Chapter 9

CHAPTER NINE

LOVIA

The forest feels different at night.

There’s a hush in the air, as if the trees lean in to listen to our footsteps. The five of us move through a realm of towering trunks and sweeping canopies, tangled vines and ferns brushing at our ankles. In the lead are Tapio and Tellervo, stepping lightly, the old forest father and his antler-crowned daughter. They move as if they belong here—because they do. The forest is part of them, and they are part of it, like limbs of the same ancient creature.

Rasmus, still bound though no longer gagged, trudges unhappily a short distance behind them. Somehow, he has managed to stay quiet, I guess because he knows how quickly the Forest Gods would turn on him. I watch him stumble, and though he has certainly earned no sympathy from me, I can’t help but sense an unease pulsing beneath his bravado. He’s rattled. He knows he’s alive only because we allow it, and he’s right not to trust us.

At the back of the line, I walk beside the Magician. Tellervo occasionally glances our way, ensuring we keep pace, and her father casts a stern eye over his shoulder now and then, as if worried we’ll vanish. Their worry and concern over their loved ones is palpable, lending tension to the air.

My leg feels surprisingly good, at least. Tellervo performed a miracle, and that I can walk without limping or feeling any pain is amazing. But still, there’s anxiety inside me that can’t be healed.

It’s because of the Magician. He is right beside me, silent yet not silent. Even when he isn’t speaking, the presence of those swirling galaxies under his hood is a language of its own. In the dark, the stars on his face glow, and I know his mood in the subtle shifts of constellations, the way colors bloom and fade. I’ve never met anyone like him—divine yet not a God, not a human or a creature. Something else entirely.

I can’t help but notice how the ferns brush against his robes, how leaves get caught and released, how carefully he avoids stepping on saplings. The forest here respects him as much as they do the Forest Gods, and he respects the forest. There’s an ease to his existence here, to everywhere, really.

I clear my throat quietly, choosing my moment. “We’ve never really talked, have we?” I say, keeping my voice low so it doesn’t carry to the others ahead.

The Magician’s head tilts slightly, galaxies swirling into a gentle lavender hue. “Not openly,” he agrees, his voice that curious blend of distant and intimate, like a whisper in a quiet hall. “You give orders, that’s for certain. But you’re right—we haven’t really talked.”

I smile at that as I pick my way over a root snaking across the path, Tapio and Tellervo guiding us deeper into denser forest. “Sorry. I guess I can be a little bossy.”

“No need to apologize to me,” he says. “I like to be bossed around from time to time.” He pauses. “What would you like to talk about?”

“I don’t know,” I say, feeling silly suddenly. This is not my usual territory. Emotions, confessions…these things come easily when I’m in the Upper World, seducing a mortal for a night or a week. I can play the part of the dark goddess, feed their fantasies, and leave without regret. But this? Sharing something genuine—or what I believe to be genuine—with someone from my own world? It’s strange. “Back there, with Yggthra,” I say, trying to find a good opening, “thank you for saving my life. Again.”

Man, I need to work on my conversational skills, because they are lacking big time right now.

“You saved mine,” he replies simply. “It’s mutual.”

But…do you really have a life to save? You’re not mortal, I think.

What are you?

My gaze drifts to the sides of the path, to the twisted trunks and the moss that hangs in curtains from branches. Something about the silence of this forest puts me on edge, but at least we’re moving, pressing forward.

“Your powers… Do you know where they come from?” I ask, deciding it’s a nicer question than what are you ? I mean, I know he’s “the universe,” but even as a Goddess, I just can’t wrap my head around what that means.

He’s silent for a few steps, considering. “My powers are a tapestry woven from many threads,” he says. “Some come from the primordial essence of the Underworld, some from deals made long ago, with forces beyond Gods and mortals. Some come direct from the Creator themself. You’ve noticed I see things others can’t.”

“You do more than see,” I say. “I think you can manipulate reality, just enough to tilt the odds. That’s unusual. Most Gods have direct dominion over something natural—seasons, elements, life, death—but you? You’re different.”

Really different.

A soft laugh escapes him, a sound like distant bells. “I’m not a God,” he says. “And obviously, I’m no mortal. Think of me as a…traveling scholar of arcane arts. When I say I know things, it’s because I’ve studied countless scrolls, spoken to ancient spirits that existed before even the Old Gods, wandered realms where time folds on itself. The galaxy you see is…a byproduct, a reflection of how I perceive the world. Sometimes, I reflect how you perceive the world.”

I stare at him for a moment before laughing, feeling a slight flush on my cheeks. “Now my mind is really blown.”

“There’s so much more out there that you don’t understand, Lovia,” he says. “And it’s not an insult to your intelligence. It’s that even Gods have limits. Even Gods can’t comprehend how the universe really works. They aren’t meant to.”

