44

Siiri

I come to consciousness in utter darkness. Heart racing, I lift a tattooed hand, brushing my fingers through the black. It hangs in the air like an unnatural, shadowy curtain, stretching as high as my mortal eyes can see. This is the veil, the barrier between life and death.

I drop my hand and smile, taking a few confident steps forward until I pass through it.

I am in Tuonela.

The smell greets me first: brine and moldy decay. It must be the river. I take a few more steps away from the edge of the veil, and my vision clears. A ribbon of glossy black water stretches before me.

Patting my chest and arms, I take stock of my itse. Weapons hang comfortably on my body—at my hips, down my boots, even between my shoulder blades. The dead man’s smelly coat stayed with my body in life, acting as a guide only. Now I’m wearing an elk-skin coat with a fox-fur-trimmed hood. I reach inside my coat pocket and feel for my map. The small wooden box is in a leather satchel at my hip.

There’s a whisper of a sound behind me. I turn and jump back as two figures emerge from the veil. My hand goes to my hip, ready to draw my short-handled axe. An elderly man with a shuffling gait walks right past me, followed by a young trapper in head-to-toe furs. I blink in surprise: the trapper has an axe sticking out of his back. They’re newly dead. They walk away from me, uninterested in my presence.

With a calming breath, I follow them. We all walk to the water’s edge, heading for a dock brightly lit by torches. V?in?moinen prepared me for this too. All the dead must wait and gain passage from the ferrywoman. More dead congregate here. No one hurries. No one pushes. They amble forward like sheep, completely uncaring that they’re dead.

Splish. Splish. Splish.

From out of the darkness, the high prow of the ferry comes into view. I try to keep my head down and stay to the back of the group, putting a few bodies between myself and the edge of the dock. Tuonen tytti is older than death. Short and stocky, she wears a fur-trimmed cap over her white hair. Her milky white eyes are utterly sightless... another secret V?in?moinen told me. She cannot see a thing. It makes it easier for a shaman like me to slip onto the island.

Getting into Tuonela was never the problem. The trouble will come when we try to leave.

The ferry taps the edge of the dock, and Tuonen tytti opens a narrow door in the side of the boat. I let a few bodies fill the space between us before I climb on. The boat rocks beneath my feet as all the dead shuffle in. When the boat is full, Tuonen tytti shuts the door. More dead wait patiently on the dock, their shoulders slightly swaying.

I suppress a shudder. Is this all I can expect in death? No wonder gods seek to live forever. I grip the boat wall with a tense hand, bracing as it lurches. Tuonen tytti works her pole against the bottom of the river, slowly turning the boat. We launch out into the deeper water.

This is one of the broadest points in the river. I won’t come back here with Aina. Even from the middle of the river, I can hardly make out the opposite shore. A faint yellow glow slowly brightens. I watch and wait as more features begin to take shape. The lights in the foreground must be the dock. There are more lights high up on the hill—the palace. A dense stretch of deep darkness separates the two. My gaze darts left and right, taking in as much as I can.

The boat enters the ring of light cast by the torches on the dock. This is it. After everything I’ve survived, I’ve finally arrived in the land of death.

The boat lurches to a stop. In moments, Tuonen tytti opens the door and all the dead begin to amble out. I follow, watchful for armed guards. The dark, snow-covered forest looms just ahead. I hadn’t even thought to ask V?in?moinen about weather in the underworld. Snow is less than ideal. I’ll leave tracks.

Tracks are a risk I’ll have to take.

The dead in front of me turn left, following the curve of the river. Already I can see the bodies of more dead dotting the wintry landscape ahead. But if I follow this group, they’ll lead me away from the palace, not towards it.

It’s now or never.

Glancing around again, I settle on a group of figures walking down the path from the direction of the palace. There are five in total. They carry simple staffs rather than swords or shields. They appear more like shepherds than guards—fittingly, since the dead move like sheep.

I pull an arrow from the quiver on my back and nock it. Then I do my best to slink away from the group unnoticed, moving towards the birch trees. A hundred knotted eyes watch as I approach. Swallowing my nerves, I keep my fingers pinched tight around my nocked arrow.

The shepherds are getting closer. Can they see me?

Throwing caution to the wind, I break into a sprint, letting my strong legs carry me the remaining distance over the snow into the trees. I run as silently as a shadow, eyes and ears open for any sign of movement. I’m always in my element on a hunt. Nothing makes me feel more like myself, more alive.

And this will be the hunt of my life.

The fox is in your forest, mighty Tuoni. And I’ve come to reclaim what’s mine.