19

Aina

Kivutar steps into the forest clearing, her sisters trailing in her wake.

“You monsters,” Lilja shouts, scrambling to her feet. “You’re rotten to the core— no —” She struggles as Riina and Satu hold her by the arms, keeping her from lunging at the goddess of suffering. “Get off me—”

“Lilja, please,” Satu cries.

The witches laugh. Behind them, Kalma is silent, watching us with those black, unblinking eyes. I think I hate her the most. She’s the one who took us all in the first place. I still wear her bruises on my arm. I’m not sure if they’ll ever heal.

Vammatar steps past me. With a flick of her hand, she summons a floating ball of light that illuminates the clearing, making us all blink at its brightness. With another flick of her hand, Satu’s mantle flutters away, revealing Inari’s bloody corpse.

“Don’t touch her,” Riina snarls. “You have no right, witch.”

Vammatar smirks. “I see you’ve figured out our little magic trick,” she says in that simperingly sweet voice. “The other girls remain trapped in this forest. To free them, you’ll have to draw their blood.”

“We suggest aiming a little lower,” Kivutar adds, nudging Inari’s body with her toe. “Try hitting something less vital.”

I exchange a horrified glance with Satu.

“Free your friends, and you’ll all be treated to a magnificent feast,” Vammatar declares. She waves her hand once more, and a table appears, nestled in the trees. Lit with two dozen flickering candles, it groans under the weight of a magnificent feast. The smell of roasted meats and vegetable pies wafts tantalizingly close. “Free them... or return to your rooms for another feast of bread and water.”

I can see the way the others weaken. They’re still starving, I remind myself. They don’t have the strength to challenge the witches.

“We only have to draw blood?” Riina asks.

Satu grabs at her arm. “Riina, no.”

“Silence,” the witch commands, slapping Satu with an invisible hand.

The girl whimpers, rubbing the stinging spot on her cheek.

“That’s it,” Vammatar says with a smile at Riina. “A little blood, one tiny drop, and they’ll be—well, they won’t be free. None of you are free,” she adds, making her sister laugh. “But they’ll be human again.”

I look to the body on the ground. “What happens to Inari now?” I ask.

“Oh, we’ll take care of this one,” Vammatar replies. She snaps her fingers, and Kalma steps forward on silent feet, her tattered, soiled robes dragging over the ground as she drops to her knees beside our dead friend.

“No!” Lilja cries.

“Don’t touch her,” says Riina, still holding on to Lilja’s arm.

“Please, haven’t you done enough?” Satu says through her tears.

As we watch, Kalma reaches out her skeletal hands, gently cupping Inari’s face. Then the witch leans over and exhales into Inari’s mouth. The foul smell of her breath makes me gag all over again. I can’t imagine tasting her stink in my mouth. In moments, the body twitches. Then Inari’s eyes flutter open. They’re cloudy and unblinking.

“Gods, help us,” I say on a breath.

Kalma leans away and Inari sits up, her head lolling awkwardly on her badly damaged neck. Her animated corpse stands, hands dangling uselessly at her sides. We all take a horrified step back as Inari turns to face Kalma.

“There we are,” Vammatar coos. “Good as new.”

I search the dead girl’s face, looking for some sign of life in her eyes. “Inari?”

“Oh, she’s not Inari anymore,” says Vammatar. “We’ll call herPeuratytto. Deer girl. It fits, no?”

Kivutar gives a raspy laugh. “Sister, you are too clever.”

Vammatar flicks her hair off her shoulder. “Come, Peuratytto. Your friends have a long night ahead of them. Let’s leave them to their happy hunting.”

Inari shuffles forward, following the call of Vammatar.

“Wait,” I call after them, determined to call the witch’s bluff. “You said we could return to our rooms. You said we could choose bread and water.”

Slowly, Vammatar turns, glaring at me with narrowed eyes. “You would choose to leave your poor friends out in this dark wood all alone?”

I square my shoulders at her. “Better a deer, free in the forest, than to live as one more captive doll for you to twist and break. I choose to return to my room. I choose bread and water.”

Satu takes my hand. “And I. Bread and water.”

Vammatar glares at Lilja and Riina. “And you two? Do you choose bread and water?”

Riina’s hand tightens on her weapon, and I almost think she means to capitulate to her hunger, but then she tosses it to the ground at Vammatar’s feet. “Enough. I choose bread. Just take us back.”

Lilja has no choice but to agree. She tosses her bow to the ground. The four of us stand there, waiting for the witch to make her next move.

After a moment, Vammatar sneers. I can see it in her eyes; she doesn’t intend to suffer our insolence. Sweeping forward, she descends on me with her hand raised.

“Aina, no,” Satu cries.

