By the Dark of the New Moon
Yrsa turned red-rimmed eyes to her father, “It said it’s coming for her by the dark of the new moon.”
Otso leaned back in his chair and rubbed thick fingers down his gray beard as he frowned at the game board. Sáhkku was a traditional game of the Sámi people of Finland, and he learned to play from his father on those long, winter nights when the reindeer herds were still far off, grazing on the high plateaus until the spring migration. However, after sixty years of playing, Otso admitted that he was still not very good at the game.
Sitting on the porch across from him his oldest friend, Henddo, studied the board with an ill-concealed smirk. Where Otso was large, burly, and indefatigably serious, Henddo was a small, wiry man with an ever-present smile. Osto watched as Henddo’s eyes scanned the wooden playing pieces; cone-shaped wedges represented the male soldiers, and hook-shaped wedges fashioned after the traditional Sámi laddjogapir hats represented the female soldiers. Henddo had carved the pieces himself and took particular pride in the king piece, which he had whittled to depict a seated bear with remarkable detail.
Otso rolled his eyes and waved at the board, groaning at his paucity of remaining light-colored pieces confronting Henddo’s dark-painted ones. “Just roll the dice, Henddo, and put me out of my misery!”
Henddo blew a strand of long white hair out of his face and gave his friend a mischievous grin as he stretched out his fingers and rolled the dice. The elongated four-sided stick dice rolled in the shallow wooden bowl and came to rest with their ‘X’ symbol face up.
Henddo gave a little cry of victory that turned into a hacking cough as he moved the carved wooden bear to where Otso’s last three pieces resided and swept them up in his hand.
“The problem with your strategy, Otso, is you never try to recruit the king,” Henddo held the wooden bear up. “You always go at it alone; the king can help you. Trust the bear; I carved the king piece as a bear because I know you’re too stubborn to even look to a pretend person for help.”
Otso waved dismissively and leaned back in his chair, letting the spring sun warm his cheeks. Henddo appeared ready to say more, but a fresh wave of hacking coughs wracked his body, and he brought a white handkerchief to his mouth. When his coughing subsided, he tried to slip the cloth quickly into his pocket, but not before Otso saw the specks of blood that flecked the white fabric.
“How are you feeling, Henddo ?” Otso could not hide the concern in his voice.
“I’m fine. It’s a beautiful spring day. The reindeer herd is larger this year than last,” Henddo winked at his old friend. “And I beat you at Sáhkku yet again.”
“Stay for dinner and stay the night; we can play more Sáhkku after we eat,” Otso rubbed his belly.
“I can’t. Kirsi is bringing me over some stew this evening,” Henddo shrugged as he placed the game pieces back in their wooden box.
“Blah,” Otso threw up his hand, “Your sister is a horrible cook. Are you going to pass up one of Leka’s meals for an empty house and some old stew Kirsi is trying to clean out of her fridge?”
“Otso,” Henddo’s voice became soft, and his eyes took on a deep sadness that broke Otso’s heart. “I know you see my home as empty, but I still feel Kaarina and Nihkul in the house. Nihkul’s laughter echoes in the corners of my mind when I’m home, and at night, I can still feel Kaarina in bed next to me.”
Otso nodded and smiled sadly at Henddo in understanding. He lost his beloved Kaarina to influenza three years ago, and a hint of sadness hung about Henddo and dimmed his friend’s upbeat personality. Otso had often offered to have Leka’s cousin drive Henddo to the doctor in Kevitsa to check his cough, but he always refused.
The mention of Nihkul caused Otso to fight back a wave of grief gripping his heart. Henddo’s son Nihkul grew up with Otso’s daughter Yrsa. As children, they were inseparable, playing together in the woods, swimming in the lake in the summer, and tending the reindeer herds. To no one’s surprise, the two married and a year later had a daughter, Riina.
Then ten years ago, as Nihkul was coming home on the night of Riina’s fourth birthday, he fell through the ice on Lake Inari and drowned. Otso and Henddon thought the villagers must be mistaken; Nihkul was too smart to be on the ice alone at night. They were not mistaken.
“I understand, my friend,” Otso patted Henddo on the knee. “Maybe another time.”
“Yes, another time.” Henddo smiled, and then his face broadened into a wide grin as Leka stepped out onto the porch.
“Hello, wife,” Otso’s bearded face beamed with delight.
Leka was wiping dry a mug with an embroidered dishcloth with a distracted look as she looked down the dirt road that led to their home. Her dark eyes squinted to see better, and the two men turned to see what drew her attention. A small, gray sedan slowly wound up the dirt road, carefully navigating bumps and holes.
“Were you expecting guests for dinner tonight?” Leka looked from the car to Otso.
“No, I was not,” Otso stood and folded his arms across his chest as the car stopped in front of the house. His eyes peered at the window, trying to discern the driver. He could make out two heads, one in front and one in the back; women by the shadowy outlines of their long hair.
The driver’s side door opened, and a young woman with dark eyes and dyed blonde hair stepped out with a hesitant look. Her hair was pulled back into a long ponytail, making her roots look like a dark valley between two pale yellow fields.
“Yrsa,” Leka breathed the word as a smile lit her face.
Otso blew a breath and scowled disapprovingly at the sight of his daughter. However, his features softened as the vehicle’s rear door swung open, and a teenage girl leaped out and ran toward the porch.
“Mummo Leka!” the young girl called out. “Vaari Otso! Vaari Henddo!”
“At least our granddaughter still speaks Sámi,” Otso grumbled.
The girl’s long, black hair fluttered behind her as she ran up the steps, taking two at a time with long, gangly strides, and threw her arms around Leka.
“Mummo Leka, I missed you,” the girl buried her face in Leka’s homespun dress.
“Oh, Riina,” Leka laid her face atop the girl’s head as tears of joy streamed down her cheeks. “I have missed you too, so much!”
“Did you walk under a bucket of paint?” Henddo teased as he plucked at the streak of bright pink that ran through the side of Riina’s black hair.
“You’re so silly, Vaari Henddo,” Riina held her hair out so he could see the long dyed streaks. “I put it there; all the girls put colors in their hair in my school.”
She bent over and kissed Henddo on the cheek, then turned to Otso and extended her arm with the fist closed. Otso’s eyebrows furrowed as he stared questioningly at her closed hand.
“Vaari Otso, it’s called a fist bump,” Riina smiled and gave her grandfather an exasperated look. “You touch your fist to mine.”
