The Gods of Garran

by Meredith Skye

  "The home of the gods--the Sea of Glass, formed thousands of years ago in the time of legends."

  "My daughter is there?" asked Koethe.

  "Perhaps."

  They walked for hours in silence until they drew near to the sea. It looked like very still water, a trick of the eye. Finding a passageway down to the Sun Caves was easier than Moorhen had expected--they were everywhere.

  "How will we find her in all of this?" asked Koethe once they were below the sea. The Sun Caves extended for miles. There was a stale smell here. Even the animals wouldn’t come here.

  The air was dry and cool--free of the dust and sand from above. There were no proper walls, just sheets of crystal and stalactites and fantastic formations of glass some of which almost looked deliberate, like sculptures the gods had made with their own hands. Reflected light from above the Sea of Glass bounced off these fantastic shapes to light every part of the chamber in beautiful colors.

  "This cave, it seems to go on forever," said Koethe, in wonderment.

  "Keep silent, Outsider," said Moorhen. "This is sacred ground."

  "These crystals," said Koethe. "These are the kind that they mine in Rashan."

  "What of it?" demanded Moorhen. "Or do you think you can mine here too?"

  "I didn't say that," said Koethe.

  "You think that just because you have the power to take advantage of this planet's resources that they belong to you," said Moorhen. "That's not true. The world of Garran belongs to itself and it's not your possession nor are the things that live on it."

  "You're suggesting the world itself is alive?" laughed Koethe.

  "Yes," said Moorhen. "Every Garran child knows that." He was amazed that anyone could have an attitude as arrogant as these Chanden.

  Koethe fell silent, as though considering this. He followed Moorhen as they went deeper and deeper into the cave.

  "In the center," said Moorhen. "Towards the light."

  They picked their way through the maze of glass tunnels. He could see toward the center a gathering of light--that was where he hoped to find her. He knew that the penalty for this intrusion into the home of the gods could be death--but he was willing to risk it to save his people and bring the revenge on the Chanden.

  Finally Moorhen saw her standing in the center of light. Koethe saw her too. "There she is," he shouted and attempted to run. Moorhen quickly outpaced him and threw him to the ground, giving him a sound blow to the head for emphasis.

  "This is the home of the gods," Moorhen warned, keeping his voice low. "You think she knows you, but she may not. We'll approach with caution." Moorhen helped the man up who glared at him. Moorhen gave him a push forward and they continued walking.

  They found a path through the spider-web of glass and got into the main chamber where Asta stood on a platform surrounded by color. Even Koethe made no sudden moves, now awed by the sight of his daughter communing alone with the gods.

  Moorhen forced Koethe to kneel, then knelt himself. "Gods of Garran please hear me," said Moorhen, having no idea what to say. "I'm here to ask your aid in overcoming the forces arrayed against your people, led by this invader." Moorhen indicated Koethe, hoping that the gods fully possessed Asta and that she would not betray either the gods or the Garrans by favoring her own kind--and her own flesh and blood.

  Asta spared Moorhen a glance. Her gaze was, as always, cold and unreadable. She said nothing but continued to move her hands, touching the various colored crystals in sequence. An odd melody drifted through the chamber, the product of her touch.

  Moorhen waited awhile. When she did not speak nor forbid him, he rose, dragging Koethe to his feet. Together they moved closer to Asta. He moved forward, watching her and wondering if she was even now preparing retribution on the enemy.

  But Moorhen had been careless of Koethe, leaving his back to him. Suddenly a blow to Moorhen's head sent him reeling to the ground. Koethe had broken lose--curse him! Moorhen had taken his weapon but not thought to search him for the Chanden keys. Moorhen tried to recover his footing but Koethe kicked him in the back. Moorhen lost his balance again and fell on his face.

  Anger burned within Moorhen that Koethe would dare commit an act of violence in the home of the gods. He whirled to face him, ready to ward off the next attack and found himself staring at the gun he had stolen earlier that day from Koethe.

  "Don't move," said Koethe. "I've had enough of you and don't think I won't use this!"

  "You have no right to speak, alien," spat Moorhen. "This is holy ground!"

