The Mist Children

by E. C. Hibbs

  “Neither can I,” said Elin. “When you said you’d be back in time for the migration, I didn’t think you’d cut it so fine.”

  “I didn’t mean to,” he insisted. “That reminds me, where’s Lilja? I haven’t seen her anywhere.”

  “She left ages ago,” replied Elin. “She went back to Poro with Enska. I thought she told you that was what she was planning?”

  “Yes, she did. But I didn’t think it would be so soon.”

  “It’s Lilja. What did you expect?”

  They each picked up a sack and hoisted it over their shoulders, then started walking. A pile was already starting to build against the wall of the furthest hut. In front of it, Mihka and Sisu pulled rows of sleighs into position, all pointing towards the western forest. The trees were heaped with snow, their branches holding all they could bear – a single flake more, and the entire load would plummet to the ground.

  “Was Enska the one who took the message about the herds combining?” Tuomas asked.

  “Yes. He said he’d let Einfjall know on the way back to Poro,” said Elin.

  “Why didn’t you go with them? You could have been home by now.”

  “I was going to, but Paavo insisted that I stayed. I don’t think he liked the idea of me leaving when I was the last person who saw you.”

  Tuomas winced. “I know I should have told the others…”

  “You weren’t even going to tell me,” Elin pointed out. “The only reason I knew at all was because I followed you.”

  “I know. And I’m sorry. I feel like I’m saying that a lot.”

  “Because you have a lot of people who need to hear it.” Elin tossed her head to flick her fringe out of her eyes. “Speaking of which, what did you do up there for a month?”

  “Just spent time with Lumi,” Tuomas replied.

  Elin cocked an eyebrow. “Yes, but what did you do?”

  “I… don’t really know,” he admitted. “Danced, mainly.”

  “Danced?” Elin didn’t sound impressed.

  “Well, we talked as well. But it’s not talking like this. You don’t need to speak. There’s no…” he searched for the right word,” boundaries.”

  They reached the pile and Tuomas threw his sack down on the top. Mihka hovered nearby, but then Sisu called him from the other end of the sleigh line and he hurried off.

  “I can understand a little more, why Lumi found it so hard to be down here,” Tuomas continued. “Here, you can only be in a single place at once; only do one thing at a time. And you’re always aware of the time, of things which need to be done. It’s so complicated. It’s not like that up there.”

  Elin put her sack over his, then leaned against the wall of the hut and twirled the end of her braid in her fingers.

  “You sound like you didn’t want to come back,” she said.

  “I promised I would,” Tuomas replied.

  “That’s not what I meant.”

  He approached her and laid an earnest hand on her shoulder.

  “Elin, I was always going to come back. It’s just different, that’s all. I know what it’s like up there now; I understand it a little better. I need to get used to being here again. A few days and I’ll be fine.”

  He paused. “And thank you for waiting for me.”

  Elin glared at him for a moment, then her expression softened and she gave him a playful shove.

  “Well, don’t expect me to be dancing with you for a month,” she said through a sharp-toothed grin.

  Tuomas chuckled and pushed her back. She side-stepped and tripped him, sending him tumbling into the snow. He narrowly missed a torch wedged in a bank and she stuck out her tongue at him.

  He laughed. For as close as he felt to Lumi, this human playfulness was something he had truly missed.

  He got to his feet, brushed the snow off his clothes, and returned to the sacks. By the time they had fetched the last ones, the sky had transformed from deep darkness to a faint icy blue, and the Sun Spirit rose. Her face kissed the horizon as she struggled to peer over the Northlands. As soon as she appeared, the mist in the village finally burned away, but the cloud over the Mustafjord lingered stubbornly, like the last dregs of ice which clung to the sides of a thawing river.

  Tuomas turned to watch. The light hurt his eyes and he held up a hand to shield them. She looked so far away now; further even than she had seemed when he was a child and knew nothing of the truth. But the moment her golden glow hit him, he felt it like a soft caress, and a small smile broke across his face.

  “What are you grinning at?” Elin asked.

  Tuomas shook his head. “Nothing.”