Otso unfolded his arm and hesitantly touched his fist to hers. Once their knuckles touched, Riina spread her fingers out and made a slight exploding sound before bursting into giggles.
“See, Vaari Otso, you can be cool too,” she smiled and threw her arms around his broad neck.
Otso leaned awkwardly into her and patted her back, “It’s good to see you, child.”
“Mom. Dad,” Yrsa stood uncomfortably at the bottom of the steps and nodded greetings to her parents. Then she smiled warmly at Henddo. “Henddo, it is so good to see you.”
“It’s good to see you too,” Henddo returned her smile with genuine warmth. “You’ve been gone too long.”
“Yrsa lives in the big city now, Henddo; she can’t be bothered with us simple folks,” Otso shook his head. “She even dyes her hair to look less Sámi.”
“Otso, please,” Leka gave him a pleading look.
Otso walked over to the side of the porch, turning his back to them as he stared at the pen of reindeer grazing lazily on the spring grass behind the house.
“Come Riina,” Henddo stood and reached out his bony hand. “Let’s go check on the reindeer.”
“That would be great,” Riina’s eyes lit up with excitement as she took his hand. “Are there any babies this year?”
“I do believe there are a few,” Henddo nodded as they walked down the steps and headed toward the animal pen. “Could you put one of those pink streaks in my hair too?”
“Of course!” Riina hugged his arm as they walked.
Yrsa’s face was a mix of emotions as she watched them walk away. She appeared to be holding back tears when she turned back to her parents.
“It’s good to see you, Yrsa,” Leka’s eyes welled with tears as she reached out to her daughter. “Come let me see you up close.”
Yrsa walked slowly up the stairs, and Leka pulled her into a close embrace. When they separated, both women were wiping away tears.
“Can I get you something to drink? I just put up a fresh pot of coffee,” Leka smiled as she continued wiping the tears.
“Don’t bother; I’m sure she stopped at Espresso House on the way here,” Otso growled without turning to face them.
Leka rolled her eyes and shook her head, eliciting a smile from Yrsa.
“I’m ok for now, Mom, maybe a little later.”
“Why didn’t you call,” Leka looked into her daughter’s eyes. “I would have prepared your old bedroom for you. I’m afraid I’ve piled all our winter clothes on your bed.”
“It’s ok, we can do it together,” Yrsa smiled sadly at her mother. “I’m sorry we didn’t call.”
“Should we be expecting Harold to come rolling up too,” Otso looked over his shoulder at them. “Or is he too busy building his railroad across Lapland?”
“His name is Gerald,” Yrsa fought futilely to keep the annoyance from her voice. “And you know we haven’t been together for over a year. He went back to England.”
“Well, that’s good; it would break Henddo’s heart to see you’ve forgotten about Nihkul.” Otso watched the old man and his granddaughter leaning on the animal pen rails, looking out at the reindeer.
“Nick was the love of my life, I miss him every day, and Henddo knows that,” fresh tears rolled down Yrsa’s cheeks as she faced her mother. “I’m sorry, this was a mistake. I should not have come.”
“No, dear. Your father is just being difficult,” Leka touched Yrsa’s arm gently. “He was just surprised by your visit. Give him some time.”
“Why did you come back,” Otso turned to face them, his face a storm of emotion. Anger, grief, and sadness caused his voice to crack with emotion. “You made it very clear the ways of the Sámi were of no interest to you. You wanted to live in the city to raise your daughter to be Finnish.”
“What did you expect?” Tears rolled unbidden down Yrsa’s cheeks. “Did you think I went to university so I could come home and herd reindeer?”
“Would that have been so bad?” Otso gave her a stricken look.
“It’s not the life I wanted.” Yrs shook her head and wiped at the tears. “Why can’t you understand that? I could not bear to be here after Nick died.”
“I’m sorry we’re such an embarrassment to you that you even dye your hair to look less Sámi,” the anger was beginning to build inside Otso.
“Father,” Yrsa began, but Otso cut her off.
“I’m sorry you hate us so much that you went to work for the railroad that wants to destroy the Sámi,” Otso’s voice was a rumbling growl.
Yrsa laughed mirthlessly, “The world is changing around the Sámi. The railroad will bring jobs to the Sámi people.”
“The railroad will cut right through the Lapland. It will disrupt the reindeer’s migration paths, and those speeding trains will decimate the herds. It will destroy the Sámi way of life,” Otso shouted, his arms wildly gesticulating.
“Well, maybe it’s time for the Sámi to join the rest of Europe in the modern world, “ Yrsa’s voice was cold as she stared at her father.
“The Sámi were here before the Finns and Swedes and Norwegians. Like my father and his before him, I am a reindeer herder and a noaidi, the shaman to all the siidat, the herders of Lake Inari,” Otso shook his head sadly.”What use do I have for Europe or Europe for me?”
Yrsa got very quiet and looked down at her hands, which she wrung nervously. Tears welled in her dark eyes when she looked back at her father.
“Father, that is why I have come.”
They stared out at the herd of reindeer as the long-legged animals grazed on the spring grass. Their antlered heads dipped to pull at the newly sprouted grass as their cloven hooves left crescent-shaped prints in the soft earth.
“Do you see how their antlers are v-shaped?” Henddo pointed at the rack of antlers reaching skyward from the reindeer’s brown head. “That is so they can easily walk through the forest without getting tangled in the brush.”
“They’re so beautiful,” Riina gazed at the herd and then turned to Henddo. “You know so much about reindeer, Vaari Henddo.”
“They are the perfect animal. They provide us with meat and milk. We use their hides, antlers, and even sinews to sew with. “Henddo smiled at the herd. “Did you know there are over one thousand words in the Sámi language just to describe reindeer?”
Riina mouthed a silent “Wow” and turned back to the herd, smiling as she watched one of the calf’s awkwardly chasing after its mother. The baby’s knobby legs looked poised to topple it over as it followed behind. Her look changed to contemplative, and Riina stood quietly for a moment.
“Why do you let them roam free if you have to catch them again every spring?” the earnestness of her question made him smile.
“It’s the Sámi way; you only take what you need.” Henddo smiled at his granddaughter. “Your mother and father used to help Otso, and I catch the reindeer every Spring.”
“How old were they when they started helping?”
“Oh, I guess they must have been about nine or ten,” Henddo pursed his lips as he tried to remember.
“Well, I’m almost fifteen. You and Vaari Otso should let me help next year,” Riina smiled and rested her chin on the wooden railing.
“Maybe we will,” Henddo laughed and patted her on the arm.
