by Jo Sandhu
‘I will, Kirsi. Now I’m going to leave you with Noora. I want you to drink some tea, and rest. I will look after everything else.’
Noora added more dried dung to the fire while Kaija prepared the tea. She sniffed some herbs she found already steeping.
‘The healer left that tea. She said it was good for sorrow.’
Kaija nodded. ‘Golden flower and mistletoe. Quite rare. I’ll add it to my tea.’ She set the thick hide pot next to the fire and dropped some hot rocks into the liquid to heat it. A familiar scent rose from the tea and Kaija smiled. ‘My mother used this particular tea a lot.’
‘Your mother was a healer?’ Noora asked.
‘Yes.’ Kaija’s smile faded. ‘But she died.’ She added more rocks to the tea and watched the steam rise in the air. Then she looked around the lodge. So much sorrow here, she thought. We could all do with a cup of tea. ‘Why are so many of the women sewing? Is it to take their minds off their pain?’
‘Perhaps it helps,’ Noora said. ‘But these beads are being added to the children’s clothes. Kirsi wants the children buried with them.’
Kaija’s eyes widened. There were more beads here than she could count. Baskets and baskets full.
Noora took a cup of tea over to Kirsi and motioned Kaija to join them. She helped the old woman take a few sips, then said to her, ‘Kirsi, may I tell Kaija about your beads? She is here as a friend of Musk Ox Clan, and made this tea which we are all going to share.’
Kirsi looked at Kaija with reddened, weary eyes, but patted the furs next to her. She took one of Kaija’s hands and pressed it.
Kaija thought the old woman’s hands felt as soft as baby rabbit skin.
‘My beads . . .’ Kirsi’s voice was a low, soft whisper. ‘It is what I do, every day, for all the years I can remember. The men of the Ungirski hunt the mammoth, and bring me back the tusks and bones. Some such as Noora here, and her friends, they break the tusks and shape the beads using flint scrapers, sandstone and coarse sand from the river. It takes a long time to make the beads smooth, and then they take a long, thin drill and drill a small hole in the centre. That also takes time. Elli was training to drill the holes.’ Her voice caught in her throat, but the woman continued. ‘Then, I carve upon them the patterns and signs of our clan.’
She took another sip of tea and stared ahead into the dim light, at something, or some time, that only she could see.
‘When I was young, and my eyes were sharp, I made so many beads. Most we traded, but some I kept for my daughter. She was going to wear them when she joined with her chosen mate. Someone who would make her as happy as her father made me.’ The light in Kirsi’s eyes dimmed further. ‘But she died before she could find her mate . . . before she could have a daughter of her own to love. She died too soon.’
Kirsi fell silent and Kaija waited. From outside she heard the low-toned singing of the men, deep and solemn, interspersed with the sound of heavy bone on earth. They were digging a grave for the children in the hard, rocky ground. It was only now, in mid-Summer, and here on the river terraces, that the frozen earth had thawed enough to dig. On the tundra, the ground was always as hard as ice.
Kirsi took a deep breath. ‘She died, my beautiful daughter. She and her good friend were attacked by a bear, and her broken body was all I had left of her. I no longer had her smile to warm me, or her arms to hold me, or her sweet voice to sing to me. I couldn’t even bury my darling, because the ground was too hard to break, so we gave her a sky burial, and left her body on the rocks at the top of the ravine until all that remained were her bones. I always promised her that one day I would find her bones and bury them with my beads.’
She looked at Kaija with eyes filled with pain. ‘So still I make the beads, and life goes on. The men hunt, they kill the mammoths, they bring me the ivory to make the beads, and we trade with the surrounding clans, and none of them know how each bead we trade is made with my tears and blood. But for my pain, I keep a few beads for myself and my babies.’ She waved her hands over the woven baskets of beads, glowing creamy white in the firelight. ‘Thousands upon thousands of them now, to adorn my babies’ burial clothes. They shall take all these beads with them on their journey to the Spirit World, and when they find my daughter, they shall show her their finery, and she will know they have come from me, and she shall have her own babies to love and care for.’
