clan. "I'm not one given to wild or hopeless ventures, as you know. But I have also run out of patience with the Chanden Invaders. This is our world. These are our lands—yet they take them from us whenever it suits them. They pass laws and punish us when we fail to obey them. Their rule is oppressive and it is wrong!"

Asta felt this was extreme. Chanden rule was hardly oppressive. The Garran's own ignorance and primitive living conditions were more oppressive than anything the Chanden had ever done to them. Yet, the Chanden had taken their lands and forced their laws upon the natives. But what else could they do? Otherwise, chaos would reign.

Another Garran stood. Rouvidinn of the Desert Wind Clan. "I agree. The Chanden are not welcome here. We should kill them all!"

This brought an eruption of shouting and chanting. Kill, kill. Arguments broke out. "Silence!" shouted Sindke, in a loud voice. It took a few minutes to calm the crowd down. "This must be discussed."

For an hour or so, they argued the possibilities, all the while Asta grew more and more uncomfortable. If they discovered her identity—they would kill her. She was sure of it. She had lied to them and sought to join their council, for Chanden purposes. She had an urge to get up and leave—not pursue this any further—but she had a duty. What would she do, go home and say she had sided with the Garrans? All the Chanden should all go home?

Asta knew it was nothing but nerves—she was just scared. This assignment was more dangerous than anything she'd ever done before. But she wanted to prove herself to Ruben and to the Agency—and to her father. She could make it on her own.

"There is another way," said Sindke, "an old way. Wake the gods and ask them for retribution."

Some of the older Garrans nodded. Yes. Asta liked this idea a lot better. Let the gods do it. She knew how strong Garran superstition was—that might pacify them and negate their own responsibility for action. Because if it came to a war, the Garrans would be massacred—again. As much as Asta detested the Garrans, she didn't want it to come to that. After all, the Garrans were here first, even if they were barbaric. As long as they could progress as a society, under the Chanden's guiding hand, then they would have hope as a people.

"It is known that the gods died," said Sindke, "but only a few knew that the gods stored their souls in god-stones so that one day they could be brought back among us, to help us."

God-stones?

To this, Asta listened intently.

"Who will go with me to find the god-stones—someone that the gods could trust," continued Sindke.

There was general assent, though no volunteers.

Asta felt she should act, volunteer somehow but she wasn't even a member yet. She didn't want to arouse any suspicion.

But to let this opportunity slip away was unthinkable. The god-stones. If nothing else, it would be an invaluable archeological find. But even more important was the belief that the Garrans had in it. What would happen if they found these stones and took it as a sign that the gods would help them destroy all the Chanden? That couldn't be allowed to happen. The Agency would deem this to be critical.

Then Molot stood. "I will go," he said. "I will help search for the god-stones."

Sindke nodded. "It will be difficult."

"Yes," said Molot. "And with me, I will bring the shaheak Te'jaste of Shing River Clan. She is god-touched. I have seen it." He sat down.

Asta stared, dumbfounded. Sindke's gaze fell on her. "Come here, child," she said.

She couldn't have asked for a more gracious and eloquent introduction and, even though it was just what she wanted, she could scarcely move for fear.

She felt conflicted. Was this right?

At last she stood and went over to the old woman, who studied her, looking into her eyes.

"She is not of the Clan Conclave," said Molot, "But I have brought her to you from Wanthe where she asked and the gods sent down the mountain waters again."

This brought some talk from among the others.

"And she has a holy ooluk—Jir'cata," continued Molot.

This impressed the crowd who looked with wonder at Asta.

"Show me the sword, child," said the old woman.

Asta feared showing it here in front of these people; they could take it from her. But something in the old woman's eyes compelled her to obey. She unsheathed the sword and held it aloft. The crowd hushed to silence.

"You have wielded this ooluk?" asked Sindke.

"Yes," said Asta.

"And you communed with the gods in Wanthe?"

"Yes," she said, and realized it might not be a lie.

