The Winter Spirits Read online

  “Have you lost your mind?” she shouted at him. “You have turned against the Spirits! They will punish you for this!”

  Kari shook his head earnestly. “Lilja, this is a masterpiece. It’s amazing! Look at it!”

  Anger filled her.

  “It’s a demon, Kari! You have made a demon! You have betrayed everything!”

  “No, I haven’t! This is for mercy!”

  He sank down on one knee again, one hand over his heart. Lilja went to help him, but held herself back.

  “It hurts…” he rasped. “By the Spirits, it’s so strange!”

  Lilja immediately understood why he was holding his chest and not his ragged throat. The heart was where a mage’s taika grew; where the two souls resided, giving a person life. The bodily wound was nothing compared to the one he had just inflicted where no eye could see.

  She glanced to where she had dropped her drum. It was a few feet away – if she was quick enough, she could reach it; use it to bind the horrid creature before it managed to hurt either of them.

  But as she looked into Kari’s eyes, the awful truth finally hit her with the force of an avalanche. He had deliberately chosen to use power how no respectful mage would. All his honour was gone. He had pulled away one of his souls and put it into the demon.

  It wouldn’t hurt him. It was a part of him.

  Her vision blurred with furious tears.

  “Why?” she cried. “You’re a good man!”

  “I still am a good man, Lilja,” said Kari as blood trickled down his front. He staggered upright and faced her, one hand still over his heart. “You have to understand. This was the only way.”

  “For what?”

  “I need to take back that boy. You remember him? Of course you do. I’ve been watching him in trance; he is of age now. Imagine the power he holds! Power he has no idea how to harness, too much for a child like him to ever realise. It’s better with me… with us, Lilja.”

  He held her hand, the way he always had to comfort her.

  “Nothing’s changed. It will still just be you and me. I didn’t mention this to you earlier because I knew you’d try to stop me. This creature only has half of my blood and half of my souls, true, but I will have it serve you too! Then we can take back the boy, put that power to good use. Think of all the people we’d be able to help! We would be like the Sun upon the earth!”

  Lilja stared between him and the demon. Both were leering at her expectantly, each of them with the same dreadful death behind their eyes.

  This was not a request. There was one answer, and she knew she could not give it.

  “Have you no shame?” she breathed. “You would lay a hand on that boy with this… this monster? We are bound to serve the Spirits! We do not rule and we do not kill! What’s happened to you?”

  “Lilja,” Kari said, “please. I don’t want to force you.”

  Tears rolled down her cheeks and she pulled away.

  “No!”

  Kari’s expression darkened. Lilja set her eyes on her drum and bolted towards it.

  Kari raised a hand at her. The demon screeched and loped forwards, snatching Lilja’s ankles. She fell onto her front, barely able to reach her hammer. The creature flipped her over and snarled, inches from her face.

  Then it bared its ragged claws, sliced down, and blood sprayed into the air.

  Lilja clutched her throat. Even though her mitten, she could feel the torn edges of her skin. It had somehow missed her windpipe and blood vessels, but her energy evaporated in an instant.

  Kari was going to make this thing kill her. Or worse.

  Or worse… No. She could not let that happen, never.

  Then she remembered the knife in her hand.

  She swept it up and caught the demon across the face. It recoiled with a howl; behind it, Kari did the same, grabbing at his cheek.

  Gritting her teeth against the pain, Lilja shoved the demon as hard as she could. It didn’t dislodge it from her, but it was enough.

  She dropped the blade and reached behind her, finding her drum. Blood smeared over the painted skin.

  She brought it to her chest, holding the Great Bear Spirit in her mind, summoning all her power. And then, with a cry, she slammed down the hammer.

  Chapter One

  One month later

  In the south of the Northlands, the village of Akerfjorden was abuzz with activity and movement. Conversations and laughter rose on the wind. The cluster of shelters lay nestled between two great cliffs at the water’s edge, and people ran between them like ants. It was almost time for the gathering on the fjord’s shore, to bid farewell to the Sun Spirit as she dived below the horizon one last time.

