50

Siiri

I pant, arms and legs shaking with fatigue, as I look down at the prone form of the goddess of evil on the tunnel floor.

“What did you do?” Aina whispers at the witch.

“I’m the goddess of illness, am I not?” Loviatar replies. “It seems my sister came down with a sudden and debilitating case of the fainting sickness.”

“She’ll kill you for this,” Aina warns.

“She can try,” Loviatar replies. “Goddess knows she’s tried many times before.”

I smile. Is it possible I’m starting to like this witch? But then Loviatar turns on me. She takes a step forward, hands raised. “Look,” I say, “it wasn’t personal—”

The goddess hisses.

“Please, don’t hurt her,” Aina cries. I’m not sure who she’s talking to at this point.

Loviatar points a tattooed finger at me. The air around us stills. “If you ever raise a hand to me again, little fox, I will plague you with boils inside and out. They will pop and fester all over your lily-white skin. Your death will be slow and agonizing. Do we understand each other?”

I lower my axe, but not my defenses. “Why are you now helping us?”

Loviatar turns to Aina. “Tuonetar is gone. We believe her shackles are intact, but she’s not in her tower.”

“Oh gods,” Aina whispers.

“I think Vammatar is to blame,” the witch adds. “She reveals her hand at last. She is on the side of chaos.”

“She said she wanted to watch it all burn,” Aina replies.

“Kalma patrols the river’s edge, the twins search for the shaman, and my father now searches for you. You’ll never get out of here alive without help.”

“And you’re going to help us?” I can hear the tears in Aina’s voice.

The witch inclines her head.

“Why?” I press. “I can’t imagine it was the bump on the head I gave you.”

The witch turns with a snarl to face me. “Actually, it was.”

I blink in surprise.

“Why?” Aina asks again for both of us.

“I thought Tuonela was the safest place for Aina and her child because I didn’t know V?in?moinen survived his curse. I’ve been trapped down here, cut off from the world above. And there’s been little enough spoken about him. I didn’t know he was training new pupils. And I never expected one so fierce... or so loyal to my queen. If you vow with the shaman to keep Aina and the child safe, I will help you escape.”

Before I can reply, Aina steps forward. “Prove you mean what you say. Prove you trust me, so I may trust you, Loviatar.”

The witch closes her eyes. In this darkness it’s hard to make out her expression. I can only imagine it’s one of torment. This is a power struggle between Aina and the witch. Aina asks for something the witch clearly doesn’t want to give.

“Toivotar,” she says on a soft breath. “Her name is Toivotar.”

“Toivotar,” Aina repeats. “The tenth child of Loviatar is the goddess of hope.” She smiles, brushing a hand along the witch’s shoulder. “It’s a beautiful name.”

“She’s a beautiful woman,” I add.

They both turn my way. “You’ve met her?” asks Aina.

I nod. “She appeared to me moments after you were taken by Kalma. She helped me to my feet and set me on the path north to find you.”

“And does she look like Loviatar? Black of hair, pale skin?”

“Yes,” I reply. “But she smiles more... and she laughs.”

Next to Aina, the witch is motionless.

“She came to me again when I had great need of her,” I go on. “She offered me more provisions and told me how to find V?in?moinen. She is fierce, Loviatar.”

“I knew she would keep fighting,” the witch murmurs, tears slipping down her cheeks. “She wants to make a better world for us all in life and in death. You fight for it too... both of you.”

Reaching into the satchel at my hip, I pull out the box V?in?moinen gave me. “Reach out your hands,” I say to the witch.

She hesitates but then does as I ask. I set the box on her palms, and she stiffens as she feels the dimensions of the box. “What is this?”

“You know what it is,” I reply.

“How did you get it?” she whispers.

I smile. “I told you, V?in?moinen sends his regards. Now we may trust each other too.”

Loviatar stills, clutching her daughter’s keepsake box.

“He’s never turned from you,” I go on. “He never will. He lives out the days of his long dying, tortured by the Witch Queen for daring to bring hope to the mortal world. He cannot die, even though he suffers from an affliction that should have killed him ten times over. Just as you are trapped here in the dark, tortured forever by your own loneliness.”

