Page 124 of North Is the Night
Kukka presses in at my back, her hand wrapping around my upper arm. She pulls me away, trying to keep me from danger. With her free hand, she presses something into my palm. My fingers wrap around the hilt of my little silver knife.
“Aina, go,” Loviatar calls. “Run!”
My first instinct is to obey her, but then she stumbles back, her hands seeking purchase on that which she cannot see. Loviatar is naked and unarmed... and blind. The shadow will soon have her pinned against the sauna. She needs me. She needs my eyes. I jerk away from Kukka’s grip and step forward. “Loviatar!”
The witch goes still, her face turned towards me, pale eyes catching the light of the only remaining torch.
“Use the knife!” I say a little prayer and throw it just like Siiri taught me. It spins through the air, landing with a thud in the wood of the sauna wall not two inches from the witch’s ear.
Loviatar grabs it and slices at the shadow. “You have no power here, Formless One. Go back to your grave and sleep.”
The shadow shrieks, the sound like a thousand blades dragging across stone.
“Aina, you must run! Back to the palace!” Loivatar swings again, the little knife slicing through the shadowy flesh of the creature’s arm. It lets out a furious noise and lunges for her.
“No,” I cry, watching as Loviatar is backhanded and sent flying through the air. The goddess slams into a tree and crumples to the ground in the deep snow.
The shadow rounds on me. Its hulking form moves haltingly across the clearing. Those white eyes lock onto me, and I feel frozen. I’ve been here once before. A monster in the woods that stinks of death, fear sitting like ice in my gut, no weapon in my hand, my only savior wounded. I survived this once. I will survive it again. “I am powerful,” I whisper to the dark. “I am queen.”
Kukka grabs at my arm, frantically pulling me towards the trees.
“Run, Aina!” The witch’s voice echoes across the clearing as she fights to stand. “You must run!”
No. No more running. Raising a shaking hand, I face down the shadow. “As Queen of Tuonela, I order you to stop!”
The shadow stills, its hulking form towering over me. My breath catches as it looks at me with those haunting eyes, its head tipped to the side like a bird of prey.
“Aina,no—”
I have no time to react. The shadow lunges forward, clawed hand reaching. Kukka leaps in front of me, but it takes nothing for the shadow to bat her away. Its claws grip my shoulder, talons of smoke piercing deep into my skin. I gasp, breathless, as pain lances across my chest. A scream splits the air, and I realize it’s coming from me.
“Aina!”
The shadow squeezes, and the bones in my shoulder splinter like shards of ice. The pain of it tears me apart. And then I’m flung to the side as the shadow screeches, turning to fight the goddess, who is now back on her feet.
I whimper like a wounded animal as I drop to the ground, landing on my shattered shoulder. “Tuoni,” I moan, rolling to my side. “My lord...” I tug hard on every thread of our blood bond, begging him to feel me, to know I’m in danger.
Darkness closes in at the corners of my vision. One thought fills me: I am going to die.
“Tuoni,” I whisper, eyes fluttering shut. “Help me.”
38
Siiri
“Try again,” Väinämöinen commands.
I groan, holding my drum with aching hands. The tattoos are fresh, the skin swollen. The shaman used a salve of beeswax and tallow to seal them; the backs of my hands shine with grease. “We’ve been at this for hours.” I can’t keep the dejection from my voice.
Väinämöinen has talked me through freeing my itse several times. He has shown me how to breathe, how to turn inward, how to create a picture in my mind of where I want to be. I understand, but, for the first time in my life, throwing myself at a task is not enough for me to master it. We’ve tried twice now, the shaman watching as I drum over the runes that best remind me of Lake Päijänne. Twice now, I’ve let myself sink into a trance, and twice I’ve woken up with a pounding headache, my soul still intact.
“I can’t do it,” I say, defeated.
He glares at me. “What did you just say?”
“I said I can’t—ouch—” I shriek, my drum tumbling off my lap, as Väinämöinen lunges at me, whacking me on the shoulder with his mallet. “What was that for?” I rub the new spot of pain.
“Don’t youdaresay those words again,” he bellows, pointing a rune-marked finger in my face. “Your precious Aina doesn’t have the time, and I don’t have the patience.” He’s thoughtful for a moment, surveying me with those sharp blue eyes. “Painting pictures in your mind clearly doesn’t work for you,” he says at last. “And frankly, I’m not all that surprised.”
