"Guardians?"
The word landed in the small, dry space like a stone. My heart, which had just started to beat at a normal rhythm, sank. "You mean there's something else trying to kill us?"
"No," Kael said, his voice low and serious. He pushed himself into a sitting position, his back against the rock wall. "Not trying to kill us. That's what makes them more difficult. The guardians of the Sunken Library are not creatures of the Magi. They are older, woven from the same ancient magic as the Library itself. They don't judge good or evil, only purpose. They are a lock, and we must prove we are the key."
The meager warmth I had managed to gather seemed to evaporate. We were not warriors or scholars. We were fugitives. What purpose could we possibly show that would satisfy an ancient, magical lock?
After another hour of tense, fitful rest, the grey morning light had grown strong enough to navigate by. We crept out of our alcove. The air was still cold, but the wind had died down. We began to walk, hugging the base of the massive granite cliff that marked the edge of the mountains.
"The entrance isn't marked," Kael explained, his eyes scanning the endless, sheer rock face. "It's meant to be found only by those who know what to look for." He looked at me. "Or what to feel for."
I understood. He wanted me to use my Sandsong. I closed my eyes, shutting out the overwhelming green and grey of this damp world. I turned my senses inward, then downward, into the earth. The song of the mountain was deep and slow, a slumbering bass note completely different from the shifting tenor of the dunes. It was a song of immense age, pressure, and patience. I let my consciousness drift along the cliff face, listening.
For a long time, there was nothing but the monotonous drone of solid stone. But then, I felt it. A slight dissonance. A chord that was held when it should have been released. It was a section of the cliff face, perhaps thirty feet wide, that felt... silent. It was stone, but it didn't sing the same song as the rock around it. It was a patch of silence in a choir.
"Here," I said, opening my eyes and placing my palm flat against the cold rock. "It's different here."
Kael ran his own hands over the surface. To the naked eye, it was seamless, identical to the rest of the mountain. "The magic that conceals it is powerful," he murmured. He placed his hand beside mine and uttered a short, guttural word.
For a terrifying moment, nothing happened. Then, a low grinding sound echoed from deep within the stone. It was not the sound of a door opening. Faint lines appeared on the rock face, glowing with a soft, white light, etching the outline of a massive doorway. On either side of the glowing frame, the stone itself began to shift and bulge.
I scrambled back as two towering figures emerged from the cliff. They were not carved; they looked as if the mountain itself had shrugged its shoulders and decided to stand up. They were humanoid in shape, but rough-hewn and featureless, with no face, no eyes, no expression. They were silent, immense, and they stood flanking the glowing doorway, their stony arms crossed, blocking the way. The Silent Guardians.
"They are bound to the entrance," Kael whispered, his voice filled with awe and fear. "We have to show them we are worthy of passing."
He stepped forward, raised a hand, and began to chant in the language of magic. A small, blue spark flickered at his fingertip, a pinpoint of his power. He thrust it towards the guardians. The spark traveled the few feet and simply vanished a breath away from the first guardian's chest, absorbed without a trace. The guardian did not even seem to notice. Kael stumbled back, the effort costing him dearly.
"My magic is too new," he coughed. "Theirs is... foundational. Primeval. It's like trying to knock down a mountain with a whisper."
My heart pounded. He was the Mage. If he couldn't get us through, what hope did I have? But then I remembered his words. They judged purpose. His magic was a tool, an attempt to force a lock. But my Sandsong... my connection to the sand wasn't about force. It was about listening. It was a dialogue.
Taking a shaky breath, I stepped forward, past Kael. I stood before the right-hand guardian, a being twice my height, radiating an aura of immense age and stillness. I did not prepare a spell. I did not try to command it. I simply placed my palm flat against its stony chest.
And I sang.
Not with my voice, but with my soul. I pushed the faint, gritty whisper of my Sandsong into the stone. I didn't send a command for it to move. I sent it our story: the fear, the flight from the Magi, the cold shock of the river, Kael's exhaustion, our desperate hope for knowledge and safety. I sent it the purpose Kael had spoken of.
The guardian remained motionless. The glowing door did not open. But something new happened. A thought, vast and slow as a shifting continent, entered my mind. It was not made of words, but of pure, cold understanding.
It was a question.
Why do you seek what is hidden?
The guardian was testing me. Testing us. And in the profound silence of the mountain, with the weight of this ancient being's question pressing down on my mind, I had to find an answer worthy of opening the way.