4

Siiri

I stay up for most of the night. Curled by the hearth, I try to recall every story Mummi ever told us about Tuonela and the death gods: the black river, impassable except by the ferrywoman’s boat; the twin witches of pain and suffering; horses made of goblin fire; armies of the restless dead.

By the time my father and brothers wake, I’ve prepared the porridge, and I’m seated at the table waiting. “I need to go see Milja,” I say as soon as Father sits.

He heaves a sigh. “Best to give it some time, I think.”

“No. Now. This morning. I need to get to Milja before the village gossips do,” I explain. “Please, Father. After Mummi, Milja is the closest I have to a mother. She deserves to hear from me directly. You know you would want the same from Aina,” I add, holding his gaze.

“I will take her,” Onni says. “I’ll not leave her side, Father, I swear it.”

After a moment’s deliberation, Father nods. “There and back. And speak to no one else, do you hear me? Onni, make sure of it. I don’t want your sister getting into any more trouble.”

“Trouble?”

He sets down his spoon. “All this talk of death gods and Tuonela, it bodes ill, Siiri. We must be careful now. I think you should limit who you speak to and what you say.”

“What can you mean?”

“I mean that you should say nothing of your suspicions as to who took Aina and why.”

I share a surprised glance with Aksel. “But—you believe Mummi, don’t you? You believe me? You believe it was a death goddess who took Aina and the other girls?”

Father groans. “I wasn’t there, Siiri. I didn’t see it.”

“Aksel saw,” I declare, pointing to my brother. “And Onni, he saw too.”

“I saw a strangely dressed woman on the beach,” Onni corrects. “I know how I felt, but I saw no magic. She was there and then she wasn’t—”

“That is magic,” I hiss at him. “And did you not see Surma appear in a cloud of black smoke?”

He keeps shaking his head. “There was a glare. The sun—”

“Oh, don’t be a coward,” I snap. “Do not run from this, Onni. Do not hide like a frog in the mud, pretending the winter is not happening all around you. The gods are real. ”

“I refuse to believe that every roar of thunder comes from a god in the sky swinging a hammer,” Onni counters.

“Kalma took my dearest friend!”

“Enough.” Father pounds his fist on the table. “Siiri, you may tell Milja of your suspicions, but no one else. Do you understand me? If anyone asks, you are to say you don’t know what you saw.”

My indignation burns white-hot. “But—”

“No, Siiri. This is how it must be. Give your brothers and me time to ask around the village. Let us determine how they’re responding to these events. Then we can decide what our next step forward shall be.”

I cross my arms, glaring at him. “So, you ask me to lie?”

“No, I ask you to say nothing,” he corrects. “Keep your eyes down and your mouth shut. Can you do that? Say yes, or I’ll lock you in this house with Liisa and the cat.”

Casting him a glare, I give a curt nod.

“Then Onni will take you to see Milja after breakfast. And you will both return directly home.”

Onni and I take the long way through the western woods, weaving along the outskirts of the village. We each carry a basket of food prepared by Mummi on our hips. At my father’s insistence, I wear a hood over my hair to hide my face. The cut on my brow is dark and swollen, fading from purple to mottled yellow around the side of my eye.

Aina’s father is chopping wood in the yard, while her younger brother Jaako stacks the cut wood next to the house. Taavi first sees Onni’s massive frame emerging from the stand of pine trees. His gaze then drops to me at my brother’s side.

“She’s here to see Milja,” Onni explains. “Will you allow it?”

Taavi’s gaze lingers on my swollen eye. After a moment, he nods.

Onni gives me a little push. “I’ll wait for you here.”

Taking a deep breath, I slip past the men, crossing the yard and stepping through the open back door. The interior is a house and barn in one. All the animals are out grazing, so the doors to their stalls stand open, letting in the weak morning sunlight.

The hearth burns with a low fire. Along the wall, a ladder leads up to the family’s sleeping quarters above. Aina’s hand loom rests on a stool in the corner. I can’t bear to look at it. I turn away. Milja sits at a narrow table in the middle of the room, a steaming cup of tea clasped between her hands. As I step closer, I catch a whiff of mint, her favorite.

