Page 87 of North Is the Night
He mutters under his breath, something about being bested by a girl. Then he gives his own line a few irritated tugs.
“Väinämöinen?”
“Yes, knowledge is power,” he repeats. “We don’t hold our knowledge in secret. We learn, we explore, and we share our knowledge for the good of others. And we don’t divine the weather or make crops grow. We use a stout knowledge of the natural world to inform our predictions.” He points to the dark sky. “Take this weather today. What do you predict?”
I look up. “It will storm, likely within the hour.”
“Yes, precisely. But how do youknowit will storm? Does every low-hanging cloud lead to a snowstorm?”
“No, of course not.”
“So, why can you look at this winter sky and tell me it will storm within the hour?”
I glance all around. “You can smell it in the air, I suppose. It smells like a storm. And the clouds are thick and low to the ground. They swell heavy with snow.”
“What else?”
I watch the clouds move. “There’s a stillness too, a quiet in the trees.”
“What else?”
Something moving through the dark trees near the barn catches my eye. Light pools from a pair of lanterns hanging by the open doors. “The reindeer are moving back towards the barn,” I say. “They know it’s coming too.”
“Good. A shaman collects all these pieces of knowledge and uses them to improve people’s lives. This is where your mummi gets her ideas about secret medicine and magic crops.” He chuckles. “The great truth is that shamans aren’t more magical than everybody else, just cleverer. And they put that cleverness to use to help people, never to harm them,” he adds, pointing a gloved finger in my face. “That’s important, Siiri. If a shaman uses their knowledge to cause undue harm, it can lead to grave consequences.”
I nod, feeling suddenly nervous.
“Now, not all shamans can turn their wisdom into magic,” he goes on, tugging lightly on his line. “For a rare few, as our knowledge grows, so too can our ability to cast spells, influence väki, and even travel the realms in different forms.”
My mind races with the possibilities. “What knowledge must I gain to get to Aina? How will I know if I can turn my knowledge into magic?”
He lets out a little laugh, but then he shakes his head. “So young... so foolish... so eager to put your neck in a noose.”
“You won’t dissuade me, old man. I’ve come all this way. I’ve battled men and monsters. I’ve fought and starved and nearly died.” I pause, giving him the truth I only half revealed earlier. “I’ve killed, Väinämöinen. Men have died by my hand on this quest. And now I have no time left to waste. Aina needs me, so test me. See if I have what it takes.”
Slowly, he nods. “I will test you.”
I can’t help the smile that lights my face.
The shaman just chuckles, giving his fishing line another pull. “You may come to regret asking.”
“Again,” Väinämöinen barks.
“Let me catch my breath,” I pant. The air is sharp in my lungs, cold enough to burn when I wheeze. I clutch my side, arms trembling with fatigue. It’s been three days, and this shaman is relentless.
“Do you think Lumi will let you catch your breath? Or Kalma? Or the Witch Queen herself? Master the sword; master your fatigue. They do not control you, Siiri. You control them. Again.”
With a growl of frustration, I take up my stance in the snow, gripping the shaman’s longsword with both hands. We’ve been at this for hours today. Väinämöinen is putting me through my paces with every weapon he owns. He says he won’t know where to begin with my training until he learns where my knowledge ends.
Before weapons training, he dragged me through the woods all around his hut, asking me a thousand and one questions, watching as I proved the strength of my foraging and trapping skills.How do reindeer find food in winter? Where are the best places to look for mushrooms? How do you stop bleeding? Wood from what trees is best for crafting bows and arrows? How do you cure a fever?If I didn’t know the answer, Väinämöinen instructed me. Then he drilled me throughout the day, making sure I remembered his long-winded answers.
I raise my sword and duck left as he comes in swinging, growling like a bear. He fights like one too, with wide movements and sheer brute force. I’m faster, but he’s so much taller, and the arc of his blade is deadly. Metal clangs, echoing around the trees as I parry a blow. I grit my teeth, the shock of that blow radiating down my elbow and up into my shoulder.
“You fight like a stone giant,” I mutter, darting away as he takes another swing at me. He’s skillful enough not to cut me, but each strike with the blade’s broad side still hurts.
“Have you ever met a stone giant, fool girl? They don’t bother with metal blades. They crush you with their bare hands. A stone giant would pop your skull with a pinch of their fingers, like squeezing an overripe berry.”
I grimace at the gruesome image. “And what does all this mean—swinging a sword and foraging for winter moss? Will it help me save Aina?”