Riina winced loudly and pulled her arm away. Henddo turned and looked at the girl with concern at the unexpected reaction.
“I…I’m sorry,” Riina looked down at her feet, not wanting to meet her grandfather’s intent gaze.
“What’s wrong, Riina?” the light-heartedness had left Henddo’s voice, replaced by a serious tone she had not heard before from him.
“It’s nothing, Vaari Henddo; you just startled me. That’s all,” Riina shifted her feet uncomfortably as she gave him a weak smile.
“Riina, let me see your arm.”
Tears welled in Riina’s eyes as she stared down at her arm and slowly rolled up her sleeve, wincing as the fabric brushed over the injured arm.
“You have not been home in almost three years, and when you do show up, needing help, you bring Riina to tug at our heartstrings?” Otso folded his arms across his chest and glowered at his daughter. “It was too much for you to bring Riina to see Henddo occasionally; she is all he has left of Nihkul.”
“That is enough, both of you,” Leka stomped her foot down so hard on the wooden porch Otso and Yrsa jumped and stared at her in stunned silence. “I will not have all this fighting in my house.”
She whirled and pointed an accusatory finger at Otso, “You sulk around this house missing your child and granddaughter every day, and when they do come, this is how you treat them?”
He stared at her wide-eyed and opened his mouth to speak, but Leka glared at him, “Enough!”
“It’s a piru,” Yrsa’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper.
Otso and Leka turned to look at her, eyes wide and mouths agape.
“Riina encountered it in the woods a month ago,” silent tears ran down Yrsa’s cheeks as he stared at her parents. “She thought it was a boy, and it tricked her. Now it’s coming for her. Please help us.”
The last words came out as a moan as Yrsa sank to the steps, covering her face with her hands, as sobs wracked her body and shook her shoulders. Leka rushed to kneel beside her, wrapping her arms around her daughter and gently rocking her.
“Please don’t let it hurt my baby,” Yrsa choked out the words through strangled sobs.
Otso stared at his daughter unblinking as Henddo came rushing up to the house with a downtrodden Riina trailing behind him.
“Otso,” there was no mistaking the alarm in Henddo’s voice.
“I know, Henddo, I know,” Otso was barely able to speak as he watched Riina run to her mother’s side.
“Mama, it’s going to be ok,” Riina knelt beside Leka and pressed her head against her mother’s, tears running down her young cheeks.
“When?” Otso put a hand on one of the porch’s wooden poles for support. “When is it coming for her?”
Yrsa turned red-rimmed eyes to her father, “It said it’s coming for her by the dark of the new moon.”
Riina stared down at her hands as they sat at the carved wooden table. Otso threw another log into the stone hearth, feeding the fire to chase the chill from the air. He leaned back against the wall, face enshrouded in shadows as he folded his arms across his chest.
Leka set a cup of tea beside her granddaughter and sat next to Henddo as Yrsa rubbed Riina’s back and nodded, encouraging the young girl to speak. Riina smiled at her mother and then looked hesitantly around the room.
“It was such a beautiful day,” Riina stared into the cup of tea, but her eyes were distant with memories. “I took a path behind my school. Everyone knows the way, it doesn’t go very far into the forest, but I had seen a path that led off from it and into the woods. I know I should have come straight home, but I always wanted to see what was down that way, and I thought such a sunny day was the perfect day to explore. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have. This is all my fault.”
“Nonsense,” Henddo smiled and reached across the table to pat her hand. “Nihkul would have done the same thing. You’re your father’s daughter.”
Riina smiled at the thought, and her mother bit her lip to hold back the tears as she nodded in agreement.
“I walked for a little while. The air smelled so fresh, and everything looked so green. It was like the forest was made brand new for Spring.” Riina smiled at the memory. “That’s when I saw him, a blonde boy about my age, just sitting in the shade of a pine tree. He was so handsome, and when he looked up and smiled at me, I thought he was the most perfect-looking boy I had ever seen.
“He asked me what I was doing walking in the woods, and I told him that these weren’t his woods and that wasn’t any of his business. But I gave him a big smile so he knew I was kidding, and he laughed the most perfect laugh I had ever heard.
“Then he asked if I was hungry, and I crossed my arms and said that was a very lame way to ask a girl to lunch. He laughed again and pulled two apples from behind his back. They were so bright red and unblemished.
“He said he didn’t know about lunch but would happily share one of his apples. I reached for it, and he pulled it back and laughed and said I could have it if I answered a riddle,”
“I rolled my eyes at him and told him he could keep his stupid apple, but he insisted it was an easy riddle. I thought he was trying to be cute and was going to say something like, ‘Who’s the most handsome man in the forest?’”
“But he didn’t,” Otso’s voice was a quiet growl from the shadows.
Riina craned to look at him and shook her head, “No, he didn’t.”
“What was the riddle?” Henddo asked.
She looked at Henddo and half laughed, “It was so stupid.”
“What was it?” Otso leaned forward.
“If you tread on the living, not a word is said. But there is quite the ruckus if you stroll in the dead.”
“I thought about it for a few minutes but couldn’t figure out the stupid thing, and he kept asking me, ‘So do you give up?’. Finally, I told him, ‘Yeah, I give up.’:
“Then he started laughing again; however, it didn’t seem perfect or even nice this time. It sounded mean and harsh. His mouth looked different too,”
“How did it look different?” Henddo stared intently at her.
“It looked big, too big for his face, and his teeth seemed longer. That’s when he reached out to give me the apple. When his hand passed from the shadow into the sunlight, the apple turned rotten, with worms wriggling through it,” Riina shuddered at the memory. “And his hands got long, and his skin turned dark gray and pock-marked. His fingertips ended in long black claws.
“I screamed and ran away as fast as I could. I was afraid he would chase after me, but he didn’t. However, I heard that horrible laugh until I ran out of the forest.”
“That sounds like a piru, alright,” Henddo nodded. “A servant of Lempo, the Lord of Demons. They’re deceivers who try to engage you in a battle of wits.”
“What happens when you lose?” apprehension filled Riina’s eyes.
Otso stepped out of the shadows to squat before the fire and stare into the flames, “They take you.”
“Don’t worry, Vaari Otso and Vaari Henddo won’t let that happen,” Yrsa put a reassuring arm around Riina.
“That’s right, “Henddo nodded, but Otso silently looked into the fire.
“What happened after that, Riina?” Leka’s face was a mask of calm, but her troubled eyes belied the concern she felt.
