PROLOGUE

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"If all else perished, and he remained, I should still continue to be; and if all else remained, and he were annihilated, the universe would turn to a mighty stranger."
― Emily Jane Brontë  

Her bare feet padded softly on the damp grass as she ran, echoing through the still forest. The fog of morning shrouded the trees in its tawny vapour, and every viridescent leaf of every silver birch tree was coated in the pearly white frosts of early September. A quietness distilled as the wind blew in a changed spirit and died away to a zephyr, carrying with it the potent scent of burning wood.

Her heart hammered in her chest, fuelled by exhilaration as glacial eyes drank in every detail of her scarcely illuminated path; Ajatar* ruled this haunt with an unwavering malice, and the slightest lapse in judgement, or a single wrong turn, and the girl would be smothered by the blanket which the evil spirit had crafted from the threads of impiety. She had lost a sister to the cruelty of the ancient deity— the little girl's corpse had remained unfound until the stench of decay became too pungent for the woods to conceal.

She came to a halt in a small clearing, where the grass was taller and the trees denser. With a slender hand, she reached behind her and carefully pulled an ebony arrow from the quiver which was slung lazily across her shoulders. She nocked it onto the string of her bow and pulled it back, kneeling down so that the grass concealed her, as dewdrops fell from above and landed on her poised arm.

She closed her eyes, when a soft rustling from behind the thicket told her that she had company. The girl opened her eyes to see an elk, its antlers carved from granite, light spilling from its soul as though its sole purity could cleanse a world full of sin. She tapped the symbol on her bow— in quiet prayer to Tapio*, the forest god— and released the arrow, recoiling slightly as the cry of the elk disturbed the tranquillity.

Placing the bow on the ground in excitement, she rushed over to the elk. Pulling out the arrow, she inspected the flint tip which was now bathed in crimson. Cerulean eyes trailed over the gaping hole in the creature's abdomen, from which its life force slowly drained. The elk's eyes were wide with the fear of onrushing death, the distorted sounds which it produced bristled against her heart.

Hesitantly, she placed her hands over the wound. A puerile delight filled her as white light gushed from them, and the beast ceased its whines as the pain subsided. Her magic poured from her, flowing like the holy waters of Pyhäjoki, perishing the marks of woe that crossed its path.

Removing her hands, she inspected the way the puncture had closed, revelling in pride. The glow subsided from her palms, revealing how they were covered in the sinful sanguine of her actions.

She did not look back at the elk as she retrieved her bow and took her leave. The girl mourned the pain it had suffered at her hands, yet the regret was incomparable to the euphoria of testing the limits of her magic, and the overpowering glee derived from rebellion.

Stopping by the lake to wash away the evidence of transgression, her hands dipped into the water as she knelt on the bank, the freezing sensation chilling her to the bone. She scrubbed her hands together mindlessly, her gaze wandering with admiration to the gentle sunrise, an amalgam of yellow hues and orange shades.

Her bliss was abruptly terminated when icy cold fingers encircled her wrist. She cried out, wrenching her hands from the water, and with them came a bloated, white cadaver, already in the later stages of putrefaction, evidently a victim who had been lured in by the creatures which lurked in the waters. She stumbled away but it was too late, as more hands came, pulling her to the depths of her demise.

The freezing water engulfed her completely and the girl opened her mouth to scream, trying to push against an unknown force.

Forcing her eyes to open, she was met with the face of her assassin. It's skin was dark with extremely long hair, canine-like teeth, black gums, fins on its feet like water birds. It swirled around arms wide, combing its hair with one hand and turning the water with the other. It's mouth was stretched open, parts of its flesh decaying and covered in rot. It was as if it was laughing, but still wasn't.

Darkness crept around the edges of her vision, and Inkeri Koskinen began to feel numb. Her lungs hurt from not breathing in. 

The pressure in her temples persisted as her muscles began losing energy. She looked upwards, and in a final, desperate cry of hope, sent a small, weak beam of light to the surface of the water.

And then her light extinguished.

