With him.
“Gerda?” He faltered. “Is it really you?” He reached up to touch her face as if he still couldn’t believe she wasn’t an illusion herself.
She looked up into his face, tears still on her cheeks, but her expression had been transformed by love. “It’s me! Oh, Kay, do you know me at last? I have been searching so long for you!”
“Know you? Oh, my love—” He took her face in both his hands and covered it with kisses. “Why did I ever leave? Why couldn’t I see what was right in front or me? My love, my only love!”
Aleksia chuckled with satisfaction and let her haughty expression drop. The Bear ambled forward at that point, making whuffling sounds of contentment. He truly enjoyed seeing the happy endings of tales, and she would never deny him that pleasure when she had a chance.
Silly cubs, he said affectionately. Wouldn’t you think, with all of the stories they are told, that they would manage to keep themselves out of trouble?
“They can’t help it, as often as not,” she replied quietly. “When The Tradition decides for them, the best we can do is to make sure nothing horrible happens.”
Hmm, true enough. He whuffled again. I am glad I am not a human.
She chuckled.
She motioned to the Bear, who nodded to her and took his cue, as she called up a halo of bright light around them both. Now it was time for her to change from the mantle of the Snow Queen to that of the Fairy Godmother—and time for the Bear to become the Mystical Helper. He waited for the two lovers to pause for breath and made a coughing sound. They both looked up, startled, eyes widening at the sight of the smiling woman radiating light, and her ursine companion who was doing the same. The Brownies attending the sleigh were grinning broadly, and even the deer were watching with approval.
“You have passed all the trials I have set you,” Aleksia said, another touch of magic giving her voice a ringing quality. “And your prize is that you have won each other and found yourselves.” The Brownie driver handed her down from the sleigh, and she took off her own fur cloak and put it around Gerda’s shoulders.
I lose more fur cloaks this way… She made a mental note to have another half-dozen sewn up for her.
She held out her hand, and the Brownie serving as postilion put a gold filigree casket the size of an apple and shaped like a heart into her hand. This, she handed to Gerda. Gerda opened it, and gasped at the fortune in sparkling gems that lay within; this would be more than enough to set the pair up with a fine home and workshop, where Kay could invent clever things to his heart’s content. It would also ensure that he would not find himself seeking work only to discover that his cleverness was being used to fabricate terrible weapons. “For your steadfast heart, I bequeath to you the means to make your way in the world without sacrificing your integrity and ideals. Seek peace, help each other and never forget to aid those who are less fortunate than you, or your prosperity will melt like snow in the Summer.”
Again she held out her hand, and this time the casket that the Brownie put into it was steel. “And for you, Kay, who has learned that there is nothing of value that surpasses the love another has for you, something very special. For as long as you remember this, and remember to love Gerda in return, this box will hold whatever it is you need most and cannot find on your own, be it silver and gold or a bit of clockwork, or the book that gives you the clue to solve a problem. But the moment you forget this, the moment you break her heart—” her face darkened “—this casket will fail you, and all you attempt will come to naught.”
Kay took the box with a sober expression. “I will make no eternal vows, Godmother,” he said with genuine humility, then grinned sheepishly. “I can be a single-minded and selfish bastard, as we both know. I only promise that I will try, I will try as hard as I ever have to solve some tangled problem.”
“And I will remind him, no matter if he pushes me away,” Gerda said, raising her chin and looking at Aleksia with determination.
She smiled. They would be fine. It was the ones who swore stupid things like “I will never fail her!” who ended up starting another tale. The Tradition seized on things like that the moment that the words left the lips.
And then they are my problem all over again.
“Then keep each other strong and sure,” she told them firmly. “Remember that it can be vital to fix mistakes as soon as you know you have made them. And remember to be very, very careful of what you wish for, because sometimes the worst thing that can happen to you is to get it. My sleigh will take you home. You will find every provision you need on the way.”
She stepped back; Kay handed Gerda in, then climbed up after her. The driver slapped the reins over the reindeers’ backs, and the sleigh moved off, going faster and faster, until at last it lifted right up off the ground and into the air, where it soared off and became lost in the blue.
I do hope they send it back, the Bear chuckled.
She slapped his massive shoulder. “Silly goose. Come on, then, you know what happens now.”
The Bear sighed with content. I take you home, and then you feed me. I hope you have honey-and-oat cakes with berries in them.
She laughed, and hoisted herself up onto his back. “If we don’t, we soon will—as soon as my cook hears that you want them.” He was as broad across the shoulder as a bed and she had no trouble settling herself down. As warm as he was, with a little magic to help, she did not even need her cloak. She patted his massive neck. “Right you are, my friend. Let’s go.”
Annukka hooked her rope around the ankles of yet another dead bandit, and patted the shoulder of her nervous reindeer. He moved off in the direction of the untidy line of corpses that Annukka had laid out where predators and scavengers could easily find and feast on them. This would virtually ensure that their spirits would wander about for a good long time before finding an entrance to Tuonela, and she hoped that every single moment would be sheer misery for them.
