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Of course, the others beside him are frightening as hell too, with their skull faces, hoods, and zombiecorns that paw the dry earth impatiently—they just pale in comparison on the holy fuck scale.
Then there’s Rasmus. He’s off to the side, chains around his hands, attached to Death. Even though Rasmus is tall, he looks short compared to the others, and his wiry build seems weak. Too weak. He meets my eyes and I expect to see something pleading in them, like he’s asking for my help, or maybe embarrassment at getting caught. But I can’t read him at all.
“There you are,” Death booms. His voice is unlike any I’ve heard before, rich and baritone, like the low bass behind a gloomy melody, and yet there’s a rasp to it, a huskiness that would sound sexy on anyone else but him. “Thank you for bringing her here, Tellervo. Make sure to pass my thanks on to your father. I enjoyed the black grouse the forest provided the other day.”
I gasp and turn to look at the Forest Goddess. The traitor!
But Tellervo’s green eyes are wide, like she’s surprised he said that, and when she looks at me for just a second, I see bewilderment in them.
She clears her throat. “I will do so,” she says to Death and then quickly turns, avoiding my stare, and walks back into the forest. Now I don’t know if she brought me here on purpose or if Death is just toying with me, but there will be no relying on her anymore.
I’m on my own.
I tighten my grip on the sword.
Death notices. I can’t even see his eyes but I know that he sees every single thing that I’m doing. I’m wondering if he’s like Rasmus, and can hear my thoughts as well.
Fuck you, you fucking fuck, I think, hoping he can.
He doesn’t show any reaction, just adjusts his position on the unicorn.
“Do you know who I am?” he asks me, voice like sinister silk.
I don’t say anything. The sword pulsates against my palm, as if it’s trying to give me energy, or I’m trying to give it energy. I’ll take what I can get.
“Because I know who you are, Hanna Heikkinen,” he goes on. “And I know your father quite well too.”
I stiffen, my blood running cold.
Papa!
“Ah,” he says, after observing my face. “I figured that’s why you were here. Your friend Rasmus wouldn’t tell me much, even when we tortured him. But I knew.”
My stomach twists and I look at Rasmus. He seems okay, maybe a bit dusty and tired, but otherwise like he was just yesterday. Maybe it was a mental torture thing, or the box of pain from Dune.
“And I can understand why you’re so angry,” Death adds. “I’d be angry too if my father was dying and didn’t tell me. Then again, my father is a God and yours…very much isn’t. He’s barely even a shaman. Just a pathetic excuse for an old wizard.”
“Fuck you,” I snarl at him, unable to keep quiet.
Death chuckles. “Finally, she speaks!” He claps his armored hands together, the metal clanging, setting my teeth on edge. “The fairy speaks. Apparently she can hear as well. So let me tell you something, mortal one, while I have your attention. I’m angry too, perhaps as angry as you are. You see, I had heard a rumor that seemed outlandish, that you had kicked my dear daughter Lovia off her boat, stolen her sword, and then proceeded to murder the sacred Swan of Tuonela with it. I laughed it off at first, but now that I see Lovia’s sword in your hand, I’m starting to think the rumors might be true.”
I press my lips together, not saying a word, just in case I incriminate myself.
Death studies me, his eyes burning beneath the shadow of his hood. “Are you trying to take the Fifth Amendment? Don’t you know that what works as law in the Upper World, doesn’t work down here? Our laws are very, very different. They’re tailored to me. And what I want, what I decide, changes from day to day.”
He tilts his head to look over at Rasmus, and in the orange misty glow I see the gleam of his forehead. It’s dark, like metallic tourmaline or some other polished black rock. A black skull.
I don’t think. I just act. Like my body knows what to do before I do.
Perhaps Vellamo was right and my power is just waking up.
I squeeze the sword, feeling energy flow through me, and while Death is momentarily preoccupied with Rasmus, I start running across the desert toward Death, sword raised in the air.
I will kill him.
I get about ten feet before Death’s hand shoots out and suddenly the sword is ripped right from my grasp. The sword goes flying through the air and in seconds the handle slams into Death’s armored palm, his fingers curling around it.
