River of Shadows

by Karina Halle

  The Daughter

  After Death left, I wanted to go talk to Bell about everything she just witnessed, but I didn’t have a moment to myself. I had just finished putting on the new nightgown—something white, lacy, and satiny that clung to my curves—and not because Death asked me to, but because I didn’t want to be naked anymore, when Raila came inside the room. She was all a titter about the dinner tonight and getting me ready for it.

  Which meant getting me naked—yet again—and into the tub she filled with steaming hot water. I have to admit, getting past the whole being-nude-in-front-of-strangers part, the bath feels wonderful, especially since she just put a whole bunch of fragrant herbs in it that seem to clear my lungs and head. An unexpected bonus is that the tub has a faucet, which means this castle has indoor plumbing. The toilet in my room is more of squat on the floor style, but at least it ain’t shit into a bucket and pour it out the window style. I have a feeling the indoor plumbing thing is something else that one of Death’s errand boys procured from the Upper World and once again I picture some skeleton dude perusing Ikea’s bathroom department.

  It’s so very exciting that you get to go to dinner, Raila says as she scoops up the bathwater into a wooden bucket and pours it over my head.

  The water gets in my eyes and mouth and I spit it out. She may be my exuberant servant, but she doesn’t have a lot of finesse. “I’d rather stay in my room.”

  Oh no, you must not say that, she says, reaching for a tarnished silver jar on the wood ledge beside the tub and giving it a rough shake. Pale gold semi-translucent liquid gel comes out and she rubs it vigorously between her gloved palms. Being invited to dinner with the master is a real honor. You are sure to have the finest food and drink in the land. It’s no wonder that he wants you to look your best, he hasn’t had a beautiful woman in here in such a long time.

  She applies the goop to my wet hair and starts rubbing it into my scalp, rather violently I might add. “You mind easing up there?”

  My apologies, she says, the pressure lifting just a little. My husband said I never had a woman’s touch. She laughs melodically at that, but considering what she did to her husband leaves me feeling just a tad uneasy.

  It also doesn’t help that I still haven’t seen her face beneath that black shroud and she’s still wearing satin gloves despite the fact that she’s bathing me. I mean wet gloves? Ew.

  “Speaking of touch,” I say. “Do you have the touch of death too? Is that why you’re wearing gloves?”

  Boy, you really weren’t joking when you said you’d be asking lots of questions, she says. She clears her throat, her tone more grave now. No, I wear gloves, and this shroud, because my appearance isn’t very becoming.

  “Well, that’s not fair,” I tell her as she continues to massage what I’m assuming is shampoo into my head. “I saw the Deadhands with my father. They were skeletons. Why are the Deadmaidens covered up and the Deadhands aren’t? Seems kind of sexist to me.”

  You would have to ask Death, she says. All I know is that this is the way I am always to present myself when dealing with others.

  She stops lathering my head and then scoops the water in the wood bucket, immediately dumping it over my head, the soap running into my eyes.

  Close your eyes, she says cheerfully.

  “Yeah thanks for the warning.” I wipe my eyes quickly before she pours more water on my head, the bathtub filling with suds.

  “When was the last woman here?” I ask as she starts shaking another tin jar into her hand. “You said it had been a long time since a beautiful one was here.”

  Well, Lovia is beautiful, but I don’t think you mean her. There was Louhi of course. She was Queen. She was the Goddess of the Underworld.

  “And what is she now?”

  Not here, Raila says simply.

  “What does she look like?”

  Beautiful, in a savage way, she says, rubbing some thick red goop into my strands, making my dark hair blood-colored.

  “Please don’t tell me that’s bat’s blood or something,” I say, gesturing to the lotion.

  It’s conditioner, she says. I’m not sure what it does. I don’t have any hair myself, but Lovia created it with the skin of frostberries. Sure does look like blood doesn’t? She says that last part almost wistfully and I try not to cringe.

  “But what does Louhi look like?” I ask again, strangely fascinated with Death’s ex and their messy relationship. “Can you describe her?”

