Fargoer (6 page)

“Where is this man now?” asked Eera, seemingly untouched by the surprise.

“Hiding in a place where this Tuura’s knife cannot reach him,” Vierra said. “His name is Vaaja, and he does not deserve to be butchered like a squirrel.”

“He must be brought here. If two fight, often the third one can bare the truth,” Eera answered.

“He is wounded and cannot walk this far, and he does not speak our language.”

“Aure’s men will go and help. They will make sure that he doesn’t escape and help him get here.” Eera had instinctively taken the role of speaker, even though it belonged to Aure by status. People in the gathering seemed not to notice, as they were preoccupied by the drama driven before them.

“I will go, too,” said Tuura.

“You will go nowhere until the matter has been settled. If you really tried to kill this man, you will not be given a chance to do it until it’s proven that you have a right to do it. If you try, a dozen of our hunters will come after you, and they will not set their aim for your shoulder.”

“You shall do as the gathering orders. You did bring your issue to us, so you will obey,” confirmed Aure bluntly.

Tuura sat down with a sour look on his face. Vierra and the men started off: the gathering’s command was holy and had to be followed immediately.

The sun rose higher, melting the white frost into a glimmering dew on the bare branches of the trees and the yellow grass. From the north, a front of clouds rolled and enveloped the sun, stealing away its glimmer. The journey to the lean-to was like a nightmare in bright daylight. Aure’s formidable men walked by her sides in silence, like robust shadows. Vierra’s mouth didn’t open either, but her mind pushed out thoughts one after another until they tripped over each other and fell down. No thought could grant her an escape, and time passed by faster than she would ever have wanted. They quickly arrived at the lean-to Vierra had constructed, and at the man sheltering inside it.

Vierra would never forget Vaaja’s face as it was when they met at that moment. His friendly and open gaze turned first into puzzlement, and then to hurt and despair.

“Don’t worry, it will be fine. I will defend you in the gathering. All will turn for the better.” Vierra’s words tried to soothe, but her voice told a story of uncertainty and fear.

Vaaja didn’t answer. He either didn’t understand or didn’t want to. Aure’s men indicated for him to start moving, and Vaaja got up, dragging his wounded leg clumsily. Vierra went beside him, intending to help, but he pushed her away and walked arduously through the forest on his own, guided by Aure’s men.

The journey through the woods was rough for the wounded, and their progress slowed down as he grew more tired, constantly falling down headlong. The surrounding landscape became hostile as well, and threw a cold rain on the struggling wanderers.

Vierra’s heart ached as she saw how Vaaja fell down time and time again. Every time it took longer for him to get up, but he accepted no help and always got up on his own. Aure’s men seemed to instinctively understand his will because they didn’t even try to help. Vierra didn’t share their insight and tried to help every time - and was turned down again and again. The arrow wound in Vaaja’s leg opened up again and blood spilled from it, staining his pant leg dark, as dark as was the mind of the woman who was walking behind him.

The painstaking journey finally ended, and four travelers stepped into an opening in front of the drenched people in the gathering. Nobody was allowed to leave the gathering spot before all the issues had been resolved. “Cold and hunger often drive past the argument,” the old ones used to say. So once again, no member of the tribe had any food or drink. Breast-fed children were the only ones who got something to eat during the wait. And when the rain had set upon them, there was no shelter or permission to leave.

Vaaja fell prone at the opening, taking a deep breath. With a huge effort, he did get up, though, and with his head held high he stared at the black-haired Tuura. Through his seeming courage, his bleak gaze was one of a trapped animal. Eera did not wait but started the hearing. Water dripped from her gray hair, but her determination did not falter.

“Is your name Vaaja, and are you the slave of this Turyan, called Tuura?”

“Vaaja,” the man said and tapped himself on the chest. “Vaaja slave.” After this, he spoke in his own tongue. Eera replied to him occasionally using the same language, although roughly, and Vaaja continued his flood of words for a moment. Then Eera turned to the others.

“The language of the Bjarmia. I have heard it before and understand it somewhat. He tells me he was a Bjarmian trader, whom Tuura captured and gave to his master, a Turyan witch, as a gift. From there he escaped, taking from the witch’s supplies to do so. Tuura, what did this slave steal? What are you returning to your master?”

“That belt he is wearing,” Tuura said, pointing at the fair-skinned man.

“Take the belt off him, we will see it.” Aure’s strong men took the belt from Vaaja’s waist and held it high up in the air so everyone could see. It was pitch-black leather and ornamented with small white bones.

“The belt of death. The belt of a witch. Made of leather from a sea monster, the kind which dwell in the far north. Finger-bones of witches are attached to it, fingers of great witches, indeed. Two days that slave-dog escaped me with its help, an arrow in his skin, until even the belt didn’t give him strength anymore. The slave I will get as my reward from this ordeal. I decided that I do not need him, but rather will kill him in punishment for his theft and escape. You see now that I have committed no violation, and both the belt and the slave can be given to me. The belt I will deliver to my master. This woman’s attack against me was unprovoked, and I demand compensation from her. Fifty squirrel skins, or if she cannot give them, one moon-cycle of service to me in my lands that are in the far north.”

Silence descended over the gathering. Only a lonely wind wailed in the naked trees. The tribe, beaten by rain and chilly weather, waited for Eera’s answer silently. Eera looked thoughtful and finally answered.

“This is my proposal. Your demands toward the belt Vaaja carries are just, and you will have it. Vaaja you can also have because he is an outsider, not because he was a slave. We have no slaves, and his slavery is not relevant in the gathering. Vierra you will not get as those who go to Turyan land never return. We will, together, deliver you ten squirrel skins, and then you will be on your way, content with them, Vaaja, and the belt. Which will it be? White stone shall be my proposal, and black yours.”

