Chapter 8

CHAPTER EIGHT

DEATH

The wind bites at my face as we step out of the barracks into the bleak Finnish winter, the sky a pall of heavy, low clouds that seem to trap the light. It’s midday, and yet everything is as dim as twilight. We stand on a tarmac that leads to the fields beyond, where a procession of trucks sits rumbling, idling in place. Soldiers—my soldiers, at least for now—wait in half-dazed silence. Their breath clouds in the air, their gloved hands clenching rifles, their bodies bundled against the cold in white-and-black camo that makes them blend in with the scenery. I’ve numbed their fear, their reason, their doubts. With me guiding their thoughts, they do as I ask, their minds barely aware of how strange all of this is.

And this is all very fucking strange.

Torben stands beside me, tugging at his scarf, his blue eyes watering as the wind whips against us. He found the spell and cast it, a fine step forward. Now, we just have to get to the place where the portal will be summoned. Thankfully, it’s not far—just a few valleys over. Torben explained that the right combination of natural ley lines converge deep in that forest, lending itself to magical manipulation. With ash, salt, and a spark of the Underworld’s essence—mine—we can open a doorway back home.

“Is everyone ready?” I ask, voice echoing in the hushed gloom.

General Pekka gives a curt nod before he barks an order in Finnish. The soldiers move, mechanical yet quiet, the snow crunching beneath their boots as they clamber into the back of the trucks. The engines growl. No one questions the strangeness of it all—a God of Death, an old shaman, and a troop of mortal soldiers heading off into the wilderness, simply because there is no one out here in the middle of nowhere to witness it.

Torben and I climb into the truck with General Pekka at the wheel. I lean out the window and raise a hand, and the drivers, as if guided by invisible strings, set the trucks into motion. We head out along a narrow, snow-packed road, the tires grinding over ice. The forest on either side grows taller, darker, going from bare birch to thick pine. Though the heater is on full blast, the wind still finds its way into the truck and cuts through my cloak, chilling me in a way that reminds me of how out of my element I am. I hate how utterly human this world makes me feel. I hate that it makes me feel period .

Torben sits hunched over a small wooden box on his lap that he pulled from his satchel. Inside the box are the ingredients for the spell—ash from a birch branch, salt wrapped in a cloth pouch, and a strand of hair he plucked from my head when I wasn’t looking. “Relic of the Underworld,” he’d said with a shrug. Turns out, I hate being called a relic.

I didn’t protest, though I’ll be pissed if that hair doesn’t grow back. If this works, we have a chance. If not… Well, if it doesn’t, I’ll have a thousand mortal soldiers under my command and nothing to do with them while I’m trapped in the Upper World, forced to try and find another portal, hopefully one that’s already in existence and not conjured by a spell.

But no delays are acceptable at this point. I must return. Hanna, Lovia, Tuonen, my realm, my people—they all need me.

We drive for over an hour. Day darkens into a purple bruise. Snow begins to fall, lazy flakes that glitter in the headlights. Torben says little—occasionally, he mutters to himself, running through words of the incantation, checking and re-checking the lines from his spellbook. The general remains quiet, trusting my mental push to keep him docile but invested and unalarmed by this bizarre mission.

At some point, the road narrows until it’s barely a path. The trucks lumber through snow-laden pines, their branches sagging overhead like tired shoulders. We slow as the terrain grows wilder, more uneven, until eventually, the trucks can’t go on.

Everything comes to a stop.

The general’s voice crackles over a radio, but I shut out the words as I step out of the cab to survey our route. I’m focused on the land, the subtle pulse I feel beneath my boots. It’s faint, but I recognize the underlying hum of magic. This place is not ordinary. Something old and potent lingers here—perhaps these very hills remember the old faiths, the old ways, when this world and mine were so much closer.

“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 V?in?moinen 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 around us. 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 V?in?moinen 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 directions before 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.”

Torben tugs his scarf tighter and squints at the distant silhouette. “It looks close, but I know better than to trust my eyes here.”

He’s right. Distances in the Underworld can be deceiving, especially in a place like the Star Swamp, where perspective is warped by the deadly pools.

I pick a path forward. Torben, the generals, and the soldiers follow behind me, trudging carefully. I warn them again to step lightly, to test each patch of ground, but my warning comes too late for some. There’s a sudden splash, followed by a despairing cry that makes my heart stop.

I whip around and watch in horror as a man slips waist-deep, his rifle falling from numb hands. He screams, a raw, panicked sound that sends a shiver through me. I scramble back to him, reaching out, but before I can grasp his hand, he’s yanked down into the star-studded darkness below. For an instant, I see his face twisted in terror beneath me, lit by the faint glimmer of cosmic lights. Then, he vanishes, swallowed by Oblivion.

