Yes, I will heed your call. I am coming home now. I will take Sister O’s place as servant to the Crone until it is my turn to pass through the final door. My sons’ wives are running the school successfully with very little involvement from me. There is talk of opening a school in Kandfall as well. Berla, who has been living there for a few years now, says that the time is ripe. I have two grandchildren and a third on the way. Returning to Menos will mean I do not get to see them grow up, which is a painful prospect.
However, my work here is done. Different work awaits me. And I want to work. I do not believe I could live without work. I am not yet old, but neither am I young. If I am going to embark on a long journey, I ought to do it now.
They will miss me here, which is comforting to know. But they can manage, and that is even more comforting to know. My sons have had me for a long while; now it is time I devoted my energies to my sisters at the Abbey.
I am going to miss everybody here in Rovas, that is for certain. Maressa has become so successful that I have barely seen her in recent years. She rarely has time to return home to her little village. I have no words to express how proud I am of her. There is hardly a child in the whole of northern Rovas who cannot read, thanks to her traveling school. She spends every coin she earns on new books that she leaves in the villages so the children have something to read. Maressa has a close affinity to the Goddess. She can feel and hear things few others can. Had she lived at the Abbey, she might have been novice to the Moon. Now she has no such calling, but she is doing the Goddess’s work wherever she goes and whatever she does. She has never been very interested in what I have told her of the Abbey’s beliefs, nor in the beliefs practiced here in Rovas. She follows her own path, and on that path she accomplishes more than most.
Náraes is busy helping Dúlan and Hélon with their children. They have two and four now, respectively. Mik has not married and still lives with his foster parents. He is of great help to Jannarl on the farm. Hélon, my nephew, has moved into Father’s old farmstead with his family. Eina, Mik’s little sister, lives in Murik and runs a school there. She has also taken in several orphaned children, who live with her and attend her school. Náraes is incredibly proud of her.
Náraes can grow old surrounded by her children and grandchildren, with Jannarl by her side.
I heard from Akios at the end of autumn. He is in Valleria now, wholly occupied with studying their salt production. Wherever he travels he always finds new things to learn. I think he should come to Menos to teach the Abbey novices about all the things he has seen. I wonder if he could safely step ashore if we performed certain rites and offerings? Maybe I will meet him on my journey southward to Menos. Akios seemed very happy in his letter. He is doing what he always wanted: seeing the world; being a part of the world.
I have already packed the few possessions I intend to take with me. Sister O’s ring. The pouch I sewed from the scraps that could be saved from the well-worn cloak you sewed me so long ago. I have given the comb to Maressa. She needs it more than I do. There are still dangers lurking in the places she travels with her school-on-a-cart. But the Maiden holds her hand, and the Crone whispers in her ear. I know that she will be all right. I do not know whether I will reach the Abbey before my letter, but I think that a trade convoy will be able to travel more quickly than I can. I want to take the opportunity to see some of the world during this one last chance I have. I believe this is to be my final journey.
I have said my farewells. I have held my beloved sons and felt my hair become wet with their tears. I have kissed my daughters-in-law’s cheeks, I have embraced Dúlan and Hélon and their children. I have caressed and kissed my grandchildren, and those were the hardest goodbyes of all.
This evening I bid farewell to the three I have loved and lost. I will ride through the light spring evening to the burial grove, tether my horse to a tree and walk down into the valley. And there I will sit awhile by Mother and Father’s burial tree and thank them for making me the woman I am today, and for sending me to the Red Abbey, to which I will now return and grow old. Father has been dead for many years, but I still find it hard to believe that he is no longer with us. He always felt like such a constant. But the Crone calls for us all, sooner or later. All memories of Father live on in me and all his other children and grandchildren. He is not gone.
And finally I will sit by Kárun’s tree. Kárun, my Kárun. My rock, my strength, my home. Writing his name feels like an evocation. I want to evoke him. I want to give him eternal life by letting his name live on. I did not believe I could live without him. The first year following his death was indeed almost unbearable, and the pain that cuts into me every time I think of him will probably never go away. But now two years have passed and, though I miss him, my memories of him bring more joy than sorrow. All that I am today is thanks to him. His love has carried me so far and made me so strong. Náraes once believed that love would mean the end of my work and my mission, but in reality love is what has allowed me to achieve my goals.
I thought it would be difficult to leave his burial tree, and the house that was once our home, and all the places we have been and lived and loved. But I carry it all within me. It follows me wherever I go. The day he died was the worst of my life, but I would not give up the memory of it for anything in the world.
One can live with much heavier burdens than one would ever think possible, my friend. I wish I had not had to learn this.
If Kárun were still alive, I would not travel home now. Instead of growing old surrounded by children and grandchildren, like Náraes, I will grow old together with you and Ennike and Heo.
Now I can finally tell you the truth: I have missed you all so much that sometimes I could barely breathe. I have envied every flock of birds flying south for the winter and wished that I could travel with them. This longing has not diminished with the years.
I am coming home now, Jai. I am coming home.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Jenny Sylvin and Fårholmen, Nora Garusi and Dönsby.
Simon Lundin, who helped with wintry ski journeys.
Siv Saarukka, who helped with the history of early schools.
The National Library of Finland, without which this book could not have been written.
Nene Ormes for reading and making comments.
The Secret Badger Society, who brainstormed with me.
Helvetesgruppen, where I was able to let off some steam.
Malin Klingenberg, who kept an eye on me, day in day out, and kept me on an even keel.
Sara Ehnholm Hielm, who also always steered me straight.
Saara Tiuraniemi, who talked through the sticky points of the manuscript with me.
All my fantastic and talented translators.
And then a big thank-you, the biggest of all, to my beloved mother, who passed away while I was working on this book. She is not Maresi’s mother; there was never any distance between us. Still, much of her appears in these pages.
MARIA TURTSCHANINOFF was born in 1977 and has been writing fairy tales since she was five. She is the author of many books about magical worlds, for which she has been awarded the Swedish YLE Literature Prize, the Finlandia Junior Award, the Swedish Cultural Foundation in Finland Award, and has twice won the Society of Swedish Literature Prize. She has also been twice nominated for both the Astrid Lindgren Memorial Award and the CILIP Carnegie Medal. The Red Abbey Chronicles began with Maresi, which is being translated into seventeen languages and will be made into a film.
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