23

Aina

Kukka gives me a gentle shove through the door into the weaving room. I’m in a daze. My body feels cold, numb. I can’t stop hearing Salla’s and Lilja’s screams of pain. I watched the life leave their eyes. I watched Kalma drag their bodies away. I can’t close my eyes anymore. If I do, I see them all. Pale Inari, dead by my hand. Dead Lilja. Dead Salla. If I push their faces away, more take their place. Dead Siiri. Dead mother. Dead brothers.

So much waste of life. So much pain and suffering. Too much.

It’s all too much.

A cool hand on my cheek. Soft words. “Come, little mouse.”

I think a part of me might be dead now too. Can one be both alive and dead? I think it must be possible. I think we can die in parts. I died a little the night Kalma took me from Siiri. I felt it. Something escaped me in that moment when the darkness took me. It left and never came back. I am less now. Less Aina.

If I stay here for long enough, I fear the Witch Queen will find a way to take all the best parts of me. That’s what she does. Her Beer of Oblivion erases the soul. It leaves you hollow and empty, carved out. Her captivity is a different kind of carving. It will be bloodier and take longer. Gods help me, I think I might beg for her brew before the end.

Hands press on my shoulders, and I sink onto a stool.

“Bring her some water.”

A cup is pressed into my hand, but I can’t grip it. It slips through my fingers, rattling to the floor, the water spilling.

“That’s all right,” the witch soothes. “Aina, you’re safe now.”

I blink, focusing on her face. “Safe?” I hear myself say. “There is no safe. Not in Tuonela.”

Loviatar’s cool hands cup my face, her white eyes catching the light. “I won’t let them take you again.”

She shouldn’t make promises she can’t keep. It’s too cruel.

“Aina—listen to me now.” Her hands hold my face still, not letting me pull away. “We can stop this—all this pain and suffering, all this mindless death. You can stop this. But it’s your choice. It has to be your choice.”

“How?” I whisper, my trembling hands wrapping around her wrists.

“Tuonetar is overconfident,” she replies. “She believes she is untouchable. And she loves nothing more than a game. She’s like a cat, Aina, taunting her prey before she eats it, scaring it to death. She wanted to taunt Tuoni, to show him her power. He wanted a wife to share in his vision of a peaceful Tuonela, a true partner and queen, a helpmate, a friend.”

“I don’t understand—”

“Tuonetar imprisoned him with that promise,” Loviatar says over me. “Only his wife can set him free.”

I lean away from her touch. “Then... surely, only Tuonetar can set him free.”

The witch smirks, dropping her hands from my face. “Tuonetar is not his wife.”

My heart stops. “What?”

“They are not married.”

I don’t even realize I’m still shaking my head. “But my mother always said—”

“Has your mother divined the secrets of the dead? Has she crossed the veil in body or soul? Has she sat at our table and heard our stories from our own lips? Who is she, to know our natures?”

I’m unsure of how to respond. In the end, stories are all just stories, I suppose. This wouldn’t be the first time someone got the details wrong. “I’m sorry.” Reaching out, I take her hand. “I will listen. Loviatar, please tell me your story. Help me understand.”

She relaxes. “Tuoni and Tuonetar were made by the will of the All-Mother to fulfill a divine purpose here in death, as we all were. Tuoni was not made a king; he is a god. The title of king is a mortal appellation. But it turns out there is power in your mortal ideas.”

“Is he not your father, then? Is Tuonetar not your mother?”

“He is my father by choice only,” she explains. “He protects us and tends to us like his own children. In turn, we honor him as our father and our king... or we did.”

“What happened?”

“Tuonetar became obsessed with being queen,” she goes on. “At first it was enough to rule at his side, balancing his inclinations towards peace and mercy. But with her chaos came delusions of grandeur. She wanted to be queen without a king. She wanted all powers of death vested in her. She became impossible, intractable... until she had to be stopped. Tuoni was right to try.”

“But he failed.” I drop my hand from hers.

She nods. “He is broken, Aina, but not beaten. He will fight her, and he will win, but he cannot do it alone. She thought to mock him with her curse, binding him with the promise that only his wife can set him free—when he is not married and has no chance of marriage while bound.”

“And then she taunted him,” I whisper. “She brought girls from life into death only to kill them in front of him?”

“It is complicated,” she replies, her expression veiled. “But yes.”

