Gods of Garran

The Gods of Garran: Chapter 14

"Six?" she asked, cautiously. Surely it had only been four. "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 tell them 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 Praeva spoke 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. She chased an elusive dream that she couldn't understand, that seemed important—as though the tendrils of an outside intelligence were sifting through her sleeping mind.

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