  Even though the walls of the mage’s hut were thin, made only from branches and compacted earth, the noise seemed a thousand miles away. Tuomas could barely make out individual words or recognise his neighbours’ voices. The scent of the herbs was muddling his mind. They hung in bundles from every beam; it felt like an age ago when he had scoured the hills with Henrik, collecting them before the first snows fell. Nettle, angelica, roseroot, sweetgrass… their names bled together as much as their aromas.

  A thud sounded on the door, followed by mischievous sniggering.

  On the opposite side of the fire, Henrik cleared his throat loudly.

  “I’ll have you quiet, Mihka!” he barked.

  There was another bout of laughter, but the sound of footsteps trudging through the snow confirmed there would be no more knocking.

  Tuomas couldn’t hold back a smirk. Henrik noticed and glared at him.

  “Other things on your mind?” he asked.

  Tuomas quickly relaxed his face and picked at the fur on his trousers.

  “Sorry.”

  Henrik regarded him with watery grey eyes, the skin around them lined with age. He might be old, but his voice was deep and commanding. And he was a mage. Nobody in their right mind would dare disrespect a mage.

  “Would you rather be out there, messing around with him?”

  “No. I’d rather be in here,” Tuomas sighed.

  “Are you sure? Your enthusiasm leaves something to be desired.”

  Tuomas bit his tongue. “It’s just been a long day.”

  He couldn’t help but note the irony of that. This was arguably the shortest day the Northlands would see for another three months.

  “Hm.” Henrik threw another log on the hearth and sparks spat into the heady air. “And your concentration is fading like the Sun. Well, she is not set yet, and neither are you. So, what was I saying?”

  Tuomas tried his best to look invested.

  “You were talking about the fire. The drum needs to be held over the fire before it’s used. It tightens the skin, and gets it ready to do its work.”

  “And what is the name of that work? The name of a mage’s magic?”

  “Taika.”

  “So you were paying attention.” Henrik pursed his lips. “I hope you’ll someday listen to the Spirits more closely than you listen to me.”

  “I do listen!” Tuomas protested.

  “If you want to be a mage, you need to do more than stumble your way forward,” said Henrik firmly. “One foot in this World, one foot in the others. Strong, wise. Not frivolous, like our dear Mihka out there.”

  “It would be easier for me to learn if I had my own drum,” snapped Tuomas.

  “When you were learning to lasso a reindeer, did you do it on a live animal, bucking and running around? No. You used an antler stuck in the ground first,” said Henrik. “You can’t just jump into this. You need to understand the craft. And you will have a drum when you’re ready to use one.”

  Tuomas rubbed his forehead with one hand.

  “Alright, point taken. But I turned fifteen five months ago and we’ve been doing this ever since. Don’t you think I’m understanding?”

  “On the contrary, I think you understand a lot more than even you realise,” Henrik replied. “But it all takes time. Your
taika is strong, boy. That’s why I insisted you study with me. But it’s not just about learning how to use it. You must learn to control it, too.”

  Tuomas hesitated, to choose his words carefully.

  “How am I supposed to do either of those things without the other? When you don’t let me practise?”

  “Theory before practise. You think magecraft is easy? That you can just pick up a drum and do what you want? Nothing is that simple. So the least we can do with you is start simple. You’re still young, you think everything can happen overnight. The tallest mountain didn’t rise out of the earth overnight.”

  Tuomas struggled to not roll his eyes. He might be young, but he was still old enough to be a man. And old enough to know that if Henrik had his way, he would spend the next fifteen years sitting here, always listening, never doing.

  “Then what about my test?” he ventured. “You’ve said that every mage must pass a test before they can awaken to their power.”

  “And you will, in time,” said Henrik. He leaned forward so the fire lit his face from below. It made all the lines on his skin stand out like cracks in a dry riverbed. “It might be a sickness you must fight off. Or some life-changing event. Either way, it will not be pleasant. Would you wish that on yourself for the sake of speed? Just to hold a drum?”

