8

Siiri

Supper with my family is a painfully quiet affair. Father won’t look at me, and the boys take his lead. Even Liisa seems to know better than to break this determined silence. I choose to embrace it. If I’m quiet, I won’t give myself away... or land myself in more trouble. I sop up the gravy at the bottom of my bowl with a chunk of bread, nodding to Mummi as she refills my cup with more reindeer milk.

“Is the sauna ready?” Aksel mutters through a mouth full of stew.

Mummi nods.

“We’ll all go after supper,” Father replies, taking a deep gulp of beer.

“I’d like to stay here,” I say, breaking my silence.

All eyes turn my way. My brothers glance warily between me and our father.

Father glares at me from down the table. “Why?”

I shrug. “My courses have come early. But if you’d rather I join you—”

“No,” he says. “Stay here.”

My father and brothers glance quickly away, and Mummi casts me an approving look. Nothing will make the menfolk capitulate faster than a mention of your courses.

I help Mummi clean up the evening meal as the men head outside to wash in the lake. Liisa clears all of two bowls before she races naked outside to join them. As soon as the front door rattles shut, Mummi turns to me. “I think you should go now, while they’re all in the sauna.”

I set down the stack of bowls in my hands. “Now? But I haven’t prepared—”

“I prepared everything for you this afternoon,” she says. “Go into the barn, behind the first haystack. You’ll see everything there waiting for you. And take Halla. She’s strong, and she won’t make a fuss. She’ll also give you milk, should you need it.”

I shake my head, suddenly nervous. “They’ll see me.”

“They won’t. Leave through the south woods and circle ’round. I’ll tell them you went to bed, and I’ll make Liisa sleep down here with me.”

Tears fill my eyes. “He’ll find out you helped me and be so furious.”

She huffs. “I’m not afraid of my daughter’s husband.” Slipping a hand into the pocket of her apron, she pulls out a pair of silver bracelets. “And here, take these as well.” I’ve seen her wear them many times before, at weddings and feast days. They’re woven to look like braids.

“I can’t—”

“You can ,” she presses, closing my fingers around the bracelets. “Help from the gods never comes cheap. This is all the silver I have.”

“Thank you, Mummi.”

She cups my face, kissing each cheek. “Stay safe, my wild girl. And remember—sometimes the bravest thing you can do is not fight. The bear is valiant, Siiri. But it runs too. It hides; it lives to fight another day.”

“I’ll be careful.”

“And come home to me.”

I smile, slipping the silver bracelets onto my wrists. “I’ll come home.”

With Mummi’s help, I sneak outside and around the back of the house. The new moon is here, so I race across the dark yard, ducking inside the barn. I make quick work of digging through the haystack, pulling out a pair of heavy leather packs. Father uses them to travel south for market days. They hold a bedroll, foodstuffs, and some basic cooking utensils. If I know Mummi, she packed me enough food to last a week.

She has also left me a pile of clothes on the crate. I shrug out of my old woolen dress and pull on a pair of elk-skin breeches. They’re a good fit in the waist, if a bit long in the leg. They must have been Aksel’s. I layer a pair of blue wool socks over them. Then I stuff my feet back inside my reindeer-fur boots with the thick leather soles. The shirt is blue, a long-sleeved wool blend with leather ties at the neck. It falls almost to my knees. Over the shirt, I tug on a fox-fur vest. I secure the shirt and vest with a leather belt and attach my favorite knife to my hip. I stuff a pair of mittens lined with rabbit fur into my belt pouch.

The last item is a simple blue cap trimmed with an embroidered band of flowers. My eyes fill with tears. It belonged to my mother. I still hold memories of her wearing it, wisps of blonde hair framing her face. I bring the cap to my nose and take a deep breath, hoping it might still hold some scent of my mother, some memory. But it just smells of hay. I slip it on over my plaited blonde hair.

Ready at last, I fasten the packs onto the harness of Halla, a young, snowy-white reindeer. The last thing I grab is my bow and quiver. I strap the quiver to my opposite hip and sling the bow on my back. Taking up Halla’s guide rope, I give a little click with my tongue. The reindeer follows me willingly out into the dark of the forest.