  Elin shot a glance at him, but didn’t press the matter.

  “I hoped the Sun Spirit would have been able to lift it,” Tuomas said.

  “The mist?” Elin said. “Do you think it’s something more?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  Elin worked her mouth nervously. One hand went to her bowstring where it pressed against her chest.

  “Lumi said it was dangerous?” she asked quietly.

  Tuomas nodded. “And the way she reacted… she didn’t want me to come back. She said I couldn’t risk it.”

  “But you still did,” said Elin.

  Tuomas looked at her. It suddenly occurred to him that he had never seen her in the daylight before. All the previous times, she had only been lit by fires and Lumi’s aurora. Now, he noticed tiny details in her face which he’d missed in the gloom: how ruddy her cheeks were; small golden flecks in her brown eyes. Dark circles had formed under them and her expression was heavy with fatigue. She looked as though she hadn’t slept since the night he’d left. And her hair seemed blacker than it had during the Long Dark, as though some of the shine had drained out of it.

  “Hey, you two!”

  Tuomas and Elin turned around to see Sisu waving at them.

  “Fetch your last-minute things! It’s time to go!”

  They hurried to the hut, rolled up their sleeping sacks and fetched the last supply of food. Paavo had obviously been back before them, because the reindeer skins on the floor had been hung up on the beams to keep them off the ground; the fire was extinguished and all the non-essential tools stored in their proper places. It was to keep the shelter as low-maintenance as possible for the older caretakers who always remained in the village through the warm months.

  Tuomas closed the door behind him and threw the belongings into the belly of his and Paavo’s sleigh. It was the same one he had taken on his journey into the north, and one of Paavo’s reindeer was already hitched up to the poles at the front. Several other bulls also stood ready to pull the rest of the sleighs. They grunted indignantly as Tuomas and Elin passed, making no secret of how they would prefer to still be with the herd. The urge to migrate wasn’t as strong in them. It was the females who drove the whole movement, knowing they needed to get to the summer grounds before giving birth.

  Tuomas and Elin headed to the edge of Akerfjorden, where many of the villagers had formed a human wall. The reindeers’ instinct would drive them down towards the Mustafjord, so it would take everyone to channel them the other way into the forest. Paavo stood several metres away with a tame reindeer in a harness. As soon as the others saw it, they would naturally follow in its footsteps.

  When everyone was in place, Aslak and Anssi pulled open the corral gate. The reindeer rushed out: a surge of brown against the pearlescent snow. Powder flew in all directions as their hooves churned it up. Tuomas spread his arms to make himself appear larger. The animals quickly realised that their usual path was blocked and headed into the trees. On the other side, he heard the shouts of more herders, preventing them from moving too far away. Eventually, they settled and started to follow the lead reindeer. Only a few remained behind: the older ones, with worn teeth. They had been separated in the corral, and for those staying in the village, they would provide food through the summer.

  As Paavo led the way, the rest of the herders st
ruck up pace behind and flanked the reindeer. It was a struggle to manoeuvre the runners across the uneven ground, but everyone pulled together to help guide the sleighs through tangles of roots and hidden rocks.

  By the time they were clear, the Sun Spirit had already begun to set. Everyone paused briefly to bid farewell to the caretakers, then set off through the forest. Tuomas wiped sweat from his brow and turned for one last look at the village.

  He had lost count of how many times he had come and gone from it throughout his life. It would be a hard journey for them all, but they were used to it. The people had followed this route through the Northlands twice a year for generations, ever since the dawn of life.

  We can survive anything, he told himself. But when he caught sight of the mist on the Mustafjord, a shiver ran down his spine. He turned his back on it and followed the herd into the woods.

  They made frustratingly slow progress through the labyrinth of trees. Every few feet, a sleigh would grind to a halt as the runners struggled over the snow. It was thick from an entire winter of being undisturbed, so in places, grown men would sink up to their hips. Wading through it took every ounce of energy, and nobody dared ride in the sleighs for fear of weighing them down.

