The Gods of Garran (9 page)

The ride back to Wanthe was peaceful. Asta sent a quick message to the Agency, letting them know that the water situation was taken care of and that she was heading back to Wanthe.

She arrived back to town as the sun was setting. The first person that saw her stared in wonder and ran. Soon others came and she was heralded like a clan chief and brought through the town. They must have discovered the water flowing already. She was pleased at their reaction. This would help her cause. The fact that Asta must betray them in the end disturbed her somewhat … but their rebellion had to be stopped.

They led Asta back to the main clan hall where a feast awaited. Heyvaan the chief greeted her, along with brother chiefs from other nearby clans. Molot was there as solicitous as before of her attention. Everyone accepted her with warmth and trust.

"You were true to your word,
Te'jaste," said Heyvaan. "You have pleased the gods and brought back the water. We all thank you." To this, the others voiced their assent.

"You're welcome," said Asta, not sure what to say, and feeling another twinge of guilt over using these people.

Everyone sat and the feast began. She didn't usually like Garran food, but to her surprise--it was pretty good. It wasn't the standard thania mash with red beans. They served a well-done orvallin roast, moon squash with sonthhan nuts and alia sweet-cakes, a delicacy. Impressed, Asta ate and drank freely. This wine was finer than what they had served last time.

"Will you stay here with us, in Wanthe?" asked Molot, eagerly.

"No, I'm afraid not," said Asta.

"Where will you go?" asked Heyvaan.

Asta took a moment to answer. This is the part where she needed their help. "I'm headed to Koshke," she said. "To see if the Clan Conclave will accept me as clan representative."

To this, Heyvaan nodded. "We will send others with you, to speak on your behalf. This is the least we can do for the
Shaheak
Te'jaste."

The use of the title
shaheak
surprised Asta and she hoped she was not getting in over her head. "Thank you, Chief Heyvaan. You are too kind." She felt she should set him straight about the title but it would be to her advantage, if they thought she was an associate of the gods. Still, she had no priestly knowledge nor did she know what they might expect. "And, I am not
shaheak
."

The chief looked surprised by this. "No one but the
shaheak
may enter the temple of the gods and live. You did enter it?"

Here she felt she was on dangerous ground. If she said no, did it mean she'd desecrated the temple? Things were going too well to turn back now. "Yes, Chief Heyvaan."

"Then you are
shaheak
," he said, as though it were a fact.

Asta nodded at him, in acceptance.

"My son, Molot, will accompany you, along with his two cousins as escort."

Not the son. Did the chief hope to marry her off to his him somehow? Asta managed a polite smile. "I thank you, good Chief."

He smiled and nodded. "We will give you provisions. The journey will take only four days; we can lead you on the best road."

"Thank you."

"You must be tired. You should rest," said the Chief. "Six days is a long time to spend in the mountains."

Six? Surely it had only been four. "Six?" she asked, cautiously. "What day is today?"

"The 23rd day of Sacrance," said Molot. "You've been gone a week."

That couldn't be right. It couldn't have been so many days. That left nearly two days unaccounted for. But then again--there were gaps in her memory. Had she lost time? Disturbed, she ate the rest of her meal in silence.

^
^
^
^ *

The next morning they packed up and prepared to set out.

Asta found a quiet place to check in with the Agency and let them know she was on her way to Koshke. The mission was going very well--better than she had expected. She might be allowed to join the Clan Conclave.

"You were supposed to just observe," came the response from Ruben, "not get involved. And where have you been for a week?"

She explained about her trip to the mountain to check on the water supply. She left out the details about how she got the water flowing, and the fact that she couldn't account for all the days she was there.

"That took a week? I've been to Wanthe before, you know. The mountain's not that high. And why didn't you check in? You know the rules! We were worried about you."

The fact that the journey had taken so long embarrassed Asta. She didn't want to get into a detailed discussion with Ruben on this. "What I did--worked. I thought you wanted a chance to spy on the Conclave?" she said, changing the topic.

"This is a dangerous mission," said Ruben. "And you're new."

"I'll be careful," said Asta, she closed the communicator. Was Ruben worried for her safety or just worried that she'd screw it up? She vowed she'd show him that she could be a capable agent.

Back outside, Molot and his kin were waiting for her. Yance was Molot's uncle, whom she'd met. The other was Preava, Molot's cousin.

Asta didn't mind an escort in this dangerous territory … it was Molot she minded. He never stopped talking! How windy the weather was, and in fact how windy it had been ever since the days of his great grandfather. Discussions about every branch of his family and its ties to each clan (some of which was actually useful). Discourses on how a proper Garran woman should behave. To think that even the Garrans had snobs! She'd thought them all to be barbarians. For all his talk of valor, Asta got the feeling Molot was not much of a warrior.

