9

Aina

I haven’t seen Jaako in two days. He left after our last little feast, just after I begged him to help me escape. Meanwhile, nothing in this room has changed. Bread and water. Bread and water. The sun doesn’t rise. No birds call. Not even a wind in the trees.

I’m alone.

Impossibly, wretchedly alone.

I’m just about to get out of bed and eat a bite of bread when suddenly the entire room changes around me. Where before there was a plain table and chair tucked along the far wall, there is now a grander table and a large, fur-covered chair. It’s almost throne-like in its proportions. And the table is laden with a meal fit for a feast day.

I scramble off the bed and cross over to the table. Hands on my hips, I warily examine the feast—whole roasted duck on a golden platter, a silver pike seasoned with rosemary and coarse salt, tureens of boiled root vegetables, lingonberry tarts, game meat pie, fresh rye bread with butter and seeded berry jam, a carafe of wine and a jewel-encrusted cup.

The fine meal isn’t the only change. In the corner of the room near the fire, there’s now a large copper tub filled to the brim with hot water. Steam spirals off the surface. There’s a stool, too, a cloth, a comb for my hair, and a thick block of soap.

It’s a bath.

Glancing around at all this splendor, I could weep with relief. A squawk from the windowsill has me turning. I take in Jaako on the sill, his chest puffed out with pride. “Is it not cursed?”

He shakes his feathered shoulders, and my heart skips a beat.

“Wait—did you do this, Jaako? Is this your magic?”

He bobs his head.

I sink down onto the chair as he flutters into the room. The tips of his feathers brush my shoulder as he lands on the table’s edge. “How did you do this?” I whisper, stroking his strong back. “Can you open the door for me? Can you not let me out?”

He stills, his gaze mournful as he clicks his beak.

I blink back my tears of frustration. “Well, it’s enough,” I say, not wishing to seem ungrateful. “For now, gods know this is more than enough.” Closing my eyes, I lift my hands in gratitude. “Ilmatar, blessed mother, thank you for this bounty. And thank you for my friend, Jaako.”

We share the feast together. Every bite is delicious. The duck all but melts in my mouth, the skin of the pike is crispy, the lingonberry tart is sweet. If I could, I would eat everything. Like a rock giant, I would open my mouth wide and swallow the table whole, candles and all. That’s how hungry I am after so many days of bread and water.

My spirits restored as I eat, I tell Jaako stories of Siiri and our many misadventures. The summer we found an abandoned litter of fox kits and raised them by hand. The solstice we got drunk on her father’s barley beer and danced naked under the full moon. I speak of my precocious little brothers and tending to my mother’s herb garden.

The raven listens intently to every word. I think he’s an even better listener than Siiri. He must be, because Siiri has the ability to speak, which means she’s constantly interrupting me to embellish my stories and laugh at her own expense.

By the time I sink into the warm bath, I’m talking of Lintukoto. “They call it a paradise,” I say, easing myself back into the hot water. “The dwarves tend to the trees, making the place ready for the birds to return each year. They say all the birds fly there in the winter, following the path of the stars in the sky to the farthest edge of the world. Have you ever been?”

From his perch on the stool, Jaako ruffles his feathers.

I sigh, dragging the bar of soap up and down my arms. “No, you wouldn’t have, would you? Ravens don’t leave in winter. You’re like me, like all the Finns. We stay when we should leave. The harsh winds bring ice and snow, everything withers and diesand still we stay. Even the sun abandons us.”

A sharp pain in my arm has me wincing. It’s the same pain I felt on first waking in this room. I lift my arm out of the water, tipping it in the light of the fire. My forearm is bruised. Faint marks, in four long strips. Dropping the soap to the bottom of the tub, I sit up and reach out with my left hand, covering the marks.

Finger marks.

I gasp, dropping my hand away. I carry the bruises of being grabbed and held against my will, but I have no memory of how I got them or why. The only dreams that haunt me are dreams of a wolf in the darkness, chasing me with his glowing red eyes.

But wolves have no fingers...

Jaako gazes at me somberly from his perch, his black eye locked on my bruises. I can almost feel the anger washing over him.

“I have to get out.” When I lean forward, the water sloshes, spilling over the edges of the copper tub. “Jaako, food and a bath are lovely gifts, but they’re not enough. Surely, you must see that. You have to help me escape this place.”

