38

Siiri

“Try again,” V?in?moinen commands.

I groan, holding my drum with aching hands. The tattoos are fresh, the skin swollen. The shaman used a salve of beeswax and tallow to seal them; the backs of my hands shine with grease. “We’ve been at this for hours.” I can’t keep the dejection from my voice.

V?in?moinen has talked me through freeing my itse several times. He has shown me how to breathe, how to turn inward, how to create a picture in my mind of where I want to be. I understand, but, for the first time in my life, throwing myself at a task is not enough for me to master it. We’ve tried twice now, the shaman watching as I drum over the runes that best remind me of Lake P?ij?nne. Twice now, I’ve let myself sink into a trance, and twice I’ve woken up with a pounding headache, my soul still intact.

“I can’t do it,” I say, defeated.

He glares at me. “What did you just say?”

“I said I can’t— ouch —” I shriek, my drum tumbling off my lap, as V?in?moinen lunges at me, whacking me on the shoulder with his mallet. “What was that for?” I rub the new spot of pain.

“Don’t you dare say those words again,” he bellows, pointing a rune-marked finger in my face. “Your precious Aina doesn’t have the time, and I don’t have the patience.” He’s thoughtful for a moment, surveying me with those sharp blue eyes. “Painting pictures in your mind clearly doesn’t work for you,” he says at last. “And frankly, I’m not all that surprised.”

“You’re not?”

“No. You’re not a thinker.”

I square my shoulders at him. “And just what is that supposed to mean—”

“I’m not saying you’re not clever,” he corrects with a raised hand, stopping my tirade in its tracks. “You’re as bright as they come, Siiri.”

I settle with a frown, still feeling like a failure.

“Perhaps we must let your luonto be our guide,” he muses. “A woodpecker doesn’t waste time picturing the pretty places it would like to visit. It doesn’t lose itself to sentiment. It doesn’t idle. Like you, Siiri. You don’t rest, you don’t wait. You just do .”

“So, to release my itse I should...”

“You should just do it,” he says with a shrug.

“That doesn’t make sense.”

He chuckles. “Why does it not? You have a task ahead of you that must be done. So, do it.” He points to the instrument in my lap. “Pick up that drum. Don’t waste another moment thinking about it. And don’t do it my way. Do it your way.”

Hesitantly, I reach for the drum. “Don’t think,” I mutter, brushing my calloused fingers over the runes for the lake and the hunters. I call the larger one Onni. I smile, feeling the warmth of his laugh in my chest. I close my eyes tight. “Don’t think.”

“Go and come back,” V?in?moinen warns. “If you’re gone too long, I’ll send my luonto after you. When you see the eagle, follow your tethered hands. Let them be your guide.”

I nod, keeping my eyes closed.

Don’t think... don’t think... don’t think...

All I can do is think... and I think this is madness. I sit on the floor of V?in?moinen’s hut, tattoos fresh on my hands, willing half my soul to split itself away from my body and travel a vast distance across the wintry woodlands back to my lakeside home. I do this as practice so that I can send it out again, next time through the veil of death itself.

This is all utter madness.

This is a dream.

This is impossible.

“To be a shaman is to embrace the impossible,” comes the shaman’s voice, the hint of a smile in his tone, and I know I must have said that last bit out loud.

I flex my fingers around my drum mallet. This is impossible. And yet I’ve been doing the impossible every day since the moment Aina disappeared. Nothing is impossible.

Lifting my mallet, I strike my drum.

I groan, rolling onto my back as something cold and feathery tickles my nose. It makes me want to sneeze. I hold it in, blinking my eyes open to find that I’m lying on the forest floor. A canopy of snowy trees overhead all but hides the moon and stars. The air is cold, but I’m bundled up, warm. I feel it only on my cheeks and the tip of my nose.

