by E. C. Hibbs
“Those three children who died first… he came for them on his birthday. He died on his fifth birthday; you see. Well, the day I hit him with the torch would have been his birthday. And now it’s five years again since that day. His little lifetime repeated.”
Tuomas fidgeted, not sure what to do. He never would have expected such a tale as this. Now he thought about it, this was the most he had ever heard her talk about anything. He could see the strain in her face: an unending pain, silent and secret, which she had carried for years.
He shuffled closer and placed a hand on her shoulder. She tensed at his touch, but didn’t shove him away.
“I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I don’t know what else I can say.”
“You don’t need to say anything,” she replied tightly. “It’s my burden to bear.”
“Then why did you bring me here?”
She hesitated. “Because the Sun Spirit obviously wants me to tell you the truth. Well, there you have it. Aki and the draugars are causing the illness. He’s brought it on the youngsters to make us all feel powerless as mages. And to get revenge on me, for my negligence.”
“You didn’t neglect him,” Tuomas insisted. “It’s not your fault the draugars took him away.”
“You’re sure about that, are you?” Lilja shot him a cold look. “I should have sensed them before we camped here. I should have run faster, to get him away from that hole. And I should have looked before I threw a torch in his face!”
She drove her fist into the snow with alarming strength. Tuomas got to his feet and took a step back.
But the fury melted out of her as quickly as it had come, and she slumped over herself, clutching her drum feebly, as a child might hold a toy for comfort.
“There’s so much I should have done. This sickness – this soul plague – it’s all my fault,” she said in a tiny voice. “If you ever have children, you’ll understand. You do everything in your power to keep them safe. Well, that’s what you should do. You shouldn’t fail them.”
She wiped at her eyes again. “I failed Aki. And now everyone’s children are suffering for it.”
Tuomas tentatively laid his hand on her shoulder again. “We can figure out a way to stop this. That’s why you told me the truth, right?”
“We can’t stop it,” said Lilja sorrowfully. “I’ve tried. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve drummed for him, but the draugars have him too tightly for me to break through. And now something’s stopped us from even being able to get into trance. It’s like the World Above has been cut off.”
“But I can still go into trance,” Tuomas said. “Let me try. I might be able to do something –”
“No!” she snapped with sudden forcefulness.
Tuomas was taken aback. “Why?”
“Because this is a problem I’ve helped to cause. I should be the one who fixes it. I don’t care if anything happens to me.”
“I’m the only one who can speak with the Spirits right now,” insisted Tuomas. “I don’t know why that is, but if I can connect with them, maybe I can connect with Aki. I could break through the draugars and make him stop.”
“I don’t want you doing anything of the sort.”
“Why? It’s better than all the kids being sick. What if they die?”
“Nobody has died yet. I still have time to figure something out.”
Tuomas bit his tongue. The children on the lake had died. Henrik had admitted more deaths would come. But he knew better than to throw that information in Lilja’s face.
“Isn’t it worth the chance?” he asked instead. “Don’t you trust me?”
“Of course I do! But what if something goes wrong? You’ve already admitted the draugars will come after you, given half the chance. What if you get hurt?”
Lilja grasped his hand. She wavered for a long moment, as though gathering up the courage to say something. When she eventually did speak, her words stunned him.
“I care about you, Tuomas. I don’t extend that courtesy to many people. I won’t have you getting hurt, like I had Aki hurt.”
She stared at him, not letting go.
“I want you to promise me that you won’t try to fix this by yourself. If there is a way, I will find it. This is not your problem.”
Tuomas wanted to argue – of course it was his problem. It was everyone’s problem; every child’s, every parent, everyone who had to watch the plague spreading to their own loved ones. But he could see the desperation in her face, and relented.
He’d come looking for her because he had believed she would know what to do. Now he had to trust that she could follow through.
“Alright,” he said. “What should I tell Henrik? I told him you might have the answers.”
Lilja got to her feet, still keeping hold of his hand. “You can tell him I have information from the Earth Spirits and I’m working on a way to stop it. But not a mention of Aki to anybody.”
“Not even Elin?”
“Absolutely not,” she said firmly. “I mean it, Tuomas. If I’d wanted Elin to know, I would have brought her here tonight. This stays between us and Enska. Promise me.”
He nodded. “I promise.”
“And no connecting with Aki.”
“Alright, I promise that, too.”
The smallest smile of gratitude crossed Lilja’s face.
“Good,” she said, finally letting go of his hand. “Thank you.”
Tuomas went to speak again, but she was already fitting her skis onto her feet, consciously turning away from the lake as she worked.
“Come on,” she said. “We’d better get back.”
Tuomas tied his own skis into position. “Are you alright?”
“As best I can be,” she replied. “I will be alright, though. I will figure out a way to get him away from those monsters and lay him to rest. Or… whatever I can do.”
He wanted to offer her more comfort; to tell her it wasn’t her fault, or that she had done all she could to save her son, but he knew she wouldn’t listen. She was too convinced of her own guilt, and no amount of pity would break down her wall of stubbornness. He only hoped that when the time came for her to attempt anything, she felt she could call on him for help.
