by E. C. Hibbs
“No. I did mean it,” she said with the hint of a snarl. “Silliness or none, he was insolent and rude.”
“So you attacked him? Aren’t there worse things out there than one stupid kid?”
Her eyes swirled red.
“And so now you unleash your tirade: the entire reason you brought me down here, and trapped me in this… body,” she snapped, spitting out the last word as though it were poison. “Are you happy now? Does it bring back your friend? No, because I am here with you and not up there with him!”
She bared her teeth. Her tail whipped the snow, forming a tiny aurora at her heels. The Lights spun around her like fire.
Tuomas’s heart slammed against his ribs. But he stood his ground. He had blocked her twice already – if she tried to attack him again, he hoped he could repeat it a third time.
She looked him up and down. Slowly, her eyes returned to a ghostly green.
“I said I will not harm you,” she reminded him. “Are you still afraid of me?”
“Yes,” he said immediately.
“Good.”
“Why is that good? I’m doing my best. I’ve apologised; I’ve tried to explain. Please… can’t we just try to work together?”
She regarded him unblinkingly.
“We have both let out our anger now,” she said in the end. “You and I are not so different. We shall move forward from this point. And when I am returned in the World Above, I will send your friend’s life-soul back, as I said I would. I can… see how much you miss him.”
“Thank you,” said Tuomas, and he meant it.
They stood in silence for a moment. The reindeer, finished with their meal, let their thin legs fold beneath them, and they pressed against each other to keep warm.
Tuomas spoke up again.
“I wanted to ask you something. You said that my name wasn’t Tuomas when I told it to you. Why?”
“You and I are not so different,” the Spirit repeated, and her tone was final.
Curiosity and frustration burned inside him, but he decided better than to push his luck.
“If we’re working together,” he said carefully, “is there a name I can call you?”
There was a long pause before she answered.
“No. Names are a thing of humans.”
“So what can I call you?”
“You may… choose a name, if you wish.”
Her voice was quieter than before, as though she was resigning herself to something foreign and unsure.
Tuomas looked at her. Her eyes were shining a strange violet colour, tinged at the edges with pale green. He glanced at her ears, and for a moment was tempted to call her Fox or Aurora, or something similar. Something close to what she said her true form was.
But he hesitated. If Spirits had no names, no physical forms, then would a physical name too similar to that do more harm than good?
It struck him that nobody had ever done this before. Spirits were referred to only by their titles. But Spirit of the Lights was too much of a mouthful.
What had Lilja called her a few days ago, when they had first met? He couldn’t remember – it was something about whiteness?
He was suddenly inspired by the stark whiteness of the body he had given her; how it seemed to sparkle under the faint starlight. If he squinted, he was sure he would lose her against the frosty landscape.
An idea formed in his mind: something which linked both her nature as a winter Spirit and the form she inhabited now.
“You look like the snow,” he remarked. “So… maybe the old word for snow? The one our ancestors used, back in the time of the Great Mage.”
She looked straight at him. A grin played on her lips.
“I remember that time as if it were yesterday,” she said. “I know the word. It was lumi.”
“Yes. Lumi.”
“I accept that.”
“And… will you please call me Tuomas?”
A wave of discontent flashed across her face, but she nodded.
Tuomas smiled, satisfied that they had formed a truce, however strange and tentative.
The aroma of cooking char wafted through the air. Realising the food was almost ready, Tuomas made his way towards the tent. But he paused outside the flap and looked back at the Spirit.
“Will you join us?” he asked.
“No,” she said at once. “It is too hot and too crowded.”
“Don’t you need to eat?”
“No.”
“Alright,” he said. “Well, goodnight, Lumi.”
He pulled back the flap and disappeared inside. The Spirit watched his shadow on the fire-lit tarp as he settled opposite Lilja.
Once again, the endless night stretched around her.
“Goodnight,” she whispered, “my brother.”
