Page 118 of North Is the Night
He nods. “And is that your worst fear, Siiri Jarintyttär?”
My gaze drops to my hand.
“Ah, I strike the proper chord at last.”
I jerk my hand away, and he lets me go, the tattoos now finished.
“You don’t fear your own death. You fearherdeath,” he goes on, his words like a knife to my heart. “You are right to fear it. For Tuonetar is unequaled in the skills of torture and bloodletting. If she stole all those maidens as you say, and if her design is merely to play her wicked games, then your Aina is surely dead.”
I raise my gaze to his and hold it.
He nods. “Yes... you have doubts too. You question the death gods’ motives. Why did Kalma take her? On whose orders? With whom does Aina now spend her endless nights?”
“What is your own theory?” I ask, afraid to hear the answer.
He clears away the mess on the table before us, wringing out the rag in the bucket of fresh lake water. Then he holds out his hand and waits. With a sigh, I extend my right hand, bracing myself for the next round of pain.
“This hand will represent Tuonela,” he says, brushing a calloused thumb over my skin. “The first rune I shall mark on you is the raven. Do you know who that is?”
I nod.
“Say his name.”
“Tuoni,” I whisper. As I do, the fire behind him sputters and hisses, moved on an unseen wind. I fight a shiver. “You met him in Tuonela.”
He nods. “He’s an interesting immortal. Not at all what I was expecting. I think you might actually like him. You’d surely respect his plight.”
“His plight?”
“When I was first captured, it was Tuoni who sheltered me, much to the dismay of the Witch Queen. We spent many long nights together, drinking and talking. He asked me many questions about the realm of the living. And he answered my questions about death in return.”
I wince as he makes the first stab into my skin. “What do you make of his character? Is he a cruel god? Would he hurt Aina?”
He’s quiet, focused on his work. “The Tuoni I knew was a lonely man,” he replies. “We had much in common. He told me of his dreams, his hope for the future of his realm. His hope for his own future... his legacy. Lonely men can do desperate things, Siiri.”
A feeling of dread creeps down my spine. Did Aina not say the same thing to me on the day she was taken? “Why do you say such things?”
He glances up over my splayed hand. “Because a girl as clever as you has surely thought about this puzzle from all sides. Why would the death gods take mortals to the underworld? According to you, they are all young women, all unmarried...”
“Please just speak your mind, old man,” I beg, too tired to keep puzzling this through on my own.
He sets aside his tools, holding my gaze. “I will, my stubborn little woodpecker. The Witch Queen has no fondness for mortals. She has no fondness for anyone except her daughters, and then only when they’re behaving monstrously. Her only interest in mortals would be in watching them suffer and die. So, if your dear Aina is still alive, someone iskeepingher alive. Do you understand me?”
My dread grows, even as my voice remains calm. “You believe, if she’s still alive, Aina is being sheltered by another immortal?” My mind races as I consider the possibilities. “Only one other death god has the power to protect Aina from the bloodthirsty Witch Queen... right?”
“Only one,” Väinämöinen echoes with a nod.
“Tuoni,” I say again. “The stories tell of death’s maidens, but I always thought they were meant to be his daughters, not his captives.”
“Or his lovers...”
“One cannot call one’s captive a lover,” I snap. “And my Aina would never let any man use her in such a way. Not even an immortal.”
“You don’t know what’s at stake,” he replies solemnly. “I have seen people do wild and dangerous things, Siiri.” He pauses for a moment, his thumb brushing over the inkless skin of my right hand. “I know a woman who chose to drown herself rather than become a god’s prize.”
I stare at the top of his white head. He’s speaking of Aino, the fair sister of Joukahainen that was meant to be his bride. It wasn’t enough for her that she chose death over becoming his wife. In death she taunted him, appearing to him in the form of fish, only to transform and swim away, forcing him to catch her and lose her all over again.
“Väinämöinen...” I turn my palm in his grip, giving his hand a squeeze. “That wasn’t your fault. She made her choice—”