I sit up, glancing around the snowy clearing. I’m fully dressed in thick reindeer-fur boots, wool socks, elk-hide breeches, and a fur coat. My neck is wrapped up in a scarf to conceal the scabs that will one day soon fade to scars, and a fur hat sits low on my forehead, covering my ears. Lastly, I raise my hands, wriggling my fingers in thick rabbit-fur-lined mittens. Inside the mittens, my hands sting. I scramble to my feet and pull the mitten off my right hand, revealing the spray of black runes tattooed on my skin.

“I did it,” I whisper to the trees. I’m standing in my itse. I drummed it free. And if I did it right, that should mean...

I stomp off through the trees. V?in?moinen was right; even in the dark, I know my way. My breath comes out in little puffs as I near the lights of my homestead. I walk around the trees beside the barn, eager to see my family again. I miss them all so greatly—even Liisa, who before was only ever a nuisance.

But she was my nuisance. We looked out for each other. We love each other. I’ll be glad to see her again.

I hurry around the side of the house, my boots crunching in the snow. Slipping my other mitten off, I tuck them in at my belt. Then I rap twice on the door and wait.

Nothing .

No sounds from within, no scuffling of chairs dragged across the wooden floor.

“Odd,” I mutter.

I knock once more. Before my frustration can grow, a sound has me turning around on the top step. I listen for the sound again.

Drumming.

Something is happening on the other side of the village. The drumming grows louder, echoing through the quiet of the forest. It’s a celebratory sound, the rhythm fast and jubilant.

Hopping off the steps, I jog across the clearing, leaving my family home behind me. I pat down my body as I jog, noting the knife on my hip. If I’m not mistaken, there’s another tucked into my boot. V?in?moinen had assured me that my itse would arm itself. Clothing and weapons can change to fit the needs of the itse.

The forest before me is aglow with the light of two dozen torches. As I move closer, I frown. I think I know what has drawn the people out on this dark winter night. I hide behind the trunk of an oak a few feet removed from the edge of the clearing. Peering around, I look above the heads of the revelers to the massive bear head perched atop a pinewood pole in the middle of the clearing.

This is a peijaiset, a bear funeral.

Whoever was forced to kill the bear now hosts a funeral in its honor. To appease Otso, we don’t mourn a bear’s death; we only celebrate its life. A fallow deer roasts on a spit over a large fire turned by two men. Women stand before more cookfires, readying the soups and other savory dishes that will accompany the venison. Drummers drum and dancers dance around the pole, singing songs that will help the bear’s spirit find its way out of the forest and into the stars.

My heart stops at the smiling, pink-cheeked face of my sister, who twirls around with ribbons clutched in her hand. She dances with the other girls, their feet stomping in the snow. I inch to the right, staying to the shadows as I survey the crowd, my eyes not resting until I find her. “Mummi,” I whisper.

Her blue cap is pulled over her grey hair, her thick braids falling on either side of her breasts as she stirs one of the cookpots. Her friends stand to either side, the three of them lost in conversation. She looks good, healthy and whole. I lean further around the tree to get a better look. I can’t just march out into the middle of this crowd. It would raise too many suspicions. They’ll ask too many questions. No, I have to get her alone—

Snap .

I glance over my shoulder, ducking to better hide myself in the underbrush.

A shadow moves through the dark, trying to walk stealthily. Like me, they don’t want to be discovered. Firelight from the clearing flashes on their face as they duck between the trees.

It’s Brother Abbi?rn. The hood of his habit is pulled up over his head, but the gold cross around his neck glints in the light. Why does he not join the villagers by the fires?

Oh gods...

He’s holding a large stick with both hands, gripping it like a club. He means to stop the funeral. Why? Because the people dare to celebrate and worship Otso?

My blood that ran cold begins to boil. I will kill him first. Now is my moment. I could drag him off and sink him to the bottom of the lake. They would never find him.

I pull my knife from my belt and push off the trunk of the oak, ready to circle behind my prey. But I’ve barely taken two steps before a new sound has me turning. Someone else is creeping in the dark. Behind me, a low whistle sounds. It’s Brother Abbi?rn, calling out his position. Not ten feet in front of me, a large shadow moves and whistles back. The fine hairs on my neck bristle. I know that whistle. How many times have I heard it in these woods?

