Midsummer Night

by Charlie N. Holmberg

“We have to stop it from spreading.” Saara heard her voice rising in pitch as her panic increased. She tried to sound calmer. “It’s moving quickly. It’s past your ankle already. How do we stop it? And what will happen if we can’t?” She was thinking aloud as much as asking him for an opinion.

  “If it continues, I’ll die.” Timo grimaced.

  She watched his lower calf expand, growing like bread dough. The angry streaks of black and purple wound upward with the swelling, leaving his skin black and purple. His foot looked more like a gnarled branch burned through.

  Horror erupted inside Saara, but something else filled her chest too: a glint of hope that she could claim the knife without guilt. That drop of hope was quickly followed by a flood of shame.

  The glimmer of hope was for her sister, and the shame was for wishing, even for a moment, that her new friend—this man with the face of a god and the heart of one too—might actually die.

  Timo’s pain had grown gradually at first, but it increased faster after that, mounting until he nearly vomited from the pain on the last few paces to the third boulder. Now as he leaned against the stone, his whole body felt clammy and shaky.

  “I don’t know how it happened,” he said between his teeth. His voice was barely more than a whisper. At least, it sounded like one to him, but he couldn’t be sure; pain was roaring through him, making it hard to clearly make out other sounds. “But it didn’t happen when we fell.” The more he thought back—the little he could think—the more certain he was that he hadn’t been injured then. Not beyond a slight scrape or two on his hands, anyway.

  He meant to explain more, that whatever had pricked or cut his skin wasn’t a nettle or an insect or a snake. He had no clear explanation for why his foot—now his lower leg—swelled ever larger, purple and black except for the sudden pain that felt like being pierced by magic. That was the best way he could describe it. He felt such agony that he could barely speak anyway. Pressing his back against the rock for support, he slowly lowered himself to the ground.

  Saara realized what he was doing and quickly grabbed his arm, helping to ease him onto the grass pushing through the soil from under the boulder.

  Timo couldn’t stay in a sitting position for long, though; weakness spread throughout his body, up his leg, into his trunk, extending through his arms and back down the other leg. Leaning to one side, he slid down with Saara’s help so he could lie on the ground. She stroked his hair back with a gentle touch that wiped away some of the sweat.

  The gesture was a comfort. What if he’d hurt himself on his own in the forest? Please stay close, he wanted to say, but he couldn’t. He could scarcely breathe.

  Saara took one of his hands between hers. Whatever coursed through his veins reacted to her touch. The thick darkness dimmed in his hand ever so slightly. With a worried brow, Saara shook her head. “If Ritva were here, she’d know what to do.”

  He must have made some kind of expression of confusion, because she added, “She’s our village healer.” Saara bit the corner of her lower lip; Timo could almost see the tracks she was making in her mind, puzzling out the situation.

  “Ritva never taught me much,” Saara said, more to herself than to Timo. “The most I know about sickness is from our last conversation about what caused Fia’s illness. Ritva explained a little—that she knew it wasn’t from an angry haltija, and Fia had no obvious wounds from Ajatar ...” She gasped, and she pointed to his foot. “Wait. This is the work of Ajatar. The black and purple are her mark.”

  Timo closed his eyes with a grimace, knowing in his gut that Saara spoke the truth. If he had to describe what his injury felt like, it would indeed be that evil had attacked him and was trying to take over his entire body. Turning his head to the side, he hoped Saara wouldn’t see a tear leaking out.

  Would there were a way to block out the world and the reality that he’d somehow stumbled onto a spot where the evil goddess had recently walked and likely left a trap. Once he’d stumbled upon her evil taint, it had spread throughout his body with excruciating pain. He wished the end would come soon. Let him die so he wouldn’t have to endure such torture any longer.

  Abruptly, Saara released his hand and jumped to her feet, suddenly scurrying around, looking around the carpet of the forest floor like a mad woman, grabbing one plant, looking at the back of the leaves of another, poking at a mushroom with a stick. He couldn’t watch her for long; his neck grew tired, and he let his head fall to the ground.