“Just as Tuoni is tortured,” Aina whispers.

I turn to her. “What?”

“Tuoni helped V?in?moinen and Toivotar escape,” she explains. “The Witch Queen fashioned her curse to punish Tuoni too.”

“How?”

“You spoke of the long dying. Tuoni’s power is to prolong life. He is the Great Fading, Lord of Blessed Death. By cursing V?in?moinen not to die, Tuonetar knew that Tuoni would bear the pain of his dying, prolonging his life. Don’t you see? Tuonetar yoked them together and cursed them both—the shaman not to die, and Tuoni to bear the pain of it.”

“Only V?in?moinen’s death will fully free him,” Loviatar adds. “Just as only you can free me from this realm. The Witch Queen has worked swiftly and surely, trapping us all in her web.”

“Then we shall all break free at last,” Aina replies. “For yourself and for your daughter, for my son, for the shaman, for the death god. Let us work together now. Come with us, Loviatar. As Queen of Tuonela, I free you from all ties to this place. You may leave Tuonela as you will.”

Loviatar sighs with relief, clutching to her daughter’s keepsake box. “Come. I will show you the way.”

Before we move three steps down the tunnel before I cry out, a searing pain burning the back of my hand. “ Ouch —”

“Siiri?” Aina whispers in alarm. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“I don’t know. My tattoos feel strange. They feel... hot.”

“Fire,” the witch whispers. “Wherever you are in life, there’s a fire near your body. It burns hot enough for you to feel it through your tether.” She turns to me, her sightless eyes unblinking. “You are in grave danger, little fox.”

“I have to get back. I’ve already been gone too long, and V?in?moinen needs me. It has to be Lumi.” I groan. “Gods, I’ll never forgive myself if I get him killed.”

“Lumi?” the witch repeats, a curious tilt to her head. “Ajatar’s irksome flea of a daughter?”

“Yes, she followed me north, intent on killing him.”

“And... is he whole?”

“Yes, and Lumi knows. She’s coming for him. We have to get to the veil.”

As one, we take off down the dark tunnel. I don’t know how long we run before Loviatar says, “Stop!”

Aina and I wait, panting, standing side by side, as the witch climbs up the narrow steps and throws back a trap door. The witch exits first, not waiting for us. We follow. With my axe in my right hand, I hand Aina my knife with my left. I have no bow. I left it in the weaving room. That makes the quiver at my hip useless.

Next to me, Aina shivers in the cold. We neither of us have a cloak.

“This way,” Loviatar whispers.

We’re in a densely forested wood, the trees dusted with snow. Through the gloom, I can make out the shape of a hill. It must be the Kipum?ki, the famed hill where the twins weave their magic of pain and suffering. At the mere thought of them, the scars and wounds on my body cry out in pain.

“Nearly there,” Loviatar says.

The rich smell of conifers and clean scent of the snow become overwhelmed with a new smell. It’s briny, like water weeds left out to dry.

The river of death.

Aina holds tight to my hand as we push through the last of the trees. Before us, the black water courses silently past, lapping at the pebbles of the shore. My gaze settles on something looming in the middle of the river. The water ripples around it. This must be the island. And the veil waits for us just beyond. We’re so close.

“Hurry,” the witch whispers, standing at the water’s edge. “From here, we must swim.”

I tuck my axe into my belt and wade in. Aina takes the witch’s hand and they walk into the water together. I’m knee-deep, ready to brave the freezing water, when a shrill cackle rends the air.

“I thought I might find you all here,” a voice behind us purrs.

Dread sinks down to my bones. There, on the banks of the river of death, a haggard-looking woman stands in sweeping robes of glittering gold. Her corded grey hair is piled high on her head. She has a haunting, skull-like face, with dark eyes framed in shadows. I know she is Tuonetar, goddess of violent death.

The Witch Queen sneers, her lips curling over blackened teeth as she beckons to us with her willow wand. “Why don’t you step this way, and we can all have a nice little chat? It’s time to talk about actions... and consequences.”