Page 37 of North Is the Night
I work quickly to remove her heavy packs, setting her loose to graze. Within the hour, I’ve caught three small trout. I make a fire and set the trout to roasting on a hastily made spit. Then I take out my cookpot and pour a handful of the dried potato bits into it. I add a few dried mushrooms and some seasoning from my mummi’s little leather satchel. I fill the pot halfway with water and set it at the edge of the fire to warm.
Once the meal is cooking, I go to the edge of the stream and strip down to my waist, shivering in the autumn chill. I shuck my boots and socks, rolling up my pantlegs. I wash my feet first before kneeling at the water’s edge. Sensing that I’m alone, I dip my head in the water and scrub my scalp with calloused fingers. Pulling the ties from my braids, I let my long hair flow free. It tangles in the grasses, slipping along mossy, wet rocks.
Before long, I’m shivering. I tie my soaking wet hair in a knot atop my head and inspect my brow in my reflection off the water. It’s healing nicely. Most of the purple bruising is now a mottled yellow brown. The swelling is all but gone. If I had Milja’s poultice treatments, it would be healed already. You just have to be ready to smell like wood garlic for a week. I smile, thinking of how Aina would turn up her nose, even as she applied the paste—
“Come on out of that stream,” a low voice calls from behind me.
My heart drops.
“Nice and slow,” calls another voice.
Slowly, I rise.
Two men stand behind me on the bank. One holds my quiver and bow; the other holds Halla’s lead. They’re trappers, dressed from head to toe in skins and furs. The man holding my bow is taller, with a russet beard and a weathered face. The shorter man has beady eyes and strands of peppered grey hair sticking out from under the flaps of his hat. Beyond the fire, their own pair of reindeer stand hooked to a sled piled high with a summer bounty’s worth of skins and furs.
Godsdamn it.Careless, reckless, Siiri!In my haste, I’d collected leaves and wet kindling. Smoke from my fire spirals high into the sky, a beacon these trappers undoubtedly followed straight to me. “I caught three fish,” I say, gesturing to the fire. “One for each of us. And the pot has potato porridge. You’re welcome to share my food and fire. Then we’ll part ways as friends.”
“We’ll share with you,” the tall man says with a nod.
His friend watches me, his eyes trailing down my half-naked form.
“I’m cold,” I say. “Let me dress, and I’ll join you by the fire.”
“By all means,” the tall man replies, gesturing to my shirt and boots with an open hand.
His friend just smirks, giving Halla’s neck a pat. “We keep the weapons though. We’ll not have you gutting us like those fish.”
I hurry over to my small pile of clothes and jerk my shirt over my head. I don’t bother with the vest or socks. I only want my boots. I slip them on, careful to hide the knife along my right ankle.Ilmatar, protect me, I pray to the heavens.
As I dress, the men settle around the fire. The tall man turns the fish on the spit, oils from the fish skin dripping into the flames, making them pop and hiss. The shorter man lifts the lid off my cookpot, inspecting the potato porridge.
“We should stir it,” I say. “I have a spoon in my pack—”
“Don’t,” says the tall man, his hand dropping to the axe at his belt.
I stop, my gaze shifting from his hand on the sharpened metal, back to his face.
“We’ll get the spoon. You go over there and sit,” he says, pointing to the fire’s edge. “Paavo, look in the pack. And make sure there are no other surprises in there.”
Paavo rummages through my pack. “She’s got good supplies,” he mutters as he passes the taller man. Then he sticks out his hand, offering me the spoon. “Here, girl. Cooking is women’s work.”
I snatch it from his hand. “If it’s women’s work, I wonder why you’ve both not starved and died already. However did you last the season?”
“We get by,” Paavo replies. “But you’re here now. You’ll make the meal.”
The smell of the rehydrated mushrooms makes my empty stomach tighten and groan.Please gods,I cry out in my mind.Let me eat this meal. Let me regain my strength.
“What’s a girl like you doing so far north?” asks the tall man.
“And why are you alone?” Paavo adds.
“I’m not alone,” I reply.
Both men go still. Then they glance over their shoulders, peering into the shade of the trees all around us. Paavo huffs. “You lie.”
“Why would I lie?” I give the pot another stir. “My husband Joki and I separated yesterday morning. He caught the tracks of a stag, and he means to fell it. He should return soon. My smoke was meant to signal him, not you.”
“Then he is welcome,” says the tall trapper. “We’ll make room for him at the fire.” He hands me three wooden bowls, watching as I scoop some of the potato porridge into each one. Then he uses a knife to slide the roasted fish off the spit, giving me the smallest trout.
