17

Aina

Days have passed, and I’m still alive. My nights are spent in quiet comfort with Jaako. He still feeds me, using his magic to provide me with meals of roasted waterfowl and meat pies, sweet berry tarts. My father says ravens are messengers of death. They can cross the realms, taking away sickness and pain, sharing secrets of Tuonela.

I’m hoping, if I prove myself his friend, Jaako will send a message for me. I have to reach Siiri. She has to know I forgive her everything, that I would do it all again to spare her this fate. I need her to know I love her and I’m sorry I took away her choice. But I’m not sorry she’ll get to live. She deserves such a long and happy life.

Each night, I look to the raven, my request on the tip of my tongue. But I’m afraid of his refusal. He’s my only hope. I can’t bear to ask. Not yet. I’m not ready. But I also know I can’t tarry for too long. Each moment here could be my last.

And yet, each night, I curl up with the raven in my arms, and I stay silent.

Maybe tomorrow night...

Maybe...

My dead guide is actually a handmaid. She comes each morning to deliver me to the weaving room. I’ve decided to give her a name—Kukka. It means flower. The name has helped to disarm some of my feelings of disquiet at always having the dead girl beside me. She’s not a specter of death meant to monitor my every movement; she’s just Kukka.

We arrive each morning to the weaving room, and Loviatar greets me in her cold manner. We’re not always alone. Sometimes the dead help us. One woman in particular seems just as skilled as Loviatar. The weaver specializes in using the metallic threads. She creates the most beautiful cloth of silver, copper, and gold.

True to her threats, Loviatar treats me like a mouse, preferring when I’m neither seen nor heard. But on the second day, she lets me keep a pair of blue wool socks. And on the fifth day, she shows me through the door in the corner of the weaving room. It leads to a large storage room filled with shelves, each stacked with piles of clothes—stout men’s tunics and breeches, wool dresses, peplos-style overdresses, all manner of fur and wool capes.

The goddess tells me I can take my pick of anything in the room. “The dead don’t mind what they wear.”

As much as I love my beautiful golden dress, it’s highly impractical for everyday use. I switch it out for a stout wool dress of bellflower blue. I style a green peplos over it and belt both with a bit of woven cloth. I even find a pair of fingerless wool mittens and an extra pair of socks. The last piece of my new winter outfit is a knit wool hood that can rest around my neck like a scarf while I work.

“Tell me about Tuonela,” I say, daring to speak as we sit side by side at a loom. She’s begun to teach me, now that she feels confident in my knitting. “I feel the seasons changing, but there is no sun or moon. Is it autumn now? Will winter come soon?”

“Seasons are seasons everywhere,” the witch replies. “Not too tight,” she warns, her fingers brushing over mine as she checks my work.

“Where do the animals come from?” I ask, passing her the weft through the warps. “They’re alive, too, right? The dogs, the chickens, the pigs, the ravens...”

Loviatar makes no response.

“And the food... are there farms in Tuonela? How do plants grow? Is it all magic? The stories say Tuonela is a vast land of mountains and meadows and great palaces. Can I see it—”

“Focus, little mouse,” the witch chastises.

I try to bite my tongue, but I have so many questions. Jaako can’t answer me the way Loviatar can. “What is your favorite thing about Tuonela?” I say, handing her the batten.

“The silence,” she says, tapping the weave tight.

I smirk. “Yes, silence must be a rare gift in a realm where the dead sleep eternal.”

“Do you have any family, little mouse?”

My smile falls as I try to stop my mind from conjuring an image of my parents and my young brothers. It’s too painful to think of them. “Yes,” I whisper.

“Do you have any sisters?”

I close my eyes, thinking of Siiri. “Yes.”

“Then you know what it means to crave silence,” the witch retorts.

I can’t help but smile again. It’s true, there have been many moments where I’ve wanted to stuff Siiri’s mouth with socks just to hear myself think. “Tell me about your sisters.”

