“Chieftain, big chieftain-man,” the man tried. It seemed that chieftain, as a word, was familiar to him.
Vierra laughed wholeheartedly, a deed she hadn’t done for a long time. “The chieftain is not a man. She is a woman. Wouldn’t that be odd, a man as a leader? Now, let us look at the wound and get you some more firewood.”
While working on the wound, Vierra tried to figure out why she didn’t grieve the old chieftain’s death. She didn’t hate her foster mother, not really. She had taken Vierra under her wing and done her duty. She had, however, given all her strength and energy to Aure, whom she wanted to be the tribe’s next chieftain. After passing to adulthood, Vierra hadn’t wanted to compete for the attention. The hurried chores disrupted her thoughts and forced her to focus on the job at hand.
Vaaja’s injury had started to heal well, the skin around it was only slightly red. Vierra washed the plant wrapping away and replaced it with a new one. She chopped more firewood from the dead tree she had found the day before, and with a wave to Vaaja she hurried back to join the ceremony with the rest of the tribe.
In the insipid light of the dawn, the Seita stone glowed reddish-brown, as if foreshadowing the scene that would soon follow. The stone was human-shaped and human-sized. It leaned toward the east, as if bowing to the rising sun. For some reason, no trees grew around it; there was just a circle-shaped area covered with an even carpet of moss. The tribe members silently arrived one after another from the forest. First came Aure with her two men carrying her mother on an ornate carriage. Behind them walked Eera. The night’s effort had exhausted her, and as she walked, she leaned on her red-haired apprentice Rika.
Behind them came the rest of the tribe with their children. Vierra was among the last. She had made it back from her early trip in the morning, but only after a brisk run through the forest. Every tribe member had firewood with them. Small children just had one branch, but men and women carried hefty armfuls. They approached the Seita stone and placed the wood on the ground, piece by piece. An even pile of wood formed near the stone, and the chieftain was placed on top of it, on her bunk. She was clothed in her best deerskin, and on her arms and face were painted beautiful, spiral-shaped patterns. Graceful was the leader in her dying dress, even though she had been old and sick. The torch that Rika had in her other hand was given to Aure, and she lit it using her tinderbox. Made of wood, skin greased in deer fat, and dry grass, the torch lit easily and burned with a large flame, fluttering in the wind. Eera sang with a clear voice as Aure lit the pyre from different spots with the torch:
Fade away in Kainu heartland
Pretty is the day to die
Beautiful to burn to ashes
Windy air with whom to fly
Start the fires down below
Keep your torches lighted
Guide your daughters, guide your sisters
Keep us all united
Until the last day will arrive
Setting of the final sun
All of Kainu then are with you
All of Kainu’s work is done
The dry wood started to burn, and the pyre flamed up high, driven by the strong northern wind. The old features of the chieftain melted in the fire, and a strong stench of burning flesh was released in the air.
“The smell of the netherworld,” Eera confirmed.
Nobody cried. The chieftain had been a tenacious woman when alive, and in the celebration of death she had to be honored the same way. If Rika, an emotional girl, would have been on the pyre instead of the chieftain, everyone would be crying and sobbing, as was her nature. Slowly the wood burned away, and the leader in the middle diminished until only charred remains were left. Eera smelled the flames and grunted approvingly. The stinging smell of death had evened out, now was the time for burial.
The men of the tribe dug a shallow hole through the moss just beside the Seita stone. When finished, they lowered the charred remains of the chieftain into the hole. Atop her they placed two iron-tipped spears, crossed, and a bear’s skull: the marks of a chieftain. They filled the hole until it was even again and stomped it well.
“This is the chieftain’s stone now. Here we can come for luck and advice, all of us who helped to ease her journey.” Eera’s face showed relief--one great deed done, the other still ahead.
“The leader has fallen, long live the tribe. A new chieftain on top of the old one!” Eera yelled, so loud that the meadow blared. “Aure the chieftain’s daughter, she is strong. Two husbands. Of her the new leader!” Eera presented her candidate in the traditional way, yelling energetically.
“Vierra is better, the one called Fargoer! Best hunter, best tracker, best woman with a bow.” Rika introduced the rival. Vierra looked at her friend. I wish I had her faith, she thought.
Silence fell over the field. Eera continued.
“Because there are no other candidates, the rocks shall decide. Those who are for Aure, put a white stone in the jar. Those for Vierra, a dark one.” One of the tribe members had carried with her a gathering jar. It was a clay jar of fine craftsmanship with a narrow mouth. During gatherings, all adults always had with them two stones, a white one and a dark one. Now everyone, when his or her turn came, dropped one stone in the jar, either a dark or a white one depending on which candidate was more to his or her liking. When everyone had dropped their stones, Eera took the jar and held it high over her head. She poured the rocks out near the Seita stone, unto the even, mossy surface. Just a few dark stones fell down among the white ones. There were many rocks on the ground. In Eera’s youth, only women could carry gathering rocks, even though men and children could participate by attending the gathering. These days, men were considered equals and could vote, and even male witches had been seen in the winter camps, singing songs. However, the role of the chieftain was still always held by a woman.
“The rocks have spoken, Aure is the new leader of our tribe.” From some stash in her garb, Eera dug out a necklace made of bear claws. She had taken it from the old chieftain’s neck during her session with the dead. Slowly she strung it around Aure’s neck. It would not be taken away as long as Aure ruled. The tribe, as one, let out a primal cheer, as much for the luck of the new chieftain as to drive away evil spirits. Aure’s sad and tired face turned stern as she started. Now was the moment for which she had been so long prepared.
Vierra looked at her cousin, who was enjoying that brief moment in time. She had often wondered what life would be like after Aure became the chieftain. Now, in that instant, she saw Aure in front of her as the same Aure as always. The chieftain’s sash wouldn’t change anything between them.
“Today we get ready for the deer hunt that is coming soon. We will gather our supplies and send the scouts--”
Aure’s first speech as the leader was cut short by a murmur that started in the crowd. “A Turyan, on holy ground! Turyan, go away!” was echoing from the people’s mouths. And it was true, a black-haired Turyan man stepped into the middle of the meadow. His shoulder was in a thick bandage, and his dark, stinging eyes searched until they found Vierra in the crowd.
“You have invaded sacred ground, Turyan. You would not stand there, lest I dishonored the peace of the gathering. Go away while you still can.” Aure’s challenge was strong in the air: fresh power from the new leader.
“Honored chieftain. I approach your gathering with neither wily nor evil thoughts. I have come for justice. Is that not the purpose of this thing?” The Turyan spoke the tribe’s language with a heavy accent, but his words were clear.
“He is right, the old laws say that anyone can come to the gathering to give demands, if he subjects them to the tribe’s will. The gathering-peace concerns others than the Kainu, if they respect it by behaving right,” said Eera. Aure nodded to confirm the words of her elder. The expression on her face revealed a mind filled with uncertainty.
“Fine, my name is Tuura, and my demand is for that woman.” The Turyan pointed his finger at Vierra. “Yesterday, she interfere
d with a matter that does not concern her: the punishment of a thieving slave. She also wounded me with an arrow.” The man revealed his shoulder beneath the bandage. It had an ugly, ragged wound. An ordinary man wouldn’t be standing with a wound like that, but this one did not seem to mind or care.
“Do you deny this, Vierra? Is he a liar, or did this happen?” asked Eera. Everyone’s eyes turned to Vierra, who looked uneasy. At last she spoke.
“It happened like he said. He tried to kill the man, and I stopped him. I could have shot into the heart instead of the shoulder.” There were sighs from the tribe in the air and then a deep silence. Even the children were quiet, sensing the tension.
“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.
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