Annukka Makela sat at her loom and wove steadily, the soft woolen threads of her own spinning forming solid, equally soft fabric beneath her hands. The rhythm soothed her, as she passed the shuttle through the warp-threads, tamped them down with a double-beat, and passed the shuttle through again. Thread by thread, the fine brown woolen cloth built up beneath her hands; thread by thread, the subtle spell of warmth and protection she wove built with it. This was simple magic, hearth-and-fireside magic. So far as Annukka was concerned, magic was no special gift, and most women of the Sammi could do it, if they put their minds to it, if they took the time to learn how to concentrate in just the right way. The lives of the Sammi were intertwined with small magics. For most women, such things could be as natural as breathing if they learned the tricks of it.
But most women didn’t. In this, Annukka was special.
Annukka was not certain why; it seemed a logical thing, to her; if you intended to keep your family safe, why not weave magic into their clothing? Yes, it took a little more time, you couldn’t just sit mindlessly at your loom and let the monotonous back and forth of the shuttle in your hand dull your mind. You had to think, to concentrate, to call up all the tales of narrow escapes and loved ones come safely home through peril. You had to speak to the power of magic the way you would make a prayer, almost. To Annukka’s mind, the effort was more than worth the reward, for what wife wouldn’t want to protect her children, or keep her husband safe?
But then…there was that edge of danger about magic. It didn’t always answer in the way you thought it would. And there was always a cost to it, too. The whisper of power that Annukka put into threads she wove had to come from somewhere, and that somewhere was generally her. Weaving in this way meant she tired far sooner than she would have had she been weaving ordinary cloth. When the power did not come from her directly, she generally found herself being shoved into doing something that was always inconvenient, and sometimes a bit dangerous. So even though this was very minor magic in the making, there were repercussions.
Repercussions, Annukka thought to herself, as the sun warmed her back, as she listened to the birds in the eaves outside, as she took in the scent of woodsmoke and the roasting fish that her neighbor was making for supper. There are always repercussions to everything, magical or not. Most people just don’t trouble themselves to see them.
But weaving in this way meant that the cloak she would make from this fabric would not only keep the wearer warm no matter how killing the cold, it would deflect the mind of a pursuing hunter, so that pursuit was always going astray. There were wolves out there, and bears, and uncanny things that were far, far worse than either. A cloak woven with magic would not come amiss.
This was women’s magic, subtle and supple, and not like the magic of the wonder-smiths, and the warrior-mages, magic that cut across the fabric of the world and pulled it into the shape that the man-magicians wanted. Women’s magic worked with the elements, rather than against them, wove through the threads of everyday life as Annukka wove her spell through the threads of her fabric. It took far more time to master than the sort that the men generally used, so perhaps this was why so few troubled themselves to do so. It took putting part of your heart into it, too. You had to care, and care deeply, to use this magic. Emotion became part of will.
The last of the afternoon sun made the wooden walls of the room glow as if they had been gilded, and warmed her as she sat before the loom. Outside the window, her bees droned in the borage planted along the cottage walls. It would be time to take the last collection of honey, soon, before she left the hives alone to store their over-winter supplies. Time for the last brewing of mead; Annukka smiled to think of the taste of that mead on a winter night, sweet and sharp at once, and holding the memory of summer in it. Time soon to collect nuts in the forest, herbs for winter medicines and teas. Harvest was coming, and this cloak she was weaving would be needed to drive the cold winter winds away.
There were no other sounds within these walls but that of her weaving. Annukka lived alone in this house on the edge of the great forest of firs, above the Viridian River. It had not always been so. She had once had a beloved husband, but he had taken her to wife in his old age, and had lived only long enough to see their son grow to a stripling. He had built this house with his own two hands, long before he had married her, and there was not a finer house in all of the village. Her friends teased her that she had married him for this house—but no. She had married him for himself.
What a man he had been! His hair, once golden, still had gold threads among the silver, but his open, honest face had remained curiously unlined right up until the day he died. The only wrinkles were those around his bright blue eyes, that deepened when he smiled. He had not been handsome, his jaw was too long, his nose too beaklike for that. But she would not have had him look any other way than he had. She still missed him, his kindness, his strength of character, missed the feeling of his arms around her, sheltering her, missed the gentleness of his hands.
The house was very like the man, plain, sturdy, substantial, sheltering. The walls were of peeled logs, painstakingly matched for size, fitted so closely together that they hardly needed any chinking, and the winter winds never whistled between them as they did in other homes. The house boasted two floors and three rooms, which was one floor and one room more than most.