They left the hill in silence, the Nordjarvi and its cloud of mist disappearing into the night.
Chapter Twelve
She lay in the dark, the night open and silent around her. This was further from the edge of the World Above than she had ever been. It was a labyrinthine vortex of spinning stars, where everything was still and the familiar was too far away to even comprehend.
The struggle with her mother had left her weak. She had never felt like this, either up here or in the World Between. It was similar to when Tuomas had pulled her out of the sky, and her earthly form had started to melt. But at least then, he had been with her. Now, she was alone. He couldn’t see her, and even if he could, he wouldn’t be able to help.
All around her came the cries of the souls. They were looking for her. When the Moon had flung her away, it had left them stranded, and she sensed their panic as though it were her own. She tried to call out to them, to assure them she was still there, but she wasn’t sure if they heard her.
She listened hard and focused on them to feebly pull herself closer. The stars spun as night passed over the World Between, shifting the labyrinth, disorientating her. With no visual cues to guide her, she had to rely purely on the souls, following their voices and the soft pulses of their energy.
Eventually, she noticed a faint sliver of paleness: Moonlight on snow. There it was: the skin between the Worlds. Even from here, she could see it rippling under the strain of itself; the tear which Tuomas had left hung like the edges of a broken spiderweb.
White Fox One!
She looked around for the voice. It was the Spirit of Passage, but she couldn’t figure out where it was coming from.
How far are you from me, Carrying One? she asked.
I am close. Let me help you. You are weak.
A few moments later, the Spirit appeared underneath her. She let herself rest and it pulled her closer to the skin, then laid her in the sky where she usually danced. She spread her Lights wide, but too thin to be seen by any in the World Between.
Immediately, she was swarmed by the souls as they pushed themselves back into her aurora. They waved around like pollen on a breeze. She swept her tail a little to help them and the faintest wave of green rippled around her.
She had only been gone for a day and night this time. It must have been so painful for them when she was ripped from the World Above during the Long Dark. They would have been floating in this endless emptiness with nothing to hold them together, no way to dance and look down on their loved ones. Despite the fear she instilled in life, everything changed after death, when the souls clung to her as an anchor in the dark. Without her Lights, they were lost.
The Spirit of Passage swam in front of her in the form of a wispy cloud.
Are you harmed? he asked.
No, she replied, throwing a glance at the Moon Spirit. She had not battled against her mother like that for so long. Not since the last time her brother was in the World Above, before he was the boy called Tuomas, and the Silver One had tried to snatch him away from under the Sun Spirit’s gaze.
Good, said the Spirit of Passage. I am afraid I must leave you now, White Fox One. The Horse-Riding One summons me.
She extended her aurora so it mingled with the cloud for a moment.
Thank you, Carrying One, she said, then watched as he dissolved into the air as though he had never been there. He swept down, through the skin, and gathered the soul of a runt wolf pup from a forest cave.
Suddenly, the Moon Spirit drew close to her. She spun around and threw out a warning. Both their powers pushed against one another.
Keep away, Silver One, she snapped.
I do not see you stopping me, the Moon Spirit countered. Are you still so weak that you cannot even hold me back? That is what happens when you try to best one stronger than yourself.
A silvery glow shone down upon the Northlands. It reflected off the flank of the mountains and made the peaks look like sharpened knives.
Then why do you provoke me? she snarled. The air shook and her Lights tinted an angry red.
Because I enjoy it, was the cold reply. I enjoy regarding you, with your anger and your pride, and how little I must do to draw it out of you. You might try to keep him from me, fight me off, but it is like tiny hailstones upon a giant lake, White Fox One.
And yet he knows you cannot take him, Silver One, she said triumphantly. Your sly words were in vain. I hardly care that you never wanted me.
Yet you do care that I wanted him, the Moon Spirit shot back. You care about him. You care… like a human. It is most unbecoming of you. You even still cling to that foolish human name he gave you. What was it again? Lumi?
She recoiled as though struck. When Tuomas spoke it, whether with breath or the invisible language of Spirits, it held a kindness and appreciation that had come to define her just as much as her title. But in the clutches of her mother, it became something sharp and unnatural, like a corrupted wound. It pulled at her, trying to tear her down, but she refused to let herself be beaten. No matter that it was a name which had almost killed her. It was hers, and now, in her own World, nobody owned it but her.
You cannot use that against me, she said firmly. It is a part of me.
And at what cost to yourself? the Moon Spirit sniggered. Look at you. Accepting a name like a greedy human child devouring honey in the summer. Revelling in that restrictive body he put you in, and then daring to still behave as though you are the coldest being in all the Worlds. It is a farce, foolish White Fox One. You are so terrified to let them see your weakness.
They have seen me at my weakest, she snapped, which is more than you have.
The Moon Spirit pressed harder over her. Of course. They have seen your ultimate weakness. They have seen how you can love.
The word took shape as a warmth which spread through her mind, but she also felt the malice behind it, spat out like a dart.
She pushed back against her mother and swept her tail until the aurora filled the sky. It danced in thick green waves which twisted and curled around each other, no pattern the same as the last.
