Page 48 of North Is the Night
“Who is Siiri?”
I smile weakly, tapping the weave to tighten the knots. “My dearest friend. It was her Kalma wanted... until Siiri fought back.”
The witch raises a dark brow, stark against the paleness of her skin. “She fought Kalma?”
“Yes.”
She shakes her head. “Stupid girl.”
“She was brave,” I correct. “And selfless. She was fighting Kalma to protect me, to give me a chance to run. I had that chance. I could have let Kalma take Siiri.”
“But you didn’t?”
I blink back my tears. “To use your words, I met death as my equal. I offered Kalma my hand. I let her take me, praying she would spare Siiri this fate.”
Next to me, the goddess grows impossibly still, her hands splayed on our shared weave. Slowly, she turns to cup my cheek, her cold fingers brushing along my jaw. “Little mouse... answer me very carefully now. Are you saying youchosethis fate? You chose to come to Tuonela?”
Before I can reply, the door to the weaving room slams open. Loviatar drops her hand away from me. Vammatar sweeps into the room, her walnut-brown hair piled high on her head in intricate braids. She wears flowing robes of bloodred, a wool shawl around her shoulders the color of charcoal. “Sister,” she says with a nod to Loviatar, her long fingers brushing wispy tendrils of hair back from her face.
Loviatar just scowls. “What do you want?”
“I’m here for the bonebag,” she replies, gesturing to me. “Mother has set them all with a delightful new task,” she adds with a devious glint in her eye.
Holding the witch’s gaze, I know with all surety that I cannot leave this room. To leave this room is death. No matter what Loviatar says, I’m not ready to truly meet it as my equal.
Next to me, Loviatar tenses. “Use one of the others. I don’t feel like parting with this one. She’s a skilled worker.”
Her hesitancy only confirms my fears. If I walk out that door with Vammatar, I’m not coming back. As if she knows exactly what we’re both thinking, Vammatar laughs. “Oh, little sister. You’ve always been so sentimental about your pets. It really is your curse. Don’t worry, you’ll get her back... probably.” Sweeping forward, she grabs me by the arm, gripping it like a vise. “Let’s go, bonebag. We can’t keep the others waiting.”
I look desperately from Vammatar to her sister, waiting for Loviatar to do something. She could fight for me to stay. She could use her magic. We could escape together right now. Cross the river and—
“Just let this one keep all her fingers,” Loviatar calls, her tone flat and dismissive. “She’ll make a fine weaver, alive or dead. At least dead she won’t talk so much.”
Vammatar snorts as my heart sinks. “Yes, they really do bleat more than goats, don’t they?” She gives my arm another sharp tug. “Let’s go.”
Knowing my fate is sealed, I let the witch drag me from the weaving room.
Vammatar leads the way through the maze of courtyards back to the walled garden. I’m grateful for my new clothes in this crisp autumn chill. I flip up the hood of my cowl, covering my hair. From my pocket I pull my pair of wrist-warmers and slip them on.
I follow Vammatar down the path. There, behind the willow tree, set into the wall of the courtyard, is a small wooden door. The witch waves her hand, and the door swings open on creaky hinges. The light from the courtyard stops abruptly beyond the door.
“Comeon,” Vammatar growls, pulling me forward.
I pass through the narrow doorway and blink desperately to encourage my eyes to adjust. An eerie mist, almost silver in the half-light, floats over the grass. Before us, not twenty yards away, looms a ghostly forest. The trunks of the birch trees are heavy with knots. Like so many unblinking eyes, they watch as we approach. It’s unnerving. I feel like the trees know I’m walking to my death.
I cast a wild look behind me, letting myself take in the full sight of Tuoni’s palace. The high stone walls are lit from the inside, making the whole structure glow. I can see the roof of the massive hall where Tuonetar received us. To either end of the hall are two stone towers. I stumble over a root as Vammatar pulls me into the trees. “I—goddess, I can’t see,” I admit.
“You don’t need to see,” she snaps. “Move your worthless feet.”
We step between a pair of thick trees and my stomach twists in a painful knot. There, beneath an orb of eerie light, wait Kalma and another dark-haired witch. This one earns the name. She is weathered and rotting, her hair falling in thin, greasy strands around her face. Like Kalma, she dresses in black. Her shoulders are hunched, her pale eyes red-rimmed and lifeless as she stares at us, unblinking. She must be one of the twins. Either she is Kivutar, the goddess of suffering, or her twin Kiputyttö, goddess of pain.
Three other girls huddle together nearby. Lilja and Satu hold hands, both of them looking pale and underfed. Behind them, tall Riina looks resigned. Like me, she assumes this is the moment she will meet her end. I freeze, a strangled shriek of fright caught in my throat, as the great, hulking form of a red-eyed wolf slinks through the trees. He is Surma, the death-bringer. His bright eyes watch me as he stalks over to the side of his mistress. Kalma reaches out a bony, tattooed hand, scratching between the monster’s pointed black ears.
“Finally,” Vammatar’s sister rasps, her voice like rocks scraped along a boat’s hull. “Let’s get on with this.” Next to her, Kalma stands silent as the grave.
“Patience, Kivutar,” Vammatar replies in that light, teasing tone. “All good things to those who wait.”
My shoulders sag in defeat. If the goddess of eternal suffering is here, this can only end horribly. The witch and I join the circle of light, and she lets me go, giving me a shove towards the other girls. Satu and Riina each take one of my gloved hands.