The encounter with the bandits had, curiously enough, left Annukka and Kaari better off than they had been. Aside from destroying her charms, they had done nothing to despoil what the two women had brought with them. So not only did they have their reindeer and the provisions that they had gotten from Annukka’s stores, they were now in possession of things they had not been able to obtain before fleeing the village.
Weapons, chiefly, but also other items.
Annukka had insisted on Kaari going through the campsite, while she disposed of the bodies. There were three or four hide tents, all in poor repair, that with some work, Annukka would be able to piece into one tolerably good tent. That was probably the best find of all. But they also had weapons now, a bow apiece and plenty of arrows, a pair of long daggers and a hand-ax, which would be useful for chopping wood as well as being a weapon.
Kaari had been very thorough about picking out everything that could be used, although both of them had drawn the line at scavenging clothing. For one thing, it was all dirty and reeked of sweat and things best not contemplated. For another, most of it was so patched together that it was not worth the time to repair it.
But it looked as if most of the bandits’ victims had been individual travelers and hunters, who had carried things more useful to the women than to the bandits. They had rope and cord, spare hide, a stout pry-bar, extra strapping and brass bits and tools to mend harness, proper packs instead of the sacks they had tied on the backs of their deer, and any number of small things that were likely to prove useful. Individually, the robbers had been a scurvy, ragtag lot, but being able to pick through all of their belongings had been fruitful. It was ironic to think that if they had been willing to share, they all could have been living much more comfortably than they were by hoarding their spoils.
Annukka had frankly expected to have to do most of the work of hauling the bodies off to a pile in the woods and picking through the camp, but to her surprise—and gratitude—after an uneasy night’s sleep, and after all the useful things had been picked out, Kaari
had mustered up enough spine and guts to help.
But now a difficult moment was coming. Annuka had been the one to rifle the body of the chief, and then had left him for last. When she returned with the deer, she found Kaari standing over the corpse, staring at it. Annukka watched her carefully, expecting an explosion of some sort—
And as Annukka had expected, after a moment, Kaari unleashed a barrage of vicious kicks on it, then seized a stout branch and beat the corpse’s head until it was unrecognizable, then burst into tears.
Gently, Annukka led her away, comforted her wordlessly and let her cry herself out. Poor child, she thought, a lump in her throat. It was one thing to hear about robbers and bandits and the like around the home fire. You could exclaim in horror, feel all the sympathy in the world for their poor victims, but still, you were safe. Now—well, there it was. It wasn’t someone else this time, it was Kaari. The worst that could happen had not happened to her, but it was the worst that she had ever experienced. Until this moment, the nastiest thing that a man had ever done to her had been when her father had spanked her as a child.
In a way, eventually, this would be very good for her. As Annukka knew, even in their own village, there were men who were less than good to their women. Now Kaari would have some idea of what they went through.
She held Kaari against her shoulder and rocked her a little, reflecting that she was holding up remarkably well. Then again, she hadn’t been raped, only pawed and slobbered on. She did not say that, however. This was quite bad enough so far as poor Kaari was concerned.
Finally, when Kaari had cried herself out, she said dryly, “Imagine, when they get to Tuonela and have to say how they died. That two women tricked them and set them against each other. Everywhere they go, they will be met with laughter. Other men will make them do womanish chores. They shall spend the rest of eternity as the butt of other men’s jests, and the objects of scorn for all.”
Kaari sniffed once, and rubbed her eyes with the backs of her hands. “Do you think so?” she asked.
“I know so.” Annukka patted her shoulder. “Now, you go finish loading the deer. I will dispose of this carrion. Then let us get out of here, before the scavengers come.”
They left the campsite just before noon, and headed roughly back to the road. Annukka felt angry all over again when she thought how much time they had lost thanks to the attack. She begrudged every step taken in the wrong direction—and this was enough to make her blood boil if she thought about it for too long.
She kept that from Kaari, however. The girl had more than enough to think about for the moment, and there was no use in adding more misery to her current burdens.
They journeyed as far as they could that day, and made a much more comfortable and very well-hidden camp that night. Annukka took care to doctor Kaari’s tea so that she fell asleep immediately and slept dreamlessly.
This was not just for Kaari’s sake; Annukka wanted to do something that required that she not be interrupted.
As soon as Kaari was asleep, she took out her kantele, and gathered her magic around her. The encounter with the bandits had shaken her more than she wanted to admit in front of the girl. Kaari was relying on her to be strong and clever; after all, the girl had never even been out of their village except to occasionally go out with some of the nearer reindeer herds, as the youngsters did in Summer. All this was new—and now, it was terrifying. Yet without Kaari, this journey might well prove impossible. As Fall turned to Winter, they would have to watch out for each other. Wolves would be a danger later, as would uncanny things. Once the snow fell, not only would they have to keep watch at night, turn and turn about, but one of them would have to stay awake to make sure that the fire did not go out, or they would both die. One person might survive in the Winter wilderness alone, but only if that person was an experienced woodsman, which neither of them was. They absolutely needed each other.
