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.
I come to a stop, dust flying around me, watching in horror, my weapon gone.
“Did you know I forged this sword?” Death says, staring down at it in his hand. “One of my many talents. My hands might be deadly, but I assure you they are especially skilled where it counts.” His voice gets huskier over those last words, dragging them out in such a way that I can’t help but think he’s being sexually suggestive.
“It’s not magic though,” he goes on, casually sliding the sword into a sheath on his thigh. “Just the power of magnets and a little starstone.”
Death looks to the guy on his right. “What do you say, Kalma? How should we round the fairy up? Chase her onto the plains where the Liekki? will get her? Take her by force? Perhaps torture her boyfriend a little more until she gives herself up? She seems the type to doing something as stupid as self-sacrifice.”
“A chase is always entertaining,” Kalma says good-naturedly.
“I prefer the torture,” the guy on the other side of Death says in a ragged, squeaky voice, raising his skeleton hand, strips of skin hanging off.
I look at Rasmus. I want to save him, but at this point I have no idea how. I have no sword, I have nothing.
But there’s something in Rasmus’ gaze that burns. A fire that says he’s not giving up, that he’s going to fight.
“Hanna,” Rasmus says in an even tone. “Remember I said I’d tell you what I did to Eero and Noora at the resort? What if I showed you instead?”