Milja’s eyes are red-rimmed, her face swollen from all her tears shed. “Hello, Siiri.” Her gaze sweeps over my bruised and blackened eye. “Taavi said you fought the creature with your bare hands. I see it must be true.”

I lower my hood and drop down onto the stool opposite Milja. When my own mother died, I cursed the goddess of illness for taking her from us. The fevers burned through her for three days and nights before she faded away. I was so mad and so alone. With each year that passes, I remember less of her face, her smile, her warm embrace. Memories of Milja have slowly begun to replace memories of my mother—green eyes instead of blue, pointed chin instead of round. And Milja has taken it all in stride, loving me as a mother loves a daughter.

“Milja, I’m so sorry. I’m so—I did everything I could to protect her—” My words stop short. I can’t give excuses, not to Milja. “I shouldn’t have fought,” I say instead, eyes brimming with tears. “I should have let it take me. I think it wanted me at first. Oh gods, it’s my fault she’s gone—” The rest of my apology dies in a weak, broken sob.

Milja reaches across the table, wrapping her hands around my wrist. They are warm from cradling her cup of tea. “I don’t blame you, Siiri. I don’t blame anyone. The gods demand sacrifices of us. If Aina was required, there is no stopping the gods from taking what is owed.”

“You believe the gods took her?”

She offers me a weak smile. “I know your mummi raised you right. My mother taught me the stories and songs too, just as her mother taught her, on and on back to the time the songs were first sung. The gods are here, Siiri,” she says, glancing around the room. “They watch us. They intercede in our prayers. And sometimes they teach us lessons.”

“Milja, I believe Kalma is the one who took Aina,” I say. “Mummi and I think Aina is in Tuonela. All the girls.”

Slowly, Milja nods. “Yes, it was surely Kalma who came last night. For what purpose, I don’t know.” She slips her hand out of mine, dropping it to her lap. “I only know I shall never see my Aina again.”

“My father doesn’t want me to tell people what happened,” I go on. “I think he’s afraid of what they’ll do if they know Kalma was here.”

“Jari is right to be afraid,” she replies. “For so long now, we’ve been told all our gods are dead. We opened the door to this misery with our lack of faith. Now the gods punish us for it.”

“Does Taavi believe?”

She blinks back fresh tears, wrapping her slender hands once more around her steaming cup. “He doesn’t know what to think. Aina was his pride and joy. Parents aren’t supposed to have favorites—and our boys are such sweet little lads.” She gives me another weak smile. “But my Aina... she was something special, wasn’t she?”

I lean across the table, gripping her wrist. “Milja, I’m going to save her.”

Milja blinks, looking up. “What?”

“Don’t you see? The Christians are wrong, and Kalma just gave us the proof. Our gods aren’t dead, Milja. If Kalma was here last night, then they’re all here—Ukko in the sky pounding out lightning with his hammer, Ilmarinen at his forge, Tuoni on his throne of skulls. If one is real, they’re all real.”

Her green eyes widen. Slowly, she shakes her head. “Siiri...”

“Besides,” I press on, “I think the gods need us as much as we need them.”

“What do you mean?”

“They need us to believe in them,” I reply. “They need us to stop indulging in this damned complacency. And they need us to stop letting foreigners invade our land telling us that we’re as powerless as they believe our gods to be. They are real , Milja. I saw one last night. She looked in my eyes. She showed me her face.” Holding her gaze, I make my oath. “If Kalma can take Aina away, another god will bring her back.”

“Oh, Siiri,” Milja whispers, a fresh tear slipping down her cheek.

Searching her face, I see the truth. She’s terrified—and broken. She doesn’t dare let herself hope. It breaks my heart to see her so defeated. I must have enough hope to sustain us both. I give her wrist another gentle squeeze. “Do you trust me enough to at least let me try? Please, Milja, hold on to hope for a little while longer. I will bring Aina home.”

“My brave Siiri... they call your brother the bear-child, but it is you who shares the spirit of Otso.” She smiles weakly. “I believe you can do anything you set your mind to, whether because you have the strength to achieve it... or because you simply have the will to never give up. You have my blessing, child. Go if you must. And may Ilmatar go with you.”