He clicks his beak, glancing warily from me to the door.

I go still, heart in my throat. “Jaako... can you open that door? Is it in your power?”

He ruffles his shoulders in what I think is frustration.

I consider for a moment, searching his handsome face. “They say ravens are messengers. They say you hold deep magic, from before the time of the stories and songs. You are forged by the goblins, their clever creature. Do they wait beyond the door, Jaako?”

He looks at me with those mismatched eyes.

I grip the edges of the copper tub. Steam swirls in the air between us. “No day and no night exist in this place. No whisper of wind in the trees. Is that because there are no trees? Is there no night because I am simply not outside to see it? Tell me now, friend, am I in the depths of a mountain? Is this some dark goblin hold?”

Jaako clicks his beak as if to say no.

I lean back against the wall of the tub. Wrapping my arms around my knees, I gaze at the handsome bird. A tight feeling coils in my chest. For the first time since meeting him, I fear I can’t trust him. “If I’m not deep inside a goblin mountain, and I’m not in Lintukoto, then I am in some other dark realm.” My skin prickles as I let myself say out loud the thought that has kept me awake. “Jaako, am I dead? Is this death?”

The words are no sooner spoken than the raven alights from the stool and flies through the open window, disappearing into the endless night.

“No, Jaako— wait —” I stand, water splashing everywhere. “Jaako, please come back!”

I feel so close to an answer. I have to know where I am. I have to know what’s happening to me and why. Surely, if I’m dead, I would remember dying. But I remember nothing. I turn to retrieve my dress from the bed and go still. My white dress is gone. In its place is a new garment made from a cloth like woven gold. I inch closer to the bed, touching the fabric with a cautious hand. Is this another gift from Jaako?

“Oh gods.” My fingers brush over the dress. It is like nothing I’ve ever seen, like a master weaver found a way to spin solid gold into thread... but the fabric doesn’t feel metallic or heavy. It’s lighter than air. Artful embroidery covers the bodice in a pattern of acorns and oak leaves. A panel of forest-green fabric peeks out from the front of the skirt, embroidered in silver thread.

It’s the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. Strangely, the laces tie in the back. How can a woman wear a dress that must lace from the back? With trembling hands, I loosen the laces and pull the dress on over my head. It falls around my hips and down to the floor with a whisper, ending at my feet. It’s a perfect fit. I have to do an awkward stretch behind my back to reach the strings and pull the laces tight.

Two more gifts wait for me on the bed. The first is a pair of blue, leather-soled slippers with ribbons for ties. I sit on the edge of the bed and put them on. They, too, are a perfect fit. I wiggle my toes with a smile. The last gift on the bed is a beautiful, white, fox-fur stole. Atop the stole rests a short gold chain with jeweled clasps, great glittering stones in black and green. I once saw a wealthy tradesman’s wife wear something similar. I slip the stole around my shoulders and pin it in place across my chest with the jeweled clasps.

The sound of Jaako’s flapping wings makes me turn. “Was this you too? Jaako, they’re beautiful. I—”

He squawks, fluttering into the room to land on my chair.

“What’s wrong?” I step towards him.

Jaako’s eyes are desperate as he takes in my new dress. He hops agitatedly on the back of the chair.

“Jaako, what—”

His feathers ruffle before he takes flight, swooping to the door and back to the chair.

“Jaako—”

Cawing in distress, he does it again.

My heart drops. “No... no, this was you, wasn’t it? The dress, the shoes... it was you.”

He shakes his head.

“Oh gods,” I whisper, my hands brushing down the soft fur of the stole. “Jaako...” I know the truth now. I see it so clearly. “You don’t want that door to open, do you? You don’t want it to open, because you know I’m safer in here... don’t you? Is someone coming, Jaako? Is the door about to open?”

His gaze darts from me to the door. He knows what’s coming. He knows who is coming.

I step forward, reaching out for him. “Please don’t leave me again. Stay here with me.”

Behind me comes the unmistakable sound of metal scraping against wood. Someone is removing the heavy bolt. The door is about to open. Fear threatens to overpower me.

“Do not leave me, Jaako,” I whisper. “Whatever comes, we face it together.”

But with a last mournful caw, the raven takes off again through the open window, leaving me alone to face my fate. The door creaks open.