  He scoffed, then got to his feet, shuffled past Tuomas to the door of the hut and scooped up a handful of snow. He dropped it into the pot over the hearth so it could melt, and threw in some ground herbs to make tea.

  “Go on, then,” he said. “I can tell you don’t want to be here any longer. You’re lucky I didn’t ask you to assist me at the gathering tonight.”

  A twinge of guilt pulled at Tuomas’s gut, but he decided against apologising again. Something told him it would just put Henrik in a foul mood, and this was supposed to be a night of reverence and celebration. He didn’t want anything souring that.

  So instead, he bowed his head in respect, bid goodbye, and crawled outside.

  He kicked the door closed and pulled on his mittens and hat. It wasn’t even true evening yet – only afternoon – but the shadows were long and the light dimmed. The cool air hit him like a wall after the closed space of the hut. Nearby, several other huts squatted close to the ground, the snow between them compacted by the passing of feet. Thin lines of smoke trailed from the holes set into their tops, curling like living things before disappearing into the dusk sky. The air was filled with the aromas of burning logs, simmering stew and baking flatbreads. It made Tuomas’s mouth water. All the food would be brought out for the gathering, and the entire village would have a feast together.

  A crowd of people were already heading down to the shore, carrying bowls of sautéed reindeer meat and rich berry jams. Over their heads, Tuomas could see the dark surface of the Mustafjord: the great body of water which had carved its way between headlands and through earth centuries ago.

  Right here, by its shore, the ancestors had built Akerfjorden; and through the years, new huts had come and gone, as had people. This was only the turn of the latest generation to reside here. A few months ago, they had settled for the winter, the reindeer running wild in the safety of the forest; and would stay here until spring came, when they could follow the animals on their migration to the coast.

  It was how it had always been, and how it would continue, long after the youngest baby had grown old and turned to dust in the ground.

  Two hands landed on Tuomas’s shoulders and gave him a shove. He lost his footing and tumbled into a snowbank.

  Mihka’s laugh filled his ears.

  “It’s about time! I was wondering if I’d have to come back next week!”

  Tuomas jumped to his feet, brushing snow off his coat.

  “You idiot. I’ve just had an extra lecture thanks to you.”

  “Well, you can’t complain. You’re the one who wanted to be a mage,” Mihka replied, his eyes shining impishly. “How else was I supposed to remind the old man what time it was?”

  “Shush!” Tuomas hissed. “He might be old but he’s not deaf!”

  “He can’t hear me,” Mihka whispered back, but Tuomas was still relieved when he didn’t press further.

  Every child had heard the story of a man in Poro village, generations ago, who had dared to steal a carved antler knife from the resident mage. When he’d tried to escape, a single drumbeat sounded. His feet held fast to the earth and he’d been stuck until morning, when the mage approached and ordered him to admit his crime. The thief had duly returned the knife, along with offering three of his own reindeer in penance, and only then had the mage released him.

  They were the first point of call if anything went wrong: curing sickness, managing rites of passage… but they were also the closest any living thing could get to the Spirits. To commune with the beings in the other Worlds was a skill awarded to few, even among those like Tuomas who actively wanted it. Dangerous, thrilling, affirming… so different to the simple monotony of the herding life.

  “Come on,” Mihka said. “Let’s go and get the best spot.”

  Tuomas swept the last of the snow off his coat in mid-step. Every year, Mihka was determined to have the best view of the gathering, and always insisted Tuomas join him there. Mihka was the son of Sisu, one of the village leaders, so everyone made sure to leave it free for him.

  As they passed Tuomas’s hut, his brother Paavo appeared, his arms laden with bowls of reindeer stew. Paavo was a brilliant cook and had spent the entire morning preparing his part of the feast. At twenty-five, he was ten years older than Tuomas, and had raised him alone practically since he was born.

  “Good timing,” Tuomas remarked.

  “More than I can say for Henrik,” Mihka said. Tuomas elbowed him to make him shut up.