“Things started happening, bad things,” Riina shook her head at the awful memories. “I kept seeing him, the boy, out of the corner of my eye. He was always standing in the shadows or dark places, I would turn to look, and he would be gone. But I knew it was him.
“Then someone destroyed my classroom at school. We came in one morning, and someone had flipped the desks, thrown papers everywhere, and torn up all the books. Whoever it was carved my name on the teacher’s desk.”
“The following weekend, my best friend Kaarina’s cat disappeared. Riina and I spent all day helping her look for it. Then when we got home,” Yrsa’s voice trailed off, and she looked down at her lap.
“What happened?” Henddo leaned forward and looked from Yrsa to Riina.
“We found its collar,” Riina met Henddo’s gaze. “We found it under my pillow.”
“Last night,” a tear ran down Yrsa’s cheek, and she quickly wiped it away. “I heard Riina screaming in her bedroom, so I ran to check on her. I thought she was having a nightmare.
“When I got to her room, something horrible stood over her bed. It was tall and gray with black hairs jutting in patches all over its body. I could see its ears were long and pointed, and it stared down at Riina with horrible yellow eyes.”
“The piru was licking the air above me like a snake,” tears were beginning to stream down Riina’s face as she told her part of the story. “The thing’s stench was horrible, like rotten meat. When it looked down at me, saliva dripped between its jagged teeth and fell onto my face. I couldn’t move; all I could do was scream.”
“I yelled for it to get away from my baby,” Yrsa balled her hands into a fist. “The thing just grinned at me and said, ‘I’ll be back for her by the dark of the new moon.’ Then it raked its claw along her arm and disappeared.”
Riina put her arm on the table and lifted her sleeve. Leka gasped and held back tears at seeing the long, raw gash extending down the forearm’s inside.
“Riina and I got in the car and drove straight here. We didn’t know where else to go.”
“Well, you came to the right place. I’m going to get something to help that heal,” Leka stood and went to the cabinet, where she searched through jars of dried herbs and plants.
“The new moon,” Henddo thought for a moment. “That’s tomorrow night.”
“Is there anything you could do,” Yrsa looked from Henddo to her father.
“Of course, there is,” Henddo reassured Yrsa. “Your father may be the worst Sáhkku I have ever met, but he is also the best noaidi the Sámi have seen in generations.”
Riina gave a little laugh and took a sip of her tea.
“What is it, Riina?” Yrsa looked curiously at her daughter.
“You know,” Riina set the cup of tea down and looked at her mother. “I never did figure out that stupid riddle.”
“Leaves,” Otso stared into the fire. “If you tread on the living, not a word is said. But there is quite the ruckus if you stroll in the dead. The answer is leaves.”
“Don’t worry,” Yrsa pulled the covers up to Riina’s shoulders. “Vaari Otso and Vaari Henddo will know what to do.”
“What if it comes while I am sleeping again,” Riina’s eyes were wide and frightened in a way that made her look like a child again.
Yrsa kissed her forehead and smiled reassuringly, “Otso and Henddo have placed special amulets around the house that will keep anything bad from getting in.”
“Do you believe that works? You said Vaari Otso was a superstitious old man,” tears welled in Riina’s eyes, and she appeared on the verge of a fresh wave of tears. “I heard you say that to Gerald once.”
A look of sadness and regret washed across Yrsa’s face, “Your grandfather and I have a complicated relationship. I should never have said those things. I was frustrated and wrong.”
“But do you think his amulets can keep the piru away?”
“I do,” Yrsa nodded and then smiled wistfully. “A month ago, I would never have believed a piru was more than a Sámi story to scare children. I thought my father being the noaidi for the herders here was just an old tradition, nothing more. Even though he always took being a Sámi shaman very seriously. Your grandfather is a man of his word and as stubborn as those reindeer outside; if he says the amulets will keep the piru away, they will.”
“What will happen tomorrow night ?” Riina’s voice trembled.
“You let Vaari Otso and Vaari Henddo take care of that; they won’t let anything happen to you,” Yrsa sighed and looked around the darkened room that had been her childhood bedroom. “I used to hate coming back here; it made me miss your father even more.”
Yrsa’s voice cracked, and she tried to blink back the tears, “But being back now, I feel like he is still close by, and that makes me feel very good.”
“I miss him too, Mom, every day,” Riina sat up and wrapped her arms around her mother.
“I do too, Riina,” Yrsa hugged her daughter close, both of their cheeks wet with tears. “I do too.”
Yrsa shut the door behind her; the house’s main room was quiet except for Otso sitting beside the hearth, rummaging through an old wooden trunk by the firelight. He met Yrsa’s eyes and gave a faint smile.
“Is she sleeping,” Otso’s voice was deep and soft.
“I think she’s finally asleep,” Yrsa nodded. “Where are Mom and Henddo?”
“Your mother is in the kitchen,” Otso pointed to the door beside the hearth and then resumed searching through the trunk. “Henddo has gone home to get some sleep to rest up for tomorrow night.”
“What’s going to happen tomorrow night? Will the piru come for Riina?” Yrsa pulled up a chair across from her father and sat.
“Oh, it will come; I do not doubt that,” Otso nodded without looking up.
“What will you do when it comes?” Yrsa looked questioningly at him.
“We won’t let him touch Riina,” Otso’s eyes were steady, and there was steel in his voice as he met her eyes.
“But what will you do?” Yrsa hated the uncertain sound of her tone.
“We will wait for it down by Lake Inari; it has always been a place of power for the Sámi. Henddo will play the ceremonial drum, and I will sing a joik. I am looking for my father’s old book of joiks.”
Yrsa stared at her father in stunned disbelief as he rifled through the trunk. Otso sighed and lifted an old dress out of the chest. The dress was made of reindeer fur and dyed a deep hue of green with geometric shapes made of tanned leather sewn into the sleeves, hem, and collar.
“You wore this when you sang the joik for the Winter Solstice,” Otso looked the dress up and down with a sad, distant look in his eyes. “It was the most beautiful joik I have ever heard. Has it been ten years ago already?”
“A joik? That monster is coming for your granddaughter, and you will sing a song?” Yrsa’s eyes flashed with anger in the firelight.
“Yrsa, a joik is not merely a song; it is how the Sámi connect with the earth and our ancestors.” Otso lowered the dress as a look of profound disappointment crossed his face. “The Ancient Ones taught joiks to the Sámi people so that we may tap into the power of the land.”
Yrsa stood, trembling with rage, pointing a finger toward her old bedroom, “I told my daughter, your granddaughter, that you would make things right and keep her safe. She believed me. And your grand plan is to sing?”
