The Beast of Salt (Saga of the Gods #1)

45. Sigvid

45

SIGVID

December 15th, Year 100, 9th Era

Outside Toftlund City, Salt Province

H eavy branches hang overhead like a corridor of twisted, snarling arms encasing Sigvid in a corridor of pale moonlight.

Before the first Salt Stone Ceremony he led, he used to imagine the trees were sentinels of the Briny God, offering him protection as he enacted his will. He is never closer to his god than on these nights.

Except this one.

Leaving Blackwood this evening is burdensome. Witnessing Avina effortlessly tame Thora’s wild dark hair gripped him with an unusual desire to bask in the familial warmth. At thirteen, Thora will be among the many the gods will consider as a receiver to accept a Sacred Stone ability next week. Only Sigvid will know the names once he begins his meditation tonight.

Thora has begrudgingly become the child he never thought he wanted yet adored nonetheless. He sees so much of himself in her bright green eyes, and the thought of her being given an ability from the stone shakes him to his core. As a warrior in Salt, she would be eligible for powers ranging from berserker to shape-shifting.

How can he deny her a place amongst the Drengr if the gods choose her to receive such an ability?

As he crests the final ridge, he has a full view of Toftlund expanding on his left and the Guardian mausoleum rising dead ahead along the packed dirt road.

The soft curl he took from Avina’s head twirls between his tattooed thumb and forefinger while he approaches the mausoleum.

A few days before the ceremony, the Gothi allotted the Guardian the responsibility of listening to the names whispered by the Briny God. He will be given eighteen across Treland. However, he will only provide a formal ceremony for the six Salt children.

After the other two stones vanished, the Gothi in the Ridge and Timber abandoned the ceremonies even though their children still receive Sacred Stone powers. This ceremony is only designated for Salt, as the rest of the country has long forgotten the Guardian and Keeper lore.

All that he had succumbed to with Avina over the last several months has him on edge to approach the gods. She is the appointed Keeper, and he does not doubt that the Briny God would disapprove of his often homicidal thoughts to the fucking protector of the stones.

Even if she has become everything to him.

Leaning against the outer stone wall of the circular mausoleum is Grim. “Are you sure you want a Timber man part of your Sacred Stone Ceremony?” he calls out as the lit braziers illuminate their faces with dancing shadows.

“For the most important role.” Sigvid pushes him inside the stale glow. Several other Gothi and servants shuffle about in black robes, tending to the holy space.

Grim sharply inhales as the curving wall of names of past Guardians confronts them.

“Are there Guardians in every province?” Grim runs a hand along the name plaque of Sigvid’s great-uncle.

“They serve the realm. The Guardian line has always existed in Salt, only seeming to emerge in my family’s line. When the last Keeper, Princess Sabelina of the Ridge, gave up her stone for my ancestor, Prince Ornolf, to safeguard, the Keeper line effectively died.”

Until Avina.

“Fascinating.” Grim follows him deeper underground, the air growing stale and chilly. “And you have them all now?”

“Yes.”

Upon discovering the Timber stone in Samson’s belongings, Sigvid now wears the stupid ring on his right hand.

The stones have not unified for hundreds of winters. It is time Sigvid acknowledged the importance and awarded their custody to the one person chosen by the gods.

He will serve Avina until one of their deaths. Inescapable fate intertwines their lives.

Sigvid leads Grim down the narrow corridor lit with new, bright candles.

The Sacred Stone Ceremony is a momentous occasion for all in the province. Gothi heralded the Briny God with fresh incense and candles at their shrines and altars.

Grim’s gaze roves around the underground space, which has only a single tight corridor that dead-ends in a brazier before splitting off into two doors.

Grim points to the room to the left, “What is in there?”

“Our robes and any ceremonial objects we need.” And the Salt Sacred Stone .

After Princess Sabelina entrusted the Ridge Stone to Ornolf, the Guardians of Salt felt more comfortable keeping them separate despite being historically stored together.

