by Sarah Fine
“They’re marching on the city now before they have a chance to prepare,” I say, because I hear the shuffling gait of the old man behind me. At least, if we lure them into the woods, the city dwellers will have a bit more time, and more warning. For I do not aim to let this be a quiet battle.
“How they attack?” Raimo asks. “Will expect the trap?” He points to the southern edge of the deep crater, where the Kupari have attempted to obscure the rim and make it look like more of the forest floor using branches as a flimsy platform, decorated with brambles and brush.
“You might catch a few riders that way, but not many.”
Raimo swishes his fingers through the air and a hard gust of wind shoves my back. “Maybe more than a few.”
“You are much stronger now that the earth is still.” Thanks to Sig. Thanks to Oskar. Now they sleep inside the earth, and their blood runs through its veins. Surely that will help us.
“So are you.”
I look down at my hands. I am not looking forward to the blisters and frostbite that will spread like frost across my skin. Perhaps I can make things happen so fast that I won’t feel much of anything. The fire and ice is building inside me, fierce and infinite. When I release it, I will be a storm that cannot be leashed. All I have to do is hold on enough to focus its wrath—and make sure Jaspar and Kauko are within its reach. “I need to be at the very front.”
“The scouts will tell us of the warrior path. More coming.” He glances toward the far side of the clearing, opposite the direction the older scouts took Lahja. Veikko is in conversation with two cloaked Kupari women. This camp is full now—throughout the afternoon more and more Kupari have been arriving from the city, carrying hammers and pitchforks and lengths of rope and chain, wooden bats and metal brands, nets and clawlike anchors and hooks. Anything that could possibly be wielded as weapons. They are all pale with fright, but their faces are also lined with determination. They have come two-by-two and four-by-four, trickling from the city like winter runoff, more by the hour. I pray we become a river that sweeps Jaspar and his traitors away, but I know it cannot be that easy.
I know my Krigere. I know what we are capable of. And I know that Kauko nestles evil and cunning within their protection. He has had my blood, and he is nearly as strong as I am.
And he has more control.
The only time I have ever felt in control was when Elli touched me, and they have her, too.
“Any word on Elli?” I ask Raimo.
He shakes his head. “She is who our people want to see.”
Because they still believe that without their Valtia, they are helpless.
Veikko jogs over with Aira and speaks to Raimo, who translates. “They’re entering the woods on main trail. Riders front, then priests, then foot soldiers.”
“So they mean to cut as many of us down as they can with the riders, and then they hope Kauko and his priests will finish the job,” I say. Jaspar is trying to conserve his warriors, though he will probably have put his fiercest in the vanguard, confident in their prowess.
“Still want to be at the front?” asks Raimo. “We can stop riders.” He uses his stick to jab at Veikko and Aira, as well as a few of the others.
“I need to know where Jaspar and Kauko are.” When I go off, I need them near. “Maybe I should just go alone, actually.”
Raimo laughs. “Those days are past, Valtia.”
I let out a frustrated sigh. “You don’t understand. I’m not like other Valtias. I can’t control this magic, and when I use it, I’m . . .”
The old man clutches my hand. Where our skin meets, I feel his power. “I will be there.” He shakes me by the wrist and lets me go. “Until she is.”
I’m not even sure what he means, but it seems silly to argue. All the wielders have gathered in the clearing. At the edge of the woods, Livius is shouting to a horde of Kupari, gesturing with big sweeps of his thick arms. I can’t tell if he actually has a strategy or is merely trying to fan the spark of courage inside them to full flame. He says the world “Valtia” several times, and that above all seems to inspire them. They want their queen back and are willing to fight to have her.
When a third pair of scouts rushes into camp to tell us that the Krigere have crossed a creek that divides south from north in these woods, we move to take our positions. The Kupari, led by Livius, gather in front of the southern edge of the crater. It takes some negotiating, but I agree to stay on its western rim with the other wielders, out of sight until the signal is given.
