“Three messengers carrying supply requests and offerings to the Vijns traveled out beyond the village and were ambushed,” said the outpost commander. “Two bodies were found stripped of their belongings along the road, their throats cut.”
“What type of offerings?” Niilán asked.
The commander poured himself a cup of juhka, then leaned back in his chair, steam rising from the mug he held. “Some pelts and a bit of coin from what little trade there is.”
Niilán considered the man. He thought him to be older by a few seasons of snow, but the far north was a hard place to live in. Niilán took a sip from his cup. “Any sightings of strangers?”
The commander shook his head.
“The messenger who survived made it to the Stronghold of the Believers,” Niilán prompted, curious to see if the commander had anything to add. When he did not, Niilán continued, “He said he had been attacked by Piijkij. He recognized their swords by the one held to his throat. He said they gave him a message to carry back to the Vijns. That we should expect more of the same.”
The commander nodded. “Like the fire in Hassa.”
“They burned the temple and maimed the priest,” Niilán said, drawing small comfort from the fact the commander was at least informed.
“Not surprising, really,” the man said with a shrug. “We kill them. They kill us. But, all the same, I hope you brought reinforcements in case they return this way.”
Niilán sipped his rapidly cooling drink, reflecting on the commander’s offhanded acceptance of the situation. “I have brought men to bolster your ranks, but men alone will not be enough.”
The commander drained his cup. “The sooner you find and kill the Piijkij, the easier we will all rest.”
“To that end,” Niilán broached the topic that held his interest, “do you have a thought as to where they might strike next?”
The commander grimaced, as if he had not given the matter any thought until this point, which to Niilán’s mind was part of the problem. Let someone else handle the Brethren. Someone like me, he thought dismissively.
“They attacked Hassa, which is closest to us,” the commander said. “The next village is hardly more than a couple of rotting goahti. There is nothing to be gained there.”
“A place to hide perhaps?” Niilán wondered aloud.
The commander shook his head. “I doubt it. They would stand out like the fifth teat on a cow.”
Niilán smirked. “Where else is there that might attract the attention of men intent on striking at true Believers?”
“Perhaps Oso to the west. Mehjala to the east. But they may avoid them entirely and head south.”
Niilán considered the possibility. “There is that chance,” he said. “But the farther south they go, the closer they bring themselves to more-fortified villages with larger garrisons.” He paused and thought about where he would go if he were in their place. “No. I would stay in the north. Far from the reach of the army, and close enough to disappear into the Pohjola.” Niilán handed his empty cup to the outpost commander, then stood. The commander did likewise, and the two men clasped arms.
“Thank you for the warm fire and the juhka,” Niilán said, appreciative of the respite if not the fervency of the company. “I am sorry for the loss of your messengers. I hope the men I bring will make up for them.”
Outside, Osku waited for him, mounted and ready to ride. Niilán took the reins offered him with a twinge of guilt for the warmth he had enjoyed in the commander’s quarters. But he balanced the small pleasure afforded him with the unenviable position in which he now found himself. To be sure, he had traded three masters for one, but that one master was the Vijns. Niilán did not want to consider the outcome if he failed in his assigned task.
“Let us see if camp has been made,” he said to Osku, without so much as a look back at the warmth the billeted soldiers would be enjoying that night.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
DÁRJA LEFT OKTA WORKING alone in the apothecary. The healer’s quarters felt oppressive, as if the familiar sights and smells accused her of betraying happy moments she’d shared with Okta and Kalek.
Outside, in the barren herb garden, Dárja could breathe again and she inhaled deeply. The icy air stung her nose and eyes. Underfoot, the soft, new snow squeaked. Her boots, however, stuffed with dry grasses, protected against the cold. She looked beyond the barren garden to the woods and shivered, but not from the chill, which she found bracing. Rather, it was the prickle of doubt that trailed her confident steps.
She’d sounded so sure of herself when she spoke to Marnej, Kalek, and Okta. But now her inner voice wavered, shaken by all the quiet moments of secret shame she’d gathered and kept hidden like an accursed treasure.
