Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 100837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100837 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 504(@200wpm)___ 403(@250wpm)___ 336(@300wpm)
“And I killed it,” I say, feeling bad again despite everything.
“It’s not dead,” he says. “It is immortal, like you guessed. A God. The Swan of Tuonela will come back in a few days’ time, probably hell-bent on vengeance, so if we’re still alive, we have that to look forward to.”
“And Lovia?”
“She’s a Goddess. You couldn’t kill her if you tried. Only Death himself can kill the Gods. I think it’s one reason why he lets so many of them live here. So he can keep an eye on them. His ex-wife in particular.”
Lovia had said something about them being separated but I wasn’t really paying attention at the time since it’s been nothing but information overload. “Death has an ex-wife? How fucking modern.”
Rasmus shrugs, brushing some snow off his shoulder. “I guess. She’s a demon though. Well, half a demon. The marriage was arranged by her father, Rangaista, a demon who used to rule Tuonela back in the times of the Old Gods, as a way to keep that blood in the new ruling family.” A warm, sentimental look passes over his eyes and he smiles softly. “I’ll tell you, your father was obsessed with all of this stuff. He loved trying to figure out the complicated family trees and politics of this land. But it’s all a bit soap opera to me.”
I almost laugh. My father loved history, and all history around the world is more than a little soap opera-ish. I wouldn’t expect the Land of the Dead to be any different.
“So if that doesn’t interest you, then what brought you to this place more than once?” I ask. “It’s not exactly a walk in the park.”
“Eternal life,” Rasmus says simply, a snowflake getting stuck in his hair. “Immortality. I like finding spells here and new magic and herbs to bring back home, but I can’t pretend my goal isn’t power in the end. The power to live forever. Isn’t that what everyone wants? Including your father?”
I swallow thickly, the idea of immortality and talk of power making me uneasy. “Do you know for sure my father wanted to be immortal? Maybe he just wanted to live a little longer.”
“Maybe. But I won’t pretend that’s not what I’m here for.”
“I thought you were here to help me rescue my father,” I say slowly, squinting at him.
His face remains blank, with boyish innocence I’m starting to second guess. “I am. Don’t forget he’s like a father to me too. I’d do anything to help him.”
I want to believe that. “So you’re not going to toss us to the side to try and get some magic to make you immortal?”
He lifts his shoulder. “I promise I will not toss either of you aside. My mission here is clear—bring home Torben Heikkinen. But one day, I will be back. Each time I’m here, I get a little closer, I make a few more allies. If I can get into the Library of the Veils and then my hands on the Book of Runes, then I’ll be set. They say that some magic, in the right shaman’s hands, can rival the power of a God’s.”
A greedy look settles across his blue eyes and for the first time since we set foot in this place, I’m a little wary of him.
Don’t let your guard down, I tell myself.
But at that, his eyes crinkle at the corners and I know he just heard my thoughts. Fucking hate that.
I take in a deep breath. “Do you really think my father is still alive?”
He twists around and reaches into the front pocket of his mahogany leather backpack and pulls out the aurora stone, which is still gleaming in various electric hues of green and purple. Actually, it’s shining even brighter than it was back in the cabin, like it’s plugged into an electrical socket. “He’s still alive,” Rasmus says. Then he raises the stone in the air. “Watch this.”
The snow that’s been falling suddenly changes color, mimicking the color of the stone. Glowing flakes of green, purple, blue and pink start landing on our coats, creating a frosted rainbow on the deck.
I laugh at the sight, reverting to the sense of awe and wonder I had as a child, when everything new was magical. Rasmus is laughing too, the uneasiness between us being buried by the glimmering multicolored snow.
I take off a mitt, wanting to feel the snow in my hand. A yellow-pink flake lands on my palm, shining like a little firefly. It warms up as it stays on my skin, but it doesn’t melt, it just sits there shimmering, and my eyes focus on how delicate and intricate it is, how perfectly every angle comes together to create a work of art.
I’m about to remark on nature being amazing—in every world it seems—when suddenly there’s a loud splash from behind us.