Two of those rooms were on the lower level, which had a wooden plank floor painstakingly smoothed until not even a thought of a splinter remained. One small room was the bedroom that Annukka had shared with her husband, and that now she slept in alone. The other held a big table that her husband Mikka had also made himself, and two fine benches to sit at, as well as Annukka’s loom, spinning wheel, and three stools that were works of art. Here was the hearth where she did her cooking, built from stones brought up from the river, and the kitchen cupboard, stout enough to keep out a bear, cunningly fitted together so tightly not even the most determined mouse could find a way inside. The second floor, reached by ladder, had been their son’s as soon as he could climb that ladder unaided and climb it back down again. It was empty now, and she used it to store fleeces and bundles of herbs.
The pot simmering over the fire this late-autumn afternoon breathed forth a savory aroma, and the bread just pulled from the oven built into the side of the fireplace added its scent to that of the soup. But there was only one wooden bowl and one carved spoon laid out on the table, for her son Veikko had gone out to in the spring to seek his Teacher.
Their people, the Sammi, did not have a King; they were one of the few lands that did not. Towns rarely housed more than a thousand people, and villages were much smaller. Half the population tended the migrating reindeer herds, which made it difficult to have a settled life. In winter, the deer were always on the move, foraging for food as they traced paths through the trackless wilderness that only they remembered. Only in summer could these folk settle, as their herds settled, to graze on lush meadows and drop their calves.
Life moved at the pace of the land here, and not the pace of man. As their fathers and their father’s fathers had done, so did the people here. In spring, the reindeer herds returned, to join the sheep and goats at their grazing, and with them, the herders. It was a slow life, but hardly a dull one. Those bears, wolves, and uncanny things found deer and man equally tasty, the storms of winter could be unpredictable and equally deadly. In other lands, not one person in a hundred had to contend with the kinds of dangers that faced the Sammi every day.
And in other lands, a child would probably have been forced into the paths of his or her parents. But not here.
And Annukka would not have had things any other way. Even if our ways have sent my son far from home.
Tradition was not so important here as being good at what you did. Sometimes Annukka wondered if that had to do with need, or with the fact that there was no single ruler here, and no ruling hierarchy. With no king, and no order of landowning nobility beneath him, there was no one to answer to except to one’s own neighbors, who were not likely to take “because I said so” as an appropriate answer.
She smiled at that thought. We are a stubborn people, we Sammi. A King would have a hard time with us.
Whatever the cause was, when a child came of age, his (or her) Runes were cast, and it was those Runes that predicted the future for that child. Not what was to happen, but what he was to become.
There was, for instance, the rune of the Herder, which meant you would tend domestic animals of one sort or another. There was Hunter, of course, which was self-explanatory, and Home, which meant you would do well with all possible domestic skills. Those marked with Healing were very much sought after, as were those of the Forge. There was the Salmon for Fishing, the rare rune of Fellowship (which meant the skill to lead people). More common than Forge was Craft for the smaller handicrafts, and Wood for the hewers and shapers. Rarer than Fellowship was Singer, which covered not only the making of music, but the composing of it, and the ability to play one or many instruments. Last of all were two that were seldom seen in these parts, Warrior and Mage
The boys and girls whose runes had been cast to follow the deer—the Herding Rune with the Wanderer—took over the work of watching, tending, doctoring, and milking them, under the direction of the adults. When the last of the frost left the fields, they were sown by those whose runes had marked them forever with the Plough.
For in the land of the Sammi, the man did not choose the occupation, the occupation chose the man. And at twelve, based on one’s runes, the child took its first steps into the adult world.
Annukka smiled again to think of her son. Never had she seen a boy more confident than he was at that age. The Runes had not surprised him; it was as if he had known from the time he was born what they would say, and he greeted the reading with a laugh and a nod.
She passed her hand over the cloth already woven to make sure the weft was consistent, and felt the tiny tingle of the magic there.
It was possible to get mixed Runes, of course; that was considered very, very lucky. All Runestones had a blank side and an inscribed side, and it was theoretically possible for all of them to turn up inscribed, though Annukka had never ever heard of that happening. Usually not more than one or two showed their faces in a given reading. Three was highly unusual. Four, almost unheard of.
