by Karina Halle
Lucky guess. It has to be a lucky guess.
“Hmmm, unfortunately I don’t think we have anything much more to look at for a bit,” Lovia says, oblivious to the weird mental games we’re playing. “The Frozen Void is pretty much as the name says, though I briefly lived with my mother in an ice castle nearby, back when my parents first separated. But that would be a few days walk and I have to get you to the City on time. Why don’t you two just sit back and relax?”
Relax? Oh, there’s no relaxing to be had here. Instead I keep playing the numbers game in my head with Rasmus, asking him again and again to keep guessing what numbers I’m thinking of.
And again and again, he keeps getting them right.
I keep making excuses as I go, but by the time he’s gotten twenty-five right in a row, I have to give up.
I concede.
Rasmus can apparently read my mind.
I take that fact and put it in the mental file folder that contains the information that my father was a shaman, that I saw my father in the casket who then transformed into Rasmus, that Noora and Eero tried to attack me, that my father painted a frozen waterfall with a message to not come after him, that I ended up going behind that waterfall and ended up in a tunnel that led to a land of mist, that I’ve seen my share of living dead animals, that there’s a young deer woman with a giant sword at her hip and dressed in nothing but a gold dress wielding this iron boat down an ink black river who is pointing out the local wildlife like she’s Steve Irwin’s apprentice.
And that the point of all of this, is that we’re supposed to go to the City of Death and find my father.
I’m starting to get the very disturbing feeling that this might be fucking real.
Suddenly the boat slows and I look behind me to see Lovia holding her oar straight in the water, bringing us to a stop.
“Don’t worry,” she says, catching my gaze. “Routine stop. It’s just the gatekeepers. The swans of Tuonela. We have to pass through them and then we’re onto the Great Inland Sea.”
“Oh fuck,” Rasmus mutters under his breath.
My eyes go wide. Oh fuck? Rasmus is saying oh fuck?
Lovia walks along the deck past us to the bow. “Well hello there,” she says to someone, her attention focused on the river. “I haven’t seen you in a long time. Checking up on me?” There’s a bitter tone to her voice.
Rasmus! I yell at him in my head. Why did you say oh fuck? What are the gatekeepers? Are they actually swans?
Suddenly there’s a flapping sound and even Lovia shrieks as two swans fly onto the boat, one black, one white, coming up each side of the ship.
They aren’t your average swans, I know that much. They’re about the size of a small pony and they’re focused on the two of us with beady dark eyes. I immediately know they’re sentient and it’s the most disconcerting feeling in the world.
“What do they want?” Rasmus asks Lovia as the swans start walking toward us, their webbed feet shaking the deck as they come. Despite playing the lead in Swan Lake, I’ve had a healthy fear of these birds all my life. They’re nasty, and these ones have beaks that could bite my hand clean off.
“They’re just checking to see if you’re really dead,” Lovia says in an irritated voice. “They’ve been around since the Old Gods, back when this place was Kaaos. Or in your words, Hell.”
The white swan stops right in front of me, while the black swan stops in front of Rasmus. They both stare at us, and when I mean stare at us, I mean I can feel them poking around inside my head, inside my very soul.
Suddenly the white one opens its mouth at me, showcasing a long skinny tongue and a row of razor-sharp shark’s teeth and starts screaming like a fucking banshee, this awful voice that’s both human and not.
“No!” Lovia yells above the swan’s scream. “No, they’re dead! They wouldn’t lie to me!”
Now the black swan is screaming in unison, the awful, chilling sounds filling the air and Lovia is violently shaking her head. “No,” she says. “They’re dead.” She looks to me and Rasmus. “You’re dead right? Please tell me you’re dead.”
Rasmus has been keeping his eye on the swan but the moment he looks up and meets Lovia’s eyes, her face falls in disappointment. Well, for a second anyway. Then it quickly morphs into anger.
“You guys lied? You lied?! Well, fuck you both,” Lovia snarls at us, pulling out her sword. “Have at them then.”