Dárja walked out through the gate which, not that long ago, she’d rushed through into Kalek’s arms. She’d made it home. Now she wanted to leave. Run away, if she were truthful. Dárja looked up at the blackened wood of the walls that sheltered the place she called home. The cracks and chinks were fitted with lichen like fine embroidery upon cloth. Dark spires rose, dizzyingly, as if reaching for the stars hidden beyond the ominous sky above.
Home. Dárja repeated the word to herself until it sounded strange to her ears.
But this wasn’t her home. She’d not grown up here. They’d come here, fleeing the Olmmoš with the hope of preserving peace. Dárja snorted at the thought. They’d been foolish to believe peace with the Olmmoš was possible. She was barely passed her second measure and it was clear to her the Olmmoš would never stop until they’d killed the last of her kind.
They won’t have long to wait, she thought dismally as her feet carried her onward.
Snorts and breathy grunts disturbed Dárja’s bleak vision of the future. She looked up from her feet toward the corral adjacent to the stables, teeming with dozens of binna. In their midst, Tuá spread out forage. The nieddaš nudged aside curious snouts with a firm, but gentle push, ducking to avoid the antlers of the mature reindeer.
Dárja drew alongside the corral fence, smiling at the antics of the furry-nubbed juvenile binna. She placed a foot upon the lower rail and leaned her forearms on the upper. A few of the reindeer came to inspect her. Their warm, snuffling breaths filled her nose with their musky scent. Dárja drew back to avoid the growing press and knocking antlers, and began to laugh. It was a foreign sound and felt so strange. She couldn’t remember when she’d last felt lighthearted.
Tuá stood up and waved to Dárja as she climbed over the corral railing. Dárja waved back, noticing that Tuá’s hood had fallen back, revealing her red, felted hat. The nieddaš swept aside her two long braids. Dárja felt a pang of loss. Her hair only now reached the nape of her neck.
As Tuá approached, Dárja became suddenly anxious. But she couldn’t just leave, not without offending the nieddaš who’d always been kind to her. Even when Dárja was a boisterous child, running when she should’ve been walking and shouting when she should have been quiet, Tuá never had a harsh word for her. She’d only raised her brows to encourage Dárja to change her behavior.
She’ll make a good biebmoeadni, Dárja thought, then her heart sank. Lejá had left for her Origin three days ago. Dárja looked to the woods where the trees swayed as if beckoning, but her feet refused to move.
Tuá hailed her.
Dárja tried to smile back, saying, “I needed to get some fresh air.”
Tuá squinted up at the sky. “Storm’s coming.”
Dárja sniffed the air, realizing she was right. “A little ways off, but not long now.”
Tuá frowned, and Dárja imagined she was thinking of Lejá, wishing she was safe. Dárja shrank under the weight of her growing guilt. She had chosen to go Outside. Lejá and the others didn’t have a choice.
As if reading her mind, Tuá said, “She’ll come back.”
Dárja’s head snapped up. “I know she will,” she stuttered, swallowing back the welling despair that proved her a liar.
Tuá’s smile conveyed her hopes. It was like a delicate web of promise, held together by dreams and plans. But this was the season of snow when darkness reigned.
“Next time, I want to go,” Dárja blurted. “I can protect them.”
Tuá’s smile faded. Dárja knew she’d made a mistake.
“It is not your burden to carry,” Tuá said quietly as the wind picked up.
Dárja looked away, repeating to herself every reason and argument she’d crafted for Marnej, Kalek, and Okta. When she finally spoke, her voice wavered. “It was my choice to go Outside. Lejá didn’t have a choice.”
The touch upon her shoulder made Dárja start.
Tuá’s expression was patient and understanding, like a kind bieba. “It is something we must all face,” she said.
But it wasn’t true. Dárja would never return to her Origin like Tuá and the others. It was what set her apart, even when she couldn’t see the full scope of her future. Yet, she couldn’t admit this to Tuá, who’d always sought to include her.
