Page 26 of North Is the Night
“Oh gods,” I whisper, my hands brushing down the soft fur of the stole. “Jaako...” I know the truth now. I see it so clearly. “You don’t want that door to open, do you? You don’t want it to open, because you know I’m safer in here... don’t you? Is someone coming, Jaako? Is the door about to open?”
His gaze darts from me to the door. He knows what’s coming. He knowswhois coming.
I step forward, reaching out for him. “Please don’t leave me again. Stay here with me.”
Behind me comes the unmistakable sound of metal scraping against wood. Someone is removing the heavy bolt. The door is about to open. Fear threatens to overpower me.
“Do not leave me, Jaako,” I whisper. “Whatever comes, we face it together.”
But with a last mournful caw, the raven takes off again through the open window, leaving me alone to face my fate. The door creaks open.
10
Siiri
I’m making good time.It helps that I spent the whole of yesterday running like a bear was chasing me. Bears don’t typically bother with humans but one can never be too careful. I’m sure I made poor Halla nervous with how often I glanced over my shoulder, looking for any sign of the hungry beast on our trail.
But the bear was yesterday’s problem. Today is the day I find the sacred grove.
“What happened to us, girl?” I ask the reindeer, sharing with her the last of the apples I found along the trail. The reindeer crunches into the juicy flesh, dropping little chunks into the moss as she walks at my side.
“We used to have kings,” I tell her, patting her shoulder. “And gods who walked among us. They dined with us like old friends, tended to our wounds, mourned our dead. We had a magic mill that turned grain into gold. We built castles of stone. We were warriors. We fought great battles and won. Who are we now, Halla? How do we find ourselves again if our gods hide their faces from us?”
The reindeer just snorts.
“None of this looks familiar,” I admit, gazing at the trees all around. “When I came here with Father, it was spring. The forest looks so different from one season to the next. And it’s been nearly ten years,” I add. “But we must be close.”
I can feel it; some sharpness stirs the air. It raises the fine hairs on my arms. There’s a taste on my tongue, sweet but metallic, like blood. I remember this feeling. I remember this taste in my mouth. One hand grips my bow, the other Halla’s lead, and I take an even breath. We pause at the same time, both our heads turning. Her ears perk up as my eyes narrow, peering through the trees. The leaves are thick overhead, and the sun is weak today, hidden behind storm clouds. The smell of snow is in the air.
I wrap my fist more tightly around Halla’s lead. “Do you hear it too?”
Halla’s nostrils puff as she softly grinds her teeth.
The birds have stopped twittering in the branches. Usually this happens before a storm. But I smell it in the wind: the snow is hours, if not days away.
Halla and I exchange a glance.
“Come on,” I say, giving her lead a tug. “We’re definitely close.”
She resists the pull of her lead, her face still turned to look between a pair of elm trees. I follow her gaze, wishing more sunlight might filter through the canopy. The wind suddenly changes directions, blowing straight through the elms, pushing at my back. Sucking in a sharp breath, I let myself really look at the pair of trees. They stretch far above us, their branches meeting, twisting together to make a natural archway.
My heart flutters faster as I inch closer to the nearest of the two. Reaching out, I trace the faded design carved into the trunk. It looks like geometric scrollwork. The pattern is mirrored on the other elm. “It’s the doorway,” I say to the reindeer. “Oh, clever girl. You found it.”
I tug on Halla’s lead again, willing her to step forward with me. We pass under the arch, and all the fine hairs on my arms bristle again. I pause, glancing around. Nothing has changed, and yet everything feels different. I peer back through the elms. The forest looks just the same. But the air is thicker here, and not one bird twitters in the trees. The silence is deafening, almost reverent.
“Come on,” I say to Halla.
The trees continue in a row, creating a clear path for us. The ground to either side is blanketed in lush green ferns, dotted here and there with lichen-covered rocks. I walk on soft feet, my gaze darting around as my eyes adjust to the darkness. “I still don’t remember this place,” I admit to her.
Directly ahead, a third massive elm tree stands in our path. I take in the shadows at the base of the mighty tree. It’s not one elm tree; it’stwo. The trunks were planted side by side and made to grow around a stone archway. The archway remains, twisted and crumbling, folding inward from the weight of the trunks. It’s barely wide enough for a single person my size to pass through. A man Onni’s size would never fit.
The underbrush is thick all around the elms, the shadows deep, blocking my view of what lies beyond. With a sigh, I turn to the reindeer. “I’m sorry, girl. You’ll have to wait here.” I drape her lead rope over her neck and drop to one knee, hobbling her. I use the trick knot Aksel taught me. If she pulls hard enough, she’ll get herself loose.
Giving her another pat, I turn back to the massive elm. I keep my bow slung on my pack, pulling out my hatchet and my long hunter’s knife. I can’t shake this feeling that I’m being watched.
With my hatchet in my right hand, knife in my left, I crouch and inch sideways through the narrow, crumbling archway. “Ilmatar, protect me.” I nearly trip over a tangle of thick roots. Finding my footing, I grip my weapons more tightly and peer around. I now stand in a glade of alder trees. Their spindly, lichen-dusted trunks stretch high into the sky, packed so tightly together they almost make four walls of a great outdoor temple. Their branches form the roof. Weak, storm-grey light filters through the leaves. They sway in the silent wind all across the clearing, like I’m underwater.
“It’s so beautiful.” My heart pounds as I do a half turn.
