57

Siiri

A mild spring gives way to a charmed summer. Together, Aina and I do the work of collecting nature’s bountiful harvest. We forage and fish and hunt. Each day, I train Aina in the use of the sword and the bow. By the time her months of waiting pass, the beauty of summer is beginning to fade into a golden autumn.

Her labor is long and painful. Once her waters break, we pray the baby comes quickly... but he doesn’t. She strains for hours, sweating through her clothes. I make teas of willow bark and chamomile, trying to ease her pain. I hold compresses to her forehead and neck, cooling the fires that burn in her.

“He’s never coming out,” she cries, nearly delirious.

“He will,” I soothe, kneeling between her legs. “He wants to come out; he just doesn’t know the way. Just like a man—he’ll try every door but the right one.”

Aina tries to laugh, but it comes out as a groan. She grips the furs, the knuckles of her hands white as another spasm takes hold.

“Oh, Aina,” I breathe, bracing her legs. “The head is coming now. You’re doing well. Keep pushing.”

Aina gives one last push and the baby lands in my waiting arms. I pull the child to me, cradling him close. Aina sinks back against the furs, panting for breath. She lifts a weak hand towards the quiet baby. “Is he hurt?”

I wrap him in the cloths we prepared, rubbing his little body as his first cries break from a weak mewl to a squall. I laugh, handing the baby over. “He’s fine, Aina. Angry and healthy.”

“And he’s a boy?” She peeks inside the cloths, looking him over for herself. He’s already calmer in her arms, his eyes closed.

I come around and sit on the side of the bed, brushing the sweat from her forehead with a damp cloth. “He’s perfect.” Leaning down, I kiss her brow.

“Oh, my beautiful boy,” she murmurs, her lips pressed against his wet hair. “My perfect, sweet boy. You are mine. My treasure. My victory.”

The first few days of the baby’s life are quiet and joyous. I thought it might be difficult to love him. My resentment of how he was created runs deep, no matter how often Aina chooses to tell me about the death god’s “good qualities.” But one look at their child washes all that away. He is beautiful and blameless.

And he’s mine .

This child will have two mothers. All-Mother, hear me, I’ll love him and protect him like he’s my own flesh and blood.

Aina can hardly bear to put him down. The only way I can get her to rest is if I take him. But then she lies awake, watching us together. I tickle his toes and talk to him, singing softly the songs of sleep and good health. Most of all, I sing him songs of strength. I hold him by the hour, stroking his petal-soft cheek, pouring all the love, hope, and strength I can into his little soul.

Unbound from his swaddling, he kicks his legs, enjoying the temporary freedom.

“He needs a name,” Aina says with a laugh, watching him squirm.

I’m busy at the table, fletching new arrows. I work methodically with a stack of white feathers and my sharpest knife. “What name is fitting?”

“Hmm, we could name him Taavi after my father... or Tuoni after yours.” She tickles the baby’s chin. “Jaako and Kaarl are the names of my brothers... or Aksel and Onni after your other uncles.”

My smile falls. “Quiet.”

Aina quickly wraps the baby in his swaddling, holding him close. “What’s wrong?”

“Listen.”

Aina listens, her eyes locked on me. Aside from our crackling hearth, there is no noise. “No birdsong,” she whispers.

It’s midday in summer. There’s always birdsong. I rise slowly, moving away from the table to the wall where my bow and quiver hang ready. “Someone—or some thing —is outside.”

Outside the cabin, a raven caws.

“Oh Siiri, it’s Tuoni,” Aina whispers in excitement. “He’s here.”

“You said he had no tattoos,” I chastise. “You said he couldn’t come here.”

“He doesn’t—he can’t ,” she counters. “But he can take the shape of a raven. It’s his luonto, right? You said all luonto are birds. He did that all the time. It’s how we first met.”

I search frantically through V?in?moinen’s memories. Tuoni and the Witch Queen are both tethered to Tuonela with ancient magic. They cannot leave, I’m sure of it. In a way, Tuoni is death, as much as he is its lord and master. I set aside my bow and quiver, picking up my sword instead. As I cross towards the door, the raven caws again.

“Don’t hurt him,” Aina pleads. “You heard Toivotar. He loves me. He just wants to see the child.”

I wrench open the door, sword at the ready. V?in?moinen’s magic hums under my skin. The words for a repelling spell are already on my tongue. I taste them, bitter like a sour apple. I peer out into the front yard, and my stomach squeezes tight. “ You .”

“Who is it?” Aina calls from behind me.

I storm out of the house into the yard.

Kalma stands in the clearing, a massive raven perched on her arm. The death witch looks as beastly as ever, eyes like pits of darkness. She wears fresh blood smeared down her neck with artless fingers. I can smell her from here.

Pointing my sword at the witch, I let my magic fill me, spilling from my mouth as I make my oath. “You should know, witch... I am no longer the child you once frightened on the beach. My name is Siiri V?in?moinentytt?r. His magic is mine. Be a witness to these words: Aina and the baby live under my protection now.”

