The knife, whose name meant powerful in the old tongue, was made of the single largest piece of spectrolite ever found. It had been fashioned into a blade by an unknown wizard from centuries before. The resulting artifact was far more than a knife for daily use in cutting cords or gutting fish. No, in a wizard’s hands, Voimakas could magnify magical powers by a hundred.
In short, it was precisely the kind of treasure that would convince a master to train a grown man like Timo.
Gods willing, he would have the knife tonight. He paused in his step and closed his eyes, sending pleas to any of the gods he could think of who might be of help, which meant three goddesses: Mielikki of the forest, Ilmatar of the air, Luonnotar of spirits and nature.
He opened his eyes and carried on. He’d already found the spire boulder, and several minutes ago, he’d thought he’d spotted what he felt sure was the second. If he could confirm that one and find the third, he’d have located the right place. Crouched in a hiding place, he’d wait, never taking his eyes off the swamp inside the triangle of stones, waiting. He’d know the time was close when he heard the people of Karhunen cheering the approach of midnight in the distance.
That was the moment when a flash of light would appear from a piru right above the spot where the treasure was located. He’d heard piru flashes described in many colors—green, blue, yellow—the length varying from so short that a single blink would mean missing it entirely to an ethereal, beautiful sign pulsing for several magnificent seconds.
He paused on the faint forest path, which once might have been commonly traversed but was now barely visible beneath the undergrowth of ferns, nettles, and moss.
He walked a hundred paces from the first boulder. The second should be nearby, but he couldn’t see it. He turned in a slow circle, studying everything he could see, searching for a glimpse of gray and perhaps the bright-green lichen of another boulder. Nothing. Maybe he’d gone the wrong direction from the first boulder. He didn’t think so, but perhaps he should return to the first boulder and head in a different direction.
After making a slow rotation in search of the boulder, he headed back toward the first one. After a hundred paces, though, something didn’t feel right. His gut told him to stop and look about again, so he did. A bird flew above his head and whistled, drawing his attention. It seemed to swoosh and float until it alighted on ... a boulder. The second boulder; he was sure of it.
With excitement, he ran to it. When he reached it, the bird whistled again and flew away. Timo walked around the stone, studying it to be sure it was the right one. Just as the stories said, from the side, it had the profile of a man who looked toward the third and final boulder. This was definitely the right place. He lined himself up with the stony profile, seeking the third and final stone, his stomach feeling as if something were bouncing around inside it, he was so giddy.
I’m so close. Soon, he’d have the knife Voimakas in his hands. He’d be able to pay the best living magician to teach him. And in a few years, he’d be a master singer of magic himself. He smiled so wide it stretched his cheeks.
He wanted to find the third boulder right away, but he could feel his mind and body growing weak with hunger. I must keep my mind sharp. He needed to eat. Midsummer was too early in the season for plump, red lingonberries and orange cloudberries, his favorites, but the forest could provide plenty else to eat.
If he didn’t find any mushrooms off the path, he’d likely eat some cheese and rye bread from his bag, though he was loath to do so. He wanted those to last as long as possible. Right now, he didn’t dare leave the path or the boulders in search of a lake to fish in. Not when he was this close. He wouldn’t risk getting lost and not returning in time.
To his right, the path curved and then went up a steep incline. He could climb the hill in search of food and then go no farther. He went that direction, but as Timo was about to go up the hill, a glint of red caught his attention from the corner of his eye. Wild strawberries or red currants? Both of them could ripen this early. His stomach gurgled as he searched for the source of the color, trying to see through the thick green forest floor of ferns and nettles.
There. Next to a huge felled pine, a cluster of berries peeked out. Before he could act on the discovery, however, he heard a yelp and several thumps. No sooner had he glanced up the hill beside him at the source of the noises than a figure, slipping and tumbling down the path, knocked him off his feet.
He yelped too, and the two of them landed in a heap at the bottom of the hill.
“Oh! I’m sorry!” Saara scrambled off the young man she’d knocked to the ground. Still on her knees, she looked him over, trying to ascertain whether he was hurt. She reached out but then pulled back, unsure whether to touch him.
He groaned. That meant he was alive, at least. He rolled over, his face a mask more of confusion than pain, which she took as a good sign. He sat up, shaking his head as if to clear his vision. That’s when she got her first good look at him and realized that she’d knocked over a young man slightly her elder—and arguably the handsomest she’d ever laid eyes on.
“S-sorry,” she said again, stammering as her face heated with embarrassment. Growing up in Pilvikoski, she’d only ever been around a few hundred people, and even fewer young men. She most certainly did not know how to talk to them, let alone one who looked like someone from one of the legends—handsome and broad-shouldered. Maybe as strong as the wizard Väinö, but young. “Are you injured?”
“No, I’m quite all right,” the boy said, but the cautious way he got to his knees and then stood slowly belied his sunny tone.
“Are you sure?”
Though he seemed to be purposely not putting weight on his right foot, he waved away her concern. “I’ll be fine. Got a few scratches is all. My fault for stopping in the middle of the path.”
