Fargoer (7 page)

Of Fire and Stone

Fire

The midsummer river presented a beautiful and ever-changing view for the travelers in the majestic longboat. The sun smiled down on the rowers, and in the blue sky sailed just a few white strips of clouds. The river was wide at that spot, so wide that a grown man couldn’t have thrown a rock from the shore even halfway across. The longboat was like a sight from another world in this peaceful scenery, and it was indeed far from its homeport.

The boat was larger than any of the Kainu’s fishing boats, and it made the water foam grandly as it glided slowly up the river. The rowers were longhaired and bearded, sturdy men, each with an oar in hand. Those oars they pulled slowly, forcing the longboat to travel sluggishly upstream. Many of them eyed the surrounding forest suspiciously. These men had crossed the sea and were far away from their homes.

On the bow of the boat stood a stunted old man. He created a completely different image with his dark, thin hair, crooked back, and bowlegs. They were on his business, though, and the silver he had promised was the force that had taken the longboat this far. And truly, he was guiding the boat like a bloodhound sniffing the wind, his large, crooked nose turned upwards.

Upstream, far away from the eyes of the longboat-men, a much plainer vessel was traversing the river. The boat was narrow and unsteady, like riverboats tended to be, but it carried its three passengers evenly and without complaint.

Vaaja sat at the oars, in good strength and with a smile on his face. Vierra was steering from the back and looking at her husband while she adjusted her black hair, with her free hand. Her green eyes glowed and her mind wandered free like a summer bird. She thought back to the time when Vaaja had arrived from the north, an arrow in his leg and a pursuer at his back. How this stranger’s life had intertwined with her own, lonely one. So tightly were they bound that she couldn’t see how they could ever be separated again.

Coming from a trader’s family, Vaaja had quickly learned Vierra’s language. He was from Bjarmia, a country that lay far in the east on the shores of the vast northern sea. As natural traders they sold the harvest of the cold sea to go with the Vikings and Bolgars all the way to the far lands of the unknown south. Vaaja had been there, too, many times with his father. Often, while lying beside their evening fire in each other’s arms, Vaaja had told many amazing stories of these journeys. Of southern lands, huge cities lying behind great rivers, pathless passages, and of their riches. Vaaja’s tales meandered further, to the far ends of the world. There, glamorous cities rose straight up from yellow deserts and women walked on paved roads, their faces concealed. So rich and powerful were the rulers of the cities that even their slave women carried silver jewelry around their necks.

Vierra listened to Vaaja’s stories often and with pleasure, but the longing in her heart was finally quenched. The blond-haired man had brought her peace, and she missed nothing. The memories of the First Mother were far, far away. Just distant ramblings, undoubtedly only apparitions of her own vivid imagination.

If the man from Bjarmia had tamed Vierra, the boy that sat in the middle bench had cast a final, unbreakable bond on her. Vierra’s face melted into a rich smile as she looked at her son. His face was round and framed by yellow, stubborn wisps of hair. The hair and the blue eyes the boy had inherited from his father, who rowed the boat. The boy, who carried the name Vaalo, had seen five summers and had a curiousness that knew no boundaries. Even now, he was reaching over the boat’s edge, allowing the cool waters of early summer to flow through his small hand. He sometimes rolled over the edge in his enthusiasm, to be saved by his father or mother. Every day with the boy was full of happiness, of joy, of temper, and of all the little things their lives had to give. And Vierra needed nothing else.

Vierra forgot the steering as she was watching the boy, and they almost ran aground. At the last moment, she took notice and steered the boat clear. Vierra smiled because Vaaja did not even notice. Even though he had learned to survive in the wilderness during their years together, he was still a born trader and a townsman. So, naturally, he left the responsibility to Vierra as they moved together in the wilds.

It was the eve of the fire fest, the day when the sun would be at its highest point and would start the slow descent towards the winter darkness. The old ones said that fire fest was a custom of the southern peoples. Nonetheless, it had been celebrated by the Kainu for years. It was customary to find a beautiful spot for the occasion where the people would then gather in numbers to feast and burn a pyre. This was their plan, also, and the boat moved rapidly, taking the trio towards the festival site they had chosen. Birds were chirping in the thickets surrounding the river, working as a choir to their celebration.

Vierra and Vaaja often spent time by themselves in the summers, and then with their son after he was born. At first, they had been scared of a party coming from the north to seek revenge, but the northern forest had kept its demands. They had burned and buried Tuura appropriately; there was no reason to irritate a spirit of such a powerful man. Vierra had defeated him in an honest fight at the gathering, so in the eyes of the tribe she had committed no violation.

What started as caution soon turned into a way of life. Accordingly, Vierra didn’t want to participate in her tribe’s fire fest, and they had found their own place for the celebration. Earlier that morning, they had fished and the river had indeed given them a good amount of trout for the feast. In the caressing light of the sun, the celebration site struck them with its beauty. On the shore of a small lake that rested below roaring rapids spread a small, forest-bordered glade. The short but bright summer of the north had cast a breathtaking field of flowery brilliance all over the clearing. They ran their boat ashore, and Vaaja gathered firewood for the pyre with their son. Vierra cleaned the fine catch of trout that they had caught. They would prepare them later, slowly, in the warm glow of the fire.

Before lighting the bonfire, Vierra had one more task. If the fire fest was originally a southern tradition, the ritual hunt was an ancient, sacred thing for the Kainu. The head of the family was supposed to hunt alone before the brightest night of the summer. The luck they would have for hunting and fishing over the next year could be divined from the hunt’s results.

In Vierra’s mind flashed a memory of the evening before. How she and Vaaja had drowsily listened to their son’s even breath as they lay in each other’s arms, quietly talking by the deep-red light of the hut fire.

