Then, just as quickly as it appeared, it’s gone, and we’re nearly falling forward. In the black, I’m beginning to make out the outline of Rasmus in front of me and when I look around him I see a faint gray light at the end of the tunnel.
My heart leaps. Thank god.
Rasmus starts walking faster now, his grip on my hand even tighter than before, and I have a feeling I still have to be quiet.
The opening to the tunnel gets wider and wider but no matter how hard I stare, I can’t decipher what I’m looking at. It’s like all that’s outside is this gray mist, no shapes or structures.
It isn’t until we’re standing at the mouth of it that I finally see where we’ve ended up. In front of us is a pebbled beach that’s coated with a light dusting of snow, the stones pitch-black, shiny and smooth. Beyond that, a line of dark water laps at the shore before being obscured by thick fog.
I step out onto the beach and look around in awe. The cave is set into tall slick cliffs that reach up into the sky until the mist swallows them. The beach itself is only a few yards long, just a patch of pebbles protruding out into the water. Everything else fades away into the fog and it feels like we’re standing on the edge of the world.
Goosebumps erupt over my skin, even beneath the layers of clothing. But we’re not at the edge of the world, right?
I look over at Rasmus who walks toward the water, the tips of his boots getting wet. He reaches out into nothing and then the mist clears just enough to reveal an iron pole sticking out from the water with a large iron bell at the end. Rasmus reaches into the water and pulls out a shining rock, then whacks the stone against the bell, the note ringing out loud and eerily low, and I watch in confusion as the water starts rippling outward into the mist, as if the bell is sending soundwaves.
So much for not being able to make a sound. “Why did you do that?” I ask Rasmus. “Where are we? Russia?”
He throws the stone back into the mist where I hear it land with a splash, then turns to me with the most intense look in his eyes. He reaches out and grabs my shoulders with his gloved hands, squeezing them. “You did a good job in there by not making a noise, but I’m going to need you to humor me for a bit longer. This next part is especially important.”
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.