He takes a step forward, but I stop him with a hand on his arm. “This is a tomb.”
Otto’s brows go up. “Yes. We knew that.”
“No, I—” I spin again, looking at what I can see of this chamber, willfully ignoring the masked creatures still looming over us. “This isn’thow barrows are laid out. We don’t bury our dead this way anymore, but barrows are only one chamber, not—”
I wave at the doorway.
Otto’s face screws up in thought. “This couldnotbe a tomb. It could have been made to look like one to keep out interlopers. But if this is where she hid the stone, maybe it is laid out differently.”
Something scratches at me. A creeping, shuddering sense of wrong.
Perchta is the goddess of rules and tradition.
She wouldn’t create a barrow that didn’t follow the norm. Would she?
I take a breath, fighting to level my concern. Otto is right. If this is the stone’s hiding place, she could have had her champion build it in a unique way.
I rub at my temple, glaring at the doorway. The anger and certainty that swells in my chest stuns me. I’d gotten so used to feeling afraid, exhausted. But this kick of surety and righteous fury temporarily yanks me away from the reality of what we’re facing. This is invigorating, and I feel more in control than I have in weeks. Months, maybe.
A quick rummage in my satchel reveals a small jar half-empty of balm. I make a witchlight of it, and the steady glow creates a bubble of light around Otto and me.
“Stay behind me,” I tell him as I walk forward.
His arm swings out, his sword already bare in his other hand. “I don’t think—”
“Otto, this place is steeped in Perchta’s magic. There may be things you can slice at, but for now, let me go first in case there are spells to counter.”
His face sets. He wants to argue, and I love him for it, but he relents and falls in step behind me.
I enter the doorway, and a long hall twists downward, the floor giving way from moss to smooth dirt. The walls change, too, becoming stacked stones, man-made, and the hall twists, down and down, each bend making my chest wrench tighter.
How far beneath the ground are we now? And what happened to Brigitta, Cornelia, and our group? Perchta wouldn’t let her guardians harm them, would she?
I shake my head. We’ll find out if the stone is here. We’ll get the damn thing and make our way out of this accursed place, and I’ll deal with whatever Perchta did to my friends.
The hall continues down, and one more turn shows the floor leveling. I come up short, back to the wall, and peer around the corner.
I let the witchlight go out.
Otto starts to hiss, “Why—” but he stops when a yellow glow takes the space of the witchlight, coming from farther down the hall.
“There’s a wider chamber,” I whisper. “Lit torches. It looks like a burial room.”
“So thisisa tomb?”
I shrug.
“Who lit the torches?” Otto asks.
Another shrug. I meet his gaze and mimic throwing spells.
Ready?I mouth.
He adjusts his grip on his sword and nods.
I don’t count down, don’t warn him further; I dive around the corner and hurl myself into the burial chamber.
Torches rim the stacked stone walls, flames dancing orange and yellow off the piles of goods around me. Tables are strewn with gold jewelry, pieces of armor, fine leather and wool clothes. Another table is set for a banquet feast, platters and serving trays holding long-rotted food andherbs kept almost preserved by the moisture of the tomb, wine flagons and drinking horns and goblets set at places like guests are moments from coming. At the back of the room, lit by the largest torches in the space, is a bronze couch attached to a gold-plated wagon. The wall behind it has four concave dips each taller than I am, alcoves that nestle around four identical clay statues. The wagon, the torches, the statues all stand guard over a body wrapped in white linen laid in repose on the couch.
