Page 153 of North Is the Night
Two figures emerge from the woodland edge. As soon as the light of the palace shines on the smaller figure, my heart stops. I would know the shape of her—thefeelof her—anywhere.
Aina.
My Aina walks arm in arm with the god of death. I step around the tree, needing to see her more clearly. I feel dizzy, exhilarated. Aina is alive. I could call out to her, and she would turn. She would hear me.
Pulling my gaze from her, I take in the death god. He looks just as Väinämöinen described him—tall and broad and dark of hair. Neither of them wears a hood around their faces. If I get close enough, will I see that jagged scar on his face? He received it from Väinämöinen’s hand during the battle they staged to distract the Witch Queen while Loviatar spirited her daughter away from her underhill prison. The gods may have staged the battle, but it had to look real. Väinämöinen landed a swing of his mighty sword, costing the death god the use of his eye. Tuoni gave as good as he got, nearly severing the shaman’s head from his neck. Väinämöinen showed me his scar, hidden under his long white beard.
I growl low in my throat, watching as Tuoni places an arm around Aina, leading her towards that door in the eastern wall. He’s touching my Aina, and I could kill him for it. I hope that damned eye pains him every day.
The pair pause as Aina pulls on the death god’s hand. Her face is hidden from me by his larger form. Soon enough, the death god walks away, leaving her in the snow. A quarrel? A lover’s quarrel?
I smile.
Aina stands alone, her features cast in shadows. With both hands, she pulls up her hood, hiding her face. But then she turns, her gaze sweeping the edge of the woods where I stand. I can’t see her face inside her hood, but I swear by all the gods she’s looking right at me. A recognition of being seen by her burrows deep in my chest.
My Aina is alive and looking at me.
In a blink she turns away, following the death god. He leads her along the base of the wall. Reaching behind himself, he takes Aina by the hand, pulling her in close to his side.
I drop my own hand to the quiver at my hip, my fingers itching to draw an arrow. I brush them along the fletching instead. I could make the shot at this distance easily. An arrow right through his head. I’ve made longer shots in worse conditions. I’d have another arrow nocked by the time his body hit the ground. Then Aina and I could run.
I mentally count the arrows in my quiver, imagining all the places I might bury them in his flesh before he falls. I will burn him. I will tear this island down around his head—
No, comes a soft voice, Väinämöinen’s voice. I recall our parting words:get your girl and get back here.
No heroics. No mistakes. This is for Aina. Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve survived, has been to reach this moment. Long nights alone in the dark. Battles with witches and men. All the blood spilled, the pain endured.
I cannot fail her now.
And what has Aina suffered in the waiting? What has she been forced to do? What has she sacrificed to stay alive?
Tuoni leads Aina up to the thick wooden door. It swings open, and he stands back, making room for her to pass through first. Her eyes are averted as she steps past. He takes her gently by the wrist, pulling her to a stop. She turns, looking up at him. Gods, if only I could hear what he’s saying to her! There must be some magic for that, some secret spell. What I wouldn’t give to have the ears of an owl at this moment. But no, I have only the soul of a woodpecker.
The pair exchange a few more soft words. Then, to my horror, Tuoni raises Aina’s hand. Turning it over, he kisses her wrist and lets her go. She turns and disappears through the open door. The death god doesn’t follow. Instead, he continues to walk along the wall in the direction of the road that leads down to the ferrywoman’s dock.
I stand there, using the tree as my new legs, trying to remember how to breathe. Aina and the death god have shared intimacies. He kissed her with the casualness of a lover. Which means I’m too late. He’s worked his claws into her.
Forgive her everything,comes Väinämöinen’s whispered warning.
I close my eyes, taking a few deep breaths. This is what he meant. Aina’s alive, and that’s enough for me. She wants to be saved. She wants to come home with me.
And my home is with her.
Opening my eyes, I take in the scene, my body tensing like a fox on the hunt. Tuoni is about to turn the corner. I can follow Aina into the courtyard garden. I tuck the arrow into the quiver at my hip and sling my bow across my chest. I’m about to leap from the trees when a sound has me stumbling back.
Crunch, crunch, clank, crunch.
Marching feet shuffle through the snow. Metal creaks against leather and swords clank against shields as four dead guards round the corner beyond where Tuoni just disappeared. In moments, they’ll pass right in front of the door I need.
No more waiting. The woodpecker doesn’t think. It’s time to do.
I unsling my bow, after all, and pluck another arrow from my quiver. Waiting a few more seconds, I let the guards pass the door. Now I have the element of surprise. Taking off at a sprint, I close the distance to the wall. Nothing but a fierce blow to the head will take down the dead. Sliding to a stop, bow raised, I loose my first arrow. As I feel the twang of the bow vibrate down my fingers, I’m already reaching for the next arrow.
Thunk.
The first arrow lands in the back of a guard’s head. With a grunt, he drops to his knees in the snow, then falls forward on his face. He doesn’t hit the ground before I release the second arrow.
Twang.
