Gods of Garran

The Gods of Garran: Chapter 12

A novel by Meredith Skye

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At noon the sun shone clearly as Asta rode her yithhe towards the Hands of the Gods.

The townspeople had practically treated her like a hero just for going to the mountains, even though she hadn't accomplished anything yet.

Ignorant natives.

Though the sun shone, Asta felt cool. She guided her yithhe along the broken cobblestone road. The higher up the mountain she got, the more the road improved. Soon the road turned red, paved with lava rocks.

A quiet pervaded the air. Asta couldn't hear animals or even the wind. The road followed the dry riverbed, which still had some green trees growing near it, though the grass along the edge had shriveled and turned yellow.

Even though the villagers had warned Asta against leaving the road, she would follow the river. Surely, that's where the trouble stemmed from. But so far, the road had followed the river. She hoped that at some point, there'd be some sign of water, but the river bed remained dry.

Now only a few hours of daylight remained. The thought of camping outdoors in these mountains made Asta nervous. She pushed her yithhe to greater speed, watching for any sort of shelter.

Still she followed the lava path. Then she came upon an odd thing—two short pillars, maybe knee high, made of a pale, blue-white substance. She'd never seen the like, but she'd heard of it—moonstone. The Garrans believed that no evil could endure this enchanted stone. She stopped to examine it.

When Asta touched the moonstone, it felt quite smooth, as though polished. She felt a slight dizziness that quickly passed, accompanied by a ringing in her ears. The rock must be hard to last for hundreds or even maybe thousands of years without decay.

This fascinated Asta. She wanted to take a sample back with her. In her pack, she found a hammer. She tried to break off a piece but was unsuccessful. Anyway, it would be a shame to mar the pillar. Not only was it ancient, but beautiful also.

Asta mounted her yithhe and started back up the trail. There was a slight, gentle breeze—not too warm or too cold—almost like an invisible hand caressing her face. The evening was pleasant as she rode. She saw five more sets of the moonstone pillars. As the light waned, the pillars glowed faintly.

An hour later, the sun had nearly set. Asta started as she realized that she had forgotten altogether to look for shelter—so caught up in the pleasant weather she was. She stopped and checked the river, but there was still no sign of water. The air was not as dry, however, as though water were near.

The villagers believed that the mountain was hoarding the water on account of some evil that had been done. She'd nearly laughed at the notion at the time, but now, up here in these hills, she could almost believe it.

Around the next bend loomed a high peak. Asta decided to go farther and look for a place to camp.

A seventh set of moonstone pillars embellished the path. These, however, were much taller—taller even than Asta. And on them were curious writings, somehow familiar even though it was no language that Asta knew. These runes resembled the ones on her ooluk, Jir'cata.

An eerie feeling passed through Asta, as though fate or destiny were playing tricks on her. The hair stood up on the back of her neck. Had the sword accepted her somehow? Would the mountain accept her also? She shook her head to be free of such silly speculations.

The path looked as though it would end at the top of this peak. Tired and determined to rest soon, Asta urged her yithhe forward up the path in the waning light. Around the next bend, Asta stopped. A huge archway made of moonstone led inside the mountain. All around the archway stood the carving of those ancient runes. Asta stared at it a while.