Annukka was a mixed-rune child, of Hearth, Craft and Mage, although the wise woman who had cast them only whispered that third into her parents’ ears, and Annukka had not known, until the wise woman returned to teach her the Mage-skills two years later, that she had been so marked. The Mage-rune meant that she had the power, the ability, to do much more than the little domestic magics that all women could do. She had been schooled in some of the greater ones, magics that would permit her to do extraordinary things.
She had used them no more than once or twice a year in her youth, and only when the need was very great indeed. Even now she did not much use the magic except in small things like her weaving, being very conservative about using the power. So the wise woman had taught her, because the use of it could attract some evil to the user, and by extension, to her people. Evil things came sniffing after the scent of magic, like bears around the outside of a house when the winter comes too early and they are too hungry to sleep. Annukka had no intention of opening the door to such creatures, when simple caution would prevent it. And so she had never become even so much as a Wise Woman, much less one of the wizardly kind.
Veikko had also gotten mixed runes, Warrior and Mage. Most boys at twelve would have practically turned themselves inside out to get such Runes. He had been calm—so calm! Happy, yes, even contented. But also calm and sure. But there were no teachers for either the path of the Warrior or that of the Magician in so small a village—oh, everyone could use weapons, but not with the skill that could be attained by one so Rune-marked. And as for Magic—how was she to teach the hard path of the Magic that men used? She only knew the Earth-ways, not the Iron-ways. Accordingly, he had waited until he was a fairly skilled warrior by village standards, then went in search of a Warrior Magician to teach him. For that too was the way of the Sammi; if a teacher did not come to you, it was up to you to find the teacher. Perhaps so many generations of following the reindeer herds had made them more willing to go great distances in order to obtain a desired goal.
He had left behind not only his mother, but his sweetheart, Kaari—Kaari, the darling of the village, Kaari of the sweet voice and gentle hand, hair like spun sunlight and face of a flower. Their parting had been a reluctant one; Veikko would much rather that a teacher had come to him. Annukka loved the girl almost as much as her son did, and would gladly have had her living in the house as a daughter. But Kaari would not hear of it, refused to displace Annukka from the place she had held for so long. “When Veikko returns, we will have a house of our own,” she said with quiet certainty. “I will never displace you, Mother Annukka. This will always be your place.”
Truth to tell, that had pleased Annukka. She had not been looking forward to giving up her room and the big bed to Veikko and Kaari, of having to climb that ladder to the loft every night, nor to eventually having to lose the peace of her working to the wails of babies and the mischief of toddlers. She had made the offer twice more after Veikko left, and had been twice refused with the same gentle courtesy. That made it final by Sammi custom. And so Kaari remained in her father’s house—though Annukka did not stint on gifts of her own making for the bride-chest. This cloak, for instance, was intended for Kaari, and besides protection, Annukka was weaving in a wealth of love.
She brushed her hand over the warp-threads and listened to the whisper, like the ghost of a harp-thrum. She gathered to her the warmth of the sun on her back, the memory of this golden afternoon, and wove that too, into her cloth.
#
The sun was westering, and even though the garden was warm and inviting, the earth giving up a scent of rich life, the herbs reminding her with their mingled aromas that she needed to be gathering them and drying them, it was time to get more water for dinner, and that was Kaari’s job.
It was laundry day as well—also Kaari’s job. She like laundry day; there was something infinitely satisfying about spreading the freshly washed things to dry, although she could do without carrying the baskets of wet clothing up from the edge of the river. She carefully folded the last of the laundry she had gathered up from the hedge around the garden, put it just inside the door for her mother to deal with, and took up the carry-yoke and the buckets. Squinting a little against the later afternoon sun, Kaari arranged the wooden yoke over her shoulders, balanced the buckets on the hooks on either end of it, and headed for the well at the center of the village. Her mother was too old to be burdened with this now, and her brothers were all at their own work, so that left Kaari. Of course, for Kaari, every trip to the well took twice as long as it did for anyone except the most inveterate of gossips, because everyone had to stop and greet her, so that had to factor into the time she took. And even though that was the last thing she wanted to do on a day that was already overfilled with chores, she had to stop and greet them. It was, after all, the polite thing to do. And by now her parents were more than used to it.
Virtually everything she did that brought her out of the house took more time because of this. And it was all because of her Runes. Sometimes she thought that if she heard one more person tell her “You must be the luckiest girl in the world,” she was going to do something drastic. Scream, anyway. But of course, she never did, because she fundamentally had too sweet a temper. Having Runes like hers—well she suspected that you either had a sweet temper to begin with, or you got one in a hurry, because you rather well had to.
