Page 8 of North Is the Night
“Get up,” the voice says again.
I groan, pulling away from her gentle touch. No, I wanted to die. Aina is gone, and it’s my fault. I failed her. I mean to walk that lonely road all the way to the gates of Tuonela.
“Men are coming,” whispers the voice. “Do not let them find you defeated.”
I hear them marching through the trees—crashing, breaking, snapping. Let them come. Let them see how I’ve failed. They shout to each other. They shout for me, voices raised in alarm.
“Siiri!”
“Aina!”
The cool hand brushes my brow again. “You must get up.”
I open my eyes. Darkness has settled all around. A woman kneels over me. This close to the new moon, the sky is dark, and there is little light for me to see. I don’t trust my vision anyway. I blink, trying to make out her features.
“Who are you?” I reach out. She leans away, rising silently to her feet. She’s tall and willowy, but I can make out nothing of her features, for she wears a hood. It casts her face in deep shadow. All I see is a black braid. Her hair is so long, the tip of her braid reaches her ankles.
“Return to us,” she whispers. “We need you.”
My mind feels fuzzy. The forest floor seems to tilt as I try to place her voice. This is a small village, and I know every woman in it. I don’t know this voice. I push up on my elbows, panting through the pain. “Who are you?” I say again, my voice more forceful.
“The time has come,” she replies, her voice ringing with prophecy. From deep within the folds of her hood, her eyes gleam pearly white, like two moons in the darkness. I choke on her magic as it drifts in a white mist from beneath her cloak. “Save us,” she commands, her tone both a warning and a plea. “Before it’s too late.”
I cough. “Wait—”
Bright lights suddenly blind me, forcing me to close my eyes. I raise an arm. When I open my eyes again, the woman is gone.
I’m alone.
“Wait—come back,” I call through my cough, glancing around the dark clearing. I struggle up to my knees, swaying in my dizziness. I put a trembling hand to my head, wincing at the pain. When I pull my hand away, there’s blood coating my fingers. “She’s gone,” I whisper. “My Aina is gone—”
“Siiri!” My brother Aksel breaks through the last of the trees. He drops to his knees at my side. “Are you all right?”
Many voices now. Bobbing lights, blinking torchlight. I think I’m in shock. All I hear is a humming in my ears and my own broken heartbeat.Gone. Gone. Gone.
Aksel gives me an anxious shake. “Siiri—”
“It took her,” I say. “It took Aina.”
People loom all around me. The bearded faces of men, come too late. Above their heads, torches flicker, casting long shadows. I try to peer through their legs, looking for the woman who gave me comfort. She’s a witch, perhaps. Or a goddess. A shamaness. Where did she go? What did she mean? I don’t see it with my eyes, but I feel it in my bones. She’s gone too.
“Siiri?” Onni drops to my other side, settling a supportive arm around my shoulders. He’s massive, built like a bear. His arm curls around me like the trunk of a mighty tree. Our father jokes that on the night he was conceived my mother went walking in the winter moonlight and mated herself to Otso, the god of bears. He scoops me up as if I weigh no more than a leaf.
“Where’s Aina?” a man shouts, his voice frantic. “Oh gods, where’s my Aina?”
I know that voice. It’s Taavi, Aina’s father. I close my eyes tight, fresh tears coming. Gods, I can’t look at him. “I’m sorry,” I whisper, unable to face his grief.
Another shout. “Siiri? Siiri!”
“Father!” Onni bellows back. Wrapped in his arms, I feel the rumble of it through my whole body. “Over here!”
“We have her,” Aksel calls.
The men make room as Father barrels between them, sharpened axe in hand. The edge glints in the torchlight.
“What happened?” asks he asks, pulling me out of Onni’s arms.
I take a deep breath, swaying as I gaze up at his concerned face. He looks so much like Aksel. They’re both tall and narrow, with shaggy blond hair and beards. The only difference is age. Father has creased crow’s feet lining his eyes and more weathering on his strong hands.
