River of Shadows (Underworld Gods, #1)

by Karina Halle

I thought these things, but along with the thoughts of I should stop eating so many donuts and I don’t need to watch Howl’s Moving Castle again, and I certainly don’t need another succulent for the patio, they never came to fruition.

I clear my throat and start picking at the pulla on the coffee table. “Let’s just pretend for a second that everything you said has made perfect sense, and that you didn’t just talk about something tantamount to Frodo strolling into Mordor.” “Tolkien was very inspired by Finnish folklore,” he points out. “Yes, I know,” I say impatiently. “So again, let’s say this is all real. That my father traveled to another realm to go barter with…Death? Like, the Grim Reaper?”

From his tone I know that whoever she is isn’t good. “Loviatar?” I ask, almost hopefully. I actually liked the deer skull daughter of Death. You know, before she wanted to kill us. He gives his head a firm shake. “I won’t speak her name yet.” So…Voldermorta?

He gives me a tight smile. “No one has ever lost their belief in Death.” I wrap my arms around my knees, hugging them tight. “Have you ever met him?” He shakes his head. “No. I’ve heard stories, of course. That he always has to wear gloves because if he touches you, you’ll die. And that his face is a skull and he wears a cloak and he eats babies for breakfast.” “Let me guess, rides a skeleton horse?” “Skeleton unicorn,” he corrects me with a smile, my eyes going wide. “And it’s an ugly, nasty, bloodsucking beast. Those horns are dangerous.” “A unicorn? Seriously? What about dragons?” He laughs. “No dragons. But there are a few species of dinosaurs wandering about.” “Dinosaurs!” I exclaim. “You got to be kidding me.”

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.

“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.”

I crane my head up to look at Death as he gets off the spider like he’s dismounting a horse, and makes a show of putting one of his armored gloves back on his hand, and for a brief second I see his bare skin, which is covered in lines of pulsing silver. Then he walks over to me, balancing gracefully on the web. He looms over my body, his figure larger than life, his cape black and flowing behind him, hate burning in the depths of his unseen eyes, and I realize that perhaps it would have been better had the spider ended me. I’m about to find myself on another web, Death lurking in the shadows, waiting for me to tremble.

Death’s shadowed face stares down at me. “Look at you fly, little bird.” There’s a hint of awe in his voice. “You’re just full of surprises, aren’t you?” “It’s easy to be surprised when you don’t know a thing about the person.”

You can call me Death. And I will call you mine.”

Death stops and takes a step toward me, leaning down, leaning in close, and all I can do is stare into the dark abyss as the abyss stares back. “Do you not fear me, little bird?” he rasps, his voice a black hand reaching into my soul. “Because I spared you on the spider’s web? You don’t even know what fear is, you impetuous mortal. Not yet. I will break you into a thousand little worthless pieces, I will suck your heart through the marrow of your bones, I will take your body, your memories, every ounce that defines you, and grind you into my morning coffee, so that your suffering will give me energy for the day. I will make you beg for death, and even then I won’t grant it to you, all for my own fucking amusement. So go ahead and squander your fear. You’ll need it later. Your life will depend on it.”

“I have three sayings in life,” Death says, ticking off three fingers, their intricate metal coverings glinting orange in the desert light. “Never trust the living. Never trust a God. And never trust a redhead.” He glances at me. “I’m afraid you’ve already done all three.”

Death? Who hasn’t thought of death? It’s the first harsh lesson a child learns when they find a dead bird in their yard. It’s the devastation of having a beloved dog be put down. It’s the soul-crushing reality when a loved one dies. There isn’t one life that is immune to death. Death is for the living.

Finally she looks back to me. “But in the end, if you want your freedom, you have to make him love you, and if you can’t make him do that, at least make him want you around. I know it seems counterproductive, but if you do, he’ll give you all the freedom in the world. And I know there’s some prophecy about Death falling in love again. Maybe you could play into that?” I scoff, shaking my head. “No. First of all, I’m not that good of an actress.” “Not even if your life depends on it?” My mouth opens and closes again. When she puts it that way… “Second of all, he’s Death. I don’t think Death can fall in love.”

Death is just a God, like any other God. And they love and they lose and they hate and they cry. I know Death fairly well and there’s no emotion that he’s unable to feel…it’s just that his role has made the emotion more or less obsolete.” “You mean love?” “Something like that.” The way she says it, almost forlornly, makes me wonder if Bell had wanted Death to fall in love with her. I can’t really blame her. It’s a tale as old as time to have a beast fall in love with the beauty, the beast everyone says can’t be redeemed.

If I can’t make a mortal dudebro fall in love with me, then I certainly can’t make the God of Death fall in love with me.

“You’re right,” he says after a moment. “You might like it in the end. Oh, you’ll fight me on everything, you’ll hate me with all your fury. But you might love to hate me, and that will make all the difference.” “I will never love you,” I find myself sneering. Good job with the make him fall in love you thing, Hanna.

“A good sign of what?” I ask, hugging the towel close and coming over to her, the floor cold against my soles. “That he likes you,” she says, flashing me a bright smile before rummaging again. I laugh. “Likes me? I’m his prisoner. He’s literally promised to ruin and destroy me for eternity.” “Ah, he says a lot of things,” she says. “His bark is worse than his bite. I mean, most of the time. Sure, sometimes he’ll randomly give someone,” she lowers her voice dramatically and wiggles her fingers, “the hand,” then she smiles “but who doesn’t lose their temper every now and then? Besides, you’re gorgeous and you’re mortal and you’re the daughter of a shaman. All the things that fascinate him.” She pauses, bringing out a yellow dress now, and frowns. “Actually, he hates all mortals. And all shamans. But still. If you play your cards right, you’ll marry him.”