Or else you went to the bad…and that did not bear thinking about.
When Kaari was born, her Runes were read then and there, because there was a Wise Woman already in the village reading the Runes for several older children. It was unusual but by no means unheard-of for an infant to be read, and since the woman was there, her parents must have thought, “what’s the harm?” And at that time, the Wise Woman had pulled a strange face, for three Runes had turned up instead of the usual one or two. Hearth, as expected. Also Craft.
But then came the third Rune, one that her parents didn’t recognize, the one that the Wise Woman pursed her lips over. She told them not to worry about it, and went on her way, with only a single, slightly odd, admonition.
“Don’t spoil her.”
Not that they were likely to do anything of the sort. She might have been the baby of the family, but it was a very large family, with many hands reaching for, and many mouths clamoring for, anything that happened to be desirable. Her older brothers only considered another sister to be another nuisance. Her older sisters already had enough of baby-sitting to regard the arrival of yet another child with resignation. Kaari had been destined to go through childhood wearing the hand-me-downs of four older sisters, mended and re-dyed, turned and turned again, or cut down from much larger garments. Her toys were those her older siblings had outgrown. She slept packed in the bed with all four of her older sisters, either too warm in the middle, or hanging on for dear life to her sliver of bed on the edge.
And yet she had sailed through her childhood with no real difficulty. By nature sweet-tempered, by the gift of the gods a lovely child, the older she grew, the more everyone wanted her around and made a kind of pet out of her, even her older siblings. If it was a lean season, people found ways of slipping her tidbits; if the season was bountiful, they still slipped her treats, but it was always the juiciest apple, the most succulent grape, the most perfect venison pasty. Older children took her with them on adventures or dressed her up like a kind of live doll, younger ones looked up to her in awe. And no one thought twice about it.
Not until Kaari came of age and the same Wise Woman read her Runes again, did she discover what that third one was. Because it turned up again.
Kaari could still see it, in her mind’s eye, the little brown stone, flat, speckled with white, and the strange Rune she could not read carved into it and filled with black paint. It had looked so harmless, and yet there was some feeling of portent about it, a heaviness in her chest, the sense that something was watching her.
“This Rune,” the woman had said, stirring the stone with her finger. “This Rune is Heart.”
All three of them had looked at her askance. None of them had ever heard of such a thing.
“You must have noticed how everyone loves Kaari,” the woman had continued.
Kaari’s mother and father had nodded. Of course they had, because by then, Kaari was the pet of the whole village, and even the most sour-tempered old curmudgeon smiled to see her. Little boys brought her frogs and turtles and flowers and would stand watching her do common tasks with their mouths hanging open, other little girls wove her daisy crowns and helped her make pretty things for her rag-doll and her hobby-horse, and she was always the one chosen first for anything that anyone planned. Adults petted her and gave her treats without her even asking for them. When she fell and hurt herself every mother within hearing distance came running. On the very rare occasions when she got into naughtiness, it was always something mild, usually because she was the unknowing accomplice of an older child, and was immediately sorry for the results. Her peers made her the center of their games, and if it was work that was afoot, they made sure it went along with such singing and chatter that it seemed half play.
“And you’ve noticed she’s not spoiled by all this.” Again the old woman had stirred the Rune. “That is the effect of Heart. It is a power that can bring people together. But it is a double-edged sword. It can cause quarrels, when everyone wants to be first in her eyes—and more quarrels will come in the future, when boys come to think about courting her in truth. And the older she gets the more careful she will have to be. When everyone wants to love and be loved by a person with the Heart Rune, that can spawn jealousy, envy, acrimony. As yet, it has not expressed itself too much in her life in that way. That will change before long. Trust me.”
They had sent Kaari away then, and spent long hours that night talking. It had given Kaari an uncomfortable feeling, knowing that they were talking about her and it was all because of this Heart Rune. Surely she could give it up! Surely this was something that she could decide to have nothing to do with!
A ridiculous notion of course. The Runes were only the expression of what you already were. Gradually, over time, she had learned herself what all this meant. For as she grew older, those innocent little flirtations over frogs became something a great deal more serious. When husbands said with enthusiasm how pretty she was growing, wives began to be troubled. When mothers complimented her, their own daughters wondered, even as they walked arm in arm with her, why their own mothers didn’t find them as sweet-natured or as pretty, or as clever. And everyone wanted to be her best friend, but having someone as a best friend means that someone else must be second best.