｡･:*˚:✧｡

Lilja Koskinen sat in solitude. Sweat covered her brow as her lips moved vigorously in prayer, her crazed eyes rolled up into their sockets so only the whiteness was visible. Almost every inch of her was covered with ancient runes, each of which had been painstakingly carved into her flesh, the black ink blemishing the smooth paleness of her skin. Her chapel was small and dimly lit, the walls were covered by intricately carved scenes, and vines crawled their way through the cracks in the roof as though their entire purpose was to show nature's own dominance. The eternal fountain was the only resemblance of grandeur which the shrine held, and it dripped water fervently, seeking to distract the weak from their devotion.

The woman's peace was interrupted not ten minutes later, when a knock cracked sharply on the door. It creaked open, and her husband, Yrjö Koivisto, entered. A breath of relief left Lilja's mouth as she stood and was wrapped in a warm embrace, resting her head against his chest. The sound of his steady heartbeat calmed her tensions momentarily, until an irregularity in the rhythm shattered any illusion of peace.

"How will I do it?" she whispered, looking up into her love's eyes. Though they were far past their age of youth, he wore it better than her, as her forehead had long been eroded by lines of tension and worry. "How will I send her away?"

"Ora has said she must go," Yrjö said softly. His hair was a darker shade of blond than hers, and there was juvenility between new crinkles of distress. "He foresaw a terrible danger— "

"I'm well aware of what he saw!" She cried, her voice rising. She pulled away from his comforting warmth, allowing herself to glare at him harshly. The man did not reply for a single moment, and only the constant drip of the fountain could be heard.

Finally, he spoke, he baritone voice resounding through the room, carrying the weight of his words. "As the Light Bringer, the responsibility of every soul in this forest burdens your shoulders," He said, his tone remaining level and calm. "Could you really allow yourself to sit idle and watch the forest burn?"

"What if she's hurt?" she demanded. "What if she dies?"

"We must be optimistic, and pray to Ukko* to watch over her," he said sadly gazing up the small statue of Suonetar*, to whom Lilja had been praying. She looked as though she wanted to speak further, to condemn his immediate submission to Ora, but they were both interrupted by yet another knock at the door. "Enter," he called out, and a young man came into the chamber.

"Mathias," Lilja said warmly, nodding to the young boy. "I crave good news. Did you manage to find her?" The seventeen year old boy swallowed before responding. Lilja was accustomed to the way he averted his gaze.

"I did," he said hesitantly. "I was close by when I discovered that Inkeri was being drowned by Vetehinen*. I managed to recover her from the lake, though she is yet to wake." Mathias fidgeted nervously, stealing a fearful glance at her reaction.

The woman looked as though she would bring down the entire church on top of them. "She is supposed to save us all?" Lilja exploded with rage, rounding on her husband. "My foolish daughter can't even go one minute without gallivanting off head-first into danger, and you want to send her away! She will be the cause of her own death within a week!"

"It's not my decision!" Yrjö uttered, irritation finally giving way to rage. "If you have issues, discuss the matter with him, do not erode my sanity."

"Fine," Lilja growled, eyes flashing dangerously with such an intense brightness that made her own husband take a step back. "I will have a word with the Seer."

They both glared at each other defiantly, while Mathias wrung his hands together uncomfortably. He did not know what the village's Seer, Ora, had Seen; only Lilja and Yrjö were permitted to visit him, being the leaders of the village.

Not wanting to suffer through the argument for much longer, he left the chapel and made his way across the dirt path which led to his small home, and then up to his bedroom, where Inkeri lay on his bed. They had been inseparable ever since she'd hidden a live fish in his shirt; the mischievous twinkle in her eyes had melted any rage and instead, it had drawn him to her, in a gentle sort of infatuation which he concealed, and allowed to fester unnoticed beneath his chest.

He found her awake now and sitting upright, and when her eyes flicked to him, a smile spread across her face which made his heart flutter slightly.

"It's just my bad luck than you of all people are my saviour," Inkeri mused, pushing away the covers and standing up to greet him. Mathias' bedroom was considerably smaller than her own, yet she certainly preferred its comforting cream walls as opposed to her own harsh white ones.

"Misfortune?" He echoed, an agitated timbre creeping into his voice. "You very nearly died. If I hadn't seen your beam of light—"

"But you did," she said nonchalantly, picking up a wooden hairbrush from the desk and running it through her tangled locks. "My knight in shining armour."