Kaija let out a shuddering breath as Kirsi’s voice faded away. The old woman lay back on her furs and closed her eyes. A tear slipped from the corner of one eye to trail down her cheek, but she didn’t wipe it away.
‘Now all the women are sewing the beads onto their tunics, but our time is growing short. For Kirsi, we do this.’ Noora looked around the circle of women. ‘Many of us here have lost babies, but Kirsi’s pain is doubled, and we love her. We will do this for her, and send this wealth to the Spirit World, for her.’
There was a time when Tarin would have been left with the women, to weep and mourn, but now he was here with the men, and although sorrow also made their hearts heavy, they had their own way of mourning.
‘We will help you break the ground, my friend,’ Timo said, and the men turned to the difficult job of digging the graves in ground that was as hard as stone, even this far into Summer. As they worked, the men sang, a low-pitched song of their loss.
Long into the night they worked, breaking only to eat a small meal and take tea. It was the time of the Long Light, when the sun remained in the sky and merely kissed the horizon each evening before rising once more.
Tarin’s arm was still weak, but Luuka took a turn digging. It was hard, heavy work and he was soon sweating. A light sprinkle of rain turned the earth to thick mud, and many times the men had to re-dig soil they had already piled by the edge of the pit. But finally the grave was dug, the worst of the mud was brushed or washed away, and the men sat quietly drinking pozhr and waiting for the new day to start.
They had worked all night and Tarin found himself only thinking of sleep as Kaija emerged from the lodge, yawning and stretching to wake up. Kai hadn’t slept either. He joined them as they took a walk down to the river to bathe and collect water.
‘Noora is resting now,’ said Kaija. ‘She and her friends stayed up all night sewing on the beads, and still they ran out of time. The last basket we threaded onto loops of sinew and she’ll wrap them around the tunics like a belt. The boy Juha also had a basket of fox teeth to decorate his tunic because that was his totem. The girl’s totem is the reindeer, so she has some soft fur and bracelets of deer bone.’ She dipped her hands into the icy water and rubbed it briskly over her face. ‘But they drilled a hole in my cave lion’s tooth for me. See?’ She showed him the tooth hanging around her neck.
Tarin’s hand went to his own neck. It felt strange without his owl pendant. He wondered if it still lay somewhere on the mountain, lost in the rushing underground river, or buried under the fallen rocks. His mother had entrusted him with her father’s pendant, and now, if he ever returned to Mammoth Camp, he would have to face her and tell her it was lost. The sound of singing drifted down to them from the lodges.
‘The women will take Kirsi to dress the children soon,’ said Kai. ‘I’ve already rubbed red ochre onto their skin to celebrate their life here on earth.’ He bent to wash his hands in the river, still stained with the coloured pigment. It reminded Tarin of blood.
‘Come,’ he said. ‘In the days we are here, we will help them as much as we can.’
When Ristak was buried, it was the work of the men to take the body, and dig the ground, and pile the rocks on top when the ground was too hard to dig. They’d worked silently and covered their faces with clay and dung to disguise themselves, so the bad Spirits wouldn’t recognise them and take them, too.
The burial of the Ungirski children was different. All the camp followed the sad procession up the hill and away from the river, to where one long grave had been dug. Even the children followed, clasping their mother’s hands or carryi
ng little baskets of river pebbles which they would use to outline the grave once the soil had been replaced. It was how the children would say goodbye to their friends, Noora explained.
Saddest of all was Kirsi’s weeping figure. Her shoulders were bent, her hair unkempt and grey from the ashes she and the other women had rubbed over themselves. Her soft sobbing was a constant murmur beneath the singing of the men. Osku and another Ungirski man supported her on her sad journey, bending often to whisper in her ear and hold her up.
Noora and the young people walked behind the stretchers bearing Elli and Juha. They brought with them baskets of food to place in the graves for the long journey to the Spirit World, as well as flint blades and two long spears. Noora carried a parcel wrapped in a reindeer hide. Tears made furrows through the ash on her face. She stared straight ahead, looking only at the gravesite and the men, women and children waiting there.
