Page 102 of North Is the Night
I nod as if this makes sense to me.
He gives me a wry look before continuing, puffing on his pipe as he talks. “Each rune on this drum signifies something important to the drummer. You can learn much about a shaman and their power from the drum they play.” He points to the central rune, a double-lined rhombus. “This is the sun. It marks the center of our world. Most shamans will play a simple drum designed for use in this realm only. The runes will flow naturally outward from the sun.”
“What kind of runes?” I say, my eyes fixed on the drum.
“All kinds,” he replies. “Reindeer, cattle, fish. There are runes for hunting and gathering, runes for weather and the seasons, the gods, love and death.” His hand dances around the surface of his drum as he points to the different runes. Then he glances up. “You mentioned feeling like a piece of your soul was with Aina. You said you feel its loss?”
I scrunch my brow. “I... it felt like I was being torn apart, yes.” I rub at my chest with a grimace. “It felt like being stabbed... or like I was being stretched. It was... unpleasant.”
“And you feel it still?”
“No,” I say aloud for the first time. “No, it faded. I don’t—I can’t feel her anymore.” I’m quiet for a moment, letting myself sit with her loss. “Did she take a piece of my soul? Is it gone forever? Is it in Tuonela? Is that why I can’t feel it?”
He raises a hand. “Peace, girl. Let me explain. Unless you’re the most powerfulandthe most careless shaman of a generation, I doubt very much you managed to place a piece of your soul into Aina without knowing it. But the sensations you describe are not dissimilar from the pain inflicted by a soul-rending.”
“How many pieces of soul are there?”
“Three,” he replies, setting the drum aside. “The very life of you is called your henki. When your henki leaves your body, you die.”
“I know this word,” I say, leaning forward. “Aina’s father is a woodworker. He makes sielulintu. He says the soul birds guide your henki to Tuonela when you die.”
Väinämöinen nods. “He’s right. Now, your second piece of soul is called the luonto. All luonto take the form of birds, much like a sielulintu. The luonto is your guardian.”
“What form does yours take?”
Holding out his right hand, he traces his left thumb over the largest tattoo. “I’m a white-tailed eagle.”
I smile, thinking of the stories Mummi tells of Väinämöinen and the Eagle. “How do I decide what form my luonto should take?”
He chuckles, puffing on the stem of his pipe. “You don’t decide anything. Your luonto was born inside you. It already has a form. All you must do is let it take flight.”
I press a hand to my chest, imagining I can feel the fluttering of wings deep inside me.
The shaman watches me with a smile. “Yes, your luonto is strong, Siiri. Sometimes I can almost see it looking out through your eyes.”
My smile widens.
He goes on, “Now, when your luonto travels, it will always be in the form of a bird. This limits the interactions you can have. Do you understand? If you’re an owl or an eagle, you can’t talk to people or be understood. But you can see, you can hear, you canlearn. You can gather intimate and secret knowledge. And knowledge is—”
“Power,” I finish for him. “Yes, I understand.”
He eyes me for a moment, his mustache twitching. “The last piece of your soul is called your itse. It’s your essence, your mirrored self. It can leave your body and travel for you. What’s more, it willbeyou. So, you can walk and talk, think and feel. Others can see you and communicate with you.”
It all falls into place. “He was your itse. The Väinämöinen trapped inside Kal. That was your itse, wasn’t it?”
He smirks. “Now you see.”
“You said he was gone a long time. What happened?”
He sighs, setting aside his spent pipe. “You have to understand that the soul does not want to be split apart. Sending out a smaller piece like your luonto is harmless enough. But using your itse can be dangerous, Siiri. The more often you send it out, the longer it stays out, the harder it gets to come back to yourself. Once an itse is lost, it becomes all but impossible to retrieve.”
My heart flickers. “Oh, Väinämöinen...” Reaching forward, I take his hand in mine. “The lost shaman,” I whisper. “You’ve been lost in more ways than one, haven’t you? Lost to the world, hiding up here all alone. Lost to yourself, your itse wandering the woods without you, unable to return. What happened? When did you let it go?”
“I was careless and overconfident. I thought I could survive this life of isolation with ease. How could I not when the world could still be mine? If I was careful, in my itse I could walk the forests and fields where I had my greatest adventures. I was selfish, Siiri... and I paid the price.”
“How do you live with only two pieces of your soul intact?”
“You don’t.” His words settle between us like a thick mantle. “It will kill you in the end... and it will be slow and painful. The ‘long dying,’ they call it. I once met a man afflicted with a loss of itse.” His face takes on that haunted look I’ve come to know so well. “I don’t wish it on anyone, Siiri.”
