Fargoer (17 page)

Men of the two houses

The blue moment quickly changed to a dawning day. The wind had turned to north and drove the clouds into shreds all over the sky. The freeze tightened its grip and the wind now blew cold. The yellow eye of the sun that now and then peeked from between the clouds was cold and couldn’t give any warmth to the travelers. The snow carried a bit now, though, and the wayfarers, strengthened by the meat they had eaten, moved briskly onwards on their skis. Even Ulva, with his wounded leg, skied surprisingly fast. When Vierra asked how he was doing, he only said he felt great. They arrived to the village a little before midday.

The village had been built on top of a low hill, on the side of which ran a small brook. The stream was now covered with ice, and, in the pale light of the early day, the village looked to be slumbering under the ice as well. The southern people wouldn’t have even called it a village, so primitive and small were the buildings. Unlike the long log houses of the south, these were timber lean-tos, which had been built against each other and had had crude fireplaces added to the ends. There were three of these lean-tos and one of them had been used to house domestic animals. The animals had been slaughtered a long time ago in order to tame the ever growing hunger. A few huts, made of long wooden poles and covered with moss and skins, decorated the view as a reminder of a phase, just passed, when lifestyle demanded moving around after prey.

Normally any arrivals would have been surrounded by a bunch of curious children but in this village the yard stayed empty. After a moment less than a dozen men emerged from the so-called houses to look at and ponder about the travelers that had arrived. They were like scrawny, starving dogs that had received too many beatings. Their grim expressions changed to joyous ones, though, when they saw the meat in the sledge.

The men dashed to the moose carcass like rabid animals and started to rip pieces off it with the tips of their knives. They then shoved them to their mouths raw, to soothe the burning need inside.

“Ready the sweat hut for the hunters, and make fires. Today we will feast.” The speaker was a tall, middle-aged man, distinguished clearly from the others by his stick-straight posture and burning blue eyes. He wiped grease from the edges of his mouth.

“You, Songman, would throw a feast immediately if a scrap of food was brought to the village. I hope you have soothed the spirits as killing wolves displeases them.”

The speaker was an old, crooked little man with hair like a thick, silvery mane and yellow eyes which twinkled with hidden knowledge. He wore a wolf’s coat and whenever he moved or was touched by a breeze there was a faint rattle caused by the countless bones and teeth hanging from his garments. He was the only one that hadn’t taken part in ripping the moose carcass apart, as if it wasn’t appropriate for his silent dignity.

“From where have you found a woman?” he continued after noticing Vierra, who stood a bit further away. The old man bowed to the woman, as per the old custom, and smiled.

“Worthy Runtamoinen, wolves tried to take our game, and we felled them in the middle of the onslaught. I soothed the spirits as you have taught me,” replied Ulva to the old man, keeping his head low to honor him. “I wouldn’t have taken the furs or the meat, should our plight be lesser. We stand on the brink of starvation and must do all we can to survive. Vierra, on the other hand,” he pointed at the woman standing further away “, felled the moose that we had been following for half a day. We promised her a week’s share of the carcass, as that is the hunter’s right. She helped us to bring the moose here, saved me from a wolf’s fangs and killed many of them. We should at least offer her the sweat hut before she continues her journey, wherever she is headed.”

Runtamoinen walked to the woman and looked intensely into her eyes for a moment. She didn’t dodge the gaze.

“You are of the wolf’s blood and kin to her tribe. You can stay for the day and longer too if you want to. Maybe you can even put some meat to dry, if you know how to do it.”

“She is of chieftain’s blood, maybe she could lead us, like in the times before, and come up with a plan to get our women and children back,” Armas said looking at her with a good amount of admiration in his eyes.

“I, for one, will not submit to your old ways anymore,” stated Songman. “Maybe she can teach us to dry meat, but after that we don’t need her anymore. Your women we will get back without an outsider’s help. Or is it that you have been bowing to women so long that you can’t do anything yourselves? If need be, we’ll steal women from another village to carry our children and clean our dwellings.”

“You would break all the old habits and do the women’s work, if somebody would hand them to you,” snorted the old man. “Now, prepare the sweat hut for our young hunters and our guest.”

