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.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
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
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.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
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
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