  Paavo shook his head in amusement. “I just heard you going past, big feet. You walk heavier than an angry moose!”

  Tuomas narrowed his eyes and jabbed a finger at Mihka. “Hey, I’ve had enough of him moaning at me without you starting as well.”

  “And Henrik,” Mihka whispered, then jumped aside with a chuckle before Tuomas could elbow him again.

  “Seriously, shut up,” Tuomas laughed. “One of these days, he’s going to hear you and give you a beating!”

  “No, he won’t,” replied Mihka with a cocky smile.

  Tuomas shook his head. “Then the Spirits will. Actually, let’s set you a challenge. See if you can make it through the entire Long Dark without having something to say about the Spirit of the Lights.”

  It was a simple jest, and Mihka laughed as though it was, but Tuomas kept a hint of warning in his tone.

  Of all the hundreds of Spirits to aggravate, the aurora was the riskiest. Everyone knew that. The old fireside tales claimed that she was a force to be reckoned with if she was insulted. Apparently, she had once ripped the life-soul out of the founder of the village. Nobody could say why, but the story had reverberated through the generations, like the memory of thunder long after the storm was passed.

  Nevertheless, Mihka chuckled again, his eyes shining mischievously.

  “So long as she gives us a good display when she comes out.”

  “That’s enough, you two,” Paavo said, but there was still an amused glint playing in his eyes. “Now, can somebody give me a hand with these bowls, please?”

  The three of them descended the slope which separated the village from the water, Tuomas and Paavo going carefully so as to not spill any of the food down their coats. Washing stains out of them would not be welcomed now the winter was here, and the fjord was frozen over. From this moment on, getting water without having to melt it from snow was difficult.

  Most of the others from the village were already there, settling on the snowy bank in the places they always had. A fire had been lit and its glowing tongues flickered against the red sky. The warmth of hearty chatter entwined with the warmth of the flames.

  There were only a few families in Akerfjorden, but each one was large,
bound together as kin into their community. Everyone exchanged smiles and sincere handshakes as they gathered; children ran among the adults and playfully poked each other with sticks.

  In Akerfjorden, as in the other villages which dotted the Northlands, everybody knew everybody and, even if families were not connected in some way, all cared for each other. It was this closeness which had helped them survive since the beginning, when the World Between was made.

  Tuomas and Paavo placed the bowls by the fire with the rest of the food, then joined Mihka on a small mound of earth close to the water. Mihka had removed his hat and ruffled the unruly black hair beneath.

  They had barely sat down before everyone fell silent. Henrik emerged from his hut and walked towards the fjord. He had daubed ash on his face: long finger-strokes dragged across his wrinkled cheeks. It was a typical ceremonial action, but Tuomas couldn’t help but notice how Henrik’s eyes seemed to be glowing from within the dark grey smears. He had put on his trousers of white reindeer fur, and he held his drum in one hand, the antler hammer in the other.

  As Henrik passed, Tuomas kept his gaze down, only glancing at him from under his lashes. The mage didn’t pay him any attention. He simply strode to the very edge of the fjord, where the iced water met the grey pebbles underfoot. The voice of the waves had long been still. It was probably thick enough to walk on now; the ice fishing could start soon.

  All eyes turned to the west. The Sun Spirit bled out across the horizon in a red gash. The Golden One was so far away now, to leave them under the pockmarked face of her Moon sister. She would take her warm glow out of their reach, and all they could do now was bid her farewell, and wait.

  Henrik lifted his hammer and began to beat the drum. It was slow at first, but became faster and faster. A chant welled from his chest and spread through the air: a deep unbroken ululation which spoke of complete reverence for the Sun Spirit. He was alone at first, but then others joined in the song, as the light slipped ever further into the fjord. Tuomas started to sing too, keeping his eyes on the sky.

  The last spark of summer blinked out, and the stars withdrew from their slumber. Yet the villagers still stood there, still following the beat of Henrik’s drum. Tuomas’s voice was swallowed into those of all the others. He let himself be lost in the moment, feeling the power to spread through him.