  As they fought on, Tuomas had to remind himself that spring was on the way. The land was still locked in ice, but the Long Dark was over, and as the Sun Spirit regained her strength, the grip of winter would soon start to lose its hold. Until then, the hours of daylight would remain short, and every single one of them counted.

  The stars were spinning overhead and the Moon Spirit high in the sky by the time the reindeer finally drew to a halt. The herders urged them onwards until they came to a clearing large enough to support them all, then everyone busied themselves with setting up shelters. In the back of every sleigh, alongside the sacks of food, lichen and tools, were long poles and tarps made of a patchwork of hides. The poles were brought together into a conical skeleton, then the tarp draped around them and tied in place. More hides were thrown down inside to serve as carpet. Whilst they were built, other people went to the trees, gave thanks to the Spirits, and cut low-hanging branches to serve as firewood. They didn’t take any more than they needed, and never enough so the tree itself would die.

  Soon enough, the camp was set, and everybody huddled together around a fire in the middle of the tents. The flames turned the snow golden and threw strange shadows in all directions. The boughs overhead, plumed with ice, flickered in and out of the gloom as though they were breathing.

  Paavo set to work among the other cooks whilst the crowd chatted idly. Small children in their parents’ arms yawned and struggled to stay awake.

  “Why don’t we have a story?” Aslak volunteered. “Just until the food’s ready. Jaana? What would you like?”

  Jaana coughed into her sleeve. She was only young, but her eyes lit up with a peculiar light at Aslak’s suggestion.

  “A scary one,” she said.

  “Really?” her father asked through a laugh. “You’re a strange girl.”

  “I know,” Jaana said proudly. “The scariest one you know, Aslak. Please!”

  “Alright,” chuckled Aslak. “Do you know the Lights, dancing away up there in the sky? You know how powerful and strong she is? Well, she’s not the only Spirit who oversees the dead. Deep down under the ground, so far away that nothing – human, animal or Spirit – has ever stood there… lie the Deathlands.”

  A few of the parents shuffled uncomfortably. Tuomas twisted his fingers together until his knuckles hurt. He remembered this story. He’d heard it once before, when he was barely older than Jaana, but he’d reacted very differently. The tale had terrified him so much, he had refused to sleep until Paavo curled into his sack with him.

  “How do we know they’re there, if nothing’s ever been?” asked a little boy.

  “Because the mages have seen it in trances,” answered Aslak. “You don’t need feet in a trance, do you Henrik?”

  Henrik shook his head.

  “Have you ever seen it, Henrik?”

  “No, Jaana,” Henrik said. “And I hope I never do. Honestly, Aslak, this is the story you chose?”

  “I like it! It’s creepy!” Jaana grinned. “Go on, Aslak! What’s in the Deathlands?”

  Aslak laughed, then lowered his chin so the fire lit up the hollows of his cheeks.

  “It’s where many souls go, who don’t want to dance in the Lights. Plants, moss, wolves, even some reindeer. But legend says that human body-souls are sometimes taken there, if they aren’t ready to be reborn yet; or if they did terrible deeds. They are trapped by water that no living thing can drink, and watched over by a powerful Spirit. Nobody has ever laid eyes on him. He is the Spirit of Death. He is a thing of shadows and darkness, forever hidden and silent.”

  “Is he a fox, like the Spirit of the Lights?”

  “No-one knows,” Aslak said ominously.

  “Yes, we do,” Henrik cut in. “Not much, Jaana, but enough to know he is not a fox. There are only two fox entities in existence.”

  Tuomas kept his head down and stared intently into the fire.

  “If it will put an end to this story,” Henrik continued, with a pointed look at Aslak, “the Spirit of Death rides a black horse. Now, can we please leave this subject and move onto one more merry? Would you like to know about the time when I woke up and a wolf had come into my tent, trying to steal my food? So I sat up and smacked it on the nose! That taught it not to sneak up on me!”

  “The food’s ready!” Paavo called.

  The coughing children immediately sat upright. Everyone got up to help themselves. It was a fine feast – the last large one they could expect. There was sautéed reindeer, smoked char, flatbread and a generous serving of jam made from last autumn’s cloudberries. After this, they would be relying on their hunting and fishing skills until they reached the coast.

