Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

LOVIA

“You have no idea what my mother will do to you when she finds out what you’ve done,” Rasmus says like a sniveling little weasel we’ve trapped.

I yank at the mycelia cord wrapped around him, causing him to stumble behind me over a tree root.

“ Our mother,” I sneer as I glare at him over my shoulder. “Don’t pretend we aren’t related.”

He regains his balance at the last minute, his red hair falling across his brow, his eyes full of hate. I know enough about the kind of hate that’s programmed into you; I’ve seen it in my voyages to the Upper World. It’s the kind that’s passed down through generations, coddled by society until it blooms into something wretched. I have to remind myself that Rasmus was just a mortal boy living in that world until my mother decided to use him for her own gain. The hate that burns in his eyes was put there by her , ignited under controlled circumstances.

Careful , a voice reminds me. Don’t make excuses for him. He’ll kill you the first chance he gets, and then it won’t matter who taught him how to hate.

I glance over at the Magician. He meets my eyes with two swirling galaxies amidst the black void of his face that’s sheltered beneath his hood. While we’ve walked through the beginning of the Hiisi Forest, the roots high, the trees thickening the further we go, we haven’t said much to each other. Rasmus has blathered on and on about how fucked we are, that we’re on the losing side, that we’ll regret this, but we’ve been more or less silent. A lot of thinking, a lot of planning.

And while I’m unsure how much capacity the Magician has for worrying, I’m doing enough for the both of us.

Still, I’m glad he’s here. When I thought he died, I felt the ground collapse under me. The thought of having to do all this alone was terrifying when it shouldn’t be. I should be stronger than that. I know how to fight, I know I’ve proven myself time and time again, and yet…with the Underworld as I know it, my land, my home, slipping through my fingers, I couldn’t bear facing the end of it alone.

I’m glad you’re here , I think, hoping he can maybe hear me.

The galaxies in his face swirl into a cosmos of pink and purple before turning into shooting stars. I don’t know if that means he heard me or not, but it comforts me regardless. Actually, it more than comforts me. It causes my heart to skip a few beats, for my blood to run hot and my skin to grow tight.

Or that could be an infection setting in, given that I still have an arrow sticking out of the back of my leg. The Magician was able to lop off the end of it with my sword, but still, it’s there, making me feel painfully mortal with each and every step.

I growl and look back at Rasmus, rage kindled in my belly. “You know, since you stuck an arrow in me, it’s only fair I stick something in you.”

I pass his leash to the Magician and then brandish my sword, the metal glistening even in the dim light of the forest.

Rasmus raises his chin. “Go ahead,” he says. “You’re just as petty as your father.”

I snort. “My father would have run the blade into your eye already and been done with you.”

“Like I said, petty,” Rasmus glowers. “Too bad your father isn’t here now to show you the ropes.” His face contorts with mock concern. “You don’t think he could be dead, do you? Maybe that’s why all of this is happening.”

His voice is dripping with sarcasm, and yet the gleam in his eyes holds knowledge full of malicious intent.

I swallow hard, my palms starting to feel clammy, enough so that I nearly drop the sword.

“Don’t listen to him,” the Magician says. “Your father isn’t dead.”

“That’s funny,” Rasmus says. “Because I could have sworn he was killed alongside Hanna when they were taken prisoner by my mother and Salainen at the bone match. At least, that’s what they told me. Makes sense, considering they were disguised as the beloved king and queen. How else could they use shadow magic and Sala’s likeness to fool everyone at Shadow’s End if they hadn’t been removed from the picture?”

What he’s saying sounds too real and complicated to be a lie. My grip on the sword tightens.

“They are not dead, Loviatar,” the Magician says again, sternly this time. “I promise you this.”

“Then where are they?” I cry out in frustration. “Why is this happening? How could my mother have gotten control of Tuonela like this? How could it crumble so easily?”

The Magician goes silent. A moon waxes and wanes as it rotates across his face.

“Your father is not in this world,” he eventually says, his voice sounding airy and far away.

“Because he’s floating in Oblivion forever,” Rasmus finishes for him.

I react without thinking, drawing the sword across his throat, nearly breaking the skin. “Shut the fuck up, or you’ll be the one in the endless void, and mommy won’t be able to save you then,” I snarl into his ear.

