14

Siiri

Three days pass, and there’s no sign of a bear anywhere. I’ve tracked all manner of animals—rabbits and squirrels, wolves, foxes, a lynx. I even spied what I was sure was a mets?n v?ki running through the woods. He was small, no larger than a child, and so fast I could hardly make him out through the trees. But he laughed and rustled the branches, scaring Halla and teasing me, before throwing rocks at us and running off.

But no bears.

“The goddess’s instructions were clear,” I say to Halla for the hundredth time. “Go north. When the bear is ready to find me, he will. I have to keep the faith.”

Glancing around this grassy bogland, it strikes me again how very far from home I am. I’ve never traveled so far on my own. I promised Mummi I would return from the hiisi two days ago. She must be worried sick. I imagine her pacing in the yard, sending my brothers up to the north end of the village to watch and wait for my return.

But I can’t return yet, not when there’s still a chance to save Aina. Not when there’s a chance V?in?moinen can save us all. I feel the hand of fate on me now, holding me in a fist as strong as iron. A new story is being told, and I’m at its center. “Maybe they’ll sing of this one day,” I say, giving Halla a pat. “Brave Siiri and her noble Halla, off on a daring quest.”

The reindeer just snorts.

“You know, in Mummi’s stories, the women are always waiting for things to happen to them. The princess waits for her suitor by the roadside, the sister waits for her valiant brother’s return, the mother waits for news of her son’s untimely death.” I give the reindeer another pat. “This is a new kind of story. I’m not waiting for the shaman to find me. I’m striding out into the world, bow at my back and fire in my heart. I’m going to find the shaman and make him help us. We’re done waiting for the menfolk to hurry up and change things. If we want change, I think it must begin with us.”

I narrow my eyes at the grey sky. “Those storm clouds are getting thicker. We should stop and make camp before the storm descends. And I could do with a proper meal.”

Around midafternoon, we come through a stand of trees to find a stream crossing our path. It pools deep in spots before babbling around the bend of a low hill. It’s the perfect place to fish. Perhaps I’ll even indulge in a bath.

The goddess said not to tarry.

Aina’s voice in my mind makes me groan.

“Would you have me starve?” I say at the trees. Even as I speak the words, my stomach grumbles, squeezing in pain at its emptiness. I’ve only been eating what I can forage as we walk, saving the best of the foodstuffs for my return journey.

The reindeer gives me a doleful look. She’s used to a hearty dinner of piled hay every night. No doubt she’s hungry too.

“Two hours,” I say at last. “We’ll stop and rest here for two hours only. That hardly counts as tarrying.”

Halla just snorts.

I work quickly to remove her heavy packs, setting her loose to graze. Within the hour, I’ve caught three small trout. I make a fire and set the trout to roasting on a hastily made spit. Then I take out my cookpot and pour a handful of the dried potato bits into it. I add a few dried mushrooms and some seasoning from my mummi’s little leather satchel. I fill the pot halfway with water and set it at the edge of the fire to warm.

Once the meal is cooking, I go to the edge of the stream and strip down to my waist, shivering in the autumn chill. I shuck my boots and socks, rolling up my pantlegs. I wash my feet first before kneeling at the water’s edge. Sensing that I’m alone, I dip my head in the water and scrub my scalp with calloused fingers. Pulling the ties from my braids, I let my long hair flow free. It tangles in the grasses, slipping along mossy, wet rocks.

Before long, I’m shivering. I tie my soaking wet hair in a knot atop my head and inspect my brow in my reflection off the water. It’s healing nicely. Most of the purple bruising is now a mottled yellow brown. The swelling is all but gone. If I had Milja’s poultice treatments, it would be healed already. You just have to be ready to smell like wood garlic for a week. I smile, thinking of how Aina would turn up her nose, even as she applied the paste—

“Come on out of that stream,” a low voice calls from behind me.

My heart drops.

“Nice and slow,” calls another voice.

Slowly, I rise.

Two men stand behind me on the bank. One holds my quiver and bow; the other holds Halla’s lead. They’re trappers, dressed from head to toe in skins and furs. The man holding my bow is taller, with a russet beard and a weathered face. The shorter man has beady eyes and strands of peppered grey hair sticking out from under the flaps of his hat. Beyond the fire, their own pair of reindeer stand hooked to a sled piled high with a summer bounty’s worth of skins and furs.

Godsdamn it. Careless, reckless, Siiri! In my haste, I’d collected leaves and wet kindling. Smoke from my fire spirals high into the sky, a beacon these trappers undoubtedly followed straight to me. “I caught three fish,” I say, gesturing to the fire. “One for each of us. And the pot has potato porridge. You’re welcome to share my food and fire. Then we’ll part ways as friends.”

