Page 50 of Goddess of Light

My father suddenly appears beside me, silent and grim. I steal a glance at him; his expression is stern, a skull mask pulled over his face, carved from blackened bones. The wind picks up, blowing his cloak. I wonder what he’s thinking, what regret or fear hides behind that mask. He chose this ground to stand on. Now, we must prove it was the right choice.

The enemy advances slower now as they close in, cautious. They know we’re here; they must sense the trap. Below on the barbican, Torben steps forward, staff in hand, beginning a low chant. When they’re close enough to let them think they can breach our walls, he’ll unfreeze the swamp. They’ll tumble through ice into blackened mire and drown, whisked straight to Oblivion. They won’t all fall, but it will be enough to break their formation. It’s our first line of defense.

But something’s wrong. Torben’s chant falters. He frowns, the runes on his staff glowing dimly. He tries again, voice rising as I watch intently.

“What’s happening?” I whisper to my father. “Can’t he do it?”

“I don’t know,” my father says grimly. He glances at Vellamo. “Run to Rasmus over there, tell him to help his father.”

Vellamo gives him a look as if to say,really? Rasmus? but she does as he asks.

Now, I’m giving my father that same look.

“We need that ice to crack,” he says defensively. “Whatever it takes.”

Well, this is a now-or-never moment for Rasmus to prove himself.

We watch as Rasmus runs over to Torben and joins in on his chant.

But still, the army advances and the ice doesn’t crack. I can see Torben’s knuckles whiten on the staff. “Come on, Torben,” I hiss under my breath. “We need that ice to break.”

A hush falls over the battlements. Soldiers glance at each other. Across the parapet, Tapio grips a wooden talisman, hoping to conjure whatever animals he can in the fight, while Tellervo stands at the edge with an arrow knocked and ready to fly.

Still, no result. Torben curses softly, words I don’t understand, and Rasmus chants even louder, his hand sharing the staff with his father. Then, a sound reaches our ears—an arrow lancing off the castle walls.

They charge.

I barely have time to shout a warning before the skeleton warriors surge forward at a run. They come in a wave of clattering bones and scraping metal. Arrows whistle from our archers and gunshots fill the sky, striking some skeletons down, if only temporarily. Still, many keep coming. The Old Gods behind them lumber forward, limbs twisting, jaws snapping. The flying skeleton unicorns descend in a macabre swoop, shrieking like banshees as they come for us.

The battle begins.

The first unicorn dives as quick as a lightning bolt, about to pierce their horn through my father’s chest when, suddenly, it hits an invisible shield with a loud thud, knocking itself unconscious and landing on the skeletons below. I didn’t think it was possible for Torben to protect us with wards while trying to unfreeze the swamp, but when I look to my left, I see Ilmarinen,hands in the air, his brow furrowed as he throws up as many shields around us as he can.

Guess he’s on our side after all.

But the wards are small, just enough to protect my father and those of us standing around him, leaving everyone else in the open. The soldiers along the castle walls cry out, losing arrows, lowering spears. Gunshots fill the air, along with the sound of steel on bone, splintering wood, and the eerie clamor of the undead army. I draw my sword, adrenaline flooding me. I know I’m protected where I am, but I also want to get out there and fight.

To our right, I see Tapio raise his arms, and roots slither from beneath the snow, entangling skeletons in knots. Tellervo calls upon the birds, sending a flurry of sparrows into the enemy ranks, their murmuration enough to blind them.

Vellamo tries something with water, summoning a mist from the swamp’s edges. It drifts toward the enemy, obscuring their vision. Some skeletons stumble, confused, while others slip on the ice, but it’s not enough.

I break through the ward, to which my father yells at me to stay. I ignore him as I leap down a short staircase to the courtyard, joining a group of soldiers. Their eyes widen as I stand with them—the daughter of Death, fighting at their side. I nod, and we push forward, meeting a skeleton as it tries to climb the wall. My blade flashes, cutting through bone, dismembering them. The skeleton collapses into a heap, but another takes its place.

Above us, I see my father raise his hands. The snow intensifies again, pushing a thick curtain of white toward the enemy lines. Wind howls and some skeletons fall, but there are so many enemies. Too many.

Torben, frantic now, tries again to unfreeze the swamp. I see him muttering spells, the runes on his staff flaring bright andthen dimming. It’s as if something, orsomeone, resists him. Perhaps it’s the staff itself. After all, he found it in this castle. It might be working against him; the ice remains solid, giving the enemy stable ground to charge on.

An Eldritch-like horror slams into the castle’s outer gate, splintering wood. Soldiers rush to reinforce with shields and spears as I climb the stairs again, needing a vantage point. I see Rasmus stepping away from Torben. For a moment, I think he’s going to run, but then he looks at me, swallows hard, and picks up a long pole with a hooked blade at the end. With shaking hands, he pushes it through a gap in the wall, hooking a skeleton’s spine and yanking it off the ledge. The skeleton falls with a clatter. It’s a small gesture, but it shows he has chosen our side.

For now.

The Magician finally appears, gliding to the end of the platform. I watch him raise a hand, and a swirl of starlight flickers beneath his hood. Suddenly, a section of the enemy line falters, as if they’ve stepped into quicksand. Skeletons sink, their bony arms flailing as his black universe pulls them down. One of the Old Gods lurches sideways, distracted, and our archers take advantage, firing a volley that shatters several undead skulls.

Still, they keep coming.

The Finnish troops—these mortal warriors—fight bravely. I see them in the courtyard, shoulder to shoulder, faces grim. They thrust spears into rib cages, smash shields into skulls, blast bodies apart with close-range gunfire, but they’re also casualties to the undead. Some fall, their screams cut short, and my heart clenches. These soldiers are dying to protect this place, to protect us, and they’re going straight to Hell. I have to do something, have to fight harder than this.

I leap into the fray, slicing through bone, dodging a blade as it whistles past my ear.