Chapter 30

CHAPTER THIRTY

DEATH

It happens in the dead of night, when the camp should be at its quietest. I have been sleeping lightly—no one can sleep deeply here, not with the skeleton army outside and the wards shimmering like fragile glass around us. My eyes snap open when I sense a change in the air, a subtle trembling in the wards. I sit up quickly, heart pounding, and look around. Hanna sleeps deeply beside me, her brows twisted together even as she dreams. Lantern light flickers over tense faces. Soldiers stir, muttering questions, hands on weapons.

I see Torben and Rasmus at opposite edges of the camp, each hunched in concentration. Their wards have protected us since yesterday, but now, the barrier crackles with instability. Sparks dance in the dark. I rise to my feet, stepping over sleeping rolls and scattered gear, making my way toward Torben.

He looks up, sweat beading on his brow. “They’re failing,” he says, voice tight with strain. “I don’t understand. Something’s sapping our strength.”

Rasmus echoes the sentiment from across the circle, voice shaking. “It’s not just us—something inside the wards is interfering.”

My heart sinks. I look around for Ilmarinen, expecting to see him working on the sampo—he has been focused on the device with an unsettling intensity—but I see no sign of him. The makeshift table where he had been tinkering is empty. Tools lie scattered, and the pack of parts and shards that once held the sampo is gone.

My blood runs cold at the sight.

“Ilmarinen!” I call, voice low but urgent. Soldiers pick up the alarm and begin searching the woods, but he’s nowhere to be found. Hanna sits up, looking around in confusion as Lovia calls for the missing shaman and starts searching. I don’t think poor Tellervo slept at all; she’s standing apart from the group, arms crossed, face still etched with grief—she barely glances up, her antlers drooping.

The wards sputter again, sending a shiver of green and blue sparks. A soldier yelps as a spark grazes his arm. The skeleton army outside stirs, as if sensing weakness, and the rattle of bone and rusty metal scrapes at my nerves.

“We must hold them,” I tell Torben. “Is there no way to reinforce the wards? Another spell?”

He shakes his head, grim. “They’re collapsing from within, destabilized with black magic. Without Ilmarinen or the sampo, we have no stable anchor.”

“And he’s just gone…”

Torben nods, his mouth twisted with betrayal. “He’s just gone.”

I clench my fists. It’s possible Ilmarinen has been taken, but we would have known. Others would have been taken too. There’s no way Louhi’s minions would have taken or killed him but let the rest of us live.

Which means he sabotaged us. A fucking traitor. But why? Did he serve Louhi all along, or did the sampo’s dark magic corrupt him? What was he really crafting?

I have no time for these questions now.

Survival comes first.

“Everyone!” I shout, my voice carrying over the crackle of wards. “Prepare for attack! The wards are failing, and we don’t know how much longer we have!”

The sound of weapons being drawn fills the air. The Magician steps into the dim light with Lovia beside him, sword at the ready. Hanna stands near me, pale and tense. I see Tellervo’s jaw tighten—she says nothing, but she lifts her hands, and I can sense her calling on the forest again, coaxing them to protect their last remaining God.

With a final crackle, the wards fail. The shimmering boundary pops like a bubble, leaving us exposed. Torchlight and lantern glow reveal a half-circle of skeletal warriors, their hollow eyes glowing. They surge forward with clacking jaws and clattering armor, ad behind them, I sense more shapes lurking, perhaps Old Gods waiting for the right moment. For a second, the thought weighs on me like a hammer, and I’m so fucking weary of it all, tired of this continuous fight.

But my resolve only bends for a moment. I think of Tuonen and Sarvi and driving a sword through Louhi’s eyeballs, and that’s enough.

“Form ranks!” I bellow, stepping forward. My sword gleams dully in the uncertain light. Soldiers close in, shields raised as the skeleton horde rushes us. Steel clashes with bone as we meet them head-on. Sparks fly, shouts and curses filling the air. I parry a skeleton’s spear, shatter its ribs with a swift strike, and move on to the next one.

Hanna deflects a sword stroke aimed at Lovia’s back, her eyes fierce despite her lingering guilt. Lovia stands strong, cutting down two skeletons with fluid grace. The Magician weaves strands of starlight to snare a knot of skeletons, holding them still while Rasmus and Torben hurl bolts of spiritual energy to shatter them, their magic now freed since they no longer have the wards to contend with.

But more skeletons pour in from the sides. The forest confines us, roots and trunks limiting our movement. We fight desperately, pushing forward to escape the choke point. One of the Keskelli hurls her spear at a tall Bone Straggler, splintering its skull.

Meanwhile, Tellervo stands behind us, arms raised, calling a name I’ve never heard her utter: “Olso!”

The ground trembles in response. A deep growl resonates through the forest floor as branches creak and leaves quiver. A colossal shape emerges from the darkness—a giant bear the size of a troll, thick with fur and moss-laden, eyes glowing with old magic. Olso, summoned by Tellervo’s plea. The bear bellows, a thunderous roar that shakes skeletons apart. With massive paws, it swipes a line of the undead into splinters.