“Well, I’m definitely not a philosopher,” I admit, growing quieter. “Until recently, I don’t think I had much interest in anything, really. Definitely nothing in Tuonela. Did you know I’ve been sneaking out to the Upper World for years now? I even talked to Hanna about maybe leaving my duty here behind and going away for a while.”

He’s silent for a moment before he nods. “I did know that.”

“Oh. No secrets, then.”

“You can have your secrets, Lovia,” he says. “I don’t have to know everything. I can choose not to. But somewhere along the way, you’ve caught my attention.”

My cheeks grow warmer. “Is that so? You mean to tell me, as you’ve sat outside the City of Death and dealt cards for each incoming mortal, you’ve managed to find the time to think about little old me?”

I’m half-teasing him, but even so, my heart is starting to pound at the thought. Which, really, is ridiculous. With everything happening around us, the absolute last thing I need is to be flirting with an ancient, mysterious deity like the Magician, the universe itself, whatever that means.

And yet…

Here I am, fumbling through it.

“I haven’t sought you out,” he says, to which my chest deflates. “Rather, your life has infiltrated my vision from time to time. You more than anyone else.”

I swallow hard, daring to ask. “And what do you think that means?”

“I think,” he begins, pausing as a comet shoots across his face, lighting up the darkness in front of us, “it means that the two of us have some purpose here. Together.”

That idea makes my heart flutter, but it might just be from the anxiety of knowing he knows more than he’s letting on.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here. I’m not good at relying on others,” I admit softly. “Maybe you’re here to give me strength.”

He turns his head toward me. I can’t see his eyes, but I feel them, a gentle pressure. “Maybe it’s more than that, Loviatar.”

My name on his lips sends a shiver through me. Gods, what is this feeling? It’s a straight shot of warmth when all around is damp and gloom.

“I don’t know what’s happening to me,” I admit quietly, feeling like I’m breaking open my ribs, my heart exposed. “This war, this upheaval… I always thought I knew who I was. I’m the daughter of Death. I carry out my duties. I sometimes cross into the Upper World and play with mortals. I never expected to care about anyone from here. It’s easier to keep it distant. But now, I think about losing you or my father or even Hanna, and it terrifies me. I’m not used to fear either.” I snort softly at my own admission. “Fear, caring, worry—I’m ticking all the boxes of mortal vulnerability.”

A quiet hum emanates from him. We walk as he digests my words, the forest path twisting ahead. Up front, Tapio and Tellervo speak in hushed tones, their voices blending with the rustle of ferns as Rasmus stumbles on in silence.

The Magician steps closer. As we navigate a particularly root-choked section, I feel his hand brush against mine. At first, it’s incidental, a gentle contact. But then, his fingers curl around mine, and we’re holding hands as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. He’s not leading me somewhere as he has before; he’s heading there with me, as if I’m his equal.

My heart skips. I can’t remember the last time I held someone’s hand in a moment that wasn’t about control or seduction. This is different. It’s comfort, warmth, solidarity.

Maybe even something more?

I squeeze back, a small, tentative gesture.

“Is this…okay?” I ask, surprised by how vulnerable I sound.

He doesn’t release my hand. “I think so,” he says quietly. His words carry a gravity that matches the hush of the forest. “You’re not alone in being unsettled by all this. Perhaps we can share that burden. As for fear… Fear can be good. It means you have something worth protecting.”

I breathe out slowly, letting his words settle in me. Something worth protecting. Maybe that’s what I’ve lacked before. My family had never faced any sort of war or danger, and mortals were never worth protecting. They arrived at the shores and rang the bell, and I brought them to the city to live out their destiny. Now, I’m forced to consider that I do have something to lose.

Everything.

As we walk, the canopy thickens, the moss-laden branches twisting overhead like skeletal arms. Tension and sadness crackle in the air. Mushrooms with iridescent caps blend in with vines that glow faintly in the gloom. The vegetation mutates, the familiar shapes of the Hiisi Forest blending with something more alien. I feel we’re close to leaving the known paths behind.

Tapio and Tellervo sense it too. They slow, scanning the underbrush. The old Forest God runs a thick-fingered hand through his leafy beard, sending a glowing moth flitting away. Tellervo’s eyes glow softly in the dark, narrowing in suspicion. I can’t hear their conversation, but I see worry etched in their posture.

“There’s something out there,” Rasmus suddenly whispers as he comes to a stop. We do the same as I release the Magician’s hand reluctantly, and Tapio motions for silence.

Tellervo jerks her head toward a tangled thicket off to our left.

The Magician murmurs, “Something’s wrong.”

I step past Rasmus, sword at the ready. Tapio joins me, a hand raised to command the forest to help in whatever way it can. The underbrush rustles, and a foul smell creeps into my nostrils—a scent of decay, but not the natural kind that belongs to the forest cycle of life and death. This is something sour. Foul.