Vierra’s worst fear was about to come true, and she intervened for the first time after arriving at the glade.

“Is this how we treat peaceful people who walk our lands: let the Turyan arbitrariness prevail? The old chieftain wouldn’t have accepted this, or what do you think, Aure?” Vierra turned her pleading gaze toward her cousin, who had stood still during the whole incident. Aure looked instinctively to Eera, searching for support.

“The law is the law, and we cannot cease to follow it even if we wanted,” Eera replied, as if sensing Aure’s question, which came without words.

Aure twisted her hands as the choice was ripping her into two directions. “What can I do, Vierra? You heard what Eera said.”

Vierra’s face froze into a grim expression, and she didn’t say another word.

After the decision, the gathering rocks rolled in and out from the jar, but not a single black rock came into the moss.

With no hesitation, Vierra walked to Vaaja, who was standing slumped in the rain, and kissed him long on the lips. “So I take you, Vaaja of the Bjarmia, as my man. Breed me to give girls and bring fish from the sea, and you shall live happily until the day I die. Will you yield?”

Everyone was holding their breath as they waited for Vaaja’s answer. The man was shocked senseless by all that was happening and could not say a word. It seemed that he barely understood what the woman was asking of him. Tuura’s wits, however, came around, and he realized what was about to happen.

“Kainu wench, it will be hard to marry a dead man!”

As he was shouting, he drew his hooked blade from his belt and surged towards the unarmed Vaaja, his obvious intention being to surprise and kill the man on the spot before anyone could react.

Fast was the black blade of the Turyan, swooping at Vaaja’s unprotected throat. Luckily for Vaaja, this was not the first time he had seen a knife’s blade, and even though he was wounded, he dodged the incoming blow. He grabbed Tuura by the knife arm, and they started to struggle for control.

Hardened by countless battles, Tuura was an overwhelming opponent to the wounded youngster. He kicked Vaaja in the injured leg, causing him to fall onto the moss and roll with agony. The Turyan lifted his weapon high in the air in order to finish the job with one, strong thrust. But the death strike never found its mark. A kick to the back of his knee felled him before his knife could land on his prey. As he turned, Tuura saw Vierra. She stood there holding a scramasax, a nearly arm-length knife. It was a beautiful weapon and common among the warriors of her tribe. Water was pouring down her black hair, and her green eyes emanated dark conviction. Tuura instinctively directed his attention toward this new opponent.

They started circling each other, looking for weaknesses. The Kainu gave way, and soon there was an arena around them, its edges made of people. A duel was, although rare, a completely acceptable way to solve conflicts permanently. The Turyan was a fierce knife fighter but had been wounded by the arrow in the shoulder, and because of that used his knife with the left hand. Vierra was rather inexperienced, but compensated with the ferocity of youth and determination of heart. They circled and circled, feinting attacks and rousing each other.

“Turyan mutt, go home with your tail between your legs!”

“Wench! Because of you, I will kill him slowly. His fate will be yours to thank for!”

“Over my dead body, you witch’s dog!”

Like this and in a dozen other ways, they mocked each other. Vierra’s knife slowly started to find openings in the Turyan’s defense. Once, then a second time Vierra’s knife struck, drawing blood from her opponent’s arms and upper body. Then, after Vierra yet again wounded him, he suddenly lashed out with his arrow-wounded right arm. The arm came along a large arc towards her, and as Vierra was not prepared for this kind of attack, it hit her face with tremendous strength. The woman was thrown back by the force of the blow like a ragdoll and was left lying in the moss, blood spurting from her mouth and nose.

Vierra felt two forces fighting inside her. The first one urged her to give way to the darkness that pulsed on the edge of her tortured mind, ready to sink her into the merciful embrace of unconsciousness. Then she would know nothing and wouldn’t have to determine the oncoming fate of this young man. It didn’t concern her, anyway.

There was another voice, though. It was the voice of a gray she-wolf, who looked at Vierra with her yellow eyes and yelled, “Fight! Are you so weak, a quitter? Did Mother really waste words with you in our people’s cave? Coward!”

Lightning-fast, Tuura turned and rushed his knife towards Vaaja, who was on the edge of the arena. Suddenly, with a soft, cracking sound, the rushing man fell on his face at the feet of his would-be victim. He stayed there, laying motionless on the ground. From the back of his neck stuck out the reddened blade of Vierra’s scramasax, which she had thrown.

“Over my dead body, like I said.” Vierra fell back to the wet moss, unconscious.

***

The deer had gathered in large herds. Before the arrival of the heavy blankets of snow, they would leave for their winter lands. Small tribes of Kainu were gathered together as well. The large deer hunt would provide everyone with food for long into the winter. Lingonberries were gathered, and small, round-cheeked children ate their stomachs sore of them. Men and women met in deer and lingonberry feasts, and in the spring there would again be fewer people living in the huts of lone men and women.

Even though there were no flowers in the autumn wedding, the celebration was still grand. After scrubbing each other in the sweat hut, the couple had been crowned with twig wreaths made by children of the tribe. Twigs were also plentiful in the place of the feast, and in a ceremony that Eera held everyone drank honey mead and ate so much that they could barely move. Vaaja was wearing his black belt, which was, according to the tribe’s laws, now his until someone came to the gathering to demand it.

The eyes of the cousins were evading each other during the festivities. Nevertheless, they both had their reasons to be happy during that autumn day. Aure was the chieftain now and would soon lead the tribe to the winter camp in her mother’s footsteps. Vierra had a husband now, and with him the years of loneliness would be left behind for good.