Our soldiers cheer. With Olso breaking their ranks, we gain ground. Step by step, we push through the forest. The skeletons press in from all sides, but the bear’s sheer strength carves a path while Torben creates a ward around it that deflects swords and spears. I fight near Hanna, watching the hesitant but determined strikes from her sword. She still struggles with her power, I can tell, but she’s here, helping in any way she can.

We crash through a thicket of brambles, driven forward, the skeletons moving back. The forest thins, the undergrowth clearing with it. Ahead, I see open space, the edge of the Hiisi Forest. Beyond lies the Liekkio Plains, the vast desert where demon children burn with eternal flame. They roam at night, biting and clawing travelers, but we have no choice. Sticking to the forest means less space to maneuver—plus, I have no qualms about kicking those fiery kids’ heads clean off.

We burst into open ground under a sky just starting to lighten with a false dawn. We continue to drive the skeleton army backward, rattling and clacking, while Olso lumbers behind us, growling and swiping at anyone who dares to approach. Tellervo is pale, her lips pressed tight in concentration—controlling or guiding the giant bear must cost her dearly.

The Liekkio Plains spread out in front of us, flat, dusty, eerily silent, and thankfully devoid of any demonic brats. Perhaps they fear the approaching undead—or maybe they’re waiting for a better moment.

A shout goes up from a soldier on the flank: “Look! Over there!”

I turn, squinting. In the distance, I see figures approaching—a column of allies, led by Vellamo and her trolls and the small contingent of troops running toward us across the dusty plains. I had told her to wait by the river, but I’ve never been so grateful she’s stubborn.

We wave them in, signaling for them to approach carefully. Vellamo greets us with a curt nod, relief in her eyes. I notice the horn in one of the Keskelli’s giant hands. It must have been them we heard the other day, but they were too far away. It doesn’t matter; we are stronger now, bolstered by fresh blades and sturdy trolls.

But our respite is short-lived. I feel a rumble beneath my feet, a sick twisting sensation in the ground. Old Gods are stirring again, no doubt drawn by Kaaos. Without the sampo’s stabilizing influence, we have little to hold them back.

The ground cracks and heaves as greenish fluid seeps up. Yggthra’s roots appear again, snaking across the plains as Zelma’s darkness stirs at the edges of my vision and Thaerix’s winds whisper on the horizon, stirring up red dust.

Oh, for fuck’s sake. Them again? These Old Gods refuse to let us escape. Ilmarinen must have let them loose, or maybe their destruction had always been temporary.

Vellamo steps forward, pearl-crusted spear in hand, her face contorted in anger. “They will not take this land!” she vows. She kneels, pressing a palm to the dusty ground, and I feel a shift in the air—moisture gathering, pressure building. She’s summoning water, asking the River of Shadows to flood these plains. It’s a daring move, considering the river isn’t close, but one that might give us an advantage. The undead and Old Gods might be hampered by water, and that river flows right from the Great Inland Sea, which means its power is limitless.

Cracks appear in the dry soil, and then water gushes forth in glistening streams. The river floods upwards, rising from aquifers beneath the desert floor. Within moments, puddles form, then pools, before a shallow flood spreads across the plains, soaking our boots. The skeletons look around in confusion.

The Old Gods rise from sinkholes of mud and muck, their bodies half-formed of root, shadow, and storm. Now, they must contend with water swirling around their anchors. Vellamo raises her arms, and a serpentine shape emerges from the newly-formed flood—a massive serpent with too many teeth, the Devouress, twisting sinuously through the knee-deep water. Alongside it swims other water creatures—N?kki, a female water spirit with sharp claws and webbed fingers, a creature called the Ved-Ava. They dart in and out, dragging skeletons under the surface.

We fight half-submerged now, sloshing through rising water. Soldiers adapt quickly, lashing out with polearms and spears as the trolls wade in, their great legs stable in the flood, smashing skeletons with mighty blows. Olso the bear stands chest-deep in water, snarling and swinging massive paws to fling enemies aside.

Still, the Old Gods try to lash out. Yggthra’s roots attempt to grip the mud but slip and slide. Zelma’s shadow tries to blot out what faint light we have, but the water’s reflection and the shimmer of warding spells defy total darkness. Thaerix’s vortex hovers above the plains with a howl, but the moisture in the air dampens its force.

My attention swivels to Torben, the shaman trapped between two skeleton soldiers, struggling to maintain balance in the swirling currents. The ugly Old God who killed Tapio suddenly pops up out of the water, lurking behind the shaman, claws extended. My heart clenches. If Torben falls, we lose a crucial ally, and I lose my father-in-law, someone I never thought I’d care for, considering our fraught beginnings. But now, I cry out and surge forward, sword raised, pushing through water and debris.

It’s too late. I’m too far away, and the Old God lunges for him.

“No!” Hanna’s voice pierces the chaos. She stands on a slight rise of packed dirt, water streaming around her legs. Her eyes flare with panic and resolve. I see her raise her hand, trembling.