Sigvid follows Grim’s focus to his right at the thick stone door etched with runes spelling out ‘Guardian.’ A heavy lock hangs menacingly beneath the knob. “And there?”

Sigvid withdraws a long skeleton key and unlocks the door. He directs the way into a darkened chamber musty with the scent of earth and stone. They cannot see anything besides the utter blackness filling the room like an endless void.

“A bit too cozy for my tastes.” Grim quips while Sigvid lights a few pillar candles, revealing a single stone armchair.

As they light the seemingly continuous supply of wax, Sigvid finally decides to ask Grim what has been on his mind for far too long. “Grim, I have an important question to ask, but do not fuck with me like you do.” He inhales while his friend pauses to give him an amused upturn of his lips.

“How did you know you loved your wife?”

Grim’s brows shoot to his hairline. He seemingly recovers from his shock and strokes his chin thoughtfully.

“Evie was the single source of brightness in my miserable existence. There was never an exact moment I knew I loved her. Rather little moments sprinkled about. Her smile and laugh tickled my soul. And there was this way she could resurrect any flower or fern. Of course, the crinkle of her brow and the wideness of her eyes always had me willing to give her anything she asked. I could go on, Beast. She lives in my heart still. I will carry her until the gods return me to her side.”

Sigvid’s hand hovers over a flickering flame as he listens.

“I suspect this question is not out of casual curiosity?” Grim continues.

“No.” Sigvid grinds his teeth, not wanting to admit the tenderness for Avina that blazes in his soul.

“I have shared more secrets with you in the last five months than with many people throughout my life. It is only fair if you return the gesture.”

Sigvid squeezes the lighting stick in his hand until it snaps in half.

No one needs to know my weaknesses. Not even Grim.

“You have cared for her since before the Arena. Why are you set on denying reality now?” Grim presses.

“Because it doesn’t fucking matter! All right?” Sigvid’s roar rattles the bronze sconces outside in the hall.

Love has nothing to do with it.

“Are you seriously going to pretend she means nothing?” Confusion rattles Grim’s features.

“Can anyone honestly fucking say that woman means nothing to me? She is singularly the most important person in my fucking life! I could watch her mind at work until I am both envious and prideful. In her eyes, she reduces me to nothing more than a simple man drowning in her soul. Inhaling her scent is like breathing in the godsdamn air. It's never satisfying, never enough. She is the breath I need to survive. And oh, the fucking noises she utters under my touch are intoxicating. In her presence, silence becomes torture when all I crave is to hurt her just to hear those fucking perfect lips say my name.”

Sigvid has never spoken more honestly about anything or anyone. He has revealed far too much of his feelings for Avina, and she has yet to hear even a portion of his confession.

And Grim’s smirk only enrages Sigvid further.

“You mock me!”

“My friend!” Grim claps him on the shoulder. “I just want you to be happy. Now, when are we killing Thrain so you can make your move?”

Sigvid grins. “My brother is threatening her with our fucking mother and Thora.”

And myself , he thinks bitterly.

“The Drengr are prepared to strike at any moment. You and she have become close, and I feared telling you might jeopardize my plan and put you in harm's way, too.”

Because maybe I don’t want to see you die either, Grim.

He nods. “One thing at a time. What do you need me to do here?”

Sigvid settles into the most uncomfortable seat with a sigh. “I am to wait for the gods to whisper the names of those receivers, children who will earn an ability. Once I have them, I wish you to arrange for the couriers to ride out and invite them and their families to the ceremony.”

Grim leans against the wall, crossing his arms. “What do they sound like? The gods?”

Sigvid shifts in his seat. He only distinctly heard from the Briny God, who sounded like his Father or himself, depending on the winter—nothing he wanted to admit.

“Keep your secrets, Thordsson.” Grim winks.

December 19th, Year 100, 9th Era

Outside Toftlund City, Salt Province

N ight descends on Toftlund.

Sigvid stands between Thrain and a Briny God Gothi near the cliff face where the city holds most of its funerals. The vast clearing on the hill allows nearly all of Toftlund, along with pilgrimaging Salt folk, to witness the ritual.

