by E. C. Hibbs
When it came to his turn, Tuomas swept his hand around his belt and fetched the small pouch containing the lock of Mihka’s white hair. It didn’t matter that his friend was still alive; Sisu had cut it from his head for Tuomas to take with him on his journey. Now he could return it.
He removed the little bone which he had whittled into the shape of Lumi’s fox head, slipped it inside his tunic, then placed the pouch at the edge of the pond. The water itself shone with a thin layer of ice, not frozen all the way through. In the low light of the torches, it looked like a hole which could stretch straight into the World Below.
When the offerings were laid, the funerals began. Everyone gathered, heads bowed and eyes red from crying. Ritva and Frode stood wrapped in each other’s arms, not even trying to put on a brave face. Mihka watched the proceedings blankly, staring a thousand miles into the distance. Despite his weakness, he had insisted on walking to the shrine himself. Maiken came behind him to put a comforting hand on his shoulder, but he didn’t even blink. All he’d ever had was his father, and now that wonderful strong elder was gone.
Tuomas tried to block out the sound of Paavo being lowered into a shallow grave; the piling of stones on top to mark his place. The mages stood in a line, all beating their drums in unison, calling out for the Spirit of Passage, the Spirit of Death, the Spirit of the Lights. They chanted to the Spirits who presided over the rocks and trees, the island they stood on, the air they breathed; asking them to watch over the dead.
Tuomas could feel them all hovering nearby, invisible yet powerful, close enough to touch him if they wanted. He knew the others could feel it too, vibrating against their taika, but he didn’t open his eyes to check. He carried on drumming until the Sun Spirit’s last ray disappeared into the west.
He imagined Lumi standing before him.
I know they’ll have been ripped away from you, he said silently to her, but if you can, please watch over them.
In his mind, she extended a hand, then vanished into nothingness.
When the first stars began to shine, people retreated into the forests. Those from Akerfjorden led the way, knowing the island’s trails better than anyone. Mihka stumbled on the thawing snow, but Anssi caught him at the last second and swept him into his arms. Lilja snatched her drum and went in the opposite direction to everyone else.
Tuomas went to follow her, but thin fingers closed around his wrist and stopped him. He turned around to see Henrik, eyes heavy and face drawn. The grey ash had worked into all the lines in his cheeks and made him look like a gnarled tree. He seemed so much older, as though he had aged ten years overnight.
“Stay here,” he said.
“Why?” Tuomas asked stiffly. “I want to go.”
“I need to tell you something. For my own piece of mind, if nothing else.”
His tone struck Tuomas. He had never heard Henrik sound so fragile, not even when he’d told him about surviving the illness as a young man.
He allowed the old mage to lead him to the edge of the shrine and they sat on a fallen tree. The light of the six torches cast just enough to see by, and Henrik rested his drum in his lap. It was barely two months since it had been made; the symbols on the skin were bold and the lines still crisp, though Tuomas could tell they had been painted by a shaky hand.
“Look here,” Henrik said, pointing to one of the pictures near the edge.
Tuomas did. It showed a young girl standing on a frozen lake.
“That’s not on your old one,” he frowned with a glance at his own drum.
“No, it’s not,” agreed Henrik. “I only painted it on this one last night. It was something I’d made myself forget, and did not want to remember. Until I saw… the draugars.” He took a deep breath. “Again.”
Tuomas was so startled, he almost dropped the drum.
“Again?” he repeated. “You knew all along, they were real? Why did you deny it? Why did you try to shoot me down when I told you?”
“That is why I need to tell you now,” Henrik said. “I didn’t want to acknowledge they existed. It was too painful. And so long ago.”
Tuomas went to speak, but then a thought fleeted through his mind and he stared again at the painting on Henrik’s drum. His heart flipped inside his chest. Lilja had the same symbol on hers.