“You want a fond tale of sisterly affection,” she replies, her rune-marked fingers brushing over the warps. “But my sisters and I are witches, Aina. We were made by the All-Mother to fulfill a divine purpose. With our power comes great suffering and even greater pain. Mortals fear us, for they fear death. But they are foolish to do so. Like all the dead now resting here, you will soon learn the greatest truth in life.”

I glance her way. “And what truth is that?”

She turns her face. Her striking eyes gleam in the candlelight. “That there is power to be found in embracing death. Do not run from it, little mouse. Do not hide. Meet it head on. Treat it as your equal, and it will see you as such.”

I huff a little laugh. There is no mirth in the sound. “Clearly, you haven’t heard the tale of my capture. Did Kalma not tell you?”

“Kalma does not speak,” Loviatar replies.

“Why can’t she speak—”

“I said she doesn’t speak,” the witch corrects. “There’s a difference, little mouse.”

We’re quiet for a moment, our hands working in rhythm together on the loom.

“Tell me.” Her voice is soft.

I swallow the emotion thick in my throat. “Kalma appeared to us at the lakeshore,” I begin. “It was nearing sunset. She had her eyes set on Siiri.”

“Who is Siiri?”

I smile weakly, tapping the weave to tighten the knots. “My dearest friend. It was her Kalma wanted... until Siiri fought back.”

The witch raises a dark brow, stark against the paleness of her skin. “She fought Kalma?”

“Yes.”

She shakes her head. “Stupid girl.”

“She was brave,” I correct. “And selfless. She was fighting Kalma to protect me, to give me a chance to run. I had that chance. I could have let Kalma take Siiri.”

“But you didn’t?”

I blink back my tears. “To use your words, I met death as my equal. I offered Kalma my hand. I let her take me, praying she would spare Siiri this fate.”

Next to me, the goddess grows impossibly still, her hands splayed on our shared weave. Slowly, she turns to cup my cheek, her cold fingers brushing along my jaw. “Little mouse... answer me very carefully now. Are you saying you chose this fate? You chose to come to Tuonela?”

Before I can reply, the door to the weaving room slams open. Loviatar drops her hand away from me. Vammatar sweeps into the room, her walnut-brown hair piled high on her head in intricate braids. She wears flowing robes of bloodred, a wool shawl around her shoulders the color of charcoal. “Sister,” she says with a nod to Loviatar, her long fingers brushing wispy tendrils of hair back from her face.

Loviatar just scowls. “What do you want?”

“I’m here for the bonebag,” she replies, gesturing to me. “Mother has set them all with a delightful new task,” she adds with a devious glint in her eye.

Holding the witch’s gaze, I know with all surety that I cannot leave this room. To leave this room is death. No matter what Loviatar says, I’m not ready to truly meet it as my equal.

Next to me, Loviatar tenses. “Use one of the others. I don’t feel like parting with this one. She’s a skilled worker.”

Her hesitancy only confirms my fears. If I walk out that door with Vammatar, I’m not coming back. As if she knows exactly what we’re both thinking, Vammatar laughs. “Oh, little sister. You’ve always been so sentimental about your pets. It really is your curse. Don’t worry, you’ll get her back... probably.” Sweeping forward, she grabs me by the arm, gripping it like a vise. “Let’s go, bonebag. We can’t keep the others waiting.”

I look desperately from Vammatar to her sister, waiting for Loviatar to do something. She could fight for me to stay. She could use her magic. We could escape together right now. Cross the river and—

“Just let this one keep all her fingers,” Loviatar calls, her tone flat and dismissive. “She’ll make a fine weaver, alive or dead. At least dead she won’t talk so much.”

Vammatar snorts as my heart sinks. “Yes, they really do bleat more than goats, don’t they?” She gives my arm another sharp tug. “Let’s go.”

Knowing my fate is sealed, I let the witch drag me from the weaving room.

Vammatar leads the way through the maze of courtyards back to the walled garden. I’m grateful for my new clothes in this crisp autumn chill. I flip up the hood of my cowl, covering my hair. From my pocket I pull my pair of wrist-warmers and slip them on.

I follow Vammatar down the path. There, behind the willow tree, set into the wall of the courtyard, is a small wooden door. The witch waves her hand, and the door swings open on creaky hinges. The light from the courtyard stops abruptly beyond the door.