Then things got even more complicated.
It is a sad thing to have someone fall in love with you when you do not love him in turn. It is worse when someone else is already in love with that person, or wants to be. Brothers can fall out over such a things, and sisters take sides. Mothers and fathers wonder why you cannot see all the good qualities in their sons. Slowly Kaari had learned how to tell these boys that she could not be theirs in such a way as to make their heartbreak less—for heartbreak there would be, there was no getting around it. Slowly she had learned how to shape things so that she became the ally of other girls in love. She learned too how to turn away the less-innocent advances of older (and usually married!) men.
It was sad for her, too, for she knew by then that she could never be sure if someone loved her for herself, or because of her Runes. She had to look on even the most handsome of boys with skepticism when they protested their love. Oh, yes, the Heart Rune was the expression of her nature, and she did give her affections generously, but—
But she also knew by then that there was something more going on here than just the Heart Rune. Or rather, than just the expression of her nature. There was magic involved too, the magic of The Tradition, trying to bring into fruition all those stories about men behaving foolishly in love, stories which were very funny when they happened to someone else, someone you didn’t know, and didn’t see every day of the week, but which were not funny at all when they were happening to you and your friends.
She frowned a little at that memory, and brushed her hair, worn loosely, like all the village maidens, out of her eyes as she sighed with reminiscence. Even now, when she was betrothed, she had to forcefully discourage protests of love., and sometimes more than mere protests. In fact, she often that that it was only because Annukka was going to be her mother-in-law, and everyone in the village knew that kind of sorcerous power Annukka could wield if she chose to, that someone hadn’t tried something…unfortunate. No one, however, wished to spend even a few hours as a frog—or, much more likely, find himself dressing up in a gown and apron and doing all of Annukka’s household chores for her until Annukka decided that the offense had been paid for.
Fortunately at this time of day all the young men were off working. They would not return from the fields, river and forest—or be released from the tasks of an apprentice—until dusk. So Kaari was unlikely to encounter any of the most susceptible on the way to the well, nor on the way back.
It was a difficult dance; sometimes all but impossible. Impossible not to create some heartbreak, impossible not to invoke some resentment. And so very, very hard to remain friends with everyone involved.
And then things became even more complicated if that was possible, once she was betrothed. Kaari had always been the confidant of her playmates, now she found herself being confessed to and asked advice of, the holder of secrets she sometimes did not want to know. Everyone liked her, everyone trusted her, everyone wanted to know her opinion. She had long ago learned to keep a firm grip on anything she was told, but that became even more imperative when she was told secrets that could harm. People trusted her. She felt impelled to be worthy of that trust. The village did not have a priest, nor a shaman; one had to go to White Birch for that. Kaari found herself often standing in bewildered stead for those worthies.
As a result, Kaari, while appearing to be the most pampered, was probably the least selfish person in the entire village. She had to be. Keeping other people’s feelings more or less intact entailed an enormous amount of sacrifice. She found herself giving up everything from time spent on others that she could have used for herself, to making gifts cherished possessions as gifts to soothe an emotional wound. For every pretty bead necklace of polished seeds and carved pendants she kept, she gave away ten; for every length of trim she wove, she gave over four. And not just to girls, or at least, not directly. There were no few young men in the village who had mended a quarrel with a sweetheart with some former possession of Kaari’s.
There had ever only been two people around whom she had not needed to take such care—Veikko and his mother. He treated her no differently than he did any other girl when they were children, and teased her the same when they were older. His mother had made no more fuss over her than she did over any other child than her own son. As Kaari grew older, and had learned what Annukka could do if she chose, she began to understand that because both of them were, or would be, magic-wielders, they probably had some immunity to her own ability. Either that, or Annukka had cast a spell to protect both of them.
So when Veikko fell in love with her, she had known it was not the effect of her Heart destiny, and it had been a distinct relief to feel herself falling for him. Only when Veikko had fallen in love with her had she felt truly free and at ease. Because—well—for almost too many other reasons to count.
Not least was the fact that all but the really lecherous regretfully had to decide that she was no longer accessible. And all the other single girls, with the exception of those who had been in love with Veikko themselves, heaved sighs of relief.
But just to be sure, after Veikko had declared himself and gotten her parents’ consent, she had come creeping to Annukka to confess her power. Just in case.
Somewhat to her astonishment, Annukka had looked at her and said, “I know.”