The three leading the Sacred Stone ceremony stand garbed in dark cloaks and ancient skeletal masks. The last time he found himself this way, his cute little golden-haired Queen interrupted the finale of their rehearsal.

This Sacred Stone Ceremony will be the last to exclude her. Next winter, the ceremony will include all three provinces with a unified Treland.

Sigvid counts on that.

“What are the names, Guardian?” The Gothi’s voice sounds muffled through the wolf's skull mask, representing the Briny God.

Sigvid wore the human skull mask, representing his connection and voice to the people of Salt. “Arnor Karsson, Beau Olafsson, Bjorn Hansson, Hilde Gunnison, Siv Morsson,” he pauses for a heartbeat, “and Thora Steinbjornsson.”

In his stag skull mask, representing the King of Salt, Thrain tilts his head toward them.

“Arnor, Thora, and Siv are all from Toftlund. Beau is from Briedalr Village, Hilde is from Klifunder, and Bjorn is a son of Sjoby.” Sigvid recalls the words the Briny God whispered to him a week prior.

Sigvid’s couriers, under Grim’s direction and accompanied by two soldiers each, were sent to the homes of the children of only thirteen winters whose lives would be forever changed. Like the other twelve children across the provinces of Treland, they will receive a unique gift from the gods this night.

“A good mix of the province.” The Gothi nods.

The trio watches as Gothi, garbed in white, hooded cloaks, light the crushed shell braziers lining the path toward the three men in black. At his side, Thrain steps to the polished marble altar and unfurls the satin sheet as pure as new snow. Crimson pillar candles are set and lit at each corner. An eerie glow flickers over the sheet, almost ominously.

No matter how many winters Sigvid has conducted these ceremonies as Guardian, he can never shake the goosebumps on the back of his neck. The sheer magnitude of witnessing the gods at work humbles him every time.

Drums rumble across the field, and a thick crowd of onlookers gape onward. Even from his stance, he spots Avina’s golden curls in the dancing flames of the braziers with Grim and Mother by her side. Her hand clutches the sapphire hung around her neck. He has no doubt she can feel the seidr pulsing from the stone as its power–fueled by the gods–prepares to bestow upon the children.

“That’s my cue.” Thrain disappears into the night, leaving Sigvid and the Gothi on either side of the altar.

Several breaths pass, and then the deep drums signal the six receivers garbed in white robes approaching. Thrain leads them, representing the king leading the people to the gods.

Sigvid scans the varied expressions on the children's faces, and his erratic nerves hop when a wild, dark-haired girl bobs forward. Thora stares straight ahead, unflinching and focused—a proper Drengr.

Sigvid can not be more proud.

The Briny God Gothi steps forward and stops the six receivers. “People of Salt,” he projects his voice to the crowd with his ability, “tonight we welcome these children, chosen by the gods, to receive gifts to better their lives. As many of our forefathers have found, these abilities only strengthen our unity as a province. We welcome our sons and daughters to willingly accept their abilities from the Sacred Stone.”

Sigvid steps forward beside a set of steps leading to the altar. The tiny nautilus shell hangs on a cord over his black robes. Salt’s Sacred Stone glows a green and blue hue atop his cloak, fully visible to his people.

“Arnor Karsson,” Sigvid calls the receivers one by one. The bestowments of Arnor, Beau, and Siv go smoothly.

And then he calls Bjorn Hansson.

He is a taller, lean boy with midnight black hair and cautious gray eyes. When he approaches, his shoulders pull back, signaling his heads-on approach. Bjorn settles onto the altar, his feet dangling off the side.

“Do you embrace our gods and accept the power they gift you, Bjorn?” Sigvid grips the dagger in his right hand, the Sacred Stone in his left.

“Yes.” Bjorn keeps his focus on the clear night sky overhead.

Sigvid makes a triangle-shaped cut in the boy’s wrist, signaling the three provinces. His blood adds to the stains of the satin sheet, a gift to the gods from their mortal servants. Sigvid closes his eyes and listens for the voice of the Briny God.

