The Gods of Garran (15 page)

Also, if Ruben thought she was in danger, he would probably come in shooting. She could be endangering these people.

Moorhen got out of the water and dried off, sitting there naked a moment more as he washed his one pair of clothes and put them on wet. He didn't deserve to die, even if he was annoying.

She felt badly for brushing him off earlier, when he'd tried to talk to her.

"I didn't mean to be rude earlier," she said. "My tribe is the Shing River Clan," she lied. "I grew up near Noloon."

He smiled and moved closer, sitting on the rock opposite her. "I've never been there. What's it like?"

She paused. It wasn't something she'd thought about for her cover story. "Dry," she said.

At this, Moorhen laughed. She laughed too. "Yes, ours is the same. Dust, sand, spider shrubs."

"You have family there?" he asked.

She felt a panic, trying to remember her story. "No. My mother was killed when I was young." Her voice caught a little. That part was true.

"By the Chanden?" he asked.

Killed by Garrans, but she didn't say that. Instead she said nothing and let him assume it. Moorhen touched her arm. "I'm sorry," he said gently. His words were so sincere that she teared up, thinking of her mother. She missed her so much. If only they had never come here--but her father had insisted.

She wiped the tears from her eyes. "My aunt took me to Urrlan and raised me there."

"You have no brothers or sisters?" he asked.

"No."

"I'm sorry," he said.

She found it odd that he thought that was sad. She had never missed having siblings. She didn't mind being alone.

She finished up her washing and Moorhen followed her back to camp.

During the next day the group traveled closer to the sea. Sindke said that they should reach it by nightfall. The land became more solid. It relieved Asta to learn they were through the marsh.

Moorhen was never far from Asta but not too close either, as though he had appointed himself her guardian somehow. They said little, but Asta found it comforting to know he was there. Occasionally they smiled at each other. But then she remembered that this assignment might not end well and she was determined not to let Moorhen influence her. She had a job to do.

For a year she'd worked as an Enforcer, hoping to get into the Stealth Unit, and now she had. She'd had no time for relationships. Or was that true? She just didn't want anything to come between her and her goals. Is that why she pushed Ruben away? Was she afraid a boyfriend would be an unwanted distraction?

She felt lonely, maybe for the first time in a long time. Riding now alongside Moorhen, she realized that. She'd always felt that she didn't need anyone and that she was fine on her own. But it wasn't true. The thought made her even more angry at Moorhen who wouldn't stop smiling and treating her more politely than a Garran should. The Garrans were the enemy, especially those in rebellion to the Chanden High Realm.

If Ruben didn't kill Moorhen, he would probably be arrested for his part in this expedition.

Towards midday they came on a terrible sight that made them stop. Miles and miles of burned land. It shocked the senses to come out of that riot of green into an almost endless patch of black. Asta was as horrified as the rest of them.

Before any of them spoke, she knew what had happened here. Garran plants contained an irritant, something not compatible with Chanden plants. In order to plant crops, the Chanden burned acres of land to clear it. She had no idea the great empty place it left on the countryside.

"The Chanden did this," spat Jarvaine. "The bastards should die!"

Sindke raised her hand to silence him.

"How can they do such a thing?" asked Moorhen, his eyes full of disbelief. Asta felt ashamed. She wanted to explain but couldn't. And even to herself now the explanation seemed weak. Chanden preferred Chanden food so they destroyed the local ecology in favor of a new set of plants--foreign plants. Chanden arrogance again. The Garrans weren't fools; they knew the wrongs the Chanden committed.

They continued towards the sea through the endless black hills. Death. Darkness. Was this the Chanden legacy? It weighed heavily on her mind--the casualness which they destroyed--and so near a place sacred to the Garrans.

^
^
^
^ *

In the early evening they came upon a small farm. Here the land had been converted to Chanden crops (food that Asta highly preferred to the bland Garran vegetables). They stopped while Jarvaine and Draiha scouted ahead. Stalking this farm made her nervous and Asta hoped that no violence broke out between their group and the Garrans. If it came to a fight, Asta didn't want to have to attack her own people in order to keep her cover. The thought ate at her.