“Her name was Runa,” Henrk said as he ran a fingertip tenderly across the red lines. “She was my younger cousin: the Akerfjorden apprentice mage before me. She was powerful – she was only fourteen, but even at that age, she showed such promise. But a few years before the last illness came, she was enticed away by the draugars. They beckoned her onto the Mustafjord and took her.
“So, I stepped into her place as the mage in training. I wasn’t as strong as her, but it was better than nothing. And when it came time for my mage test, it wasn’t too unlike your own, boy. I went into the north. I travelled to the Northern Edge of the World and sought answers from the Earth Spirits. I hoped they might be able to tell me how I could save Runa, but all they told me was that the creatures will only accept an equal sacrifice. I had nothing to give – my own taika was hardly like hers, and I was older; almost twenty at that point. Nothing I could offer was enough. And then, when the mist appeared with the illness, the draugars used her power to spread it and sicken the youngsters. Just like how they’re using that little boy now.”
Tuomas nodded slowly. “The Great Bear Spirit spoke to me in the mountains. It told me there were others before him.”
Henrik eyed him. “The Bear spoke to you? Like it spoke to Lilja?”
Tuomas swallowed. “Yes,” he said. “That’s why you’ve never trusted her, isn’t it? She’s powerful, like Runa.”
“And look where it got Runa,” Henrik finished. “That brings me to something I want to ask you. I might be old and stubborn, but I’m not stupid. The Sun Spirit instructed you to seek Lilja out. You told me she spoke to the Earth Spirits, too. She knew about the draugars.”
He turned to face Tuomas directly.
“Who is the boy?”
Tuomas’s pulse sped up. He gripped his drum hard and gave a tiny shake of his head.
“I can’t tell anyone,” he said. “I promised.”
“You can tell me,” Henrik pressed. “He had the patterns of Poro embroidered on his coat. What is he to her?”
“Henrik,” Tuomas said firmly, “please, do not try to force this out of me.”
Henrik’s brows lowered and he went to argue, but Tuomas looked straight at him until he realised it was futile. So he simply nodded and let out a sharp breath.
“Thank you for being honest with me,” Tuomas said. “I appreciate it.”
“I wish I could say the same to you,” Henrik snapped.
“I won’t tell you, because it’s not my place. It’s Lilja’s decision to make, not mine.”
Henrik huffed disdainfully. Tuomas stood up and extended a hand to help Henrik to his feet. Then the two of them walked back towards the village in silence.
Overhead, hidden by the trees, the stars streamed down.
Chapter Twenty-Four
By the time Tuomas and Henrik reached the huts, a feast in honour of the dead was well underway. Everyone was there except Lilja, who made herself scarce in the forest, but nobody worried about going after her.
They sat on skin-covered logs around the fire pit in the centre of the village, sharing out bowls of stew and fresh flatbreads, roasted ptarmigan and mashed lingonberries. Even the sick youngsters were there, still wrapped in their blankets, chewing softly on some cooked bone marrow. Sigurd balanced Elin on his lap as though she was no more than a toddler, and helped her eat by lifting tiny pieces of salmon cake to her mouth.
It all reminded Tuomas of the meal held on the first night of the migration. That seemed like it had happened in another lifetime. Now the journey was over and six were dead, not including the three Poro children who were taken before. Never mind that the reindeer had all made it with no casualties or lost calves. It hardly seemed like somethin
g to celebrate.
He thought back to one night in Akerfjorden when he was younger, and an old woman had died in her sleep. After the mourning and singing at the funeral, he had quizzed Paavo about the whole affair. It was the first time he’d ever seen a body, and a strange morbid fascination filled his five-year-old mind.
“Why do we put them in the ground? And why don’t we cover them up again?”
“We do. We use stones.”
“But why not the soil?”
“Because if they were covered in soil, the souls couldn’t get out. If we leave gaps like this, they can leave, and go on to their next place. And it lets nature in, so all the Spirits can say goodbye too, and take the body back.”
