51
Aina
Tuonetar smirks, beckoning to us with her broken hand. Her wrist is marred with bruises and scorch marks. The cuffs of her golden robes are crusted with dried black blood. She’s free of her manacle, but it cost her dearly. Even now, her broken hand can barely clutch the wand. She keeps the other hand hidden in her robes; I have to believe it still wears its chains.
A witch at half power is still formidable.
“Mother,” Loviatar calls from the shore. “You don’t have to do this—”
“Silence!” Tuonetar shrieks, swiping the air with her wand.
Loviatar reels as if slapped.
“And who is this?” Tuonetar points at Siiri with her wand.
“My name is Siiri,” she calls over my shoulder.
Tuonetar takes in the tattoos on her hands and scowls. “You’re the shaman they’re all looking for?”
“V?in?moinen sends his regards,” she taunts.
The Witch Queen hisses at her before turning to me. “And where do you think you’re going, little maggoty mouse queen?”
I step in front of Siiri. “You have no power over me, witch. I wear the driftwood crown now. The dead answer to me.”
Her eyes narrow. “If I have no power over you... then why does your voice shake?”
Swallowing my nerves, I brush at the threads of my bond to Tuoni. He left the door ajar. He’s angry and he’s hurt, but he’s on the hunt. He fights for my safety. It’s all he wants. Will he ensure my safety even if it means losing me? He must see now that there is no way to secure his realm against the powers that threaten me.
Reaching out with an invisible hand, I pluck on the threads of our bond. He will come. I have to keep her talking until he does. This witch loves to hear herself speak.
Triumph glints in her eyes as she takes my silence for fear. She laughs, a high, rattling sound. “Oh, I have you cornered at last. I prepared all my traps, but you walked right into one of your own making.” She pulls a face of mock concern. “What will our poor, brokenhearted king say when he learns you mean to leave and take his unborn whelp with you?”
“Why should you care if I am gone?” I challenge.
“Because the whelp cannot be allowed to live! Have you learned nothing from your time here, you rotten wretch? I will not have my power eclipsed by a devious, grasping little mortal and her worthless mewling babe.”
“You interpret the prophecy looking only for your loss,” I counter. “What if this child is a gift for Tuonela? Any new power given to a death god is power you will all share in. He could transform this realm. He could make everyone here better off—”
“I don’t want them better off!” she shrieks. “They must pay for what they’ve done. Actions must have consequences.”
I hold my ground, buying us more time. “You had no right to Toivotar’s power, and you certainly had no right to keep her caged. You want to speak of actions and consequences? Where were yours, Tuonetar?”
She scoffs, turning to Loviatar with a sneer. “Are we saying her name again? I have missed those days.”
“You stole a child from her mother,” I go on, taking a step out of the water. “You locked that child away for fear that others might benefit from her awesome power. You are selfish, Tuonetar. You are weak-minded and cruel.”
“I will skin you and squeeze your eyeballs for my jam,” she taunts.
I pluck at the threads of my blood bond again, taking another step out of the water.
You are strong , Tuoni sends down the bond.
“It wasn’t enough to steal a child from your own daughter,” I call across the clearing. “You punished Loviatar for wanting her back. You’re a bully, Tuonetar.”
“Now you’re just flattering me,” she sneers.
I pull again on the bond.
You are powerful. You are a queen. A goddess. Fight.
I am powerful.
Siiri’s life is in danger. My child’s life is in danger. It’s my turn to fight. Squaring my shoulders at the witch, I step out of the water. She watches me approach with hungry eyes.
“Aina, don’t,” Siiri rasps.
Raising a hand to her in warning, I take another step out of the water. For too long now, Tuonela has been ruled by Tuonetar’s corrupting influence. She brings only chaos and death. Tuoni may be her opposite, seeking peace, order, and control, but they both fail to see that there can be a third way. A way between chaos and control. A way between the unexpected death and the long dying.
I am Ainatar, the mortal death goddess, Queen of Tuonela.
I am the third way.
I seek out the very center of myself, the calm and strength. I hold it in my belly like a burning flame.
Power is made.
I hold the witch’s gaze as my fire burns, heating me to my very fingertips. Rooting my feet in the pebbles at the water’s edge, I raise my hands towards the Witch Queen. “Your time here is done, Tuonetar. Siiri and Loviatar are under my protection now, and I am not afraid to die for them. I am Ainatar, Queen of Tuonela, and I embrace death as my equal.”
“You will never be my equal!” With a snarl, Tuonetar slashes her willow wand through the air, sending out a jet of white sparks towards me.
Pulling on every source of ancient power I can feel in this place, I brace both hands in front of me. Tuonetar’s magic slams up against a shield that shimmers in the night-sky colors of Revontulet the firefox. Its light shoots upward, arching over Loviatar and Siiri, protecting them, protecting us all.
Tuonetar gasps, eyes wide. “What magic is this?”
I hold my ground with a smile. “ My magic.”
In her fury, she slashes the air with her wand again and again, stalking closer to us. Her wand’s sparks reflect off the dome-like shield that glows with an aurora’s hues—purple, green, and blue.
Across from me, the Witch Queen’s bony chest heaves. Fresh blood flows down her mangled wrist. Black drops sizzle on the snow. “I will kill you, Aina Taavintytt?r,” she calls, her voice simmering with inhuman rage.
