Page 61 of Goddess of Light

LOVIA

The aftermathof battle is always quieter than you expect. The sounds don’t vanish; they just change. Instead of clashing steel and roaring commands, we have the moans of pain, soft weeping, hushed prayers, and the shuffle of boots on blood-stained stone floors. Instead of bellowing horns, we have the wheezing breaths of wounded soldiers and the distant crackle of fires still burning in the wreckage—fires sparked by Hanna’s radiant blasts. Yes, we’ve won, here within the broken walls of Castle Syntri, but it doesn’t feel like victory. It feels like survival.

And it’s a fragile fucking thing.

I pass through the ruined courtyard where the fighting was fiercest, stepping over fallen beams and twisted scraps of armor. Parts of the castle halls are now open to the sky, smashed by Old Gods, letting in a greenish haze of filtered daylight from the swamp beyond. We made our stand here when Hanna returned—changed, distant, haloed by strange light—and with her help, along with the rest of us, we pushed back Louhi’s invading forces. The cost was steep. The bodies of our allies lie in hastily cleared alcoves while the wounded occupy what remains of the castle’s interior chambers.

My sword hangs at my side, scabbard rattling slightly as I navigate collapsed corridors and toppled stone arches. What was once a hidden stronghold is now a half-ruined sanctuary. I should be grateful Hanna is back; her solar magic helped turn the tide, shattering enemy lines and scorching their ranks, but I haven’t really spoken to her since she returned. She has become a distant figure, a sunlit presence hovering in the old gallery windows, her emotions unreadable. I’m glad she’s alive, but I wonder what she’s feeling, if anything. She’s more goddess than mortal now, and while I know my father has been spending most of his time with her, I don’t know if he has been able to reach her. I sure wasn’t able to.

I head toward the first aid area—one of the old banquet halls near the eastern wall. The roof there collapsed when one of the Old Gods was shot down, and we’ve strung tarps and canvas between cracked columns. Vines from the swamp have already begun creeping inside, called forth by Tellervo’s green magic to aid her. Lanterns hang from broken rafters, and fresh moss and ferns have been laid as bedding. Not only is there not enough bedding to go around in the castle, but Tellervo says the organic matter will be better for healing.

As I approach, I hear muffled sobs and Tellervo’s hushed, soothing voice echoing off the stone. The daughter of Tapio is kneeling among the wounded, her antler-like horns now entwined with withered blossoms instead of fresh ones—she has been working tirelessly for hours, exhaustion circling her eyes.

I duck under a sagging tarp and step inside. The smell hits me first: sweat, dirt, blood, and the sharp tang of poultices. Rows of makeshift cots line the edges of the chamber, where soldiers lie moaning or unconscious.

Tellervo hovers her hands over a soldier’s abdomen. Vines of chartreuse light spiral from her fingertips, coaxing torn flesh to knit and blood to flow evenly again. The soldier’s grimacesoftens, and soon after, his breathing steadies. The lanternlight flickers over helmets piled in a corner, shields propped against fractured walls, uniforms stained with mud and crimson.

I linger near the entrance, not wanting to disturb her work. All around me are men, though I spy a couple of wounded women. Some bear Louhi’s crest, breastplates taken from the armory below. Ironic, considering she’s the one who gave the blows.

I have to admit, it pains me to see them like this—so many wounded, so many who won’t ever return home whole. Even though we won this battle, it looks more like a disaster narrowly survived.

A young soldier whimpers to my left. She looks only a few years younger than me, her arm twisted at a hideous angle. I kneel beside her, voice low. “Can I help?” She tries to speak, but only tears fall. I take her good hand, holding it firmly. “Hold on,” I say. “Tellervo will see you when she can.”

