Page 84 of Goddess of Light

“Peculiar fellow, isn’t he?” Torben comments. I study his weathered face to see if he’s being facetious, but he seems sincere.

“Very,” I say.

The plan for the day is to walk into the Iron Mountains and then down to my father’s secret cave, into what he calls his Mountain Lair. From there, we should be able to travel all the way to Shadow’s End hidden in the cave system. Of course, there are risks involved, one being that we could end up trapped and ambushed, but I doubt even my mother knows about the existence of these caves. For now, my father believes it’s the best option for us, and as his general, I agree.

Of course, the mountains themselves are no small feat, especially with the weather systems that usher in snow and freezing rain.

We’ve been walking for a while now, the wind getting colder by the second, funneled through the looming slopes of the mountains. Our troops trudge forward in a narrow column, the sound of boots scraping over loose stones echoing between sheer cliffs. I’m at the back of the line, walking a good distance behind the main group. I volunteered for this position—someone must watch our rear, make sure nothing follows us. It’s a quiet vigil, but I find some comfort in isolation. It gives me a chance to think about what happened in my tent last night.

That had been real, hadn’t it?

As we snake around a switchback, I can see the rest of the line ahead, my father’s silhouette barely visible as he leads the others, cloak flapping in the wind. Hanna, still distant in more ways than one and glowing faintly, walks near him. The Magician hovers at their side, choosing to be up ahead instead of back here with me. I figure maybe he needs some time apart to think. I just hope he doesn’t regret anything.

Rasmus is usually closer to the front with them, but today, he lingers at the rear with me. I sense his hesitation—maybe he thinks I still don’t trust him, or maybe he wants to prove something. We’ve barely spoken since we left the forest. I feel like he has consistently been trying to redeem himself, quietly aiding in small tasks. He’s still a shaman, still powerful in his own right, and maybe he wants me to see that.

Maybe he just wants forgiveness.

I glance over my shoulder at him. He’s a few paces to my left and behind, boots crunching on loose gravel. He should be in front of me, but I can still keep an eye on him this way. The sky is a sickly gray above us, clouds scraping the peaks. Snow drifts lazily—not enough to blanket the ground, but enough to blur the edges of the world. The soldiers between us and the main party are distant shapes bobbing along the jagged path. I feel oddly alone, despite knowing they’re not too far off.

Rasmus notices my attention. He tries a tentative smile, one that flickers and fails. I give a short nod, acknowledging his presence. Words feel heavy in my throat. I’m still not sure how to treat him. Like a brother? A friend? An ally? Is he any of those things? Time and battles have dulled the sharp anger I once held, and yet, trust doesn’t come easily to me. But we share a purpose now, don’t we? Survival and revenge. Perhaps that’s enough.

We move slowly, careful not to slip. The path isn’t wide, and below us is a steep drop that gives me a rush of vertigo. The sound of distant water echoes somewhere, a hidden stream or a melting snowfield. The hair on my neck prickles, and I feel a looming sense of dread, though I don’t know what of. Everything seems fine, but I know enough to never let my guard down.

I pause, listening. There’s something odd about the silence. The wind whistles and stones clatter under Rasmus’ boots as he catches up, but beyond that…no birds, no distant calls. I gripmy sword hilt tighter, scanning the crags and ledges. Nothing moves. The columns of soldiers have disappeared around a bend, leaving me and Rasmus almost entirely alone.

“Lovia,” Rasmus says quietly from behind me, voice carrying despite the wind. “Should we hurry to catch up?” His tone is respectful, cautious, like he knows I might snap at him.

Before I can tell him yes, the ground trembles beneath my feet and my stomach drops.

An earthquake?

Or something worse?

We lurch backward as the ground splits open behind us, hurling shards of rock in a violent spray. I cry out, feet sliding on loose stones, and beside me, Rasmus lets out a string of expletives. A jagged fissure yawns wide, and a blast of bitter, frozen air hits my face.

From the craggy gap, something emerges—an Old God of stone and ice, as though the mountain’s marrow has formed into a living nightmare. It rises, hulking and immense, its body a mass of cracked granite shot through with icy veins. Shards of frost hang in jagged protrusions from its limbs, and where a face should be, there is a cavernous hollow rimmed with jagged blood-red crystals.

My heart leaps into my throat, terror sparking through my veins. I have my sword in hand before I know I’ve drawn it, fingers numb against the hilt. I back away, trying to find space, but the path is narrow, the drop behind me unforgiving. Rasmus stands near me, eyes wide and panicked.

Can we run fast enough?

The creature lunges before we can move, an arm of ice-crusted stone swinging toward me. I duck at the last moment, feel the rush of frigid air. My blade lashes out, sparks dancing where steel meets granite. The impact jars my arm, nearly twisting the sword from my grip. It lets out a grinding shriek likeglaciers groaning under their own weight. As I block its second strike, the force rattles my bones.

“Get back!” I shout at Rasmus, but he doesn’t flee. Instead, he spreads his hands and chants, wind howling around him as sigils flicker in the air. I sense elemental power stirring as he attempts to bind it, slow its movements, give me a chance to finish it.

The Old God roars, a hollow echo rolling through the cliffs. Its icy limb lashes out again, razor-like shards scraping across my forearm. My armor deflects some of the blow, but pain flares hot under my skin. I grit my teeth against a scream.

Rasmus steps between us, his chanting intensifying. I can feel the air grow dense, a hush of magic that sets my hair on end. The monster hisses—an eerie sound of stone grinding on stone—and swings low. Rasmus leaps aside but not far enough. A hammer-like fist of ice and rock clips his leg, spinning him off-balance.

“Rasmus!” I snap, slashing wildly at the creature’s flank, desperate to draw it away from him. My sword skitters, carving shallow grooves into ice and stone but not nearly enough to cripple it. I’m fighting gravity, fear, and pain all at once.

Rasmus recovers, gasping. He thrusts a hand forward, and faint lines of runes blaze momentarily, his sword raised in his other hand. The Old God recoils as if whipped by invisible chains. For an instant, I catch my breath. Warm blood dampens my sleeve. We must end this now, or we won’t survive. The others are too far ahead, their footsteps lost in the wind. No one will come to our aid.

The Old God rumbles, swinging a massive limb in a sweeping arc. I duck then lunge, trying to strike deeper. My sword sinks a few inches into stone and ice, meeting stubborn resistance. The creature shudders but does not fall. It whips its arm, knockingme backward. My boots skid on loose gravel, and I nearly plummet over the edge before I catch a sharp outcrop of rock.

Rasmus yells something I can’t decipher and hurls a bolt of energy. The Old God shrieks, a crackling sound like ice splitting, as part of its stony hide fractures. I see a chance, try to move forward, but the monster bucks violently as rocks rain down from the cliffs above. One strikes my helmet, knocking it off, clattering over the mountainside. Stars dance in my vision, dizziness swamping me.

Too slow. The Old God lunges, a limb of serrated ice and granite aimed for my exposed head. I’m off-balance, sword raised too late. Panic grips me as I see my death in that frozen limb.

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