  At this Koethe laughed, angering Moorhen even more.

  "You have taken our cities and killed our gods. We will be free of you. Even you cannot withstand their power--now that the Gods of Garran are awake!"

  "These offenses you speak of took place over a hundred years ago! Your people were nothing but barbarians plagued with disease and poverty. We tried to lift you up and civilize you--and you repay it with bloodshed! What did those people in Hobset do to you? Nothing! But you killed every man, woman and child!"

  It was true. This point Moorhen could not easily defend. He knew that Ashtan had been wrong to attack the humans. But still--they also had cause.

  "What choice do we have when Chanden can casually attack defenseless Garran children and beat them nearly to death? How many of our people have the Chanden carelessly killed without reason? Would you have killed me to silence me for my part in finding the godstone?"

  Koethe said nothing. Perhaps he had no defense against this accusation. "It doesn't matter. You've lost." He came forward and forced Moorhen to turn around and then cuffed Moorhen's hands behind his back.

  "Come on," said Koethe. It was his turn to give Moorhen a blow to move him forward. Reluctantly, Moorhen complied.

  They approached Asta who ceased making the music. She stepped forward and held up her hand in warning. "Come no closer."

  "Darling, it's me--your father." He tried to take a step forward but she stretched out her hand again.

  "Stop!" she cried.

  He stopped. Moorhen held his breath, hoping that the gods wouldn't punish him for the stupidity of this alien.

  Koethe dealt a blow to Moorhen. "What have you done to her?"

  "Nothing," said Moorhen. "I told you. She is possessed by the godstone. The gods work through her. You must not anger her."

  "Asta," said Koethe, trying to reason with her. "It isn't safe here. I need to take you back to our camp. They've done something to you."

  She stared at him coolly with those blue eyes.

  "Please," begged Koethe. "You'll be safe with me."

  Slowly she moved forward towards Koethe and Moorhen. Moorhen dropped to his knees in honor of those she served.

  "Please, don't abandon us," pleaded Moorhen to Asta as she approached. "The people of Garran need your help."

  Asta said nothing but touched his forehead in the way the priests do in ceremony. It was a blessing. Moorhen knew that she was still god-touched. She looked at Koethe and nodded her assent to go with him.

  Koethe hauled Moorhen to his feet. "Come on," said Koethe, "Let's get out of here." He led Moorhen and Asta back through the Sun Caves until they found a passage to make their way above ground.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  Moorhen cursed his stupidity. He’d taken the Chanden leader, Koethe, prisoner after their airship had crashed. Moorhen had handcuffed Koethe, but didn’t realize that he could unlock the cuffs and get free.

  Now Koethe held Moorhen prisoner once again. Asta, still god-touched, had gone along with her father, leaving the Sea of Glass.

  Once Koethe had led his daughter and Moorhen back to the surface, Koethe radioed the Chanden for help. Again Moorhen cursed himself for not thinking to search the man for the small pocket radios that they carried.

  They waited in silence until an airship picked them up a half an hour later.

  From the airship window, Moorhen saw the warriors of the clan people assembled in groups in the desert. They
carried spears, swords, ooluks, and yothar slings, all clad in the colors of their clans: red and yellow, crimson and orange, blue and white, cream and brown.

  Then after miles more passed below, he saw the armies of the Chanden, in their silver and black. They had alien armor that was nearly impenetrable along with their distance weapons that made even the poorest warrior into an effective marksman. Plus they had their airships and bombs. He'd heard the stories of their conquest before and knew that they would use the same weapons, with little remorse, that they used on his Garran ancestors.

  Fighting the Chanden was madness. And yet, as his father said, all of them were tired of oppression. But the gods of old did not countenance war; they forbade it.

  The food and water Moorhen had eaten from the pack had helped stave his hunger and thirst but only slightly. And it wasn't likely that he'd get fed soon. He put aside these petty thoughts. He worried more about the upcoming battle. The Chanden would wait for the Garrans to attack and use this excuse to wipe them out. Moorhen regretted now that he had not killed Koethe when he had the chance. But would that have stopped it?

