Understanding sinks like a stone in her gut.
What if he had killed me in the war? What would have happened to him? Would people try to kill me for the stone?
Her life doesn’t feel worth that of a Guardian’s. How many Guardians defended their Keeper to the death?
A burst of comprehension fills her mind as she realizes the value of strength and honor in the Salt Province—a realm that always puts forth Guardians. Even though Thord removed Sigvid from the path of Kingship, his fate held a darker, more meaningful passage in protecting the Sacred Stones.
And the Keeper.
Suddenly, she yearns for the toasty fires of Blackwood, curled in a soft blanket with a good book.
To pretend she isn’t a Keeper.
Deep down, she knows that she needs to ignore the budding feelings between her and Sigvid, but even returning to Timber will never wholly sever her ties with him.
The gods have woven their lives together in fate until one of them passes on to the lavish halls of the afterlife, leaving the other all alone.
She sighs as she descends the steps. Avina continues to hear the cryptic masculine tones rising from the deep. Thankfully, no corpses greet her when her boots hit the dirt floor.
Straight ahead is a short, rocky hallway with overflowing candles flickering in hollowed nooks.
The voices grow louder as she creeps along the narrow corridor.
Was that Sigvid’s voice I heard?
She quickens her pace until she deadends in a fire set in a stone pot bearing the nautilus shell of the Salt Province. To her immediate right is an arched stone door bearing a hefty lock and runes. On her left is an illuminated doorway, the source of the faint discussion inside.
Someone here should undoubtedly point me in the direction of home.
Avina steps inside, “Hello, I am hoping for help…to find…my way…home…” her voice trails off awkwardly. The scene she charges her way into raises every hair on her body, sending a shudder through her spine.
Standing huddled before her are three figures shrouded in midnight cloaks, gloves, and boots. It is not their formality or fondness for black attire that freezes the blood flowing through her veins. Each has a different skull mask, and all their attention is now on Avina.
“Sigvid?” She squeaks.
37
AVINA
November 24th, Year 100, 9th Era
Guardian Mausoleum, Salt Province
Before anyone else can react, the imposing figure on her left, bearing an antlered stag skull as a mask, moves forward. A slight head shake from the wolf skull against the opposite stone wall halts its progress even if it makes no effort to approach her.
The final figure she finds the most unsettling. A human skull conceals their face, and the darkness further obscures their features.
She instinctively clutches the Ridge Sacred Stone in her mitten-shrouded hand. The sapphire pulses with that familiar reassurance.
What is it reassuring?
Drinking in the scene, she wonders if she has stumbled upon those facilitating the Salt Stone’s Ceremony.
One of these masked men must be Sigvid! She is sure she heard his voice when she entered the mausoleum. Yet, the silence and hulking shadows make her uneasy enough to question her logic.
Stag Mask’s hulking form persists closer with a gloved hand outstretched as if offering support. The sapphire burns hot in her hand as if warning her against them.
A menacing growl reverberates across the tight space. There is no mistaking the three for their broad chests, tensing muscles, and hardened features beneath the cloaks as men. The man in the human skull mask growls until the Stag Mask retreats.
