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Updated: May 25, 2025
"Even then," Tenar had said, "they didn't show themselves. They were just voices that spoke to minds." He'd gotten murmurs of amusement at that, but had smiled. "I didn't create the legends, younglings, I only report them. At any rate, the gods blessed our people and wished us well. They said they were not leaving us alone, that something of theirs remained to watch over us.
Then Tenar had planted fists on hips and glared down at them, grinning. "They also said someone would be invited to join the watcher when the time came, and that that one would call the gods. But it certainly won't be any of you disrespectful cubs!" With that, he'd gone down under the ferocious assault of half a dozen indignant younglings, yelling mock threats at them.
Kranath suddenly recalled an evening of his youth, sitting around a fireplace in one of the clanhome's living rooms and listening to Tenar tell stories and legends of the gods. Tenar was his es'chaya, a battle-wise Cor'naya and a historian; Kranath had loved both him and his legends. That night, one of the stories had been of the gods' departure.
"In their place they left me, to watch over the welfare of the Traiti race, and one of the critical times they foresaw has arrived. Intervention has become necessary, and since I am limited in what I can do alone, I must seek help." Kranath was puzzled. "But . . . Tenar said the legends promised they would return. If they have gone elsewhere, how can they?" "They cannot.
It dropped at a speed that made him feel light, and it kept dropping for longer than he would have thought possible. He found himself wishing he could believe in the gods' return, could believe he'd somehow been chosen to call them. But Tenar had said they'd promised to return when they were needed, and they hadn't.
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