  The evil was spreading into his arm, and this time it made his muscles spasm and contort. He tried to call to Saara. He needed her to hold his hand again, ease the agony if for but a moment. Though he couldn’t speak, he must have made some kind of noise, because Saara turned to him suddenly.

  “I’m looking for herbs that might help, but Ritva didn’t teach me much, and I don’t remember most of what I saw her do.” She covered her mouth with one hand, and when she spoke next, her voice cracked. “I don’t know how to help you. I’m so sorry, Timo.”

  This wasn’t her fault, and even Ritva the healer couldn’t have helped him, he felt quite sure. He held out his hand, palm up, and Saara rushed back. She dropped to her knees and wrapped both hands around his, then tried to make contact with as much of his arm as she could. Her touch lessened the agony. Not by much but a little, making it not exactly bearable but less heinous.

  “You ... can’t ... fight ... Ajatar’s ... power,” he managed.

  “You’re right. Of course you’re right.” Saara’s voice held unshed tears behind it. “Only another god can fight her. And look at us: a boy and a girl from small villages. Pilvikoski is hardly a village. We’re no match.”

  He tried to stroke the side of her hand with his thumb—the only comfort he could try to give her—but even that proved too much.

  “Wait.” Saara lifted her face to the woods as if an idea had just called out to her. “Who’s to say we can’t ask one of the other gods to help?”

  He could barely make out her words as he drifted into unconsciousness and a blessed blackness without pain.

  Which god to pray to? Saara’s childhood lessons and bedtime stories all fled her mind, and the harder she tried to remember any of the old tales and songs about the creation of the world, life in the underworld, or anything from the ancient days, the blanker her mind went.

  Think, she ordered herself. Think.

  Yet she had to force out unwelcome thoughts: that Timo was fated to die, that she could do nothing to stop it, and that his death would be a blessing to Fia.

  No. Timo’s death would never be a blessing, but a tragedy. Saara would do everything in her small—oh, so small—power to prevent that very thing. She wouldn’t let Fia die either. She’d figure out how to help her sister after saving Timo. Even if succeeding at either one of those tasks bordered on the impossible.

  The thwack and swish of bushes moving one way and then bouncing back into place came from somewhere beyond the second boulder. Like someone walking through the brush. Someone who might help them? She nearly called to get the figure’s attention, though her mouth went dry at the thought that it might be Ajatar.

  When she saw the source of the noise, she choked on her words and gasped, but it wasn’t the purple and black of the evil goddess she saw. Instead, plainly visible even through the thick trees, a huge bear lumbered along. Saara had seen bears, but never one this large and never so close—at least, not alive. Bears were sacred, yes, but also huge and powerful and capable of snapping a person in half with a single bite. There would be no outrunning a bear, no matter how fast you ran. Timo couldn’t even crawl.

  Trying not to move a muscle or make any sound at all, she whispered, “Bear.”

  Timo looked to be unconscious, but his good leg had been shifting restlessly. At her voice, it stopped at once, and his eyes opened wide with worry. She squeezed his hand, regretting to have awakened him to this. She kept an eye on the bear as it moved through the wood. For a moment, the animal seemed to be he
ading toward them. Saara’s grip tightened, and she held her breath.

  The bear sat back on its haunches, then stood at its full height, front paws high. One paw dripped blood, and when she looked closer, Saara spotted the cause: an animal trap had closed on it. The creature’s roars no longer sounded threatening but like a bellow of pain. It seemed to be looking right at Saara when it groaned again, so deep it made the earth rumble beneath her.

  The trap opened, seemingly of its own accord, and dropped to the ground. The bear lowered to all fours and continued walking, with what she recognized as a limp. The bear’s path gradually curved away from them, and after a minute or two—which felt like a lifetime or two—she couldn’t see it anymore.

  “It’s gone,” she said.

  She and Timo both breathed out shakily, and his body returned to uneasy movements that surely helped the pain, at least a little.

  Saara gazed through the trees where the bear had disappeared. Could seeing it now have been a coincidence? No, a bear of that size appearing out of nowhere, near a village? That seemed unlikely at best.