I gesture with my sword to the raven on her shoulder. “Tuoni, if you ever send Kalma to me again, I’ll cut off her hands with my father’s blade. I’ll keep her rotten itse locked in a room, as you kept Aina locked away, and I’ll take little pieces from her. Your daughters are good at weaving, so I’m told. Let it be their project to sew the thousand little pieces of her soul back together.”

Kalma scowls, saying nothing, but I watch with satisfaction as she shifts her stance, her free hand disappearing inside the folds of her robes.

“Siiri,” comes Aina’s soft voice behind me. She stands in the doorway in a simple wool dress dyed oak brown. Her long hair is plaited, draped over her shoulder. The raven caws at the sight of her, ruffling his feathers. She smiles at him. “Let him come.” She holds out her arm. “He wants to see his son.”

The raven swoops in a wide arc past me, fluttering onto Aina’s arm. She strokes his feathered back as he clicks his beak. She gives Kalma a long look, still petting the raven. “Come on, then,” she calls out to the witch.

Kalma dares to take a step forward, but I point at her with my sword. “Stay right there. You’re not coming in this house.”

Aina places her hand on my arm. “I invited her, Siiri. Lower your sword—and your hackles. I owe this witch a life debt twice over. She won’t harm us. She’s curious,” she adds, glancing over at the witch. “She wants to see the baby, too, don’t you?”

I scoff. “Aina, have you forgotten what this witch did?”

“Of course I haven’t. It happened to me, remember? If I can forgive her, so can you. And if her stench makes you uncomfortable, you can wait out here with the chickens.” She steps back into the house, taking the god of death with her.

Slowly, I step aside. “After you, witch... apparently,” I add under my breath.

The death goddess walks on bare feet over the grass, her torn and soiled robes dragging over the ground. She steps past me, ducking to fit her headdress under the doorframe.

I’m the last inside, shutting the door behind me.

Aina is already on the bed in the corner. She picks up the baby, whispering softly to the raven. “I’m not sorry it turned out this way,” she tells him. “And please don’t blame Loviatar. She did what she thought was right to protect me and our child... our son, Tuoni.” She holds up the baby, wrapped carefully in a blanket. “He’s a happy little thing,” she says with a laugh. “He was born into Siiri’s arms. He was so angry at first. But as soon as we wrapped him up warm, he stopped crying, and he’s been content ever since.”

Aina strokes his cheek. “Toivotar says he’ll be beautiful. Black of hair, like you. And tall. She gave me the sielulintu you had made for him,” she adds, reaching over to where it sits by the baby’s cradle. She holds it in her palm, showing it to the raven. “When he’s strong enough, Siiri will bring him to you. He will know his father. I will never keep him from you, Tuoni.”

The raven caws softly. Like the death god, he has one black eye, one cloudy white. Even in his luonto form, he bears the scars V?in?moinen gave him. I smile in satisfaction. I no longer wear his scars on this body.

From the corner, Kalma watches us.

“You can come closer,” Aina says. “I want him to know his sisters.”

Kalma casts a look in my direction before she steps away from the hearth, her dark eyes now locked on the child. I watch each step she takes with my hand on the hilt of my knife.

“I hope you’ll be a good sister to him,” Aina tells the witch. “I want him to know and love you all, as a brother should. Does he look like his father?”

In answer, Kalma reaches into the folds of her robe and pulls out a piece of parchment. Moving slowly, she extends her hand out towards Aina.

Aina sets the baby down on the bed by the raven and takes the note. With wide eyes, she unfolds it. “I can’t read this,” she admits, glancing from the raven to Kalma. “Is it from Tuoni? Can you read it for me?”

Kalma scowls and moves back over to the hearth. Task fulfilled, she’s disinterested in helping any further.

Aina looks down sadly at the letter, stroking the raven’s silky black feathers. “I’m sorry, my lord, but you know I cannot read.”

“I’ll read it,” I say.

Aina, Kalma, and the raven all look to me.

“What?” says Aina. “But—Siiri, you can’t read either.”

I smirk, running a hand through my shoulder-length hair. “V?in?moinen can read, so I can read.” It shocks and delights me. My smile falls as I look at the hopefulness on Aina’s face. “I’ll read it for you,” I say to the raven. Let this be my peace offering. He let us leave Tuonela. I’ll let him say a proper goodbye.

The raven clicks his beak as I take the letter from Aina. The words are scrawled in a confident hand, the ink heavy on the page.

“Well?” Aina asks. “Can you read it?” She already has tears in her eyes, the baby nestled protectively in her arms.

Sighing, I begin. “It says, ‘I, Tuoni, Lord of Death, entrust the care of my son and heir to his mother, Aina Taavintytt?r, hereafter known as Ainatar, Queen of Tuonela. The child will be raised in the realm of the living. So I have spoken, so I am bound.’”

“Thank you,” Aina whispers at the raven. “I will never forget this kindness, my lord.”

“There’s more,” I say.

Aina glances up, her free hand stroking the raven’s feathers. “More?”