With some practice, she managed to tune out most of Molot's chatter while they traveled.

With some prodding Asta found that Molot and his two cousins proposed to take her to Koshke by going through the Eye of Innurlan.

"Isn't that cursed?" asked Asta. Not that she cared about their curses but it seemed odd that they would chose that path, being Garran.

Molot smiled. "Of course. But we have you."

She could not smile back, not sure what they were getting into nor what they expected of her.

"You are our
shaheak
," said Molot, with utter confidence. "By this course, we travel only four days to Koshke." He grinned.

Great. Now they expected miracles of her.

They plodded on for hours in this flat, desolate place. They had left the hills. There was no sign of a stream anywhere but they had brought plenty of water. "Thanks to you," said Molot beamed.

They camped that night in the cover of a few shrubs. It wasn't much but the wind wasn't blowing hard. Molot's cousins, Yance and Preava said little. They were both warriors--tall and strong, both of them. Yance carried a long spear as his main weapon and Praeva a sword and bow. They were here to guard Molot as much, or more, than herself.

Asta bet that Molot was not good at protecting himself. He was Heyvaan's only son and heir, and these cousins were distant enough not to be in line for chief, so she guessed. They did their duties with little talk and only bowed to Asta without speaking. Perhaps they were afraid of her.

Well, the less talk the better, from this bunch.

But Asta didn't get her wish because Molot talked enough for all three of them. And before they slept, Molot insisted on entertaining her with a song, played on a small, stringed
glithe
that he had brought along. He sang, surprisingly well, of Innurlan and how she built the ancient city of Wanthe over 500 years ago. Still, Asta was tired and laid down to sleep.

As she fell asleep to the music, she slipped into a familiar dream with the song from the moonstone chamber, again chasing an elusive dream that she could not understand, that seemed important--as though the tendrils of an outside intelligence were sifting through her sleeping mind.

The following day, Asta and the others traveled towards the Eye of Innurlan. Molot plunged forward, ever confident of Asta’s ability to pass through the cursed area.

Through Molot's extensive discourses she learned that Innurlan was the oldest of the ancient gods--and the most vengeful.

"A thousand years ago when the Garrans were just beginning to live together as organized clans and build dwellings, Innurlan ruled the plains from the Upper Steppes to the Glass Sea--the First God. Innurlan ventured destruction, fierce and terrible, on all those who harmed the earth or any creature on it, aside from those creatures killed for food. It was said that in this valley Innurlan resided.

"Even though the gods are dead, no one dares to venture here," Molot continued. "It has lain untouched for hundreds of years."

Asta stared at him. "Then how do you know your way here?"

"We usually go around, but it takes weeks. We would take this road if we dared," he said, with a gleam in his eye. "And you dare."

She said nothing, doubting her own bravery.

As they pressed forward though the desert, all Asta saw was parched grass, spider-shrubs and endless sand for miles. The day crawled by slowly as they traveled in the shapeless landscape accompanied by the ever shifting tales of family intrigue by Molot, some of which Asta found amusing. The wind began increasing in intensity, which didn’t bother Molot. Asta feared they were walking into a storm.

“No,” said Molot. “All is normal.”

With that assurance they continued on. The landscape began to change and gain some definition. Small ridges and gentle hills broke up the horizon a little. The wind grew worse but Molot never stopped smiling … or talking.

At last they came to a lava arch at least twice their height that made a sort of entryway into what seemed like a long, wide lava wall that spanned miles of desert. Inside the archway, the wind looked terrible. Molot stopped and looked at Asta.

“The Eye of Innurlan.” Said Molot. “Ask the gods for safe passage.”

She stared back at him. She had no idea how to do that and really didn’t know what he expected of her. She nudged her
yithhe
forward so that she was right in front of the arch and waited for a few moments but nothing happened. It was crazy—they should go back. The winds in there looked almost like a tornado.

“Did you ask her?” asked Molot.

“Who?” asked Asta.

“Innurlan.”

Innurlan was a woman? She said nothing but returned her gaze to the arch.
Give us safe passage
, she thought.
Innurlan
, she added, just to be clear. The request was a shot in the dark but stranger things had happened on this trip. As if in answer, Asta felt a wave of dizziness, similar to the ones she experienced in the mountain. Was that the answer? She glanced over at Molot.

“Did they say yes?” he asked expectantly.

