River of Shadows (Underworld Gods #1)(17)

I frown. “Why, what’s happening?”

“There will be a boat coming through that mist any minute now—”

“A boat!?”

“Yes. We will be getting on that boat and I want you to play along with everything I tell Loviatar.”

“Who the hell is Loviatar?”

“She’s the ferryman,” he says in a low voice. “She’ll be taking us across, but only if she thinks we’re dead. If she can’t be fooled, then we’ll be lucky if we can find our way back without her killing us.”

I stare at him, my mouth dropping open. “I’m sorry, what!?”

“Only shamans are able to trick her, and I’ll do what I can to make her see us as dead, but you have to go along with it or the spell won’t work and the magic will be ruined.”

This isn’t happening. I can’t even form the words, let alone wrap my head around the nonsense he’s spouting. There’s something seriously wrong with this man-child.

“You want me to…pretend I’m dead? So that you can put a spell on a ferrywoman, so she’ll give us a ride to…?”

“Just keep your mouth shut for a little longer is all I’m asking,” he says. “I’ve tricked her before but I was alone. Got as far as the Gorge of Despair before my luck ran out. Don’t want to go through that again.”

“You’ve done this before?” I ask in surprise, but then I raise my mitted hand and shake my head to shut myself up. No. I can’t entertain any of this right now. For every question I ask, I’m not getting any reasonable answers in return.

Suddenly Rasmus stiffens. His hands drop from my shoulders and he turns around in time to see the shape of a boat appearing in the mist, someone standing at the bow with what looks to be a paddle.

“She’s here,” he whispers. Then he stands beside me, back straight, chin up.

Meanwhile I’m holding my breath as the boat becomes clearer. It’s shaped like a small Viking ship, long and narrow and low to the waterline, the name Norfinn etched on the side. At the bow stands a slim, tall woman with incredibly long pale blonde hair that billows behind her like a cape. She’s wearing a flimsy dress that looks like it’s made of gold silk and tulle and I absently wonder if she’s frozen.

But that’s not what has my attention, what has my blood running cold.

It’s the massive deer skull she’s wearing as a mask.

God. It is a mask…isn’t it?

The boat glides forward until it runs aground on the pebbles, the sound of them scraping the iron hull sounds like nails on a chalkboard and I want to cover my ears, but something tells me that wouldn’t be a good idea.

The ferrywoman puts down the paddle and then reaches down and picks up a thick silver sword, at least four feet long with a blade bigger than my forearm. She raises it in front of her like it weighs nothing at all.

“Who goes there?” she asks, her voice light and almost…bored.

Fuck, please let this be some epic LARPing gone wrong. That would explain a lot.

“My name is Seppo,” Rasmus says. He puts his hand on my shoulder. “This is my girlfriend Ephemera. We followed the light.”

Seppo? Girlfriend? Ephemera?

I can’t see the girl’s eyes beneath the deer skull, but I can feel them just the same as she stares at us, not moving, not saying anything. Beside me Rasmus practically radiates with energy, a strange sort of warmth that I can feel, like standing next to a heater, and for a moment I really do believe he’s conjuring something.

Finally, she lowers the sword and gestures to the boat with it. “All right. You may come aboard.”

I exhale softly. Well that was easy.

Rasmus nods and walks through the ankle-deep water, hoisting himself up over the side of the boat and onto the deck. He stands up and offers me his hand, beckoning me to do the same.

I can’t take my eyes away from the deer skull woman, even though I know I should.

“Ephemera,” Rasmus says to me firmly. “Come on. You have to accept it.”

Accept what? Oh right. Death.

I swallow uneasily and then slosh through the water, grateful that I used waterproofing spray on my boots before the trip, then give Rasmus my hands as he hauls me up onto the boat. Like the rest of the ship, the deck is made of iron.

“You can sit there,” the girl says, nodding at a low iron bench in the middle of the boat as she slides her sword into the thin leather belt she has around her tiny waist. It looks comically large there, but she’s picking up the paddle and wielding it like she’s got nothing larger than a butter knife at her side.

She walks with the paddle down to the back of the boat and starts to steer, turning us away from the shore and back into the mist.

With our backs to her, I sneak a glance at Rasmus. I have a million questions, but the warning look in his eyes tells me I need to stay quiet.

“How old are you two?” the girl asks. “Not that it matters, but I don’t receive many young people. How did you die? You look fine to me.”

“Alcohol poisoning,” Rasmus answers without missing a beat.

“Both of you at the same time? Must have been a hell of a party.”

A hell of a party. The fact that she used that phrase is a clear sign that this is some sort of LARPing costume game. Maybe Rasmus created all of this himself in order to cope with my father’s death, I have no idea. If he wanted it more believable, he should have had this woman talk in more stilted, old-timey English. And why is she speaking English anyway, shouldn’t she be speaking in Finnish?