Moorhen sensed her uneasiness and glanced at her but she avoided his eyes, hoping not to draw attention to herself right now.

Soon the others signaled a come-ahead and Asta followed the others forward, with trepidation. As they approached the main complex Asta saw the bodies strewn about--Chanden farmers. Dead. She was shocked and stopped her
yithhe
to stare at them.

Jarvaine and Draiha met them there. "Dead--all of them," he said. "And good riddance. The less of them here the better." He spat.

"They've been dead a day, maybe," said Draiha. "No evidence as to who did it."

"White Storm Clan--I'd lay a bet on it." said Jarvaine, "I say we kill any Chanden we find."

Asta held her tongue, though she wanted to speak out. To her surprise, Moorhen did it for her. "That would be foolish," he said. "To what end?"

"They deserve it!" shouted Jarvaine. "You saw what they did!"

"They've done worse than this," said Sindke quietly.

"Killing them doesn't solve things," argued Moorhen, "it only makes it worse. They're too strong. We can't fight them."

"Not until we get the godstone," said Jarvaine. "Then--they will pay."

Moorhen said nothing but didn't looked at all convinced. Was he the only sane one among them? Asta shivered. But she understood their anger at the burning of the plants. There was a terrible wrongness to it that she couldn't rationally explain.

The group traveled the rest of the evening in silence, for which Asta was glad. They found a spot to camp and set up a watch.

Asta curled up and, though worried, finally fell asleep. But her dreams were troubled and in them she stood in a wide, ash-filled field and walked. On and on Asta trudged, until she came to the sea.

No shore graced the sea, only high cliff walls upon which the angry sea threw itself continually. On the cliff a moonstone pylon, made by the gods, towered over the landscape. Towards this, Asta walked.

She stood there on the edge of the cliff.

The sea churned below the stormy sky. Asta could feel its anger and understood it. She felt the strength of spirit of the sea, and it spoke to her in words she couldn't quite make out. Images came to her mind: fire, brimstone, craggy rocks, a tall rounded mountain.

Beneath the water lay an ancient city. Almost she could see the people that once inhabited it, could hear a music full of mystery. Whisperings.

If she could get closer ….

^
^
^
^ *

Something jolted her out of the dream, as though she'd been hit by something. She struggled awake to find herself laying on her back on the hard rock. Moorhen lay on top of her. She cried out and tried to get up but he held her down, restraining her wrists.

“Moorhen!” she shrieked, struggling against his hold.

She'd kill him! If only she could reach her knife. Again she tried to break his grip, but he held her fast. What was he thinking!

"Get off!" she yelled. At this, he released her and got up, freeing her.

Quickly she sat up, embarrassed at this impropriety. Then as her senses returned, she realized she really was on the cliff near the pylon. All the others stood around her.

"You should not have done that!" said Sindke, angry.

"She would have thrown herself off the cliff!" argued Moorhen. Asta struggled to her feet, still trying to grasp the situation.

"I think not," said Sindke. "Now the dream is broken."

Asta stared around at them. She had done it again--the sleepwalking and they had let her. Had followed her. "What--?" she asked.

"I'm sorry," said Moorhen, partly to her, for wrestling her to the ground, and partly to them.

"What is going on?" she demanded.

"You have led us to the god-tower but we have yet to discover the meaning of it or where the godstone is," said Sindke.

"Well, I don't know!" said Asta. But none of them believed her. Anyway, how had she led them here? She felt a little dizziness. Moorhen reached out to steady her.

"She's worn out," he said. "Shouldn't we rest now?"

They had walked all night to the sea, following her. Asta, feeling a little more steady now, walked back near the edge of the cliff and looked out at the sea. It looked as it did in the dream--stormy, mysterious, angry. And she could see towers sticking up out of the water. A submerged city in the distance. The dream had been true.