"You would do well to stop playing with your own life," he said darkly, shuddering at the thought of the corpse he'd found with her in the water. "There is a funeral tonight, for Alvar. He wasn't as lucky as you." The first crack appeared in her dismissive demeanour, as a chill ran down her spine at the thought of the drowned boy who had been missing for days.

"Poor boy," she murmured. "The spirits are growing restless. There hardly used to be this many deaths in a decade, let alone a year."

"And yet some imprudent people still wander into their reach, alone," he said with thinly disguised condemnation. "I don't understand. Why would you traipse into the forest alone, at the brink of dawn, just to hunt deer?"

"You may sooner ask an addict why he takes hallucinogens. It's the thrill of it, nothing more," she explained for what seemed like the hundredth time. "The exhilaration, the chase, the freedom. Pick whichever is most applicable to you, and you will have a fraction of what it feels like to me."

He didn't understand. He never had. If he was the Earth which offered stability and safety, she was like air, elusive and almost intangible.

"Your mother is beyond enraged," he informed her, and she groaned inwardly. She could not bear the thought of another reprimanding, she was still recovering from the one she'd had last night. Mathias surveyed her carefully. "Perhaps if you were less rebellious, you would cause the poor woman less strife," he remarked, and she sighed deeply.

"That 'poor woman' is plagued by far worse things than me, be assured," she said, as she pulled her hair into two severe braids. Out of the corner of her eye, she allowed her mind to wander to more impure thoughts. Mathias was attractive and shapely, as was he undeniably strong and kind of heart. Her attraction to him was somewhat present— although she wasn't certain whether that was due to lack of choice or genuine appeal.

Mathias did not respond, and seconds later she found out why— her mother stood stiffly in the doorway, the sigils on her skin enough to disturb the girl's young eyes, even after being accustomed to them for over sixteen years. The woman's stern eyes hardened with barely contained rage when she looked at her daughter.

"If the circumstances were different, I would make you regret your very existence," Lilja seethed through her teeth, and though her mother still inspired fear in her, she brushed it off with practised ease.

"Sing a different tune, mother," Inkeri sighed, and Mathias bit his tongue to prevent a snicker from escaping. "This one is getting old."

"Insolent girl," the older woman hissed, clenching her fists with an emotion which her daughter could neither notice nor understand even if she had. "Do you not think? What of the grief that you would bring with your death? Have you seen the sobbing wreck that Alvar's mother has become? Who would be The Light Bringer if you died?" 

"So that is the real problem," the young girl pondered. "The Light Bringer. What about that child, the one that you had with Yrjö? It should serve as sufficient back-up."

"That child is your sister!" Lilja said with astonishment. "And you would do well to acknowledge it— her, acknowledge her, as such!"

"That would be barbaric," Inkeri hissed, evidently unfazed by her mother's fury, as she leaned against the open window causally, unbothered by the fact that the slightest gust of wind could unbalance and send her plummeting to her death. "The only thing we share is a mother, who tries to keep us on such a tight leash that one day we will choke on it and die."

Lilja inhaled sharply, closing her eyes and counting down, as she often did during encounters with her own daughter, an uncomfortable silence descending as Mathias and Inkeri communicated with their eyes. He questioned her cruelty and disobedience, and she narrowed her eyes in defiance. Finally, Lilja spoke.

"Ora wishes to see you," she said, filling the air with her steely timbre. "Make yourself presentable, and be there in fifteen minutes." With those words uttered, she left the two teenagers alone once again, with their shock hanging thick in the air.

Mathias spoke first. "Is that... allowed?"

"No," Inkeri stated, heading to his wardrobe and rummaging through the drawer he had made specifically for her. "I wonder what he has to say?"

"The privilege you hold," Mathias said enviously, turning around as she quickly changed into a more refined silver cloak. "What I wouldn't give to see Ora..."

"I'll put in a good word for you, don't worry," Inkeri said, teasingly patting his cheek as he scowled at her.

It took her less than five minutes to arrive at the foreboding church in which Ora resided. It was said that he had not left in over two hundred years, as he was cursed with the burden of eternal life, plagued by visions of the inevitable which were rarely in his power of prevention. Inkeri's demeanour faltered immediately when she saw Inari Koivisto lurking outside. Her lip curled as the younger girl hurried up to her.