The swans come for us at once, teeth snapping, wings flapping.
There’s no time to think.
As the white swan leaps at me, I jump up on the bench then dive over its head, just clearing its outstretched beak in a move that never would have been possible before, no matter how much training I had. Before I can mull that over though, my body keeps going, and I summersault across the deck in time to see Lovia swinging her sword at me. I duck and dive out of the way of the sword as it hits the iron deck with a clank, then push up with my hands so that my boots connect with Lovia’s stomach. I watch in amazement as I kick Lovia right off the side of the boat, the giant sword clattering to the deck, her body hitting the water with a splash.
“Hanna, behind you!” Rasmus screams.
I don’t even have to look. I pick up the sword, heavy as hell, and turn with it swinging out. With a long low arc, the sword cuts through the air, chopping off the head of the white swan, which goes flying off the boat and into the water. The rest of the body falls to the deck in a heavy thunk before it disintegrates into a pile of bloody snow.
Rasmus is bleeding from the hands and head, but the black swan stops attacking him enough to turn its attention to me. It sees the decapitated white swan and starts screaming, a pitiful sound.
I almost feel bad for it, enough that I lower the sword.
“Hanna!” Rasmus yells. “It will kill us both and we can’t die here. Believe me, there would be no coming back.”
I swallow hard, making a split-second decision, and before the swan can launch itself at me, I take the sword and stab it right in the heart.
It screams again, a sound that I think will haunt my dreams for years to come.
I stare at it, then at the sword in my hands, then kick the dead swan overboard. I look over my shoulder to see if Lovia is still in the water, or swimming after the boat, but I don’t see anything but the ink black river. We’re picking up speed now, the current moving fast, and the white frozen hills are speeding past even without anyone paddling. The water shouldn’t even be flowing this way, but obviously nothing here makes sense.
“Well,” Rasmus says slowly, getting to his feet with a groan. “I don’t think I’ve seen anyone kill the swans of Tuonela before. So that’s something.”
“A good thing, right?” I ask him, taking off my knit cap, feeling unbearably hot all of a sudden. I don’t know how I did any of those moves, let alone while wearing a mound of clothing.
“We’re alive,” Rasmus says with a sigh. “So that’s a good thing.” He gives me a stiff smile. “But if we were hoping to get to your father without anyone knowing, well that opportunity went away with Death’s daughter when you kicked her off the boat.”
I blink. “Death’s daughter? You mean Loviatar’s father…”
“Is Death,” Rasmus finishes. “You bested his daughter and you killed his swans. He’s going to be pissed.”
Chapter 6
The Great Inland Sea
“So what do we do now?” I ask Rasmus, who is standing at the bow of the iron boat. We’ve been stewing in silence for the last few minutes while the enormity of his words began to sink in, the black river taking us along at a clip while the riverbanks get further and further apart. “I just kicked Death’s daughter off her own boat, then slaughtered his two swans, and now Death is going to know we’re here…somehow.”
Rasmus gives me a dirty look over his shoulder. “Do you hear yourself? Even after all you’ve seen, you’re still acting like this is a joke.”
“A joke!” I exclaim. “I may be
struggling to understand what’s happening but none of this is a fucking joke.”
He grumbles and fishes out a handkerchief from his coat pocket and dabs it at the clotting wounds the swan left on his forehead, wincing. “You could have believed me from the start. I told you about Tuonela. I told you all of this was real. It took you almost dying before you started to take any of this seriously.”
“Can you blame me?! What kind of person would I be if I just believed what you were saying about my father going off to the Land of the Dead?”
“An open-minded one,” he says tiredly, sounding disappointed. “Your father assured me you were open-minded.”
“Yeah! I am! I have crystals that give me good energy! I believe in my horoscope half the time, and I think the Ancient Egyptians were in cahoots with aliens. But even the most open-minded person has their limits, and this was my limit.”
“Even after seeing your father in the casket morph into me?”