“I would protect that little girl with every breath of life in my body,” Otso stood, his brows furrowed in anger.
“Then do it! Do more than sing a song while the piru takes my baby!” Yrsa tried to keep her voice down, but emotions were getting the best of her.
“I am a noaidi. I am my father’s son, and I will send the piru skulking back to Lempo with its tail between its legs again,” Otso stared defiantly into his daughter’s eyes as he spoke, but a troubling expression crossed his face as he finished speaking. He immediately hardened his features but Yrsa caught the fleeting look.
Yrsa stared curiously at her father, searching his face for hidden meaning, “What is it?”
“What is what?” Otso growled back at her, but he averted his gaze.
“Again?” the word slipped from Yrsa’s lips as a whisper. “Why did you say again?”
Otso opened his mouth to speak, then closed it. His shoulders slumped in defeat, and he lowered himself into the chair.
“Father?” Yrsa stared at her father, shaken by the stricken look on his face. Then a dawning realization came over her. “How did you know the answer to the riddle?”
Otso took a deep breath and stared at the floor, “I think I have encountered this piru before.”
Yrsa stared at him, too horrified to speak.
“I was maybe sixteen or seventeen. I don’t remember anymore. I was tending to the herd, and a young girl called me from the woods. In the same way Riina described the boy, this girl was the most perfect looking girl I had ever seen,” he shook his head at the memory. “She offered me a kiss if I answered her riddle. If you tread on the living, not a word is said. But there is quite the ruckus if you stroll on the dead.”
“To this day, I don’t know how I guessed right; maybe one of our ancestors whispered it to me. Leaves.” Otso laughed to himself and then pursed his lips. “When I gave my answer, the girl’s eyes widened, and she screamed an inhuman, anguished sound. Then she changed into her true self; it was a piru pretending to be a girl. It was hideous, and I shrank back in terror, even as the creature cursed me and ran off into the woods. I never saw it again, but I think this is the same creature. Maybe it chose Riina to have its revenge on me; I don’t know.”
“This,” Yrsa could barely breathe. “This is all your faulty?”
Otso turned to stare into the fire quietly, the only sound in the room the crackling of the wood and the distant ring of the telephone in the kitchen.
“How could you do this to us?” Yrsa’s voice trembled with rage. “How could you do this to Riina?”
A scream from the bedroom filled the night, and Otso and Yrsa rushed for the room. Otso did not even stop to turn the door handle; he lowered his shoulder and slammed into the door. The door flung wide open as the wooden latch splintered and broke.
Yrsa pushed past her father to run to Riina’s side. The girl was sitting up in bed, crying hysterically.
“It was here,” Riina struggled to catch her breath between heavy sobs. “It was right outside the window, staring at me with those horrible yellow eyes.”
Otso walked to the window and touched the pane, tracing the path of five deep grooves clawed across the outside of the glass.
“Don’t let it get me,” Riina sobbed uncontrollably as Yrsa held her close. “Please don’t let it get me.”
Yrsa wrapped her arms tightly around her daughter. When she looked at Otso, tears of fear and frustration ran down her face. “Fix this.”
“I will.” Otso’s finger touched the scratched glass as he stared into the night outside.
“Otso,” a voice called softly from the doorway.
He turned to see Leka standing there, her slight frame outlined by the light of the hearth fire.
“Otso, that was Kirsi on the phone,” Leka’s face was a mask of grief as she tried to hold back the tears. “It’s Henddo.”
“How is he?” Otso felt a knot of fear twist his insides as Kirsi opened the door to Henddo’s small cottage.
“He’s not good,” Kirsi sniffed back the tears as she let Otso inside. He’s in the bedroom. The ambulance is on its way.”
Kirsi’s almond-shaped dark eyes looked tired on her weathered face, and she absently brushed long gray strands of hair from her face. The gesture was so similar to the one Otso had seen her brother do so many times that he had to bite his lip to keep from tearing up.
The walk from Otso’s home to Henddo’s was short, but this night it felt like it took ages. In the darkness of the path between their homes, Otso had let the tears flow unbidden — tears of anger and fear for all that had befallen his little family. He cried for Riina. He sobbed for Henddo. However, the tears came from the fear that he had failed them both most of all.
“Who did this? Otso searched the woman’s face for answers, but she only shook her head.
“He wouldn’t say; he just insisted I call you.”
Otso squeezed her shoulder reassuringly and walked across the small room to Henddo’s bedroom. He stopped in the doorway, stunned by the condition of his oldest friend. Henddo lay in bed, a damp towel across his bruised and battered face, his white hair crusted with dried blood. His breathing was shallow and came in short, wheezing breaths.
Henddo turned his head slightly toward the door, staring at Otso through eyes purple and swollen. He tried to smile but winced as his split lip seemed to bleed freshly.
Otso knelt beside his friend and put a hand on Henddo’s scratched hand.
“I guess now you’re the pretty one,” Henddo’s voice was barely a whisper as his dark bloodshot eyes peered out from swollen lids.
“Who did this, Henddo?” Otso leaned in close and studied his friend’s battered face.
“It was the piru,” Henddo coughed a wet-sounding hack that caused him to groan and clutch at his ribs. “The damn thing jumped out of the darkness. I smelled something fowl, like a dead animal, then it was on me. Kicking, punching, and scratching.”
“I’m so sorry, Henddo,” Otso could not hide the worry as he looked at his friend. “The ambulance will be here soon; you’ll be ok.”
“Do you know what that thing said to me?” Henddo’s voice cracked with emotion.
Otso shook his head, “Save your strength Henddo.”
“It told me I screamed like the boy that fell through the ice. Otso, I think the piru hurt Nikhul,” a blood-filled tear rolled down Henddo’s cheek. “I think it was the piru that hurt my boy.”
Otso stared at him in grief and shock, the ramification of Henddo’s words sinking in.
“You need to stop it, Otso,” Henddo tried to sit up but fell back onto the bed. “You can’t let it hurt Riina.”
“Henddo, I don’t know what to do,” Otso had never felt so helpless. “I’ve read through all my father’s and grandfather’s joiks, even the ones for protection against harm. None feel right for this.”
Henddo’s hand searched among the sheets, and finding what he sought, he clutched it close to his chest. “The thing laughed as it crushed my Sáhkku board, but I saved this.”
Otso watched as Henddo’s shaking hand reached over to his own. The hand felt cold and boney as it slipped something into his hand. The effort seemed to sap the last of Henddo’s strength, and he rested the arm across his chest.
