13

Aina

The Witch Queen of Tuonela smiles at me, her cracked, blackened teeth filling me with dread.

“You are Tuonetar,” I gasp, dropping my trembling hand to my side.

“Clever girl,” she sneers, tucking her willow wand back into her robes. She gestures magnanimously at the dark hall, adorned with the skulls of the dead. “Welcome to Tuonela.”

Several of the girls shiver, and poor Satu lets out a panicked sob. From beyond the walls come faint screaming and wailing. It sends a chill through me. I turn my attention to the monster seated at the left hand of her mother. “And you are Kalma,” I say, my voice little more than a whisper. “You took me from my home and brought me here. I remember everything.”

The black eyes of the goddess don’t blink. She tears the leg off a roasted fowl crawling with maggots. As we watch, she takes a bite, crunching the maggots along with the spoiled meat. Some of the maggots drop to her empty plate and squirm. To either side of me, Helmi and Satu make pitiful retching sounds, which makes the other goddesses laugh.

“Sit, child,” Tuonetar orders me.

But I can’t move. I can hardly breathe. My mind still spins with the memories of running from Kalma through the woods—Siiri’s strong hand on my arm, her daring fight, the look in her eyes as I was pulled into darkness—

“I said sit ,” the Witch Queen shrieks. Pulling out her willow wand, she gives it a flick.

Invisible hands jerk me forward, smacking my shins into the hard wood of the bench. I cry out, tears filling my eyes, as I am forced down onto the bench, Helmi and Satu making room for me. I’m shoved into a sitting position, back straight, hands clasped tight in my lap, head bowed so low my chin digs into my chest.

“Good girl,” Tuonetar says with a wicked smile, pocketing the wand again.

The other girls shift nervously down the bench. Next to me, Helmi copies my posture, tears slipping silently down her pink cheeks.

Tuonetar resumes her place on her throne, her hands balanced atop two human skulls. Reindeer skulls frame the top of the throne, their antlers casting sharp shadows along the wall. Next to her throne is an even larger one, meant for the king. His throne is topped with the massive skull of a bear.

“You’re no doubt wondering why you’ve all been brought here,” Tuonetar says, reaching for her jeweled wine goblet.

“Are we dead?” Satu whimpers. I can feel her shaking like a leaf.

Lowering her goblet from her lips, the Witch Queen turns to stare at Satu, her expression becoming almost sympathetic. “Yes,” she whispers.

Satu and Helmi both sob. I think Riina may join them. But then Tuonetar cackles, slamming her goblet down. Bloodred wine sloshes onto her hand. She brings her hand to her mouth and sucks it dry. “Of course you’re not dead, you stupid child. What use would you all be to me dead?”

The other goddesses snicker at this too.

“You’ve been selected,” Tuonetar continues. She smiles over at Kalma with an almost fond, motherly expression. “My clever daughter brought you to me. You are here to fulfill a grand purpose. You do want to fulfill your grand purpose, don’t you?”

“What purpose?” Lilja dares to ask.

The Queen’s red-rimmed eyes narrow. “All will be revealed in good time. For now, know that I have done my duty as the law of hospitality requires. I have sheltered you, fed you, and offered you a seat at my table. You can expect no more comfort from me.”

I close my eyes, fighting back tears.

“Why are you doing this to us?” Riina cries. “Tuonela is for the dead, not the living. What can you need from mortal girls except our deaths?”

The Queen cackles again, rising to her feet. “Of course you have come here to die. Did you really think there could be any other end to your pathetic little lives?” She slips her hand back inside her silvery robes, pulling out that cursed willow wand again. “All life ends in death. Whether in one day... one year... or one thousand years, you will die, my sweet little doves. And then you will be mine. Now, be good and return to your rooms to await my pleasure.” She gives her wand another little flick with her wrist. “Guards, take them.”

A chill wind sweeps through the hall, and then the sound of stomping feet and rattling metal rings through the silence. The girls all shriek, turning their backs on the Witch Queen to meet this new threat. “No, please,” Salla begs.

The magic holding me releases, and I’m able to turn too.