“We’ll share with you,” the tall man says with a nod.

His friend watches me, his eyes trailing down my half-naked form.

“I’m cold,” I say. “Let me dress, and I’ll join you by the fire.”

“By all means,” the tall man replies, gesturing to my shirt and boots with an open hand.

His friend just smirks, giving Halla’s neck a pat. “We keep the weapons though. We’ll not have you gutting us like those fish.”

I hurry over to my small pile of clothes and jerk my shirt over my head. I don’t bother with the vest or socks. I only want my boots. I slip them on, careful to hide the knife along my right ankle. Ilmatar, protect me , I pray to the heavens.

As I dress, the men settle around the fire. The tall man turns the fish on the spit, oils from the fish skin dripping into the flames, making them pop and hiss. The shorter man lifts the lid off my cookpot, inspecting the potato porridge.

“We should stir it,” I say. “I have a spoon in my pack—”

“Don’t,” says the tall man, his hand dropping to the axe at his belt.

I stop, my gaze shifting from his hand on the sharpened metal, back to his face.

“We’ll get the spoon. You go over there and sit,” he says, pointing to the fire’s edge. “Paavo, look in the pack. And make sure there are no other surprises in there.”

Paavo rummages through my pack. “She’s got good supplies,” he mutters as he passes the taller man. Then he sticks out his hand, offering me the spoon. “Here, girl. Cooking is women’s work.”

I snatch it from his hand. “If it’s women’s work, I wonder why you’ve both not starved and died already. However did you last the season?”

“We get by,” Paavo replies. “But you’re here now. You’ll make the meal.”

The smell of the rehydrated mushrooms makes my empty stomach tighten and groan. Please gods, I cry out in my mind. Let me eat this meal. Let me regain my strength.

“What’s a girl like you doing so far north?” asks the tall man.

“And why are you alone?” Paavo adds.

“I’m not alone,” I reply.

Both men go still. Then they glance over their shoulders, peering into the shade of the trees all around us. Paavo huffs. “You lie.”

“Why would I lie?” I give the pot another stir. “My husband Joki and I separated yesterday morning. He caught the tracks of a stag, and he means to fell it. He should return soon. My smoke was meant to signal him, not you.”

“Then he is welcome,” says the tall trapper. “We’ll make room for him at the fire.” He hands me three wooden bowls, watching as I scoop some of the potato porridge into each one. Then he uses a knife to slide the roasted fish off the spit, giving me the smallest trout.

I don’t wait for him to sit before I’m shoveling the food into my mouth, desperate for the strength it will give me. The porridge is so hot it burns, but I don’t care. I tear into my trout, crunching the tiny bones, swallowing the white, tender meat.

“Easy,” the tall man says with a laugh. “Slow down before you choke, girl. We’re not going to take it from you.”

On the other side of the fire, Paavo watches me, spitting out his larger fish bones. “Tell us more about this man of yours. What’s his name? Josti?”

“Joki,” I correct, taking a sip of cool stream water. It soothes the burning roof of my mouth. “And he’s a hunter,” I go on. “We’re both hunters. We travel south for the winter. We have family living along Lake P?ij?nne.”

“You hunt too?” the tall man asks, a bemused smile on his face.

“I do,” I reply. I can tell they don’t believe me. Squaring my shoulders at the tall man, I give a nod to my bow resting behind him. “I can fell a deer at thirty yards.”

Paavo snorts again. “You lie.”

I glare at him before turning back to the tall man. “That’s the second time your friend has called me a liar. If he does it a third time, I’ll begin to think he means it.”

Paavo smirks, spitting out another bone. “You are a liar, little girl. Know how I know?”

I turn my glare back on him. “How?”

“Because I just looked inside your pack,” he replies, his gaze triumphant. “You’re packed for one, not two.”

“Then you didn’t check both my packs,” I counter. “Joki will come. And if I tell him you’ve been anything less than kind to me, he’ll put an arrow through your eye faster than you can blink.”

Lies. Joki couldn’t hit the broadside of a barn at twenty paces. I can see it on their faces: they don’t believe me. The tall one did, but now he doesn’t.

“I think we all know what happens next here,” says Paavo, spitting another bone into the fire.

“I wash the bowls for you?” I say, playing ignorant.

“You can do that after,” he replies.

His words sink in my belly like a stone.

“We don’t want to hurt you,” says the tall man.

I scramble to my feet. “Then finish your meal and be on your way.”