The goddess hears me and nods from across the room. She finishes closing one wound then moves on to the next patient. But Tellervo can’t be everywhere at once. There are medics from the Finnish army, but they can only do so much as well. I watch Tellervo’s shoulders droop under the weight of impossibility. She uses her forest magic—faint sparks drifting around her knuckles—but some wounds are too massive, too grotesquely complex. Simple lacerations or shallow burns yield to her healing touch, but shattered bones, ruptured organs, or infected injuries demand more time than we can spare. She cannot exhaust herself entirely; she might pass out if she tries to save everyone. She told me that bodies might become immune to her skills.

A strangled cry from the far side of the hall makes everyone tense. Several soldiers huddle around a cot near a collapsed archway. Tellervo stiffens and moves quickly, and I follow, heartpounding. The soldier on that cot gasps for air, blood bubbling at his lips. A deep chest wound, poorly bandaged, has reopened, a medic trying in vain to help as crimson soaks his tunic and drips onto chipped floor tiles.

The medic moves aside as Tellervo kneels, pressing glowing hands to the wound. “Stay still,” she whispers. He tries, but his eyes roll wildly. He coughs, and blood spatters Tellervo’s forearms. I can see she’s fighting a losing battle. His injuries run deep, and time is measured in heartbeats.

She calls on her magic again, chanting softly in an ancient tongue that echoes off the cracked walls. For a heartbeat, I think I see hope flicker in the soldier’s eyes. Then, his body convulses, blood pooling in his mouth. Tellervo tries once more, pushing energy through her trembling fingers, but it’s like pouring water into a sieve. The lanternlight seems to dim as we all realize it’s too late.

His breathing rattles then stops. The silence that follows is crushing. Tellervo bows her head, withdrawing her light. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs, her voice bouncing softly off the cold stone walls.

A soldier at my side breaks into sobs. Another curses and stomps away. My eyes burn; I’ve seen the dead all of my life, but I’ve always handled them from the other side. I don’t see their deaths; I merely deposit them into their afterlife. This last while, though, it’s everywhere I turn.

Tellervo closes the dead man’s eyes, her hand shaking. She has saved countless lives today, but I can tell this one weighs on her. I rest a hand on her arm. “You did all you could,” I say, my voice hushed.

She nods, knuckles white, sorrow shining in her eyes. “Others need help,” she whispers, rising and turning back toward the rows of wounded. She can’t afford the luxury of mourning now; none of us can.

I step back, struggling to breathe normally. The damp smell of mildew and old stone presses in. Despite winning, despite Hanna’s return, despite forcing Louhi’s troops to retreat from Castle Syntri, we’re still mired in suffering. The war is far from over.

I move toward the exit, where a doorway with a missing doorframe leads outside. I see my father standing beneath a broken arch, his cloak smeared with ash and dried blood he hasn’t bothered to wash off. He beckons silently. I cast one last glance at Tellervo and the wounded and then follow him out into the fractured courtyard.

Outside, the late afternoon sun slants through cracks in the castle’s defenses, finding passage between the dark clouds. Parts of Syntri’s towers now lie in heaps of ice and stone. My father leans against a toppled column. He looks exhausted, silver eyes shadowed, but there’s a firmness in his posture that wasn’t there before.

“I have news,” he says, voice low and measured.

I swallow, heart still heavy from the scene inside. “Good news, I hope.”

His lips twist into a small, tight smile. “Yes, surprisingly. One of our troops got through to the Keskellis. They’ve answered our call for aid and are on their way. They should arrive within a few days.”

Relief washes over me. The trolls could tip the balance of this war, or at least give us equal footing. “That’s…a mercy,” I say, my shoulders relaxing slightly. “We’re stretched thin now.”

He nods. “I don’t know how many there are, but in the old days, there were hundreds of them. We could use every last one to take back Shadow’s End.”

At that name, my chest tightens. Shadow’s End, my former home, now Louhi’s lair. It stands waiting, a dark beacon of herpower. “We’re still going there, aren’t we?” I ask softly. “To get Tuonen?”

He meets my eyes, expression grim. “We must. As long as Louhi holds Shadow’s End, she has the upper hand. We cannot let her rebuild and strike again. Time isn’t on our side.”

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