“Tuoni is in the Upper World,” the Magician tells me quickly, trying to calm me down. “He is with Rasmus and Hanna’s father. The shaman, Torben.”

Rasmus goes still, his eyes widening. Ah. So this he fears more than the blade at his throat. Torben. His own father.

“Are you sure?” I ask, my heart stuttering between my ribs, too afraid to hope.

“I am,” the Magician says. “They will be finding a portal to come back.”

“And Hanna?”

“She is not dead,” the Magician says. “But I don’t know where she is. She is beyond where I can see.”

“What does that even mean?”

“It means to have faith and stay on course,” the Magician says as he walks over to me and curls his fingers around my forearms in a powerful grip that burns my skin. I can’t help but stare into his galaxy face, and I find myself lowering the sword, as if not in control anymore.

Is he hypnotizing me?

A shooting star curls up where his mouth should be.

Oh, he’s smirking.

Again, a strange sensation rushes over my limbs, creating goosebumps in its wake. A dangerous feeling. I force myself to ignore it.

He then turns his attention to Rasmus. The wound the Magician had caused earlier has reopened thanks to my sword, a drop of blood spilling down his neck.

“Your voice has worn out its welcome,” the Magician says. He raises his hand and does a quick, graceful dance with his fingers. The mycelia that wraps around Rasmus like rope suddenly move and shoot up like sprouts, covering his mouth like a gag.

Rasmus yells against the fungi, but it comes out muffled, his eyes going wide with rage and panic.

“Come on,” the Magician says to me. “The sooner we get through this forest and to Tapio and the other Gods, the sooner we can make use of him and get your leg looked at.”

The Magician tugs at the rope of mycelia, and Rasmus stumbles forward. We start walking again, stepping over the roots, winding around the ferns, the trees getting wider and taller the deeper into the forest we go. It gets darker too, quieter. I haven’t spent a lot of time in these parts of the world, other than when I’ve had to deliver a message to the Forest Gods, and it unnerves me. One would think being the Goddess of Death means I would never be creeped out, but here? I’m thoroughly disturbed.

It’s probably because this forest is the birthplace of Rangaista, Louhi’s father, the Devil as an Old God, a place where other demons and goblins have spawned. It has always existed in an uneasy middle ground under my father’s watchful eye, but now that the world has started to crumble, it feels even more precarious than usual.

“How much longer until we reach the Gods?” the Magician asks me, his voice low, as if he thinks the forest is listening.

“How should I know? I rarely come here.”

He glances at me, his head cocked slightly. “I would keep your voice down if I were you,” he says. “We’re not alone.”

Of course we’re not alone; we’ve got this asshole trailing behind us, I want to say, but he’s right. The birds are no longer singing, the animals no longer rustling in the bushes. The stillness that blankets us doesn’t feel natural.

It feels insidious and suffocating.

Alien.

The Magician stops and slowly raises his hand, motioning for me to be quiet. Thank the gods he had the foresight to gag Rasmus; otherwise, I’m sure he’d be making a raucous and calling for help. I have to wonder what other foresight the Magician has. He had said he knows things he can’t even begin to explain.

Does he know how all of this will end?

“Listen,” the Magician whispers, his head craned up to the thick canopy of ironwood above us.

I hold my breath, my ears straining.

At first, there’s nothing at all, just that thickening silence that makes the blood whoosh loudly in my head.

Then, I hear it.

A low rumbling, one that steadily gets louder, as if the sound is coming toward us like a freight train.

“What is that?” I squeak just as the ground starts to tremble.

All around us, the trees start to sway back and forth. I look over at Rasmus, wondering if this is somehow his doing as a shaman, but he’s frowning. He doesn’t look scared, just concerned enough to make me think he’s surprised.

“Get your sword ready,” the Magician says in a steely voice.

I adjust my grip, lowering into a fighting stance. The rumbling is so loud now, it makes my bones tremble, and the ground starts to shift beneath me.

Up ahead, in the depths of the forest, the trees start to lift, their roots thrusting toward the sky. They land with a smash, huge trunks crashing into the ground so hard, the shockwaves nearly knock me off balance.