“Come on ,” Vammatar growls, pulling me forward.

I pass through the narrow doorway and blink desperately to encourage my eyes to adjust. An eerie mist, almost silver in the half-light, floats over the grass. Before us, not twenty yards away, looms a ghostly forest. The trunks of the birch trees are heavy with knots. Like so many unblinking eyes, they watch as we approach. It’s unnerving. I feel like the trees know I’m walking to my death.

I cast a wild look behind me, letting myself take in the full sight of Tuoni’s palace. The high stone walls are lit from the inside, making the whole structure glow. I can see the roof of the massive hall where Tuonetar received us. To either end of the hall are two stone towers. I stumble over a root as Vammatar pulls me into the trees. “I—goddess, I can’t see,” I admit.

“You don’t need to see,” she snaps. “Move your worthless feet.”

We step between a pair of thick trees and my stomach twists in a painful knot. There, beneath an orb of eerie light, wait Kalma and another dark-haired witch. This one earns the name. She is weathered and rotting, her hair falling in thin, greasy strands around her face. Like Kalma, she dresses in black. Her shoulders are hunched, her pale eyes red-rimmed and lifeless as she stares at us, unblinking. She must be one of the twins. Either she is Kivutar, the goddess of suffering, or her twin Kiputytto, goddess of pain.

Three other girls huddle together nearby. Lilja and Satu hold hands, both of them looking pale and underfed. Behind them, tall Riina looks resigned. Like me, she assumes this is the moment she will meet her end. I freeze, a strangled shriek of fright caught in my throat, as the great, hulking form of a red-eyed wolf slinks through the trees. He is Surma, the death-bringer. His bright eyes watch me as he stalks over to the side of his mistress. Kalma reaches out a bony, tattooed hand, scratching between the monster’s pointed black ears.

“Finally,” Vammatar’s sister rasps, her voice like rocks scraped along a boat’s hull. “Let’s get on with this.” Next to her, Kalma stands silent as the grave.

“Patience, Kivutar,” Vammatar replies in that light, teasing tone. “All good things to those who wait.”

My shoulders sag in defeat. If the goddess of eternal suffering is here, this can only end horribly. The witch and I join the circle of light, and she lets me go, giving me a shove towards the other girls. Satu and Riina each take one of my gloved hands.

“You lot are spoiled rotten,” Kivutar growls. “Worthless to the core, I don’t know why we keep you at all.”

“Come, sister,” Vammatar says with another laugh. “Surely, they’re not all so bad. Loviatar says the mousey one is quite skilled at weaving.”

I go still as all three witches stare at me. Loviatar is overgenerous in her praise, but I’ll take it if it keeps me alive. The goddess of suffering, her skin so ancient and lined it looks like it may fall off the bones of her face, glares at me. Vammatar steps out of the light, leaving us with only Kivutar and Kalma.

“We’re tired of doing all the hunting for you spoiled kits,” Kivutar says. “And my father’s forests are teeming with life. If you want meat to eat, hunt it yourselves.”

From the darkness behind her, Vammatar drags forward a large wooden box. She flips open the lid to reveal an assortment of weapons. “Take your pick,” she says with a wave of her hand. “You must all be sick of barley bread by now. Whatever you kill, you may cook and eat.”

Next to me, the other girls look confused. I can hear their stomachs groan at the thought of fresh meat. Satu all but whimpers with relief. What new game is this? Even before the Witch Queen’s haunted welcome feast, I’ve enjoyed a varied diet of game and fruit pies, and warm salted nuts. Twice now, my cup even filled with a sweet, red wine. I see now that I must be alone. The way Lilja and Riina cling to their quivers and bows, I can only imagine they’re not eating roasted perch every night. Jaako’s magic is feeding only me.

This feels dangerous in the extreme. I have a secret I’m keeping from everyone, even the other girls. I can’t give myself away. Not until I speak to Jaako again. I have to understand why he’s helping me... and whether his help will get me killed faster. Swallowing my nerves, I step over to the box and choose a hatchet. Lilja and Riina look far more confident wielding their bows and axes.

