Page 21 of Goddess of Light

“I feel it,” Torben whispers beside me. He crouches near a hollow stump, brushing away snow to reveal something carved in the wood: a spiral, half-erased by time. “A marker left by those who knew the paths between worlds, perhaps Väinämöinen himself,” he says softly, his eyes gleaming with both hope and worry. “We’re on the right track.”

I nod and signal the soldiers. They abandon the trucks now, leaving them behind. The portal, if it opens, will not be made in the middle of a road. I push my influence out, calming any stray doubts in their minds. They follow without question, rifles strapped across their chests, boots crunching through old snow and brittle undergrowth.

We find a glade beyond a ridge of ice-crusted stones. The trees arch high overhead, their trunks pale and ghostly. The ground underfoot is oddly level, and I feel my heart quicken—this must be the spot. Torben runs a hand along the bark of a birch tree and then scans the clearing, nodding to himself.

“This is it,” he murmurs. “I can feel it.”

“But it’s not a cave,” I say, looking around.

“It doesn’t have to be,” he says.

The soldiers line up single file behind me at my silent command as Torben places the wooden box on the ground and kneels. He sprinkles ash in a wide circle, then the salt. The wind dies down, as if holding its breath. My mouth goes dry. Everything hinges on this.

“Give me your hand,” Torben says, his voice low. I take off my glove and extend it, and he takes a small knife from his coat pocket, careful to prick my fingertip without touching me. A bead of dark blood wells up and I smear it onto a scrap of cloth with my hair tied inside—the energy of Tuonela, the essence of me, staining the fabric.

He places it at the center of the circle then pulls out the book. The soldiers stand motionless behind us, human statues in the twilight that mimic the trees.

Torben begins to chant. The language sounds old yet strangely familiar, each word strung like beads of sound that hum through my bones. The ash and salt stir in an unseen breeze. The cloth trembles. I feel something crack in the air, like a door creaking on ancient hinges. The soldiers shift uneasily, picking up on changes they can’t understand. I exert more pressure on their minds, keeping them calm.

A faint glow appears above the circle. No, not just a glow—a tear, a rip in reality. It shimmers at first, like heat haze, then broadens, revealing murky shapes beyond. Cold air spills through, richer and darker than the night that has fallen aroundus. I catch a scent: damp soil, faint rot, and something else I can’t name but know all too well—Tuonela’s fragrance.

Torben’s voice rises in intensity, the spell slipping from his tongue. The portal widens, an oval of shimmering darkness. It’s not stable, flickering at the edges. I step closer, peering into the void. I can see something large in the distance, like a building that rises from nothing. Are we truly looking into the Underworld, because though the shapes are vague, they don’t seem familiar.

Where are we?

I spare a glance at Torben. He’s sweating despite the cold, his breath coming in ragged bursts. I know he’s giving it everything he has. I’m grateful, though I won’t say it out loud, lest it goes to his head.

In a few moments, we will step through that gash in the fabric of worlds and find ourselves back where we belong—or at least where I belong. My heart twists at the thought that I still don’t know what awaits us on the other side. But uncertainty is better than stagnation, better than staying in a frozen world with no answers and far too many humans.

I glance at Torben. “Are you certain that if we walk through here, we’ll end up in Tuonela?”

“Where else could we possibly end up?” he asks, wriggling his nose.

In other dimensions and universes and timelines, I can’t help but think, though of course I don’t voice these thoughts. It would look foolish for a God to fear realms he might not be aware of. Besides, Torben has been sneaking into Tuonela for ages, and before that, Shamans such as Väinämöinen had been doing the same.

“Very well,” I say.

I can’t help but hold my breath as I step through the portal, leading the way.

It immediately feels like I’m passing through a thin membrane of ice-cold water. For a disorienting moment, I’m suspended between worlds, caught in a swirl of dark shapes and flickering lights. There’s a pulling sensation, like something has snared me by the chest and yanked me forward. A heartbeat later, I stagger out onto solid ground—if it can be called that—and nearly lose my footing.

All around, the soldiers spill through, stumbling and blinking. I glimpse Torben emerging as well, his worn face twisted with concentration, still chanting under his breath. The portal crackles and wavers at the edges of my vision, staying open as more and more troops pile through.

I’ve returned to the Underworld, but it’s not the one I remember. We stand on a vast, empty plain beneath a sky of smudged ink. Snow drifts lazily from above, but these are not gentle, familiar flakes; they seem to glow faintly before settling onto a land of eerie stillness.

With a vague pang of horror, I realize we’re at the fucking Star Swamp of all places. The land is a frozen bog stretching in all directions, its surface dark and half-reflective like black glass. But it’s not glass—my boots crunch and then sink slightly as I shift my weight. The swamp beneath us is not water or soil; it’s Oblivion itself, cosmic emptiness suffused with specks of starlight. When I peer down at my feet, I can see tiny pinpoints of light scattered in a liquid darkness that seems both impossibly deep and startlingly close. It’s as if I’m standing atop a shard of fallen sky. If anyone slips through the surface, they won’t find mud or water. No, they’ll find nothingness, the endless void where souls float among the stars forever. The very thought of it makes my spine crawl. As the God of Death, this is the place I should be protecting my people from.

I look around and motion for everyone to stay still as the last soldiers come through the portal, fanning out in all directionsbefore the shimmering doorway snaps shut with a thunderclap, leaving no sign of it behind.

“Listen up,” I tell them. “It’s imperative that you follow my instructions. Whatever you do, do not fall in the swamp, or you will be lost forever.”

The soldiers huddle closer, their rifles clinking. They look around with vacant eyes, only faintly aware they should be shocked. My mental influence is still in place, yet I can sense their growing confusion. I need to assert control before panic sets in.

“Steady,” I say, projecting my will. They stiffen slightly, their minds docile again. It’s harder here, though I can’t tell if it’s because they’re in Tuonela or because I’m in the Star Swamp. This land was Louhi’s domain; of course it would not welcome me back easily.

I turn and look over the landscape. Snow is falling, dusting the black swamp with a pale powder before it sinks into the darkness, mirroring my feelings. In the distance, I see the faint silhouette I saw earlier: Castle Synti, Louhi’s palace. She chose a wretched spot to build her seat of power, perched on a rise of jagged stone, its spires dark and icy. I know there are halls inside filled with old weapons, relics, magic tools. If we can reach her palace, we might find what we need—a vantage point, supplies, maybe even secrets to turn the tide. But getting there is another matter. The swamp stretches for miles, and every step is treacherous.

With a sigh, I gesture toward the distant castle. “That’s where we must go,” I say to Torben. My breath puffs white in the chill. “That’s Louhi’s old stronghold. If we can get inside, we can gather ourselves, find what we need, and plan.”