Page 47 of Goddess of Light
I standin a corner of the main hall, arms crossed, staring at a map pinned to the wall with a dagger. The hall is lit only by torches, their flames sputtering as the wind sneaks in through cracks in the stone. Snow drifts against the tiny, high windows of the castle, and the walls seem to hum with tension. The others—my father, Torben, Vellamo, Tapio, Tellervo, the Magician, a handful of generals—are gathered around a long table. They talk in hushed, urgent tones, planning what’s to come. Soldiers move quietly down the corridors, checking armor straps, sharpening swords, and muttering prayers.
I tap my foot, exhaling hot breath into the cold air. Outside, it’s snowing more heavily, the weather shifting, pulled by my father’s emotions. The snow muffles all sound, dampening every noise except the crackle of torches and the scrape of metal.
The tension in my chest builds. I know what I want to say, what I think we should do—I’m just afraid to put it into words, afraid to be wrong.
I take in a deep breath and stride forward, inserting myself into the huddle. The generals make space for me, cautious respect in their eyes. I nod at Tapio and Tellervo; they lookweary, grief etched into the lines of their faces, but determined all the same. Vellamo stands beside them, her eyes distant and sad. Torben clutches his staff, frowning at the map. Rasmus is down in the armory, helping Ilmarinen forge the sampo, the device that will apparently help uncorrupt the ley lines. He’s been given a bit more freedom now, though he’s still guarded by the Magician. At least I trusthim.
My father stands at the head of the table, arms folded, face set. He looks calm, but I know him well enough to see the strain in his posture, the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. He glances at me as I approach, his gaze expectant.
I clear my throat. “We know they’re coming,” I say, voice steady. I’m trying not to let my frustration seep out. “We know the Hiisi Forest is infested with Old Gods, probably Bone Stragglers. We know they’re marching, that boats are coming down the river. Why are we still sitting here, practically waiting to be attacked? We should advance toward the forest and strike first.”
My father’s jaw tightens, as if he expected me to just blindly agree with his strategy. The generals look at each other, brows raised.
I press on, my voice rising. “Tapio and Tellervo’s powers are greatest in the forest. They can wield trees, roots, and vines against the skeleton armies. Vellamo can control the river and the beasts within—turn their approach against them. If we push into the Hiisi Forest before they set their ambush, we can catch them off guard, make them regret coming at us.”
No one says anything, so I keep talking. “We need to hurry. Don’t you feel the urgency? The snowbird told us they’ve halted, but for how long? We need to move, and we need to move now.”
“We are still waiting to hear from our allies,” Torben says.
“Well, how long are we supposed to wait? Forever? What if they never come? What if they’re…”
I don’t want to say gone, but from the hollow look in Vellamo’s eyes, I know she’s thinking it. She might be the last of our kind from the sea.
For a moment, I think my father might agree. His eyes flick to the Magician, who stands off to the side, galaxies swirling beneath his hood, silent and unreadable.
Then, my father’s voice comes, quiet but firm. “No.”
The single word makes my heart sink. He doesn’t snap or shout, but his tone leaves no room for argument.
“Why not?” I demand, hands on my hips, feeling less like a general and more like a petulant child who isn’t getting her way.
“Because of what Torben just said. We are waiting for allies; without them, we don’t have the numbers,” he says, meeting my gaze. “We’re too few, too fragmented. Fighting in the forest leaves us vulnerable to being surrounded. Tapio told us how his wards no longer work there, which means the forest itself has been compromised. We know Louhi’s forces are brutal and numerous, if not cunning. If we leave the safety of Castle Syntri, we gamble on controlling terrain that might already be corrupted beyond recognition.”
My frustration sparks. “But the forest Gods?—”
He shakes his head. “Tapio and Tellervo are weakened by what’s happened. They can still use their powers, but not like before, and Vellamo’s hold on the river is tenuous without Ahto. We risk too much by going out there. Here, we have walls, high ground, and time. Torben can unfreeze the Star Swamp at the right moment, turn the terrain into a deathtrap beneath their feet. We control this place, Lovia. If we leave, we control nothing.”
I clench my fists, wanting to argue. I want to remind him that being passive is what got us into trouble before—all those decades of my mother slowly forging her plan, piece by piece, while we sat back and let it happen.
But I see the logic in his eyes, the grim resolve. He’s right—we’re outnumbered, something Louhi would be counting on. My pride and fury struggle against his reason, but in the end, I inhale, hold my breath, and slowly exhale.
“Fine,” I say, forcing calm into my voice. “We’ll do it your way.”
A relieved murmur passes among the generals. Torben gives me a sympathetic nod, as if thankful I didn’t press the fight. Tapio and Tellervo look disappointed but resigned while Vellamo closes her eyes, perhaps remembering a time when we held more certainty, more power.
We finalize the plan. We’ll stay in Castle Syntri, use the swamp as our trap. Torben will hold his magic in reserve until the army is fully committed and then break the ice beneath them. Vellamo and Tapio will assist by luring them closer then striking with their own magic. If the sampo is ready before then, the shamans might be able to open the ley lines to lure and swallow the Old Gods.
If Rangaista happens to be amongst them, all the better.
Night fallsdown on us like a final curtain. Earlier, I felt impatient that we were doing nothing, sitting still, waiting for allies who might never show. But then, there was still daylight, even one covered in snow, and that brightness was enough for me to ignore my fear and focus on the things that needed to be done.
But now that darkness has fallen, everything has changed. The fear creeps in with the cold, and I’m not the only one who feels it.
I stand off to the side in the main hall, trying to steady my breathing as the others scatter to make final preparations. The torchlight quivers over worn stone, throwing shadows that dance like uneasy ghosts. The firelight glints off battered armor and sharpened steel, off anxious eyes and trembling hands. Outside, the snowfall thickens as the storm intensifies with my father’s brooding mood, and a knot of worry tugs at my stomach.
“Lovia,” my father calls softly, and I turn to face him. He’s at the table, still pouring over the map with Torben and the generals. He knows Tuonela like the back of his hand, but I feel he’s busying himself to keep his mind off the same things I am. At least it won’t hurt for the mortals to know the land by heart.
He nods at me, a wordless instruction to head to my assigned position. The tension thrums between us—he knows I disagree with waiting, but I must obey his orders. After all, I’m the head general for a reason, and it’s not just because I’m strong. It’s because he’s my father, and I’ll support him no matter what. I give a curt nod and step away, allowing them space to finalize the plan.