“Move quickly and quietly,” Vammatar cautions. “Keep your aim straight and true.”

“But be careful, little mortals,” her sister adds. “For more than animals roam these dark woods. Beware the kalman v?ki and the keijulainen. Beware the walking dead.”

Next to me, Satu trembles. Lilja just narrows her eyes, ready to face any beasts or monsters prowling these dark woods.

“Stop when you reach the river,” Vammatar directs. “And if you get any ideas, just know we’ll be watching. Surma doesn’t take kindly to naughty little girls who break the rules.”

Next to his mistress, the wolf gives a low growl, making poor Satu jump, nearly dropping her axe.

“Get on with it,” says Kivutar, pointing at the trees.

I exchange a worried look with Satu, but Lilja and Riina take off running. They hold their bows confidently, arrows nocked. Satu and I hurry after them, chased by the witches’ mocking laughter. Poor Satu trips on the hem of her dress, nearly falling on her face, and the witches cackle louder.

“Lilja,” I rasp. “Riina, wait—”

The girls pause, glancing over their shoulders. I wince at the bloody bandage over Lilja’s missing ear.

“Are you well?” I ask. “Are the others alive?”

“Salla lives,” Lilja replies as Riina nods.

“Inari too,” Satu adds.

I breathe a sigh of relief. “Then we’re all still alive.”

“Not for long,” Riina mutters. “This is a test meant to kill us.”

Satu’s eyes widen. “What can you mean?”

“We’re not hunting animals in these woods,” Riina replies, her sharp gaze darting around. “We’re being hunted.”

Satu and I both go still. “No,” she whispers. “No, they mean to make us work—”

“Don’t be a fool,” Lilja hisses. “They have enough dead to work for them. That’s not why we’re here. And you heard the witch. Do you know what a kalman v?ki is, little Satu? It’s a death spirit born of rot and decay. It is Kalma’s Wrath, and it haunts these woods looking for mortal souls to feast on. And the keijulainen are evil fae that poison your mind with nightmares. If they touch you, they infect your skin with festering boils.”

“How do you know all this?” Satu says with a whimper.

“My father is a shaman,” Lilja replies. “He follows the old ways.”

“I think this might be a game,” Riina adds, still glancing around. “The death witches love nothing more than to toy with mortals. The stories say they often set mortals an impossible task. The trial doesn’t end until they succeed... or die trying.”

“I can’t eat another bite of that rotten bread,” Lilja says. “If I do get a clean shot, I’m taking it.”

Riina nods. “Vammatar caught me trying to sneak an egg in the courtyard yesterday and gave me this.” She holds out her arm and pulls up her sleeve, showing us all a line of thick purple bruises that look like they were made with a rod. Her bruises confirm my suspicions. The other girls aren’t being treated as gently as I am. Perhaps this is part of the test. Should I admit it to them? I could sneak food to Riina and Helmi as I pass through the courtyard. This is the first I’ve seen Lilja since our rotten feast, but surely I could find a way. Where are the others?

I take a step forward. “Listen, there is a raven—”

“Hush,” Riina rasps, spinning around to face the darkness.

I hear it, too, the faint rustle of a bush off to the left. Next to me, Satu grabs my hand.

“Let’s split up,” says Lilja. “No offense, Satu, but you look like you’re going to cut your own leg off swinging that axe. Aina, can you hunt?”

I shake my head. “I’ve always been a better forager.”

Riina rolls her eyes. “I’m going this way.” She points to the right. “Lilja, go that way and swing back at the river,” she adds, nodding to the left.

“You two just keep walking straight ahead,” Lilja adds. “With all the noise you make, you’ll scare whatever’s hiding and send them our way. Agreed?”

“Agreed,” Riina says with a nod.

Next to me, Satu gasps. “Wait—if we make noise, won’t we lure the ghosts and v?ki closer?” But the other girls aren’t listening. They part ways, disappearing into the darkness. “Don’t leave me,” Satu begs.

“Come on then.”

We begin walking, picking our way over roots and around ferns.