One look at those big shoulders, and I know I’m right. Ignoring the priest, I move towards my brother. Onni wears the same brown cloak as the priest, the sign of the foreign god around his neck. Forgetting myself, I whisper, “Onni, what are you doing?”

He jumps with fright. “Siiri? What are you doing here? We thought you were dead. We buried you!”

“What? No, I told Mummi—”

“You said you’d be gone a few days. We followed you north to the hiisi. We looked everywhere for you. But the winter storms blew in, and father was sure your provisions had run out.”

“I got more. Onni, why are you dressed like the priest?”

He glances around again. “You shouldn’t be here. Go home. Wait for the others there.”

My sense of foreboding grows as my gaze settles on the club balanced in his giant hands. “What are you going to do? Are you going to attack your own people because that creeping creature told you to?”

“Brother Abbi?rn only wants to help us—”

“He wants to control us,” I hiss. “Father didn’t raise you to be a fool.”

“This is the only way,” he replies. “This is the Way. The people will see in time. We must tear down all the false idols.”

“Onni, please .” I hold out my hand to him. “Please, brother. Come away. Come home with me.”

He stills, eyes narrowed on my outstretched hand. “What are you?”

“What?”

He grabs my wrist and turns my hand over, his thumb brushing over the tattoos for Tuonela. “What did you do? What dark magic infests you, sister?”

I groan. Did I not think the same thing when I first saw the tattoos on V?in?moinen’s hands? “It’s not what you think. I’ll explain if you’ll just come home with me—”

He drops my hand as if burned, his shoulders tensing. “This is a test of my faith. You’re not really here, are you?” He glances around wildly, clutching his club tighter. “She’s not here. The Lord is testing me with visions. He means to trick me into confessing my doubts—”

“Confess them,” I cry. “How can you believe in this foreign god when you saw Kalma for yourself? And I tell you now, all the others are real too—”

“Liar,” he growls, taking a swing of his club.

I shriek, dropping to my knees to avoid the impact that nearly takes off my head. “Onni, are you crazy?” I scramble to my feet. “I’m not dead, you fool. I’m Siiri, and I’m alive. I’m with V?in?moinen. We’re trying to save Aina—”

Onni’s eyes flash with anger. “Aina was a heretic, the daughter of a witch. There was no hope for her. The Devil took her.”

“Kalma took her, you complete horse’s ass! And she was your friend as well as mine. I’ll prove it to you. I’ll prove to you all that she still lives. Just give me time—”

A shrill whistle from our left has the rest of my plea falling from my lips. Brother Abbi?rn and Onni aren’t the only zealots in the woods tonight. Turning from me, Onni walks towards the clearing. I duck around him, darting between the trees with the speed of a rabbit.

“Siiri, stop!”

Onni chases me, but I’m faster. I burst through the trees into the clearing. “The Christians are coming! Everyone, run!”

Those closest to me shriek. My name spreads like wildfire.

“Siiri?”

“Is that Siiri Jarintytt?r?”

“Kalma, protect us from the dead that rise,” an old man intones.

“She’s a ghost come to haunt us!” a woman shrieks, clutching at her child.

“I’m not dead,” I shout. “But you may soon be! You must leave this place—”

Before I can finish my warning, the shouts of men fill the clearing. From all sides, men in habits matching the priest’s come marching through the dark, clubs at the ready.

“Turn away from these acts of false idolatry!”

“Repent of your pasts and live in the Light of His Way!”

Screaming erupts all around me. I don’t know where to look as the priests start smashing whatever they can reach, determined to stop our heathen celebration. Feast tables and chairs, baskets of food. Cookpots are tipped into the fires until the air is filled with hissing and the smell of burning food.

“This woman is Satan’s child!”