Evil.

Tellervo and the Magician fan out, flanking me, while Rasmus tries to follow, tethered by the mycelia. I push aside a curtain of lichen and step over a low root. My boot sinks into damp soil as I move deeper into the darkness. There’s a small clearing here, no more than a dozen paces across, surrounded by leaning trees coated in furry moss, fungus glowing softly at the base of a nearby trunk.

And in the center of the clearing lies something that makes my stomach flip.

Two figures, laid out in the dirt. One is a woman of the forest, her face frozen in terror, her long hair tangled with leaves and twigs. Her attire is simple—woven bark and lichen cloth—though it’s shredded now, stained with dark fluid. Her hands are folded over her abdomen, and tiny vines have begun to creep across her limbs, nature’s first attempt at reclamation.

Beside her is a young man with a shock of mossy hair around my brother’s age, lying as still as death.

It takes me a moment to take in the horror, to see what has been done to them, how their bodies have been opened and insides spilled out, intestines wrapped into bows, binding them to each other. It takes a moment to realize who I’m looking at.

It’s Mielikki and her son, Nyyrikki.

Tapio staggers backward, horror etched into the lines his face. “Mielikki…” he chokes out, voice cracking. “Nyyrikki.”

Tellervo cries out, a sharp, wounded sound. She rushes forward, dropping to her knees beside the bodies, tears spilling down her cheeks. The Forest Goddess touches her mother’s cheek gently, despair woven into every movement.

The Old Gods have struck another cruel blow.

The Magician steps closer to me, though he does not reach for my hand now. This is no moment for comfort—this is a shock that radiates through all of us, at least all of us who can’t see the future.

He raises his voided face, galaxies swirling in somber hues. “They must have found each other then been ambushed,” he says softly. “The Old Gods are sending a message.”

I want to say something, anything, to break the suffocating silence, but there’s nothing I could possibly say that would make any of this right, that would make any of this horror and grief vanish. My chest is unbearably tight, and I fight back the tears, my vision blurring. I look to the line of strange marks along Nyyrikki’s arm—thin scratches, almost runes.

No, it’s script.

A signature.

One that looks suspiciously like Louhi’s.

Sour water fills my mouth as I hold back the urge to vomit at the sheer villainy of my mother. I wish I could cut open my veins and drain my body of her blood, severing my link to her.

Tapio crouches over his wife’s lifeless, gruesome form, his shoulders trembling. The ancient God’s grief is a raw thing that sends ripples through the forest. Leaves rustle and twist overhead, branches creaking, creatures crying out in confusion. I can feel the realm shuddering, responding to his loss. This isn’t just a death of two beings; it’s a wound in the forest’s heart.

They’ve lost their own mother.

Tellervo’s sobbing is soft but gut-wrenching. She leans over her brother’s body, smoothing his hair back from his brow. “This isn’t supposed to happen,” she whispers.

I take a step back, reeling, my sword seeming useless now. I meet the Magician’s gaze, and his galaxies shimmer with a sadness I can feel. Rasmus is pale as bone, his bravado drained as he stares at what might have been him if Yggthra got its way.

This death, this brutality, it changes everything. They’ve broken our fragile sense of hope, shown us that nothing is safe. If the Forest Gods can be slain in their own realm, wards broken, what hope do we have?

My throat closes. I reach out blindly, and the Magician’s hand meets mine again. His grip is strong, steady, and for a moment, I wonder how much of this he foresaw, if there was anything that could have been done to prevent this. Something tells me the Magician is a slave to the tide of things as much as I am. He can change outcomes, but he can’t be everywhere at once, and this isn’t the kind of darkness we can banish easily. It’s a darkness that seeps into the roots of Tuonela, twisting beneath our feet.

The forest sighs, a mournful wind passing through the leaves, and I squeeze the Magician’s hand, feeling terror and anger swirl together in my chest.

The silence stretches. Tapio’s grief is profound, Tellervo’s shock numbing. Rasmus stares in quiet disbelief. The Magician stands beside me, and I cling to the warmth of his presence. I see a determination in the swirl of his stars, as if he’s already thinking of what comes next, how to strike back or survive. I taste blood in my mouth where I’ve bitten my tongue. I don’t even remember doing it.

Finally, I drag my eyes away from the bodies, away from the broken tree of a family cut down. We must move on, faster now. If the Old Gods and Louhi can penetrate the wards of the Forest Gods, we aren’t safe.

We have to keep going toward the Star Swamp, into dangers untold. We have to keep going, even though the Old Gods have proven how ruthless they can be. We will carry their death like a fire in our chests, fueling what comes next.

But right now, all I can think is, this was a message.

We’ve received it loud and clear.