Page 178 of North Is the Night
Siiri turns around, following the direction I point. One hand is already at the scabbard on her hip, ready to draw her sword. She places an arm before me, her eyes glowing as she mutters under her breath.
A figure emerges from the darkness, walking towards us across the snow. She wears robes the color of an aurora. Her skin is milky white, her long black hair flowing unbound down her back. The wind whips at it, pulling tendrils across her face.
With a chuckle, Siiri drops her hand away from her sword.
Stepping around the remains of the pyre, the woman stops before us. She has slender, long-fingered hands that bear no tattoos. Her eyes are bright and clear, almost white. She looks unmistakably like a young Loviatar.
“Oh,” I say on a breath.
“Now you arrive,” Siiri chastises, even as she smiles. “The fighting is over and now you bother to show a little interest?”
The goddess ignores her cheek. “Hello, dear ones.” Her voice dances across the clearing with the grace of a bell.
“Toivotar,” I whisper, taking a step forward.
The goddess of hope inclines her head in greeting.
I feel overcome with relief. My hand comes to my abdomen as tears slip down my cheeks. “Your mother saved us, Toivotar. She freed us from Tuonela.”
“Yes, I see that,” she replies.
“She was so brave. And she loves you so much. She did everything—” I choke back my words, too overcome to speak.
Toivotar simply smiles, glancing between Siiri and me. “I see I am indeed a little late... but you clearly didn’t need too much of my help.” She turns to Siiri. “Hope is a fickle thing, isn’t it? We find it in the oddest of places. You found it in a lost and lonely bear. You got more than you bargained for, didn’t you, Siiri Väinämöinentyttär?”
Siiri glares at the goddess. “I loved him,” she says defensively. “I was as much a daughter to him as you ever were. I set him free. I’ve earned the magic and the name.”
“You did well,” the goddess replies gently. “It was always meant to be yours. ‘Suns will rise and set in Finland, rise and set for generations,’” she intones, speaking the words of Väinämöinen’s last song. “‘Until the north learns my teachings... hungry for the true religion.’ You fulfilled his last prophecy, Siiri. You are now the light that was promised. You must return to Kalevala.”
“I know,” says Siiri.
“The work ahead will be tireless,” the goddess warns. “And I fear rather thankless.”
“I know that too,” Siiri replies solemnly.
“But the fate of Finland hangs in the balance,” Toivotar goes on. “Our blessed Finland is under attack. Religious zealots seek to claim this land and her people. The tide will be unyielding. The snow will run red with our blood. There will be days when you feel certain that the true religion is lost, sunk to the depths of the blackest sea. Do not give up, Siiri Väinämöinentyttär. You are the light. You are the hope.”
Siiri swallows, giving the goddess a curt nod.
Then Toivotar turns her smiling face to me. She glances up at my crown. “And you, Ainatar, Queen of Tuonela? What hope did you cling to in the dark months of your capture?”
Closing my eyes, I reach out for the invisible threads binding me to Tuoni. They’re weaker now, but still there. He keeps the door wide open. I can’t feel his thoughts and emotions as clearly as I could in Tuonela, but I catch glimmers of him, like the reflection of moonlight as water ripples in a dark pool. I open my eyes, looking to the goddess. “That I was strong enough to survive,” I whisper. “That Tuoni would love me enough to let me go.”
Toivotar smiles. “He loves you, aunt. Never doubt it. He always knew his happiness would come at a price. He knew he couldn’t keep you. His happiness would be fleeting, like a glimpse of the sun on a cloudy day, gone too soon. Your child belongs in the land of the living... as does his mother.”
I nod, sharing a look with Siiri.
Toivotar slips her hand inside her robes and steps forward. “On the night I left, he gave me something. He said that when the time came, I should give it to his son.”
The goddess places something on my palms. I look down, tears welling, at a small wooden carving of a raven.
“A sielulintu,” the goddess says. “So your son always knows the way back to his father.”
I close my fingers around it.
“I know what we must do,” Siiri says. “And I know what it will take to do it, but we need your help once more. Please, Toivotar. We are tired and wounded. We have nothing—no food, no supplies. And this winter will only deepen before it eases. Grant us your favor once more, goddess.”
“I hear your plea, and I grant you favor.” She waves a hand over the snow.