“You’re not seriously going to hunt alone tomorrow,” Vaaja had said, fondling Vierra’s shiny, dark hair.

“Of course I am,” Vierra had answered, maybe too sharply, as the boy had started to swerve in his sleep. He calmed down just a moment afterwards and went back to sleep.

“Why do you want to go? You didn’t want to celebrate with the others. I thought you didn’t care about the old ones’ traditions.”

“The fire festival has nothing to do with it. Don’t you realize what happiness we have gotten for ourselves?” Vierra had looked at her sleeping son and then turned her gaze back to her husband’s blue eyes. “Even the forest has given to us in abundance. There’s no hunger, no thirst. Have we given thanks for it?”

“You always leave part of the bounty to the dwellers of the earth, and sometimes blood, too. And we haven’t had that much luck, I’d like more sons.” Vaaja had looked at their son, who was fast asleep.

“Is there something wrong with that one?” Vierra hadn’t even tried to cover her hurt tone. “The people of the earth will give you their blessings for a moment, but the great spirits will grant a lasting happiness. I will hunt and speak with them when I bring back the catch. And we should get more girls, not boys.”

“But--” Vaaja had started. Vierra silenced her husband by kissing him. The talking was done for the time being, and they both had gone to sleep, each with their own ponderings.

As Vierra gathered her bow and arrows, surrounded by her memories, Vaaja returned from gathering firewood.

“If you go for the hunt, at least take the Turyan belt with you for luck,” Vaaja said, removing the dark belt from his slender hips.

“You know I don’t like it. It feels cold and unfamiliar to carry. Besides, I have hunted alone countless times and never before have I needed Turyan luck to manage.”

“Take it this time in honor of the fire fest. I have no need for it here in the ceremony field.”

Vierra was about to resist, but surprising herself, she bent to her husband’s will.

“So be it. At least I will return faster with the Turyan luck in my footsteps.”

They embraced for a long time, and the matter was settled. When they argued, they could not stay angry at each other for long, but naturally came to an agreement quickly.

Vaaja had become a good Kainu man, Vierra thought with a smile. Her sisters in the tribe had at first suspected that he would be nothing more than a burden and a nuisance, and at first he had indeed been unable to do anything useful. He couldn’t hunt, he couldn’t fish, and of traps he knew even less. It was decided that he couldn’t be let into the woods alone, either, after Vierra had rescued him from the woods a few times. But Vaaja was tenacious and ductile, a patient learner to no end, and so he soon started to be successful in his undertakings. Being a tall man, he never came to be very stealthy, so he was a rather clumsy hunter. He was very good with boats, though; as a trader, he had traveled and spent a lot of time offshore. Fishing became one of his favorite chores. It was he who had caught most of the trout that sunny morning.

Whereas Vierra and Vaaja did not have discord between them, disputes with the boy were an entirely other matter. Vaalo did not really mind hunting, as long as he could come, too. When he heard that was not going to happen, his nature rose against them immediately. After that, he had said nothing to his parents.

Vierra let her green eyes rest in the beautiful setting one more time before departing. Vaaja, who was piling the last pieces of wood on the pyre, smiled. The wind blew his light hair as he waved goodbye. Vaalo was sitting in the center of the glade, arms crossed, inexorable offense on his face. He looked at his smiling mother from under his brow and refused to wave. Vierra walked to him and ruffled her stubborn son’s hair. It took more than this to console him, though, and with a sigh, Vierra finally started toward the edge of the forest. She looked at the sulking, round-faced rascal until the trees on the edge of the glade obstructed the view. For a moment, Vierra felt a strong urge to go back and forget about the whole hunt. Why wouldn’t she just stay there with Vaaja and Vaalo, to burn the fire and eat trout? She got rid of the thought, however, and continued further into the forest.

Stone

The floor of the forest was cool and calm. The hot sunlight sifted down from in between the leaves and twigs and did not burn with its full strength. Hunter’s instincts took over the lone woman, and she, for a moment, forgot the glade and her family that was waiting there. She heard, saw, and smelled, she mingled with the forest’s shadows, became one of its mysterious travelers. It had been like this for her people since the time of her ancestors, a long time ago. There was just the forest, the hunter, and the prey.

Vierra did not have a clear thought where to go since the midsummer was not the most favorable time for hunting. The big game was spread out, and smaller animals did not leave tracks as they did in the wintertime snow. The summer was a time of fishing, not hunting, for the Kainu, and often they came back from the ritual hunt empty-handed. Vierra let her instincts guide her on where to go.

Jaybird, a hunter’s friend, flew onto a branch next to Vierra and looked at her with its dark eyes. Its beak turned busily from one side to another as it watched the woman’s actions curiously. Seeing a jaybird always brought memories from a particular summer past. The day had been very similar, warm and bright. Vierra could still hear her mother Asla’s voice in her mind as she taught her the hunters’ ways.

Asla had been a skilled hunter, even though many had thought she should have been the witch’s apprentice. It was true that she saw visions and omens, and often she was seen staring into nothingness with a sad look on her face. She had also only taken one man, which was considered odd. Nevertheless, she was the chieftain’s sister and an able woman in her affairs. It was considered even stranger that after her husband died, she didn’t take a new man to help her care for her little girl, Vierra.

Awakening from her memories, Vierra finally ended up wandering towards a low hill. Its top, bare save for a few trees, loomed as a landmark from afar. When approaching it, she noticed faint deer tracks that headed up to the top of the hill. Vierra knew the deer were up there for a reason. The wind would carry away the insects that were harassing them and give them a moment of relief.