Page 95 of North Is the Night
Snow falls light and quiet. From the shadowy woods at the other end of the clearing, the massive form of the bear emerges. When he spots me, Kal lets out another weak cry. Väinämöinen steps in front of me, holding his axe in both hands.
Kal stumbles forward across the snow, his gait slow. Behind him, the snow is dark, stained with his blood.
“He’s hurt,” I cry, trying to dart around the shaman.
One tattooed hand clamps down on my shoulder. “Stay.”
I wrestle against his grip. “Let me go—”
“Wait.” His eyes are locked on the bear as Kal weaves his way across the clearing. In the barn beyond the hut, the dogs yip, desperate to be set loose. They scratch at the wood of the door, growling and barking in alarm. As we watch, Kal takes one more lumbering step. He grunts, falling into the snow.
“Kal!” I jerk free of Väinämöinen and rush forward, falling to my knees at the bear’s side.
“Be careful, Siiri.”
I inspect Kal’s injuries, and tears fill my eyes. “Oh no,” I murmur. They look bad. The wolves have torn his flesh, nearly opening his side with their sharp teeth. The muscles are shredded so deeply, I can see bone. There are similar wounds at his scruff and along his haunch.
“How did he ever make it to me?”
“Magic,” says the shaman, now standing at my side. “This bear should have been dead days ago. Whatever possesses him is powerful indeed.”
I place both hands on the rough fur of Kal’s shoulder. “You have to help him, Väinämöinen.Please. Save him.”
The shaman crouches down. “It will be easier to extract the soul within if we let the bear die—”
“Let this bear die, and I’ll kill you. Otso hear me, you will save him.”
He huffs. “Call on Otso all you want, girl. That scoundrel still owes me for all the times I pulled his feet from the flames of trouble.”
I feel Kal’s labored breathing slow. “Please, help him.”
With a muttered curse, Väinämöinen drops to his knees at my side, his axe falling into the snow. Reaching out with his weathered hands, he inspects the bear’s wounds. “He knocks at death’s door,” he surmises with a grim frown.
“Surely there must be something you can do. You mentioned a healing song, before. You must know dozens of those. Try one now.”
He shakes his head, his beard and hair dusted with falling snow. “No, he’s too far gone.”
“Lookat him! Look how he still breathes. He’s alive, Väinämöinen. How can you act as though he’s already dead?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t—”
“Don’t give up so easily.Please, Väinämöinen, where is your heart?”
With a grunt, he grabs me by the shoulder, pulling me back. “Gods, fine. Out of the way, girl. Stand back, or I’ll open him up with my axe here and now.”
I scramble to my feet, taking two steps back.
“This is madness.” The shaman’s hands do a walking dance over the bear’s form, his fingers tapping the shredded sinew and flexing over the exposed bone. “Utter madness. Doesn’t understand the complexities of healing magic...”
“Just try. I owe him that much.”
“Yes, but I owe him nothing. And this will cost me more than you know.”
I wait, watching the shaman work. In moments, his shoulders go still, his hands splayed over the bear’s motionless form.
“Do not stop me once I’ve started,” he intones, his voice somehow deeper, laced with a power that has me trembling more than the winter cold.
“I won’t.”