“Times are hard,” he replies, rising to his feet as well. “It’s been a long summer.”

“And men have needs,” Paavo adds, leering at me with those dark, beady eyes.

“Summers are never long in this wilderness,” I counter. “Go south to a village and find a willing woman you can pay. Leave me in peace, as any man of honor would.”

The tall man almost looks like he’s considering it. But then Paavo laughs, tossing the carcass of his fish into the flames, making them crackle and hiss. “Why would I waste precious coin on a tip in the hay, when I can tip you now for free?”

Iron resolve hardens in my gut. I’m telling my own story now. I escaped the clutches of a goddess. I stared into the eyes of Surma, and death stared back. I am on a mission to walk into the very depths of Tuonela to rescue my dearest friend from the clutches of the death gods.

I am Siiri, and I am no man’s prey.

I am the hunter.

“We’ll let you choose the order,” the tall man offers.

The thought of either of these men touching me makes me sick. But I can’t fight them both at once. “You first,” I say, pointing to the tall man. “But I don’t want him to watch,” I add, jabbing my thumb over my shoulder at Paavo.

Paavo laughs again. “You don’t get to dictate terms here, little girl.”

“Shut up,” the tall man snaps. He looks at me with hungry eyes. Something else is there too, just a flicker before he hides it away. Loneliness. Life truly is harsh in this vast wilderness. If he weren’t about to attempt to rape me, I might almost feel sorry for him.

“It will be as you say,” the tall man says, offering his hand. “Stay and mind the fire,” he adds to his friend.

Paavo huffs, leaning back against my packs. “Take your time,” he says, slipping a whetstone from his pocket. Then he pulls free his hatchet, giving me a wink.

Bile rises in my throat. “I can walk myself.” Balling my hands into fists, I storm away from the fire.

The tall man follows. “Wait—girl—I don’t even know your name.”

“Goddess, if you’re listening, I could use a little help,” I mutter, looking for anything I can use as a weapon—a rock, a fallen branch—

“Who are you talking to?” he calls.

“Come on ,” I whisper. “Goddess, help me—”

“Hey—” He grabs my arm. “Where are you going?”

“I just—I—don’t want him to see us.”

“He won’t bother us,” the man soothes. “We can take our time.”

I go still, heart in my throat, as he steps closer to me.

Goddess, please...

He gives the knot of my hair a little tug and my damp tresses fall down my back to my waist. With one hand holding my arm, he gently takes a handful of my hair with the other, lifting it over my shoulder. Then he leans in closer still, lowering his face to breathe deeply, nestling his nose against my hair.

Help me.

“Gods, girl, you smell like a forest after a rain,” he says, his voice low with longing.

“And you smell like a half-dead bear,” I mutter, my back stiff as I fight the urge to pull away.

He laughs, wrapping his arm around my waist and pulling me closer. Lowering his face, he kisses my cheek, my neck. His beard bristles against my throat, raising the fine hairs on my arms. Gods, he really does smell awful. I arch away, not allowing him to reach my lips. All around us, the woods stand quiet, empty. The goddess isn’t coming to save me. I’m on my own. Is this a punishment for stopping? She told me not to tarry. She told me not to die too. Is this a test? Am I strong enough to survive it?

The trapper’s hands roam, taking what I haven’t offered. The feel of his lips is almost unbearable. Each kiss feels like the slap of a wet fish against my skin. I swallow back my rage.

Not yet. It’s Aksel’s voice in my mind now. He taught me everything I know about hunting. You’ll only get one shot. Be patient, Siiri.

The man undoes his thick leather belt with fumbling fingers, letting his knife and axe fall to the ground. Then he’s pushing me forward, leading me over to a mossy spot between two large rocks. “I’ll be gentle,” he says, his voice growing desperate. “I swear, I won’t hurt you. You might even enjoy it.”

He pushes on my shoulder, and we drop to our knees. I’m not breathing. I think I may have forgotten how.

Breathe, Siiri, comes Aksel’s voice. A sloppy hunter forgets to breathe.

I suck in a sharp breath as the trapper pushes me back, his hands still touching me over my clothing. I let myself fall away, lying on my back on the cool moss. A root rests under my shoulder; it’s hard and knotted. Above my head, the branches of the trees reach for each other with bony fingers, their leaves blocking out the sky. They hide me from the All-Mother. She cannot see. She cannot help me.

I’m alone.

The man pushes up on his knees. “What’s your name?” he asks, dropping his hands to the tie of my pants. I close my eyes as he jerks them down.

Wait...

