53

Siiri

I limp over to Aina’s side, my body aching all over. With one hand on her shoulder, I try to take in what I’m seeing. Tuoni stands at the water’s edge, both hands raised, holding the wall of flame steady as the wave crashes against it. The sound rattles my bones with the fury of an earthquake.

This fire is hot enough to melt the metal of swords and axes. The white-hot flames hiss and steam. Aina and I are showered with a mist like rain that stinks of molten metal. Above the wall of fire, the sky fills with acrid, billowing smoke.

Across the river, the death god’s face is a tortured grimace, lit by the fire shooting from his hands. He fights to hold the wall in place, keeping the wave from tearing us apart. Flames creep up his arms, burning away the black cloth of his sleeves, melting his skin.

“Tuoni,” Aina sobs. Her face is twisted in horror as she watches him burn.

I throw my arm around her.

“It—hurts—” she sobs. “He—can’t hold it. Can’t stop it—” Her eyes open, now two black orbs, as her head tips back on a silent scream. Then her voice changes. It’s lower and deeper, singed with ash and smoke. “Swim.”

I lean away, watching as she channels her deathly husband.

“No,” she cries in her own voice. “I cannot leave you like this— ahh —” The shadows overtake her eyes again. Tuoni’s voice calls out through her mouth, “Take her. Go. Now.”

The wall of fire sweeps outward, reaching for the far side of the river. He’s making a path for us. He’s letting us cross over to the veil.

“Aina, come on.” I pull her to her feet.

She fights me. She has eyes only for her death god, who seems to be weakening. He cannot control the magic of his own realm. “Tuoni,” she screams. “You are Tuonela! Fight for us, my love! Fight for our son!”

At her words, the death god goes rigid. Before my eyes, his body begins to change. The power he needs to control this wall of flame is so all-consuming that he cannot maintain his veil of mortal beauty. The man disappears, leaving only the god. Tuoni’s body elongates, his limbs twisting and stretching, his shoulders narrowing. All at once, he’s taller, strong as iron, but skeletal in form.

I can’t tear my eyes away from this new, haunting creature. This is the true form of the god of death, unbound from all attempts to mimic mortality. His black hair flutters around his shoulders in wild tangles. With a roar, he seems to pull on the fire. I gasp, watching as flames engulf his arms. In moments, the fire dances behind him like a cloak caught in the wind.

All around us, the wall grows taller, its flames stronger, as he channels the very essence of Tuonela.

“Aina,” I say, pulling at her shoulders. “Aina, come on!” I keep a tight hold on her hand as we wade into the water on the far side of the island. Once we’re in deep enough, I let go of Aina and dive forward, kicking for the opposite shore. Aina takes long strokes at my side, her wet braid fishtailing behind her as she swims.

We stumble up onto the far bank. She’s weak and exhausted, overwhelmed with grief. As soon as we’re past the water, there is a roar loud enough to fell a mountain... and then the fire disappears. I wince in the darkness. Without the fire to hold it back, the wave crashes past us, the metal within rattling and clanking its way down the river. As our eyes adjust, Aina steps back to the water’s edge.

The death god is still in his haunting, unbridled form. He kneels at the river’s edge, gazing across the black water at us. Loviatar stands just behind him. Kalma and Surma too.

“Oh, thank the gods.” Aina places a hand to her heart. “I feel you, my love,” she whispers. “I will always feel you. You will always be with me.” She closes her eyes, her head tipped back.

I place a hand on her shoulder. “Aina?”

She stiffens, her black eyes opening wide. “Don’t touch her,” she hisses in that strange voice. Across the river, Tuoni’s true voice rings out, echoing his command.

I drop my hand away.

Aina whimpers, her shoulders sagging as she nods. Slowly, she gets to her feet.

“Aina...”

“We will do him that one courtesy,” she says, her eyes clear. “Do not touch me while he can see us.”

I peer back across the water, and I know he’s looking at me, taking me in. “He knows who I am?”

She nods. “He knows everything about you, Siiri... about us.”

Reaching for the top of my axe, I hold his piercing gaze. “Aina, get behind me.”

“No.” She steps forward, placing herself between me and the death god. “You must stand behind me now.”

“Aina—”

“I bound him to me by sacred oath. He cannot harm you.” I can hear her heart breaking in her voice. For as much as she loves me and wants to return home, she will grieve him until she dies. That’s who Aina is. She is constancy itself. Loyalty. Faith. As she gazes across the water at her deathly husband, he waves his hand.

She gasps. There, on her soaking wet head, is perched a crown. With trembling hands, she reaches up, her fingers brushing its sides. The crown is a simple thing of wood, soldered with thin lines of gold. “I came to Tuonela as Aina, a mortal girl from Lake P?ij?nne,” she murmurs. “I leave as its queen.”

“He’s letting us go?”

She nods. “Back away slowly. Take me to the veil, only do not touch me. He can’t bear it.” As she moves back, she places a hand over her stomach, her soft gaze locked on the death god.

I walk backwards too, working my way up the short slope of the river’s edge. The veil awaits, mere steps away. It hums with magic. It wants me to touch it. My tattoos sting and burn, calling me back. I’m running out of time. V?in?moinen needs me.

“When I say,reach back with your hand,” I whisper. “I’ll pull you into the veil.”

She gives a curt nod, not turning to look at me.

“Waking can be disorienting,” I warn her. “But I already know my body is in grave danger. You may have to be ready to run, ready to hide, ready to fight. Do you still want to come home with me?”

“You are my home,” she replies, her tone steadfast. “I go where you go.”

I feel the hum of the veil. It all but reaches out for me with eager fingers. I focus all my energy on the runes of my left hand—the bear-riding girl, the lake, the trees. I focus on the shaman holding a drum. V?in?moinen. Home.

“Aina, give me your hand.”

The last sound I hear in Tuonela is the death god’s haunting wail of grief as Aina reaches for me. I take her hand and step back, pulling us both into the eternal darkness of the veil.