Chapter Ten
By Tuomas’s count, ten days had passed since he and Lilja fished on the lake, but it was getting harder and harder to keep track of time. The days flew by in short bursts of wintry half-light, growing ever shorter as the Long Dark extended its grip.
The change was even more noticeable as they journeyed further north. Soon, the twilight lessened from a few hours to less than one, the Sun Spirit’s power diminishing as quickly as the treeline. Only the hardiest plants continued to grow now, driven to survive solely by their own stubbornness to reach whatever nutrients lingered in the permafrost. The mountains were long gone; the group had bypassed the peaks through a thick neck of tundra, and now they were deeper into the frozen heart of the Northlands than Tuomas had ever been.
The temperature had already dropped. At first it was only an added bite to the air, but then snow hurled itself down on them, with none of the delicate softness which Tuomas knew in Akerfjorden. The wind blew unhindered, through to his bones. He hadn’t needed convincing when Lilja suggested they adorn extra layers. Now he was clad in practically every item of clothing he had brought with him, and even lashed a length of leather under his chin to prevent his hat from flying off.
As usual, he was bringing up the rear. Lilja led the way with a sureness which unnerved him slightly. There were no landmarks here, nothing to indicate where they were, or even which direction they were travelling in. But nothing hindered her.
Beside him, Lumi was perched atop the rolls of reindeer hides and tent tarp. The wind didn’t appear to bother her at all; she barely even strained against it.
She had agreed to ride with him the day after he had named her. She hadn’t said why, but Tuomas couldn’t help but feel it was an act of good faith. He had seen how fast she could run – he was sure she didn’t have to stay with him and Lilja if she didn’t want to.
He pressed himself further down into the sleigh in an attempt to keep warm. A blizzard was on the horizon. A gust of snow swept into his face and tears welled up. He quickly closed his eyes, but immediately wished he hadn’t. The water trickled onto his lashes and froze there.
He removed his hands from under his armpits, cupping them over his eyes. It was tempting to rub them, but that would only make the icy hairs snap off. The only thing to do was let his own body heat thaw them.
Lilja pulled her reindeer to a halt, and Tuomas’s almost ran into the back of her sleigh. He eased his eyes open, cringing at the feeling of tugging skin.
“Let’s get the tents!” Lilja said, struggling to be heard over the wind. “Put yours up too; the animals need to shelter! Hurry, before it gets any worse!”
Tuomas wasted no time. Lumi jumped down from her perch so he could wrestle the poles free. Lilja helped him stick them into the ground, but the butts skidded as they hit a thick layer of ice under the snow. Tuomas retrieved his axe and began hacking a series of notches, to give the poles something to grip onto.
The whiteout was encroaching on them. It was like the swarms of mosquitoes in the summer months: their clouds so thick that Tuomas could hardly bear to open his mouth for fear of swallowing them. He batted flakes away from his nose, the skin cracked with cold.
/> Lilja crouched on all fours and he clambered onto her back, using the added height to tie the poles together at the top. He was just about to fetch the tarps when Lumi put a hand on his shoulder. He strained to see her – the swirling snow almost made her invisible.
“Tuomas, look,” she said. Her voice barely rose above the wind, yet he heard her.
He peered in the direction she was pointing. His lashes were completely white, like thick feathers; he could hardly make out anything. But then he noticed what had caught her attention: a figure, approaching on skis.
Before he could say a word, Lumi ran behind him and vanished into the snow. He went to call after her, but realised she didn’t want to be seen. It was best to leave her.
“What is it?” Lilja asked.
“Someone’s coming,” he answered.
Lilja staggered forward and faced the figure. It gradually came into view, body wrapped up from head to toe. Even its eyes were covered with thin discs carved from bone, slits cut into them to guard against the snow. With them, it looked like a strange owl-creature.
When it saw them, it stuck its ski poles into the snow and raised a bow.
“Stop!” Tuomas shouted. “We don’t mean any harm!”
The figure immediately lowered the weapon. It moved closer, holding out a hand in a sign of friendship.