We have several long, tense minutes of silence before the hoofbeats shake the ground beneath our feet. Livius signals to be ready, a wave of a scrap of fabric in the increasingly dim woods. The path is wide, and the first Krigere riders come into view only a moment later. There are perhaps two dozen, and I spot Jaspar by his golden hair as he moves through a beam of sunlight. They ride without fear or hesitation, straight at the Kupari who block their path. Jaspar has the smile of battle on his face, the anticipation that he will feed his sword a feast of blood.
Magic pushes against my breastbone as I watch, and I have to look down at my chest to make sure it’s not bowing outward, swelling to accommodate the rush of power and need that grows inside me. This magic seems to know it has a purpose. It knows its time is coming.
Or maybe it’s simply ready to find another home.
Livius stands at the front of his line of Kupari, clutching a heavy sledgehammer in his bull arms. The sun catches a glint of sweat on his brow, the only sign of his fear. Jaspar doesn’t call his warriors to a halt when he sees the man. There will be no discussion or negotiation or boasting or threats, as that is not what we do. Livius shouts something to his people as the riders break through the trees, leaping over low brush and crowding onto the clear path. One of the Kupari women screams, or perhaps it’s one of the men.
Jaspar laughs. “Cut them down,” he shouts to his warriors. “These will be their bravest. The others will despair when we crush them!”
“We can’t win,” I say to Raimo, my insides starting to churn as the future unfolds before me. “We can’t—”
As Jaspar and a dozen of his best riders draw their swords and bear down, the Kupari turn tail and run. Livius darts surprisingly quickly—straight toward the edge of the crater. As four warriors on the gallop spy the precipice too late, Livius runs right out onto the flimsy platform, and two follow. The air fills with the cracking of wood and the screaming of horses, and then I see Livius swinging out over the crater—he had a rope tied around his waist the whole time! Other Kupari use hooks to yank him back to safety as the crater devours its victims. The other Krigere scatter, shouting to each other as they try to figure out what just happened, some of them chasing shrieking Kupari around the rim of the crater.
“Ansa!” Jaspar roars, and the laughter has left his voice. He reins in his horse at the end of the path and searches the forest, squinting at rocks and trees, thinking to find me there.
Veikko steps out from behind a boulder just as Raimo tries to pull him back. “Soturi,” he snarls, then flings his hand out as cold billows across the clearing. Jaspar rides forward, right into the assault. As Veikko stumbles back, his arms up, ice still pouring from his palms, Jaspar raises his sword. Raimo lunges from his hiding place, sending fire roaring through the space between them.
But when the smoke clears, Veikko is on the ground, bloody and writhing, and Jaspar is still in the saddle. Untouched. And smiling. He advances on the old man as more Krigere fill the clearing. I am dimly aware of the dark robes of priests marching through the brush, and another wave of soldiers behind them, carrying a pale column, perhaps a flag? It doesn’t matter, because Aira has joined the battle, using her fire to try to ward off the remaining riders, and Jaspar stands before Raimo, immune to the old man’s magic.
“Ready to die?” Jaspar asks, grinning.
“Was ages ago,” says Raimo, and then he hurls a jagged ball of ice at Jaspar. It shatters before it touches him. Jasp
ar raises his sword again. Raimo stumbles over his feet and falls to the ground next to Veikko, a plume of fire rising from his hands as he does. The trees in this forest are alight now, ash raining down. Jaspar steers his mount toward Raimo, no doubt hoping to trample the old man.
It is too soon to use my magic. Kauko has not yet cleared the trees.
But I will not watch this happen. Rising from my hiding place, I draw a dagger from the sheath at my wrist. “Are you ready to die?” I shout as I fling the blade.
Jaspar howls as the dagger buries itself in his thigh, and he drops his sword. Warriors and wielders engage the battle around us while the priests march forward. I step out from behind the bush where I had crouched, drawing another blade. Clutching at the reins, Jaspar slides from his horse and with a wrenching tug, he pulls my dagger from his flesh and clumsily tosses it away. Blood seeps through his breeches. His lips are pulled back into a sneer. “Thought you’d come at me with magic.”
“That is not all I am.”
“Strike at me,” he shouts.
