Page 150 of North Is the Night
With a calming breath, I follow them. We all walk to the water’s edge, heading for a dock brightly lit by torches. Väinämöinen prepared me for this too. All the dead must wait and gain passage from the ferrywoman. More dead congregate here. No one hurries. No one pushes. They amble forward like sheep, completely uncaring that they’re dead.
Splish. Splish. Splish.
From out of the darkness, the high prow of the ferry comes into view. I try to keep my head down and stay to the back of the group, putting a few bodies between myself and the edge of the dock. Tuonen tytti is older than death. Short and stocky, she wears a fur-trimmed cap over her white hair. Her milky white eyes are utterly sightless... another secret Väinämöinen told me. She cannot see a thing. It makes it easier for a shaman like me to slip onto the island.
Getting into Tuonela was never the problem. The trouble will come when we try to leave.
The ferry taps the edge of the dock, and Tuonen tytti opens a narrow door in the side of the boat. I let a few bodies fill the space between us before I climb on. The boat rocks beneath my feet as all the dead shuffle in. When the boat is full, Tuonen tytti shuts the door. More dead wait patiently on the dock, their shoulders slightly swaying.
I suppress a shudder. Is this all I can expect in death? No wonder gods seek to live forever. I grip the boat wall with a tense hand, bracing as it lurches. Tuonen tytti works her pole against the bottom of the river, slowly turning the boat. We launch out into the deeper water.
This is one of the broadest points in the river. I won’t come back here with Aina. Even from the middle of the river, I can hardly make out the opposite shore. A faint yellow glow slowly brightens. I watch and wait as more features begin to take shape. The lights in the foreground must be the dock. There are more lights high up on the hill—the palace. A dense stretch of deep darkness separates the two. My gaze darts left and right, taking in as much as I can.
The boat enters the ring of light cast by the torches on the dock. This is it. After everything I’ve survived, I’ve finally arrived in the land of death.
The boat lurches to a stop. In moments, Tuonen tytti opens the door and all the dead begin to amble out. I follow, watchful for armed guards. The dark, snow-covered forest looms just ahead. I hadn’t even thought to ask Väinämöinen about weather in the underworld. Snow is less than ideal. I’ll leave tracks.
Tracks are a risk I’ll have to take.
The dead in front of me turn left, following the curve of the river. Already I can see the bodies of more dead dotting the wintry landscape ahead. But if I follow this group, they’ll lead me away from the palace, not towards it.
It’s now or never.
Glancing around again, I settle on a group of figures walking down the path from the direction of the palace. There are five in total. They carry simple staffs rather than swords or shields. They appear more like shepherds than guards—fittingly, since the dead move like sheep.
I pull an arrow from the quiver on my back and nock it. Then I do my best to slink away from the group unnoticed, moving towards the birch trees. A hundred knotted eyes watch as I approach. Swallowing my nerves, I keep my fingers pinched tight around my nocked arrow.
The shepherds are getting closer. Can they see me?
Throwing caution to the wind, I break into a sprint, letting my strong legs carry me the remaining distance over the snow into the trees. I run as silently as a shadow, eyes and ears open for any sign of movement. I’m always in my element on a hunt. Nothing makes me feel more like myself, more alive.
And this will be the hunt of my life.
The fox is in your forest, mighty Tuoni. And I’ve come to reclaim what’s mine.
45
Aina
I wake alone inmy wide bed, sheets twisted around my legs. I slept fitfully, my nightmares full of chasing and running. I dreamt of Surma and Kalma in the woods. I dreamt of Tuoni too. He called my name, looking for me as I cried out. But he couldn’t hear me, couldn’t see me. One of the witches held me down, her hand to my mouth.
I shake off the nightmares and sit up, jerking aside the curtain. Kukka is in the room, dutifully adding logs to my fire. The comforting scent of porridge fills my senses. Without being asked, Kukka brings me a cup of tea.
“Thank you,” I murmur, accepting the cup. I take a sip, enjoying the notes of spicy nettle and berry leaf sweetened with honey. With each sip, my mind clears. I take one last swallow, letting the warmth of the cup seep into my hands before setting it aside.
The time for wallowing is over. If I’m to plan my escape, I can’t stay trapped in this room with only Kukka for company. I’ll have to find a way to sneak to the river and cross it. Only Loviatar knows of the tunnel that leads out under the weaving room. If I can get to it unseen, perhaps I can get to the river. I’ll take my chances and swim. Siiri has always been the better swimmer, but I think I’ll manage, knowing my life depends on it.
And I have fate on my side. In Tuoni’s vision, a woman is standing in the sun, her child in her arms. I have to believe that Tuoni is right; that I’m the mother in the vision and I’m meant to return to the land of the living, the land of sun.
First, I have to get out of this room. The only way I’ll be free is if Tuoni lets me out. He has to trust me enough to let me go walking around the palace on my own. He has to let his guard down. I have to give him a reason to trust me again.
I have to trick him.
The thought sickens me. Aina wouldn’t even think of it. She’s far too principled. But Ainatar now has more to live for... more to die for. Perhaps the death gods must be forgiven for playing their games with mortals. More than our fleeting lives are at stake when prophecies are invoked.
I close my eyes, brushing an invisible finger along the threads of our bond. It’s almost impossible to comprehend the degree to which Tuoni has already woven himself into me. First as the raven, now as the man. Even when he’s not physically in my presence, I feel him, as he surely must feel me.
I glance around my tower room, now as much a prison as my first room was. The box holding my crown rests on the mantel over the crackling fire. The other box containing the jewels from Loviatar waits on my dressing table. Kukka has laid out a new dress for me. This one is far more sensible than the coronation dress, a simple thing of soft wool dyed moss green. She helps me dress and braids my hair.