“Do you think there are boars in Tuonela?” she whispers. “A boar killed my uncle. It was a nasty, brutish thing with great, long tusks. It gored my uncle in the groin. He bled out in my father’s arms. It was awful.”

“Boars are clever,” I reply, keeping my voice low. “They’ll smell us coming... or hear us. We’ll do as Lilja says and make some noise. If we can help them make a kill faster, we might all escape this alive.”

“But if we make noise, we may lure the walking dead or the sprites or—”

I pull her to a stop. “You don’t need to remind me of what may lurk in these dark woods. I’m already so terrified, I can hardly breathe. Let’s just be scared together. All right?”

Slowly, Satu nods. I can hardly see her face in this dim light. “All right.”

Before we can move, branches snap to our left. Satu spins around with a gasp, swinging her axe. The glint of the blade flashes by my eye as I barely move away in time.

“What is it?” she rasps. “Can you see it?”

Inching closer, I wrap my hand around her wrist. “Here... why don’t you give me this?” I gently pull the axe from her shaking hands.

“I can’t be unarmed—”

“You’ll do more harm than good with it, I’m afraid.” I tuck it through my belt. “Just stay with me. I may not be as good as Siiri with a hatchet, but I’m not hopeless either.”

“Who’s Siiri?” she asks as we continue walking forward.

“My friend from home. She’s the best with a bow I’ve ever seen. And she can win a hatchet-throwing contest with her eyes closed. She drives all the young men crazy.”

“With her beauty?”

I can’t help but laugh. “No, because none of them can best her. I once saw her fell an elk from the other side of...” My voice trails off as I spy something lying on the ground, partially concealed behind a fern.

Satu sees it too and goes still. “Is it...”

“Dead,” I finish for her, stepping around the fern to take in the form of an elderly man lying peacefully on a bed of moss, lost to eternal sleep. Satu holds tighter to my arm, staring down at the dead man with wide eyes. “Come away,” I say gently. “He won’t hurt us. The sleeping dead are at peace.”

“And what of the walking dead?” she whispers.

We step around the dead man, both of us startling when we quickly spy two more bodies lying in the gloom. “It was a meadow,” I say, hoping to distract her. “Siiri managed the shot clear across a meadow.”

Not far from these bodies lies another, half-hidden in the ferns.

“Gods, she’s so young,” Satu murmurs. “She looks... wait. Aina, look .”

I notice the differences immediately. All the dead have a look about them. Their color is off, tinged in blues and greys, like they’re more shadow than living creature. And they possess a smell of rot. Some smell worse than others, depending on their injury or malady. I have come to the conclusion that we must come to Tuonela frozen in whatever form we took at the moment of our death—headless, fevered, an arrow through the eye.

But this young woman looks different. She looks... well, she looks like a freshly dead body in the woods. Her colors are still pinks and whites. She wears a fine dress of spun silver. Her body is arranged as if someone took the time to make her comfortable, crossing her arms over her chest and even placing a flower in her cupped hands. A small stone rests in the middle of her forehead, marked with a rune.

I crouch over, narrowing my eyes in the darkness. I think the carving is of a swan. “A sielulintu,” I whisper, dropping to my knees at her side.

“What?”

“A soul bird,” I say. “The Swan of Tuoni is a good omen. She guards the river, perfectly balanced between life and death. Someone wanted to help this young woman pass peacefully. They honored her death and the place where she will find eternal rest.”

“Why does she look so different from the other dead?” Satu whispers.

I go still, my gaze locked on her fine outfit, so similar to the one I was gifted when I first arrived. Then I take in the wound over her heart. She took an arrow to the chest.

“Aina?”

“Look at her dress,” I say, suddenly breathless.

Satu takes in the silvery dress and her colorful slippers, her fox-fur stole.

“Look at this ,” I say, my fingers brushing the wound that no longer bleeds. Shifting her aside reveals an arrow tucked under her. No doubt it was the arrow plucked from her heart.

“Oh gods,” Satu whimpers.

“She was one of us. Perhaps of the group stolen before we were taken. She didn’t die in the realm of the living. She was brought to these woods and killed. I think she died right here,” I add, holding up the arrow. “This is how we look when we die in the kingdom of death.”

