A metal man walked to the shore, wet from the ocean he dragged his feet and coughed, then he collapsed and fell asleep. My sons and I picked his heavy body and brought him to our Gargan. Our Gargan’s tent was long and wide, made out of straws it wasn’t as tall like iron tree we made our weapons from, nor small like hutts his subordinates lived in.
The walls were covered with furs of animals we hunted, and the floor was made out of wood that elevated the tent for two feet in the air. The center was his throne made from a boulder we found laying in the ground. The whole tent was made around that rock that had Garganate signs carved in it.
Man was awakening to see our spears at his throat. He moved his eyes around to see his captors. No word passed his lips, not even a sound asking for life. Our eyes roamed his metal body while the youngs were tempted to touch his shiny skin. He listened carefully for what we spoke in a different tongue, kept his mouth shut and saw my eldest son storm out in rage. Not understanding the stranger’s smile I went to strike him with a dull end of my spear, but then he spoke with an accent.
– You must be the Garganate, a kingdom of islands and mountains, south-east of the Petroshy Turquoise Forest clans that rule the inland and handful of abandoned isles, the backup army of Ildock. – metal man spoke rising up with the sound of his skin ringing on our sprearheds tops.
– How do you know our language? – Gargan asked in a deep voice, moving in his seat.
– Because I was sent here first. It was my mission to get on this island and inspect it. I had to learn your tongue, so I can speak with the leader of the Unbowed Garganate. – the man tapped his fist over the metal breast, which was a strange custom to us, – My big raft broke in the storm near your Garganate, but I survived. – he tapped his chest again.
– Why did you came? – Gargan asked and the man smiled.
– My Garganate was destroyed, burned by the great fire and my people had to search for new habitat. – his answer made women gasp and touch their mouths in horror that happened to the metal man.
What sort of doom could’ve strike a nation of metal-skin people that they had to abandon their homes? – I wondered.
– I will give you the part of my land for you and your people. – Gargan said when the crowd jumped to stop him with giving presents, but his eyes silenced the nervous warriors and crying women, – We will accept you as new inhabitants to our land if you will assimilate and help us defend from Turquoise Forest Clans of the north. – Gargan continued and the crowed approved his words while the metal-skin man smiled.
Five Moon turns later, the flock of huge rafts came to our shores with thousands of metal-skin people and women that had no thick skin like their men. They made their tents, then the slaughter begun. Our Gargans tent was set ablaze, men turned to slaves and sent to the hole in the mountain, and our women sold to silver-skin Petroshy.
Our homes were destroyed, warriors killed, rafts smashed by the new inhabitants. Everything was gone. Now I understand my eldest son and his desire to slay the stranger, but it was too late. Now I sit here in the quarry and move rock to build a grand tent we have never saw before. Their metal army grew every day and weapons made from the black stones we dug from the mountain, were used to slay those that wouldn’t bow to their Gargan. The Garganate of the Unbowed has met its end.
DRONSTAD Facebook page