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)
“Good,” he says. “Then we must press on. We’ll travel a good ways in until you find us a good place to camp, perhaps one that already has your old wards in place, ones Torben can strengthen. If it can connect near a ley line, all the better. We won’t be able to cross the entire forest in one go.” He looks to everyone else. “We must be on high alert at all times. Watch for snaking vines and roots underfoot, for unnatural stillness, a sense of being watched by something malevolent. If something feels off, let us know.”
“In other words,” I say to the troops in my best airport PA voice, “if you see something, say something.”
“Yes,” Tuoni says, frowning. “That’s literally what I just said.”
I shake my head. Yet another thing he doesn’t understand—though, frankly, I am impressed he made it through the Hobbit movies. Maybe one day, if we get out of this alive and save the realm, I’ll make him sit down and watch all the Lord of the Rings movies back to back. I doubt he has seen the extended editions.
“Let’s go,” I command.
Signals are made to the garrisons to the left and right of us, and we start to enter the forest.
We slip into the Hiisi Forest, spaced out in several single-file lines, the towering silhouettes of ancient cedars and ironwood lit by moonlight. Snow crunches underfoot, the cold having seeped into the woods, and we move slowly, cautiously, as if expecting the trees themselves to lunge at us. No one speaks; our breaths are clouds in the chilled air. Even Tuoni, usually so confident, holds his silence, scanning the darkness with wary eyes.
I stay close to his side, aware of the soldiers branching out behind us, while Tapio leads the way at the front. He’s quiet, his attention fixed on the subtle language of leaves and roots. Every so often, his head tilts, as if listening to a whisper we can’t hear. Tuoni’s tension eases minutely whenever Tapio gives the slightest nod. That means the forest approves of our passage, or at least tolerates it. We’re guests here, not enemies. Not tonight.
After an hour of winding down narrow deer paths and ducking beneath low branches, I feel my pulse calm. No ambush springs from the gloom. No Old Gods surge from beneath the snow. There’s only the murmuring hush of a winter forest. The tension thins, though no one relaxes completely. We all know danger can strike at any moment.
At one point, I lag behind Tuoni by a few steps, my boots treading carefully on a patch of ice. They’re a couple of sizes too big, taken off the feet of a dead soldier, which I try not to dwell on. The moonlight slants between trunks, illuminating patches of moss and lichen. My fingers start to itch as I feel the power inside me, that dormant solar gift kindling deep down. Could I try it again? Just a little spark, a test? If I can control it here, in the quiet, maybe I’ll trust myself more when the time comes to fight. Maybe I can be useful in the end.
I close my eyes briefly, imagining a delicate thread of light flowing from my core to my fingertips.
Just a spark, I tell myself, breathing slowly. My hand warms, and I open my eyes. A faint glow hovers above my palm, no brighter than a candle’s ember. It flickers nervously, like a timid animal ready to flee. Fear nips at my heart—what if it flares out of control? But it doesn’t. It stays small, obedient. When a soldier glances my way, I quickly close my fist, smothering the glow. Good. I can manage something tiny without losing my head and turning into Doctor Manhattan again. It’s a start.
We press deeper into the forest. The trees thicken, their tangled tops blocking out the moon. My father walks at the flank, his black staff tapping gently against roots, as if in conversation. He’s placing wards, I realize, small, protective spells that settle around us like invisible blankets. I sense them more than see them—strands of energy that hum in harmony with the hush of the woods. I wish I could speak to him about it, compliment his craftsmanship, tell him how proud I am of him, but I feel the need to stay quiet. Still, he glances my way, and I give him a smile that hopefully says a lot.
At last, Tapio halts before a clearing lit by a strange moss that glows faintly green. Snow drapes over a cluster of old stones in a half-circle, like a forgotten altar. The Forest God touches a trunk, listens, and then turns to us. “This place was once a grove of power,” he murmurs. “My wards from long ago linger. Torben can reinforce them. We’ll be safe here.”