I journey north all through the night and most of the next morning, only resting so Halla and I can drink water at each stream we cross. She’s a sturdy girl, quiet and attentive. She plods along at my side. As we walk, I glance around at the thick canopy of trees overhead. This autumn will be short; I can feel it in the air. It’s crisp and cold, stinging the tip of my nose. In a matter of days, all these leaves will fall.

By the time the sun has reached its peak, I’ve already foraged a meal of mushrooms, edible clover, and a clutch of wood sorrel as I walked. I washed it down with a few strips of dried fish from my pack and several swigs of water from my waterskin.

Halla and I make our way through a sparsely populated birch forest, the narrow white trunks reaching up into the hazy blue sky. I keep a loose hold on her lead, letting her pluck mouthfuls of grass. She pauses, her nostrils flaring in alarm.

“What is it, girl?” I whisper.

Halla snorts, tugging on the lead. Tucking the loose end into my belt, I pull an arrow from the quiver and slip my bow off my shoulder. It’s difficult to see. All the bending white trunks play tricks on the eyes, confounding my depth perception.

Then, I hear it.

“Oh Tapio, great lord of the forest, protect us,” I pray, my fingers clenching around the feathered end of my arrow.

Through the trees comes the low, grunting moan of a bear. It sounds close. Too close. If Halla can hear and smell it, there’s no doubt the bear can hear and smell us too. I think quickly: My packs are full of food the bear might find enticing. I could leave a bag of the dried fish, scattering the morsels on the ground, then run in the opposite direction. I can only hope it will stop to investigate, lured by the pungent smell.

The problem is that Halla makes a much sweeter prize. A reindeer on her own, boxed in by the woods and unable to run? A hungry bear readying for winter will happily tear her apart.

I hear again the strange moaning. The bear sounds afraid... and in pain.

The bear is sacred to Finns. Forest brother , we call him. Honey palm. It is our duty to protect him, to share the forest with him. I can’t hear his distress and walk past if there might be some way for me to help. The gods would never forgive me if I didn’t try. As I intend to ask the gods for a favor, I have to at least investigate.

“Wait here,” I say, tying Halla to a tree.

The reindeer grunts in frustration, tugging on the lead.

“I don’t think you’ll like this,” I warn.

Keeping an arrow nocked in my bow, I approach on soft feet. The bear continues to grunt and groan as I make my way through the spindly birches. The sounds are coming from the depths of a man-made pit. I inch towards the edge, wary of the soil giving way. The last thing I want is to end up at the bottom next to a starving, scared bear.

When I’m sure the ground will hold, I peer cautiously over the edge. There, at the bottom of the deep, earthen pit, stands a young brown bear. He’s caught my scent and looks up at me with anxious eyes. His fur is golden brown around his face and ears, darker at his snout. His massive claws are thick with mud. He pants with fatigue. He’s clearly been trying for quite a while to free himself.

“Hello there, forest brother,” I call down into the pit.

My indignation grows as I look around. Who would make a pit out here, and why? There are no villages nearby, which means the bears are no threat. And Otso is a proud and vengeful god. As the spirit of the bear, he feels each of their deaths. If a Finn kills a bear, he must offer a feast in honor of Otso. The clever hunter will lie to Otso and make him believe the bear died of natural causes. If the god is not appeased, he will rain down his wrath.

You have to help him, Siiri.

It’s Aina’s voice in my head. I hear her words as clearly as if she were standing at my side. She’s always had such a heart for animals, for any wounded thing.

“I’d like to be alive when I join you in Tuonela,” I mutter, glancing around at the trees framing the pit.

You have to at least try.

I sigh, knowing she’s right. It’s the only thing to be done. Dropping to my knees, I lean over the edge of the pit. “Forest brother? I need you to know that I have a reindeer up here, and I need her. I’m going to help get you out, but I need you not to eat her, and I really need you not to eat me. If you go your way, and I go mine, I’ll give you all the dried fish in my pack. Do you agree to my terms?”

