Page 149 of North Is the Night
“Yes, you bound yourself to me, blood and soul. You let me place the driftwood crown on your head as you claimed your throne. You gave me your body freely. You are my lover, my wife, and my queen. You are my light. From you will come my son—”
“I am a mortal, and every witch in this realm now has reason to see me dead,” I shout. “If I am already pregnant with your son, and he shall claim dominion over death, then we are both at risk. No death god seeks to share power. They will hunt me all my days until this child is born. Then they will hunthim. We aren’t safe here, Tuoni. You can’t protect us—”
“Do not doubt my power!” he bellows, making every flame in the room roar to twice its height. Heat overwhelms me, burning my cheeks and singeing my dress.
I stand my ground, recalling the words I spoke to Loviatar in the sauna. “And do not doubt mine. You know nothing of a mother’s fierce love. If I carry your child, I defy even the All-Mother herself to stop me from keeping him safe. Stand in my way, and you will become my foe, too, husband.”
He leans away, looking down on me as if I were a stranger. “And what will you do if I keep you here?”
I hold his gaze, chin held high. Slipping the knife from my sleeve, I hold it to my throat, arching my neck back. “I would do anything to keep from bringing a child into this chaos. Anything at all.”
He sighs. I can almost feel his heart breaking through our bond. He raises a hand and snaps his fingers. I cry out as the weight of the knife in my hand disappears in a wisp of smoke. It was that easy for him to disarm me.
“If you dare to make threats on your life, then you must be watched at every moment, wife. I cannot risk losing you or my child. I’ve sacrificed too much already to find you both. I will keep you safe... even from yourself.” He turns for the door, and I feel my hope draining away.
“You were honorable once, my lord,” I call after him. “You saw the light and goodness in Loviatar’s girl, and you let her go.”
He turns back to me, his hand still on the latch. “And I have regretted it every day since. Ask Loviatar, and she will tell you the same.” He turns away to face the door. “My daughters will this night be bound in iron and cast into the bog. Tuonetar is locked in her tower. I ask that you make no attempt to leave this room. I will not come to you again until you ask for me.”
The door shuts, and I’m left alone. I sink to the floor, unable to hold back my sobs.
I am nothing to the gods. A mere mortal they use in their tricks and games. Expendable. Replaceable. Forgettable. The power I thought I’d taken is an illusion. I am on my own. I am alone.
When all my tears are shed, I fall back into my habit born from weeks of captivity. Like a caged animal, I pace from wall to door. I need a plan. I will be the mother of a death god, and many of the gods are aligned against me—against us. Any son of Tuoni will need a fierce mother if he is to survive. Aina and Ainatar must become one. These witches will come to know just how fearsome I can be. I dare them to come for us. I will be the one tearing out hearts with my teeth.
By the time my fire burns down to embers, I am resolved. I must leave Tuonela, marriage oaths be damned. Before the witches can break more of my bones. Before Tuoni breaks my heart and soul. I’m going back to the land of the living.
And my son is coming with me.
Part Four
Suns may rise and set in Finland,
Rise and set for generations,
When the North will learn my teachings,
Will recall my wisdom-sayings,
Hungry for the true religion.
—Rune 50.The Kalevala
44
Siiri
I come to consciousnessin utter darkness. Heart racing, I lift a tattooed hand, brushing my fingers through the black. It hangs in the air like an unnatural, shadowy curtain, stretching as high as my mortal eyes can see. This is the veil, the barrier between life and death.
I drop my hand and smile, taking a few confident steps forward until I pass through it.
I am in Tuonela.
The smell greets me first: brine and moldy decay. It must be the river. I take a few more steps away from the edge of the veil, and my vision clears. A ribbon of glossy black water stretches before me.
Patting my chest and arms, I take stock of my itse. Weapons hang comfortably on my body—at my hips, down my boots, even between my shoulder blades. The dead man’s smelly coat stayed with my body in life, acting as a guide only. Now I’m wearing an elk-skin coat with a fox-fur-trimmed hood. I reach inside my coat pocket and feel for my map. The small wooden box is in a leather satchel at my hip.
There’s a whisper of a sound behind me. I turn and jump back as two figures emerge from the veil. My hand goes to my hip, ready to draw my short-handled axe. An elderly man with a shuffling gait walks right past me, followed by a young trapper in head-to-toe furs. I blink in surprise: the trapper has an axe sticking out of his back. They’re newly dead. They walk away from me, uninterested in my presence.
