White Stag (Permafrost #1)(94)
“I am your stag.” I kept a straight face, but the seriousness of my words was lost with my blush. “Or well, female, human-bodied alternative. Somehow I feel the title is a lot more honorary than literal now.”
From somewhere in the crowd of dead goblins, there was a snicker. Obviously, they found it just as ironic as I did. Maybe whoever was laughing also knew how to use sarcasm.
“You’ve come a long way, Janneka,” he said, a small smile on his face. Looking down on himself, he added, “I guess I have too.”
The ancient wisdom of the stag flowed through me, the past and future and fate, yet surprisingly I was calmer than I’d ever been. “We have even further to go.” Then I smiled. “And I look forward to it.”
* * *
THE SPIRITS OF the dead pooled at my feet as I walked side by side with the Erlking. With each step, another creature joined in behind us, and many more bowed as we passed. The spirits of deceased goblins whispered as they began to rise into the air, to the afterlife, despite having had no proper burial. So many were dead, and this was a mercy only I could give. Some of them glared at the new Erlking, while some looked on with pride. Their eyes never left me nor the torc of antlers around my neck.
The spirit of a small goblin girl stood out, trailing by my side. Her hair was darker than raven’s wings and her golden eyes gleamed with happiness. She held the hand of a man who shared her looks, and he gazed down at her with the gentle fondness a parent has for their child. He said something and the girl laughed a birdlike laugh, her eyes resting on me with a wordless thank-you, before accompanying her father as they disappeared into the air.
From far and wide the surviving goblins were coming close to greet their new king and the stag who matched him step for step. But they could wait, as Soren stopped on a spot near the border. On one side there was a yew tree, and on the other, a skeleton birch, the branches of both rising high into the sky until they entangled as one.
“This is the place,” Soren said, his eyes flickering warily at the crowd around me. “I never thought being the Erlking would require feeling so self-conscious,” he said to himself. Most of his tunic was ash, fluttering away in the wind. What remained of his bearskin pants left little to the imagination.
“Hush,” I said. “You’ve no right to talk about being self-conscious. I’m the one who everyone was expecting to have four legs.”
Soren snorted but said nothing.
I bent down on the border, on the spot where I was born, taking out the eight little seeds I’d been given. I knew what they were now as I scooped holes into the earth and one by one placed the ash seeds into the dirt. Standing on the human side of the border, I could almost imagine them. The shimmering, smiling spirits of my sisters, the gentle, warm gaze of my mother, and my father with a look both stern and approving on his face.
One day I would see them again and remember the old life I’d lived, hunting with the men, playing games with my sisters, and the gentle lullabies my mother sang by the fireside. But until then, I would plant their seeds on the border of the worlds and watch as the leaves touched the sky and their trunks entwined. They would be struck by lightning and battered by storms; their leaves would die and their branches would break. The earth would shift beneath them, but they would stand through it all. Their roots would sink deep into the earth, just as mine had.
Epilogue
THE SERPENT
IN A PLACE-BUT-NOT-A-PLACE, in a world-but-not-a-world, in the-beginning-but-not-the-beginning, a serpent lay tightly coiled around a massive ash tree, his tail clenched firmly in his fangs. As he slumbered, from far above and far below a redness seeped down from one of the many realms, where a human stag stood beside a goblin king. The redness fell onto the serpent and sank through his skin, and as it did, the beast began to stir.
Slowly, as if he hadn’t moved his muscles in countless millennia, the serpent began to writhe around the tree as if sensing a disturbance to his slumber. He looked toward the surface-that-was-not-the-surface, his eyes narrowed in a predatory glare, until his massive jaws opened, and he consumed his tail no more.
And so began the beginning of the end.
Acknowledgments
There are millions of things that go into creating a book and about a million more things that can happen along the way. Undoubtedly, I will forget some name or other. Even if you are not named here, if you know me—whether by the name Pandean or Kara—let yourself feel a bit of warmth while reading these acknowledgments because you no doubt touched me in some way, shape, or form, and that deserves its own recognition.
First, I wouldn’t be here without Alessandra from Wattpad HQ, who was not only the reason White Stag was featured but also my original champion, pushing the rest of the wonderful people at HQ to read my book. Thank you for believing in my work.
To Ashleigh, who worked so hard to show the world how wonderful White Stag is and sang its praises to get it the deal it deserved. You’re a wonderful person and a great friend, and deciding to work with you and Wattpad was the best choice I ever made.
To Caitlin, my talent manager, who answered many eleven p.m. Slack questions, calmed three a.m. anxiety, and worked diligently to make sure I knew exactly what I needed to during the process. Thank you for putting up with my neuroticism; hopefully it’s one of the reasons I’m a good writer. Thank you for your support of me and White Stag. You seriously rock.