“We’re going to die out here, aren’t we? Aina, I don’t want to die—”

A bloodcurdling scream tears through the silence of the woods all around us. We both scramble to our feet, following the sound, but Satu turns one way and I turn another.

“Help!”

“Oh no—it’s Lilja,” I gasp. Pulling free of Satu’s hand, I race towards the sound.

“Wait,” Satu shrieks. “Aina, wait for me!”

The scream fills the forest again. “Help! Somebody!”

I run, passing several more bodies lying prone amongst the ferns. Some are faded and grey, dead long ago, but at least two more are young girls in full color. I don’t pause to investigate.

“Aina,” Satu calls from behind me, as screams of, “Oh gods, help us!” come from Lilja ahead.

“Where are you?” I shout.

“Aina, it could be a ghost sent to trick us,” Satu warns, meeting me at my side. “It could be a death sprite or a—”

“It’s Lilja,” I say, cutting her off.

Satu grabs for my arm. “That’s what the witches want you to think— Aina —the screams are coming from the other way—”

I jerk free of her grasp at another cry.

“No! Please, Inari, no—”

A low growl raises all the fine hairs on my arms. Heart racing, I stare into the haunted red eyes of Surma. The shaggy black wolf pants, mouth open to reveal his white teeth.

Then the smell hits me. I gag, a hand going reflexively to cover my nose and mouth as I try to hold my breathing. But my chest heaves from my sprint. I need air.

Kalma steps from the shadows at his side, one bony hand tangled in his scruff. The witch appraises me with her black eyes, not unlike the glossy black eye of my raven. Her face is painted with blood that has dried in streaks down her neck. Her horned head tilts, as somewhere near, another scream pierces the silence.

“Please, goddess, just tell me which way,” I say, dropping my trembling hand to my side.

Slowly, Kalma raises an arm, her long finger pointing to her right.

I inch away, not daring to turn my back until the shadows of the forest swallow them. Then, turning on my heel, I sprint in the direction Kalma pointed. “Lilja,” I call, pushing my way through the brambles.

“Aina,” Lilja sobs. “Help me.”

Inari lies on the mossy ground between the rocks, her body spreadeagled. An arrow protrudes from her neck. Lilja is doing what she can to tend to the girl, her hands bloody from trying to apply pressure. Her bow lies forgotten on the ground.

“Inari, I’m sorry,” Lilja whimpers. “I didn’t know. Gods, I swear, I didn’t know.”

Inari’s hand flutters at her side, like she’s trying to reach for the arrow to pull it out.

“What happened?” I say, stepping forward.

Lilja’s head jerks up, tears streaking down her cheeks flecked with soil and blood. “She was the deer,” she shrieks. “I swear by all the gods, I didn’t know. It was those bloody fucking witches!”

I drop to my knees on Inari’s other side. This is the witches’ idea of a game, and it is one they’ve played many times before, I understand now. They turned some of us into animals and had us hunt each other through the darkness. That’s what killed the other girls. The girls like us. The girls who had been taken.

I place my hands over Inari’s wound. Immediately, I can feel her weak pulse. The poor girl is dying.

“I didn’t know,” Lilja sobs. “I just wanted to hunt the deer. I’m so hungry.”

My sympathies overflow for Lilja. She doesn’t need to be here to watch Inari die. “Riina. You have to go find her, Lilja. You have to warn her, stop her from hurting any of the others.”

Lilja looks from me to the dying girl. “But Inari, she needs me—”

“I will do all I can to help her, but you have to save Salla and Helmi. Lilja, go ! ”

Lilja gets to her feet and darts through the trees, calling out Riina’s name. From the other direction, Satu comes stumbling into the clearing. “You l-left me,” she sobs. “You—”

“Get down here and help me.”

She takes in the scene, and her cries are cut short. She stands there, chest heaving, cheeks pink. “What happened?”

“We’re not being hunted. We’re hunting each other. The other girls are the animals.”

