Page 169 of North Is the Night
“I am Ainatar, Queen of Tuonela,” I proclaim into the darkness. “I am the goddess of righteous death, and I call on you now. All of you dead who have suffered at the Witch Queen’s wretched hands, rise! Wake from your sleep, and come to the aid of your goddess.” I feel the fires of my own righteous indignation burning in my throat as I call up all the magic I can from this sacred earth, spinning it into power. “Rise, and protect your queen! Rise, and take your just revenge!”
With a snarl, Tuonetar’s gaze darts to the dark wood.
Siiri takes her chance and steps out of the water to my side. “Aina, what are you doing?”
“Claiming my power,” I reply.
Loviatar stands at my other side, her eyes glowing white as she tips her head back with a smile. “They come.”
Tuonetar laughs, her wand dangling in her mangled hand. “It would seem you are still powerless! It was a fine speech, but you cannot claim what you have not been gifted by the All-Mother—”
“They come,” Loviatar says again, louder this time.
Through the trees come the sounds of marching feet, clanging steel, and pounding drums.
“I took nothing that Tuonela did not freely offer me,” I call to the Witch Queen. “You have upset the balance for long enough. Now, face your consequences.”
As we watch, a horde of the dead bursts from the woods at a run. Some hold weapons—swords and axes—but many are women. The women of the wood. All those girls she tortured and killed to prove to Tuoni that he would never have his way.
They are mine now. I will give them a goddess worthy of their worship. There are reasons to fight and reasons to die. There is power in making that choice, in life and even after death. “Protect your goddess,” I call to the dead. “Capture the Witch Queen. Rip that wretched wand from her hand!”
Tuonetar slashes with her wand, sending out more jets of light. But just as before, her magic bounces off my dead, reflected by my shield. “How are you doing this?” she screams. “You are mortal!”
I stand at the river’s edge, solemn as the grave, as the dead surround her. She still tries to fight them, even though the magic from her wand cannot touch them. She bellows as they force her down into the snow, ripping the wand from her hand.
“Aina, you must go now,” Loviatar says at my side, her hand on my shoulder.
But I can’t go. Not yet. I wipe the tears from my eyes as Lilja, Salla, and Inari approach. Lilja has the Witch Queen’s wand in her hand. She holds it out to me. I take it with shaking hands, and the dead girls back away.
“Thank you,” I whisper to them.
They bow their heads in deference.
Looking down at the wand, I think of all the horrible things it’s done—the lies it sustained, the lives it destroyed. Gripping it with both hands, I snap it in two. A few faint sparks hiss from the tip, but the heat in the wood fades. I drop the pieces onto the pebbles at my feet, letting the lapping water pull them into the river’s black depths.
“Aina, it’s time,” Loviatar urges again. “The way out is now clear. You must go.”
“I can’t stay here,” Siiri adds. “Väinämöinen needs me.”
I turn away from where my horde of righteous dead bind the shrieking Witch Queen in chains. “Come,” I say, taking Siiri’s hand. I hold out my other hand to Loivatar, but she doesn’t take it. My heart sinks. “Loviatar, come with us.”
“Do not stop,” she replies, her tone solemn. “Do not look back.”
Tears well in my eyes. “Please,” I whisper. “Don’t do this. Come.”
She stands calm and resolute. “Tuoni needs me here more than my daughter needs me there. Go, Aina. Now.”
“No.” I shake my head, even as I let Siiri pull me deeper into the river.
“Go, Aina,” Loviatar calls again.
“Come on,” Siiri urges, tugging at my hand.
“Come find us,” I call, gasping as the icy water hits my hips. “You are free, Loviatar! As Queen of Tuonela, I grant you safe passage.”
She nods, raising a hand in farewell.
Teeth chattering, I swim after Siiri, taking long strokes with my arms. My thick woolen dress weighs me down as I kick my legs, swimming for the island. When my knee hits a rock, I wince and stumble to my feet. Next to me, Siiri wades out too, reaching for my hand. Her fingers are as cold as mine as we step onto the island. I glance over my shoulder to see the dead crowding up to Loviatar, presenting her with the Witch Queen bound in chains.
