Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 125422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
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.”