Do you not think it ironic, Silver One, she said coolly, that although Spirits are supposed to be formless and emotionless, emotion is exactly how we channel our power?
At that, the Moon Spirit retreated a little. Her pockmarked face darkened with rage.
I love my brother, she continued. That has only served to make me stronger in a way you will never know. Because you never loved me. You never even loved him. You only loved the idea of him, and he knows that now. He will not allow you to take him again.
We shall see about that.
No, we will not. You cannot have him. He does not want you.
That is only you and my Golden sister infecting him against me. He has no memory of what it was to be my son; he admitted that to me himself. How can he know to avoid me unless by your doing, you selfish little spark?
He knows, she snapped. He felt it. And he is not your son.
She poured every ounce of her power into her words and the aurora transformed into writhing fire. As soon as she let it out, she sensed that the joust was over. She had endured her mother’s abuse for so long, she knew it would return soon enough, as it always did. But now, she had nothing else to say. She would not let this moment of pride be taken away.
She ran higher into the sky. The stars shot past her; the World Between became so small, she could see the entire breadth of the Northlands in every direction. The mountains looked like pebbles, the lakes like raindrops, the trees like specks of dust. All so small and fragile, yet in its own way, stronger than anything Above or Below.
She let herself remember the feeling of running on top of the snow, the wind blowing in her hair, her tail brushing the ground so a miniature trail of Lights formed behind her.
Yes. As small and as fragile as a snowflake, but stronger… so much stronger.
Tuomas only managed a short slumber. He tossed and turned, then lay on his back and stared blankly out of the smoke hole.
The weight of Lilja’s revelation hung heavy on his chest like a stone. He tried to imagine her with a baby in her arms, teaching it to speak, telling it fireside tales, playing with it out on the tundra as it stumbled after her.
No, not it. Him. Aki. Her son.
He had felt terrible when he thought he’d lost Paavo earlier that winter. What must she have felt to actually see the loss, witness it be dragged away from her not once, but twice? A little life which she had made and raised, gone forever? And now, to know he was back and dealing all this pain…
A soft spluttering across the hearth caught his attention. Elin twisted in her sleeping sack, waking for just long enough to cough. After she had settled, Tuomas crept over and felt her forehead. It was clammy; her black fringe was limp and clung to her skin.
His throat tightened with worry. She was strong, but she couldn’t fool him.
He looked through the smoke hole. The flickering fire beside him made the sky appear even darker than normal, but when he squinted, he could see a tiny flash of green against the blackness. Lumi was there. She was alright.
It wasn’t much, but it brought a small measure of relief. At least someone he cared for was safe in the middle of so much uncertainty.
He stayed awake until he heard the villagers stirring in the neighbouring tents. Soon, everyone was up and started to strike the camp. Tuomas pulled the tarp off the frame of poles and packed everything into the sleigh. Then he went to Elin, grabbed her bow out of her hand and tossed it in beside the reindeer skins.
“Hey!” she protested.
“You’re not walking today,” he said. “Get inside and keep warm.”
“I’m fine,” Elin snapped, but then she coughed, spitting phlegm over her shoulder. T
uomas seized his chance; he grabbed hold of her and bundled her into the belly of the sleigh. She glared at him, but he shot her a warning look and she reluctantly covered her legs with a blanket.
Another fit of coughing sounded behind them. Tuomas noticed a girl, perhaps a year younger than him, had fallen onto her hands and knees. She struggled to breathe, every inhale as though stones were lodged in her throat. Tears streamed involuntarily from her eyes. Her parents huddled around her, holding back her hair in case she vomited.
His heart fluttered. Everywhere, it was all he could hear. Even over the clicking of hundreds of reindeer knees and the crunch of footprints, there was coughing and wheezing. It filled the empty Northlands and pressed down upon them like a cloud. As with the Akerfjorden group, there were practically no children or young people left on their feet.
Tuomas walked over to the girl and knelt in front of her. She and her parents looked at him with huge eyes.
“It’s alright,” he said, hoping he sounded more confident than he felt. “What’s your name?”
The girl let out a rattling breath. “Eevi.”
“Can I check your temperature?”
When she nodded, Tuomas touched her forehead. She was even warmer than Elin and the skin around her eyes was veined and swollen. She looked as though she was going to faint.
“Put her in my sleigh,” he said to her parents. “She needs to save her energy.”
Eevi’s father nodded and swept her up as though she weighed no more than a feather. He tucked her in beside Elin, who quickly shared the blanket and put an arm around her.
“Thank you,” her mother said tightly. “I… yes, thank you.”
She lowered her gaze and hurried past him. Tuomas watched her go with a sigh. Elin caught his eyes and offered a small smile of comfort.
As the herd moved out, he fell back to keep pace beside her in the sleigh.
“I was only trying to help,” he whispered.
He looked at the front of the herd, where Lilja was walking alone, shoulders hunched and with a hat hiding her face. She raised a hand to her cheek, and even though he couldn’t see, Tuomas could tell that she was wiping away tears.