The hut was made ready to warm up the freezing hunters. In the middle was a large heap of rocks, and, underneath them, wood was burned for a good while. Once the rocks had heated up the fire was allowed to wane. The rocks then kept the hut heated nicely. The floor was covered with sprigs and dry hay. Planks cut from tree-trunks had been laid around the rocks for sitting. Throwing water on the rocks increased the feeling of heat, and the most respected of the sauna-goers was chosen to throw the water. The hunters were always first to go in, others entered in age order with the eldest going first. Infants did not go for sweat at all, except when they were given a name, and the bigger children were allowed to go after the adults, if there was still heat left. There were no children in the village, and also so few to enter the sauna altogether that the stones would have plenty of strength for everyone.

Vierra went with the hunters although men and women used to go to sauna together only on special occasions. The young men were shy to get naked in front of a stranger but Vierra did not mind, and, outside the hut, she removed the wet clothes shrouding her skinny frame. After so many hungry months there was little left of her impressive stature. Marks of the time she had spent as a Vikings’ slave were everywhere on her body: countless spots where whip, lash or stick had bitten into her skin. She would carry the marks with her all the way to her funeral pyre. Even so, she was the only woman in this village of men and she felt their burning eyes in her back as she unclothed. Swiftly Vierra entered the hut and took her place by the pail of water. She opened her tight braid and let it spread like a black cloud around her head. With her hair loose she looked more compassionate, and her green eyes glowed warmly by the light of the shingle. The young ones also stepped inside and seated themselves near the entrance.

Vierra struck the first water onto the rocks and a blissful warmth started to spread to the frost-numb limbs of the hunters.

“What happened to your women, Ulva? You told me that you haven’t seen them since the last summer,” Vierra asked while stretching her flexible limbs in the warmth, like a lynx in the morning sun.

“Tall bastards came the last spring, when we were hunting. They killed all the men that had stayed in the village. Of women and children we do not know, the raiders probably took them. We followed their trail until a great storm forced us to stop and ruined the tracks. We had no other option but to come back to the village.” There was a glimpse of bitterness in Ulva’s eyes.

“How do you know what the pillagers were like,” asked Vierra.

“Runtamoinen told us they were tall men. Southerners,” Ulva replied.

“So they can be of any kind,” Raito interrupted.

“Do not break the peace of sauna,” snorted Armas and rubbed his toes. They were always cold in the winter, no matter how good his fur shoes were.

The conversation faded as they threw more water, tightening the pace. Finally Vierra cast so much water to the stones that everyone had to escape the heat into the snow outside.

“How odd is this. First you are cold to the bone and, then suddenly, it is so warm that you can’t handle that either,” said Ulva, encouraged. His eyes shined feverishly but he seemed to be in good strength. They had to drink some water melted from the snow to rejuvenate themselves as there was nothing else to drink.

“Shall we try again,” Ulva suggested.

They returned to the darkness of the sweat hut. When Vierra threw the first scoop of water on the rocks the entrance opened. It was Songman, who entered without a word and sat on a plank. He had already removed the clothes from his skinny frame and his haggard, white skin glowed in the shingle’s light.

“Songman doesn’t apparently care for the hunters’ sauna peace, even though skis did not make their way to his feet, or a bow to his back,” Ulva mused.

“Old hags’ rantings,” Songman answered. “If there’s space on the planks, you can take your spot.” He looked at Vierra in the fluttering light with no shame. “What if I take you as my woman? You could bear my children and dry my fish, sweep my house. You would be wife to a great and wise man.”

Vierra’s soul was boiling, but she kept it out of her voice.

“I’ve let greater than you pass by. The master of a pesky village, you say, but only tall men here bow to you. In place of women you try to keep control here. How about this: I will throw the water, and, if I leave first, I will stay as your obedient wife. But if you go first, you will be under my rule, like men in the good old times, and I will do to you what I please. You others can be the witnesses of our bet.”

This idea came as a surprise to the men and Songman pondered over his decision over for a long time. Vierra’s green eyes glowed, challenging the man, and there was a mischievous grin in her face.