I don’t. Partly because I know I can’t waste my one chance to take out Kauko, but also because I know what I just saw. “The magic didn’t affect you.”
“Elli,” Raimo says, trying to claw his way toward Veikko. Blood has pooled around the young man, too much outside his body and not enough in. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Aira dive between two trees to avoid the slash of a sword, but she’s in trouble—the branches over her head are burning. “Elli!”
Jaspar’s horse screams as falling cinders sting its rump. He grabs for its reins while swiping his sword from the forest floor. I shouldn’t take my eyes off it, but I am distracted by the pillar of white that is hovering just behind the priests.
It has coppery hair. It is the reason Jaspar is immune to Raimo’s magic.
“Elli,” I call out.
“She can’t hear you.” The voice snaps me back to the battle, but too late. Kauko is at the edge of the clearing, and his priests are fanning out. Surrounding us.
“Raimo!” I shout.
He answers by shooting a series of icy knives straight for the priests. And it affects them the same way it did Jaspar, which is to say not at all.
I shouldn’t have forgotten about Jaspar. As Kauko advances, the traitor prince barrels into me, taking me to the ground. We roll in the dirt. The fire bursts from my palms and lights his tunic on fire. He grabs a fistful of my short hair and slams my head into the ground as he heaves himself on top of me. “I’ve always wanted to be in this position with you,” he says while I struggle, while the fire burns me and leaves his skin smooth and tan.
But then it starts to redden. I watch the first blister form on his chest, shiny with liquid and crimson with rage. He curses. For a moment, my heart beats hard with fury and the certainty of triumph.
Until he plunges his dagger into my side. The pain steals my concentration and my strength. To the tune of Kauko’s laughter, screams of agony, the crackle of tinder, the terror of horses, my vision blooms with white and silver and Thyra. I want to reach for her, but I can’t quite manage it. Jaspar slides the blade out of my body and gets to his feet, then wipes the edge on his already bloodstained breeches. “I pictured a different ending, though,” he says, but there is no regret in his tone.
Blood is searing acid in my mouth as he rejoins the battle. The Kupari are fighting with all they have, and Jaspar’s traitors are cutting them down, but with effort. Raimo and Kauko are engulfing the entire clearing with deadly fire and ice. Kauko is immune to the magic, but Raimo is skilled at counteracting nearly anything the elder hurls. Aira and the other Kupari wielders are fighting the priests.
We are losing, and I can’t summon the strength to fight. I am dying.
I think I was the only one who believed you weren’t beaten, Thyra whispers in my memory.
It was her voice that brought me up from the ground in that fight with Sander. Her voice I heard through the roars and cheers. Get up, she says. Keep fighting. I can hear her now. Blood and victory. She says my name over and over again. She gives me my orders.
I pray I have the power to see them through.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Elli
The gray warrior’s shoulders flex as he and Bertel carry me through the woods. I am trussed tightly to a post, and they have me upright, my feet at the level of their shoulders, the tips of branches pulling at my hair and scraping at the ropes that keep me in place. Everything is hazy. My wounds are bound, but I think it would barely matter. I don’t have much left to bleed.
My heart taps out a sick and frantic beat, and my skin is clammy. I can’t stop shivering. Around me I hear shouts and the pounding of boots. I can make out the distant screams and whinnies of horses. I feel the tremors of muscles and inhale the smell of sweat and burning wood. The canopy above me is starting to glow, leaves gilded with flame.
I think I’m still alive, but I also know I am dying.
Everything is buzzing, a hum and tingle that makes it hard to focus on the important things I know must be happening around me. Minutes ago, just after our scouts spotted a group of Kupari with swords blundering into these woods, we stopped. I was cut again. Kauko handed out small cups of my blood to Jaspar and a few of his best warriors who would ride at the front, and then to all the priests who will fight the temple wielders. Kauko saved the largest portion for himself, of course. A full cup, precious drops dancing over the brim. Kauko lapped up every one, though, and then gulped down the rest, leaving his teeth and lips red as the flame mark on my leg.