Tarin, Kaija and Luuka stood a little apart from the mourners. Luuka kept a close watch on the wolves, but they sat and listened to the singing and stayed by their side. Utu dozed on Tarin’s shoulder. Each day he grew bigger, and Tarin had seen him flexing his injured wing. He had taken to wearing a thick strip of bison hide over his shoulder, to protect himself from Utu’s sharp claws.
‘Why only one grave?’ Kaija whispered. She hadn’t seen the digging, so was surprised by the single long hollow.
‘I asked Kai the same thing,’ Luuka said. ‘It is because the two are being buried together and will want to talk during their journey to the Spirit World. Kai says when you talk in Spirit, you talk with the thoughts in your head. The children will be buried with their heads touching so they can help each other on their journey.’
Kaija thought about this silently for a few moments.
‘Is it so dangerous then? The journey to the Spirit World?’
Luuka shrugged. ‘Who can tell? Maybe not even the Spirit Keepers know for sure, but it must take a long time, surely. The Spirit World is so far away.’
‘Maybe,’ Kaija said. The singing was fading away. ‘I wonder if Retu and our mother have reached there yet. They didn’t have anyone to rub ochre on their bodies, or lay them head to head. They may not even have been buried, but are still lying back there in the cave.’
Luuka took her hand and held it in a strong grip. ‘They will find their way, with or without a burial. I can’t believe the Earth Mother would abandon them because no one said the right words over their bodies.’
He fell silent as Kai raised his hands and the singing finished. From where they were standing, they only heard some of his words. The rest were blown away by a strong wind coming off the northern ice. They heard his words of comfort, of faith in the Earth Mother to take her children home, and then Kirsi’s cries drowned out all other sound.
The children were lowered into the earth, accompanied by their burial goods and gifts. Noora laid her package at Elli’s feet and lightly touched the girl before springing out of the grave. She motioned to Kaija and the boys to come closer, and each person present filed past the grave to say their farewells.
Tarin paused and looked down at the children’s faces. He hadn’t seen them as yet, and was saddened by how young they looked.
‘They could be sleeping,’ he murmured.
Elli was only about nine years old and reminded Tarin in some ways of Saara. He imagined Saara lying cold in the grave and shivered. He hoped Elli would have a good journey to the Spirit World, and would enjoy Kirsi’s beautiful beads. The boy, Juha, was older, more his own age. He was tall and strong, already becoming a man. He had heard the men talk about what a fine hunter Juha would have made one day. Osku himself had chosen the spears to bury with them, including one that Juha had helped straighten.
Osku was the last to say farewell. He led Kirsi to the children, and waited with her as her tears fell into the grave.
‘When it is my time, as I hope it will be soon, promise me, Osku, that I shall lie here with my babies. Promise me!’
‘I promise, Kirsi,’ the big man said, and wiped his nose. He gave her into the care of the women, and motioned to the men to start filling the grave. It was sad, dirty work, and the rain that had threatened finally started to fall.
It seemed appropriate, Tarin thought, that the sky should also weep.
When they had finished filling the grave, the children came with their baskets of pebbles and river stones. They made patterns around the turned earth. One little girl made a picture of a flower.
‘Elli was my friend,’ she said, and looked at Tarin with eyes that were large and round. Then she pointed past him to a girl waiting for them to finish. ‘She’s not my friend. She’s not anyone’s friend.’
‘She’s not even Ungirski,’ one of the boys said. ‘She shouldn’t be here. She lives in a cave in the forest.’ He kicked some dirt towards the girl as he and the other children turned and marched solemnly back to the lodges.
The girl sat cross-legged by the grave, her head down and her dark hair hiding her face as she chose a selection of stones from an otter skin bag. She was younger than Tarin by a few years, and small and thin. He tried to think of something to say to her, but then she raised her head and his thoughts scattered to the wind. Dark hair matted with mud, eyes as black as the night sky, but one eye cast with swirls the colour of flint. Just like the raven that had come to him as he lay waiting for death on the Mother’s Mountain. He knew this girl. He knew her Spirit.
‘You are Raven!’ he said, and he dropped to one knee in front of her. ‘You are a Spirit Keeper?’