“I saved it for you,” Henddo struggled to get the words out.
Otso looked down into his palm, where the carved wooden bear, the king of the forest piece from the Sáhkku board, stared back at him. Blood stained the wood, making it look like it had just made a fresh kill, and Otso found the deep-set eyes of the sitting bear oddly reassuring.
“You always go it alone, Otso; you never recruit the king,” Henddo managed a weak smile through his bloody lips. “That’s why I always beat you. You never recruit the king.”
Otso stared thoughtfully at the image standing before him in the mirror. He wore a traditional gakti of the Sámi people, a tunic made from reindeer fur and dyed bright blue. His leather leggings ended in colorful band-woven ankle wraps covering the tops of his nutukas, Sámi boots of reindeer hide pointed and curled upward at the toes. Around his waist, he wore a beaded belt, a gift from Leka on their wedding day.
Otso’s eyes trailed down to the scrimshawed antler-handled knife he wore on the belt. The blade passed to him from generations of noaidi, though tonight, he wondered if it would serve a more martial purpose.
He opened the beaded leather pouch attached to the belt and slipped the carved wooden bear Henddo had given him inside. Otso patted the pouch and smiled, thinking of his injured friend.
The door opened behind him, and Leka walked in, a wooden drum made from reindeer hide tucked under her arm. Otso frowned when he saw she wore a long bright green dress with a white fringed shawl over her head. He touched the silver reindeer brooch that secured the shawl around her neck; it was his gift to her on their wedding day.
“Why are you in your ceremonial dress, my love?” Otso’s voice was soft as he stared into her eyes.
“We will do this together; I can play the ceremonial drum as well as Henddo,” there was steel in her tone.
“It’s too dangerous. I can play the drum and sing the joik,” Otso shook his head.
“Otso, I love you, and you can be as stubborn as a reindeer,” Leka raised a hand and gently touched his cheek. “The piru is coming for our granddaughter. I will play the drum, and you will sing the joik. We will face it together.”
Otso kissed her softly and smiled, “Thank you, my love. For tonight and every moment of our life together.”
They turned as there was a soft knock on the door, and Riina poked her head in. “Mummo Leka, Vaari Otso, Kirsi is at the door. She wants to speak to you.”
The young girl’s eyes took in her grandparents’ attire, and her mouth formed a silent ‘wow.’ They smiled as she came in and ran a hand along the sleeve of Leka’s dress.
“It’s so beautiful,” Riina smiled, awed by the traditional Sámi garments.
“Your mother used to where one just like it,” Otso smiled at her.
“Can I wear one too one day?” Her dark eyes danced with delight.
“Of course, you can; I will sew it myself,” Leka hugged her granddaughter close.
As Otso stepped outside, he stopped, mouth agape as he took in Yrsa and Kirsi discussing Henddo’s condition. Kirsi wore a bright red gakti dress, her gray hair neatly braided down her back. She turned to smile at Otso; at least thirty Sámi herders stood behind her. The men, old and young, were dressed in ceremonial gakti tunics, and each bore a hand drum or fadno flute made from the reed of the angelica plant.
“Henddo asked me to recruit help for you. He said you were too stubborn to do it yourself,” the herders chuckled at Kirsi’s words. “All these men volunteered to stand with their noaidi against the piru. They know it is coming for Riina. They know it hurt Henddo.”
Otso stared disbelieving at the assembled men, biting his lip to control his emotions. Then he hugged Kirsi and turned to address the men.
“Thank you. All of you.” Otso addressed the men, and the herders nodded back in greeting.
“The piru comes by the dark of the new moon,” Otso pointed toward the moonless sky. “Its power is the greatest in darkness and shadow.”
Yrsa put an arm around Riina and gave her a small smile. Riina smiled back and looked at the colorfully dressed men and her grandfather. He looked larger than she had ever remembered.
“But we will make it face us in the light! There is wood on the side of the house; our torches will make the shores of Lake Inari look like daylight. We will teach the piru that the Sámi have spines of rock and blood of ice,” Otso threw his arms up into the air, and the men cheered.
Otso turned to face Riina and Yrsa as the herders gathered wood for the torches.
“Can I come with you?” Riina’s face bore the same defiant look as the Sámi herders, and Otso’s heart swelled with pride.
“No, child, I need you to stay here with your mother,” Otso place a hand on each of her shoulders. “You are fearless, and I am so proud to have you as a granddaughter.”
Riina opened her mouth to protest, but Yrsa interrupted her, “Riina, we all have our roles to play this night; ours is to wait here so your grandfather and the others can take care of the piru.”
“Your mother’s right, Riina,” Otso smiled at Yrsa. “If I know you are safe, I can focus on the piru.”
“But what if it comes here?” Riina looked Otso to Yrsa.
“It won’t,” Otso shook his head. “The magic of the joik will call it to us.”
“Otso,” Kirsi place a small hand on his broad shoulder. “The men are ready.”
“I’ll be back soon,” Otso winked at Riina and gave Yrsa a curt nod.
Yrsa gave him a tight-lipped smile and put her arm around Riina. They watched Kirsi and Leka follow Otso down the stairs to join the waiting men. The colorful procession, armed with instruments and ceremonial knives, quietly headed into the forest and off toward the shores of Lake Inari.
The edge of Lake Inari was quiet except for light ripples upon the water that broke gently on the shore. Otso arranged the men behind him in a half circle, with their backs to the water. They planted their torches in the ground, and the flickering firelight elongated their shadows to look like dark fingers reaching toward the forest.
Leka put her hand on Otso’s shoulder and gave him a reassuring nod before taking her place next to Kirsi. Otso took a deep breath and stared into the blackness of the forest. He ran a hand over the beaded pouch on his waist, feeling the wooden bear within as the herders stared expectantly at him.
In a deep voice, Otso began his joik. There were no lyrics, only mumbling rumbles which Otso repeated in a capella-style chant. Unlike songs that relied upon lyrics, the power of the joik lay in the deeply spiritual connection the joikaaja, the chanter, channeled from the natural world. As the joikaaja chanted, they shaped the sound of the joik to match the essence of the person, place, or even animal that inspired it.
Behind Otso, the herders began to play their instruments in the rhythm of his chanting. The drums and flutes amplified the power of the joik until it seemed the air around them shimmered with the sound and power.
“Well, well, what do we have here?” a young man approached from the forest’s darkness.
