Page 126 of North Is the Night
I knock once more. Before my frustration can grow, a sound has me turning around on the top step. I listen for the sound again.
Drumming.
Something is happening on the other side of the village. The drumming grows louder, echoing through the quiet of the forest. It’s a celebratory sound, the rhythm fast and jubilant.
Hopping off the steps, I jog across the clearing, leaving my family home behind me. I pat down my body as I jog, noting the knife on my hip. If I’m not mistaken, there’s another tucked into my boot. Väinämöinen had assured me that my itse would arm itself. Clothing and weapons can change to fit the needs of the itse.
The forest before me is aglow with the light of two dozen torches. As I move closer, I frown. I think I know what has drawn the people out on this dark winter night. I hide behind the trunk of an oak a few feet removed from the edge of the clearing. Peering around, I look above the heads of the revelers to the massive bear head perched atop a pinewood pole in the middle of the clearing.
This is a peijaiset, a bear funeral.
Whoever was forced to kill the bear now hosts a funeral in its honor. To appease Otso, we don’t mourn a bear’s death; we only celebrate its life. A fallow deer roasts on a spit over a large fire turned by two men. Women stand before more cookfires, readying the soups and other savory dishes that will accompany the venison. Drummers drum and dancers dance around the pole, singing songs that will help the bear’s spirit find its way out of the forest and into the stars.
My heart stops at the smiling, pink-cheeked face of my sister, who twirls around with ribbons clutched in her hand. She dances with the other girls, their feet stomping in the snow. I inch to the right, staying to the shadows as I survey the crowd, my eyes not resting until I find her. “Mummi,” I whisper.
Her blue cap is pulled over her grey hair, her thick braids falling on either side of her breasts as she stirs one of the cookpots. Her friends stand to either side, the three of them lost in conversation. She looks good, healthy and whole. I lean further around the tree to get a better look. I can’t just march out into the middle of this crowd. It would raise too many suspicions. They’ll ask too many questions. No, I have to get her alone—
Snap.
I glance over my shoulder, ducking to better hide myself in the underbrush.
A shadow moves through the dark, trying to walk stealthily. Like me, they don’t want to be discovered. Firelight from the clearing flashes on their face as they duck between the trees.
It’s Brother Abbiørn. The hood of his habit is pulled up over his head, but the gold cross around his neck glints in the light. Why does he not join the villagers by the fires?
Oh gods...
He’s holding a large stick with both hands, gripping it like a club. He means to stop the funeral. Why? Because the people dare to celebrate and worship Otso?
My blood that ran cold begins to boil. I will kill him first. Now is my moment. I could drag him off and sink him to the bottom of the lake. They would never find him.
I pull my knife from my belt and push off the trunk of the oak, ready to circle behind my prey. But I’ve barely taken two steps before a new sound has me turning. Someone else is creeping in the dark. Behind me, a low whistle sounds. It’s Brother Abbiørn, calling out his position. Not ten feet in front of me, a large shadow moves and whistles back. The fine hairs on my neck bristle. I know that whistle. How many times have I heard it in these woods?
One look at those big shoulders, and I know I’m right. Ignoring the priest, I move towards my brother. Onni wears the same brown cloak as the priest, the sign of the foreign god around his neck. Forgetting myself, I whisper, “Onni, what are you doing?”
He jumps with fright. “Siiri? What are you doing here? We thought you were dead. We buried you!”
“What? No, I told Mummi—”
“You said you’d be gone a few days. We followed you north to the hiisi. We looked everywhere for you. But the winter storms blew in, and father was sure your provisions had run out.”
“I got more. Onni, why are you dressed like the priest?”
He glances around again. “You shouldn’t be here. Go home. Wait for the others there.”
My sense of foreboding grows as my gaze settles on the club balanced in his giant hands. “What are you going to do? Are you going to attack your own people because that creeping creature told you to?”
“Brother Abbiørn only wants to help us—”
“He wants tocontrolus,” I hiss. “Father didn’t raise you to be a fool.”
“This is the only way,” he replies. “This is the Way. The people will see in time. We must tear down all the false idols.”
“Onni,please.” I hold out my hand to him. “Please, brother. Come away. Come home with me.”
He stills, eyes narrowed on my outstretched hand. “What are you?”
“What?”
