Page 28 of North Is the Night
“Then we are not the only ones who have lost our faith,” I counter.
She blinks, the bark of her fingers curling into fists at her sides.
I take a cautious step forward. “But there is one who could help us, goddess. One who could restore all our faith...”
In a rush like the fluttering of a great many birds’ wings, Tellervo transforms back to her human form, her skin pale, her dark eyes wide and curious. “Who?”
“Väinämöinen. The great shaman of legend, keeper of the wisdom of the ages.”
She flinches away. “That shaman is lost. He abandoned us to this fate long ago.”
“But you could help me find him,” I say, crossing the distance to her side. “The songs foretell his return. He will restore all that was lost. We will be one people again, Tellervo.”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know where he is.”
“But do you know where he went?” I press. “Did he sail north on the inland sea? If I keep going north, will I find him?”
She narrows her eyes at me. “You would go north... even as the harsh winter sweeps south? You would go in search of Väinämöinen when you have no proof that he still lives?”
“I would do anything to protect those I love,” I reply, defiant in the face of her doubt.
She considers for a moment, taking me in from head to toe. Her dark gaze settles on my bruised brow. Her bony fingers brush against my cut. I wince, trying to hold still. “I am not the first immortal you’ve encountered,” she whispers, her breath cool on my cheek. Leaning in close, she inhales deeply, the sound rattling through her chest. “I smell my cousin’s death magic on your skin. Rancid, foul rot. Did she touch you?”
I hold my head high. “She tried.”
Tellervo smiles, almost as if she’s impressed.
“Please, goddess. I need to find Väinämöinen. My friend is lost too,” I admit. “I must find her. I must bring her home. He can help me—”
“I said no.” She drops her soil-stained fingers from my face. “I am sorry, brave one, but a lost shaman cannot be found if he is truly lost.”
“Well, then, he can’t fulfill his prophecy either,” I reply, my frustration rising. “And one is only lostuntilhe is found.”
“A shaman is only lost because he does notwishto be found,” she corrects. “And my path does not lead me north.” Her voice rings with finality.
“But does it leadmenorth?” I ask, daring to grab her arm. “Can you see my future, goddess?”
Her gaze moves from my hand on her mossy sleeve, up to my bruised face. She scowls. “Unhand me, mortal. I am shepherdess of my father’s forest. I’m not a soothsayer or a prophetess that you can command me to see what is unseen or know what is unknown.”
I drop my hand away from her. “But—well, you just foretold your own future. How do you know your path does not lead you north?”
“Because I do not wish to go there.” With a last nod, she walks away.
“Please,wait—”
She barely takes three steps before she disappears in a swirl of birds’ feathers. They flutter to the ground at my feet.
“Tellervo?” I call into the silence. I look everywhere, but she’s gone. My shoulders sink, and I fight the urge to scream. I’m on my own. Meanwhile, Aina waits for me to find her, enduring unimaginable horrors. I feel powerless, and I hate it. I want todosomething. I narrow my eyes at the symbol of the foreign god. With a growl, I march forward, pushing through the ferns to the base of the altar.
Placing my hands on the lichen-marked stone, I scramble atop it. From my knees, I inspect the cross. It’s about three feet tall, made of a lighter stone than that of the uhrikivi. I flick my braid over my shoulder, brace my hands on the cross, and push.
Nothing happens.
“Come on,” I mutter, giving the stone another shove.
The cross doesn’t move.
I look to the sky with a shout, peering up through the alder branches at the swirling grey clouds far above. “Ilmatar, can you hear me? Either help me find your son or help me move this false—ugly—piece of rock—” I shove at the cross with each curse.