  Maybe a god was aware of them and had sent the bear as a sign. The trap on its paw returned to Saara’s mind. She clung to the image, knowing that it was significant—especially that the trap had simply fallen off the bear.

  At last, the answer came to her: Mielikki, goddess of the woods. She was known for helping hunters find prey as well as for healing animals that had been injured just like the bear’s paw. More, Mielikki had created the bear, giving the animal claws and teeth for hunting and protection. She’d also been known, or so the stories said, to help humans find healing herbs, if only they asked her. Mielikki had rescued the bear. She’d heard the bear’s plea. Perhaps she would hear another.

  “Timo, I’m going to try something.”

  Ashen, he gave no response, not even a flutter of an eyelid, to indicate that he’d heard her. She could barely make out a rise and fall of breath. She didn’t have much time.

  Face lifted to the sky, Saara clasped her hands and prayed. “I pray to Mielikki, goddess of wisdom and the woods. I seek guidance in herbs and healing. My friend has been cursed with the taint of Ajatar. I fear for his life. Please bestow upon me a small portion of your wisdom so that I may save him.”

  Tears slipped down her cheeks and dripped off her chin. Was she praying correctly? She had no idea.

  “Oh, wise and good Mielikki, help me find the herbs to heal Timo. Teach me how to prepare them.” Not knowing how to properly end a prayer, she finished with a simple, “Please help me.”

  Now what, wait? What if she had prayed incorrectly and became cursed too? She and Timo would both die here on the forest floor, and no one would know what became of them.

  Another swishing sound caught her ear, similar to the one that had alerted her to the bear’s presence. Careful to move nothing but her head, Saara looked to see the source of the noise. Another bear? This time one ready to attack?

  A gleam of sunlight caught something silver, then something gold, both so bright that Saara had to blink to clear her vision. When she looked again, she could scarcely believe her eyes.

  Before them stood a woman with fiery red hair, wearing a long gown of deep green. A ring of silver keys hung at her waist from a shining golden belt.

  Mielikki had heard. Mielikki had come.

  A golden-colored fog swirled around the goddess’s feet, slowly dissipating as she stood before Saara and Timo. The woman’s face was raised, and she looked about the forest, as if not seeing them at all. She wore a deep-green gown and a coronet of gold strands braided into her hair with pine cones and berries. Gleaming red hair spilled down her shoulders, contrasting with the emerald green of her gown.

  Struck mute from awe and fear, Saara could hardly remember her own name, let alone her sister as the reason for her journey.

  Mielikki’s head slowly came to center. Her face lowered until she looked upon the two travelers and pierced them with her gaze. Saara sucked in a breath, and Timo, brought back to consciousness from fear, grabbed her hand. They clung to each other, waiting for ... the goddess to speak? To punish them?

  Was she a good deity after all, or were the stories wrong?

  The prayers of hunters gave her the reputation of a goodly deity. What if her support of hunters meant that Mielikki was bloodthirsty, that she sought to aid those who committed to violence? That she preferred those who killed and destroyed? That she wasn’t a kind goddess who healed and oversaw safe travel within her wooded home?

  When Saara began praying, she’d hoped for some kind of communication from Mielikki—a hare leading the way to the proper plants with which to make a poultice to draw out the poison, perhaps. Certainly not a visit by the goddess herself.

  She stood before them in majesty, power radiating from her so strongly that Saara could barely stand to remain seated. She couldn’t manage more than the tiniest glance at her face before needing to look away.

  Was Mielikki angry? Saara couldn’t tell; she could only feel the magic flowing through the woman before them. What if she felt that they’d trespassed? What if she saw them as thieves for trying to take the spectrolite knife?

  She was taller than any woman Saara had ever seen. She appeared to be hovering above the ground, high enough for a dog to fit under her emerald slippers, which had the same gold braid and berries as her coronet.

  Saara couldn’t think past her fear of Mielikki. Silence stretched before them and grew heavier. Saara nudged Timo, hoping he was yet conscious and would say something. He made no sound, not even a moan of pain. He was as mesmerized and terrified as she was.