Now all that is left of me is this shell, to be used as a signal and symbol. To be used to bring my people to their knees.
Bertel frowns up at me. He and his gray friend volunteered to carry me, though I’m not sure why. The two have their weapons sheathed but are tense and ready. The warriors around us seem unhappy, full of misgiving. I wonder if these are the ones who were loyal to Thyra. How I wish I could speak to them in a language they could understand. How I wish I could hold my head up, but I don’t have the strength.
With a shout, the two warriors in charge of carrying me through the wood come to a halt and lower me to the ground. The gray one takes a strip of cloth and ties it around my forehead, securing my head to the thick birch pole they’re using to carry me. Then Bertel moves close, a knife in his hand. His brown eyes are fathomless. I am too weak to struggle as the blade moves toward my side. His gaze is riveted on mine as I feel first one arm and then the other slip free of the rough ropes used to bind my body. I am not unbound—I am still secured to the post. But my arms can move. “Help,” Bertel says, fluttering his hands in a very good imitation of Kauko. “Magic?”
If only.
I respond by sighing wearily. I’m tired of disappointing people.
The warriors are hunched over me, waving the others around us. A few of the frowning ones seem to see what Bertel and his friend are doing, but they do not sound an alarm. Perhaps because I’m still tied up and helpless. If I weren’t, I’d simply collapse in the dirt and never rise again.
Bertel loops a rope loosely around my arms before helping the gray one to lift me upright again. When my people see me like this, a sacrifice, an offering, the idea is that they will surrender. At this point it might be the best I can hope for.
I have no path to victory, and I am ready to go. I can almost hear Oskar calling to me from the stars, wishing me a good journey, promising me he is waiting in a cottage by the lake. His voice is the only thing that I can hear now. His murmurs coalesce into one word:
Ansa.
Up ahead is a clearing. Fire rains down on it and snow swirls in the air. Kauko is laughing. He has just reached the edge of it, and he is immune to the searing heat, immune to the bitter cold. It will not last much longer, but it might be long enough for him to destroy any opposing force.
In the center of this catastrophe, Raimo staggers to his feet to face the elder. And there is Jaspar, standing over a body.
It is Ansa. I can tell by her coppery hair, her small size. She’s not moving. Her right side is soaked with blood. “Ansa,” I say, my voice only a whimper. “Ansa.”
Bertel looks up at me, his gaze keen. “Ansa,” he shouts.
“Ansa,” shouts the gray one. They shout something else, and all the warriors around us join in. I have no idea what they’re saying, but Ansa moves. She coughs and rolls to her side. The warriors and priests in the clearing pay her little mind—they are busy fighting our Kupari wielders. Raimo and Kauko are locked in grim and destructive battle. Trees have begun to fall, slamming to the ground on horse’s backs, taking the riders down with them.
Raimo doesn’t have immunity from magic like Kauko does, but he is quick and clever, deft with his magic. He nearly brings down an oak on Kauko, but the elder uses a gust of icy wind to blow it onto a few nearby warriors. He has no care for his allies, only for his own life. His face is bright with triumph as he raises a ring of fire around Raimo.
I hear the old man cry out with pain.
Ansa is on her knees now. At any moment, Kauko will see her. She holds her palms out. She is staring at him as if her gaze is an arrow. Fire and ice snake from her fingers. Her face twists with pain.
“Ansa!” This time my voice is a little louder, and the warriors around me begin to shout it in earnest. Ansa. Ansa. Ansa.
Ansa.
She turns her head. Our eyes lock. With all my remaining strength, I reach for her.
And then I reach for her magic.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Ansa
Elli is at the edge of the clearing. Bertel and Preben are holding her up. Thyra’s warriors surround her. They are all chanting my name.
My magic is eating through my chest wall, pushing through my skin. Dying as I am, I can’t hold it much longer. It leaks in gold and silver threads from my fingers just as blood pours from my wound. My entire being is made of agony, knives slicing along every inch of my skin, cutting my organs free from their moorings. I know these are my final seconds. I do the only thing that is left to do, that seems worth doing.