I lift both my arms and flinch, ready to receive her vicious blow. A sharp caw echoes around the clearing and Vammatar curses, spinning away from me at the last moment. Swaying on my feet, I peek through my raised forearms. There, perched on a low branch, is my Jaako. He takes in the scene, ruffling his feathers and clicking his sharp black beak.

“Have you truly learned nothing?” Vammatar hisses at the raven. “Leave now. Don’t come back.”

I look back to the branch, heart racing, and Jaako is gone. My shoulders sag in defeat as I wait for Vammatar to turn and strike me down. “Leave the weapons and get back to work,” she snarls. “No one rests until you’ve earned the right, you ungrateful wretches.” Her gaze lands on me. “And wash off that blood, before you begin to smell as bad as Peuratytto.”

We drop the rest of our weapons, and Inari leads the way back through the trees. We follow in her silent footsteps, saying nothing as we watch her walk with that odd, shuffling gait.

Ilmatar, hear me, I pray, taking in the looming outline of Tuoni’s palace. Do not let me die in this dark place. Help me. Show me the way.

Kukka meets me at the garden gate and follows me back to the weaving room. I step past her, moving down the rows of looms towards the back wall. I pass Loviatar too, standing at her loom. “Back so soon?” the goddess says. Is she relieved to know I’m still alive? Does she care at all? It’s impossible to tell. Her nose scrunches as I pass. Those sightless, white eyes turn my way. “You smell like blood.”

Reaching out with bloodstained hands, I take up a pair of knitting needles and a skein of black yarn. “That’s because I’m covered in Inari’s blood.”

The clack, clack, clack of Loviatar’s warp weights goes silent. She waits as I cross the room to her side, dropping onto my stool. “Why are you covered in the quiet girl’s blood?” she finally asks.

I can’t bear to look at her. If I look at her, I fear I’ll break, and I refuse to cry in front of this witch. Instead, I feverishly cast the first knots on my knitting needles.

“Why do you wear the girl’s blood, Aina?” the witch asks again.

“Because I just killed her,” I reply, working my needles over and under, over and under. “Did you know?”

“Did I know what?”

I drop my hands to my lap and glare at the witch. “Did you know, when Vammatar came for me, what they would do to us? Do you help them, Loviatar? Are you part of this violence?”

She turns her attention back to her weaving. “I have nothing to do with my mother’s endless games.”

“Well, you are fortunate,” I reply, still glaring at the back of her head. “How nice for you that you get to sit back as we’re forced to hunt each other like animals.”

She turns with a scowl. “You think me fortunate?”

“I just opened a girl’s throat,” I cry. “She died right in front of me. Oh gods— I killed her!” I cover my face with my bloodstained hands, holding back a wrenching sob.

“And why did you open her throat? Is it possible she was already injured? Was it a fatal wound?”

My shoulders still, and I drop my hands to my lap. “How did you... were you there? Oh gods, were you in the woods? Did you stand back and let it happen—”

“No,” she says gently. “It was merely a guess.”

We’re both quiet for a moment.

“It was awful,” I whisper. “Loviatar, I watched the life leave her eyes.” I look up, searching her face. “How do you bear it? How can you stand to feel such suffering, to know you are the cause of it?”

“You showed mercy,” she replies. “You granted that girl a clean death, a blessed death. It was a noble act.”

My heart thrums at her words. Leaning forward, I take a chance. “Tuonela is cursed, isn’t it?”

She goes still.

“The Witch Queen has somehow cursed this realm,” I go on. “Only her magic thrives, only her chaos and violence. Where is Lord Tuoni?”

She says nothing.

“Is he cursed?” I press. “Can the King of Death die? Is he lost? Tell me, Loviatar.”

The witch remains unmoving. She’s not answering, but neither has she taken out her wrath on me. Perhaps she doesn’t know how to answer?

Getting to my feet, I join her at her loom. “Tell me about your father. Is he the god from the stories and songs?”

“There are many stories,” she replies. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

“Is he truly the god of blessed death? Does he believe in peace and justice? Or does he prefer this wanton violence and destruction?”

The witch remains silent for so long, I fear she doesn’t mean to answer me. The moment I’m ready to turn away, she speaks. “My father is an idealist.”

“An idealist?”

“A fanciful dreamer, a hopeless romantic,” she goes on, her voice dripping with disdain. “He had a vision of what he wanted Tuonela to be. He became obsessed with bringing it about. He pulled us into his schemes, he made us hope... made us dream.”

“And what was his vision?”

“He would see this realm be a paradise,” the witch replies. “To him, Tuonela means peace. It means an end to all suffering, all sorrow and strife. He believes death should be a land of hope, where all souls come to find blessed rest.”

“Yes, that is the Tuonela of my mother’s stories,” I say. “Peace and contentment, eternal rest. What happened to his dream? What happened to Tuonela?”