  The goddess tilted her head, sending a dusting of gold and silver to the ground from her coronet. “Why have you summoned me?”

  Saara struggled to think, struggled even harder to speak. She’d vocalized their needs and reasons for praying; should she repeat them? Would Mielikki think that impudent? On the other hand, if she didn’t repeat her needs, would that be considered rude?

  A small grunt of pain escaped Timo’s clenched teeth—enough to break Saara’s paralysis. With a shaky hand, she pointed at Timo’s leg. “My friend is wounded. I lack the skills of a healer, but you, oh wise hostess of the wood, know how to make him well. I beg you to guide me, help me know the herbs to use so he may live.” Saara lowered her head subserviently, hoping the goddess would recognize the respect she tried to convey, would sense her utter helplessness.

  “Hmm.” It was a thoughtful sound coming from the goddess, one Saara couldn’t interpret. Was she curious? Annoyed?

  Despite herself, Saara lifted her face very slowly, enough to peer at the goddess the tiniest bit. Mielikki had her head cocked to the side, and she seemed to be analyzing Timo’s foot, which was even bigger and blacker than before.

  He tried to speak. “Is—is this—” Timo gritted his teeth, then managed, “the work of Ajatar?”

  “Yes,” Mielikki said simply. She clasped her hands behind her and began to walk around them, gliding on air and leaving a trail of gold and silver dust in her wake, which drew a circle. “Why should I help?”

  “Why?” The word popped out of Saara’s mouth, and she immediately wanted to call it back. She hadn’t meant any offense; Mielikki’s question had merely taken her off guard. “Wise Mielikki, I apologize. I mean no disrespect. Please forgive me. My friend will die. That is why you should help.”

  The goddess sniffed and kept walking around them. “That is what you wish, certainly. But what is that to me? Why should I decide to help you?”

  Preventing the death of an innocent man apparently wasn’t reason enough to intervene. Mielikki needed to benefit in some way. What could two young travelers possibly offer a goddess?

  Timo took a shaky breath and then another before saying, “The woods are your home, but my wound is proof that some of the beautiful paths of your kingdom have been tainted by Ajatar.”

  At his statement, Mielikki pulled back slightly—not precisely a flinch, b
ut her expression was one of distaste, and she didn’t seem to be fully aware of how plainly her thoughts played out on her face.

  Good thinking, Saara thought. He’d found a way to sway Mielikki—convince her to remove Ajatar’s stain from her domain. To do so, she’d need to help Timo. The goddess folded her arms and eyed the travelers, first him, then her, and then dropped her eyes to his disfigured limb. With a sniff of disdain, she lifted her head and looked about as if searching for something—other traces of Ajatar.

  After scanning the landscape, she faced them again suddenly, making her skirts ripple with the movement and sending more gold and silver flecks into the air. “Where are you journeying from and to?” She gestured to their sacks. “You don’t appear to be hunters.”

  Saara glanced at Timo to see if he planned to answer again, but the pain must have intensified again, because he’d gone whiter than fresh snow and seemed ready to faint away once more. “We are not traveling together,” she said, “but we are both looking for fairy treasure. For important purposes. Noble purposes.”

  “Hmm.” The goddess sounded skeptical.

  “I have nothing to hide,” Saara said, head bowed. “I speak the truth. Timo and I met just today, and we both seek fairy treasure.” Perhaps volunteering information and revealing so much was foolish, but Saara daren’t toy with a goddess. Deceit and hiding facts were as liable to make Mielikki turn her ire on them than not.

  “You seek fairy treasure.” Mielikki stretched out an arm and pointed toward the swamp. “Looking for the knife Voimakas, I presume?”

  “Y-yes.” Saara said, momentarily surprised.

  Of course Mielikki would know of any buried treasures. Did she rule over the swamps, too? Did pirus answer to her? Saara couldn’t remember. If only she’d paid more attention to the town’s rune-teller—and realized that his stories were more history than fable.

  Another thought dawned on Saara, and she summoned her sisu to be brave enough to propose it. “Oh wise Mielikki,” she began, “Timo and I each have great need for treasure, but only one is buried within this swamp.”