“Oh, yes. This was your fault.” Saara managed a slight smile. “As we can both see, this trail is bustling with travelers. Mighty dangerous to stop in the middle of the forest the way you did.”
He chuckled, conceding her point, but he went along with the joke. “I should have remembered. It’s the first rule of travel: never stop, or you might get bowled over by a pretty young woman.”
Saara’s blush spread to the roots of her hair. She lowered her face, unsure what to say next, and found a big scrape along the toe of her boot and dirt all over her skirt.
“What about you?” he asked. “Are you hurt after tumbling down the hill?” All humor had vanished from his tone, replaced by genuine concern.
“A few scratches is all,” she said, echoing him, then shrugging one shoulder. Halfway down the steep hill, she’d tripped on an exposed tree root, then found herself falling down, down, until she collided with him at the bottom. She had a feeling that come morning, she’d be covered in bruises, but that wasn’t worth noting. She didn’t seem to have any significant injuries.
“That scrape looks painful,” he said, gesturing toward her left eyebrow.
Her hand came up to feel it, and her fingers came away with a few drops of blood. Not a big cut, then. Good thing, because she hadn’t time to waste if she was to help Fia. Yet as soon as the thought crossed her mind, she could imagine Ritva’s chastisement:
If you don’t help yourself, you won’t be able to help your sister.
“Doesn’t hurt,” she said, rubbing the drops of blood away between her fingers. It didn’t hurt much anyway. “I’m sorry again. The top of the hill overlooked so many pretty lakes. I’d never seen so many at once. Guess I wasn’t paying attention to where I was stepping, and I tripped.”
“Still my fault,” he said, the humor back in his voice. “I never should have stopped, even if I spotted currants nearby.”
“You did?” Her empty stomach ached for food, and Ritva’s admonition to care for herself returned. Food in the woods meant it cost nothing. She stepped closer to him and looked into the trees on one side of the path. “Where?” She scanned the greenery, which was so th
ick that a bear could have been hiding there and she wouldn’t have noticed it.
He turned and pointed. “Other side. There. By the felled tree.”
“Oh, I’d love some currants.”
He eyed her and tilted his head. “You sound as if you haven’t eaten in three days.”
“Just one.” She meant it to sound light and humorous, but his eyebrows drew together. Either her tone was wrong or he’d guessed the truth—that she was running low on food and hadn’t eaten in nearly two full days.
He squatted down by his sack, all soreness gone now. “I’m Timo, by the way,” he said, digging through his supplies. He held out a piece of rye bread cut from a round loaf with a hole through the middle, the same kind that she and Fia strung onto a pole and hung in the cabin. Her middle made another gurgling sound, and she covered it with one hand as she reached for the bread with the other.
“Thank you. I’m Saara.” She bit into the bread, which was dry and hard to chew, but at the moment, it tasted like a royal feast.
“Wait here and eat while I gather some of those currants,” Timo said. “I won’t be long.”
She didn’t have to be asked twice; her entire body ached from exhaustion and from the tumble down the hill. Now that she was eating, she didn’t know if she’d have the strength to stop even if an angry wolf appeared.
As she chewed, she watched Timo’s progress. He stepped over vegetation and rotting logs, picking his way through the brush. He no longer seemed to favor one foot, which was a relief. But then he flinched and caught his balance by grasping a branch. A few steps more, and he had to lean against a birch trunk.
His right foot was hurt, and it seemed to get worse with every step.
By the time he returned, carrying a sack filled with berries, she’d eaten enough bread to think clearly and gain a little strength. Her concern for him now outweighed her hunger.
“They’re perfect,” he said, popping a few currants into his mouth and chewing them blissfully. He put no weight on his right foot at all, relying on a nearby pine trunk to keep his balance as he lowered himself to the ground. When he settled into a spot, Saara realized his right foot was at an unnatural angle. Before she could react, he held out the sack of currants. “Here. Eat as many as you like.”
She peered inside at the ruby-colored beads. Mouth watering, she reached in and took out a palmful. “Thank you,” she said, trying to decide what to do about his foot. She didn’t know Timo—she’d barely learned his name—but he was hurt, and it was her fault. She hadn’t intended any harm. But an accident didn’t make his twisted foot any less injured.
Helping him would be the right thing to do. What if helping him means not finding treasure and a shaman for Fia before it’s too late? Death was already breathing too closely to Fia. Any delay, even for a good cause, might cost her life.
Saara put a few berries into her mouth and bit into them, but instead of bursting in her mouth with delicious tartness, they tasted bitter.
She could simply continue on her way for her sister’s sake. If she explained the purpose of her journey, Timo would understand her need to go. He wouldn’t expect her to stay behind to help him.
But I ought to.
If she left him here in the forest, would he be able to get to someplace safe on his own? She’d never know. Just thinking of abandoning him to wolves, badgers, bears, or thieves made her shudder. If she left, guilt would eat at her until she lost her itse or luonto.
“Saara?” His voice sounded distant as he called her back to the moment. “Are you sure you’re well?”
Instead of answering his question, she posed one of her own: “Where are you traveling?”
“Why do you think I’m traveling? Maybe I live nearby.”
She indicated his sack. “A stroll near home doesn’t usually require a sack full of supplies.”
