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)
We did it.
The sampo worked.
We survived.
But at what cost?
Tapio is gone. Too many soldiers have died. Despite working enough to disable the Old Gods, the sampo is shattered, leaving the ley line half-fixed, our victory incomplete. Ilmarinen kneels amidst crystal shards, trying to gather them with shaking fingers. Soldiers groan and wipe sweat from their brows, some of them waking up from the sleep Zelma put them in. My father and Rasmus, drained, lean on each other as the Magician stands apart, silent.
Did he see this all?
Did he know?
I push myself up, numb, limbs shaking. Tellervo’s anguished cries burn into my soul. She sees me, eyes blazing with accusation. “Hanna!” she sobs. “You could have saved him!”
My throat locks. I have no excuse. I’m not a Goddess—I’m a coward. My terror killed him as surely as that Old God’s claws. She turns away, cradling her father’s staff, hatred radiating from her every sob. The forest itself seems to cry along with her, branches shaking violently, leaves and needles falling to the ground like tears.
I drop to the cold ground and fold inward, hugging my knees, tears sliding silently down my face. I’m the Goddess of both the sun and death—and I failed. I had one chance to save Tapio, and I froze, choking on fear. Now, he’s gone, and I’ve lost more than an ally. I’ve lost trust, confidence, and perhaps the right to call myself their savior.
Tuoni comes to my side, hauling me up to my feet and putting his arms around me. He holds me tight, telling me it wasn’t my fault, that I did the best I could, but I don’t believe a word he says. I’m not sure he believes it either.
As the camp tends to wounds and grieves, I remain hollow and ashamed. The Old Gods retreated for now, but there will be others in our future. The path to Shadow’s End remains perilous, the ley lines broken, my courage and conviction beyond shattered.
I don’t know how to face them—or myself.
In the silence that follows, I weep into my husband’s arms, holding my guilt close, like pressing on a wound that won’t stop bleeding.
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.