As she had gaped at her mother-in-law to be, Annukka had smiled and patted her on the head like a little girl. “Bless you, child, who do you think has been tending to all the little storms you stirred up that you couldn’t fix yourself?”
Well, that made perfect sense, but—
“And who do you think Lyyli told when she read your Runes the first time?” Annukka had continued. She had smiled to see Kaari’s expression. “Oh, now you don’t even know Lyyli’s name do you? “
“I never—“ Kaari had stammered, “I thought—no one ever called her any name other than—“
“Than Wise Woman, yes, I know.” Annukka had continued spinning, calmly, the drop-spindle whirling hypnotically. “It’s better that way. They call me the same in her village.”
“You a—in her village?”
“Close your mouth, child, or a bird will come feed you,” Annukka had said kindly. “I act as Wise Woman for her village, she does the same for me. It’s not considered—appropriate—for the Runes to be read by someone from the same village as the child. Too much pressure. Everyone wants his or her own child to be extraordinary, a wonder-smith or an epic singer or some other sort of prodigy. To have to cast Runes for the utterly ordinary, to cast Runes for something the parents are not prepared to deal with, or worst of all, to cast Runes that suggest trouble to come, is not something you wish to do to the people you live around. Every day they look at you, they are reminded of what you said,” She sighed. “So Lyyli and I, and those others with the Mage Rune have an agreement. We all protect each other. And we alternate the other villages we go to, so that we never come to a village twice in a row. We each make sure that someone in a village knows about—unusual Runes that come up. Like yours. I have known about you from the time Lyyli first read your Runes. ”
Well that only made the most perfect sense. Kaari found herself nodding.
“You may rest assured that Veikko loves you for yourself alone and not because your wyrd compels him,” Annukka had finished. “So now, shall we begin on filling your bride-chest? Nice, thick woolen blankets are always a good place to start.”
No one could have asked for a better mother-in-law. How Kaari loved her!
Only halfway to the well now, Kaari stopped in a patch of sunshine and bent her head gravely for little Taina to put a rather withered crown of flowers on her. Yesterday another child had beaten Taina to crowning Kaari, and she had promised Taina that today she could be the one.
Taina blushed and giggled and ran off shyly. Kaari nodded to the child’s mother, who was spreading linen shirts on the hedge to dry in the sun, and went on her way again. No one liked doing laundry alone, but—as with most things—any time that Kaari planned to do a chore that could be done communally, most of the village women and girls showed up at the same time. In this case—by unspoken consent, laundry day for the entire village was the day that Kaari chose. And by common, unspoken, practical consent, laundry day was the day the men all picked to fish in further waters. The chatter down by the river earlier had frightened all the fish away for the next day at least.
The flowers that the child had used were asters, autumn flowers, and even wilting, they had a crisp clean scent to them. Harvest would be soon, and then winter. She hoped Veikko would be home by then, or at least, would persuade his teacher to winter-over here.
As she smiled and nodded to everyone in greeting, her thoughts were otherwise occupied. For some reason today, she had fallen to thinking about and speculating about her own Runes rather than someone else’s. She often had to wonder what someone absolutely without morals or conscience would do if she had the Heart rune…it actually made her rather ill to contemplate it for very long. If the person was petty-minded, she would simply take advantage of everything and everyone, allowing herself to be treated as something special and showered with gifts. Not only could that be done, and with the greatest of ease, but anyone so exploited would actually think himself lucky that she used him so. And if she was clever and evil….
Please, I would rather not see that sort of thing. With such charisma it would be possible to become—
A tyrant? Certainly, but one with a difference. A beloved tyrant, who walked over the backs of his people while they praised him for doing so. Or the sort of woman who ruins men or nations simply because she can.
Whereas someone with ethics and morals—
Allowed herself to look silly wearing a little girl’s wilting flower-crown in order to make her happy.
She finally made it to the well, and it was only there that her “power,” if such it could be called, made her life just a little easier. She never had to draw up the heavy buckets of water herself; there were always a half dozen volunteers to do so for her. And of course she would gently tease whoever volunteered until he had filled the buckets of all the women there. That was only fair. More of Kaari’s balancing act at work.
Of course she had to linger while the others got their buckets filled. That was only fair. If people actually wanted her company, who was she to be stingy with it, especially when she was being done a favor? She smiled at tall Ihanelma as he pulled up bucket after bucket of water, and wrinkled her nose at him playfully. He laughed and puffed out his chest.