“Tuonetar happened,” the witch replies. “My wretched sisters happened. Witches who cannot share his vision, for they lack all sight.” She turns to face me. “I may be blind, Aina, but I was the only one who could see. I saw his vision for our realm. I believed in it. I helped him craft it... and it cost me everything.”

I search her face, trying to see past her careful veils. “Where is he?”

“My mother and sisters found out about his plans to remake Tuonela. Her vengeance was swift and exacting.”

“Why must she seek revenge against him?”

The witch scoffs. “Do you really think there is any place for a witch like Tuonetar in my father’s vision of a peaceful Tuonela? She stands against everything he hoped for.”

My mind hums. “Wait,was he going to try to banish her? Strip her of her powers?”

Loviatar smirks. “Such a clever little mouse.”

“But she got to him first, didn’t she? Loviatar, is he dead?”

Her smile falls. “It would stifle my mother’s triumph greatly if he were not alive to watch as she remade Tuonela in her own twisted image.”

Then he’s alive. Somewhere.

“What was his plan? How was he going to supplant her?”

Her fingers brush over her weave, checking the tightness of the knots. “There are many moving pieces in a game of the gods, little mouse.”

“Am I one of the pieces?”

She goes still.

I tug on this thread, determined to unravel the truth. “Isaw the other girls in the woods tonight. They died here. How many has the Witch Queen dragged below? How many has she tortured and killed? Why does she do it?”

“She is mad, Aina. To try to understand her reasoning is a fool’s errand—”

“Don’t.” I place a hand on her shoulder. “No more games. Not with me. Tell me the truth. Why does she want us to suffer so?”

“It’s bold of you to assume she cares about mortal suffering.”

“She doesn’t, does she?” Hearing it said aloud, I know I’m right. “She’s doesn’t care about us at all. We are completely expendable to her. This is about Tuoni. It’s about making him suffer.” Another thought comes to me, sending my heart racing anew. I lower my voice, glancing over my shoulder to make sure we’re still alone. “Is he out there, Loviatar? Is he trapped in those woods?”

The witch says nothing.

“He is, isn’t he? He’s being forced to watch as your mother and sisters torture us to death. Over and over, he watches, helpless to stop her.”

Loviatar’s face is expressionless. “As I said... clever mouse.”

“But why is it a torture for him? Why does he care if we die? Or perhaps I should ask—what does he stand to gain if we live? What can he mean to do with us?”

The witch remains silent. Perhaps she likes listening to me puzzle it out for myself.

“Only girls are being taken,” I continue. “Not princesses or shamanesses, not even goddesses... we are all just young, unmarried, common girls—” My words fall silent as the truth hits me. “Oh, Loviatar, he meant to supplant the Witch Queen in all ways, not just stifle her magic. He meant to replace her... didn’t he? Down with the mad queen. He wanted to find someone more aligned with his vision, more willing to help him build the Tuonela of his dreams.”

Loviatar smirks. “Who better than a young mortal girl full of bright visions of life and fanciful ideas of death? Together, you could rule this realm and turn it into a beautiful dream.” She turns her face, those clouded eyes seeing through me. “The raven was right to bring you to me,” she says at last. “You’re perfect.”

My heart stops. “You know my raven?”

“I know your raven.”

“Who is he, Loviatar? He’s been protecting me since I arrived. He came for me tonight in the woods. He stopped Vammatar from striking me. Oh gods—” My heart feels fit to burst. I was a fool for not seeing it sooner. “Is he Tuoni? Is the death god trapped in the form of a raven—”

Loviatar takes me by the shoulders. “Be calm, Aina.”

“No—” I pull away. “I’ve told the raven too much. I—oh gods—he knows everything about me. Everything—”

“Enough, Aina.” Loviatar cups my face with her cold hands, her face inches from mine. “The raven cares for you... as I do. We would see you free of this living nightmare. You could free us allif only you have the strength to defy the Witch Queen.”

I feel like I’m drowning on dry land. My head is spinning, heart racing. “This will see me dead with my head mounted on a spike in your mother’s garden. Loviatar, I’m not ready to meet death as my equal. Gods hear me, I want to live.”

She gives my shoulders a squeeze, pressing her forehead to mine. “Listen to me, little mouse. You’ve been trapped in this nightmare for a few weeks. There are those of us here who’ve been fighting for a lifetime. We are closer now than we’ve ever been. You are bringing us closer. So, I am going to do something that I haven’t done in an age. Are you listening?”

“Yes,” I whisper.

“I have decided that I am going to help you.”

I lean away, searching her face. “Help me with what?”

“Free my father.”

Her words sit heavy between us, pressing like a weight on my chest. “What can I do?”

“Only one person has the power to free him from his prison,” she replies. “And freeing him will free us all.”

“And you think I am that person?”

“No, you’re not,” she replies, her fingers brushing down my braid. “Not yet... but you will be.”