She nodded. “Yeah.” Though she wasn’t so sure. She signaled her
yithhe
to go forward and it began, somewhat reluctantly, to move through the archway. The winds continued to howl and rage on the other side, but none of it touched Asta. Molot followed closely behind her, grinning, with his cousins following behind him (both looking a little unsure).

“It worked. See. I told you so,” he said to Asta. Then back to his cousins. “I told you so.” He laughed and pointed straight ahead. Asta kept moving that way and they followed. They rode in the center of the eye of the storm, which moved with Asta wherever she went. The others stayed close, never straying far from her.

The afternoon passed like this. Visibility lowered to zero in the storm but Molot kept prompting Asta as though he knew the direction even blind. For once, Asta was glad to have him along. Even Molot kept silent as they passed through this area, all said to be cursed land in the minds of the Garrans.

The feeling that they were being watched grew. Asta turned around several times expecting someone or something to be there … but there was nothing.

Towards evening they arrived at another archway encased in a lava wall, similar to the first. For a moment, Asta feared it was the first and that they’d gone in circles. But Molot stopped them, grinning. Asta stopped and looked at him.

“Before we leave,” said Molot, “you must thank the gods.”

Asta nodded and turned towards the arch, staring at it a moment.
Thank you, Innurlan
, she directed at no one in particular. She felt a dizziness as if in answer. The winds began to catch at them again, as though the shield had been dropped. Quickly Asta took them through the archway, followed by Molot and his cousins. All of them looked quite pleased.

“Now, we head for Desolation and Koshke,” said Molot.

“Desolation?” asked Asta, as if this wasn’t it.

“The Desert of Desolation between here and Koshke.”

“Oh. Yes,” she said, trying to make it sound like she knew what he was talking about. Again they set out.

“Did I ever tell you about my third mother’s grandfather who once saw a tree-elf in the woods near Karther?”

“No,” said Asta, but she was sure he was about to.

“It was nearly one hundred years ago,” he began. “Back before the Chanden ….” And so most of the early evening went.

^
^
^
^ *

In the Desert of Desolation, the
yithhe
didn’t like the hard, sun-baked ground and complained with low whines every now and then, particularly on rocky stretches of ground.

Asta worried, between distractions offered by Molot, about what happened at the Eye of Innurlan and also at the mountain near Wanthe. Was there something to these gods of Garran? Or was it her imagination?

Had the gods really escorted their party through the sandstorm or did they just happen to find the eye of the storm? Or perhaps the lava wall sheltered them? But there was also the “miracle” of the water. She had no memory of what happened, of how it happened or how she ended up back at the front chamber door.

And sometimes she felt some force just on the edge of her mind, testing her.

The truth was that Asta didn’t believe in any gods—Garran or Chanden—only in herself. The individual mattered. The individual had a responsibility (to a reasonable point) to society. But Asta had always relied on herself for all matters in her life--on herself and her family. For her there was nothing else. Yet … she thought maybe she felt some connection there, to something outside herself.

And if some other force were helping her--but to what end? To help her betray the Garrans? She doubted that. What did this force expect?

Asta shook her head and tried to banish the thought. It was nonsense. She had a job to do. These people were planning a rebellion and she’d help stop it. No matter what their reasons, the Garrans weren’t justified in breaking the law. She turned a deaf ear to her own internal arguments and concentrated on Molot’s outrageous stories as they made their way to Koshke.

Once again vegetation began to appear in the form of red-grass and squat, yellow jeneb-bushes. This meant the area was more habitable and more likely to hold civilization. The earth softened and became sandy again. The winds calmed down to a steady gale from the west.

Startled, Asta slowed her
yithhe
as she saw a figure about 50 feet away move back behind a bush. She stopped. “Something’s there!”

The others stopped and looked. Out of the corner of her eye, on the other side, she saw another small dark figure dart behind a ledge.

Molot and the others peered around.

“
Tacha
,” Molot said, and continued on unconcerned, as did the others. Asta followed, keeping a careful eye out.

Molot noticed her concern. “Did you not have
tacha
in Noloon?”

Asta had never been to her supposed hometown. “I never saw any,” she answered, hoping that was right.

“When they built Koshke,” said Molot, “they drove them out, but the
tacha
keep coming back, stealing things from the gardens. Pests.”

“Are they human?” she asked. The
tacha
were sullen, mangy, dark creatures.

“No,” he answered quickly. “Not at all. They only have our form, but no language.” Molot didn’t give them a backward glance. “I have friends in Koshke that will take us in. Do not be concerned.” He gave her an affable smile.

Asta saw more
tacha
--many more--before they arrived at Koshke at dusk.