Tuomas hadn’t really understood at the time, but as he got older, he began to see how the dead lived on, in their own way, as invisible as the Spirits which guarded them. And now he was becoming a mage and had visited the formless World Above, he saw it clear as day. Hadn’t he himself been so at home up there, where body and time had no meaning? It was welcoming, wonderful. If that was what it was like to be free, there was nothing to be scared of.
But that still didn’t lessen the loss he felt now, as one of those left behind. The dead had it easy. Living on afterwards was much harder.
And these souls would never know that freedom. They were trapped somewhere beyond any reach, even that of Lumi. They were helpless, gone forever, never to be seen again.
Sigurd stood up, cradling Elin in his arms, and carried her away from the fire. Tuomas watched as they passed. She was still awake, but her face was drawn. She would be asleep within moments.
Unable to eat any more, he shuffled over to the corner where Mihka was sitting. He had chosen a spot slightly back from the others and was resting his shoulders against a tree, the firelight only just reaching him.
Tuomas perched on the log beside him.
“Are you alright?” he asked.
“No,” Mihka said.
Tuomas cast his eyes down. “I’m so sorry.”
Mihka coughed into his elbow, then turned his face away to wipe at his tears. Tuomas went to touch his arm in comfort, but he shuffled back as though burned.
“I know how you feel,” Tuomas said gently. “We can get through this together.”
Mihka snorted. “Liar. You don’t know how this feels.”
“Yes, I do,” he insisted. “Paavo’s gone, too. And my parents.”
“That doesn’t count,” said Mihka coldly. “You could bury him. And you never even knew your parents before they died.”
Tuomas stared at him, stung.
“How can you say that? I only came over here to try and help.”
“Well, I don’t need that kind of help,” Mihka replied, still not looking at him. “Anyway, what do you care? You’ve hardly spoken to me since you got back from your little adventure. I see how it is.”
People were starting to stare at them, but Tuomas didn’t pay any attention. He was too busy struggling to keep his composure.
“How what is?” he snapped. “I came to see you! I looked out for you!”
“After I told you so. I had to point it out to you, how you weren’t there, how you were acting so differently!”
“I had a lot on my mind, Mihka! Alright? If you’d bothered to speak to me, rather than listen to all the Son of the Sun stuff, you’d have noticed that!”
“Oh, I noticed it,” growled Mihka. “I also noticed how you rushed over to pull Lilja to safety, but not me. Not my father.”
Tuomas flung his hands up in exasperation. “You were still in the other boat! And why do you think Lilja jumped in the water in the first place, if not to go after Sisu? You’re being stupid.”
“Yes, that’s me, isn’t it?” Mihka said. “Stupid. Idiot. The one who can’t do anything right. The one who gets his own soul ripped away by… who is she again? Your sister? You’re not even human.”
Tuomas’s knuckles went white on the log.
“Yes, I am!”
“Then why aren’t you sick, huh?”
Mihka whipped his head around. Tuomas was stunned at the hatred on his face. He had never seen his friend look at anyone like that.
“Go away. Leave me alone,” he snarled.
Tuomas narrowed his eyes. “Gladly.”
He got to his feet and strode away into the forest. He walked at first, and then he ran, as though by gathering speed, he could escape the darkness in his mind. But it caught up with him soon enough and brought him to his knees, alone on the beach.
He stayed there, bent double on the shingle, and wept. He hadn’t cried so hard in his entire life. The sobs wracked his whole body and tore at him from the inside out. He wrapped his arms around himself and rocked back and forth, listening to the waves as they sucked at the pebbles.
When he had eventually exhausted himself, he sat down and let himself be still, relieved that nobody had followed him. He stared out to sea, at the mist which hung faintly over the shifting waves. The tendrils couldn’t reach him, but he scurried away all the same, until he was right at the back of the beach near the boats.
He remembered he still had the ceremonial ash on his face. Not willing to risk going to the water, he gathered a wet handful of snow from nearby and scrubbed at his cheeks until they felt clean. It wasn’t much, but it took some of the weight away.
