North Is the Night

Book 1: Tuonela Duet

by Emily Rath

Genres: Fantasy action & adventure; Fantasy Romance

Synopsis

Two bold young women defy the gods and mortals, living and dead, in this darkly mythical, Finnish folklore-inspired romantasy duology for readers of T. Kingfisher's Nettle & Bone, Danielle L. Jensen, Thea Guanzon, Jennifer L. Armentrout, and The Witch’s Heart by Genevieve Gornichec.

In the Finnish wilderness, more than wolves roam the dark forests. For Siiri and Aina, summer’s fading light is a harbinger of unwelcome change. Land-hungry Swedes venture north, threatening the peace; a zealous Christian priest denounces the old ways; and young women have begun to disappear. 

Siiri vows to protect Aina from danger. But even Siiri cannot stop a death goddess from dragging her friend to Tuonela, the mythical underworld. Determined to save Aina, Siiri braves a dangerous journey north to seek the greatest shaman of legend, the only person to venture to the realm of death and return alive. 

In Tuonela, the cruel Witch Queen turns Aina’s every waking moment into a living nightmare. But armed with compassion and cleverness, Aina learns the truth of her capture: the king of the underworld himself has plans for her. To return home, Aina must bargain her heart—as Siiri plots a daring rescue of the woman she loves the most.

Release date: December 17, 2024

Publisher: Erewhon Books

Print pages: 592

Sample

Finnish Gods, Spirits, and Heroes



Ahti | god of the seas, water, and fish; husband to Vellamo

Aino | the sister of Joukahainen; she drowns herself rather than marry Väinämöinen

Ajatar | an evil forest witch who lures people into getting lost in the woods

Akka | goddess of fertility; wife of Ukko

Hiiden hevonen | the Horse of Hiisi; a goblin-made creature of stone and iron that breathes flames, forged from the mountains of Tuonela

Iku-Turso | a malevolent sea monster defeated by Väinämöinen

Ilmarinen | the great smith, god of iron, sky, and winds; designed the Sampo, the mill of fortune which can make flour, salt, and gold out of thin air

Ilmatar | the All-Mother; goddess of air; mother of Väinämöinen

Joukahainen | the main adversary of Väinämöinen in the Kalevala; he offers his sister as a prize to Väinämöinen in a singing contest and loses (see Aino)

Kalma | goddess of death and decay; lingers in graveyards with Surma

Keijulainen | death sprites; small, flying creatures that resemble snowflakes or birds of fire; they haunt graveyards, roads, and rooms where people have died

Kivutar | goddess of suffering; boils the suffering of mortals in a big pot

Kiputyttö | goddess of pain; turns a stone over in her hand to inflict pain on mortals

Kuutar | goddess of the moon; weaves fabric of pure gold taken from the moon’s light

Liekkiö | the spirits of murdered children who haunt forests and lure travelers from their paths

Lemminkäinen | an adventurer and friend of Väinämöinen who tries to steal a swan from Tuonela

Loviatar | goddess of illness and disease; mother to the nine diseases of men and a nameless tenth child, a daughter; she is canonically blind

Mielikki | goddess of the forest; wife of Tapio

Nyyrikki | god of the hunt; son of Tapio and Mielikki

Otso | the spirit of Bear; the bear is sacred to Finns. If a bear is killed, the hunter must offer a feast to Otso called a peijaiset

Päivätär | goddess of the sun; weaves fabric of pure silver taken from the sun’s light

Revontulet | the Firefox; a mythical black fox that runs so fast across the snow, his tail leaves sparks, creating the Northern Lights

Surma | a terrifying beast described as a wolf or dog with a snake-like tail; embodies sudden, violent death; companion of Kalma

Tapio | god of the forests and hunting; husband of Mielikki

Tellervo | goddess of the forest; daughter of Tapio and Mielikki

Tuonetar | goddess of death; Queen of Tuonela

Tuonen tytti | the ferrywoman who rows all souls to Tuonela

Tuoni | god of death; King of Tuonela

Ukko | god of thunder, weather, and the sky; he wields a magic hammer called Ukonvasara; husband of Akka