“What of Kalek?” Tuá asked when Dárja failed to continue. “You are training to be a healer.”
Here again, Dárja wanted to unburden her heart and share her doubts about becoming a healer. But how could she say that training with Kalek reminded her of being with her bieba—Irjan. She and Kalek worked well together, but there was something missing. Rather, there was someone missing, and that was Irjan.
“I’m not sure I am what Kalek wants,” she said softly, a thread of truth slipping through.
Tuá took Dárja’s gloved hands in her own. “You will be a fine healer. You have nothing to fear.”
But I do, Dárja thought, nodding, worried she’d never find her place among her own kind.
“How’d you get him to change his mind?” Dárja asked, standing in the hall outside the apothecary door.
“I didn’t,” Marnej said.
Blocking the door, she pressed him about the news he’d shared. “But Kalek’s agreed to talk with Okta and the Elders,” she said.
“He’s agreed to talk with Okta and the Elders about the possibility of another solution,” Marnej said, then held up a hand. “That doesn’t mean they’ll agree to your idea.”
Dárja crossed her arms in front of her. “As long as he’s considering it. That’s what’s important.”
Her rehearsed confidence, however, did not dispel the worry clouding Marnej’s eyes. Standing this close to him, she could feel his tension.
“I know it seems like folly to venture out when we barely made it back here. It’s just that, in my heart, I know it’s the right thing to do,” she said, wanting to reassure him. Putting her hand on his arm, she added, “You don’t have to do this.”
Marnej drew back from her as if her touch had burned. “Of course I do. Don’t you see? I can’t lose you. You’re all that I have.”
Dárja staggered back at the force of his biting reproach. And before she could gather herself, the door to the apothecary swung open. Marnej took an abrupt step away from her.
“Come,” Kalek said, standing aside. Dárja glanced apprehensively at Marnej, who stood rooted, his face a cold mask in the flickering torchlight. Dárja took a hesitant step forward, followed by another, more-determined one, then walked past Kalek, convinced she didn’t care whether Marnej followed. She’d already made it clear that he didn’t have to go. Still, she found herself listening for his footfalls behind her. When she finally heard his heavy, even step she exhaled, her shoulders relaxing.
Inside the apothecary, Okta sat on a stool beside his work bench. His face was impassive beneath his gloomy brows. Somewhere behind her, Dárja sensed Marnej shifting his weight back and forth. She clasped her hands tightly behind her to hide their twitching. Dárja looked from Okta to Kalek, who now stood like a grim sentinel beside the ancient healer.
“We will escort you to the Council of Elders to bring forth your proposal,” Okta said. His weary tone hinted at acceptance, if not approval.
Dárja stepped forward to hug Okta, but stopped, aware that Kalek had turned his back on her.
“I want you to know that we are looking for another solution. One that will serve us all,” Okta continued. “Do you understand?”
Dárja nodded, fearing her voice would crack. She looked to Marnej, who ignored her, asking instead, “When will they see us?” His words pulsed with restraint.
Dárja turned back to the healers, her heart skipping a beat.
“Now, if you like,” Kalek said calmly, though the etched lines around his mouth and the dark circles under his eyes hinted at his real feelings. It seemed to Dárja that he’d aged in the brief time she’d looked away, yet she couldn’t own her part in it. Not if she was to present her plan to the Elders.
Kalek helped Okta to his feet, and the pair walked toward the door, one towering over the other, but both somehow hunched in on themselves.
Dárja hesitated, momentarily unsure of herself.
“Are you coming?” Marnej asked, an edge to his question. “After all, this is for you.”
Dárja flushed red with anger. She strode past Marnej, humiliation prickling her skin. Trying to outrun this new reluctance within her, Dáraj walked briskly ahead until she found herself on the heels of Kalek and Okta. Out of respect for the healers, she slowed her impatient step, half-expecting Marnej to draw up beside her at any moment. His long stride had always been a match for her quick ones. Dárja slowed further as she crossed the gathering hall, conscious of the eyes upon her. But Marnej continued to lag behind.