Almost she could hear its voice but now it was muffled and fading. The images were gone.

Sindke watched her closely.

"What is this place?" asked Asta.

"It is called Maerreth," said Sindke. "An ancient Borrai city--destroyed a hundred years ago by the Chanden.

The name sounded familiar. She had heard the name before--the underwater city of the gods.

"Is the godstone here?" asked Sindke.

"No," said Asta, surprised at her answer. Then feeling more sure. "No, it isn't."

The others exchanged glances. "Then where?" demanded Jarvaine.

Asta walked back to the moonstone pylon. There were two symbols on it, neither of them Asta could read. "What does it say?"

"Fire and earth," said Sindke.

"Fire and earth?" echoed Asta.

"What does that mean?" asked Moorhen.

"It's a place," said Asta. "Fire and earth. It's where the godstone is hidden."

"Fire and earth?" asked Jarvaine, dubious.

"Some sort of mountain," said Asta.

"The Northern Cones?" asked Sindke. "Yes, the mountains are strong in stone there. Akannus, the earth god. That is his domain. The stone would be there." She looked to Asta for confirmation.

"Yes," Asta said slowly. "A large rounded mountain of fire."

"Then that's where we'll go," said Sindke.

They traveled southeast, gradually leaving behind the green land of the northwest. After days of traveling, they found their way back to the desert.

Moorhen still harbored some embarrassment at having wrestled the woman, Asta, to the ground. It grieved him that he'd angered her. They had followed her all the way to the edge of the cliff at the edge of the sea. The gods had led her there in her sleep, though even she didn’t seem aware of it.

Even now, as they rode through the harsh desert, Asta seemed worried about something. Preoccupied. She stayed aloof as usual, but Moorhen caught her glancing at him every now and then as though curious about him. This surprised him. She had an elegance about her and a disdain.

He guessed that her family was either well-off or was one of the higher clans, the way she acted. Her interest in him seemed out of character. But there was a loneliness about her that Moorhen felt drawn to fill. It didn't seem right that she be allowed to confine herself to continual solitude.

She was beautiful, her hair, her body. Their night bathing together at the pool was a pleasant memory. She had delicate lips and a pale face, but she herself was not always delicate. In battle she could be fierce and he admired her. Her strange fits of sleepwalking were disturbing and again he felt she needed to be protected … even against herself at times.

Overall, she was a mystery. Maybe that's why Moorhen spent so much time thinking about her and her oddities.

Moorhen was drawn out of his reverie a by small movement on the horizon. He'd seen this earlier, while they traversed the marshes but now they were in the desert there
was less cover. He stopped his
yithhe
and looked carefully across the horizon. It had vanished, but something was there, behind them.

Concerned, he spurred his
yithhe
and rode up to the front to Sindke.

"I saw something," said Moorhen. "I think we're being followed."

"Followed?" asked Sindke. Everyone's eyes immediately went to the horizon. But there was no movement.

"It's gone now, but I've seen it several times."

Sindke nodded. "We'll take precautions."

At a nod from Sindke, Jarvaine and Draiha left the group to scout behind and to the side of them.

Who would be following them? Not the Red Sun Clan, not this far north. The only answer seemed to be the Chanden. Had they tracked them somehow? Maybe with their airships? Surely they'd lost them by now. Or were they following them because of the farm back near the Kinsikk Sea?

In all this Asta said nothing. She seemed unaffected. She always seemed to Moorhen to be half in a dream state. Worried. But why?

Jarvaine and Draihe reported back that they had seen nothing. The group continued on.

That night they neared Drealea, a Chanden outpost. They skirted it to the north, up against the cliffs of the buttes that lead to the Northern Cones. Here they found a small bi
t of cover provided by low trees and shrubs.

The brown of the desert gave way to a red-colored sand and the ridges became more defined, more fantastical, assuming the shape of faces, bodies, monsters, towers.

Ghoul Hollow--a place haunted by the souls of the ages.

