Page 20 of North Is the Night
The raven flutters his wings and squawks indignantly... but he stays.
“You’re such a handsome fellow,” I whisper. “My mother taught me the stories about Raven. You were born on a charcoal hill, with eyes like a mussel’s pearl. Your beak is made from a goblin’s sharp-tipped arrow... or some such nonsense. She says you’re a bad omen.”
The raven cocks his head at me. He almost looks affronted.
“I disagree with her, of course,” I add quickly. “I think ravens are lovely, clever birds. And here in this dark place, you’re my only friend.”
That seems to satisfy him, and I smile. His wings are glossy, the iridescent sheen almost glowing in the light of the fire. It is green and purple and blue at once, like the foxfires that light the sky in the far north. He’s beautiful. He makes quick work of my little offering, pecking the morsel of bread to pieces and cawing at me indignantly when it’s gone.
“How do you feel?” Even though he ate more than one bite, it doesn’t seem to be making him ill. “Just me then,” I say with a tired sigh, and then smile at the open expression of hunger on his face. “Greedy thing. Would you like some more?” I get another piece of bread and return to the window, lifting it up to the ledge.
As soon as he finishes his meal, he flaps his wings and disappears into the dark.
“Oh, don’t go,” I cry. “Please, don’t go. Please!”
But the raven doesn’t come back.
My room is freezing with both windows thrown open wide, but I don’t care. I’m waiting to see if Jaako will return. That’s what I’ve named the raven. Like my younger brother, he’s black of hair and seems just a little bit mischievous. By my guess, it’s been two days since he was last here. Two days with no sunrise. No sunset. The bread remains cursed so that each bite I take after the first tastes like mold in my mouth. My stomach aches with hunger, and I’m tired. But I can’t sleep. I don’t dare waste my water to bathe. At least my fire never dies. Just when I think I’ve burned my last log, a new stack appears.
Trapped in this room, I’ve done everything I know to escape. I tried picking the lock, removing the door’s hinges. I even tried climbing out the other window. I abandoned that plan after I fell and nearly broke my leg. Desperate, I took to knocking. Then I pounded on the door, rattling it in the frame. I’ve screamed out my windows until I thought my throat would bleed. I’ve spent hours listening for movement beyond the door.
Nothing.
I see nothing. I hear nothing. Not even the nighttime crickets in the grass or frogs at the water’s edge. No howling of wolves in the distant hills. No laughter from a neighboring homestead.
I’m alone.
It’s the strangest feeling. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so utterly alone.
“I used to pray for solitude,” I say to no one at all. “Just a moment of peace without the prying eyes of Siiri or my family.” I let out a little laugh, feeling a pang of guilt at the admission. “Now, I’m praying for the attention of a raven.” My fingers pause. “Gods, I must be going mad.”
I laugh again, unable to help myself. Before long, tears are in my eyes and I’m short of breath. It’s in that moment, doubled over on the bed, that I hear it—the gentle rustle of wings. I look to the window, scrambling to the edge of the bed as the raven appears. He lands on my windowsill and greets me with a caw.
“Hello, Jaako,” I say, breathless.
The beautiful bird tips his head at me, curious.
“Oh, I gave you a name,” I say. “I hope you don’t mind.” He clicks his beak, and I smile. “Won’t you come in?” I gesture to my table and chair as if he’s a traveler in need of refreshment.
Jaako hops forward, ruffling his feathers.
“It’s all right,” I soothe. “I can’t go out, but I think you may be able to come in. I’d like it so very much if you would. I’d like to have a friend. Shall we break our fast together?”
He hesitates, hopping on the sill in nervous agitation. Unable to resist the allure of my barley bread, he flutters in off the windowsill, landing on the back of my chair.
My heart thrums with excitement. “Oh, Jaako, you did it.”
He clicks his beak, seemingly just as delighted to learn the magic can’t keep him out. It feels significant somehow, having him in the room with me rather than just on the sill. Now I’m truly not alone.
“I wish I had another chair,” I say. “Then we could sit and chat like old friends. What I wouldn’t give for some hot tea too. My mother makes the most delicious teas—blackcurrant leaf, dried nettle and lemon balm, raspberry mint. Do you like tea?”
The raven hops off the chair onto the table, his talons clicking on the wood until he situates himself on the table’s edge. He bobs his head at the empty chair, and I grin.
“Is this chair for me? Thank you, Jaako.” I take a seat, pouring myself a cup of water. “I’m sorry to say my options are quite limited. Your choices are barley bread... or barley bread. But since you so kindly offered to join me, I’ll let you pick the loaf.”
Jaako glances at the barley loaves with his good eye, flashing me the pearly white one.
“Did you hurt yourself?” I murmur, noting the appearance of a scar cutting over the eye. “Can you see out of that eye?” I reach my hand out to the side and wave it. “Can you see this?”