Only silence remains.

My stomach twists. That soldier is gone forever, lost. Not even the realm of death can reclaim him now. He’s trapped in that infinite void, drifting among stars that care nothing for souls. The realization that my carelessness cost him his eternity hits me like a hammer. Although I coerced him, he was still under my charge. If I intend to use these mortals to save Tuonela, I owe it to them not to discard their lives so easily.

“Careful!” I shout, voice cracking. The soldiers hesitate, shuffling nervously. Another one steps wrong, the ground giving way beneath her foot. She yelps, grabbing at a comrade’s shoulder. They manage to haul her back before she slips under, but the tension is mounting. They can smell danger now, and no amount of mental manipulation will entirely quell it.

Torben kneels, pressing a hand to the surface of the swamp. “This won’t do,” he mutters. “We can’t cross it, not like this.”

“I know,” I snap, trying to keep the panic from my voice. “But we must. The palace is our only hope, the only place I can hide this many troops from Louhi’s spies.”

He glances up at me, annoyance briefly sparking in his eyes. “Do you think I don’t know that? Give me a moment.” He fumbles in his satchel, producing his spellbook again, the pages rustling in the frigid wind.

“Another spell?” I ask, voice low. I can feel the soldiers watching me, looking for reassurance. I send a calming wave of thought through their minds, telling them to stay still, to not move an inch. In the silence, I can hear Torben’s quiet chanting.

He sprinkles a handful of something onto the swamp. Salt? Ash? I can’t tell. He closes his eyes, murmuring a string of words I do not understand. The sound of his voice changes, becoming resonant, echoing in this wretched landscape. I’m reminded of how he summoned the portal earlier—only now, we’re using magic in a place that already has magic infused in its very bones.

At first, nothing happens. Then, I hear a crackling sound, like ice forming on a pond. The soldiers gasp. I look down and see that the black surface is freezing over with a layer of frost. It spreads outward from Torben’s fingertips, radiating across the swamp’s surface. Snowflakes settle on the newly forming crust and do not sink. The sparkling darkness below grows dim, veiled by translucent ice. I test it with the toe of my boot, and it holds firm.

“Clever old man,” I say, relieved. He stands, shoulders slumping with effort. “You can keep it frozen?”

He nods grimly. “Not indefinitely,” he warns, “but long enough for us to cross if we move swiftly.”

I don’t waste a second. “Forward!” I bark to the soldiers, filling their minds with encouragement, a gentle push that makes their feet find purpose. They pick their way across the swamp now, careful but quick, each step clicking on the thin film of ice. I keep them in a loose formation, rifles at the ready, though what good bullets will be against Old Gods and horrors of the Underworld, I don’t know.

Torben and I fall into step near the center of the group. The cold bites at my cheeks, and I taste iron on the wind. The palace looms larger with every stride, a cluster of dark, jagged towers that look like claws scraping at the white stained sky, a poor man’s version of Shadow’s End. I remember this place from ages past, its halls lined with strange relics and Louhi’s awful decorating. Her sour presence still lingers here, though she’s gone—for now.

Oh the irony that the two of us have switched places. If I wasn’t in such a mood, I might even laugh.

We press on in tense silence, the only sounds the crunch of boots on ice and the faint whisper of snowfall, the soldiers marching forward, eyes ahead, focused on the task I implanted in their minds: get to Castle Synti and get there safely.

Torben looks drained, his breath coming in harsh puffs. The ice under us is stable for now, but I see hairline cracks forming as we walk. Oblivion resists being tamed. We must make haste.

Soon, the ground beneath us begins to slope upward. The ice gives way to actual ground—if you can call it that—where skeletal trees cluster, their branches rattling like old bones. I sigh with relief; the swamp is behind us now, a shimmering field of starlit blackness hidden under a thin shell of Torben’s magic. I feel a surge of gratitude for the shaman, my mortal father-in-law. Without his spell, we would have lost more troops, maybe even all of them.

The soldiers pause, waiting at the base of a rough, frozen hill. I nod at them, and they line up, disciplined and quiet. The palace is just ahead, rising from the snow like a gravestone. Once inside, we can take stock, search for what we need—weapons that bite deeper than mortal bullets, armor that can withstand curses and claws, clues as to Louhi’s fate and how we might stop her forces.

And I must hope Hanna, Lovia, Tuonen, and the rest of my family hold on, wherever they are. I’m no savior yet, but at least I have a path forward. I have men who will fight for me, even if coerced. I have a shaman who can bend magic to our needs. I have this dreadful land beneath my feet, reminding me that to rule death, one must face it down a thousand times.

With a silent command, I push the soldiers onward, toward Louhi’s lair and whatever comes next.