Page 89 of North Is the Night
I close my eyes, imagining my mummi singing his farewell song. I recite the words, my voice soft, “Let time pass, let days go by... needed will I be again. Longed for, looked for... I will bring a new day.”
He stills, his blue eyes piercing me.
“I don’t think you left as the songs tell us,” I say. “Asyoursong tells us.”
“Oh, no?”
“No, it wasn’t some magnanimous gesture. It wasn’t prophecy. You were on the run... weren’t you?”
He says nothing.
“You disappeared without a trace, gone forever from the lands of Kalevala with promises to return. But that was just the songyousang. You never actually intended to return, did you? Why? What happened to you? What has you running scared, old man?”
Slowly, he turns his pipe in his hands, his face wearing all the lines of his age. The fire dances, casting him in shadows. “I told you,” he says, voice low. “I endured the impossible. This is how I survive. If I let the witches find me, I’ll be hunted. I’m too old to fight them as I once I did, Siiri. Too weak and too tired, body and soul. This time, I’ll certainly be killed... and Tuonetar will win.”
“Tuonetar? What does the Witch Queen have to do with this?”
His own gaze takes on a haunting look of sadness. “Everything.”
29
Aina
The iron horse racesthrough the dark woods of Tuonela. Tuoni’s arms hold me fast as I hold on for dear life, my fingers tangled in the horse’s mane. We crest a hill, breaking through the trees. All across the frozen clearing, the dead wait for us, forming a kind of processional line that leads up the hill. Tuoni’s palace looms in the dark, lit by a thousand flaming torches, so much brighter and more welcoming than before. The two stone towers spiral into the sky to north and south, separated in the middle by the grand receiving hall.
The horse slows to a trot as trumpets blast in welcome from the walls of the palace. More dead swarm the field, raising banners and slamming their swords and axes against their shields, welcoming the lord of death home. As we approach the palace gates, they swing open to admit us, revealing a dark courtyard.
Foreboding sinks deep in my chest. The echo of my husband’s hesitation down the bond leaves me feeling sick. “Why is she not resisting us?”
He doesn’t answer, and the sick feeling grows.
The horse sweeps into the dark courtyard, his hooves clattering on the stones.
“Guards!” Tuoni shouts.
Feet stomp in thick boots. Swords rattle. In moments, a troop of soldiers files in from behind us. They flood the courtyard, every fifth one armed with a torch that casts brilliant light.
I blink, raising a hand to shield my eyes. This courtyard is the one I passed through every morning on my way to the weaving room. The walled garden is to the right, the bustling kitchen courtyard to the left.
Tuoni presses against my back, bending me forward as he slips off the giant horse and drops to the ground. Then he reaches both hands up for me, waiting. I slide off the iron horse’s back and Tuoni catches me easily. He sets me on my feet, his strong hands at my waist. “Look at me,” he says, his voice soft.
I lift my chin to meet his mismatched gaze.
“You are queen now.” He places a hand over my heart, his large fingers splayed. “Take your power, Aina. You fought for this moment—for yourself, for me, for all the maidens past and future who might be abused by the Witch Queen. I go with you, but it will be for you to finish what you started. Are you ready?”
Overthrow the Witch Queen. How can anyone be ready for such a task? My mind flashes with images of great heroes who journeyed to Tuonela to perform feats of daring. Never mind that most of those heroes died a fool’s death. I have no sword or kantele. I have no warrior’s heart. My weapon is the knitting needle. My power, according to Tuoni, is the ability to see the good in people. But what good is there in such a twisted witch?
“Aina...” Tuoni cups my cheek. The chain of his confinement still hangs from his wrist. Feeling the sting of that cold metal against my skin, my resolve hardens.
“I’m ready.”
With a nod, he offers his hand, a gallant lord to his lady. Taking a deep breath, I place my hand atop his. Not waiting another moment, he strides on, his dead guard making way for us. They stomp their feet in time to our steps, rattling their swords against their shields as we walk. Tuoni strides with purpose. All doors open to him. Torches flare to life as he passes. I glance around, gasping in surprise as each room we enter changes. Loviatar warned me this would happen. The magic of the palace is responding to his presence; the very walls are welcoming him home.
Cold and dark are swept away with warm golden light. Spiders skitter down into cracks; walls of twisted skulls are transformed. No more, the anguished faces of the tortured. Now there are thick tapestries depicting scenes of nature and the gods. The stone floors are covered in fragrant rush mats that keep away the cold. It’s beautiful to behold. Tuonetar’s magic is nothing to Tuoni’s. This thought fills me with confidence as we reach the receiving room, the room where I first met the other girls.
“Stay close to me,” I whisper, weaving my fingers through Tuoni’s.
He lowers our hands between us and nods at the guards to the left and right of the doors. A trumpet sounds from within, and the guards push the doors open. Our retinue floods in first, their flaming torches warming me as they pass.