  Oh sure. Tall. Taller than you. Very slender. Narrow hips. Big breasts. White skin. I try not to roll my eyes, since Death seems to have gone totally stereotypical in his choice of wife. Fangs, she then adds. Claws. White eyes. Several large ridged horns coming out of her head. Giant wings. Long red hair.

  “Wings?” My eyes widen. “Horns? Real horns?”

  Well, she is part demon, Raila informs me. Part witch too. Lapp Witch, the oldest and most cunning of the witches.

  The image I’ve conjured in my head is terrifying. “Something tells me I don’t want to meet her.”

  I would advise against it, Raila says, pouring water over my head again while I sputter. But she’s not allowed to step foot inside Shadow’s End. They have an agreement. In exchange for letting her live, she’s not allowed to leave the Star Swamp. She has her lover there in her own castle, but she can’t see Death or her children or interfere with the politics of the worlds at all. She had to give up her crown of crimson.

  “And so far she’s done that?” I ask warily. If she’s part demon and part witch, I don’t see her giving up all her power and prestige so easily.

  So far, Raila says, scooping up another bucket of water. I pinch my eyes shut and hold my breath as it cascades down again. There. Nearly done.

  I look down. The tub is a gruesome sight, the red conditioner turning the water a wicked shade of red, like I’m bathing in blood. It makes me think of Louhi’s crimson crown.

  “Was it an actual crimson crown?” I ask, moving my hands under the water so that I create waves of blood. “Does she still have it?”

  As I said, she gave it up. It’s in the crypt. Waiting for the next Goddess, I suppose.

  I think back to the prophecy. Death seems to think that whomever he’s allowed to touch without killing them will end up becoming the new Goddess of Death. Is that where the alliance is formed? Between him and his future wife? Or is the alliance between other worlds or other gods?

  Okay, stand up, Raila says to me, snapping me out of my thoughts.

  I stand up in the bathtub, trying not to slip, fighting the urge to cover my breasts and nether region. There’s no point, she’s seen it all.

  She’s grabbing yet another tin jar and shaking what looks like brown sugar into her gloved palms. Time for a scrub, she says. Lovia taught me to do this as well. She said the mortals use it for exfoliating these days. Not that I have much skin to scrub.

  I try not to make a disgusted face. I feel like Raila’s happy-go-lucky attitude could turn murderous without warning, and having no hair and not much skin might be a sore spot for her. Literally.

  Especially as she’s applying the scrub to my body and rubbing vigorously. This time I decide to just grin and bear it, even though I feel like she may be trying to remove my skin in the end, perhaps to wear it herself.

  I shake those thoughts out of the way as she finishes and starts pouring more water over my body, then slides a wet washcloth over every inch of skin. Finally she brings out a towel and starts drying me off.

  There, she says triumphantly. Squeaky clean. Now to get the powder. She looks around her. Oh where did it go?

  “Powder?” I ask when suddenly there’s a knock at the door. Before I can yell that I’m naked, the door swings open. To my surprise it’s not Death, but a striking woman with long pale blonde hair, dressed in a light gold gown that trails behind her. Even with her deer skull gone, it’s obvious who this is.

  Lovia.

  Oh shit.

  “Are you lo
oking for this?” Lovia asks Raila as she struts into the room, her heels clicking, holding out a big black powder puff. Least I hope it’s a powder puff, and not some fluffy yet deadly creature.

  I was, thank you, Raila says, taking the thing from Lovia. She then comes over to me and starts patting the powder over my skin.

  I have no choice but to just commit to being totally naked in front of strangers again. By the time this day is over, I think I could handle a nudist camp.

  “Well, well, well,” Lovia says, standing in front of the tub, her slender arms crossed. “We meet again, Hanna.”

  I give her a faint smile. “I think perhaps we got off on the wrong foot.”

  I mean, she’s going to kill me, isn’t she?

  A wicked grin spreads across her pretty face. “I think you got off on the right foot,” she says. “I was very impressed you were able to do that. Pissed, but impressed. And to take my sword too.”

  I shrug as Raila finishes powdering me, my body now slightly gold and sparkly and smelling of honey. “You can do amazing things in self-defense,” I admit. “I really do apologize though. And I’m not an animal killer. I didn’t want to kill the swans, it just sort of happened.”