The bear makes a soft grunt that I take for assent.

I scramble to my feet and pull the hatchet from my belt, cursing Aina under my breath. Then I march over to the closest sapling. “This is, by far, the maddest thing I’ve ever done.” I look up to the heavens, spying the blue of the sky beyond the leaves. “Otso, please tell me you’re watching. Let this not lead to my death.”

Gripping the hatchet with both hands, I take a swing, slamming the blade into the trunk of the young tree. With deft strokes, wishing all the while that I could borrow the strength of Ilmarinen for the task, I gradually hack the trunk in two. When it starts to teeter, I give it a shove with both hands, guiding the path of its fall. Tucking the hatchet back into my belt, I grab the trunk with both hands and drag it closer.

“Look out below,” I call. “I’m dropping this end down to you.”

Dirt and leaves shower down onto the bear as I give the felled tree another heave, and it crashes trunk first into the bottom of the deep pit.

“Are you all right?” I call, peering through the branches.

The bear grunts in reply. The hacked end of the trunk is speared into the mud, while the rest of the tree is angled, the top branches clearing the edge of the pit. The bear pants through his open mouth, sharp white teeth on display as he surveys the tree.

“See if you can climb out now,” I call down to him. “And here’s your prize.” I reach into the pocket of my fox-fur vest and tug out the little satchel of dried fish. I shake the bag at him. “Climb out, and you can have some delicious fish.”

The bear watches me with puzzled eyes.

“Come on,” I groan. “I don’t want to leave you trapped down there. Climb out so I know you’re safe.”

The bear rises up onto his back paws and climbs on the trunk. The birch sapling sags under his heavy weight.

“Best to do it quick as you can,” I shout. “You’re too heavy. The sapling will break, but I can’t move a bigger tree on my own.”

It feels silly to talk to a bear, but I swear he looks up at me through the branches and nods like he understands me. In moments, he’s braving the climb. I stand back, one hand gripping the top of my hatchet.

“That’s it,” I say. “You can do it. Quick as you can— ah —”

I scramble backwards as the great paws of the bear clear the top of the pit. The branches rustle, and the trunk bends and snaps, the sound echoing around the forest as the head and shoulders of the bear emerge. He claws his way out, grunting and groaning, pulling himself onto firmer ground.

My heart pounds. Oh gods, what have I done? Now I’m standing just feet away from an angry, scared bear. He faces me, snorting through his nose as drool drips from his open jaws. His eyes are a warm brown as he looks at me. Neither of us moves.

Slowly, I raise my hand holding the satchel of fish. “Here you go, friend. Your prize.” I shake the contents of the bag out onto the ground and then back several feet away, making no move to touch my weapons. “I’ll not hurt you, brother. I’ve just proven that to you. Please don’t hurt me.”

The bear’s massive snout drops to sniff the pile of dried fish. With a grunt, he noses away the leaves, exposing all the pieces. Then he starts to eat.

“If you see Otso, will you tell him what I did for you?” I say, giving him one last nod.

I don’t dare wait for him to finish. I keep backing away until I can no longer see the bear through the birch trees. Heart racing, I spin around and run back to poor Halla. She snorts, eyes wide, as she watches me approach.

“Come on, girl. We have to get out of here. That bear will still be hungry.”

We run side by side, putting distance between us and the bear. As I run, I pull an arrow from my quiver and press the tip of it into my palm hard enough to break the skin. I squeeze my hand tight, letting a few drops of blood fall to the forest floor. “Great Tapio, if you’re listening, know that I saved your cousin Otso in good faith. Please don’t let him hunt me down.”

Next to me, Halla picks up her pace, her eyes still bulging in fear.

“Good idea.” Returning the arrow to my quiver, I pull out my hatchet. With that in my left hand and Halla’s lead in my right, I run faster, determined to put as much distance between us and the bear as possible. “Are you happy, Aina?” I say through panting breaths as we jog. “You better be alive when I get to you. And when I do, we’ll have a nice long chat about how I think you’ve become a bad influence on me.”

At my side, Halla just snorts.