Turning around, I see Brother Abbi?rn. The hood of his habit is thrown back and he points a finger at me. His cronies continue to smash things, setting fire to the bear’s feast, dashing it into the mud and snow. All around us, women and children scatter. Some of the men are fighting back. Neighbor turns against neighbor as scuffles erupt. A few priests are dragged to the ground.

“Repent, all ye who sin!” one shouts.

“Turn to the Light!” calls another.

“There is nothing to repent,” I cry. “Do not listen to them! You’ve done nothing wrong! Aina did nothing wrong!”

“The Word of God is clear and true,” Abbi?rn calls over me. “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live. Seize her!”

“Siiri, no!” Those two words, called out in my grandmother’s panicked voice, are like a bucket of ice water poured over my heart . Gods, what am I doing? How did I get here? I can’t be here now. I can’t save them, not like this. Aina is the one who needs me. And I need her. Our people need her. She will be proof of the gods’ power. Our gods took her, and our gods helped restore her. Our gods live.

Ilmatar hear me, Aina has to live too.

“Seize the witch,” Abbi?rn shouts, spittle flying from his lips. “She means to blight us with her magic words.”

“Siiri, run ,” Mummi calls.

I spin on my heel and sprint away from the priest.

“Don’t let her get away!”

I shriek as a pair of hands lifts me off my feet. “Put me down!”

Onni holds me tight. He hauls me kicking and screaming over to the pinewood pole. I look up, heart racing. The face of Otso looks down at me, his jaws open, his blood dripping down the pole “Please,” I call out to my people. “Please, hear me! V?in?moinen is returning— ah —”

Abbi?rn strikes my face. “Be silent, witch.” He turns to face the crowd. “People of P?ij?nne, hear me! Neither seek shamans nor allow them to defile you. This is the Word of the Lord! Says the Lord, your God, do not dabble in the occult, or you shall pollute your souls!”

“You’re a madman,” I cry, my chest heaving with my rage.

“Bind the witch to the pole,” he orders.

“Onni, you fool, let her go,” Mummi shouts. Father and Aksel hold her back, their faces stricken with fear. “That’s my granddaughter. She’s not a witch!”

Brother Abbi?rn turns on her. “She speaks of a shaman’s return. There is only one return you need concern yourselves with, and that is the second coming of Jesus Christ, Son of the Living God.”

“V?in?moinen will return, and I will be at his side when he does,” I shout. “Please don’t lose faith!”

“But how can you know?” someone calls from the crowd.

“Yes, what proof do you have?”

Before I can reply, a piercing cry fills the clearing. I gasp, looking up, to see the massive shadow of a bird in flight pass over me. V?in?moinen has arrived in his luonto. The eagle swoops low, attacking Onni’s hands as he tries to tie me to the stake.

I jerk away, stepping free. “He’s here,” I shout, pointing to the dark sky. “Look to the eagle. It is V?in?moinen. He comes for me now, but we will return,” I say, my gaze leveling on my mummi’s face. “I will save Aina from the depths of Tuonela, and we will all return to you.”

Tears fall down her face as she nods.

“Burn this witch,” the priest orders. “Her ashes will simmer in the fires of deepest Hell.”

With another screech, V?in?moinen lands on my outstretched arm.

Those closest to us step back, in awe of the eagle and what he represents. Hope burns in my chest. Our stories and songs aren’t dead yet. If I have my way, they will soon be given new life. Holding my ground, I face the priest. “Abbi?rn, you are powerless here. Take your unwanted god and return south with all haste. Never darken our forests again.”

He meets me stare for stare. “I’m not afraid of you, girl.”

I stroke the eagle’s feathered head, flashing the priest my new shaman tattoos. “You should be.”

Eyes wide, he leans away. “Devil take you.”

I smile in the face of his disgust. “Trust me, priest. She’ll take you first.”

With that, I pull on every fiber of my being, willing myself to fold inward. I follow the tattoos, desperate to return through the tether. Aina is out of time, and clearly so, too, are our families. We cannot delay another minute.