Page 121 of North Is the Night
At first sight of the sauna, I groan with longing. It’s a small wooden hut, nestled at the edge of the snowy wood, perched beside a dark pool. A narrow dock extends several feet over the water. Beyond the pool, thick pines ring the shore, making the space feel intimate and peaceful. The sauna and the dock are lit with torches, casting a golden glow. Behind me, high on the hill, the palace glows even brighter.
Loviatar walks silently at my side. Kukka walks at my other side, holding a torch aloft. In the golden light, I take her in. She’s still the same Kukka, with her fumbling gait, vacant expression, and broken fingers. But her thin hair is brushed. Her clothes are clean: a white wool dress layered under a grey woolen overdress. Across her chest is embroidered the sign of the black raven, its wings spread wide. From the raven’s head, three lines extend like a sun’s rays.
“I’ve never seen such a sigil before,” I say as we walk.
“Tuonetar banned all signs or mention of the king,” Loviatar replies, her clouded eyes unblinking as she moves unhurriedly to the edge of the pool.
“This is the king’s sigil?” I glance over my shoulder to the pair of dead guards behind us. The sigil on their chests is different. It is still a raven, but instead of a sun’s rays, their ravens wear crowns.
“The maid wears your sign,” Loviatar clarifies.
“My sign?”
“They’re calling it the Sun Raven. The Queen’s Raven.”
I smile, empowered by the idea. A mortal queen that shines with the light of the rising sun. The dark and the light. Death and life. Immortality and mortality.
Loviatar quietly sheds her clothing until she stands naked, her long, black hair plaited down her back. She doesn’t shiver in the winter cold. Ignoring me, she walks right into the frigid pool. Her pale skin is cast into even brighter effect by the darkness of the water. Slowly, she turns, now waist deep. Her chest is marred by thick, raised scars. Down her arms I see evidence of still more pain and suffering. She lifts her tattooed hands from the water, tucking her hair behind her ears. “Do you not wish to bathe, my queen?”
I shed my clothes, handing off each layer to Kukka. The winter chill burns my skin as I hurry over to the pool’s edge. The water is deep and cold. It will sting like a thousand slaps from a nettle. With a squeal, I dive in, letting it claim every inch of my skin. I break the surface with a sharp gasp. “Gods’ blood, it’s f-freezing.”
Loviatar turns with a frown. “You do realize the goddess of illness stands at your side?”
“I do,” I reply, treading water to keep my muscles from turning to ice.
“Do you fear no sickness then?”
I splash her, laughing as she hisses like an angry cat. “Should I be pleased that you’re worried?”
“Do not flatter yourself, little mouse.”
“You said you sometimes go to the realm of the living,” I say, floating away.
“I used to,” she replies. “That was long ago.”
Finding the pebbly bottom, I stand in the water. “You don’t go anymore?”
She glares. “You are too curious for your own good. Ask a question of a witch, and she may decide to answer.”
“You know, the stories and songs paint you as unfeeling and vicious. Some call you even more monstrous than Tuonetar. Some give you another name: Louhi, Witch of the Northland. They tell tales of your children, sent forth as plagues upon the world of men.”
Her hands brushes down the scars on her arms. “Do not speak of my children.”
“So, it’s true? Your sons are the nine plagues of men?”
She purses her lips.
“And what of your nameless daughter? The one you helped to escape—”
“You will not speak of her,” she hisses, turning my way at last.
I cross to her side. “You saved your father. You saved me. You saved the other girls—”
“Because I am selfish and manipulative. Do not paint me as your champion, Aina. I am Loviatar and Louhi, black of heart, old and wicked, worst of all the death-land women. Yes, I know all your wretched songs.”
“I believe them,” I say. “I believe the songs. I believe you are wicked and self-serving. I believe you connive to get your way.” I reach out a hand to her. “But I believe you are more—”
“Don’t. Believe nothing good of me, Aina.” She wades out of the water towards the sauna.
