Free Fargoer by Petteri Hannila Page A

anymore. Just before they reached Vierra, she drew her scramsax, letting out a primal yell. It was full of anger, despair, and disappointment. So ghastly was the yell that the approaching men stopped for a moment, as if hesitating. When the scream died away, Vierra thrust the blade deep into her stomach, expecting to soon see her son and husband on the river of the underworld. The hot, searing pain convulsed in her stomach but was extinguished by a blow of a club that struck her head, sending her consciousness into a bright sea of stars from which it fell into an impenetrable, all-engulfing darkness.
    She smelled the fresh forest, heard the spring wind whizzing in her ears. Hints of hut smoke that went with the wind mixed with the smell of the forest.
    “The forest of the Underworld,” escaped from Vierra’s lips, and she didn’t dare open her eyes.
    “Yes, my child,” a voice boomed in her head. Vierra couldn’t tell the direction it was coming from, but with the same certainty she knew it was true she also knew that it belonged to the Seita, whom she had passed and ignored when she was hunting.
    “Apologize for passing me by, sing a song in my honor, and I will let you go. Soon you’ll be with your husband and son. Can you already feel the smell of the smoke? There they are, cooking fish and waiting.”
    Vierra was ready to answer on the same breath, to weave a song that would release her from the pain. When she opened her mouth, though, the voice didn’t do what she wanted. It was the voice of the wolf and it didn’t plead, but asked,
    “What about the First Mother? I am not supposed to end like this.”
    Friendship faded from the Seita’s voice, and its note froze Vierra’s blood.
    “I will not be asked or denied! Beg for mercy, or do you want to return back to the cold world, broken? There, only endless suffering will await you. Soon you will finish off what you started with your knife, and come back to ask me for passage to your family. And I will laugh at you and send you to the cold Underworld of the men of iron, where gray spirits moan in endless despair. There, nobody will be your blood or know your songs. Beg and plead now when you still can.”
    “You were the one that took my son and husband. Toward you I only feel hatred, and I promise that by my own hand I will never bring myself to you, now or never! When I finally come, you will apologize and bow before me.”
    Vierra spat the words from her mouth with quick anger. They would haunt her for a long time in years to follow.
    ***
    A longboat was moving slowly down river and towards the ocean. It had done its duty, and the men were relieved to get away from these unfamiliar waters. The old man standing on the bow had a happy expression on his wrinkled face. A leather belt, pitch black and ornamented with white bones, was wrapped around his waist.

    The Roots of Evil
    A new dawn
    Vierra loved the morning and waited for it. That short moment when she was about to wake up, but the dizziness of sleep forbid her from remembering where she was. That one moment gave her the strength to keep on fighting. The bleak sun of early autumn forced its way in from the crevices of the walls, and Vierra once again awoke to reality. The moment was over.
    Lying next to Vierra in the dark were the two who shared her destiny, still asleep. She was always the first to be awake, together with the dawn. In the early morning gloom, Vierra looked at the faces of the sleepers. Slumber had momentarily stripped them of their masks of pain.
    Alf, a skinny young man, was snoring lightly. His protruding teeth and slim forehead were clearly distinguishable, even in the gloom. He did his chores quietly and without complaint, as did Vierra. And when he didn’t work, he minded his own business.
    Beside Alf lay the man they called Oder. They had once asked if it was his real name. It wasn’t. His skin was as dark as that autumn morning’s twilight, which shrouded the scars and