“Bjorn Redwood,” the voice no longer sounds like the gruff, deep male of the Briny God. Instead, it is feminine and husky. “We grant you the gift of…foresight.”

Sigvid’s eyes fly open as he observes the boy, who seems unbothered by the female goddess’ voice in his head.

Foresight is not a Salt ability.

Residents of the Ridge received this rare gift.

Could this be the gods sensing the nearing unification of the country and the stones? No, the gods grant the seidr by location only.

There is no question the Goddess named ‘Bjorn Redwood’ as a receiver, not ‘Bjorn Hansson.’

“Your Highness?” Bjorn whispers from the altar. “I think there has been a mistake.”

Sigvid shakes his head. “The Briny God doesn’t make mistakes. It would seem your destiny lies with Redwood.” Sigvid instantly finds Avina in the crowd. Her gaze is fixated on the boy as if she, too, has overheard the bestowment.

After Bjorn, Hilde is next and receives a common Salt ability.

Finally, Thora steps forward. Her eyes are hard with determination.

“Do you embrace our gods and accept your power, Thora?” Sigvid grips the dagger's hilt in his right hand, the Sacred Stone in his left. “Relax, kid.” He whispers.

She swivels her head to look up at him. A flicker of uncertainty flashes, and he wishes he could comfort her.

“Yes.” Thora chokes out.

After marking her wrist, Sigvid closes his eyes, his heart pounding in anticipation of her reveal.

“Thora Sigvidsson,” once again, the voice is feminine and husky—the Goddess Maeve. And, once again, she misnames a receiver. “We grant you the gift of… invisibility.”

What? I have plans to adopt her, yet have not taken the formal steps with Thrain’s antics. Apparently, the gods have other plans.

But the invisibility is most shocking.

Thora sits bolt upright, staring transfixed over Sigvid’s shoulder. Without turning, he knows she is looking for Avina.

He signals Thrain and the Gothi to conclude the ceremony while escorting Thora to the side.

“What does that mean?” She is quivering.

For winters, Thora talked about becoming a berserker. The gods' choices in receivers are fickle at best. Invisibility is far from anything he could have anticipated and signaled something more significant.

“Aunt V!” She runs into Avina’s arms.

His little Queen meets his gaze over Thora’s head, and he is sure she heard the goddess’ voice, too, now that she has accepted her role as Keeper.

“I thought only the Bloodstone line produced Keepers?” Avina asks, holding Thora close.

“Yes. Only those of the Bloodstone line can become a Keeper.” Sigvid removes his mask to see Thora and Avina better.

“I was supposed to be a berserker, like you, Uncle Sig!” Thora sobs.

“No. None of that.” He tugs her into his arms. “Thora, we cannot possibly comprehend the vision of the gods. All we can do is take what they give us and move forward. You have been chosen for greatness—by the Briny God himself—the second Keeper in hundreds of winters. I could not be more proud of you.”

Her bottom lip trembles. “The gods called me Sigvidsson.”

Sigvid nods slowly. “I wanted to talk to you first because I want this to be your choice, too. I guess now is as good a time as any. I want to adopt you, Thora. If that is alright with you?”

Tears trickle over her cheek. “I guess that would be okay.” She sniffles .

He smirks and pulls her into a hug while he looks into Avina’s orbs. She steps forward to rub Thora’s back. Together, they form the little family he will fight to the death to keep safe.

Off by himself stands the Sjoby boy, Bjorn. If Thora has been misnamed a Sigvidsson to herald her joining his family, what does Maeve intend by proclaiming him a Redwood? Seeming to read his mind, Avina squeezes Sigvid’s hand and then steps away to introduce herself to the boy.

Sigvid glances over his shoulder at the altar to see a Salt warrior lay his hand on the satin sheet. The warrior's hair and beard are identical to Sigvid's. When the figure lifts his head, Sigvid feels like he is gazing into a mirror image of himself.

The family you never knew you wanted.

The figure’s gruff voice whispers in his mind before offering a crooked smile and fading away into the night with the blood-stained sheet.