  “Phhff,” she says with a dismissive wave of her hand, gold bracelets made of bone jangling on her wrist. “The Swan of Tuonela has been killed many times. It always comes back. You know the relics. Or maybe you don’t. The swan was the original gatekeeper before I came along. The relics don’t like to let go of their roles, even when not needed. I’ve been butting heads with it for a long time.”

  I nod, unsure where this is going. It seems like she’s not pissed anymore but I can’t trust anyone in this castle, especially anyone in Death’s immediate family.

  “Anyway, normally I’d probably kill you for doing what you did,” she says with a big smile, her teeth perfect and blindingly white. “I do have a reputation to uphold as the Daughter of Death. But usually it’s some stupid shaman, like the one you were with, that tries to outsmart me. It’s never been a woman before, let alone a mortal woman. So I’ve decided I don’t want to kill you. I think I’d rather be your friend.” She leans forward and extends her hand.

  I hesitate, then shake it. Her grip is warm and firm and I try to match it.

  “Now,” she says, letting go and clapping her hands together, “time to get you dressed for tonight. This is so exciting!”

  I concur, Raila says as she wraps a fluffy black towel around me, another item that must have been smuggled from the Upper World. I mean, the normal world. My world. Fuck, am I already starting to talk like them?

  “What’s so special about tonight?” I ask as Raila helps me step out of the tub. “It’s just dinner, right?”

  Lovia flounces over to the wardrobe and opens it. Unlike the slow deliberate way that Death found the perfect nightgown for me, Lovia erratically flips through the dresses hanging in it. “Tonight you’re our special guest, and it’s been so long since we’ve had a guest here.” She pauses as she pulls out a black gown and peers at it. “Although, I suppose your father was a guest. But he was never invited for dinner.” She puts the dress back and continues her haphazard rifling. “I take it as a very, very good sign.”

  “A good sign of what?” I ask, hugging the towel close and coming over to her, the floor cold against my soles.

  “That he likes you,” she says, flashing me a bright smile before rummaging again.

  I laugh. “Likes me? I’m his prisoner. He’s literally promised to ruin and destroy me for eternity.”

  “Ah, he says a lot of things,” she says. “His bark is worse than his bite. I mean, most of the time. Sure, sometimes he’ll randomly give someone,” she lowers her voice dramatically and wiggles her fingers, “the hand,” then she smiles “but who doesn’t lose their temper every now and then? Besides, you’re gorgeous and you’re mortal and you’re the daughter of a shaman. All the things that fascinate him.” She pauses, bringing out a yellow dress now, and frowns. “Actually, he hates all mortals. And all shamans. But still. If you play your cards right, you’ll marry him.”

  I blink at her. “You actually want me to marry your father? You don’t even know me.”

  “That’s true,” she says, pulling out a red dress now and comparing it to the yellow. “But it’s not every day a non-dead mortal girl comes waltzing into Tuonela, especially one who can fight nearly as good as I can. It was like you were trained by Vipunen yourself. But of course you weren’t…” she squints at me, “were you?”

  “I don’t even know who this Vipunen is,” I explain.

  “Didn’t think so. It’s an honor to be trained by him. But play your cards right, and soon you will be. No queen can live here being untrained, especially with all the rumors about an uprising. You have to be ready when the Old Gods resurface to take the throne.”

  She thrusts the red dress out and holds it against me, studying me like a fine arts student scrutinizing a painting. “This was mine once, but I never wore it. You’re a bit thicker than I am, nothing to take personally, I know you mortal women take offense to body stuff, but I think you’ll look good in it.”

  I’m not taking offense to what she said, I’m stuck on the other thing. “This uprising…the Old Gods are going to resurface and take the throne? As in your father’s throne?”

  She nods and then places the dress in my hands. It’s deceptively heavy with many layers. “Hopefully I won’t be here when that happens,” she says.

  “And where are you going to be?”

  “In your old world,” she says with a dreamy grin. “I want to live among the mortal boys for the rest of eternity, have fun in all the wonderful cities, eat all the delicious foods, and drive all the cars. Except I can’t go now. I ferry the dead. It’s my role, and though Tuonen, my brother, can handle it, it wouldn’t be fair to expect him to do it all the time. But if you married my father, maybe I wouldn’t be missed.”