The old woman studied her silently for a moment, then nodded. "Yes. She will do."

Asta put her sword away and went back to sit by Molot, who grinned, as he often did. Her heart pounded. She could scarcely believe that this had worked. She had gained entrance into the council, and would go on the quest for the god-stone. She felt a little self-satisfied as she imagined Ruben's reaction to this.

Surely the search for the god-stones lay at the heart of the rebellion and the Conclave's activities. Asta could learn everything, and obtain these god-stones for the Chanden.

Others volunteered but Asta scarcely noticed, caught up in her own thoughts. As she watched, in a bit of a daze, she thought she heard the music from the mountain off in the distance.

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In the morning, in the privacy of her own room, Asta used her radio to check in with the Agency and tell them of the god-stones. She did it silently using the code transmitter; the response back as in code. 'Go after the god-stones' came the message. 'Mission priority.'

So, the Agency agreed—the god-stones were valuable. And significant. The Garrans believed they contained the souls of the gods. If such an item got into the Garran's hands, and they believed they were blessed somehow, then a real war could ensue. If nothing else, the Chanden must prevent that kind of hysteria from breaking out and causing violence.

Asta hoped that this was right, though it felt dishonest, especially to use poor Molot this way, who stood up for her and whose tendency to endless talk had finally worked in her favor. Was it fair to Molot to betray them? Even if it were for their own good—they would hardly see it that way. But by stopping the rebellion, she would be saving lives, wouldn't she?

She pushed these doubts out of her mind and got ready to go.

Molot led her down again to the Clan Conclave hall. Molot and his cousins would all come on the trip, and for that Asta was glad. She'd gotten used to Molot and his company. At least she understood him. Some of these others—mindless barbarians some of them—she couldn't get along with at all.

On entering the hall, she was disappointed to see two of the rough looking men from yesterday—Jarvaine and Rouvidinn, who had called for the death of all Chanden. There was also a woman, Kodinn, who seemed a little more gentle. If the group was this wild, how would Asta ever hold her own, especially if it came to a fight?

"We will set out to find the god-stones," said Sindke. "I will lead this quest," she said. "Asta will be second. And Jarvaine third ... should we come to trouble." Her aqua eyes were clear and intelligent.

"Where will we find them?" asked Rouvidinn. "I've never heard that their location was known. And their existence was only a rumor."

"I don't know their location," said Sindke. At this, Rouvidinn and Jarvaine exchanged glances, as though doubting the whole mission. "However," said Sindke, "there was a place where the gods hid a map, showing the location of at least one of these stone—deep in a firecave near the Dry Sea between the Black Hills and the Dead Knolls. We will go there first. We set out today. Are there any questions?"

"How many god-stones are there?" asked Asta.

"This is not known," said Sindke. "When the Chanden they killed the gods. How many they killed before the god-stones were made to house the souls of the gods were not known. I believe there are at least three. We will be lucky to find one."

Asta nodded. The group looked solemn. No one else asked a question. "It will be the beginning of a new and wonderful age on Garran," said Sindke. "If the god-stones can be found."

Asta doubted that. But she felt sure that if anyone could lead them to the stone—the old woman could. As they began to leave the hall, the old woman beckoned Asta over, bidding the others leave, even Molot. They waited a moment as the others filed out, her expression patient.

She's on to me, Asta panicked. She fought to maintain her composure. The fear was irrational. But there was something about the lady and her piercing gaze that made Asta feel as though she could see right through her soul.

"Child," said Sindke. "Why do you want to find the god-stones?"

Asta stared at her, not sure what the right answer was—certainly not the truth. "For the sake of Garran," she said, not sure that it would satisfy her, but she felt that this, at least, was true.

For a long moment, the woman studied her and Asta was sure that she would see through the lie. Finally Sindke nodded. "Very well."

Asta breathed a sigh of relief. The wrinkled, old woman must not be as mystical as she looked, or Asta couldn't have fooled her. Asta left Sindke and headed out to get ready for the journey. 

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