Page 20 of Goddess of Light
Rauta trots off in that direction, and I start to follow.
“Tuonen, Son of Death,” a deep, primordial voice echoes through the caves, causing stalactites of quartz and amethyst to fall from the ceiling and shatter.
Rauta stops and barks, looking at me over his shoulder for guidance.
Vipunen!
I thought we could end up near Vipunen’s cave, the all-knowing giant who taught Lovia and I how to fight in our blind masks. But now that alliances have shifted, the cryptic deity might be as compromised as the rest of them.
“Come closer,” the giant’s voice rumbles, coming from everywhere all at once. “Do you see that light?”
The glow shines in the distance, illuminating the pockets of crystals in the walls, turning everything a shade of lavender.
“Follow the light,” he booms.
“How do we know we can trust you?” I ask, wincing at the tremble in my voice, though the sword remains steady in my grip.
“At this point, Tuonen, I don’t think you have a choice,” he says with a chuckle. “If I meant you any harm, I would have caused it already.”
Uh huh.
“And that thing back there wasn’t it?”
“Oh, that?” Vipunen booms. “That was just Iku-Turso, an Old God I haven’t seen in a very long time. Pain in the ass, if you ask me, but you did a fine job of disposing of it. Better you hurry in case another takes its place. Those tentacles regenerate, you know.”
I glance behind me at the water and sigh, exchanging a look with Rauta.
Looks like we don’t have a choice.
CHAPTER EIGHT
DEATH
The wind bitesat my face as we step out of the barracks into the bleak Finnish winter, the sky a pall of heavy, low clouds that seem to trap the light. It’s midday, and yet everything is as dim as twilight. We stand on a tarmac that leads to the fields beyond, where a procession of trucks sits rumbling, idling in place. Soldiers—my soldiers, at least for now—wait in half-dazed silence. Their breath clouds in the air, their gloved hands clenching rifles, their bodies bundled against the cold in white-and-black camo that makes them blend in with the scenery. I’ve numbed their fear, their reason, their doubts. With me guiding their thoughts, they do as I ask, their minds barely aware of how strange all of this is.
And this is all very fucking strange.
Torben stands beside me, tugging at his scarf, his blue eyes watering as the wind whips against us. He found the spell and cast it, a fine step forward. Now, we just have to get to the place where the portal will be summoned. Thankfully, it’s not far—just a few valleys over. Torben explained that the right combination of natural ley lines converge deep in that forest, lending itself to magical manipulation. With ash, salt, and a spark of theUnderworld’s essence—mine—we can open a doorway back home.
“Is everyone ready?” I ask, voice echoing in the hushed gloom.
General Pekka gives a curt nod before he barks an order in Finnish. The soldiers move, mechanical yet quiet, the snow crunching beneath their boots as they clamber into the back of the trucks. The engines growl. No one questions the strangeness of it all—a God of Death, an old shaman, and a troop of mortal soldiers heading off into the wilderness, simply because there is no one out here in the middle of nowhere to witness it.
Torben and I climb into the truck with General Pekka at the wheel. I lean out the window and raise a hand, and the drivers, as if guided by invisible strings, set the trucks into motion. We head out along a narrow, snow-packed road, the tires grinding over ice. The forest on either side grows taller, darker, going from bare birch to thick pine. Though the heater is on full blast, the wind still finds its way into the truck and cuts through my cloak, chilling me in a way that reminds me of how out of my element I am. I hate how utterly human this world makes me feel. I hate that it makes me feelperiod.
Torben sits hunched over a small wooden box on his lap that he pulled from his satchel. Inside the box are the ingredients for the spell—ash from a birch branch, salt wrapped in a cloth pouch, and a strand of hair he plucked from my head when I wasn’t looking. “Relic of the Underworld,” he’d said with a shrug. Turns out, I hate being called a relic.
I didn’t protest, though I’ll be pissed if that hair doesn’t grow back. If this works, we have a chance. If not… Well, if it doesn’t, I’ll have a thousand mortal soldiers under my command and nothing to do with them while I’m trapped in the Upper World, forced to try and find another portal, hopefully one that’s already in existence and not conjured by a spell.
But no delays are acceptable at this point. I must return. Hanna, Lovia, Tuonen, my realm, my people—they all need me.
We drive for over an hour. Day darkens into a purple bruise. Snow begins to fall, lazy flakes that glitter in the headlights. Torben says little—occasionally, he mutters to himself, running through words of the incantation, checking and re-checking the lines from his spellbook. The general remains quiet, trusting my mental push to keep him docile but invested and unalarmed by this bizarre mission.
At some point, the road narrows until it’s barely a path. The trucks lumber through snow-laden pines, their branches sagging overhead like tired shoulders. We slow as the terrain grows wilder, more uneven, until eventually, the trucks can’t go on.
Everything comes to a stop.
The general’s voice crackles over a radio, but I shut out the words as I step out of the cab to survey our route. I’m focused on the land, the subtle pulse I feel beneath my boots. It’s faint, but I recognize the underlying hum of magic. This place is not ordinary. Something old and potent lingers here—perhaps these very hills remember the old faiths, the old ways, when this world and mine were so much closer.