"Sister, Ora has summoned you," Inari said animatedly, and Inkeri's scowl deepened.

"I had no idea," she said dryly. "I simply came here for a walk, for the change in scenery." The fourteen year old blushed slightly with embarrassment, but did not stray from her positivity. While Inkeri's skin was pale and her features sharp, Inari had childlike rosy cheeks and a softer, gentler face, which meant boys with their beady eyes like vultures often sought her out, for both her beauty and status.

"Ora has never demanded a visitor before. Good luck!" She called out, and Inkeri ignored her, for she had already entered the dark church. Inside, shadows darkened on the wrought, antique tapestries, and the cloth on the alter was frayed and greying. The ebon crucifix, still lit by un-snuffed candles, was a deep mahogany colour, as were the cabinets and large, erect wardrobes which bore a grim design of spiders and snakes. The stained- glass windows were all shattered, the long rows of pews had been laid waste to, as had the very tiles on the floor been torn from their places. The carnage, she assumed, was the result of Ora's rage.

A blade was mounted on the wall, glistening with blood that would never dry, and below it sat Ora. Contrary to the image her imagination had cooked up, Ora looked hardly older than nineteen. Like her mother, he had intricate sigils carved into him, but his still dripped blood, and the streams of red fell onto the brown carpet, which had long been stained crimson around him. He wore a black cloak which matched his inky black hair, the colour of shadow, which was forbidden to any other lumomancer, and his skin was almost translucent, so Inkeri could make out the network of tendons and veins and organs beneath his flesh. His soul contained not the faintest glimmer of light.

Yrjö reached out for her from where he was standing before the Seer with her anxious mother, and she went over to stand by them, nervousness seeping into her, as amaranth eyes followed her every move.

"Inkeri Koskinen," Ora rasped. "Circumstance brings you to my doors two years earlier than fate inscribed in her grimoire." His voice carried the ballad of silent and unspoken prayers which had been veiled and subdued by a thousand years of woe, and the clang of the mind-forged manacles by which he was constrained.

She braved herself to speak, driving her nail into her fingertip to prevent her voice from faltering. "Why am I here?" She asked, trying to sound respectful. The Seer beckoned for her to come closer, and she obliged, though beads of perspiration lined her forehead. He looked up at her as she neared, and Inkeri fought not to tear away her gaze.

"Words tend to subdue a sight of true suffering," he said in his guttural voice. "So I'll show you what I've Seen." Before she could even cry out, he reached his hand towards her, and pressed a finger against her forehead.

The suffocating stench of smoke pervaded her senses. It burned her eyes as a blazing heat scorched her skin. Coughing, Inkeri forced her way forward to the edge of the cliff upon which she now stood, and the air left her lungs at the view of the forest— her forest— which was now consumed by smouldering flames. The charred carcass of an elk lay at her feet, and the cries of the lunar folk haunted her even though she could not see them as they burned, trapped by the smouldering woods which now devoured them whole.

As though a cord was tied to her soul, she was yanked harshly back to reality where she gasped and stumbled, though nobody came to her aid. The overwhelming grief wrenched a sob from her gut, and like a marionette whose strings were severed, she fell to her knees.

"The future," said Ora grimly. "The burden is too much for most to bear. Yet I sensed that you needed a knock of sobriety on your door; you're little more than an erring child." The denunciation hardly even registered with her, as her mind replayed the scene, and brought with it a fresh wave of emotion to crash down on her.

"How could this happen?" She almost choked on her own words, and not for the first time, she wished her mother would offer her just a small embrace of comfort.

"A darkness grows more prominent in Western Europe," the Seer said, his voice grating like nails on a chalkboard. "It thrives under the mistreatment it receives, and it grows stronger every day. It will come seeking power."

"The Book of Names," she realised. "All of this destruction was caused in the search for it?"

"Possibly. Possibly not. I won't fool you with enigmatic words to attempt to conceal the void of my own uncertainty; but I have seen the source of this darkness, as have I found the hallways which it now prowls. A teenager, no more, is the vessel in which the shadow has manifested its malignancy, attending a school for magic in Scotland, very unlike our own."