I close my eyes, wincing against the pain of this truth. “All this time... all these girls... and she’s just taunting him . We mean nothing. Our lives, our families, all our hopes and dreams, taken from us to feed her need for pain. It’s too cruel.”

Loviatar grips my shoulders. “Then stop it. The maiden must come willingly, Aina. She must choose to marry him. She must choose to be his wife.”

“What?”

“Tuonetar believes no mortal would ever choose such a fate,” Loviatar explains. “Not if they only see this rotten nightmare, this world she’s created.”

I pull away. “No, I only ever wanted to free him. So that he would free us. If I marry him, I’ll be trapped here forever. She’ll kill me in the end—”

“No—”

“Yes,” I cry, “she will . You know she will. She’s too powerful.”

“Tuoni would protect you.”

“As he’s protected you?” The words are spoken in haste, and I have no choice but to watch as her mask flickers, revealing her pain and rage.

“I’m still alive,” she replies.

I lean forward, searching her face. “And... what about your child? The one you lost...”

She goes still, only the corner of her mouth twitching. “Careful, little mouse.”

“Did he promise to protect them too? Did you watch them die like I watched Lilja and Salla— ah —” I’m not prepared for the slap that sends me reeling backwards off my stool. I cry out, hitting my shoulder on a loom, as Loviatar grabs me by my braid and jerks me up to my knees. I wrap my hands around her bony wrist. “Let me go—”

“Listen to me, little mouse,” she hisses. “You truly know nothing of us. He is only imprisoned because he helped my child escape. That was his great treachery against the Witch Queen. My child is free of this place thanks to his grace.”

I gasp, ceasing my struggling. With a final jerk of my scalp, she lets me go. I sink back to the floor.

She angles her face down. “You know nothing of what I have suffered for him, for my children. I would suffer still more. But it is not in my power to protect them now. No, that power is in the hands of a weak little mortal with the soul of a mouse.”

I let out a heavy breath, shoulders sagging.

“What will you do, mouse? Will you lie there on the floor and let the foxes and the owls make your life small? Or will you stand up and fight? You could claim a power beyond anything in your wildest mortal imaginings. You could be more to him than a wife, Aina. You could be a queen. You could be a goddess.”

I swallow the nerves in my throat, shaking my head. “I don’t want to be a queen or a goddess. I’m not even sure I want to be someone’s wife,” I admit. “It was always just expected of me, and I hate to disappoint.” I glance around the confines of the weaving room. “But this place is not my dream. Thanks to the Witch Queen, I fear it can only ever be my nightmare.”

Loviatar’s expression softens, turning sad. She sinks back down to her stool. “I cannot force your hand,” she says at last. “I thought, when I heard of how you sacrificed yourself for your friend, that there was nobility in you, a rare kind of courage.”

I go still, heart aching at her mention of Siiri.

“I thought it again when you claimed Inari’s life to spare Lilja the pain of the kill,” she goes on. “You are generous and kind. You are selfless, Aina. Loyal. Patient. Resilient. Rare qualities in a mortal, even rarer in a god. You would be a queen worthy of a crown.”

Before I can reply, the door to the weaving room slams open.

With a scream of rage, Tuonetar sweeps in, wand held aloft. “Daughter,” she shrieks, blasting a loom out of her path. It slams into another, and they both splinter. From my place on the floor, I make like a mouse and scamper, ducking behind the looms, staying to the shadows.

Loviatar rises regally to her feet, her black hair unbound, flowing down her back. She folds her hands before her and waits. “Yes, Mother?”

The Witch Queen stalks forward, chest heaving with rage. “Was it you?”

Loviatar doesn’t cower. “You’ll have to be more specific—”

Tuonetar snatches her daughter by the throat one-handed, lifting her clear off the floor. “Was it you ?” she says again. “Did you sneak those dead little rats out from under my nose?”

Loviatar dangles in the air by her throat, not struggling. She places a hand over her mother’s wrist. “No,” she rasps.

I scoot further into the shadows, trying not to make a sound, trying not to even breathe.

Tuonetar drops Loviatar to the floor with a snarl and paces away. Loviatar rolls to her knees, brushing the column of her slender throat with a shaky hand. “You must think you’re so clever,” the Witch Queen taunts. “I know how you plot and scheme against me. You’ve never been on my side. I told you I wanted to keep them. I had such glorious plans!”

“And they would have been torturously cruel, to be sure,” Loviatar replies, still rubbing her neck. “You are singularly talented at brewing despair.”