Well, I’m not going to stop, she thought, refusing to look back over shoulder amid all the inquisitive looks in the latnja.
At the end of the corridor, beyond the gathering hall, Okta stopped. He placed his hand upon the paneled wall, then slid it to the side. He walked on, followed by Kalek, then Dárja, and last, Marnej. As she entered, Dárja looked up to see the night sky above their heads. She blinked away the illusion of twinkling stars, but they remained above her, shining even brighter.
Although she’d been around the Elders her entire life, she’d never had the occasion to visit their chambers or seek their counsel. She’d made her own choices. Now, facing the Elders, with the stars above and the gods beyond, Dárja shrank back. The urgency of her request withered, eclipsed by the vastness of what she sensed around her. Dárja willed herself forward into the Elders’ circle, keeping her purpose in the forefront of her mind. The closer she got to the center, however, the harder it became for her to concentrate.
Voices and songs she’d always found comforting now clamored. They demanded more than her attention. They wanted all of her. She couldn’t stop them. She couldn’t deny them.
We are the Jápmemeahttun.
We are the guardians of the world.
Our memory stretches back to the start of days.
Our vision reaches beyond all tomorrows.
We sing together as one so that our one may always survive.
Dárja’s heart pounded to the beat of each word. Her blood pulsed in time with the chorus. Her legs felt as if they might collapse, and yet she didn’t care.
We are the Jápmemeahttun.
We are the guardians of the world.
Our memory stretches back to the start of days.
Our vision reaches beyond all tomorrows.
We sing together as one so that our one may always survive.
The refrain repeated, as intimate as her own breath. Her own voice rose to meet it.
I am daughter of the gods.
I am sister among the Jápmemeahttun.
I started my life at my Origin, with sadness and joy as my companions.
I braved dangers and met enemies, and can see the truth of friendship.
I go into the world to meet my destiny, knowing that the stars watch over me.
As Dárja sang, it was as if she were hearing her song for the first time. What she’d taken for granted, or ignored in the past, came to the fore. She’d awakened to
something new within her, and felt reborn within her song, emboldened.
I will go out into the world to meet my destiny, she answered the unspoken question. Her body was alive with a purpose and new meaning.
And just when Dárja thought she would break wide open from the fullness of her heart, the chorus subsided. It pulled her back from the precipice of her future into the substance of her present. Her knees trembled, and her breath came in gulps. But her heart beat as steadily as it always had. A new low chant began to envelope her, filling her ears.
We are the Elders.
We are chosen to guide.
We listen to the voices of the gods.
We seek to avoid the mistakes of the past.
Dárja focused on the Elders, who rose as one and came forward to stand before her.
She wanted to turn and run, but she was held in a trance.
“We greet the Elders and ask for their audience,” Okta said.
Dárja jolted, remembering now that she wasn’t alone. Okta and Kalek and Marnej stood with her. The realization comforted her until she looked back to Marnej, who stood, feet apart, fists clenched, as if ready to do battle.
“We are ready to hear you,” the Elders said as one.
Dárja turned to them, meeting the direct, unwavering gaze of the Noaidi.
Drawing on her song for courage, Dárja resisted the urge to flee. “We wish to travel with the nieddaš,” she said. “To protect them and ensure they return as almai.”
The clarity of her voice came as a revelation to her. Dárja had worried she would sound weak and unsure in the face of such power and authority. She stood a little straighter. “We cannot remain blind to the fact the life bringers confront great dangers, more so now than ever before.”
The Noaidi raised his hand to stop her.
Fearing her chance to speak slipping away, Dárja jumped ahead. “The last two nieddaš who journeyed to their Origin haven’t returned. If this continues, none will be left.”
“It is not our way,” an Elder near the back intoned.
“Is it our way to simply die?” Dárja challenged, her heart racing.
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