“That’s not my name anymore,” I call back.
Hold on... hold on.
I close my eyes, breathing deep. I am a goddess. Tuonela is a land of magic and monsters. There is enough power to spare for this mortal queen. Opening my eyes, I stare down Tuonetar, the witch who has brought so much suffering to so many. She is envy. She is rage. She is the chaos of the unexpected, the wholly unwanted.
And she must learn her place.
“I am Ainatar, Queen of Tuonela,” I proclaim into the darkness. “I am the goddess of righteous death, and I call on you now. All of you dead who have suffered at the Witch Queen’s wretched hands, rise! Wake from your sleep, and come to the aid of your goddess.” I feel the fires of my own righteous indignation burning in my throat as I call up all the magic I can from this sacred earth, spinning it into power. “Rise, and protect your queen! Rise, and take your just revenge!”
With a snarl, Tuonetar’s gaze darts to the dark wood.
Siiri takes her chance and steps out of the water to my side. “Aina, what are you doing?”
“Claiming my power,” I reply.
Loviatar stands at my other side, her eyes glowing white as she tips her head back with a smile. “They come.”
Tuonetar laughs, her wand dangling in her mangled hand. “It would seem you are still powerless! It was a fine speech, but you cannot claim what you have not been gifted by the All-Mother—”
“They come,” Loviatar says again, louder this time.
Through the trees come the sounds of marching feet, clanging steel, and pounding drums.
“I took nothing that Tuonela did not freely offer me,” I call to the Witch Queen. “You have upset the balance for long enough. Now, face your consequences.”
As we watch, a horde of the dead bursts from the woods at a run. Some hold weapons—swords and axes—but many are women. The women of the wood. All those girls she tortured and killed to prove to Tuoni that he would never have his way.
They are mine now. I will give them a goddess worthy of their worship. There are reasons to fight and reasons to die. There is power in making that choice, in life and even after death. “Protect your goddess,” I call to the dead. “Capture the Witch Queen. Rip that wretched wand from her hand!”
Tuonetar slashes with her wand, sending out more jets of light. But just as before, her magic bounces off my dead, reflected by my shield. “How are you doing this?” she screams. “You are mortal!”
I stand at the river’s edge, solemn as the grave, as the dead surround her. She still tries to fight them, even though the magic from her wand cannot touch them. She bellows as they force her down into the snow, ripping the wand from her hand.
“Aina, you must go now,” Loviatar says at my side, her hand on my shoulder.
But I can’t go. Not yet. I wipe the tears from my eyes as Lilja, Salla, and Inari approach. Lilja has the Witch Queen’s wand in her hand. She holds it out to me. I take it with shaking hands, and the dead girls back away.
“Thank you,” I whisper to them.
They bow their heads in deference.
Looking down at the wand, I think of all the horrible things it’s done—the lies it sustained, the lives it destroyed. Gripping it with both hands, I snap it in two. A few faint sparks hiss from the tip, but the heat in the wood fades. I drop the pieces onto the pebbles at my feet, letting the lapping water pull them into the river’s black depths.
“Aina, it’s time,” Loviatar urges again. “The way out is now clear. You must go.”
“I can’t stay here,” Siiri adds. “V?in?moinen needs me.”
I turn away from where my horde of righteous dead bind the shrieking Witch Queen in chains. “Come,” I say, taking Siiri’s hand. I hold out my other hand to Loivatar, but she doesn’t take it. My heart sinks. “Loviatar, come with us.”
“Do not stop,” she replies, her tone solemn. “Do not look back.”
Tears well in my eyes. “Please,” I whisper. “Don’t do this. Come.”
She stands calm and resolute. “Tuoni needs me here more than my daughter needs me there. Go, Aina. Now.”
“No.” I shake my head, even as I let Siiri pull me deeper into the river.
“Go, Aina,” Loviatar calls again.
“Come on,” Siiri urges, tugging at my hand.
“Come find us,” I call, gasping as the icy water hits my hips. “You are free, Loviatar! As Queen of Tuonela, I grant you safe passage.”
She nods, raising a hand in farewell.
Teeth chattering, I swim after Siiri, taking long strokes with my arms. My thick woolen dress weighs me down as I kick my legs, swimming for the island. When my knee hits a rock, I wince and stumble to my feet. Next to me, Siiri wades out too, reaching for my hand. Her fingers are as cold as mine as we step onto the island. I glance over my shoulder to see the dead crowding up to Loviatar, presenting her with the Witch Queen bound in chains.
Next to me, Siiri tenses. “Oh gods, no.”
I turn to her. “What is it?”
She points through the dark, down the beach, away from the dead.
I follow the direction of her point, my eyes narrowing on the figure of a massive black animal with flaming red eyes. “Surma,” I whisper.
Siiri puts a firm hand on my drenched shoulder. “Aina, he guards the river.”
Foreboding fills me. “We must cross,” I pant. “Come, Siiri. We must cross. Now. ”
Before Siiri can respond, Surma lets out a deep, mournful howl. We both go still, listening as it echoes across the surface of the river. The dark water ripples from shore to shore. The sound hits us, and my whole body erupts in shivers that have nothing to do with the cold. This isn’t just any howl.
It’s a summons.