Page 164 of North Is the Night
“Don’t pass out,” I whisper to myself, stumbling to my feet.
I’ve barely taken a second step when Siiri’s legs appear through the trap door. She drops through the hole and catches herself, sliding down a few steps on her bottom until her head clears the door. I cry out at the mighty swing of the guard’s sword passing right over the opening where her head had been.
“Aina,” Siiri says again, hurrying down the stairs to my side.
“M’fine,” I murmur, one hand still pressing the wound on my head.
“Stay back,” Siiri commands. “Stick to the shadows.”
Vammatar charges down the stairs, a ball of fire floating at her shoulder. The light is disorienting. We both wince, blinking in pain. The witch is monstrous in her rage, knives ready.
Chest heaving, arms and shoulders marked with nicks from the witch’s blades, Siiri faces off against Vammatar again, ready to do battle in my name. Vammatar meets her in the middle of the earthen tunnel with a slash of sharp metal.
The guard stumbles down the stairs last, his sword clattering on each step, dangling uselessly from his half-severed arm.
Siiri is tiring. She can’t fight them both. She needs me.
I drop my hand from my bleeding head and step forward, facing the guard. “As Queen of Tuonela, I order you to stop.”
Without hesitation, the guard halts on the bottom step, swaying as he stands.
I sigh with relief, shoulders sagging. Gods, I was a fool not to think of it before.
“No,” Vammatar shrieks. “Kill the shaman. Kill her—”
“Protect the shaman,” I call over her. “Kill Vammatar.”
Siiri slams her knife hilt-deep in the goddess’s chest.
Vammatar growls with the ferocity of a wolf. White light pulses from her chest, knocking Siiri clear off her feet. But the guard doesn’t stop advancing, so Vammatar is forced to deal with him. “No, you fool. Kill—the—shaman,” she shrieks, hacking at the dead guard.
Siiri recovers, rising shakily to her feet. I gasp at all the places from which Siiri is bleeding. Vammatar sees it too. She flashes Siiri a victorious smile. “Surrender to me now, shaman, or your precious Aina will watch how well you scream as you die.”
Siiri raises her weapons. “I can’t die. Butyoucan, you miserable witch.”
Vammatar snarls with rage and both women lunge. As they collide, the light at Vammatar’s shoulder goes out. I blink, panicking as white spots fill my vision. The witch cackles.
Siiri needs my help. I fumble in the dark, the clang of their weapons a warning in my ears as I push the dead guard off the blade trapped under his body. The stairs creak, and I turn. Siiri and Vammatar are too distracted to notice the shadow now creeping down.
“Siiri, look out,” I call, wrenching the sword free.
The shrouded figure sweeps forward and grabs Vammatar by the shoulders, wrenching her bodily away from Siiri. The witch shrieks in surprise.
My eyes adjust enough for me to make out white robes and long black hair. Loviatar lets her sister go, and the witches face each other.
“All this time, you were Father’s pet,” Vammatar hisses. “Now you defy him?”
“We all must choose our own path,” Loviatar replies. Blood stains her temple and the collar of her robes, but she looks confident, steady. She frames her mouth with her tattooed hands and blows a gust of air from her lips. Her breath shines glittering green in the darkness. Like a noxious cloud, it swirls around Vammatar’s face, imbuing her pale skin with an eerie green glow.
Vammatar’s eyes are wide with panic as she chokes on the green smoke. All color fades away from her cheeks. “You—witch,” she chokes out. “I’ll—” Before she can finish her threat, her body sways, and she collapses.
50
Siiri
I pant, arms andlegs shaking with fatigue, as I look down at the prone form of the goddess of evil on the tunnel floor.
“What did you do?” Aina whispers at the witch.