Scotland. Inkeri had never heard the word before, nor did she know where this enchanting region lay. "But why do you tell me all of this?" She asked, befuddlement clouding her judgement. She turned to Lilja, but the woman would not meet the girl's gaze. It was Yrjö that quenched her wonder.

"Ora wishes to send you away to Scotland, to discover and eliminate the possibility of threat," he said, and his words sparked a flame of interest, as she looked at the Seer with wary eyes.

"You want me to avert that which is foreordained?" She whispered with disbelief. "Is it... possible?"

"One often meets his destiny on the path he takes to prevent it," Ora muttered, his purple eyes boring into her. "Yet, by sitting idle, we will achieve nothing but to be ignorant of that which we have had the opportunity to avoid."

"Why me?" She didn't understand it— she turned to her mother. "You're more experienced and powerful than I. Why not you?" Just like before, Lilja failed to meet her gaze.

"Lilja is too old to attend school," Ora said. His mouth curved into a grotesque smile, and Inkeri watched his muscles contract with the action. "As the Light Bringer's firstborn, your power burns brighter than that of any other child— beyond just healing the wounds of elk— and this isn't a battle we can afford to lose."

"Inkeri," Lilja finally spoke. "Will you go? You could easily say no— "

"Yes," Ora mused. "And then you can light a torch to burn the forest with, for you'd be doing the same through denial." Lilja had to restrain herself from snapping at the Seer, as she scrutinised her daughter, who seemed to have frozen under the sudden decision she was faced with making.

"I don't know their language," Inkeri said suddenly, and Ora tilted his head, surprised that such a trivial detail had been the first to strike her mind.

"It doesn't matter," he said, "The language of the universe is the same for all, and can be easily manipulated to take the form of alternate words— although you still haven't said yes."

"How will I get there?" She plagued him with questions yet again. "Nobody has ever ventured outside the forest, let alone the country."

"I will take you," he said slowly and uncertainly, drawing a gasp from Yrjö, for Ora had not left his church in over two centuries. "I'll waste no more breath on you right now, only for you to reject my decision, so tell me your answer.

"Yes," she breathed, and her mother inhaled sharply. "Yes, I'll go." Away from the confines of the forest, plunged into a new world which she could discover and learn and freely roam; to Inkeri, it seemed almost too good to be true.

"Good," Ora said, his smirk growing even more sinister. "Give me your arm." She held it out to him, and he took a small blade from his cloak. Slowly, he dragged it across her skin, drawing blood, and she bit down on her tongue to stop herself from crying out as he carved two symbols just above her elbow. She didn't wipe the blood away, and it stained the silvery material of her cloak. Just like all sigils, it was the only type of scar she would never be able to heal.

He tapped the first one. "This will enable you to communicate freely with anyone, or anything, that crosses your path," he explained. That would solve her language problems. His thumb moved to the second one, which was more intricate, and bled more profusely. "This one will shield your mind from all those that wish to impede upon your thoughts," he said, and she swallowed at the thought of intrusion upon her most sacred dwelling, and she nodded again.

That night she lay beside Mathias. A fiery hand of iron had grasped her vitals, as guilt prevailed and threatened to burn her from the inside out. Inkeri hadn't even told her best friend of her untimely departure. She just didn't know how to.

She rested her forehead against Mathias', although the boy was fast asleep. All she could do was wonder and dream of the path ahead of her.

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Ajatar— "an evil forest spirit. She throws a cover or blanket of the forest (metsänpeitto) and makes someone disappear from those looking for the missing person."

Tapio— "the main forest god. The whole forest is his castle, and the forest animals belong to him. To catch prey, hunters must please Tapio."

Ukko— "the god of sky and thunder. Ukko is held the most significant god of Finnish mythology and he is also given the epithet Ylijumala ('Supreme God')."

Suonetar— "Lady of Veins, is a magical healer. She spins veins in her spinning wheel. If someone is injured and has wounds, she brings a bundle of new veins with her and replaces the broken veins with new ones."

Vetehinen— "an ancient Finnish water spirit who appears in folklore as a creature who tries to lure swimmers to the depths of lakes and drown them."