"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 bit 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.
^ ^ ^ ^ *
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 cente
r 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?
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
The last of the twilight faded into night and the others had failed to find the godstone. Asta stood in the middle of the sand fortress and waited, nervously. She had wanted them to find the godstone--but now, standing in its resting place, she no longer felt certain.
There was no question in Asta's mind that they were being followed by the Agency who planned to take the godstone as soon as Asta's group discovered it. They would attack before Asta and the others could leave the valley. But this tale could never be told--so those involved, except herself, would have to be silenced.
If Ruben Drake led them, then she knew what he'd do. He'd kill a few Garrans before risking harm to his mission. He'd lie and say they fought back. At best, he'd arrest the Garrans and question them. Then, they would never be set free. They could be sent to a prison mining-camp.
But hidden deep beneath the earth, grew a terrible power. She felt it--violent and angry. Partly asleep. The tendrils of its thought reached out for Asta but she closed her mind to it.
She watched the others search and willed them not to find it--and they didn't. She kept her mind blank, hoping to evade the power beneath them. They would fail to find it and they would leave. The godstone would remain untouched. Neither the Chanden nor the Garrans would have the weapon they sought.
Almost she had warned them--almost she had told Moorhen that their lives were in danger--but then they'd know her for a spy, for a Chanden--and her sense of self-preservation outweighed her desire to do good. Now it was too late to warn them. Too late to make any confession--only to hope for failure. Only this could save them. Then at night, she'd slip out of their camp and go to the Chanden. They could take her safely back home. Asta vowed she'd go no further on this journey.
And always nearby stood Moorhen, worried about her. Wanting to say something to her. Maybe she enjoyed the kiss; maybe she would like to hear what he wanted to tell her. But none of that mattered. Things were too serious. It would better if she never saw him again.
The others gathered again in the center of the fortress and looked at her.
"Where is it, Asta?" asked Sindke.
"I don't know," she said. A half-truth. Sindke studied her in that piercing, annoying way that she had of looking through a person. "It's not here," insisted Asta. "We've failed." This was a lie. She felt an urgency to be gone from this place.
"You directed us here," said Sindke, quietly.
"I was wrong! I'm sorry." The old woman did not believe her and continued to stare at her as though doing so would somehow force the truth from Asta. "We should be going," said Asta. "This place isn't safe."
"From what?" persisted Sindke.
The power deep beneath the earth's surface had been awakened. Asta heard the rumblings. Maybe there was another fear that haunted her. Perhaps it was a fear that the legends were true and that if she took the godstone--it would know her for what she was--a fraud. The volcanoes would erupt and destroy them all--if the gods really could discern the heart.
But she was thinking nonsense.
Asta wanted to lead the way out of the sand fortress but something held her rooted where she stood. She fought a wave of dizziness. The power beneath the earth merely protected another even greater power. She could feel it very near--the godstone. It spoke without words to her mind--the source of the dream that she could never quite remember. Secrets of great importance lingered just out of reach.
She fought to stay lucid.
The power of the stone drew Asta's mind. She cast her gaze on the stone tower that stood in front of her. Its surface was jagged and broken, as all of them were. Now that she looked at it, she notice that the rocky surface held a pattern. In the stone there were steps, barely noticeable, that led up the side of the tower.
Sindke noticed her gaze and followed it to the tower. She took a step towards it, her eyes widening a little. The others began looking at the tower and still hadn't seen the stairs yet. "Why do you hesitate?" asked Sindke. "Take the stone."
Take the stone. Asta froze, overwhelmed by conflicting feelings. If she took it, people would die. Finding it might even start a war.
If she didn't take the stone, the Chanden might find it anyway. They were watching. They would tear the place apart looking for it, disrupting the peace of this place--angering the power that lay beneath it.
Or someone else might take the stone; one of the Garrans. Asta saw Jarvaine take a few steps towards the tower. She felt protective. If anyone took it, it should be her.
But there was something else, something deeper, about the stone. It held the answers to questions that Asta didn't fully understand. She could hear the music in the distance, on the edges of her awareness--beckoning her.
The stone had to be found. She felt dizzy.
Suddenly, Asta found herself on the stairway, ascending upward. She stopped, surprised. She'd lost time again, as if sleepwalking. It was the power of the stone over her, this close. And the power frightened her.
Her heart raced. Would it consume her? Destroy her and take over her mind? Appalled, she looked at the narrow stairway, considering going back down. Down below she saw Moorhen watching her with concern. Jarvaine stood at the bottom of the stairway.
But the Agency wanted the stone. What would they do if she failed to get it? What would she tell Ruben? Would it end her career in the Stealth Unit? She'd come so far to fail only now.
Another wave of dizziness passed over her but it didn't cause her to lose her footing. The whole cavern seemed to be throbbing.
"The stone!" shouted Moorhen. "Get th
e stone!"
Again she sensed the distant music, accompanied by dizziness.
Now, Asta stood at the top of the tower. She stepped inside. Here was a small chamber. On a pedestal in the center of the chamber, lay an exquisite white stone.
The godstone.
The air felt electric and the moon reflected off the stone giving a small aura to the room. Here the dream-song came to Asta's mind again, almost understandable.
All of the arguments in her head became muddled and muted in the presence of the stone. A great feeling of calm flooded over her. Entranced, she moved forward until her hand lay on the stone.
It had a single rune on it--the rune for Innurlan, which also meant 'wind.'
It felt warm to the touch--and Asta was sure that she felt it move. The warmth passed from the stone, up her arm and throughout her entire body. Asta's head buzzed. Her ears rang, accompanied by another wave of dizziness. Knowledge burst forth through Asta's mind--visions of the past, people, faces, circumstances, purposes, failures. These things mixed with the knowledge Asta's mind held--the Chanden, their plans, the Agency, her father, all that was Asta.
The flood of knowledge threatened to drown Asta. She fought to stay conscious. But it was more than that. Something touched her mind, passing into it.
Asta learned something else too--that there was more than one godstone.
She sensed a deep anger in the air. The room rumbled and whirled around her. The spells of dizziness nearly knocked Asta off her feet. In fact, she felt the physical world slip away and come back. She found herself on her knees with the stone in her hand. She had taken it from the pedestal.
Asta trembled, unable to stand. The room felt unstable, as though it were moving. A presence moved through her mind, searching it, sifting through her memories. She called out, unable to stop the storm of visions opening upon her mind, unable to make sense of them in so quick a time.
Was her mind merging with the godstone?
Then someone was standing over her, shouting at her. "We have to go, Asta!" Moorhen knelt at her side, taking her arm. "Now!"
She looked at him, only half hearing him. Not sure exactly what he meant.
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