Ututyttö | the mist maiden; she uses her powers to control mist and fog, protecting animals and slowing the passage of men

Väinämöinen | the hero of the Kalevala; a shaman, minstrel, and warrior who was born an old man with all the wisdom of the ages; son of Ilmatar

Väki | groups of spirits that represent or otherwise protect various natural elements, like water (veden väki), fire (tulen väki), death (kalman väki), and forests (metsän väki)

Vammatar | goddess of evil and misfortune

Vellamo | goddess of the sea; wife of Ahti

Elements of Finnish Paganism



Henki | one part of the Finnish three-part soul; the essence of the self that must remain in the living body at all times; it is the piece of the soul that goes to Tuonela at death

Hiisi | a sacred grove within a forest, like an open-air temple; typically includes an uhrikivi, or offering stone; used to leave sacrifices for the gods and the ancestors (see uhrikivi)

Itse | one part of the Finnish three-part soul; a physical manifestation of the self that can be sent across the realms

Kantele | a traditional Finnish plucked stringed instrument; the oldest forms typically have five or six strings made of horsehair and a wooden box carved from one piece of wood

Kuppikivi | cup-stones; a shrine comprised of a large stone that has rows of cup-sized recesses drilled into the face, used for leaving offerings to ancestors and spirits (also see uhrikivi)

Lintukoto | a warm place at the edge of the world where birds live during the winter

Linnunrata | the path of the birds, i.e., the Milky Way, thought to be the path the birds followed to reach Lintukoto

Luonto | one part of the Finnish three-part soul; takes the shape of a bird and represents the strongest parts of our personality

Shaman | their roles were typically to heal and prevent illness, but they also helped with farming, fishing, hunting, and dealing with issues related to witchcraft. They could use drumming to cast out parts of their soul to travel the realms and grow their knowledge; the greatest shaman is Väinämöinen

Shaman Drum | a painted drum used by a shaman to go into trances or release one of their souls

Sielulintu | a soul bird; a wooden bird-figure used to protect souls while they sleep. It is believed that a bird brings the soul to a newborn baby and the same bird carries away the soul at death

Tuonela | the Finnish underworld; an underground realm, surrounded by a river, where all souls go to find eternal rest; sometimes called Manala

Uhrikivi | a large stone or boulder uses as a sacrificial stone typically found in a hiisi; not to be confused with cup-stones (see kuppikivi)

Siiri

A chill autumn wind whips at my face as I stand on the lakeshore, hands on my hips. Aina waits dutifully at my side. Together, we watch as my father calls out to us in greeting. He pulls in his oars just as the bottom of our wooden boat crunches against the pebbly beach. Flipping my braid off my shoulder, I wade in shin-deep and hold the boat steady for him. The water is icy cold, soaking through my socks and the hem of my woolen dress. I bite my lip against the pain. Father hops out, and we grip the sides, giving the small boat two sharp tugs.

“A good catch today,” he says proudly.

We give the boat one more heave, pulling it fully up onto the beach.

I peer inside. It is a good catch. And thank the gods for that. We need more fish if we’re to survive the winter. Father managed to fill a whole basket with perch. The other basket is a mix. Zander, a skinny pike, a handful of roach. A few of these will be set aside and given to Mummi, my grandmother, for tonight’s supper, but the rest must be salted and stored in the njalle for winter.

Father wipes his hands on his breeches. “Your brothers will stay out a bit longer. Help them bring in their catch too. Understood?”

“Yes, Isä,” I reply.

Glancing up at the sky, he judges how much daylight is left. There are still more chores to do before nightfall. “Remember not to stay out too late, Siiri. You, too, Aina. Get yourselves home well before dark.”

We nod, and he leaves us with the baskets.