“Clever observation,” Timo said. “You’re right. I’m not close to home.” He bit his upper lip in thought, and she did the same to keep herself from prodding, hoping he’d tell her more on his own.
She needed to know why he was here in the forest. Without that information, how could she decide whether to leave him? What if he also had a sick little sister?
His next words fit her guess almost exactly. “I am on a journey in search of something of utmost importance to me.”
“As am I,” Saara said, looking amazed. She eagerly dug into the sack of berries and withdrew a few, but before eating any she asked, “What are you looking for?”
Timo glanced at the bag, her palm holding the berries, and then her face, questioning. His eyes narrowed slightly. “What are you searching for?” he countered.
Saara tossed back the berries and chewed them with a smile. “I asked first.”
How much to tell? Did she know much about how singing and magic worked? Had she ever encountered a wizard before—someone more powerful than a simple healer? Many people hadn’t, especially if they’d stayed in their own villages and farms all their lives. He supposed he was lucky in that respect; he’d grown up near the wizard, and his influence had ignited Timo’s own yearning to learn and master the same skills.
She might not appreciate why he needed to fund his training now, why the urgency. She might think his seeking an apprenticeship foolish. Not all people believed in the magical arts, though such people were generally those who hadn’t come in contact with it and therefore assumed the stories were nothing more than that—fables and myths without very real truths.
Timo reached over to a clump of grasses and picked a few stalks, which he then smoothed and worried between his fingers, weaving the long green strands between to give himself something to do besides sit here next to Saara and talk.
“I’ll answer,” he said at last. “But I it may take some explaining, so I have a question for you first.”
“Uh-uh. I asked you—”
He shook his head. “I promise I’ll tell you my story.”
“Very well,” Saara said. She folded her hands on her lap. “What is your burning question?”
“Did you grow up with a village wizard?”
“That’s your burning question?”
“I never called it that. Just tell me: did you grow up with a village wizard?”
Her brows rose; she clearly didn’t know why he’d asked. “Not in Pilvikoski, no, but it’s one of three nearby villages who once shared a singer among them. When I was just two years old, he left, so I never knew him, but I know plenty about what he did for the townsfolk—and about things he tried to do but failed at.” A sadness crossed her face like a shadow, and her gaze dropped to her hands in her lap. “I understand he tried to save my father’s life, and when he failed, he left. Some claim he went to seek his fortune in a more populous area, but others say he left in shame because he’d boasted about powers he clearly did not possess.”
“I am so sorry,” Timo said, sensing her sadness and her loss. “Did you grow up with your mother, then?”
She nodded, but a tear fell down one cheek—which she quickly wiped away, as if hoping he mightn’t see it. “My mother and my little sister. Ever since Mother passed, I’ve wondered whether a skilled singer could have healed her fever and saved her.”
The more she spoke, the sadder the feeling between them grew. Timo could feel her grief like a cloak. He’d gotten the answer to his question, and he sensed that she would, in fact, understand the urgency of his quest. Yet he felt compelled to ask one more question, though he felt as if he’d regret it even as the words came out of his mouth. “And your sister?”
Saara, still not looking at him, squeezed her eyes closed, hard, sending more tears down her cheeks. He quickly reversed course. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked.” He’d wondered if her sister was traveling with her, though he hadn’t seen any evidence of a companion. Those tears had to mean that Saara was alone in the world.
He took a deep breath as he braced himself to vocalize the words he’d thought a million times but never s
aid to another soul so bluntly. “I’m seeking fairy treasure to pay for an apprenticeship with a master wizard.”
That caught Saara’s attention, and her face lifted to his. “You’re a singer? Do you know healing spells?”
“I don’t. Not yet anyway.”
“Oh.” Saara’s shoulders slumped slightly.
“I don’t know that I can claim the title of singer in any real sense,” Timo admitted. “I’m self-taught, as much as I can be, but I lack any formal training.”
Saara’s head tilted to one side as she seemed to size him up. “Aren’t you a little old to begin training? Unless you’re extraordinarily tall for a sixteen-year-old. Then again, I did know a boy of twelve who was taller than anyone in the village, and anyone traveling through Pilvikoski assumed he was at least ten years older than he really was, so—”
“I’m twenty-four,” Timo interjected. “So yes, rather old to begin training.”
“Ooooh.” Saara held out the single word as if she truly did understand that soon the door of opportunity would close—might have already—locking him out of the world of singing and magic forever.
Seeing her comprehend his situation, he shifted his position and went on, feeling more comfortable talking to her. “At first I tried to save up enough money, but I come from a small family farm, and—”
“Not enough money there,” Saara filled in. “Not if you saved your whole life.”
“Exactly.” Timo was excited to see that she understood. “The last three years, I’ve searched for evidence of fairy treasure, always to no avail. This year will be different.”
“How can you be so sure?” she asked, eyes looking interested rather than sad now.
“I’ve tracked down the source of a story I’ve heard told across many villages. There’s a specific spot they all refer to, and I’ve nearly located it. Tonight, when the Midsummer celebrations are underway, I’ll be waiting to see the piru flash—”
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