  Finally the ship touched down at the Chanden base and the guards roughly dragged Moorhen out and brought him along behind Koethe and Asta. They did not restrain Asta--did not believe that they needed to. Moorhen was sure they had miscalculated. She was their enemy as surely as he was--unless she was capable of defying the gods to save her own people. He hoped this would not be the case.

  Koethe stopped to hold a discussion with other officers who were gathered around some monitor equipment in a tent. Three of them were dressed in olive and black uniforms and they stood apart from the others, observing the proceedings. The tallest, a stout Chanden, had fierce eyes and the look of a war chief. Beside him stood another man and also a woman officer. These seemed rare among the Chanden. She was ugly, her face frozen in a perpetual scowl.

  "What is our status?" asked Koethe.

  "We're tracking movement of rebel troops now," said an old Chanden war chief, whom Moorhen later learned was named General Godwin. "We have them outnumbered and outgunned. They'd be fools to go through with the attack."

  Koethe glanced over at Moorhen. "But I have a feeling that they will. Isn't that so?" He glanced at Moorhen, but perhaps he did not expect an answer.

  Moorhen didn't bother to respond.

  "You found your daughter, I see," said the General.

  "Yes," said Koethe. He turned to her. "Now, Asta, tell me--what happened?"

  Asta looked at them and spoke. "The gods of Garran are displeased with you and your people. You have disrupted the land with continual conflicts and your harvesting."

  They stared at her and laughed. "You can't be serious," said Godwin. He looked at Koethe in question.

  Asta fixed her bright blue eyes on Koethe. "You think you are the gods of Garran--but you are not. You think that the land belongs to you, but it does not. From now on, you will accept the clans as equal to you."

  For a moment no one spoke. "They've done something to her," said Koethe, glaring at Moorhen, "Something having to do with the godstone."

  "She picked up the stone," said Moorhen, "and it bonded with her. We did nothing."

  "And you," Asta turned to Moorhen, "also will not fight the Chanden. The shedding of blood is abhorrent to us. We will not permit it. Your Shaheak have been warned. You will withdraw from the valleys south of Wanthe and the other places where you've pushed out the tacha. Those grounds belonged to them."

  "What about them?" asked Moorhen, nodding at the Chanden. "They murdered the Borrai! They are the killers--they should be driven from our planet! Will you not do this?" The soldier next to him gave Moorhen a harsh blow but he ignored it.

  "Those things are past," said Asta. "We will tolerate the Chanden, if they will abide our rules."

  "Nonsense," said Godwin tersely. "We will not follow the rules of any Garran religion or mumbo-jumbo put in your head through hypnosis."

  Koethe simply watched his daughter in disbelief.

  "Then you will not be tolerated here," said Asta.

  This brought nervous laughter from the Chanden, but her words made them uneasy. "Lt. Becnand," said Koethe. "Please take my daughter back to headquarters in Urrlan and see that she gets medical attention."

  "At once, sir," the man said. He stepped toward her but Asta held out her hand.

  "You will not," she said in a threatening voice.

  "Asta, darling," said Koethe. "Be reasonable. Go with him. It's for the best." The man moved towards Asta and electricity shot out of her hand and hit the man. He shrieked and fell to the ground in pain.

  She looked at the Commander. "You will relinquish your claims on all lands to the east of the High Plains. Those Garrans who chose to remain in the west shall follow your rule."

  She looked at Moorhen. "And you will relinquish all lands west of the High Plains to the Chanden. In the east, the Garran tribes shall rule themselves.

  They all stared at her, dumbfounded.

  "But Asta," sputtered Koethe, "we have valuable mines in the east, near Hobset and Sonthhe! You can't ask us to walk away from years of development?"

  "The crystals you seek are more plentiful to the west, in the Purple Lakes. You may mine them there. The land near Hobset is sacred to the Clans." Her voice was distant and haughty, as Moorhen imagined the Borrai would be.

  "I cannot take this request back to the High Realm. They will laugh at me," insisted Koethe.

