Page 113 of North Is the Night
Reaching out, I press a hand to his chest. “Truly, my lord. I suffer from nothing but thirst.”
With a reassured nod, he ties my horse to the tree. Then he offers his hand. “Come.”
We weave a short distance through the snow-covered trees.
“Where are we?” I whisper, feeling an odd sort of chill that has nothing to do with the cold.
“We’re near the alder tree,” he says. “That hill is the Kipumäki. The river lies just beyond.”
I pause, letting him pull at my hand. Kipumäki, the hill of pain, where Kivutar stirs the suffering of the world in a great pot and Kiputyttö mines rock to polish into stones of pain. So much evil and cruelty. So much anguish. No wonder the very air seems to tremble with fear.
“What is it?” Tuoni asks, squeezing my hand.
My breath feels tight in my chest as I trace the shadows of the hill. “I can’t—I don’t want to see it. Please, don’t take me up the hill.”
“We’re not going up the hill,” he replies. “We’re goingunderit.”
I let myself be led forward until we reach an odd sight. There’s a round wooden door set directly into the side of the hill. “What is this place?”
“There’s fresh water inside,” is his only reply. He sets a palm flat on the door. He mutters a few words in a language I don’t understand, something deep and guttural. Once the words are spoken, the door glows along the edges and rattles in its frame. He swings the door open and turns. “Best not tell Loviatar I’ve brought you here. I don’t think she would like it.”
“Why—”
“Just trust me,” he presses.
He’s so tall that he has to duck to get inside. With a wave of his hand, he sets a fire crackling to life in the hearth. I look around the room, taking in the comforts of this small underhill home. There’s a table and chairs, a sitting area, and a bed in the corner. The room has a distinctly feminine feel—dried flowers in a vase on the table, a knitting basket by the fire, a standing loom in the corner with unfinished cloth upon it.
“Who lives here?”
“No one,” he replies. “Not for a very long time.” He rattles around, finding two cups. Then he disappears through a doorway, returning with the cups full of water. “A freshwater spring runs beneath the hill,” he explains, handing me one.
“Thank you,” I murmur, watching him.
He takes a turn about the room, lost in memories, his hand brushing over the back of a chair. Whoever lived here, they obviously meant a great deal to him. Strange that my first reaction is jealousy. I swallow it back with the water, clearing my throat.
“It’s peaceful here,” I say. This little house has all the comfort of my own home. Thinking of it makes me miss my family, and I can’t bear to think of them now.
“You’re sad.”
I go still, looking at the fire. “I’m fine.”
He steps around the table to my side. “I know your face, wife. And your thoughts. I feel you here,” he adds, pressing his hand to his chest. “You’re thinking of your family.”
I nod.
He places a hand on my shoulder. “It’s good that you miss them. The love of family is a rare gift. To be loved in return is...” He falls into silence, but I feel him. He holds such deep longing. Gods, he’s so lonely.
Reaching out, I cup his bearded cheek. “This place holds painful memories for you. We can go—”
“No.”
I drop my hand away. We stand there, not speaking. I can tell he needs comfort, but I’m not sure how to approach him. As the raven, touch felt safe. As the man...
“I lost someone very precious to me once,” he admits. “I’ve never come back to this place. I don’t know why I’m here now.” He glances around.
I set my cup down and step in closer. “What can I do, my lord?”
To my surprise, he laughs. The sound is full of bitterness. “You seek to help with my grief? You who’ve endured so much. This realm, my curse... it took everything from you. You are blameless, wife. How can you offer help to one so broken as me? How can you even bear to be near me?”
