Page 163 of North Is the Night
For one blessed moment, I think the goddess is actually considering my words, but then she smiles. My blood runs cold. “Did you really think that little act would work? Preying on my vanity? Appealing to my wretched selfishness?” She laughs. “You’re a blundering fool. Nothing will ever be the same. You made sure of that. You are married to my father, and now you carry his child. I can wish you a fiery death, but the truth is that I’m curious enough to want to see what happens next.”
“Oh gods.” I search her wretched face. “Youwanteverything to fall apart. You want to watch Tuonela burn and dance in the ashes.”
She shrugs. “I’m the goddess of evil.”
“If you want to watch it all burn, then stand aside,” I reply. “You’re blocking my way.”
Her smile falls. “Take one step towards that hole, and I’ll cut off both your feet.”
As soon as the words leave the witch’s mouth, Siiri steps between the looms and throws her axe. It slices into the witch’s shoulder and clatters to the floor. Vammatar lets out a scream. She presses a hand to the long cut, already staining her robe with deep red blood.
“You,” she hisses, her hand dropping to her side as Siiri strides forward, lowering her hood. “You’re the shaman?”
“And you’re a dead witch,” Siiri taunts. “That’s the last time you threaten Aina and live.”
Vammatar’s eyes light with excitement. Sharp knives slip from her sleeves. She twirls them with confident hands, squaring off against Siiri. “Oh, I shall dearly love skinning you alive. There is nothing more delicious than the taste of roasted shaman flesh.”
Siiri is unfazed, tugging her knife from her belt. “Kill me if you can, witch. All-Mother knows I’ll be aiming for your cold, bloodless heart.”
The witch looks delighted, almost eager for this fight. The women lunge for each other and I shriek, my shoulder hitting the frame of a loom. Siiri’s hood flutters back, exposing her messy blonde hair. She grips her axe with a tattooed hand, swinging wide. The goddess ducks, swiping with her sharp blade.
Siiri is too slow. The blade cuts into her upper arm, making her wince.
“Restrain this meddling shaman,” Vammatar orders. “Tuoni will have questions for it.”
The guards march forward. Siiri can’t possibly fight them in this confined space. I look around, desperate for a way to help. I pick up the only thing I can find: a long, thin pair of knitting needles.
Slipping behind the closest loom, I let a guard pass. Behind me, Siiri and the witch trade blows, slamming into the looms. I duck into the aisle and leap onto the guard’s back. He roars, reaching for me with a large hand. With one arm around his neck, I bring my other hand around, jabbing my knitting needle into his cloudy eye. He screams and drops to his knees.
I clamber off him before he sinks to the floor, sending a stool rattling away. Siiri is too focused to see it as she parries the witch’s vicious attack. The stool hits her ankle, and she trips.
“Siiri, no!” Her knife clatters out of her hand. She grunts, rolling to her side as the witch lunges. Before Siiri can dart away, Vammatar grabs the hem of Siiri’s cloak. Siiri gasps, jerking away with her neck to break the silver clasp—but it holds fast. With a victorious grin, Vammatar wraps her hand tighter into the cloak, reeling Siiri closer. The other guard advances to her front, his sword drawn.
“Siiri,” I cry again.
They have her boxed in. I’m certain they’ll kill her. Rage erupts from me as I grab another stool. Throwing it with all my might, it hits the guard in the side of the head. It’s all the distraction Siiri needs to bend backward and free her neck from the cloak. She rolls, snatching up one of the witch’s discarded knives. Armed once again with knife and axe, she strikes at the advancing witch.
“I can’t wait to see how my father will torture you,” Vammatar taunts me. “There is nothing he likes more than breaking traitors’ bones.”
The guard lurches back to his feet, sword raised in Siiri’s direction. She’s too busy blocking the witch’s relentless attacks to notice. She ducks and weaves, using the looms as shields. This guard is clever. He passes left, ready to meet her around the other side as she dances with the witch.
I cry out, launching myself into the melee. With no other thought but to spare her the blow, I throw myself between Siiri and the guard.
“Do not touch the queen,” Vammatar commands.
“Aina, no!” Siiri shrieks.
Too late. The guard’s arm is already swinging before Vammatar can give her command. His fist collides with the side of my head, and the blow sends me tumbling to the floor. I didn’t even realize how close I was to the trap door. With a shriek, I drop right through. I tumble down the stairs and land in a heap on the tunnel floor.
“Aina,” Siiri screams from above.
I whimper, sucking in sharp breaths, my shaking hand going to my belly as I roll to my side. “You’re safe,” I whisper to myself and the baby. “We’re all right.”
“Aina!” Siiri calls again.
I peer dizzily up the stairs and press lightly on the spot just above my temple, wincing at the sharp pain. I look at my hand.
Blood.
