The Gods of Garran: Chapter 23

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A novel by Meredith Skye

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Sindke led the group away from the city of Koshke, heading northeast towards Drealea. To the west and south lay the Desert of Desolation and none of them wanted to enter that wasteland.

Asta rode ahead to Sindke. "Where will we go?" Asta asked.

"I don't know," answered Sindke. "Where are the god-stones?"

Surely the woman didn't think Asta knew. Asta shook her head. "I don't know."

"Is it in the Hands of the Gods?" asked Sindke, meaning the mountain Asta had been to.

"No," Asta said, without stopping to think. She didn't know why she was so sure. Sindke smiled.

"We'll head for Hobset. Skirt the northern side of the Stony Dunes and avoid Rhashan. Once we get to Sonthhe, the Dead Knolls are to the south and the road there is less difficult."

Asta nodded. She'd never been this far out. All she knew of this land were the maps she'd memorized. Though being here in person was a different thing all together. It was hard to match up the map in her mind with what she saw in the desert. At best, she recognized only a few major landmarks on the horizon. And distances were hard to gauge.

As they traveled, Asta saw the tacha skulking about behind shrubs and rocks as they passed by. The small humanoids ran away in fear.

That evening they stopped for camp as it got dark. Molot's two cousins and Rouvidinn set up the camp. Molot began cooking. He was fond of food and had appointed himself as cook, for which Asta was glad. She liked Molot's cooking. Asta gathered that his skills as a fighter were not as great as his skill for talking.

Jarvaine, though a fighter, seemed richer than some of the others, like Molot. Instead of coarse, ragged cloth that many Garrans wore, he wore a leather vest and pants, some of it imprinted with the iconic head of a fanged sechule, poised to pounce. A pattern of purple and red trim decorated the leather's edges. Jarvaine must have more status in his clan, as he didn't offer to do any of the work. Instead he came over and spoke with Asta.

"How did you like Noloon?" he asked. "How did you find the weather there?"

"I have not been to Noloon in many years," countered Asta, "I have not thought of it much." Her heart beat quicker. He was testing her. This is what Asta had feared—someone who could prove her story false.

"I've heard that Chief Foknach has fallen ill. That's unfortunate."

Asta had no idea who was chief in Noloon as she had never been there before—and never really wanted to go. "My mother moved from there when I was young. I have no news of them."

Jarvaine studied her carefully. She hoped he wouldn't notice how Chanden some of her features were.

"Odd that you never go there. Surely you have family there?" asked Jarvaine. He was baiting her.

"None. They've all moved away. Don't tell me you find that odd?" she said. Noloon was very small and remote. It was no great place to be—she knew that much. Jarvaine grinned at this. Asta left him.

Molot, pleased when she turned up at the firepit, quickly launched into a long and complicated story about his brother's uncle's lost eke herd.

After dinner, Asta settled down to sleep. Jarvaine had stopped questioning her but she felt that he was not yet satisfied with her answers. She would have to be careful with him.

They were now northeast of the Eye of Innurlan. They had entered the Desert of Desolation in order to skirt the city of Drealea. Many Garrans lived there, but it was a Chanden outpost and the group was determined to avoid them, even if it meant entering Desolation. Sleep came slowly to Asta, as she had many things on her mind.

Asta knew that the Chandens hadn't been completely fair to the Garrans. There were laws to protect their culture and preserve their resources, fairly compensating them and so on. But Garran was remote and the world was not rich in any kind of resources. The population was small. It was not a world that many were concerned about. Therefore some reports failed to get filed and some abuses went on without reprimand. Then, there were Enforcers like Ruben, who bent the rules.

So the government on Garran continued with policies that favored the Chandens, fulfilled many requirements on a marginal level, and basically took quite a lot from the Garrans all while paying them a meager wage for their resources and for their labor.

After all, the Chanden had civilized them—brought them technology—and that was valuable. Asta had always believed that it evened out somehow. Now she wasn't so sure. She'd thought them to be savages but the more she got to know them, the more she realized that they were just poor, not necessarily savage. They had their own government and their own ways, which were not given the recognition that they perhaps deserved.

Asta had become an Enforcer because the pay was unusually good. These backward planets paid Chanden quite high in order to keep them from leaving for more civilized places. If Asta had wanted—she could have made some good money in illegal trade and bartering of seized goods, but that wasn't something she felt right about.

Slowly, Asta fell asleep but in her dreams she saw an old Garran city and heard the strange song again. She followed a strange man through the desert. He carried something important in a satchel across his shoulders, but she didn't know what. He stumbled through the desert sands. Determined to find out what he had, she followed him.

If only she could catch up to him, then perhaps the dream would become clear. She would gain an answer to the problem that plagued them.

All the while, the desert stretched endlessly in front of them.

The meaning of this mystery was on the tip of her mind. She went deeper into the dream—trudging after the man ....