She doesn’t hesitate this time.

A burst of light erupts from Hanna, bright as a solar flare, piercing through Zelma’s gloom. She cries out like a warrior, like a Goddess. The light intensifies, banishing shadows, reflecting off the floodwaters until the entire scene is bathed in radiance. The Old God about to strike Torben shrieks, recoiling as its chitlin-like form smolders and cracks.

Hanna’s body changes, her outline blurring into a figure of molten gold and flame. She is incandescent, painfully bright, terribly beautiful, a living star in the midst of battle. I shield my eyes, tears leaking from the corners. Around me, soldiers gasp, some crying out in awe or fear.

Under Hanna’s blazing aura, skeletons crumble into ash. Yggthra’s roots recoil, scorched and blackened, and Zelma’s webs of darkness burn away like cobwebs in a furnace. Thaerix’s vortex screams once more before it unravels, the winds scattering to nothing.

The Devouress and the N?kki pause, momentarily disoriented by the sudden brilliance. Even Olso the bear bows his great head, whining softly. Our soldiers shield their faces, squinting through their fingers.

Hanna sweeps her gaze across the battlefield, and wherever she looks, enemies ignite and disintegrate. The water steams, rising in pale clouds, and in moments, the battle is over. The Old Gods burst into flames, the skeleton army gone, nothing but drifting flakes of ash on the water’s surface.

I stand transfixed, pride and love battling with fear. This power is immense, greater than any I’ve wielded. Hanna has saved us all—but at what cost?

All I know is that she chose to do this. She chose to save her father.

She knew what the cost was and decided it was worth it.

As the last enemy falls, Hanna’s glow dims. Her radiant form trembles, and I try to reach her, sloshing through the lukewarm floodwaters. When I come close, the glow fades further, revealing her face contorted in pain and confusion.

She looks at me, eyes wide and unfocused. “Did it work?” she whispers, voice thin.

I catch her as she collapses, pulling her into my arms. She’s lighter than I remember, as if hollowed out. The water laps at our knees, bodies of our allies pushing closer, trying to see if she’s all right.

“Hanna, stay with me,” I plead, my heart pounding. She blinks, tears in her eyes, but not of sorrow—of emptiness. I see no recognition there, only hollow bewilderment.

“What happened?” she asks, voice eerily calm.

A knife twists in my chest. I’ve lost her again to the cost of her transformation. I cradle her close, my throat tight with unshed tears.

Around us, the floodwaters recede slowly as Vellamo eases her magic. Soldiers gather, wounded and weary, as Tellervo walks away, reeling, perhaps from seeing Hanna save Torben but not Tapio. Lovia and the Magician approach, concerned, while Torben stands in silent awe of his daughter, a hint of guilt on his face as he rubs the bruises on his arms, alive only through Hanna’s intervention.

Hanna stares at me with blank eyes. I run a hand through her damp hair, the colors lighter again, forcing a smile I do not feel. “It’s all right,” I say softly, though it isn’t. “You’re safe now.”

She tries to speak, but words fail her. She looks past me, at the soldiers, at the scorched remains of battle with a look of detachment. She’s a stranger wearing my wife’s face, holding unimaginable power in fragile hands.

I hold her tighter, though she’s no longer trembling. “We’ll help you remember,” I whisper, voice thick with emotion. “You’ll come back to me again, little bird. We’ll find a way. I promise.”

She doesn’t respond; she just closes her eyes and hesitates before she rests her head against my chest. I feel her breath, shallow and uncertain but alive. Alive is something. Alive and safe for now.

Everyone looks to me, waiting for the next command. I feel their expectations, their fears, on my shoulders like a weight.

“What now, Lord Death?” General Suvari asks, looking wet and tired, swaying on his feet.

I square my shoulders and try to steady my voice.

“We move on,” I say, quiet but firm. “We’ll get Tuonen and Sarvi. We’ll restore what’s lost. We’ll protect each other.” My eyes sweep over them, seeking solidarity in their weary faces. They nod, some murmuring in agreement.

Hanna’s condition pains me, but I must be strong for her, for all of them. We must reach safer ground, regroup, maybe find shelter beyond these plains. The demon children have not appeared, and I can only hope our luck holds a bit longer. Once we find stable ground, we’ll plan our next steps.

The air smells of damp soil and lingering ozone from Hanna’s fiery magic. The sun tries to rise beyond the horizon, its pale rays reflected on shallow pools. We wade through the receding flood, carrying our wounded and collecting our fallen. The forest lies behind us, battered and violated by the Old Gods. The plains stretch before us, empty except for scorched ground and distant shapes.

Beyond that lies the Gorge of Despair.

Then, the City of Death.

But there is one place between them where we might find safe passage.

For now, we march forward, a weary band in a world gone mad, guided by the faint hope that we can still save Tuonela from the darkness seeking to consume it. I hold Hanna’s hand as we go, as if by keeping her close, I can anchor her to who she once was. She walks quietly, trusting me despite not knowing why.

That trust will have to be enough for now.