  Arms up, Raila commands me, taking the dress from my hands.

  I absently hand it over and raise my hands, my towel dropping to the floor.

  “Don’t take this the wrong way,” I tell Lovia as Raila slips the dress over my head. It smells like heady perfume, gardenia maybe. “But I think you’re getting ahead of yourself here. I’m your father’s prisoner. He let my father go and took me instead. What he has planned might not be to marry me.”

  It might be to have his way with me, then place a bare hand on me and send me off to Oblivion.

  Lovia thinks that over for a moment. “Well, maybe. But there’s something to be said for looking on the bright side, isn’t there? Now, that dress is darling on you. Really. Let’s figure out what to do with this hair of yours. It’s nearly as long as mine.”

  While she picks up an ebony comb from the vanity table, Raila starts to do up the corset at the back of the dress.

  “Really?” I say, looking at Lovia expectantly as Raila cinches me in. “You’ve been to my world and yet you’re wearing corsets down here?”

  She motions to her Grecian-style gown. “As you can tell, I am not. But my father is particular about his women looking a certain way. Unless you’re a mermaid.” She laughs at that and Raila joins in and I’m remembering Bell again, hiding in her fish tank and watching this whole thing. Surely Lovia will remember that she’s there? Then again, she did say she has a bad memory.

  I hold my breath in worry, wondering if Lovia will remember and maybe take Bell away from me. But Lovia just takes the comb and starts going through my hair.

  “Wish I had a blow-dryer,” she pouts, braiding my hair. “I’m sure you’ve noticed, but we don’t have electricity here. We have starstones and they can power things, but they’re quite rare. Luckily, I can create fire winds.”

  “Create what now?”

  Suddenly Lovia opens her arms, flames immediately appearing on her skin, then a giant gust of hot wind seems to flow right out of her and onto me.

  My eyes pinch shut. I think I scream
. It’s hard to tell when you’re being blown away and nearly engulfed by a fire.

  Eventually though, the blowing stops and I dare to open my eyes. Both Lovia and Raila are staring at me. I can’t see Raila’s face, of course, but I assume she looks as amused as Lovia does.

  “Magic,” Lovia explains, shaking out her wrists. “I can control fire. My mother is part-demon, so she passed that onto me. My brother can control ice, but he doesn’t do anything interesting with it except play hockey with Deadhands.”

  Raila comes over to me and starts undoing my braids. To my surprise, my hair is completely dry. And very shiny. Guess that conditioner does the job.

  “Come here,” Lovia says, grabbing me by the arms and leading me to the vanity desk. She sits me down and stands behind me. I look into a mirror that looks like a haunted mirror if I ever saw one. For a moment I think it might be because I don’t recognize myself in it.

  I don’t have any makeup on, and yet I look like I do. My brown eyes are richer in tone, my lashes black and long, my lips look full and flush, stained ruby, my skin glowing (thanks to the sparkling honey powder that Raila put everywhere). My dark chocolate colored hair spills over my shoulders in shiny waves, my breasts pushed up high in the dress.

  “You look like a fairy-tale princess,” Lovia says. “But like a dark one. Like from a Grimm fairy-tale. Those are more up my alley anyway.” She peers at our reflections, lifting the hair off my shoulders and pulling it back. “Anyone ever tell you that you have a very otherworldly face?”

  I laugh. “Coming from you, that would mean I have a mortal face. But yes. I’m a bit odd looking.”

  “Odd looking?” Lovia says in surprise as she gathers my hair on the top of my head, and motions for Raila to hand her something. “You say that in a negative way. Odd is another word for different, that’s all. You’re beautiful and you look like you belong here. Well, maybe not Tuonela. But somewhere full of sun and starlight, maybe among the Sun and Moon Goddesses.”

  I appreciate Lovia’s compliment. My mother was adopted so I don’t know my family on her side, but I definitely have the high cheekbones of the Finns. Kids used to tease me and call me an “alien” growing up, because of how big and far apart my eyes are, but my face helped me be expressive during dance.