Page 183 of North Is the Night
I search frantically through Väinämöinen’s memories. Tuoni and the Witch Queen are both tethered to Tuonela with ancient magic. They cannot leave, I’m sure of it. In a way, Tuoni is death, as much as he is its lord and master. I set aside my bow and quiver, picking up my sword instead. As I cross towards the door, the raven caws again.
“Don’t hurt him,” Aina pleads. “You heard Toivotar. He loves me. He just wants to see the child.”
I wrench open the door, sword at the ready. Väinämöinen’s magic hums under my skin. The words for a repelling spell are already on my tongue. I taste them, bitter like a sour apple. I peer out into the front yard, and my stomach squeezes tight. “You.”
“Who is it?” Aina calls from behind me.
I storm out of the house into the yard.
Kalma stands in the clearing, a massive raven perched on her arm. The death witch looks as beastly as ever, eyes like pits of darkness. She wears fresh blood smeared down her neck with artless fingers. I can smell her from here.
Pointing my sword at the witch, I let my magic fill me, spilling from my mouth as I make my oath. “You should know, witch... I am no longer the child you once frightened on the beach. My name is Siiri Väinämöinentyttär. His magic is mine. Be a witness to these words: Aina and the baby live undermyprotection now.”
I gesture with my sword to the raven on her shoulder. “Tuoni, if you ever send Kalma to me again, I’ll cut off her hands with my father’s blade. I’ll keep her rotten itse locked in a room, as you kept Aina locked away, and I’ll take little pieces from her. Your daughters are good at weaving, so I’m told. Let it be their project to sew the thousand little pieces of her soul back together.”
Kalma scowls, saying nothing, but I watch with satisfaction as she shifts her stance, her free hand disappearing inside the folds of her robes.
“Siiri,” comes Aina’s soft voice behind me. She stands in the doorway in a simple wool dress dyed oak brown. Her long hair is plaited, draped over her shoulder. The raven caws at the sight of her, ruffling his feathers. She smiles at him. “Let him come.” She holds out her arm. “He wants to see his son.”
The raven swoops in a wide arc past me, fluttering onto Aina’s arm. She strokes his feathered back as he clicks his beak. She gives Kalma a long look, still petting the raven. “Come on, then,” she calls out to the witch.
Kalma dares to take a step forward, but I point at her with my sword. “Stay right there. You’re not coming in this house.”
Aina places her hand on my arm. “I invited her, Siiri. Lower your sword—and your hackles. I owe this witch a life debt twice over. She won’t harm us. She’s curious,” she adds, glancing over at the witch. “She wants to see the baby, too, don’t you?”
I scoff. “Aina, have you forgotten what this witch did?”
“Of course I haven’t. It happened to me, remember? If I can forgive her, so can you. And if her stench makes you uncomfortable, you can wait out here with the chickens.” She steps back into the house, taking the god of death with her.
Slowly, I step aside. “After you, witch... apparently,” I add under my breath.
The death goddess walks on bare feet over the grass, her torn and soiled robes dragging over the ground. She steps past me, ducking to fit her headdress under the doorframe.
I’m the last inside, shutting the door behind me.
Aina is already on the bed in the corner. She picks up the baby, whispering softly to the raven. “I’m not sorry it turned out this way,” she tells him. “And please don’t blame Loviatar. She did what she thought was right to protect me and our child... our son, Tuoni.” She holds up the baby, wrapped carefully in a blanket. “He’s a happy little thing,” she says with a laugh. “He was born into Siiri’s arms. He was so angry at first. But as soon as we wrapped him up warm, he stopped crying, and he’s been content ever since.”
Aina strokes his cheek. “Toivotar says he’ll be beautiful. Black of hair, like you. And tall. She gave me the sielulintu you had made for him,” she adds, reaching over to where it sits by the baby’s cradle. She holds it in her palm, showing it to the raven. “When he’s strong enough, Siiri will bring him to you. He will know his father. I will never keep him from you, Tuoni.”
The raven caws softly. Like the death god, he has one black eye, one cloudy white. Even in his luonto form, he bears the scars Väinämöinen gave him. I smile in satisfaction. I no longer wear his scars on this body.
From the corner, Kalma watches us.
“You can come closer,” Aina says. “I want him to know his sisters.”
Kalma casts a look in my direction before she steps away from the hearth, her dark eyes now locked on the child. I watch each step she takes with my hand on the hilt of my knife.
“I hope you’ll be a good sister to him,” Aina tells the witch. “I want him to know and love you all, as a brother should. Does he look like his father?”
In answer, Kalma reaches into the folds of her robe and pulls out a piece of parchment. Moving slowly, she extends her hand out towards Aina.
Aina sets the baby down on the bed by the raven and takes the note. With wide eyes, she unfolds it. “I can’t read this,” she admits, glancing from the raven to Kalma. “Is it from Tuoni? Can you read it for me?”
Kalma scowls and moves back over to the hearth. Task fulfilled, she’s disinterested in helping any further.
Aina looks down sadly at the letter, stroking the raven’s silky black feathers. “I’m sorry, my lord, but you know I cannot read.”
“I’ll read it,” I say.
