Page 13 of North Is the Night
The hearth burns with a low fire. Along the wall, a ladder leads up to the family’s sleeping quarters above. Aina’s hand loom rests on a stool in the corner. I can’t bear to look at it. I turn away. Milja sits at a narrow table in the middle of the room, a steaming cup of tea clasped between her hands. As I step closer, I catch a whiff of mint, her favorite.
Milja’s eyes are red-rimmed, her face swollen from all her tears shed. “Hello, Siiri.” Her gaze sweeps over my bruised and blackened eye. “Taavi said you fought the creature with your bare hands. I see it must be true.”
I lower my hood and drop down onto the stool opposite Milja. When my own mother died, I cursed the goddess of illness for taking her from us. The fevers burned through her for three days and nights before she faded away. I was so mad and so alone. With each year that passes, I remember less of her face, her smile, her warm embrace. Memories of Milja have slowly begun to replace memories of my mother—green eyes instead of blue, pointed chin instead of round. And Milja has taken it all in stride, loving me as a mother loves a daughter.
“Milja, I’m so sorry. I’m so—I did everything I could to protect her—” My words stop short. I can’t give excuses, not to Milja. “I shouldn’t have fought,” I say instead, eyes brimming with tears. “I should have let it take me. I think it wanted me at first. Oh gods, it’s my fault she’s gone—” The rest of my apology dies in a weak, broken sob.
Milja reaches across the table, wrapping her hands around my wrist. They are warm from cradling her cup of tea. “I don’t blame you, Siiri. I don’t blame anyone. The gods demand sacrifices of us. If Aina was required, there is no stopping the gods from taking what is owed.”
“You believe the gods took her?”
She offers me a weak smile. “I know your mummi raised you right. My mother taught me the stories and songs too, just as her mother taught her, on and on back to the time the songs were first sung. The gods are here, Siiri,” she says, glancing around the room. “They watch us. They intercede in our prayers. And sometimes they teach us lessons.”
“Milja, I believe Kalma is the one who took Aina,” I say. “Mummi and I think Aina is in Tuonela. All the girls.”
Slowly, Milja nods. “Yes, it was surely Kalma who came last night. For what purpose, I don’t know.” She slips her hand out of mine, dropping it to her lap. “I only know I shall never see my Aina again.”
“My father doesn’t want me to tell people what happened,” I go on. “I think he’s afraid of what they’ll do if they know Kalma was here.”
“Jari is right to be afraid,” she replies. “For so long now, we’ve been told all our gods are dead. We opened the door to this misery with our lack of faith. Now the gods punish us for it.”
“Does Taavi believe?”
She blinks back fresh tears, wrapping her slender hands once more around her steaming cup. “He doesn’t know what to think. Aina was his pride and joy. Parents aren’t supposed to have favorites—and our boys are such sweet little lads.” She gives me another weak smile. “But my Aina... she was something special, wasn’t she?”
I lean across the table, gripping her wrist. “Milja, I’m going to save her.”
Milja blinks, looking up. “What?”
“Don’t you see? The Christians are wrong, and Kalma just gave us the proof. Our gods aren’t dead, Milja. If Kalma was here last night, then they’reallhere—Ukko in the sky pounding out lightning with his hammer, Ilmarinen at his forge, Tuoni on his throne of skulls. If one is real, they’reallreal.”
Her green eyes widen. Slowly, she shakes her head. “Siiri...”
“Besides,” I press on, “I think the gods need us as much as we need them.”
“What do you mean?”
“They need us to believe in them,” I reply. “They need us to stop indulging in this damned complacency. And they need us to stop letting foreigners invade our land telling us that we’re as powerless as they believe our gods to be. They arereal, Milja. I saw one last night. She looked in my eyes. She showed me her face.” Holding her gaze, I make my oath. “If Kalma can take Aina away, another god will bring her back.”
“Oh, Siiri,” Milja whispers, a fresh tear slipping down her cheek.
Searching her face, I see the truth. She’s terrified—and broken. She doesn’t dare let herself hope. It breaks my heart to see her so defeated. I must have enough hope to sustain us both. I give her wrist another gentle squeeze. “Do you trust me enough to at least let me try? Please, Milja, hold on to hope for a little while longer. I will bring Aina home.”
“My brave Siiri... they call your brother the bear-child, but it isyouwho shares the spirit of Otso.” She smiles weakly. “I believe you can do anything you set your mind to, whether because you have the strength to achieve it... or because you simply have the will to never give up. You have my blessing, child. Go if you must. And may Ilmatar go with you.”
5
Siiri
Onni leads the waythrough the woods back towards our house. I walk behind him on silent feet, a basket of vegetables from Milja on my hip. The building to our left is a small structure with a thatched roof. It used to be a barn, but the family moved north two summers ago. The Christian priests use it now. Onni takes a deer path that brings us closer to the side of the building.
“We should stay away,” I warn.
“This way is faster,” he replies, not slowing down.
I peer through the trees, noting the new addition on the roof. A large wooden cross casts its shadow over the clearing. An ominous feeling of wrongness tickles the back of my neck. “Onni, please, let’s go around.”
Onni stops, and I nearly walk right into him. He puts out a hand, catching me by the shoulder. I tense, my gaze locking on Brother Abbiørn at the far end of the clearing, standing on an oaken stump. A dozen villagers stand between us, listening to him speak.