He stared at her, struggling to put his thoughts in order. It wasn’t her face he knew, or her strange eyes – it was more than that. It was a sense of recognition, a sense of connection, like the feeling he experienced when flying with the little brown forest owl and knowing her as Ruva. Were all Spirit Keepers bonded this way?
Tarin realised he was staring and he dropped his gaze to the stones in her hands. Not stones, he thought. Bone. Polished bone.
‘You recognised this.’ The girl raised her hand to her damaged eye. ‘My mother once told me she could see the night sky in my eye, and all the hearth fires of our ancestors in the Spirit World.’
‘Does it hurt?’ he asked.
‘No.’ She shook her head and bent over her bag again, choosing another bone.
‘Can you see?’
The girl didn’t answer. She got to her feet and started to hum softly beneath her breath, her mysterious eyes now focused on the bones clasped in her hands. She knelt by the new grave and closed her eyes, then, still humming, she placed three polished bones upon the earth. Each bone had a shape carved upon it, and Tarin recognised shapes similar to the tattoo marks his own people used. Perhaps everyone used the same marks, he thought, just in different ways.
‘One for their lives here. One for the journey. One for their lives in the Spirit World.’ The girl squinted up at him and sighed at his confusion. Almost, she looked like Saara when she was most frustrated with him. She tried again.
‘Owl looks after them here in this world. Raven will be with them on their journey from one world to the next. Eagle will be with them in the Spirit World.’ She pointed to each bone in turn, explaining to Tarin as though to a very young child. She tapped the middle bone gently. ‘Although sometimes, Raven, Kutkha, can lead them astray for mischief. So we sing to the All Spirit to watch out for them as well.’ She closed her eyes and held her hands over the grave as she hummed.
‘The All Spirit? You mean the Earth Mother?’ Tarin asked.
She rose to her feet and dusted the mud off her leggings. ‘Mother. Father. All Spirit.’ She tilted her head to one side and reached her finger towards Utu. The owl chirruped and nibbled her finger gently. ‘I am Minna,’ she said. ‘It is good you are alive, Tarin Owl.’
Tarin smiled, relieved that he wasn’t going crazy after all. ‘But aren’t you young to be a Spirit Keeper?’ he said. Then another thought followed. ‘Noora said they didn’t have a Spirit
Keeper, and that’s why Kai was needed.’
‘I am not Ungirski.’ Minna started to walk away from the grave towards the forest. Tarin hesitated. He wanted to follow, to ask her so much more, but the rain was heavier and the others would be looking for him back at the lodges.
‘I am not Mammutti. I am not Metsamaa. I am Shaman.’ Minna raised her face to the falling rain and sighed deeply.
‘They would not like me to sing over their dead, but I liked the girl, Elli. She gave me food when I crawled in here lost and frightened last Winter.’ Then she looked towards the lodges. ‘They are calling you.’
‘Tarin!’ Kai called to him from the lodges. ‘Hurry up. We are having sauna. Join us!’
Tarin waved to show he had heard and turned back to Minna, but the girl had already disappeared into the forest. Rustling branches and a flicker of red caught Tarin’s eye. Was it a fox? he wondered.
The rain fell faster, creating little puddles around the grave. Some of the stones slipped out of place. Utu hissed and nipped Tarin’s ears, his feathers fluffed against the rivulets running cold down Tarin’s neck. He wiped the raindrops from his face and hurried towards the lodges. But his thoughts stayed with the sad grave and his strange meeting with Minna. He had a feeling he would meet her again someday.
Kaija followed Noora to the sauna. Some of the embankment had been dug away, and a lodge built into the side of it. Inside was dimly lit, and smelt of smoke.
‘We’ve been heating the rocks since last night,’ Noora said. She leant forward and sprinkled the hot rocks with water from a woven basket. A cloud of steam rose in the air.
‘We heat the sauna every few days,’ one of the girls said. In the dim light, it was difficult to see who was speaking. ‘But especially after such a hard day. We relax here, and sweat our troubles away.’ She flicked her arms and back with a switch of birch leaves and the scent filled the air.