  The woman who was once Asta stared at Koethe, unmoved and alien. "We have spoken," said Asta. "You will obey." She turned and walked straight out into the desert.

  "Stop her!" shouted Koethe.

  Several soldiers raised their weapons at her. She swung around to face them. Koethe saw what was happening. "No, don't shoot!" His pleas were ignored as the startled soldiers took aim. Asta stood there calmly, watching them with her cool blue eyes, and the soldiers hesitated. The wind stirred the sands at her feet. She waved her hand toward them in a sudden movement. A terrible blast of wind and sand rose up and shot towards the men.

  Moorhen dove for the ground and buried his head. He heard cries above him as the Chanden scrambled. Shots were fired. "Stop!" yelled Koethe. "What are you doing?" Moorhen wasn't sure if he was speaking to his men or to Asta.

  There was shouting and confusion but it was several minutes until the winds died down enough for them to stand.

  When Moorhen regained his feet, he found the Chanden half covered in sand; several looked injured.

  "Track her!" shouted Koethe. "Get an airship and follow her."

  "Yes, sir," said Lt. Becnand. He took off at a run.

  "We will attack as planned," said Godwin to Koethe.

  "But my daughter," began Koethe. Godwin ignored his objections.

  "No bloody Garran sand-trick is going to stop the power of the Chanden Empire." Godwin stared at Moorhen as he left the tent.

  Koethe stood there a moment, deflated. Then he turned his gaze to Moorhen.

  "Bring him," he said to his aide. "Garran, you're going to tell me everything I want to know."

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  Light-blue, yellow, purple.

  A sandstorm followed Asta across the desert. Even the Chanden airships failed to follow her. They gave up and vanished from her perception.

  The less Asta fought the entity in her mind, the clearer she felt. The pain and guilt she felt at the murder of Jaynanth softened to regret and sorrow. It was done. Nothing could change that.

  The memories unleashed by the godstone felt more and more familiar until they felt like Asta's own memories. Her own memories shifted, faded somewhat, but they were still there, just not as near the surface.

  Part of her clung to them, not wanting to lose what was left of herself. But Asta didn't feel that the gods wanted to take that from her. Her panic lessened. Harmony was possible, if she could find that path.

  Around her, the sandstorm continued. Through all this, Asta walked throu
gh the desert undisturbed, with the same ease one would walk along the beach on a breezy day.

  Perceptions had changed.

  Asta felt less lonely. She felt less powerless. She felt less fear.

  Neither the Chanden nor the Garrans were right. They both claimed mastery over the planet Garran and its fields, mountains, oceans and animals--but both were wrong. These belonged to the earth, to the wind, and sea and air and to the animals themselves. Not to any other race, much less an alien one.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  Koethe's guards dragged Moorhen back to a hastily constructed cement bunker, the kind that the Chanden used for war. Koethe followed them, scowling darkly. The walls were lined with crates of supplies and a few bunks were spread out in the large room.

  “Where is my daughter?” demanded Koethe. She had just walked out into a sandstorm after giving both the Chanden and the Garrans ultimatums.

  “I have nothing to do with this. She is in the control of the godstone,” insisted Moorhen.

  “Then tell me how to reverse it.”

  “I don’t know!” insisted Moorhen.

  “Show him we mean it,” said Koethe coldly.

  One of the guards pulled out a black nightstick and began beating Moorhen with it. The man hit him on the shoulder and the arms. Then he butted him in the stomach with it, leaving Moorhen winded.

  “Well?” asked Koethe.

  “I have nothing to hide!” said Moorhen. “I’ve told you everything.” By now he was on his knees. His hands were still cuffed behind his back.

  Koethe brooded on this a moment. “You are of a southern tribe … the Sand Plain Clan? Am I right?”

  Moorhen looked up at him, wondering what treachery Koethe was planning.

  “You value your family?” Koethe said thoughtfully. With that, he turned and strolled towards the door. “Loosen his tongue,” was all he said as he left.

  Together, the three guards surrounded Moorhen. One of them pulled him to his feet. Unsteady, Moorhen tried to moved away from them, but one of them grabbed him and threw him headlong into the cement wall.