Page 85 of Goddess of Light

Rasmus cries out, a desperate, wordless sound, and throws himself in front of me, sword at the ready.

But the Old God’s blow impales him cleanly through his head. My stomach lurches at the sickening crunch, the spray of blood on the stone.

“No!” I scream, voice tearing free of my throat. Rage and grief fuse into vicious strength. I hack at the creature’s arm, and this time, my blade bites deeper, fueled by fury. Something cracks. The Old God howls a splintering cry, and I strike again, shattering ice and fracturing stone. The limb falls away, twitching uselessly, and while it’s distracted, I shove the sword right into the glittery maw until red ichor sprays me, every crystal shattering at once.

The Old God staggers, wounded at last, and stumbles backward to the edge of the cliff until it gives way. Within seconds, it’s gone, falling thousands of feet down, leaving only a bitter wind and scattered shards of ice and rock. Its impact below shakes the ground, the explosion echoing off the mountainsides like a bomb.

I drop to my knees beside Rasmus, who lies crumpled by a river of his own blood. His eyes flutter weakly. I raise my trembling hand above the gaping wound—half of his scalp shaved off, blood and skull and brain exposed.

Oh gods, oh gods.

I don’t know what to do, panic throttling my chest, vomit stuck in my throat. He tries to speak, blood on his lips. I lean closer, tears flooding my vision.

“Why?” I choke out. He saved me despite everything.

His voice is ragged, almost inaudible. “You deserved better,” he manages, each word a struggle. “You’re still…my sister…still…my family.” He coughs, blood staining the stone. “I’m sorry…” he whispers, eyes distant now, gaze slipping beyond me.

“No,” I plead, terror clawing at me. “Don’t go, don’t go.”

I shake him lightly, but the life fades from him, the spark leaving his eyes. He grows still, limp in my arms.

Rasmus is gone.

Sobs wrench from my throat. The wind keens around us, as if in mourning too. I’ve lost another ally—no, a brother—here in these cold, indifferent mountains. The others, far ahead, do not know; I am alone with Rasmus’ body, the echoes of our battle, and my grief.

For a long moment, I cradle his head, tears hot on my cheeks, letting his warm blood stain me as I turn cold in the wind. It shouldn’t have ended this way. So many regrets hang in the silence.

But I must stand, must keep moving. I cannot remain here. The path is dangerous, and I must warn the others of the Old God below in case the fall didn’t kill it. I must carry this burden forward, tell them how Rasmus gave his life for mine.

With trembling hands, I close his eyes and whisper a quiet farewell. The wind scatters my words. I rise slowly, arm throbbing, soul hollow. The cliffs tower around me, impassivewitnesses. I take one last look at Rasmus then turn and continue along the trail, following the distant shape of my father’s party. My steps are heavy, each one a painful reminder of what I’ve lost.

I walk on, alone and broken, tears freezing on my cheeks, determined to survive and make his sacrifice meaningful.

There’s no turning back now.

CHAPTER 32

DEATH

The redheaded bastard is gone.

One moment we were trudging forward over the serpentine ridges that make up the Iron Mountains, heads down against the wind and snow, the next Lovia was running up, pushing through the line of troops with tears streaming down her face, her shoulder bleeding, to tell me that Rasmus had died.

At first I didn’t know what to feel. Rasmus has always been a wily nuisance, a thorn in my side. He stole Hanna away from me and tried to corrupt her in the name of Louhi. He was a shifty shaman apprentice who couldn’t be trusted as far as I could throw him (though I could throw him very fucking far).

But when Lovia told me what happened, that Rasmus had risked his life to save hers, then I realized that perhaps I was wrong about him. Perhaps he had deserved more of my trust. It was apparent that in the end, it wasn’t his own survival that was the most important thing to him, it was my daughter’s. It was all of us. He wasn’t as selfish as he pretended and proved himself worthy too late.

Torben, of course, took the news the hardest. The poor man. Rasmus had always been like a son to him because hewashisson. He was his flesh and blood, as well as his student in the magical arts, and while their relationship was complicated ever since Louhi entered the fray and fucked things up, as the she-devil does, I could tell he loved him greatly. I got to know the old shaman against my will as we were stuck in the Upper World and while he’s certainly made more mistakes than the average mortal, he carries them inside him.

But for now, we all carry on. We have to.

We continued down the mountain, Lovia and Torben leaning on each other in their sorrow, the path narrow and fraught with dangers. Loose scree and falling rocks sent a couple of soldiers falling to their deaths, and around every corner we imagined the Old God that killed Rasmus to rise up again.

Eventually, we made our way down to the alpine forest that follows the base of the mountains, until finally we reached our destination at the edge of the shadowy trees.

“The Mountain Lair,” I announce to the party, poised beneath a sheer rock face. I meet their gazes, expecting at least one of them to laugh, since Hanna thought it was hilarious that I called my secret caves this name.

But everyone just looks at me expectantly, even Hanna, who, in her Goddess state of mind, doesn’t find anything humorous. This is what hurts me most of all about her loss of self. The Hanna that I know and love is the funniest person I’ve ever met, even though she doesn’t know that herself. Her quick banter, her pithy remarks, playful comments, and sarcastic snorts—those are some of the things I love most about her. Without her sense of humor, she’s beautiful but blank, missing something vital, something I never knew how important it was until it was gone.

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