I don’t fault him his curt manner. Everyone in the village is on edge. A few days ago, some of the menfolk returned from the southern market with chilling news: More young women have been going missing up and down the lakeshore. Strange tales of screams heard in the dark woods, creatures with eyes that glow red, a lingering stench of death in the air. People always talk of such things, but never so close to us, never here. And none of the girls have been found.

These are dark times. If Father could spare me, he would probably make me stay nearer the house with Mummi and my little sister. But winter is coming, and I have two strong hands. We both know he needs me. There’s no time for worry, not when our worries seem endless now.

Once, these forests were a safe haven. The gods give of their bounty, and we Finns take. We must take. And that which is taken is always shared. When the harsh winter comes, and the long, cold night sets in, we sit by our fires and warm each other with good food and stories of summertime. I have golden memories of sitting on my mother’s lap as she told us stories of the old gods—Ukko and the making of his stone hammer, Ahti the seafaring warrior, the clever shaman Väinämöinen and his magical kantele. Summer is the time for hard work and sacrifice. Winter is for stories and family and a quietly lived life.

That was before.

Before the gods went quiet, abandoning us here in these woods. Before bards stopped strumming kanteles and singing the songs. Before Swedish settlers arrived on our shores, stealing farmland across the south, uprooting thousands of us, including my family. We left my mother there, buried in the cold ground outside Turku. No one remains to tend to her grave. No flowers. No songs.

And that was before the whispers of a new god whistled darkly through the woods. Every day, the Christians grow bolder, challenging our gods and threatening our way of life.

In a few short years, the Swedes have turned these forests from a haven into a hell. Powerful men in robes of white now call out from their great stone houses in the south, offering gold and silver to any Finn who would provision them—meat, fur, timber, grain. Our forests are full of thieves who dare to take more than they need, leaving little enough for the rest of us. Each summer, the fight for land becomes bloodier. They slash and burn large swaths of acreage for their cattle. They thin our herds of free-roaming deer and elk. They claim the best of the farmland for their wheat and barley.

Before long, they’ll take even the mushrooms. We Finns will be left with nothing but the brambles in the fens and the bark on the trees.

I gaze down at the baskets in my father’s boat. The Swedes may be trying to claim everything, but Ilmatar hear me, they will not have our small, regular haul of fish. Lifting my hands, I close my eyes and offer up a blessing to the sea goddess. “Vellamo, righteous in beauty, thank you for your bounty.”

Next to me, Aina offers up her own quiet blessing.

“You don’t have to help me.” My tone is half-apologetic, half-hopeful. As much as I know we need these fish to survive the winter, I hate salting them. It’s probably my least favorite chore. With a heavy sigh, I pick up the first basket.

Aina just smiles, taking the other basket. “I don’t mind. You’re always helping me with my chores.”

I lead the way over to our salting station. A few of the older women are seated together, gossiping quietly as they work. They nod in welcome, their expressions worried, if a little curious too.

Aina frowns, the basket of fish still balanced on her hip. “It’s as if they expect one of us to be taken next.”

“Ignore them,” I mutter, giving the women a fake smile and a wave. “They’re just jealous, because they know no man wants a catty old fishwife with salty fingers in his bed.” I drop down onto a stump and select a crock, preparing it with a base of salt. This is the worst part. The salt finds every scrape and blemish on my skin, burning and stinging so sharply, my eyes water. I hiss, waiting for the sting to numb, as I pick up the first fish, roll it in salt, and layer it in the bottom of the crock.

We’ll have to repeat this whole process in a few days. Once the fish are all repacked, they’ll last for up to nine months. Come winter, we’ll stay warm by our fires eating stews of perch with barley and dried mushrooms.

I try to hold my breath as I work, because the briny smell of the fish makes me gag. Also, I hate the feel of their slippery bodies as I roll them in the salt. On the stump next to me, Aina laughs. When I cast her a glare, she flicks a little salt my way with her fingers. “Don’t,” I mutter, in no mood to be teased.

“You’re such a goose. You like to eat fish, right?”