Which meant that Kaari would need to discover courage and resources within herself that she did not know she had.
And it meant that Annukka was going to have to do what she was reluctant to do: use magic. There were a number of things that Annukka could do, magically, but they all carried with them varying degrees of danger. Every use of magic left a sign that other users of magic could read; out here, where there was no one else about, at least she would not be endangering anyone but herself and Kaari—but that also meant it would be easy for anyone looking for the magician to find them.
You could wrap yourself in protective magics, but that also left signs, and if you relied on those spells too much or assumed they were working, when something very dangerous came across you, something that could counter those magics, you could very well find yourself in deep trouble without warning.
What to do? That was the question. Whenever there was an option, Annukka preferred to do things that would work within the “natural order” of events. So what would fit that particular option?
Finally she thought she had a solution of sorts. So while Kaari slept, she played without singing. Words made the magic more immediate and powerful, increased the obvious “footprint” on the world, and that was the last thing she wanted.
Instead, she concentrated, as she did when she wove. She recalled every tale she had ever heard of lovers overcoming impossible odds to be with one another, of brave souls meeting every obstacle in their way to make a rescue. In her mind, she recited them as best she could, to the sound of her own fingers on the strings. She pictured the events of the stories in her mind. She added to that all the tales she knew of clever Heroes—not necessarily strong, nor great warriors, but those who were quick-witted and wise, who slipped by guards, made brilliant escapes and tricked their way out of trouble. That was who she wanted emulate; after all, she and Kaari were not fighters and there was no use trying to become fighters. It wasn’t swordplay that was going to win the day this time.
And last of all, she called to mind all of the stories of Heroes finding help in unexpected places; it was heartening to realize just how many of those stories there were. And equally heartening to reflect on how often it was the smallest and the weakest who provided the most help. We will be kind-hearted and generous, she promised the magic. We will earn our good fortune. We will help everywhere it is needed. Not just now, but in the future. That was how you earned those unexpected favors.
She looked down at Kaari’s sweet, troubled face. Let her see she is braver than she thinks. Keep her mind clear so that she can be clever. Let her keep her gentle heart, she added. All of this would be for nothing if Kaari lost some of what made her so unique, so cherished. Gained wisdom and experience on top of that would only be good. Anything lost—
No. Unacceptable.
She played and concentrated until she could no longer keep her eyes open. And only then did she set the harp aside, and put her own head down.
But not before checking the silver cup.
The thin rim of untarnished metal remained. Veikko was still alive.
With that hope in her heart, she slept.
The next day, the track took them into deeper forest than any that Annukka had ever seen. Mostly fir, the trees spread thick boughs that interlaced with each other to the point where the land beneath the boughs was in a perpetual state of twilight. These were old, old trees here, not much taller than the ones she knew, but so big around that she and Kaari could not encircle their trunks with their arms outstretched. The trunks were bare of branches to well above their heads, with only the occasional shaft of light penetrating to make spots of brilliance on the forest floor. The ground was carpeted in needles so densely that it muffled all sounds completely. As they passed under the shadow of these forest giants, the very air changed. There was a scent of age, as if the carpet of needles that covered the forest floor and the track that they followed had been undisturbed for centuries. Birdcalls seemed very far away, quite as if they were coming from another world altogether, and there was not even a hint of a breeze to stir the br
anches.
It was cold, too. Not the Autumnal cold, the bite of frost, the hint that Winter was coming. This was the cold of long, long years, of things for whom the life of a human was the merest blink of an eye. It was not a damp chill, that was the strangest part. It made Annukka think of mountains, and dragons, and things for whom little, little human beings were of no consequence.
And there was the sense of being watched. The back of her neck prickled, and the hairs on her arms tried to stand erect.
“Do you feel it?” Kaari whispered, eyes darting from one side of the track to the other. There was nothing to be seen—just the huge trunks marching into the distance, the sparse undergrowth that struggled for the least little bit of sun that managed to penetrate the canopy of boughs. And yet…Annukka would be willing to swear that there were a dozen pairs of eyes on her at that moment. Not unfriendly, not hostile, but…eyes, nonetheless.
Annukka nodded. “I do not know what it could be, but something—”
She bit off what she was about to say, as the least little movement out of the corner of her eye warned her that they were about to find out just what was watching them.
The reindeer stopped dead in their tracks, trembling. Then they faded into view, appearing, one by one, among the trunks, stepping out to surround them.
Twenty of the most beautiful maidens that could have been imagined. They had faces that sculptors would ache to copy, complexions like rose petals, lips like strawberries, eyes as blue as the cloudless sky above, and bodies that would make a man faint with desire. Long, flaxen hair, like a waterfall of shining gold, fell unbound to their ankles. Annukka had never seen one woman to compare to them, much less twenty.
[500 Kingdoms 04] - The Snow Queen Page 18
