Page 172 of North Is the Night
I drop my hand away.
Aina whimpers, her shoulders sagging as she nods. Slowly, she gets to her feet.
“Aina...”
“We will do him that one courtesy,” she says, her eyes clear. “Do not touch me while he can see us.”
I peer back across the water, and I know he’s looking at me, taking me in. “He knows who I am?”
She nods. “He knows everything about you, Siiri... about us.”
Reaching for the top of my axe, I hold his piercing gaze. “Aina, get behind me.”
“No.” She steps forward, placing herself between me and the death god. “You must stand behind me now.”
“Aina—”
“I bound him to me by sacred oath. He cannot harm you.” I can hear her heart breaking in her voice. For as much as she loves me and wants to return home, she will grieve him until she dies. That’s who Aina is. She is constancy itself. Loyalty. Faith. As she gazes across the water at her deathly husband, he waves his hand.
She gasps. There, on her soaking wet head, is perched a crown. With trembling hands, she reaches up, her fingers brushing its sides. The crown is a simple thing of wood, soldered with thin lines of gold. “I came to Tuonela as Aina, a mortal girl from Lake Päijänne,” she murmurs. “I leave as its queen.”
“He’s letting us go?”
She nods. “Back away slowly. Take me to the veil, only do not touch me. He can’t bear it.” As she moves back, she places a hand over her stomach, her soft gaze locked on the death god.
I walk backwards too, working my way up the short slope of the river’s edge. The veil awaits, mere steps away. It hums with magic. It wants me to touch it. My tattoos sting and burn, calling me back. I’m running out of time. Väinämöinen needs me.
“When I say,reach back with your hand,” I whisper. “I’ll pull you into the veil.”
She gives a curt nod, not turning to look at me.
“Waking can be disorienting,” I warn her. “But I already know my body is in grave danger. You may have to be ready to run, ready to hide, ready to fight. Do you still want to come home with me?”
“You are my home,” she replies, her tone steadfast. “I go where you go.”
I feel the hum of the veil. It all but reaches out for me with eager fingers. I focus all my energy on the runes of my left hand—the bear-riding girl, the lake, the trees. I focus on the shaman holding a drum. Väinämöinen. Home.
“Aina, give me your hand.”
The last sound I hear in Tuonela is the death god’s haunting wail of grief as Aina reaches for me. I take her hand and step back, pulling us both into the eternal darkness of the veil.
54
Siiri
“Come on, girl. Wakeup,” Väinämöinen shouts. “Gods, why did I ever let you talk me into this?”
I rouse, groaning as I feel the familiar weight of the drum on my chest. My nostrils fill with the smell of pungent smoke, making me cough. My eyes shoot open, and I bolt upright.
“Finally,” the shaman shouts with relief. “What took you so long? I was about to have to drag your body out of here, girl or no girl. We’ve only got moments to spare.”
“What’s happening? Where’s Aina?”
The shaman is already kneeling at her side, his rune-marked hands cupping her face. Her gives her cheeks a light tap. “Come on there, girl. Cross over. Wake up now.” He’s gentle, but insistent.
In moments, Aina stirs.
Väinämöinen chuckles. “So, you’re what all the fuss has been about, eh? Well, you’re pretty enough, I suppose. Right now, you look like a drowned rabbit. Up you go, lovely.”