“Of course.”

“Well, you won’t be eating anything this winter if you don’t salt these first.”

I grimace, packing a layer of salt over the first row of perch. “What does it look like I’m doing?”

She turns her attention back to her own work. After a few minutes of silence, she glances my way. “What if these girls aren’t really missing? Perhaps they simply chose to leave.”

My shoulders stiffen. “Why would someone do that? Just disappear like smoke in the wind without a word to anyone? All because you fancy a new life for yourself?”

She huffs, rolling another fish in salt. “Well, I wouldn’t, but other girls might. Not everyone has a mother as kind as mine . . . or a mummi as protective as yours.”

True.

I smile, thinking of my grandmother, of her warm hands and her cold glare. That woman was born with iron in her spine. She protects her grandchildren with the ferocity of a mother bear, and she loves us just as fiercely. And there really is no kinder woman than Aina’s mother . . . except perhaps Aina herself.

“You’ve made this point already,” I tease. “More than once.”

“Well, it’s as true now as it was this morning,” she counters. “We’ve heard these stories for years. Women go missing, Siiri. Too many women die in childbirth, and that leaves too few of us unmarried women left. And men get lonely—”

I snort, peering out at the boats. “Oh, do they? You wouldn’t know it from Aksel.”

She follows my gaze. We both know how decidedly not lonely my brother is, most nights. If my father catches him with a girl in the barn again, he’s likely to strap Aksel’s hide clean off.

“Fine, some men get lonely,” she clarifies. “And then they get desperate. I’m not saying it’s right,” she adds quickly. “I’m only saying I bet if someone went out and looked, they would find every one of those missing girls scattered somewhere along the lakeshore, adjusting to her lot as a lonely man’s wife.”

Now my grimace has nothing to do with the salt burning my hands. “Gods, why does your theory sound even more horrifying than the one about witches and blood sacrifice?”

She purses her lips, trying to hide her smile. “Perhaps because you are singularly opposed to even the idea of marriage? For you, a woman choosing to marry is as disturbing as being kidnapped by a witch or fed to a stone giant.”

I snort. “Surely I’m not that bad?”

“You are worse, and you know it. No man will ever be good enough for you, Siiri. You’re smarter than they are, funnier than they are.”

“True,” I joke.

“Not to mention you always best them in every contest of will. It’s quite maddening, I assure you.”

“Maddening? For whom?”

“For them.”

“How can you know how they feel about it?”

“Because they tell me so,” she replies with a laugh. “Repeatedly. They call you the pickled herring.”

I laugh, too, puffing a little with pride. “Well, perhaps they should try harder to impress me.”

“And since no man is good enough for you,” she says over me, “you’ve decided no man can possibly ever be good enough for me, either. You’ve scared away my last three suitors—”

“Stop right there.” I waggle a salt-crusted finger in her face. “If you call that duck-brained Joki your suitor one more time, gods hear me, I’ll marry you to him myself. See how well you like it when a year from now he’s still telling you the same story of the time he nearly felled a ten-point stag.”

She laughs again despite herself, tossing another fish down on her bed of salt. Leaning over, she gives my knee a gentle squeeze. “Be at peace. I don’t want to marry Joki.”

The tension in my chest eases a bit at her admission.

“But I will eventually marry someone,” she adds, turning back to her work.

Her words stifle the air like a blanket tossed over a fire. I can’t look at her, can’t let her see my face.

“I want a family,” she says, her tone almost apologetic. “I want a home of my own. Gods willing, I’ll have children.”

“Gods willing, you’ll survive it,” I mutter. Too few women do. We lost our dear friend Helka just last month. Her and her baby. That’s three mothers and three babies this summer alone. Just another one of the curses plaguing our land. I swear, sometimes it feels like the gods are laughing at us . . . if they bother to see us at all.

Maybe my brother Onni is right. Maybe our gods really are dead. What else could account for this cruel, senseless suffering?