“My name is Sigurd, from Einfjall,” it announced in a deep voice, slightly muffled by furs. “What are you doing out here?”
“Pitching camp,” replied Lilja, rather tersely.
“Not in this weather!” exclaimed Sigurd. “Come back with me, shelter at my village!”
Tuomas threw a sideways glance at Lilja. She didn’t seem happy about the idea of going among people.
“Come on,” he pressed. “By the time we get the tents up, we’ll be frostbitten.”
“The boy’s right,” said Sigurd. “Have your reindeer follow me – leave the tent poles, we can come back for them when the storm’s passed.”
He didn’t wait for protests, and approached Lilja’s reindeer, looping a length of rope through the closest one’s harness. Then he tied the other end around his waist, so he could walk in front of them and not be separated.
Tuomas climbed into his sleigh and drew the blanket tightly around himself. It took a few more moments before Lilja agreed, and she threw herself in beside her belongings with a frustrated sigh. As soon as she was inside, Sigurd set off. He grasped his ski poles as he passed them, leading the way into the howling wind.
Tuomas looked for Lumi, but there was no sign of her. He supposed that even had she been standing right in front of him, he might have missed her in these conditions.
Knowing there was nothing else he could do, he bent his head and completely covered himself with the blanket. His reindeer let out a snort of discomfort. Hopefully there would be some lichen at Sigurd’s village which he could give the animals. Einfjall couldn’t be too far, if their rescuer had set out to find them on foot.
Soon, they slowed down. Tuomas peeked out of his scarf. The faint outlines of turfed huts loomed from the snow like ghosts, and his heart leapt with relief. Even in the storm, he could just catch the scent of woodsmoke, of cooking meat and fresh herbal tea. It smelled like home.
When they reached the huts, Sigurd untied himself and helped Lilja out of her sleigh. He removed his skis, wedged them against the wall of the nearest shelter. Then he dug around in a large bag at his belt and drew out a handful of moss. Tuomas smiled in thanks as he threw it down for their reindeer, then proceeded to help unhitch them so they could eat.
Lilja and Tuomas hastily covered their sleighs with a sheet to keep out the worst of the snow. Tuomas snatched their sleeping sacks, but noticed that Lilja took only her drum. Out of all her belongings, that was the one she couldn’t part with, even for a single night.
“You can sleep with my family,” Sigurd offered. “We have room, and food for you.”
Tuomas smiled at his hospitality. It had long been a custom among their people that if someone was in need, or came seeking shelter, they would not be turned away. Neighbours were simply extended family, and back in Akerfjorden, nobody would bat an eyelid if someone made themselves at home in your hut for the evening. It touched him to know that no matter how deep into the abyss he travelled, there would always be good people to offer help.
Sigurd held open the door of the hut, inviting them inside. After a small pause, Lilja ducked under his arm. If Sigurd was offended by her hesitation, he didn’t show it; only hastened for Tuomas to follow.
Tuomas threw one last glance over his shoulder, in case Lumi was lingering nearby, but there was no sign of her. So he crawled into the hut, and Sigurd shut the door behind them.
Two faces looked up as he entered: a woman and a girl, side by side at the far edge of the hearth. A pot was in the flames in front of them, the delicious smell of sautéed reindeer drifting from under the lid. Tuomas gave them both a grateful smile, then crawled to the reindeer skin where Lilja had seated herself.
Sigurd busied himself removing his layers and eye-discs. As he shed his furs, a bright tunic was revealed; the woven details different yet again from what Lilja wore. Tuomas regarded them with interest. Every village had their own way of decorating clothing and tools; it was a way to identify where someone came from without even having to ask.
Sigurd pulled off his hat and ruffled his hair with one hand. It was as black as night, and cut short into a fringe across his brow. Then he hung his bow beside two others which were strung up on the turfed wall – Tuomas presumed those belonged to the woman and girl. They were made from a single limb of pale ash wood, obviously gathered from the south of the Northlands – there was no way that tree would grow here in the tundra. Each one was strung with a stretched reindeer tendon; beside them were quivers made from sealskin and adorned with beads. The arrows inside were fletched with snowy owl feathers for silent flight. Efficient, yet beautiful.