“Yggthra,” the Magician says, “an Old God who manifests as a root system, an ancient parasite that drains the life force of anything it entangles.” He looks over at me. “Yggthra’s roots burrow into the soil and bodies alike, sapping strength and corrupting souls in mindless thralls.”

“Is this your doing?” I sneer at Rasmus.

He shakes his head, but there’s something in his eyes, a calmness that defies the situation. He isn’t as worried as he should be.

“It doesn’t matter,” the Magician says. “Even if he could control it, even if he called it forth, he’s powerless to stop it. In the end, this Old God is here because of Louhi, and it won’t stop until it stops us.”

I tighten my grip on my sword, feeling the weight of it in my hand. Yggthra’s roots start to emerge from the ground, writhing and twisting towards us like gnarled, monstrous snakes. They burst forward, throwing soil into the air before plunging back down again.

This isn’t a crocodile monster I can stab in the skull. I have a feeling if I cut off one root, another will quickly pop up in its place.

The Magician quickly assessed the situation, his face scanning the thick forest for any possible path or escape.

“We need to move,” the Magician says urgently, grabbing my arm and pulling me back as another wave of roots erupts from the ground.

I don’t hesitate—we start running, dragging Rasmus with us. Part of me wants to cut him loose, but I think that’s exactly what my mother wants. Yggthra isn’t just about destroying me and the Magician; it’s also a rescue operation for Rasmus.

The Hiisi Forest grows darker and thicker as we run deeper, the roots becoming tangled around us. Every so often, Rasmus grunts in pain as he struggles to keep up with us.

“Can you stop that thing?” I ask the Magician.

The Magician glances at me for a moment before looking back at Rasmus. “Not without help.”

“Can I stop that thing?” I add as we burst through a copse of white-and-red mist berry plants that leave long scratches on my arms and legs.

He gives his head a small shake. It makes me want to prove him wrong, but there’s probably something he’s not telling me.

“Yggthra wants Rasmus,” he says, confirming my suspicions. “Maybe we should give it what it wants,” he adds.

I come to a stop and give the Magician a bewildered look just as Yggthra crashes through the forest not far behind—much too close for comfort.

“You said we had to keep him because he might serve a purpose,” I quickly remind him.

“And what if this is that purpose?” he says.

Then, he drops the mycelia cord.

Rasmus stares down at it in shock.

“He can’t run away,” I point out. “He’s completely bound.”

The Magician shrugs. “That isn’t our problem, it’s Louhi’s. Come on.”

I blink for a moment, both happy to be free of Rasmus and yet feeling conflicted about it all the same. We captured him and brought him all this way just to let him go now?

But the forest erupts in chaos as Yggthra bursts through the ground again, yards away, its gnarled roots twisting and snapping like monstrous tentacles, and with a yelp, I start running again, the Magician by my side. The ground beneath us ripples and cracks, the air thick with the scent of deep soil and decay.

We run further, and I nearly lose my balance before the Magician pulls me behind a wall of ten-foot-tall ferns.

“Why are we stopping?” I ask him, peering breathlessly between the leaves. I spot Rasmus in the middle of the forest, facing the Old God as it comes for him.

“Yggthra,” the Magician says, his voice low and tense, “is confined to the forest. As long as we’re in here, it will find us, and we’re in deep. Running is futile until I know how Rasmus is involved.”

As if he can hear us, Rasmus, still gagged by the mycelia cords, turns to look back with wide, panicked eyes. His chest heaves as he struggles against his restraints, but Yggthra’s roots seem to reach for him with deliberate intent, weaving through the dirt toward his feet like a knot of snakes.

Rasmus looks back to the giant roots rising from the soil and lets out a muffled yell. For a moment, hesitation flickers in my chest—just a moment—but I harden my resolve and force myself to watch.

Yggthra’s massive trunk groans as it rises from the soil, its form like a skeletal tree made of blackened wood and shifting shadows. It looms over Rasmus, the roots coiling around his legs, his waist, and, finally, his chest. They tighten around his body, pulling him off the ground, but his expression isn’t one of relief or triumph—it’s terror.

“He can’t control it,” I say to the Magician. “Look. He’s afraid.”

Yggthra pulls Rasmus closer, roots tightening like a noose. At first, I think it’s just restraining him, examining him, figuring out if he’s friend or foe.

But then, it begins to crush him.