But my sweet Aina is ever hopeful. “I’ll have children and a husband who loves me,” she goes on. “A home of my own. A family. A purpose. Don’t you want that for me, Siiri? Don’t you want it for yourself?”

I stare down at my fingers, red and stinging and swollen with salt. A family and a home of my own. That’s supposed to be the dream, right? Children. A warm fire and full bellies. My own njalle stocked with provisions to last us the long winter. A man in my bed to warm my back and keep the wolves at bay.

I shake my head. All my life, I’ve tried to see that future for myself. It’s what my mother wanted for me . . . before she died bringing my little sister into this world. It’s what my grandmother wants for me. Now, it’s what Aina wants for us both.

But what do I want? What do I see when I close my eyes and dream of my happiest self?

I take a deep breath, gazing out across Lake Päijänne, my home for the last fourteen years. The days are getting shorter, the nights colder. I can taste autumn in the air, that crisp smell of drying leaves. The lake is changing too. In summer, she’s as bright as the blue of a jaybird’s wing. In autumn, the lake darkens as the fish sink to her depths. She grows quiet and secretive as she waits for spring.

Watching the boats bob, the truth unravels itself inside me like a spool of golden thread. I want to live the life I already have. I want long summer days running through the forest, hunting deer and snaring rabbits. I want quiet winter nights in Aina’s hayloft, cracking walnuts and laughing until we fall asleep. I want to swim naked in the lake, my hair loose and tangled around my arms. I want us to stay just like this, happy and free forever.

“Siiri?” Aina’s hand brushes my arm. “Are you well?”

Sucking in a sharp breath, I turn to face her. Bracing myself with both hands on her shoulders, I search her face. Her lips part in silent question, her brows lowered with worry.

“Aina, I want you to be happy,” I say at last, giving her shoulders a squeeze. “That’s what I want. Tell me what will make you happy, and I’ll get it for you. If you want to marry Joki, the fish-faced farm boy, I will be the first to light a candle in the great oak tree.”

She rolls her eyes with a soft smile.

“If you want to leave our village and go on that adventure in search of a new love, I will leave with you—”

She leans away. “Siiri—”

“I will,” I say in earnest. Taking her salty hands in mine, I hold them fast. “Aina, you are my oldest and dearest friend. I don’t care about finding myself a good man and settling down. I am perfectly content being my own good man. What I cannot bear is the thought of losing you or making you unhappy. So please, just tell me what you want, and I’ll get it for you.”

She blinks, eyes brimming with tears as she searches my face. I fear what she might see in me. She’s always seen too much—the parts I hide, the parts I pretend not to have. My weaknesses, my fears. She knows me better than any person living or dead.

Slowly, she sighs, shaking her head. “I guess . . . I wish there was just some way you really could be happy for me if I pick a life you wouldn’t pick for yourself.”

I drop her hands. “What do you mean?”

“I mean . . . ” She groans. “Gods, you know, I wish I knew whether there was even one person out there who you thought was good enough for me. I could never marry without your blessing, Siiri, so I need to know. Is there no man living you could bear to see me wed?”

I consider for a moment, heart in my throat. Does she want me to say Joki? The poor man is duller than lichen on rocks. My brothers are both clever enough, I guess, but they’re all wrong for her. They’re both too independent. Aina needs someone who really sees her, someone who listens, someone who needs her.

She watches me, waiting, still searching my face. I can’t sit here and have her looking at me with such hope in her eyes. Taking a deep breath, I hold her gaze. “You want a name? Fine. Let it be Nyyrikki.”

She blinks. After a moment, she laughs. It bubbles out of her like foam off a stream. Before long, she’s gripping her sides with salty fingers. I join her, and we both laugh, tears filling our eyes.

“Nyyrikki?” she says on a tight breath. “God of the hunt and prince of the forest? That’s where I must set my standard of matrimony?”

“You said any man living. And you’d never be hungry,” I add with a shrug. “There would always be game for your table. And he’s supposed to be of famed beauty, with a head of flowing hair . . . and he lives in a forest palace with gates of wrought gold. You could do worse, Aina.”

