Page 136 of North Is the Night
Väinämöinen shrugs. “Winning back his realm, putting Tuonetar back in her place, restoring Tuonela to the glory of the time of the first songs.”
The heavy weight of this truth sinks like a rock in my chest. “All this death and violence over these long years, it’s the Witch Queen’s doing? And what of the girl’s mother? Who is she?”
The shaman sighs, taking his pipe from his vest pocket. “Her mother is the only reason we escaped.”
I narrow my eyes. “Her own mother wanted her gone?”
“She wanted herfree,” he corrects. “She’d been looking for the girl in secret, planning for them to escape Tuonela together. In the end, we had to abandon our plans. I escaped with her daughter alone.”
“It doesn’t make sense. What death witch would care so much about the fate of their spawn? I didn’t think they had mothering instincts.”
“Careful, Siiri,” he warns, lighting his pipe. “In my experience, it is the monstrous mothers who love hardest... and grieve longest.”
“Oh gods...” My mind has latched on to something, like fingers scrabbling in the dark. “Loviatar,” I whisper. “She’s her mother, isn’t she?”
He purses his lips around his pipe, smoke spiraling into the air. “And how do you know?”
“Because Loviatar had a daughter. More than that, the name of her child has been concealed from all the stories and songs. I can only imagine that was your doing too? You helped the witch hide her daughter’s identity. If she were named, it might be easier for Tuonetar to track her down and capture her again... Am I right?”
“You know you are,” he replies. “Surely you don’t need me to pat you on the head.”
“So, what’s her name?” I say, leaning forward.
He scoffs, blowing out a cloud of smoke. “If she did not see fit to tell you herself, I surely won’t.”
I curse under my breath. “Stubborn old fool. I thought shamans don’t keep secrets?”
“She will tell you when she’s ready,” he replies.
“So, what happens now? You see what the Swedes are planning. They want to stamp out all the old ways. You say they mean to crush my village to dust.”
He puffs on his pipe, blowing that sweet-smelling smoke towards the fire. “They will crush any and all dissent, yes. Turning many gods into one can only be done through violence, Siiri. And their politics will come with their religion. New rules for a new god. ’Twas ever thus.”
“I will not leave my family to face that threat alone.”
He nods again. “You see now how the larger story weaves itself around us all.”
“What story?”
He holds my gaze. “You thought you were just a girl in search of her lost friend, but the threads around you are much more complex. I’ve known that from almost the moment we met in the woods all those weeks ago.”
“What did you know?”
“You’ve been chosen by the gods,” he replies. “You are fated for greatness, Siiri Jarintyttär.”
My heart stops. “Where is that story written?”
His mustache twitches with half a smile. “You are writing it now, fool girl.”
“And how can you be sure this is my fate?”
“I’m not,” he replies with another shrug, sucking on the end of his pipe. “But, like you, I have hope. Now, fetch me that rolled hide there, and light a few tallow candles for the table. These old eyes need more light.”
I follow his instructions. “Why do you need more light?”
He takes the hide from me and unrolls it, tucking his feet under the low table. “I’m going to sketch a map of Tuonela. Now, getting in is the easy part. Getting out again is harder. It’s the mess in the middle that may prove to be nigh impossible.”
“What mess?”