“So be it,” he finally stated. “You others, get out and we’ll see who leaves, it is not the first time I am in the sweat hut.”

Ulva went out of the hut with his companions and Armas, fast-tongued as always, quickly yelled the news for other villagers to know. Everyone soon gathered around the hut to wait for the result. Now and then there was an angry hissing noise as water hit the rocks, but otherwise it was silent. This continued for a while and the day went toward the evening, as the villagers waited. It was if nature itself around them was holding its breath and waiting for the result of this exciting match. Finally two shapes staggered out of the hut, Songman foremost. Both stumbled onto the snow and took a heavy breath, as sweat beaded on their reddened skin. Vierra vomited heavily, throwing up the meal of venison she had had in the morning. She had persevered for longer, anyhow, and there was a victorious smile on her tired face.

“Cook enough meat for everyone to eat. The rest I will hang out to dry. The wolf meat will be charred black on the fire and will be eaten from tomorrow on, until the dried meat is ready. The ones in good health will go hunting tomorrow, we will not survive long with this food.” Vierra gave directions, still lying in the ground, and the villagers obeyed; short men from old habit and tall ones reluctantly, reeling from their leader’s defeat. There was a clearly visible smile on Runtamoinen’s face as he left, even though he probably wouldn’t participate in eating the wolf meat as the woman ordered.

The cooking fire was soon lit and they started to cook the best cuts of the moose over it. A slaughter soup was made, in a big clay pot, out of the intestines and fat, while the bones and tendons of the animal were carefully gathered together. Vierra handled the drying of the meat. It was cut to pieces and laid out on a bunk, beside a hut, where it would be exposed to the sun and the wind. The wolf pelts were prepared and their meat cooked by the fire, but Runtamoinen and Ulva wouldn’t touch it. The wintery night darkened fast and the cold strengthened its grip. The half-moon and bright stars illuminated the area outside the campfire, turning the snow which looked white in the daylight into a deep blue expanse.

Songman stood with Raito and four other men, a bit further away. His expression was dark, and only a grueling hunger forced him to participate in the feast. The rest of the village gathered around Runtamoinen, his gang being stronger than Songman’s by one man. The villagers couldn’t have been more divided, with the tall men joining Songman and the short ones alleging with Runtamoinen.

Everyone filled their stomachs with soup and meat and the hunters had to tell the last two days’ events so many times they got tired. Runtamoinen took out his drum, made of wolf skin and bones, and started to pound it with a polished piece of bone. The even, hypnotic rhythm was catching and soon even Vierra noticed that she was nodding to it. Ulva started to sing with a low, sonorous voice. His eyes burned feverishly and sweat flowed down his forehead, even though it was very cold. Runtamoinen also joined the singing with his own, croaking voice. Vierra did not hear all the words accurately but one verse seemed to be recurring time and time again.

Hairy wolf, beast of forest
Wanderer so gray
Let me pass you in the dark wood
Do not pick me as your prey

We fell your kind, we slew your friend
Only in our dire need
So us men of lesser spirit
Could get our wretched feed

Songman stood up after he had eaten and started to walk toward another lean-to. His men also got up and intended to follow their leader. Ulva stopped the song and demanded, furiously.

“Where are you going? It is not appropriate to leave during the holy song!”

“We go where we go, the eating is done and we don’t care about your songs,” Raito answered.

“You southern brats don’t honor anything or anyone but you will learn,” Ulva replied ominously.

He got up, enraged. His eyes glowed in the campfire like a bright yellow flame as he attacked Raito with one agile jump. The man was caught completely off guard and had no time to react whatsoever. Ulva’s fist found its way to Raito’s cheek, throwing him down to the snow. Ulva stormed on top of the fallen man, pounding him mindlessly with both fists. His rage was accompanied by a low, guttural voice that came deep from his throat. The villagers, witnessing this event, were dumbfounded, so sudden and violent had Ulva’s outburst been.

Vierra rose to the occasion quickly and rushed to pull Ulva away from Raito, trying to calm him down. To her surprise, he jumped up and grabbed her throat with both hands. There was a mindless, sightless expression on the man’s face and Vierra felt how his strong grip started to squeeze with crushing strength.