She laughs. “Well, next time I stumble across his palace in the woods, I’ll just give those golden gates a knock, shall I?”

“We’ll both knock,” I tease, catching her gaze again. Aina has the most beautiful eyes, bright like new blades of spring grass. She has freckles too, though not so many as me. Hers are soft and small, scattered over her pointed nose. Wisps of her nut-brown hair frame her face, tugged loose by this wind. I want to tuck the strands behind her ear. I want to touch her face. I want to brush my fingertips over the freckles on her nose.

“What is it?”

Looking at her now, I can see the truth so clearly: I don’t want things to change between us. And marriage will change her. It always does. It’s the way of things. Once children come, they will be her world, and I’ll lose her. I’ll lose everything. Call me selfish, but I’m not ready. Not yet. I want just one more summer of being the first in her affections.

I curl my salted fingers until the tips of my nails bite into the meat of my palms.

“Siiri?”

“It’s nothing,” I mutter, turning away.

She drops her hand from my thigh, reaching for another fish. “And . . . who shall we find for you, then?” She keeps her tone light, trying to move us past my awkwardness. “I don’t believe Nyyrikki has a brother . . . ”

“I don’t need to marry.”

“Ilmarinen could spin gold for you,” she offers.

I huff. “So can the moon goddess. And she’d likely darn her own stockings. Clean up her own messes too. Now, no more talk of god-husbands. Let’s just get this done.”

Before long, I’m packing the last perch into the top of my crock. Aina is crouched over at the water’s edge, washing her hands. She stands, shielding her eyes with her hand, as she gazes out across the lake. The setting sun is casting a glare.

“What are they doing?” she asks.

I glance up, squinting. My brother Aksel is perched in the front of our other fishing boat, waving at us. “Maybe they caught a massive pike,” I say with a shrug. It doesn’t make me happy. It’s just more work.

“They’ll have the boat over if they keep rocking it like that,” Aina warns.

I look up again. Aksel isn’t so much waving as gesturing frantically. Cupping his mouth, he shouts across the water. Meanwhile, Onni faces the opposite way, rowing as hard as he can. I rise to my feet. “What the . . . ”

“Run!”

I join Aina at the water’s edge. What is he saying?

“Siiri, run!”

Screams erupt behind us. Up and down the beach, the others scatter. My heart leaps into my throat. On the shore, not fifteen feet from me, stands a woman. No . . . a monster. She has the body of a woman, draped in heavy black robes. The cloth is soiled and torn, dragging on the ground, hanging off her skeletal frame. Her face is painted—a band of mottled white across her eyes and nose—while her forehead and exposed neck are smeared with what looks like dried, flaking blood. Perched on her head is a set of curling black ram’s horns.

She looks at me with eyes darker than two starless skies. They dare me to leap into their depths. Sucking in a breath, I blink, breaking our connection. Her mouth opens, showing broken, rotting teeth. She hisses, taking a step forward, and one thought fills me.

Run.

Grabbing Aina by the hand, I take off down the beach.

She asks no questions. She just holds my hand, and we sprint. Our feet crunch against the pebbles. I chance a look over my shoulder as I pull her towards the trees. The creature slowly turns and raises her tattooed hand, pointing right at us. In a swirl of black smoke, a monstrous wolf appears at the creature’s side. The jaws of the beast open wide as it pants, exposing rows of sharp white teeth. The glowing red eyes track us like prey. With a growl, it leaps from its mistress’s side.

The chase is on.

“Ilmatar, help us,” I cry to the heavens. “Aina, run.”

Siiri

“What is that creature?” Aina cries as soon as we slip under the cover of the trees.

“My guess is that’s the thing stealing girls,” I pant. “Not some lonely fisherman and not a scurrilous Swede.”