Otso continued to chant, his eyes watching the blonde man approach. The man was as handsome as Riina had described; however, his features abruptly changed as he stepped from the forest into the firelight. The façade of the attractive blonde man melted away as he approached, replaced by a long-legged creature with gray, pock-marked skin. Thick black tufts of hair jutted out at odd angles from the creature’s body and down its long arms. It had feet like a rooster with three long toes and a dew claw that scratched the earth as it walked.
Malevolent yellow eyes stared out from a head that looked vaguely goat-like and too large for its lean body and a mouth too wide for its face, filled with razor-sharp teeth.
“I have lived for millennia,” the piru’s voice was a hiss; it punctuated its words with a flicking movement of its long pink tongue. “And there is nothing I hate more than the Sámi.”
The creature’s yellow eyes scanned the assembled herders, “And there are no Sámi I despise more than those of Lake Inari. Nothing brings me more joy than bringing sadness to your people.”
“It has been a long time Otso,” the piru’s eyes settled on the noaidi. “Pity your granddaughter was not as good at riddles as you were.”
Otso felt his knees weaken at the sight of the creature, and he felt doubt creeping into his mind about the power of his joik against this demon.
“Where is she,” the piru swiveled its head, searching in a way that made its long pointed ears sway with the motion. “I don’t see dear sweet Riina anywhere.”
“Oh, but I see you brought friends with you,” the piru stretched out its arms and winked a yellow eye. “That’s quite alright; I also brought some of my own.”
In the darkness behind the piru, pairs of yellow eyes blinked in the firelight. Otso could hear dozens of voices murmuring and cackling in the blackness beyond the light.
“What are you doing?” Riina stared at her mother as Yrsa shoved their clothes into the old gym bag she retrieved from the car.
“I know this is not what you want to hear, Riina, but we’re leaving,” Yrsa, satisfied she had collected all their things, zipped closed the gym bag.
“But Vaari Otso and the others are out there stopping the piru,” Riina grabbed the bag from her mother’s hand and threw it to the floor.
“Maybe they can, and if they do, we can come back, “ Yrsa snatched the bag off the floor and stared intently at her daughter. “But if they can’t, I’m not waiting here for that thing to come and take you.”
“Then we should be out there, helping them. Everyone says your joiks were incredible.” Riina pleaded with her mother, tears welling in her eyes.
“Riina, what that thing would do to you would be unspeakable,” Yrsa’s voice broke with emotion. “I’ve already lost your father; I won’t lose you too.”
“Then help Vaari Otso,” tears streamed down Riina’s cheeks.
“Riina, you don’t understand. This is all your grandfather’s fault,” Yrsa shook her head. “He angered that thing years ago; it’s back for revenge.”
“No, it’s my fault for playing its stupid game in the woods,” Riina wiped away the tears and shook her head. “I won’t blame Otso, and I won’t blame you.”
“Me?” Yrsa stared at her daughter, genuinely shocked.
“You took me from this place and told me everything the Sámi believed was backward and superstitious. You taught me social media was real and pirus were fake. So how is Vaari Otso anymore to blame than you or me?
“The only bad guy here is the piru. Not you, not me, and not Vaari Otso. I know you want to pretend this place doesn’t exist because it makes you think of Dad and your life here. That’s why you took a job with a railroad that will destroy the Sámi way of life. But I love everything about this place because it makes me think of Dad.”
Yrsa sat down on the bed, thunderstruck by her daughter’s words. She looked down at her feet and let the bag drop. Riina stared at her shaking her head in frustration, then turned and ran. She was out the front door and off the porch before Yrsa realized what had happened.
“Don’t stop playing,” Leka yelled to the herders as the piru closed on Otso. “Trust in the joik!”
Trust in the joik. The words echoed in Otso’s mind as he chanted, his hand slid into the pouch, and he ran his thumb reassuringly over the small wooden bear that Henddo had given him. He whispered a silent prayer to his ancestors that his joik would work, that the ancient power he called upon would answer.
The piru studied Otso’s face and laughed, “Does your noaidi trust in his joik? Are you calling on your dead ancestors to smite me? Are you asking Lake Inari to rise and drown me? Are you praying for a tree to fall on my head? I am still here, Otso.”
The piru reached out and closed a clawed hand around Otso’s neck, squeezing until the joik that escaped his lips was little more than rhythmic gasps.
“Keep playing!” Leka’s voice carried a hint of desperation. “The beat of the joik must continue. I can feel the magic rising.”
Kirsi looked sidelong at Leka, her face a mirror of the woman’s fear as Otso sank to his knees as the piru tightened its grip. A malicious sneer crossed the creature’s face as it watched Otso’s face redden. Otso drew the ceremonial knife from its sheath, but the piru easily swatted it out of his hand and laughed, a dark, malevolent sound.
“Leave him alone,” Riina ran toward her grandfather.
“Riina, no, stay back,” Leka tried to grab Riina as she ran past, but her fingers found only the air behind the running girl.
The piru released his grip on Otso, and the noaidi sprawled on the ground gasping for air, as Riina knelt by his side. “Ahh, she has arrived!” The piru’s yellow eyes blazed with victory, and there was a chorus of wicked-sounding laughs and calls from the pirus lurking in the dark woods.
“Child, you shouldn’t have come,” Otso’s voice came out as a harsh rasp, and his eyes looked at Riina with sadness. “My joik failed; the magic did not hear my call.”
The herders stopped playing, lowering their instruments as their shoulders slumped in defeat. Some gestured toward their ceremonial knives, but the elders among them shook their heads sadly. They averted their gaze as Leka implored them to continue playing until even she sank to her knees.
Kirsi held Leka, “Don’t watch what happens, Leka.”
Silence fell over the clearing, except for the crackling fires of the torches and the gentle lapping of the water on the shore.
The piru smiled cruelly and extended his hand to Riina, “Come, Riina, it is time to go.”
Riina looked up at the piru with wide, fear-filled eyes, her lip trembling, as Otso crawled before her to shield her with his body. Then a loud, clear voice rang out in the clearing. It was not words but chanting, a mournful, heart-wrenching joik as Yrsa stepped into the torchlit clearing.
Tears streamed down her cheeks as she chanted, walking slowly toward where her father and daughter huddled on the ground. A murmuring spread among the herders, and they began to play their flutes and drums, quickly picking up the rhythm. Otso watched his daughter walk defiantly toward the piru with tear-filled eyes. In this moment of fear and desperation, his family felt more whole than it had in years.