Rasmus screams against the gag, a sound so raw, it slices through me. “This isn’t Louhi’s pet,” I comment, panic swirling in my chest. “Yggthra doesn’t serve her. It serves itself.”

“Or it does serve Louhi and she’s cast her son aside already,” the Magician notes.

We both fall silent, watching as the roots squeeze around Rasmus’ chest, his feet dangling above the ground. There’s a sick cracking sound, and I don’t know if it’s a root or Rasmus’ bones.

“Damn it,” I growl. Without thinking, I burst through the ferns and sprint back toward the monster.

“Lovia, what are you doing!?” the Magician shouts from behind me, but I’m already there, slashing my sword at the nearest root. Sparks fly as the blade bites into the ancient wood, and Yggthra recoils with a deafening screech. Rasmus drops to the ground with a deep gasp.

The Magician appears beside me in an instant, his hands weaving sigils in the air. Tendrils of glowing energy spiral from his fingers then shoot down into the ground. Through the churned soil, between where the Old God’s roots emerge, thousands of white mycelia rise and wrap around them.

Yggthra thrashes, roots whipping through the air and slamming back down, breaking the mycelia’s grip in places.

“It’s not going down easily,” the Magician says.

“Then we don’t stop fighting,” I reply, dodging a root as it lashes out at me. My blade finds its mark again, cutting deep into the trunk. The forest trembles with Yggthra’s pain, its groaning wail echoing through the trees.

A new root shoots from the soil, coming right for Rasmus, who is trying to get to his knees. I slice my sword through it before it can reach him, severing it, then go to Rasmus and pull him up.

“I just saved your fucking life two times already,” I snarl at him. “Give me a good reason to do it again.”

Rasmus nods, and I glance over my shoulder at the Magician, who is trying to coax more mycelia from the underground.

“Hold still,” I tell Rasmus and bring the tip of my sword down over the mycelium gag, managing to split it in half without breaking his skin.

Rasmus gasps for breath, his eyes widening at something behind me.

I whirl around to see the Magician floating a few feet above the ground, the black void of his hands stretched, creating rivers that pour down to the forest floor, the force pushing his body up into the air.

Suddenly, the black starry rivers sprout up from the ground, burying the mycelia and flowing over the trunk of Yggthra. They wrap around it, spreading over the writhing roots like a black stain until everything is completely covered.

For a moment, Yggthra just shakes violently, as if trying to escape the void. Then, a bright eruption rips through the air, like an exploding sun, and Yggthra’s form begins to collapse in on itself, its roots retreating like wounded snakes.

With one final screech, the Old God crumbles, its blackened wood splintering and dissolving into ash. The forest falls eerily silent, the only sound our ragged breathing.

The Magician lowers himself back to the ground, the black universe coming back to his hands until they look human again.

“That was…impressive,” I tell him. I mean, I know he’s the universe and all, but until now, I was starting to forget he was as powerful and mysterious as he is. It makes my heart skip a beat.

The Magician doesn’t say anything. He walks over and stands beside me, staring down at Rasmus. A powerful energy seems to envelop his robes, making him glow slightly, as if the power he used to defeat Yggthra still clings to him.

Rasmus coughs, staring up at us. His face is pale, his eyes wild.

I keep my sword drawn where he can see it.

“Why?” Rasmus croaks, his voice barely audible. “Why did you save me?”

I glare down at him, gripping the hilt tighter. “Because no one gets to kill you but me.”

“Now that you’ve found out your mother thinks you’re expendable, perhaps you might want to strike a bargain with us,” the Magician says to Rasmus, his voice calm but cold. “A real one. Your chance to be on the right side of things for once.”

Rasmus rubs his lips together for a moment. “Release the rest of me.”

I can’t see it, but I can feel the Magician smiling.

“Always an opportunist,” the Magician comments. “No, I think we’ll keep you bound just like this. You’re still our prisoner, after all. Only this time, we’re the ones with the cards that mean something. We’ll draw yours later.”

Rasmus doesn’t say anything as we haul him to his feet. My legs ache, the arrow wound on my calf burns, and my heart is still racing, but as we stumble away from the wreckage of Yggthra, I can’t help but glance back at the pile of ash and shattered roots.

One Old God down, too many left to go.