hour--about her long lost brother and a plague that hit Noloon.
Eventually, the conversation came around to her ooluk , which Molot had named "Jir'cata."
"You must show it to my father," said Molot. "Please, Te'jaste."
"Of course," she offered, more than willing. "Anything to please the Greystone Clan." She smiled at Molot. Asta had never seduced anyone, but she imagined that Molot wouldn't take much persuading.
The sword was impressive. Asta pulled it out and showed it to them. They would have put it to the test, to see its legendary sharpness. But none would touch it, out of superstition.
"She must be touched by the gods, or they wouldn't let her carry such a weapon. They would destroy her." Such remarks as this she heard whispered around the table. Inwardly she smiled. If their gods knew how she planned to betray them, they would strike her down in an instant--if they weren't dead. But they were. Or better yet, they had only ever been a fable.
“Who gave you this ooluk ?” asked Chief Heyvaan, a clever man.
“An old man,” she insisted. “He wanted his name to be kept secret.” She said, hoping that would work. This seemed to satisfy most of the Garrans at the table.
“How long have you had this ooluk ?” asked Heyvaan.
Asta hesitated. She really didn’t have enough training for this mission. She didn’t want to say the wrong thing and arose suspicion. “A while,” she said.
“Hmm,” said the chief, but he asked no more questions about the sword. The conversation moved on.
Out of courtesy, Asta appeared interested in the state of their town, and how it fared. After seeing the sword, the others warmed up to her a little. They spoke more freely.
"It's the Hands of the Gods," said Molot bemoaned. "The gods are offended somehow. The water has stopped coming down." The hall grew quiet, as though this were not meant for her ears. All eyes were on her.
"The water has dried up?" she asked.
"No," said Molot carefully. "The gods are withholding it from us. It no longer comes down the mountain to us. But it is there."
She had little answer to this. "Have you gone up there, to see if it is blocked. Perhaps you can free it up?"
They stared at her, as though she had told them to fly to the moon. "We cannot," said Molot. "Even our own Shaheak dare not try the mountain, nor confront the gods' anger."
Asta looked around the room at the solemn looks on their faces. She nearly laughed but it was too solemn a moment for that. Grown up men, afraid to climb a mountain on account of superstition?
"What will you do then, without water?" she asked carefully. "Isn't that the reason there is a town here? Because of the access to water? It's a desert otherwise, in every direction."
"The reason there is a town here," said Heyvaan, "is that gods built it here. It is their desire, their will."
That made no sense--but was a perfect example of Garran thinking. The gods willed it, therefore it was so.
Asta stood and paced away from the table, thinking furiously. This was a chance for her to prove herself and learn the location of the Clan Conclave meeting. A riddle she could perhaps solve. "I will go the Mountain of the Hands of God," she said, "and discover whether or not it's the gods will for the water to begin flowing again."
And this would perhaps eliminate the need for any seductions.
A glance from Heyvaan hushed the whispering that began around the table. "This is a dangerous thing you propose, Te'jaste," he said.
"But I have already been touched by the gods," she said, playing up on their belief in her ooluk . "I will do this for you."
There was an awed silence. This angle was working.
"Very well," said Heyvaan, at last. "You have our blessing."
Asta nodded. Probably a tree had fallen to block the water. Surely there was an easy resolution to this problem. She hoped it would be one she could remedy. If not, coming back alive would still impress them.
It was, after all, the thought that counted.
CHAPTER