Soldiers march out of the shadows. They move with odd, shuffling gaits. Some are skeletally thin... and the smell . I gasp and cover my nose with my hand. The soldiers are all dead . As they approach, I can see some of them are rotting away, missing flesh and bone. Only magic holds them together.

All down the table, the girls shrink away as the rotting hands of the corpse soldiers reach for us, dragging us to our feet. The one in front of me has an arrow sticking through his eye, his jaw hanging loose on one side like he’s trapped making a soundless scream for the rest of his undying existence. Reaching for Helmi’s hand, I pull her off the bench with me. The soldier’s weak, clammy hand grips my arm right over Kalma’s marks, raising gooseflesh over my body.

“This isn’t real,” Helmi murmurs at my side, her eyes shut tight.

Down the table, the other girls are dragged to their feet. Some of the dead are harsher than others. A massive soldier with a cleaved face holds Lilja by her braid, lifting her off the floor as she flails and shrieks, batting at his bony hand. “If you’re going to kill us, just do it now,” she shouts at Tuonetar. “Where is your honor? Give us a clean death, you rotten witch—”

She chokes and sputters, her words cut short as the soldier’s free hand wraps around her throat, squeezing it tight.

“Courage will get you nowhere in Tuonela,” the Witch Queen warns. “There’s no call for it here. The dead are my creatures.” All the while, Lilja hangs in the air, choking, her legs kicking feebly.

And then Tuonetar lunges across the table like some huge, horrible spider. Cups and plates clatter to the floor as she sweeps forward, silvery robes billowing. She hops to the floor before Lilja, pointing at the poor girl’s reddening face. “Do you see this, little doves? Do you see how she struggles, holding on to the fragile tendrils of her life with her grasping little fingers?”

I know I’m not the only one trying to look away when I lock eyes with Riina. She shakes her head, leaning away from the soldier who holds both her arms.

“ Look at her ,” the Witch Queen shrieks, her words echoing around the room, shaking dust from the rafters, and making me tremble.

We all turn reluctantly to face the struggling Lilja.

“Do you think I do not know how she plans to escape me?” says the Witch Queen with a sneer. “She wants a noble end. She wants control of her fate... but that is a fool’s dream in Tuonela.” Reaching out a gnarled finger, she brushes it down Lilja’s freckled cheek. “Let go of this fantasy, child. That’s not what death is. Death is beautiful violence. Death is unbridled chaos. Death is... me. And there is nothing I like better than watching the life drain from mortals’ eyes.”

The Witch Queen nods, and the soldier holding Lilja opens his hand. The poor girl drops like a stone to the floor. Her rasping sobs are the only sound in the room. Tuonetar smiles down at her. “That’s a good girl,” she coos. “Yes, breathe deep. Fill those lungs, my pet. And know with each breath you take that your death will come soon. For there is nothing I like less than misguided nobility.”

Lilja goes still, holding back her sobs, as we all absorb Tuonetar’s words.

The Witch Queen drops to her knees, bringing her face level with Lilja’s. “I will kill you,” she declares. “And it will be beautiful.” Her tone is almost gleeful. “Your days are numbered, dove.”

The dead soldiers pull us towards the set of looming double doors. I cling to Helmi’s hand as we’re dragged back into the arrival hall.

“Don’t lose faith,” Riina calls out softly. “Stay alive.”

“Lilja, are you all right?” Salla tries to reach for her.

“Everyone, stay alive,” Riina says again.

“Aina, don’t let go,” Helmi begs, her breath warm on my cheek.

I hold her fast, my grip tight enough to make my hand ache. But the soldiers jerk us apart.

“Aina,” Helmi cries, her face a mask of pain as her solider wraps bony, broken fingers around her middle and pulls her away from me.

“Helmi—”

“Aina, please don’t leave me,” she sobs.

Hating myself, I loosen my grip, letting her slip through my fingers.

“Aina—”

The soldiers drag her away down the dark hall.

“Stay alive,” I call after her, echoing Riina.

Inside my own head, a different voice says the words. Stay alive . I can almost feel Siiri standing at my side. I pretend it’s her tight grip on my shoulder.

Whatever you do, stay alive.