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As she woke, Asta felt strangely chill as the wind blew across her shoulders. She had picked a spot out of the wind and wondered why the wind was blowing so hard that it could reach her. She woke in a sandstorm, for a moment disoriented. The others were nowhere to be seen, nor could she see her pack or the animals or the rock ledge she had slept under.

Asta stood up. She was wearing her cloak with her ooluk girded about her waist—but she had no memory of putting it there. It seemed to be full daylight, but sand and clouds blotted out the sun. Somehow, Asta had wandered away from the camp. This wasn't where she'd lain down. She called out to the others but got no response. The whole area was sandy, unlike the rocky place they had camped.

She panicked and began to run, in the direction she thought would take her back but after five minutes she stopped. There was no change in the terrain—only sand. Was she going the wrong way? She called out again and again—but there was no answer.

The sand swirled around her and she could scarcely see ten feet in front of her. She retraced her steps—at least she thought she did—and tried walking the opposite way, but again there was nothing but sand.

She stopped. Asta would have to wait until the storm passed. Traveling in this was futile. Surely the others would find her soon and probably think her silly. She looked around and found a small thicket of shrubs and climbed inside. They helped block the sand and wind a little. She found herself overwhelmingly tired and fell asleep. But this time she didn't dream.

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When Asta awoke again it was evening. She couldn't believe that she'd slept so long and that the others hadn't woken her. But the storm had mostly passed and she could see the terrain again. For miles, there was nothing but sand. The terrain had completely changed. Asta was miles from where they had camped.

She must have walked all night to get here! The dream of crossing the desert had been real! She had walked in her sleep—something she'd never done before. Then again, is that how she got from the middle of the mountain back to the front chamber ... at the Mountain of the Hands of the Gods?

This was too much. Asta walked to the edge of a ravine. She untied the ooluk and scabbard from her belt and threw it into the ravine. She would not allow this to happen to her. The sword wasn't worth ... whatever haunted her.

Asta walked back to her shelter. She had no idea what direction to go, so she decided to wait here, hoping that Sindke and the others would find her. She laid out her cloak on the ground and rested again.

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A sound woke Asta. Hours had passed.

She was no longer laying in the thicket of shrubs but on a ridge half a mile away. Her cloak rested on her shoulder and the ooluk lay by her side, as though it had never left. She must have sleep-walked into the ravine to get it.

She cursed.

Someone was approaching.

As Asta scanned the horizon, she saw two riders on yithhe. Quickly she found cover and waited as they approached. It was Molot and Sindke—searching for her, no doubt. Asta came out from the bushes and waved at them. They spurred their yithhe over to where she was.

"Asta!" said Molot. "What are you doing?" He seemed genuinely distressed.

She shook her head. "I don't know. I woke up this morning—out here."

They stared at her.

"I must have walked in my sleep. I don't understand it myself."

Sindke looked around at the vast empty desert and at the mountains to the east. "Find the others," she told Molot. He nodded and took off, with a worried glance at Asta.

Sindke dismounted and came over to her, noticing that Asta carried her sword and nothing else. She seemed quite calm about the incident. "You are all right?"

"Yes," said Asta.

"Where were you going?"

"I don't know," said Asta. "I had a dream that I was walking through the desert—looking for a man but I don't know why. It makes no sense."

Sindke nodded. They waited in silence until Molot brought the others, along with Asta's yithhe, back to where they were.

"It's not yet dark," said Sindke, "we will continue on for an hour and see if we can find shelter." She set her yithhe towards the southeast and began moving out. Hesitantly, the others followed.

"But Sindke," said Molot. "Why are you going southeast?"

"I don't know," she answered, "but I'd like to find out." She continued on the same course that Asta had walked the night before.

As the sun began to set, Rouvidinn, who was scouting ahead, returned. "There are riders ahead—coming across the Desert of Desolation."

"Who are they?" asked Sindke.

"The Red Sun Clan," he said.

The old woman nodded and continued towards them. She found a ravine and rode down it with the others following behind her. They rode out of sight, their movements hidden by the ravine. Then it widened and turned a corner. There, in front of them, stood a small, ragged group of hunters with swords held ready for a fight.

There were five that Asta could see. One looked wounded. Sindke stopped and the others stopped too, looking over the haggard people. They were not Red Sun Clan. Asta didn't recognize them. She thought they would attack but they only stood ready. They looked as though they had already lost a battle.

Sindke dismounted. "What are you doing here?" she asked. The others stared at her without answering. "You are pursued by the Red Sun Clan?" she asked.

From the side of the ravine, a man emerged from a rock. He was younger than some of the others. He came down towards them and stopped once he was on level ground.

Surprised, Asta recognized him from her dream.

"Who are you?" the man asked.

Sindke looked over at Asta, as if asking if this man was the one. Asta gave a little nod.

"I am Sindke—leader of the Clan Conclave."

"Why are you here?" he demanded, trying to sound brave, even though his voice wavered. He looked exhausted.

"We are looking for you—so it would seem," she said, cryptically.

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