I pull us deeper into the forest, Aina’s hand clasped firmly in mine. It’s darker here. Too dark. We should have been home already. Behind us, I can still hear the screams of the people on the beach. The men will soon be out in droves, bows and axes at the ready. They’ll come for us. They’ll help. We just have to find a place to hide.

“You’re faster than me, Siiri.” Aina pulls on my hand. “I can’t keep up. Just go—”

“Not a chance.”

Through the dim trees, the underbrush rustles and twigs snap. As we burst into a clearing, I stop and drop Aina’s hand, still holding tight to my little filleting knife. Chest heaving, I put a protective arm up in front of her. Something is coming, and Aina’s right, we can’t keep running. Better to stand and catch my breath. Better to die facing my foe.

“That thing is here for one of us. Siiri, you need to go.” She gives me a shove. “Keep running.”

Too late.

In another swirl of billowing black smoke, the horned woman appears before us on the other side of the clearing. Her head tips to the side at an impossible angle, more owl than human, and those black eyes gauge us, as if she’s deciding which of us to kill first.

“Stay behind me,” I rasp, stepping in front of Aina.

She clings to my hips with both hands. I can feel the warmth of her breath on my neck.

The creature’s mouth opens wide, and I can’t help but gag. Once, when I was hunting with Onni, we came across a dead deer washed up on the beach. The carcass was bloated and rotting, bugs eating away its eyes. The waves slowly pushed it back and forth against the pebbles. The smell of that mangled, bloated deer carcass emanates out of this creature’s cavernous mouth. Moist decay, sour rot. I can’t breathe. Can’t think. My eyes sting. My nose and throat burn. Behind me, Aina makes a choking sound.

A low growl comes from behind us both, and I know what I’ll see if I turn around. That monstrous wolf will be there, those glowing red eyes watching me. With one hand on Aina, I adjust my stance so I can face both monsters at once.

“Stay back,” I shout, swiping the air with my little knife.

The horned woman steps closer, so close her shadow towers over us. She makes no sound when she moves. Not a single whisper or crunch over the fallen leaves. That rune-marked, skeletal hand extends towards me.

“I said stay back,” I cry, swinging wildly with my knife. The blade connects with the meat of the creature’s palm, and she pauses. Next to her, the wolf growls, flicking his serpent-like tail. A sickening smile spreads across the woman’s face, as if she’s surprised and delighted to see I would dare attack her. With a sweep of her arm, she launches me off my feet. Her hand doesn’t even touch me, and yet I’m breathless, my vision spinning as I fly through the air and slam against a tree. I crumple, body aching.

“Siiri,” Aina cries out, somewhere to my right. “Don’t hurt her,” she screams at the monster. “Take me. Please, take me instead!”

Never.

Darkness creeps in from the corners of my vision as I scramble to my knees. That creature is not taking Aina away from me. Warm blood oozes from my cut brow and down my cheek, dripping onto the fallen leaves. My breaths come short and fast as I paw at the ground, desperate to find my knife. I grasp a small rock. The fingers of my other hand wrap around the sharp metal of my knife blade. Stumbling to my feet, I throw the rock. It strikes the horned woman on the side of the head. She turns to face me, letting out an unearthly hiss.

“Aina, run,” I shout.

But Aina is rooted to the spot.

With a feral cry, I throw my knife. It spins through the air, handle over blade, landing hilt-deep in the chest of the horned woman. “Now, Aina,” I call. “Run!”

She shakes her head, tears slipping down her cheeks. “Not without you.”

The monster doesn’t even blink as the knife pierces her heart. Slowly, she raises her hand and jerks it free. With her haunting gaze locked on mine, she drops the knife to the ground at her feet. Still looking at me, she steps to the side and reaches out, her rune-marked fingers gripping Aina’s exposed forearm.

Aina’s scream rips through me, stealing the air from my lungs.

Torches bob around us in the night, flashes of golden yellow. Men run towards her screams. The monster gives me one last lopsided smile before disappearing in a swirl of black smoke, drawing Aina with her.

“Siiri—” Aina’s cry is c