The piru sneered at Yrsa derisively and barred its jagged teeth at her. It saw the fierce determination in the woman’s face, and Otso detected a glimmer of concern in the creature’s eyes as it scanned the renewed fervor of the herders.
With a sudden movement, the piru lunged at Riina, attempting to grasp her in its black-clawed hands. Otso gasped as he saw the piru’s hands stop mid-air as two shimmering hands locked about its wrists. The creature gave a strangled cry of surprise as it looked into the ethereal visage of the man that appeared before it. The ghostly apparition wore the simple clothes of a Sámi herdsman. The man’s handsome face was familiar to Otso as the figure’s dark eyes glared at the piru.
“Nick,” the words escaped Yrsa’s lips in a breathless whisper. “You heard me.”
“Dad?” Riina’s voice cracked with emotion as she stared at the ghostly figure holding the piru at bay. He glanced down at her and smiled, reminding Otso of Riina’s lopsided grin.
A wicked smile crossed the piru’s face as he stared at Nick. “I remember you,” the creature ran its pointed tongue over its jagged teeth. “You were the fool I tricked out onto the ice.”
The smile slipped from Nick’s face as his eyes returned to the piru.
“You went running out to save your daughter,” the piru mimicked a young Riina’s voice perfectly. “Dad, help me. I am stuck out on the ice. Please, I am so scared!”
The piru laughed a horrible, cackling laugh. Then the creature’s eyes narrowed, and it tried to pull its hands free of Nick’s vice-like grip.
“Your daughter is mine. To do with as I please; she will be a tasty morsel when I’m done with her. Do you think you can stop me from taking her?”
A sly grin returned to Nick’s face as he slowly shook his head, “No, beast, I only need to hold you here.”
In the forest’s darkness, a terrific roar rose that shook the branches with strength and ferocity. A look of fear crossed the piru’s face as cries of terror and screams of pain emanated from the pirus in the shadows, followed by sounds of snapping bones and tearing sinews.
“What have you done?” the piru looked from Nick to Otso as it frantically tried to free itself of the ghostly grip. It kicked its legs out at Nick, but the piru’s clawed feet slid harmlessly through his ethereal body. Only Nick’s steely grip seemed to be of corporeal form.
“I recruited the king,” Otso smiled as he opened his grip, revealing the small carved bear. “The only king the Sámi have ever known. The king of the forest. He heard my joik, and he has come.”
A brown bear of immense size broke through the trees and into the torchlit clearing. It rose on its hind legs and roared so fiercely that even the herders shrank back in fear.
“Please,” the piru whimpered as it struggled to free itself.
The bear dropped to all fours and charged at the piru. The earth reverberated with its footfalls as it ran, its dark lips curling back to reveal large white teeth.
“Vaari Otso,” Riina looked from the bear to her grandfather with concern.
“Don’t worry,” Otso winked at her and patted her hand.
The piru contorted like a fly stuck in a spider web as the great bear lumbered toward it. Nick released his grip, and the creature tumbled backward to land on its rump with a loud thud.
The piru leaped to its feet to run just as the gaping maw of the bear closed upon its head and shoulders. Otso could hear the piru’s dying screams muffled within the bear’s throat. The massive bear shook the piru violently until the body dangling from its mouth hung limp and still, then it turned and charged back into the woods. Otso and Riina watched the great bear disappear into the darkness before turning to watch Yrsa approach.
Leka, Kirsi, and the herdsman quietly gathered in a wide circle around the shimmering apparition. Boyhood friends smiled and nodded to Nick in amazement, while others shook their heads, struggling to comprehend all they had seen this night
“Nick?” Yrsa’s eyes were wet with tears. “You saved our baby girl.”
The ghostly visage smiled as he looked from Riina to Yrsa, then a look of sadness marred his handsome features, “I…I’m sorry I left you and Riina alone. I should never have run out onto the ice that night.”
“You were trying to save our daughter,” Yrsa’s voice broke with emotion. “I have missed you so much.”
“You did save me, Dad,” Riina smiled at her father through the tears.
“I miss you and love you all very much,” Nick nodded and then turned to Otso. “Tell my father I am doing well.”
“I will, “ Otso smiled. “And Nihkul, thank you.”
Nick reached a hand out to Yrsa and Riina, touching each on the cheek as he began to fade away.
“Dad, don’t go,” the anguish in Riina’s voice broke the heart of everyone in the clearing.
“I’m not going, Riina,” Nick smiled as the last of his ethereal form faded into the night. “I am always here. We all are.”
Henddo’s eyes widened in disbelief as he watched the last of his soldiers swept from the Sáhkku board.
“That’s three straight games,” Henddo shook his head, his long white hair flashing a bright streak of pink coloring. “I don’t think I have ever lost three games in a row.”
“Maybe that piru knocked something loose in your old head,” Otso laughed, a deep, hearty sound.
“I think I am just an excellent player,” Riina smiled, winking at Henddo as she re-set the pieces on the board for another game.
“I’m afraid that’s enough Sáhkku, for now,” Otso hefted a faded leather backpack onto his shoulder. “if you are going to be the next noaidi to the siidat of Lake Inari, you need to spend less time sitting on your rump and more time in the woods.”
Henddo chuckled as Riina rolled her eyes in mock exasperation and stood, lifting her pack onto her back. Unlike Otso’s faded leather pack, Riina’s pack was black nylon, with padded straps and back support. It had been a gift her mother had sent from Rovaniemi, where she spent her weekdays working with the Regional Council of Lapland to oppose the proposed Nordic railway through Sámi lands.
“See you later Vaari Henddo,” Riina waved to Henddo and fell into step alongside Otso as they headed toward the woods.
“What are you smiling about?” Otso looked sidelong at his granddaughter.
“I’m just happy,” Riina breathed deeply, tasting the fresh forest air. “I love it here.”
“Oh, why’s that?”
“I like the Sámi school, and I’m making a lot of friends.” Riina’s feet crunched through the spring grass. “Mom seems happier here than when we lived in the city, and I get to see you, Mummo Leka, and Vaari Henddo all the time.
“I feel like I belong here,” Riina looked up at Otso. “In some ways, the piru did me a favor. It brought us back home, and I know my father is always here watching over me. I know he hears my joiks, and sometimes I feel like he sings along with me. Is that strange?”
“No, Riina, that’s not strange,” Otso smiled and looked away so she could not see the tears that welled in his eyes. “I think that’s the most wonderful thing I have ever heard.”
Wow, this was pretty moving. It reminds me a little of myself once, returning home after being gone so long. I always look forward to more like this. Thank you.