These strange sand formations stood on their own, like statues, scattered randomly through the desert or in groups. It made the hair stand up on Moorhen's neck to see them. He half expected them to come to life.

No streams ran through the dry gullies here. Water was scarce. They rationed their water carefully for they didn't think they'd find water again until they returned south.

No one felt at ease while traveling through this grotesque landscape and more than once Moorhen thought he saw movement--creatures or men--in the distance. Everyone was nervous, with a Chanden village so near; they didn't dare stop here. But Jarvaine and Draiha kept scouting and reported back that they saw nothing, only wild creatures, and none that would likely attack a large party.

It was halfway through the night before they found a small firecave to hide in. Everyone was tired. Moorhen volunteered for the first watch. They took care of the
yithhe
and left them below. They had to climb up a ledge to get to the firecave. The entrance was narrow.

"It's large enough to fit us, barely," said Jarvaine.

They carried their packs in. Moorhen set up his bedroll then went back outside to stand watch. The east moon was up but low in the sky.

From the ledge he could see the valley below. A few moments, later, Asta stepped back out onto the ledge. She stood near him on the edge and looked down. She had occupied a lot of his thoughts lately.

"It looks peaceful," she said. She looked uncommonly beautiful in the moonlight.

"Yes," he smiled at her and she smiled back. He took a step closer to her. "It's quite a view," he said.

She took a step nearer the edge and hit a sandy spot, losing her balance. She tumbled forward but Moorhen caught her hand. He pulled her back, keeping hold of her hand.

"Are you all right?" he asked, gently moving her a step back from the edge.

"Yes," she said. "Thanks." He still held her hand but she didn't pull away. She looked up at him and smiled. He pulled her a little closer to him. His heart beat faster. They'd never been this close before.

He leaned over and kissed her. A brief kiss. She didn't object.

"You're so alone," he said softly. He touched her hair. She stared up at him and they kissed again. This time he took her in his arms and held her. The kiss lasted a long time. "You don't have to be," he whispered.

Her face looked conflicted as she stared at him. She pulled away from him and he let her go. She paused, looking awkwardly at him a moment. "Good night, Moorhen."

"Good night," he murmured, disappointed. She disappeared into the firecave. Moorhen sat down on a rock and got ready for a long night.

^
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^
^ *

Morning came too quickly. They rose early to travel. Asta managed to avoid conversation with Moorhen, always elsewhere when Moorhen had a moment. He sighed.

They packed the
yithhe
. Moorhen finally caught up with Asta. "Good morning," he smiled.

"Good morning," she said, but her stance wasn't welcoming.

"Are you angry at me?" he asked her quietly.

She stared at him a moment, "No." He touched her hand but she pulled away. "The time isn't right," she said.

She was god-touched. Her mind was on the stone right now. Was that what she meant? Or did she just not want Moorhen, and if so, why didn't she just say it?

"I understand," he nodded. But he didn't.

They rode throughout the morning and through late afternoon, mostly upward towards the Northern Cones that loomed in the distance. These mountains were large at the base then tapered to a point at the top. Some of them smoked, others were silent.

Moorhen didn't crowd Asta, but he stayed nearby. He felt someone needed to protect her.

The mountains would overflow with brimstone from time to time--with no warning. Therefore Moorhen watched them constantly, especially as they neared them, lest any of them explode and rain fire. A man's life could end quickly in these mountains.

The rocks and sand were black, as though turned that way by some evil. The fire-mountains were black and vegetation was scarce--yellow scrub-grass and sometimes fireweed, whose tip was an ominous red, added a little color to the landscape. Occasionally a patch of fireweed moved on a mountainside, giving the illusion of brimstone flowing down the mountain. The others had been chagrinned when Moorhen called fire and then it turned out not to be so.

In the Northern Cones, as evening drew near, they all watched Asta, furtively, because she had the knowing of things regarding the gods.

Crysethe returned from her own reconnaissance trip. "Chanden, I saw them!" she cried. "Following us to the east and south."

