started her journey back to the glade. In her mind she was rejoicing; rarely did a ritual hunt succeed this well. Plenty of time was left in the day for celebration, and fawn meat would join the trout in the fire.
Vierra went straight towards the glade. After a short trek, she arrived at a small opening in the forest that was covered in large rocks. Here and there between the rocks grew long patches of grass and a few withered trees, their fragile branches waving in the light wind. Black-gray adders were bathing on the rocks in the sun, hissing at each other. Vierra was already getting ready to go around the glade when she saw a movement across the opening. It was a small, hunchbacked man. His green clothes were like hanging lichen, covering his withered and skinny body. Astonishingly agile he was, though, jumping from rock to rock, and when he came closer, Vierra saw his crooked shoes hitting the rocks, and blue will o’ the wisps and sparks flew in the air. No adder would bite him, even though he ran over them as if mindless of them altogether. The man ran straight towards Vierra, crying from far away.
“Vierra, Vierra, why were you hasty and why did you not give the proper sacrifice to the Seita?”
“What Seita?” Vierra had always honored her ancestors’ holy places, even though her sacrifices and prayers were often directed to the new gods, as was the custom these days. She wondered how the man could know her name. She’d had no time to tell him, and she had never seen him before.
“The Seita who lives on the top of the hill. It was malicious and bitter even when I was floating helpless in my mother’s womb.”
“I saw no Seita,” Vierra defended herself. She was annoyed by this strange and truculent man, but she kept a polite tone towards her elder.
“You didn’t even try. Of Mielikki and Tapio only were you thinking, you wench, while drawing the gall bladder to Seita’s rocky side. They were the ones who took the gall from under Seita’s rocky nose. Those bastards are southern gods, of those who root the earth and bite hay. Pthew!” The old man drove out a long wad of spit from between his bony jaws. Vierra was dumbfounded by the outburst of this complete stranger. He walked closer while blabbering, causing Vierra to flinch and take a step back. He smelled bad, of stale urine, of unknown, deep earth and forest.
“Seita will have her revenge and so will I. Whose belt have you around you? My belt. Give it to me and bow before me for mercy, and I might forgive you.”
Vierra’s spirit flared up. Who did this man think he was? That kind of behavior went beyond all understanding, and even though he was older, it was inappropriate for a man to speak thus to a woman.
“The belt is not mine but my husband’s, so I cannot give it to you. And I am not responsible to you for my doings. My chieftain is a woman like was my mother and my mother’s mother. Go away and leave me alone.”
The man stared at Vierra along his large nose.
“We shall see about belts and mercy.” He let out a cackling laugh and started running surprisingly fast through the rocky glade, disappearing into the forest on the opposite side.
Vierra looked after him and tried to figure out what had just happened. After he vanished into the forest, Vierra continued her journey. Dark thoughts rose up from her mind, one after another, bothering her travel and making her instinctively speed up her step.
Blood
Vierra had seen longboats many times before. This one, however, burned itself into her mind forever as she caught sight of it from the hilltop. The proud-bowed vessel had been pulled to the shore of the festival glade, and Vierra felt a hollow, strangling feeling churning in the bottom of her stomach. Those wayfarers had many names: persecutors, the tall men, the bearded men, the iron men. Vikings. They came from the west shore of the sea with their long boats every spring, bringing iron, salt, cloth, and silver. They were
Vierra went straight towards the glade. After a short trek, she arrived at a small opening in the forest that was covered in large rocks. Here and there between the rocks grew long patches of grass and a few withered trees, their fragile branches waving in the light wind. Black-gray adders were bathing on the rocks in the sun, hissing at each other. Vierra was already getting ready to go around the glade when she saw a movement across the opening. It was a small, hunchbacked man. His green clothes were like hanging lichen, covering his withered and skinny body. Astonishingly agile he was, though, jumping from rock to rock, and when he came closer, Vierra saw his crooked shoes hitting the rocks, and blue will o’ the wisps and sparks flew in the air. No adder would bite him, even though he ran over them as if mindless of them altogether. The man ran straight towards Vierra, crying from far away.
“Vierra, Vierra, why were you hasty and why did you not give the proper sacrifice to the Seita?”
“What Seita?” Vierra had always honored her ancestors’ holy places, even though her sacrifices and prayers were often directed to the new gods, as was the custom these days. She wondered how the man could know her name. She’d had no time to tell him, and she had never seen him before.
“The Seita who lives on the top of the hill. It was malicious and bitter even when I was floating helpless in my mother’s womb.”
“I saw no Seita,” Vierra defended herself. She was annoyed by this strange and truculent man, but she kept a polite tone towards her elder.
“You didn’t even try. Of Mielikki and Tapio only were you thinking, you wench, while drawing the gall bladder to Seita’s rocky side. They were the ones who took the gall from under Seita’s rocky nose. Those bastards are southern gods, of those who root the earth and bite hay. Pthew!” The old man drove out a long wad of spit from between his bony jaws. Vierra was dumbfounded by the outburst of this complete stranger. He walked closer while blabbering, causing Vierra to flinch and take a step back. He smelled bad, of stale urine, of unknown, deep earth and forest.
“Seita will have her revenge and so will I. Whose belt have you around you? My belt. Give it to me and bow before me for mercy, and I might forgive you.”
Vierra’s spirit flared up. Who did this man think he was? That kind of behavior went beyond all understanding, and even though he was older, it was inappropriate for a man to speak thus to a woman.
“The belt is not mine but my husband’s, so I cannot give it to you. And I am not responsible to you for my doings. My chieftain is a woman like was my mother and my mother’s mother. Go away and leave me alone.”
The man stared at Vierra along his large nose.
“We shall see about belts and mercy.” He let out a cackling laugh and started running surprisingly fast through the rocky glade, disappearing into the forest on the opposite side.
Vierra looked after him and tried to figure out what had just happened. After he vanished into the forest, Vierra continued her journey. Dark thoughts rose up from her mind, one after another, bothering her travel and making her instinctively speed up her step.
Blood
Vierra had seen longboats many times before. This one, however, burned itself into her mind forever as she caught sight of it from the hilltop. The proud-bowed vessel had been pulled to the shore of the festival glade, and Vierra felt a hollow, strangling feeling churning in the bottom of her stomach. Those wayfarers had many names: persecutors, the tall men, the bearded men, the iron men. Vikings. They came from the west shore of the sea with their long boats every spring, bringing iron, salt, cloth, and silver. They were
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