Page 22 of North Is the Night
“No,” he says. “Stay here.”
My father and brothers glance quickly away, and Mummi casts me an approving look. Nothing will make the menfolk capitulate faster than a mention of your courses.
I help Mummi clean up the evening meal as the men head outside to wash in the lake. Liisa clears all of two bowls before she races naked outside to join them. As soon as the front door rattles shut, Mummi turns to me. “I think you should go now, while they’re all in the sauna.”
I set down the stack of bowls in my hands. “Now? But I haven’t prepared—”
“I prepared everything for you this afternoon,” she says. “Go into the barn, behind the first haystack. You’ll see everything there waiting for you. And take Halla. She’s strong, and she won’t make a fuss. She’ll also give you milk, should you need it.”
I shake my head, suddenly nervous. “They’ll see me.”
“They won’t. Leave through the south woods and circle ’round. I’ll tell them you went to bed, and I’ll make Liisa sleep down here with me.”
Tears fill my eyes. “He’ll find out you helped me and be so furious.”
She huffs. “I’m not afraid of my daughter’s husband.” Slipping a hand into the pocket of her apron, she pulls out a pair of silver bracelets. “And here, take these as well.” I’ve seen her wear them many times before, at weddings and feast days. They’re woven to look like braids.
“I can’t—”
“Youcan,” she presses, closing my fingers around the bracelets. “Help from the gods never comes cheap. This is all the silver I have.”
“Thank you, Mummi.”
She cups my face, kissing each cheek. “Stay safe, my wild girl. And remember—sometimes the bravest thing you can do isnotfight. The bear is valiant, Siiri. But it runs too. It hides; it lives to fight another day.”
“I’ll be careful.”
“And come home to me.”
I smile, slipping the silver bracelets onto my wrists. “I’ll come home.”
With Mummi’s help, I sneak outside and around the back of the house. The new moon is here, so I race across the dark yard, ducking inside the barn. I make quick work of digging through the haystack, pulling out a pair of heavy leather packs. Father uses them to travel south for market days. They hold a bedroll, foodstuffs, and some basic cooking utensils. If I know Mummi, she packed me enough food to last a week.
She has also left me a pile of clothes on the crate. I shrug out of my old woolen dress and pull on a pair of elk-skin breeches. They’re a good fit in the waist, if a bit long in the leg. They must have been Aksel’s. I layer a pair of blue wool socks over them. Then I stuff my feet back inside my reindeer-fur boots with the thick leather soles. The shirt is blue, a long-sleeved wool blend with leather ties at the neck. It falls almost to my knees. Over the shirt, I tug on a fox-fur vest. I secure the shirt and vest with a leather belt and attach my favorite knife to my hip. I stuff a pair of mittens lined with rabbit fur into my belt pouch.
The last item is a simple blue cap trimmed with an embroidered band of flowers. My eyes fill with tears. It belonged to my mother. I still hold memories of her wearing it, wisps of blonde hair framing her face. I bring the cap to my nose and take a deep breath, hoping it might still hold some scent of my mother, some memory. But it just smells of hay. I slip it on over my plaited blonde hair.
Ready at last, I fasten the packs onto the harness of Halla, a young, snowy-white reindeer. The last thing I grab is my bow and quiver. I strap the quiver to my opposite hip and sling the bow on my back. Taking up Halla’s guide rope, I give a little click with my tongue. The reindeer follows me willingly out into the dark of the forest.
I journey north all through the night and most of the next morning, only resting so Halla and I can drink water at each stream we cross. She’s a sturdy girl, quiet and attentive. She plods along at my side. As we walk, I glance around at the thick canopy of trees overhead. This autumn will be short; I can feel it in the air. It’s crisp and cold, stinging the tip of my nose. In a matter of days, all these leaves will fall.
By the time the sun has reached its peak, I’ve already foraged a meal of mushrooms, edible clover, and a clutch of wood sorrel as I walked. I washed it down with a few strips of dried fish from my pack and several swigs of water from my waterskin.
Halla and I make our way through a sparsely populated birch forest, the narrow white trunks reaching up into the hazy blue sky. I keep a loose hold on her lead, letting her pluck mouthfuls of grass. She pauses, her nostrils flaring in alarm.
“What is it, girl?” I whisper.
Halla snorts, tugging on the lead. Tucking the loose end into my belt, I pull an arrow from the quiver and slip my bow off my shoulder. It’s difficult to see. All the bending white trunks play tricks on the eyes, confounding my depth perception.
Then, I hear it.
“Oh Tapio, great lord of the forest, protect us,” I pray, my fingers clenching around the feathered end of my arrow.
Through the trees comes the low, grunting moan of a bear. It sounds close. Too close. If Halla can hear and smell it, there’s no doubt the bear can hear and smell us too. I think quickly: My packs are full of food the bear might find enticing. I could leave a bag of the dried fish, scattering the morsels on the ground, then run in the opposite direction. I can only hope it will stop to investigate, lured by the pungent smell.
The problem is that Halla makes a much sweeter prize. A reindeer on her own, boxed in by the woods and unable to run? A hungry bear readying for winter will happily tear her apart.
I hear again the strange moaning. The bear sounds afraid... and in pain.