  Mihka squeezed in beside Tuomas.

  “Nice to see you again, idiot,” Tuomas grinned.

  In reply, Mihka, shoved him with his elbow. “Were you honestly that desperate to get away from Henrik’s lessons?”

  “Shut up,” hissed Tuomas, very aware that the mage was only on the other side of the fire. “Haven’t you learned a thing?”

  “Where’s the fun in that?” Mihka smiled, showing his small white teeth. But then he relaxed and held his hands towards the logs to warm them. It seemed the memory of his previous disrespect was still fresh.

  Tuomas could barely contain his hunger as the familiar aromas wafted up his nose. Paavo approached with two bowls of stew in his hands. Elin followed, clutching her own helping. Mihka shot her a scornful glance as she passed him.

  Paavo held out one of the bowls to Tuomas.

  “Are you still mad at me?” he asked carefully.

  “I’m always mad at you over something,” Paavo replied. “I’ve said my piece, you’ve heard it. You’ve apologised, and I’ve accepted it.”

  Tuomas smiled. Paavo gave him a long look, then returned it and put his arm around him in a half-hug.

  “You have no idea how much I missed you,” he said.

  “I missed you, too,” said Tuomas.

  Relieved, he drew a knife from his belt and shovelled the sautéed reindeer into his mouth. His eyes closed in ecstasy. It was better than he remembered; he was acutely aware of every herb coating the tender meat, the undertones of the lichen and moss which the animal had eaten months prior. It tasted of wildness and ruggedness: the frozen landscape captured in a single mouthful.

  “You still enjoy my cooking, then?” Paavo chuckled.

  “I will never get tired of your cooking,” Tuomas said.

  Paavo kicked snow at him. “Well, don’t make a habit of running off in the middle of the night, and I might just carry on feeding you.”

  He turned away and coughed violently into his elbow. As he breathed in, his lungs rattled. Tuomas lowered the bowl in alarm and slapped his back.

  “Are you alright?”
he asked.

  “Yes, don’t worry,” Paavo spluttered.

  “Are you feeling ill?”

  “No, it’s just a tickle. It will be gone in a few days, don’t worry.”

  Tuomas frowned. Paavo was one of the strongest men in the village – he never got sick. But now he looked at him, he noticed his brother’s face bore a pallid undertone, like old leather. His eyes, usually bright and alert, were dulled; not quite focusing on his food.

  Tuomas heard more faint spluttering over the crackle of the fire. It was coming from the children. He’d assumed their lethargy was just tiredness at waking so early, but now he noticed their eyes held the same heaviness as Paavo’s. Some of the parents themselves looked ill too: the younger ones, in their twenties.

  “Henrik?” he asked. “We should give them herbs. Angelica and nettle are good for coughing.”

  Henrik wiped his thin lips and narrowed his eyes.

  “I’ve been a mage for long enough to know how to treat a cold, boy.”

  Tuomas worried he had stepped over a line. But Henrik didn’t scold him again, so he changed the subject.

  “You didn’t wait too long for me to come back, did you?”

  Sisu shook his head. “A few days. Nothing much.”

  Tuomas glanced up through the trees. The faint green glow of the aurora was starting to wave between the faraway stars.

  “You could have left without me,” he insisted. “I’m sure Lumi would have put me back somewhere on the route, if need be.”

  At mention of her, everyone drew in a gasp. Many people looked at the sky and lowered their heads when they noticed the growing Lights. Tuomas watched the reaction warily. The only people who didn’t seem concerned were Elin – and, to his surprise, Mihka.

  “The Spirit of the Lights aided you against that wicked mage,” Henrik said in a careful tone. “But I think I speak for all of us: we don’t wish to see her again. Not down here, anyway. We may meet her at some point, when it’s time for our souls to move on, but until then… she should stay in the World Above where she belongs.”

  He gave Tuomas a sharp look as the other villagers murmured in agreement.

  Tuomas did his best to speak calmly. “I brought her down here by accident. I’m not going to do it again.”