“He says, ‘My only condition is this: Each year, on the longest day of summer and the longest night of winter, Ainatar must bring the child to me. My son will know his father.’”

“Yes,” Aina rushes to say. “Tuoni, of course. I want him to know you.”

The raven clicks his beak, leaning his head into her touch.

“There’s more,” I say.

She looks back at me. “More? Well, keep reading, Siiri.”

I grimace, reading through the words once first. I glance over the parchment at her. “Aina, I really don’t think I should be the one to read this—”

“There’s none other here,” Aina cries. “Please, Siiri. You must read it for me. Please .”

I sigh again and nod, regretting my generosity immensely. “Right... well, next he says, ‘Aina... my wife, my Aina. Your name is a blessing. Please leave me with hope. I cannot dwell in this darkness without your light. Lie to me if you must, only say there is a place in your heart for me. Let me hear the words from your own lips just once. Tell me you love me.’”

The words hang heavy in the air as we all wait for Aina’s response.

Aina blinks back her tears, looking to the raven. “Tuoni, there is no lie in my heart. You know the truth already. You feel it in the blood bond that sings now between us. I will love you until I die.” She strokes their baby’s soft black hair. “My heart is yours... as yours is mine.”

I sink against the wall, feeling my own heart breaking. I don’t know why I expected anything less. The intimacy between us has grown over the months since our return from Tuonela. We kiss and touch. She sleeps nowhere but by my side. She loves me as her friend, and that will have to be enough.

Aina surprises me when she continues. “If we were only hearts and minds, my heart beating for you would have been enough. I would have stayed and braved your world.” She glances over to me. “But a clever shaman has taught me that we are more than hearts and minds. We are souls too.” She looks to the raven. “You have my heart, Tuoni... but Siiri has my soul.”

My breath catches in my throat.

“Our hearts are broken now, my love,” she murmurs to the raven. “The pain will remain. It will be a constant reminder of what was... what could have been. But you will live, Tuoni. I swear it. People live with broken hearts. They cannot live with shattered souls.”

I can’t look away, too afraid to believe the words I’m hearing unless I see Aina’s mouth move to make them.

Aina strokes the raven with a gentle hand. “Without you in my life, I’ll be a cup that is eternally half-empty. This bond in me will ache for you.” She glances up again, her green eyes soft and warm as she makes her declaration to us both. “But without Siiri, I’ll die.”

A tear slips down my cheek, and it takes everything not to go to her.

Aina wipes her own tear away. “So, you see, I had to leave. It wasn’t about you, Tuoni. It was never about you or my love for you. I simply want to live. And my soul cannot thrive in Tuonela. I belong here . I will always belong here. I belong with Siiri.”

We’re all quiet for a moment. Even the baby is still, content to be held by his mother.

“There’s more,” I say, breaking the silence.

Aina lets out a heavy breath. I can tell on her face that she can’t take much more heartbreak today.

“It’s just a question,” I say. “Rather a good one.”

Aina raises a curious brow.

I smile, folding up the parchment. “He asks for his son’s name.”

“He doesn’t have a name yet,” Aina replies.

I cross the room to her, handing her the parchment. She takes it, our fingers brushing as she looks up at me. Suddenly, her gaze softens, and she smiles wide.

“I think there’s a reason none of the names I pick seem to fit him,” she says.

“Oh, yes?” I reply.

“Yes, I don’t think I’m supposed to be the one to name him.” She looks to the raven. “It will be Siiri who teaches him how to return to you. She’ll help our son grow in his powers. She will protect him and love him as a second mother, equal to me in the raising of him. Siiri will name our child.”

I stiffen as I feel all the eyes in the room look my way. I haven’t bothered to tell Aina that I already named the boy in my heart. I first met V?in?moinen in the form of the bear. He was all quiet strength and serenity. I first loved him in that form. I will love him forever. Thanks to his curse, which may yet be my blessing, we will never be parted. I wear him inked into my very skin.

Vaka vanha V?in?moinen.

I close my eyes and smile, letting all the stories and songs of the ages wash over me, filling me with hope and promise. The road before us will be long and treacherous. But I have my family to ground me and guide me. Aina, who is as much a wife to me as a wife ever could be. And now we have our son, who will restore the balance of life and death. He’ll help me bring Finland back to its former glory.

The shaman’s magic flows through me as I open my eyes, gazing down at my dark-haired, beautiful son. “His name is Kalev,” I say. “We’ll call him ‘Kal’ for short.”

“Kalev,” Aina whispers, testing the name. “Is that your name, my little Kal?” The green-eyed baby coos at the raven perched on her mother’s knee. “It suits him,” she says with a smile.

Kalev, son of Aina, a mortal queen. Kalev, son of Siiri, the new V?in?moinen, shaman of the ages. Kalev, only son of Tuoni, god of death. Kalev, Prince of Tuonela.

The End

The story Aina and Siiri began continues in book two

South is the Sea

Join Siiri, Aina, and Kal in their next adventure as they fight to expel the Swedish invaders and finally bring the true religion back to the people of Finland.