I shrug, trying to get my thoughts in order. So much has changed and so fast. “I don’t know. I was hallucinating! I was grieving and jet-lagged! For all I know I still might be hallucinating, or at the very least in some awful, fantastical dream.”
Rasmus turns around and storms over to me, reaching for my hair and giving it a sharp yank.
“Ow!” I cry out, trying to move back. I like a good-hair pulling in the bedroom, but not this. “What the fuck is your problem, pulling my hair like a schoolyard bully?”
“That hurt, right?” he says, narrowing his eyes. “That’s your proof right now that you’re not dreaming.”
“Jesus,” I swear. “There are other ways to make a point.”
“And anyway, how do you explain this?” he says, reaching down to pick up Loviatar’s silver sword at my feet. His hand curls around the handle but as much as he pulls, he can barely lift it up. “This is what this sword weighs. A lot.”
With a grunt he tries to pass it to me. I take it from him, the handle cold even through my mittens, expecting it to be ridiculously heavy now, and yet in my hand it feels as light as it did earlier. I pick it up with ease.
“See! How the hell are you able to do that?” Rasmus asks me, and if I’m not mistaken, there’s bitterness to his words. “I’ve never been able to take Loviatar’s sword from her. And yet you not only kicked her clear off the boat, but you killed the swans with it, which also shouldn’t have been possible.”
“Don’t tell me the murder swans were supposed to be immortal,” I mumble, staring at the sword. Up close, I see the handle is covered with detailed skulls, bones and filigree, looking both beautiful and macabre, just as Lovia looked herself. “Look, I don’t know why I’m able to use it. And for the record, I’ve never been able to fight like that before either. My training is pretty basic. I don’t compete, it’s just a form of exercise that’s fun and makes me feel empowered. For some reason my body just isn’t obeying the law of physics or gravity here. Neither is this river, by the way. Shouldn’t we be flowing in the opposite direction?”
“It’s taking us where we need to go,” Rasmus says after a moment. “And unfortunately, we’ll be heading into the Great Inland Sea without Loviatar’s protection.”
I raise the sword up, almost slicing off Rasmus’ ear, which garners another dirty look from him. I don’t know what it is about redheads, but they can cast a dirty look like no one else. “I have her sword,” I tell him. “That has to count for something. And protection against what? More murder swans?”
Rasmus walks back to the bow. I follow, bringing the sword with me. I’m getting used to having it already.
In front of us the river is opening up into a big black sea of nothing, and in moments all land disappears, covered by mist as heavy clouds set in and a light snow begins to fall. I can’t tell if we’re close to shore or not, but it doesn’t feel like it. It’s creepy as hell and it’s getting darker by the minute, like we’re fast-forwarding into twilight.
“Maybe we need to start paddling or steering?” I ask.
Rasmus shakes his head. “The River of Shadows will keep us on course, the current is running beneath us. This boat only goes to the City of Death and back to Death’s Landing where we were picked up. I’ve tried to take it elsewhere in this sea before, but it would always right itself.”
“If you’ve been here before, how did you get past Lovia? Were there no swans?”
“Lovia is forgetful, if you couldn’t tell. When I’m using a spell, I can make her see whatever she wants. I made sure to disguise myself well from the last time I fooled her.”
“And me?”
“I left you as you,” he says.
“Great. So if she survives and complains to her father, he’ll know exactly who to look for.”
He gives me a shy smile. “You’re going to stick out anyway. Not many pretty girls in the Land of the Dead. Though you do have an ethereal, fairy-like quality to your face. Perhaps they might think you’re a Goddess.” He lets out an awkward cough and looks back to the blackened sea. “Anyway, there were no swans the last few times I’ve been here. They were the original gatekeepers, before Death took over and became God of the Underworld and created the City of Death. Actually, it’s one swan split into two, or three, or however many different versions of itself it wants to be.”
“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 cl
oser, 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.
I gasp and whirl around as Rasmus quickly puts the stone back in the backpack. He quietly walks down the deck and I follow. The snow is still falling in different colors, making it slippery beneath my boots.