"Jarvaine, Draiha, check the trail. Confirm this," said Sindke. They nodded, and headed south. The others settled down to rest and eat from the remaining rations.

"Why would they be following us?" asked Moorhen, hoping that they did not blame them for the deaths of those on the Chanden farm. And though they were innocent of this, not all of them were innocent of massacring Chanden. This weighed heavily on his conscience.

"Why follow us? Why not catch us, if that is their wish?" asked Sindke.

Asta stared down at the earth, and offered no comment.

In an hour, Jarvaine and Draiha returned. "We saw no sign of the Chanden," said Jarvaine.

"You're sure?" asked Sindke.

"Certain," said Jarvaine.

"If they wanted us," said Draiha, "they would have killed us already."

"They're there, following us," Crysethe insisted. "Five of them." She gave each of them an entreating glance, begging them to believe her.

Moorhen glanced away. "The desert can play tricks on your eyes."

"I'm not wrong," she scowled, picking up her pack. Everyone else did the same, and they continued along the path they'd chosen.

Sindke was right. It made little sense for the Chanden to follow them. Why come out this far into the wastelands … unless they knew that they searched for the godstones? Sindke led the Clan Conclave. Surely she could detect a traitor and would not have brought one along.

High up in his clan and well respected, Jarvaine would never betray them. Nor Sindke. Asta was god-touched--that was clear to everyone. She would be incapable of betrayal and still be able to commune with the gods. The rest were Sand Plain Clan and known to Moorhen. The Chanden must have discovered their purpose some other way. Perhaps they had apprehended Molot and his company.

Or perhaps Crysethe's imagination had run wild? But though the others laughed off her observations, Moorhen had seldom known her to be wrong. So, he kept a sharp lookout.

Asta glanced at Moorhen, as though she wanted to say something. Worried--maybe about the Chanden. But she kept silent.

Moorhen wondered if they shouldn't just camp and wait for Asta to lead them to the resting place of the stone. But Sindke kept going until past sunset. She was making for the center of the three largest cones. There lay a valley where few people ever traveled. These three fire cones often spewed forth fire--making this a dangerous place to be. Perhaps Sindke hoped the Chanden, if there were any, would not dare to follow them. Moorhen doubted that though--the Chanden were an unholy people. They feared nothing. To them, nothing was sacred.

In the end, they didn't need Asta's help in finding the god monument. Once they entered the Valley of Fire, they saw it clearly in the center. Seven red sand spires reached up to the heavens, almost as tall as the mountains. There was no question but this would be the place.

They went towards it. The spires were natural, made from stone but they almost looked like a fortress from a distance.

The ground rumbled from time to time and trembled as the Fire Cones slept, restlessly, around them. As they drew near the entrance to the rock fortress, they slowed down and dismounted their
yithhe
.

"We will leave the animals here," said Sindke. "Child, you will watch them." She spoke to Crysethe.

"Yes," said Crysethe. At once, she began to take care of the animals.

The rest dismounted and left their packs there. No one needed to remind them that they may have to leave in a hurry. If the gods grew angry--or if the wrong person took the godstone--they could wreak their revenge, spilling fire into the valley before the transgressors could escape. Few were foolish enough even to come to this forbidden place.

The group entered what seemed like a doorway, even though the place was not man-made but carved by the wind out of sandstone. Red, blue and yellow crystals shone from among the black sand and rocks that made up the floor. No man-made structures, carvings or doors, existed here. In a few minutes they had walked the length of the whole cavern but found nothing.

"Search it," said Sindke. "It must be here."

They spread out and searched but found nothing but sandstone formations. The ceiling was open to the sky, ringed on each side by sand towers.

The only one who didn't search was Asta, who stood in the center of the place, waiting--as though for the others to find the godstone. Moorhen searched but didn't go far from her side.

Their searching turned up nothing. They met again, around Asta.

Now they were stuck in a remote desert, short on food and water rations, with a force of Chanden after them. They'd come to the right place--hadn't they? Or was there truly such a thing as a godstone?