Tuonetar grabs her daughter by the shoulders, her voice dripping with venom. “I will ask you this only once, you faithless maggot. Do you still plot with him against me? Would you see your own darling mother overthrown and cast aside, diminished like the frost gone with a spring that blooms too soon?”

Loviatar raises her chin in defiance. “I learned my lesson. I take no sides. How many times must I say—”

“Your words mean nothing to me,” the Witch Queen screams, her voice rattling the very walls. “You defied me once, you sightless, mewling monster. You helped that girl escape my clutches, and I will never forgive you.”

They’re speaking of her child, the one Tuoni helped free. A daughter.

A tear slips down Loviatar’s cheek. “I’ll never forgive myself,” she replies. “And that is punishment enough. Believe me, or don’t,” she adds, setting her shoulders against the witch’s wrath. “I will not attempt to persuade you, either way.”

With a growl, Tuonetar brandishes her wand again, shooting jets of light across the room that smash looms, turning them to kindling. I hardly have time to roll out of the way before the loom I cower behind bursts apart in a spray of splinters. I crawl on my belly along the wall, seeking safety.

“You have always been my bane.” Tuonetar’s voice quivers with rage. “I should have let the north wind tear you asunder!”

“I would have let you,” Loviatar whispers.

“Keep to your muck, worm. And know that if I scent so much as a whiff in the air of further treachery, I will rip the beating heart from your chest and eat it with a garnish of lingonberry jam.”

Loviatar frowns. “As I said—”

“Shhh.” The Witch Queen shushes her, placing a bony finger to her daughter’s lips. “No more lies now, dearest. Let them rot and fester deep within your heart. That’s a good girl.” She brushes Loviatar’s cheek with a long finger, wiping her tear away. Bringing it to her cracked lips, she flicks out her tongue, tasting Loviatar’s sadness.

“You’ve always been soft,” she says, shaking her head in disappointment. “You’re a dreamer, just like him. It’s a waste, my darling little parasite. Turn away from him. Turn away from these ideas of order and rules, right and wrong. Embrace chaos as we are all meant to do. Embrace chaos... or be consumed by it. For I will never give way to him. I’ll die first... and death cannot die.”

With that, the Witch Queen stalks away, rattling the door in its frame when she slams it shut. Only her menacing aura remains, seeping into the shadows of every corner.

Loviatar stands in the shattered mess of the room, back stiff, shoulders straight. “You can come out now, little mouse.”

I pick myself up off the floor. “What happened?”

“Mother had plans for the girls she killed today,” Loviatar replies flatly.

I step around the mess to her side. “Lilja and Salla? Inari?”

The witch nods.

I groan, feeling sick. What tortures did she have planned for their corpses?

“We managed to get them away from her and put them back to rest,” Loviatar soothes.

I glance sharply at her. “We?”

Her expression turns veiled, protective. “There are those who would help us, those who are helping us. Powerful forces in Tuonela are ready for a change, Aina. They weren’t ready before, but Tuonetar’s reign of terror has gone on for long enough. Say the word, and I will rally them to you, to my father. You will not be alone. We will protect you. Free him, and we will do everything in our power to keep you safe from Tuonetar.”

Tears fill my eyes. Sorrow and fatigue are etched on every line of her face. I think of her long years of suffering. I think of the other girls, the pain they felt when they died, the fear and humiliation. I think of my Siiri, so bold and full of life. She deserves a long life and a blessed death. So many people—mortal and immortal—have suffered under the Witch Queen. I can stop this. I can save them.

All it will cost me is my soul, bound in a loveless marriage to the god of death.

Hail Aina, Queen of Tuonela. Will the bards and minstrels ever know? Will they sing my songs?

I suppose my choice is made regardless. It was made the moment I reached out my hand to Kalma to spare Siiri. It was made again when I first heard the Witch Queen’s taunting laughter. It was made thrice over when I dragged a sharp blade across Inari’s neck. It was bound in iron when I watched Lilja and Salla writhing on the floor. It was plated in gold just now, when I saw Loviatar dangling from her neck.

“Yes,” I say. “I’ll do it.”

The witch goes still. “Are you sure?”

I don’t know how I came to be on this path, but I’ll not stray from it now. Stepping closer, I press my forehead to hers, breathing deeply of her comforting smell of juniper and lanolin. She places her hands on my shoulders. “You’ve put your trust in me,” I whisper. “Now I’m trusting you. Take me to your father. Take me to Tuoni, and I will set us all free.”