Jularra followed slowly, treading deliberately to take in the myriad of carvings, etchings, characters, and depictions in the wood and stone of the monument.
“This is Nurudian?”
Leona turned and nodded before cresting the stairs and marching to the altar in the monument's center.
Jularra had read everything Acorilan’s texts and histories could offer on the Nurudians, which wasn’t much. Most of what she had learned had come from the few stories her mother and Vylas offered earlier in her life, combined with a handful of passages in assorted historical tomes. With each of Jularra’s steps, she saw scenes, phrases, designs, and symbols that were completely foreign to her, and realized how little she knew of the culture that was so deeply ingrained in the curse that had defined Acorilan’s leadership for centuries.
“They were from the old continent, the Nurudians,” Leona said. She circled around the altar, looking down at the carvings set into the massive stone top.
“But they don’t exist anymore…?” Jularra prompted.
“No,” Leona replied. “They never recovered from their failures at the end of the Wars of Expansion. Do you know how the Voidwarden gained its power over Acorilan?”
“Of course,” Jularra said, insulted. “The queen at the time, Detsepera, swore the obedience of her successors in exchange for help with defeating the Nurudians.”
“During the Wars. Yes,” Leona said. “But do you know why she asked the Voidwarden you’re familiar with for help?”
“Because it had the power to help,” Jularra answered, confident.
“No. Do you know why Detsepera engaged that particular Voidwarden?”
Jularra narrowed her eyes, confused. She looked around at Vischuno, Melcayro, Abranni, and Wona—who had just ascended the steps—to see if they had any clue as to what Leona was referring to. What did she mean, 'that particular Voidwarden'?
“Because none of the other Voidwardens would help. Acorilan’s Gracewarden wouldn’t help, either,” Leona added. “Couldn’t help.”
“Wait, wait,” Jularra interrupted. “The 'other Voidwardens'?”
Leona smiled.
“Didn’t you ever wonder why no one else in the world ever mentioned their country’s Voidwarden?”
“Everyone else has their own customs. Their own burial rights,” Melcayro replied. “In Hignriten, and even in Messyleio, we build a pyre for the dead at a special place in nature associated with the person.”
“Right,” Jularra sought to continue, looking back to Leona. “It's common knowledge that the Gracewarden battles to keep the failed souls out of Cylinnia, and the Voidwarden fights to keep the failed souls from escaping from Zunnor. Acorilan’s honored dead pass into the afterlife with the blessing of the Gracewarden, while the failed souls have to await the permission of the Voidwarden.”
Leona slowly wagged her finger. Her grin grew wider
“There were once many Gracewardens and Voidwardens located throughout the world,” Leona began. “Now only a pair survive. Those in Acorilan are now much more than gate guards.”
“But if they control who enters and leaves, what happens to those who die outside Acorilan?” Wona asked.
“I don’t know the answer to that,” Leona admitted. “As your friend over here mentioned, almost every culture has its own custom for honoring the dead in this world. But what happens to their spirits… I don’t know.”
“Wait a minute,” Jularra blurted. “Why are there only two? What about all the others?”
“At some point after Detsepera made the pact, your Voidwarden consolidated its power,” Leona answered. “Killed the other Voidwardens and Gracewardens.”
“Killed the others?” Abranni asked. Her face was a mixture of horror and astonishment.
“How is that even possible?” Jularra added to the group’s questions. “What exactly is it?”
“Come with me,” Leona said. “I don’t have much information on this particular topic, but I think there's something you need to see.”
Jularra hesitated, glancing over at the nearby forces of Messyleians, Bedrock and Spire, but Leona anticipated her question.
“Your people can camp in my field,” she said. “Do not—do not—let them enter my woods.”
***
Jularra, Abranni and Melcayro followed Leona with careful steps and suspicious eyes. There were no forest sounds to alleviate the awkward silence that drifted between Leona and the others, and the ground was insulated by the pine trees' fallen needles. There was no jovial chatting to pass the time, and the group made no effort to ask Leona anything as they walked.
After travelling for what Jularra guessed to be about three miles, the wide porch of a sturdy, single-story home slipped into view. While Leona marched right up to the porch and slogged up its modest steps, Jularra stopped to take in the building. The others halted behind her.
The appearance of Leona's home surprised Jularra as much as it enchanted her. The wooden steps, rails, beams and rafters had clearly been placed some decades previously, but while they were old, they were well taken care of. A narrow plume of smoke wafted out from somewhere at the rear of the home.
“Well, come on,” Leona shouted from the porch.
Jularra tore herself away from her study of the house and silently checked in with her friends. They each looked nervous, but steadfast, and together they entered the cabin.
After five wide steps and a deep, covered porch, the foyer fed immediately into a dark hall, the end of which Jularra couldn't immediately see. Leona had stopped, and now her eyes locked impatiently on the group clustered in the foyer.
“Either follow me, or go home,” she ordered. “My time is not yours to waste.”
Jularra was more than willing to proceed, but she was too stunned by her surroundings to do so. The look on her companions' faces said they felt the same. The sight before them demanded pause, and respect.
Every square inch of the walls, all the way up to the arched ceiling, was covered with Credellions.
Jularra was dumbfounded. She couldn’t even contemplate the existence of this many Credellions, in reality, or myth and legend—let alone owned by one person.
It’s just not possible.
Whether it was a matter of not having enough time
