Page 151 of North Is the Night
My clothing feels like armor, and I’ll need it for what comes next. I must protect my heart at all costs. I’m already too vulnerable where Tuoni is concerned. He has the power to break me, to make me stay. He said he’d not come for me until I asked. Closing my eyes, I call to him.
“Tuoni,” I whisper to the room. “I need you.”
I feel a tight ball of tension loosen in my chest, and I know he’s heard me. This connection between us could be my undoing. How do I control it? Will he notice if I try to hide my feelings from him?
In moments, a knock at the door has me turning on my stool. Kukka opens the door to reveal the death god. He’s dressed as the hunter again. His long black hair is loose around his shoulders. He takes me in. “You didn’t sleep.”
“I slept a little,” I reply.
“Your dreams haunt you.”
“My nightmare is not yet over,” I reply. “So long as I’m not safe, I won’t sleep soundly again.”
“My love, youaresafe,” he says, striding across the room. “I dealt with the twins. Kivutar and Kiputyttö cannot harm you. Tuonetar is locked in her tower. What more must be done to assure you that you will come to no harm? Tuonela is not just a realm of nightmares,” he goes on, his tone pleading. “It is a realm of dreams. There is beauty here, possibility too... if you will but open your eyes and see it.”
I take the opening he’s offering. “Show me,” I whisper.
“Show you?”
I nod, holding out my hand. “Show me something beautiful, husband. Show me one of your dreams.”
He smiles. “Get your cloak.”
Snow lies thick on the ground, but I don’t feel cold. Tuoni and I are bundled up in wool and fur, our hoods pulled up against the chill. Our feet crunch through the snow as he leads me away from the palace walls. Behind us, the lights of the palace cast a golden haze over the snow.
“Where do you take me?” I say, my voice soft.
“Not much farther,” he replies, leading us towards a thick stand of fir trees. He pushes his way through, uncaring that he’ll cover himself in snow.
“My lord, what—” I cry out as he pulls me after him. I use his larger frame to block the slapping branches, snow dusting my face. One branch pulls my hood back. “Tuoni—”
“Come, love,” he says on a laugh. “Nearly there.”
I stumble through the last of the firs and gasp, spinning around. We’re no longer in a dense forest on a cold winter night. We’re in a forest clearing, and it seems to be spring. At the far end of the glade, a small waterfall flows into a babbling brook. A path along the water’s edge is lit with lanterns. The mossy clearing is dotted with ferns and wildflowers in every color—lily of the valley, bluebells, pink anemone, violets.
“Where are we?” I whisper. “Why is it so much warmer here?”
“This is the Grove of Eternal Spring,” he replies, smiling down at me. “It was made for my daughters long ago. On cold winter nights like this one, they’d come here and bathe in the pool, picking flowers hour by hour.”
My heart flutters. “You made it? This is your magic?”
“This is the magic of Tuonela,” he corrects. “Even death can be beautiful. It can be a blessing, a relief. It is the twin of life. All that is good and all that is bad; they are reflected in each other. They balance each other.” He takes a step closer, placing a hand on my shoulder. “Thus far, you have seen only the bad. Tuonetar and my daughters made sure of that.”
“Why do they fear this child so much?” I whisper, my hand going unconsciously to my stomach. I look up at him, tears in my eyes. “What harm can he do?”
The death god brushes his knuckles against my cheek. “They fear what they don’t know, my love. You heard Mielikki’s words. Our son will wield power over death. Can you imagine such a thing?”
“But you already control death...”
He shakes his head. “No, we control the dead, and we can influence the act of dying. Tuonetar weaves the threads of chaos, Kiputyttö turns her stones of pain, Kivutar stirs her boiling pot, Loviatar casts forth plagues... and Kalma collects the tortured dead and brings them below.”
I suppress a shiver. “And you, husband? What do you do?”
He sighs, closing his eyes. Then he tips his head back, his body going still. A pained expression crosses his face. He’s trying to hold something back from me. It’s like a curtain waving in the wind blown through an open window; it makes the fire hiss and dance.
It’s pain. The deep, throbbing pain of dying, bone-deep and exhausting.
“Oh gods...” Reaching out, I squeeze his hand. “You hold it back... don’t you? You delay death. You carry it on your shoulders, breathing it in, giving the living more time.”
