Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 125422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 125422 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 627(@200wpm)___ 502(@250wpm)___ 418(@300wpm)
“Your voice has worn out its welcome,” the Magician says. He raises his hand and does a quick, graceful dance with his fingers. The mycelia that wraps around Rasmus like rope suddenly move and shoot up like sprouts, covering his mouth like a gag.
Rasmus yells against the fungi, but it comes out muffled, his eyes going wide with rage and panic.
“Come on,” the Magician says to me. “The sooner we get through this forest and to Tapio and the other Gods, the sooner we can make use of him and get your leg looked at.”
The Magician tugs at the rope of mycelia, and Rasmus stumbles forward. We start walking again, stepping over the roots, winding around the ferns, the trees getting wider and taller the deeper into the forest we go. It gets darker too, quieter. I haven’t spent a lot of time in these parts of the world, other than when I’ve had to deliver a message to the Forest Gods, and it unnerves me. One would think being the Goddess of Death means I would never be creeped out, but here? I’m thoroughly disturbed.
It’s probably because this forest is the birthplace of Rangaista, Louhi’s father, the Devil as an Old God, a place where other demons and goblins have spawned. It has always existed in an uneasy middle ground under my father’s watchful eye, but now that the world has started to crumble, it feels even more precarious than usual.
“How much longer until we reach the Gods?” the Magician asks me, his voice low, as if he thinks the forest is listening.
“How should I know? I rarely come here.”
He glances at me, his head cocked slightly. “I would keep your voice down if I were you,” he says. “We’re not alone.”
Of course we’re not alone; we’ve got this asshole trailing behind us, I want to say, but he’s right. The birds are no longer singing, the animals no longer rustling in the bushes. The stillness that blankets us doesn’t feel natural.
It feels insidious and suffocating.
Alien.
The Magician stops and slowly raises his hand, motioning for me to be quiet. Thank the gods he had the foresight to gag Rasmus; otherwise, I’m sure he’d be making a raucous and calling for help. I have to wonder what other foresight the Magician has. He had said he knows things he can’t even begin to explain.
Does he know how all of this will end?
“Listen,” the Magician whispers, his head craned up to the thick canopy of ironwood above us.
I hold my breath, my ears straining.
At first, there’s nothing at all, just that thickening silence that makes the blood whoosh loudly in my head.
Then, I hear it.
A low rumbling, one that steadily gets louder, as if the sound is coming toward us like a freight train.
“What is that?” I squeak just as the ground starts to tremble.
All around us, the trees start to sway back and forth. I look over at Rasmus, wondering if this is somehow his doing as a shaman, but he’s frowning. He doesn’t look scared, just concerned enough to make me think he’s surprised.
“Get your sword ready,” the Magician says in a steely voice.
I adjust my grip, lowering into a fighting stance. The rumbling is so loud now, it makes my bones tremble, and the ground starts to shift beneath me.
Up ahead, in the depths of the forest, the trees start to lift, their roots thrusting toward the sky. They land with a smash, huge trunks crashing into the ground so hard, the shockwaves nearly knock me off balance.
“Yggthra,” the Magician says, “an Old God who manifests as a root system, an ancient parasite that drains the life force of anything it entangles.” He looks over at me. “Yggthra’s roots burrow into the soil and bodies alike, sapping strength and corrupting souls in mindless thralls.”
“Is this your doing?” I sneer at Rasmus.
He shakes his head, but there’s something in his eyes, a calmness that defies the situation. He isn’t as worried as he should be.
“It doesn’t matter,” the Magician says. “Even if he could control it, even if he called it forth, he’s powerless to stop it. In the end, this Old God is here because of Louhi, and it won’t stop until it stops us.”
I tighten my grip on my sword, feeling the weight of it in my hand. Yggthra’s roots start to emerge from the ground, writhing and twisting towards us like gnarled, monstrous snakes. They burst forward, throwing soil into the air before plunging back down again.
This isn’t a crocodile monster I can stab in the skull. I have a feeling if I cut off one root, another will quickly pop up in its place.
The Magician quickly assessed the situation, his face scanning the thick forest for any possible path or escape.
“We need to move,” the Magician says urgently, grabbing my arm and pulling me back as another wave of roots erupts from the ground.