He crouches over me, his breath hot on my face. The pain is sharp in my shoulder from the root, and my unbound hair is caught under me, pulling my neck back. I try lifting my leg to make sure I can reach inside my right boot. Panic rises sharp and fast in my throat. “Oh gods—” I gasp, my body going stiff. With my pants around my knees, I can’t bend my leg.

I can’t reach the knife.

He presses on top of me, his weight forcing all the air from my lungs. He fumbles, still kissing my neck as he tries to get his hand between us.

“Ouch—you’re hurting me!”

He grunts in frustration when I elbow him. “Stop wriggling like a fish—”

“Please—just—here, let me take my pants off first.”

He sighs and pushes up with both hands. With his weight off me, I have the room I need. I twist my body under him, leaning down far enough and wrap my hand around the hilt of my knife inside my boot.

Do it, Siiri. Take the shot. Make it count.

With my brother’s voice echoing in my head, I throw my left hand behind his head and dig my fingers into his hair, holding him still. In the same breath, I drag the sharp blade of the knife across his throat, pushing up as I pull him closer to me. It’s a clean cut, deep and deadly.

The trapper grunts as his blood spills down onto my face and neck, drenching me. “You—bitch,” he gurgles, pushing up to his knees, both hands at his throat.

Pulse racing, I scramble to my feet and dart out of his reach.

Blood coats his mouth as he tries to keep the wound closed. He whimpers and I know he knows the truth. “Help me—”

“Never,” I hiss.

Mercy, Siiri.

I wince, pushing Aina’s voice away.

You’re a hunter, not a killer. Show mercy.

“Help me,” he pleads again.

I step closer, my bloody hand gripping my knife tight. “You’re going to die.”

He looks up at me from his knees, eyes wide with fear.

“Take your hands away,” I soothe. “It’ll be faster if you just let go.”

He drops his hands from his mangled neck, holding my gaze as he sways on his knees. “Finish it.”

I gasp. “No, I’m a hunter, not a killer—”

“You’ve just killed me,” he grunts, his icy gaze locked on me. “Finish the job, girl.”

I look down at the blood coating my chest and hands. His blood. “I didn’t ask for this.” Angry tears burn my eyes. “Why couldn’t you just leave me alone?”

“I’m a hunter and a killer.”

I shake my head in disgust. “You would make me do this? You would make me be like you?”

He sways, swallowing against the pain at his throat. “Give me—a clean—death,” he wheezes. “I’ll forgive you—like the men on the cross.”

I go still. “What men?”

“The sinners,” he gurgles, his color draining. “With Jesus—on the cross.”

I search his face. It’s only then that I see the leather cord around his neck. Stepping forward, I tug at it, freeing the charm nestled under his bloody tunic. There it is, the sign of the cross, made from a pair of blacksmith’s nails. “You’re a Christian?”

“Forgive me. I’ll—go—heaven—”

Ice fills my veins as I glare down at him. Grabbing him by the hair, I tip his head back, opening his wound. “You were trying to rape me. Nothing was going to stop you but my blade at your throat. You want my forgiveness?”

“I was—desperate—”

“And now you’re dead. And there is no heaven,” I add, tightening my grip in his hair. “When you die, you will go to Tuonela. And you go without my forgiveness. May you find no rest there.” With that, I slam the blade of my knife through his eye, granting him his quick death. His body goes limp as he falls.

I stand there, chest heaving. The madness of the moment fades, and suddenly I can hear the birds sing. I feel the wind on my face. I’m sweating, and I’m cold. I’m wet. Not wet. “Blood,” I say, with a voice not my own. I raise my hands. They’re red with it, the cuffs of my shirt stained. I stand over the body of a dead man, covered in his blood.

“I just killed a man,” I whisper to the trees. “Goddess, I just—”

Breathe. Focus, Siiri.

There’s no time for panic now. I pull up my pants with trembling hands. Then I drop to one knee and jerk the knife free from the dead man’s skull. I wipe the blade clean on the grass before tucking it back inside my boot.

Stumbling to my feet, I take his long hunting knife and his short-handled axe. Leaving the dead man on the ground behind me, I peer through the trees, looking and listening for any sign of Paavo. If I were smart, I’d leave now. I’d run through the trees and disappear. But I need my gear—the food, the tent, the extra layers of clothes. I’ll die without them, and so will Aina... so I’ll die trying to get them back from Paavo. I have no choice. And right now, I have the element of surprise.

As I move forward on soft feet, the tall man’s words haunt my every step.

I’m a hunter and a killer .

Now, thanks to these men, I am too.