“Please forgive me for earlier,” Sigurd said, noticing where Tuomas was looking. “I was tending to our herd and thought I heard the bells of another’s reindeer go by, so I came to see if anyone needed help. But there’s been talk of something bad wandering about.”
Lilja frowned. “What do you mean, something bad?”
“I don’t know for sure. But something unnatural-looking, at any rate, or so I’ve heard. Some people are saying it’s a troll, come down from the mountains. I’m not sure I believe them, but you can’t be too careful!”
He patted his bow as though it was a trusted pet, then settled beside his family and kissed them both on the tops of their heads.
“Where are my manners?” he muttered. “This is my wife, Alda, and my daughter, Elin. Welcome.”
“Thank you,” Tuomas smiled. “I don’t know what we’d have done if you hadn’t found us.”
Lilja glowered at that, but didn’t contradict him. She just stared intently into the fire. One finger slipped under her scarf and traced the line of her scar.
Sigurd’s eyes lingered on her for a moment. Then he gasped.
“By the Spirits! Lilja, is that you?”
Lilja stiffened, but she didn’t answer.
Alda leaned forward, peering at her face from across the fire.
“It is!” she cried. “We thought you were dead!”
“It takes more than cold to kill me,” Lilja muttered. “It’s nice to see you. I have chars in my sleigh – you’re welcome to the largest one as thanks.”
Sigurd waved a hand dismissively. “Never mind that, we’ll sort it out after the storm. How long’s it been, ten years? How are you?”
“Fine,” Lilja said. She turned her eyes to Alda. “How’s the leg?”
“Practically like new, after that poultice you gave me,” smiled Alda. She laid a hand over her calf and gave it a rub, as though nursing the old injury. “I just wish I’d had more to pay you with than some bone needles.”
Sigurd smiled. “I would ask what you’re doing,
travelling by yourselves so far north – in winter, of all seasons. But seeing you, Lilja, it makes perfect sense. Never one to settle, were you?”
Lilja didn’t move.
“Where’s Kari, anyway? I’d have thought he’d be with you?”
A shadow passed across Lilja’s face. One hand strayed to her drum and lingered over the bloody smear on the skin.
“He’s elsewhere. I really don’t want to talk about it.”
Tuomas watched the exchange carefully, trying to figure out if the family knew something more about Lilja’s brother than she was letting on. But he couldn’t read their reactions – Alda went about checking the meal and Sigurd simply offered a reassuring smile. Elin looked just as clueless as Tuomas himself. There was nothing to suggest a death; if that had been the case, Alda and Sigurd would have made the sign of the hand to wish souls well on their journey.
Realising that conversation wasn’t going anywhere, Tuomas instead looked at Elin. He vaguely recognised her from the journeys to the coast, but didn’t recall ever speaking to her. Each village had their summer camps on different islands, so they only came together for a few days to trade and share stories before moving on again.
She had the same raven black hair as her father, extending down her back in a braid which made it look like a sting. Hers was also cut into a fringe – he recalled that was a customary style for the people of Einfjall. She was small and toned, her face round and her nose turned up like a button. Her large eyes, the colour of ripe nuts, held a peculiar fusion of warmth and sharpness in their depths.
“Weren’t there three of you?” Sigurd asked. “I was sure I saw another person.”
Tuomas hesitated, but quickly decided not to mention Lumi. If she had kept her distance, it was obvious she didn’t want to be brought up. And he was glad to finally be forging some kind of friendship with her, he didn’t want to tear it down so soon.
“No,” he said.
“Probably the snow playing tricks on your eyes,” smiled Alda.
“Probably,” Sigurd agreed, then sniffed the air. “When will that food be ready? I’m starving! And I’m sure our guests are, as well!”