“Do you think that trader, the one with the amber jewelry and colored ribbons, will come by pig-killing time?” asked
Suvi-Marja anxiously. “I so want red ribbons to go with the bands on my new overgown.”
Kaari did not smile although she wanted to. Suvi-Marja wanted more than red ribbons. She was hoping her sweetheart would buy her an amber necklace to match her honey-colored hair. She didn’t so much want the jewel for itself as she wanted it as a token that he was serious about courting her. A fellow didn’t go to the expense of a necklace unless he intended something more than just a summer frolic. A flower-crown was a sweet gesture, a ribbon betokened a bit of interest, but a necklace, now, that was an investment. Kaari made a mental note to be sure and drop enough hints that Essa would manage to understand what it was he needed to do. He was a fine fellow, big and strong and rugged of features, but a few sticks short of a roaring fire. His notion of courting her had consisted of standing at the back of a crowd and making calf-eyes at her. Thank heavens he was being more forward with Suvi-Marja. Well, after she had pushed him into it a bit. It hadn’t taken much, just enough to get him over his initial shyness.
“He has managed to come every year so far,” Kaari reminded her, as a breeze came up that made all their aprons flap like wings and brought with it the smell of drying hay. “You know he cannot resist Annukka’s sausage. He will be here in good time.” She smiled now. “I am going to weave the tablet-bands for my winter dress tonight, and I know that the room will be full of my clumsy brothers, who are very loud, will step on my yarn, and probably make me miscount at least three times. If you are going to weave too, I should like very much to join you.”
Suvi-Marja flushed with pleasure. “Oh, what a good notion!” And being good-hearted, she looked around the others at the well; most actually were older women who would be at their own hearths tonight, but Rikka and Ulla of their friends were looking wistfully at her. “Let us all get together tonight!”
“I have mittens to make,” Rikka said happily.
Ulla shrugged. “Mother has warped the loom and you know she never makes sure she has enough yarn when she starts something. I can always spin.”
“Done, then. After sunset?” Suvi-Marja smiled. And Kaari smiled too. This was a painless exercise of her talent for once. Suvi-Marja was always too shy to think of inviting the other girls over. She had been something of an awkward little girl, plain of face, her hair being her one great beauty, and she had not much improved as she grew into womanhood, although she could cook as if her hands were enchanted, and her weaving and knitting was flawless. It was very clear what her Runes had been—a double dose of Hearth, most likely. To have won Essa was, for her, a great triumph. Essa, bless his soul, would have been won over by a stone if it could cook and doted on him as much as Suvi-Marja did. His job as village woodcutter meant he would always have food on the table, and his skill with a carving knife meant that even in old age he would be able to make a living. So even if his thoughts tended to wander like a sheep without a shepherd, he was a good man, and would make a fine husband.
“We can talk about our sweethearts,” Rikka whispered, making them all giggle, and Suvi-Marja blush as red as the ribbons she wanted to buy.
“Oh but that is hardly fair!” protested Ulla with a grin. “Yours total more than all of ours put together!” And she was right, for Rikka was a great flirt, and had swiftly gathered up all those disappointed when Veikko had pledged his troth to Kaari. Rikka really was the village beauty, and if Kaari had not had the wyrd she did, no one would ever have noticed her when Rikka was about.
“Then we can tell ghost stories and roast nuts,” Suvi-Marja said firmly. “But I do not want to tell fortunes. I do not want to know what is to come for me.”
“Oh pish,” Rikka laughed. But for once, Ulla did not take her side; instead, the usually playful girl shook her head.
“Not tonight, for fortunes,” the tall, angular girl said, looking disquieted. “Even at the best of times, so my mother says, such things can bring unwanted attention. And now—“
Kaari looked at her sharply. “What do you mean, now?” she demanded.
Ulla shook her head again. “I will tell you tonight,” she said only. “You know that my father got a letter from his cousin yesterday. It might be that this is s misheard tale. But I would as soon not tell it in the open, where any—thing—can hear.”
And with that, she shouldered her buckets and headed briskly up the path leading to her father’s house, leaving the other three to stare at her retreating back. And by the looks on the faces of her friends, Kaari was not the only one to return to her house in a troubled state of mind.
—Reprinted from Snow Queen by Mercedes Lackey, by permission of Harlequin Books, Copyright © 2008 by Mercedes Lackey. All rights reserved. This excerpt, or any parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.