Overhead, the Lights were dancing. They were very faint; if he hadn’t looked up, he might not have even noticed them. But as he watched, they grew brighter, until great curtains were flowing through the entire sky in a haze of green, blue and purple. They moved as though caught in a silent wind, or flowing through a skyward ocean, ethereal and perfect.
He spun a quick circle, retrieved his drum and started to hit it gently. He needed to hear Lumi’s voice, to take some comfort from her. Perhaps even pretend that down here was simply a bad dream, and the real lucidity lay up there, miles away from anything solid or painful.
It took him longer to enter the trance than usual; his body felt heavy, pulling him to the earth as though it were made of stone rather than flesh. But he fought against it until he was free, and called out for her.
But before she could answer, another light swam into his vision. It was cold and piercing: liquid silver in the sky.
I sense your sorrow, my dear, said the Moon Spirit in a voice like chilled honey.
I did not ask for you, Silver One, he said bitterly.
And yet here I am, she replied. Never mind the White Fox One. Did you not spend enough time with her that night to know how much you miss the World Above? Do you not long terribly for it, to come home?
He tried to twist away from her, but she drew close and caressed him.
I have come to help you, she whispered in his head. Look at those around you. Your neighbours fear you. Your friend hates you. Your brother is dead…
Stop it, will you? Tuomas snapped.
Life has no meaning anymore, does it? the Moon Spirit continued. This silly, short, human life… it was never meant for one such as you. What should you care for those left, all wallowing in their own shortcomings? They have no choice, but you do. You need not live it a moment longer. Would you not want that? To be free, forever?
With you? he finished.
She swirled around him, never letting go for a second. It felt like wet grass stroking against him; icicles working down to his bones. She had him like a fish on a line, drawing closer, and the more he twitched, the harder she pulled.
Come home, my sweet thing, she insisted. Do not let the voices of others poison your own opinion of me. I may be a winter Spirit, but so is your sister, and I see how much you care for her. Extend that to me, my son. Come, be mine again.
Her voice wormed towards his souls. It would be so much easier to take her up on the offer. To leave it all behind for what he had always meant to be…
But then he thought of Henrik’s revelation at the shrine, and his conversation with Lumi, and the expression on Lilja’s face whe
n she saw her little boy floating in the water. He remembered how desperately she had dived after him and surfaced with nothing but her own guilt…
The Sun Spirit’s warning rang in his memory:
Beware her. No matter what she says to you, do not allow her to ensnare you again.
No, he said.
The Moon Spirit bristled. You do not mean that, my son…
I am not your son, he said, so powerfully, his soul trembled with it. I told you last time, and I mean it this time. Now, leave me alone, Silver One. I do not want your offer.
She faced him directly.
If I cannot have you, Red Fox One, she said chillingly, then no Spirit will.
He looked straight back, then drew himself towards his body. He was falling backwards, spiralling through stars and cloud. He became aware of his muscles and lungs and heart, and opened his eyes.
The cold pebbles were under his cheek; he must have fallen over when he ascended into the trance. He looked at the sky, at the still-dancing Lights, the half-face of the Moon Spirit glaring at him through the green curtains. The stars had shifted position; he had been up there for longer than he’d realised.
It might not have been the intention he had set, but he knew what he needed to do.
He leapt to his feet and ran towards the camp. A few people were still at the fire pit; he noticed Sigurd and Alda nestled in each other’s arms whilst Enska told a story. There was no sign of Lilja.
He bypassed them, sneaking through the shadows so nobody would see him. The huts were arranged close together here, in a glade formed by the trees, and only a little of the Moon Spirit’s silvery light managed to filter through the evergreen branches.
A door suddenly creaked open and he winced.
“What are you doing?”
He looked over his shoulder. Elin was holding onto the low-hanging roof, her knees bent under the strain of carrying her own weight. The pale light fell on her face in all the wrong places and showed how thin she had become. She clutched her bow in one hand like a lifeline.
Tuomas hurried to her.
“I thought you would have been asleep by now.”