Satu drops to her knees. “How cruel.” Then she gasps. “Oh, Aina—the other girls, the ones in the woods—”

“Yes,” I say, holding both hands over Inari’s wound. “They left them where they fell.”

Tears slip down Satu’s cheeks as she glances down at Inari. I look down too. The poor girl whimpers, blood coating her mouth as she tries to suck in air around the arrow in her throat. Her eyes are wide as they watch me, her pale, white hair stained with her blood. “Hold on,” I murmur. “You’ll be all right.”

“Aina...” Satu places a gentle hand on my arm. “You should take your hands away.”

I glare at her. “We have to help.”

“She’s suffering, Aina. Taking your hands away is helping her.”

My heart clenches in my chest. Satu is right. There will be no saving Inari. Resolved, I take one hand away from Inari’s neck and pick up the hatchet I left discarded on the ground. For once, Satu doesn’t whimper. She takes Inari’s hand and begins to sing in a soft voice:

Beside the stream in the summertime,

Beneath the boughs of a sweeping pine,

My love, I vow I will make you mine,

And we will live in love forever.

Tears falling, I press down with the blade and jerk it across Inari’s throat, opening her to death completely. It only takes a moment. Inari gasps and gurgles before she goes still. Her face relaxes as her eyes glaze over. Satu closes her eyes. “There. She’s resting now. She’s at peace.”

I drop the blade with a sob. I spared poor Lilja this, at least. Inari’s death is now mine to bear. Satu slips her cloak off her shoulders and drapes it over Inari’s body, covering her face. She reaches out to me with a comforting hand, but I jerk away, anger burning inside me.

“Aina, this wasn’t your fault—”

“I won’t die like this,” I say, voice trembling. “We’re getting out, do you hear me? I don’t know how, but I am not dying here. Ilmatar, mark my words.”

“Oh, Aina, please don’t try to escape. They’ll kill you for sure—”

“Like Inari didn’t try to escape? Much good it did her.”

“Don’t,” she says, her bottom lip quivering. “Don’t speak ill of the dead where they can hear you.”

Hot shame fills me as I gaze down at Inari’s form. Satu is right. I lean down, giving Inari’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save you. I will do everything in my power to save the others, I swear it.”

“Aina, this is Tuonela,” Satu says. “What power can a mortal wield against the death gods?”

“They’re hunting us for sport,” I murmur. “Starving us and tricking us, scaring us half to death. This is not the Tuonela of the songs. Something is wrong here, Satu. Tuonetar’s magic has cursed this realm—all the realms. Have you not felt it? For years now, we’ve suffered—healthy women taken in childbirth, strange accidents, gruesome murders. Awful deaths. Cruel deaths. Meaningless deaths. I thought it was because life was somehow out of balance with death. But now I think death is out of balance with itself.”

I pause. “Where is the god of death, Satu? Where is Tuoni, who should sit on the throne?”

Before Satu can reply, we both turn towards the crack of branches.

“Aina!” Lilja reappears, pulling Riina into the clearing behind her. Both girls are winded, dropping to their knees at either side of me. Lilja takes in Inari’s shrouded form, her expression changing from one of exhaustion to one of horror. “No— no ! You said you’d help her,” she cries, falling on Inari’s body with a sob.

“Where are the others?” Satu asks, glancing behind them as if she expects to see Helmi and Salla stumbling through the ferns.

Riina looks white as death. “I didn’t shoot. I saw a deer. I had my bow raised... but then I heard Lilja.”

“Did you see the other girls?” Satu asks. “The ones from before?”

Riina scowls. “Yes, the goddesses have played this game many times. All women our age, all dead. The foul, rotten witches, may Ukko pound their bones to dust,” she curses, spitting on the ground.

“We have to try to find Salla and Helmi,” I say, getting to my feet.

“How are we supposed to do that?” asks Lilja. “Inari only changed back when I shot her.”

“We can’t just leave them trapped out here,” I say, wiping my bloody hands on my skirt. “Let’s split up. Satu, come with me—”

A chilling laugh from the darkness makes us all jump. “Well, you’ve made quite a nasty little mess of things. Haven’t you, my pets?”