The Fargoer

The Mother

The MotherAfternoon was giving way to evening as the girls arrived at a swampy lakeshore. The summer had dried up the beach, leaving only a carpet of moss that grew all the way to the waterfront. Despite the boggy southern edge, the lake had clear water from the many springs that fed it from the bottom. Nobody fished the lake because it was a holy place. Only girls who had reached womanhood came here, and then only once in their lives, during the hottest period of the summer. After their visit, they returned to their people as women and took their place among the adults. Before this, they had to face the First Mother, who weighed every girl's right to adulthood. Aure and Vierra were here for this very reason, and upon their return, they would be celebrated around the fires of their people.

It sometimes happened that a girl sent to become a woman never returned from her voyage.

Vierra and Aure cut straight, slim branches from the bushes surrounding the swamp and sharpened them into spears with their stone knives. They were crude weapons, but for their purpose they were perfect. After finishing the spears, the girls went to the water's edge, a bit away from each other, and stepped into the shallows. Sunlight had warmed the surface, but on the bottom, the lake was cooler and brought relief to the girls' weary feet. After wading a little deeper, they stopped and stood in the still, shallow water with their spears. The horseflies, fat from the heat of summer, thoroughly enjoyed this game, and soon both girls had several bite marks on their bodies. Gritting their teeth, they stood still and let the pests go about their business.

Soon, small fish began circling around them, curious and unafraid of the large, stationary figures. When nothing happened, few bigger fish followed the small ones, entering the girls' reach.

Aure was the luckier of the two, spearing a big, thick-necked perch. Vierra wasn't far behind: her catch was a small adolescent pike that had wandered within the spear's range. The girls took their stone knives and gutted the fish with care. To slake their thirst, they drank from the lake. The water had a stale taste burned into it by the sun during the hot summer days. Relieved nonetheless, they stood on the beach and waited, shooing away the horseflies. Now, they wouldn't have to greet the Mother without an offering.

The scorching sun was setting toward the horizon. The evening cooled the air down to a bearable warmth, and the horseflies disappeared only to be replaced by mosquitoes, forcing the girls to slap and flail continuously to drive them away. They missed the protection of their leather clothes, but clothes were f*******n, as initiates couldn't have in their possession anything that had been taken from another living creature when in the presence of the First Mother. Besides their belts and shoes only a stone knife and an offering were allowed. After the sun had set, dusk quickly took over. This far north, the midsummer sun wouldn't have allowed the darkness to set in, even in the middle of the night, but, this late in the summer, it would soon give way to the black of night.

“I wonder if it's true what they say about the boat,” said Aure, breaking the long silence.

“I hope it comes soon. Otherwise it'll be so dark that we won't see it, no matter how strange it is.”

“If the old hags say that the boat will come, then it'll come.”

“I guess so.” Vierra laughed uneasily. “It will have to have torches burning on it, anyway, if it doesn't arrive soon.”

Long before dark, the shadowy shape of a boat appeared on the tranquil, open lake. The girls went to the shore and waited nervously. As the boat approached, they saw that it was of plain and simple design, its wooden surface worn smooth by age. There were no oars or oarsmen, but everywhere around it water rose up in frothy waves. With a splash, the boat glided onto the shore and surged onto the mossy bank.

“On board, then,” Aure stated and stepped to the back of the boat without hesitation. The glance she threw back to Vierra didn't display the confidence of her words, however. Vierra followed, not saying anything. Each sought comfort from the other's eyes, their gazes flitting back and forth. If they had been competitive earlier, they were in this together now.

The mysterious old boat slowly slid away from the beach and back into the open lake. The girls heard splashing behind the stern, but neither one dared to look for the source. Unlike other ancient vessels, this old boat had no trace of leaks or cracks and traveled steadily forward, smelling of tangy resin and soil.

A pair of swans was making a stir on the lake, splashing their strong wings against the water and driving a younger intruder away from their nesting place. A loon with its offspring floated with poise on the dark water and started to feed. The night birds were singing, and the lake was full of life as the boat took the girls towards a small, craggy island. The strand was rocky, but the boat glided seamlessly between the rocks and into a grassy cove.

The girls rose from the boat in a hurry and jumped on to the beach. Mosquitoes welcomed them as they entered the withered forest. The strip of spruce was narrow, and the rocky terrain in the middle of the island was more open. As the girls moved to the north, they neared a steep cliff. When they reached its base, an ominous stone wall loomed in front of them. They had no gear, and the burdens of the day weighed in their limbs.

“Who's first to the top of the cliff?” yelled Aure in challenge, and she stormed to the ridge without waiting for an answer. Vierra yelled and dashed after her friend with whatever strength her tired legs had in them. For a moment, they were just two girls competing again.

Sweating and gasping, the girls pulled themselves to the top. The hasty climb without the protection of clothes had left bruises and marks on their hands and feet.

“I won!” Aure yelled, with a familiar mischievousness on her face. She nudged Vierra playfully on the shoulder as she climbed beside her to the mountaintop. Vierra, exhausted, couldn't say a word, but her green eyes flashed her opinion on losing.

“You cheated, you took a head start,” Vierra snorted, once her breath had evened out. Aure had already turned her focus elsewhere.

I will best you yet, Vierra thought, but didn't say it out loud.

The summit was flat, and a beautiful view opened up to the slowly darkening lake. The path that led the girls up the cliff top was uneven, but all of the other edges were straight and steep, with a fall of at least a full-grown tree's worth onto the beach below. The middle of the plateau was covered with the soot of previous fires, and a stone axe sat beside a pile of firewood, though no tinder could be seen.

“Nothing to start the fire with,” said Vierra, in a tired voice. She realized how arduous it would be to get a fire going.

“Like the old ones say, wood against wood.”

“And with words of fire,” Vierra added.

The girls went to work. Each started her own fire on top of the cliff, as dictated by tradition, for every girl who was entering adulthood had to have her own fire. They chose two of the driest pieces of wood and cut small notches into them. They whittled additional wood into chaff, and gathered dry moss and grass. This was easy because there was plenty of wood and kindling around, since the rain hadn't touched the area for many weeks. They placed a piece of wood on top of the campfire rock and started to saw on it sideways, using another notched piece of wood. Their furious sawing heated up the wood and a thin, black wisp of smoke rose from the spot they were sawing. The girls blew into it and fed it with the dry grass and moss. They also sang the words of Fire's Birth to lure its spirit to them.

Oh, you Seagull, bird of birds

Strengthen here our pyre

Termes mighty, lord of heavens

Bring to us your fire

Give me now the brand of yellow

Spark of highest heat

Warmth to lonely forest dweller

Flame of life unsheathe

Both girls' patches of moss lit almost at the same time, burning with a small, withering wisp. They fed the fire eagerly with wood shavings until the pile burst into flames. The fire crackled and smoked from the resin within the wood. Dirty and sweaty from the work, the girls were happy nonetheless, as the smoke drove away the mosquitoes and the fire dispelled the feeling of uneasiness that came with the dark. They placed the fish on the tips of their spears and cooked them in the fire. The air was filled with anticipation as the late summer night fell upon them.

“My fish is bigger than yours,” Vierra blurted from behind her campfire. She hadn't forgotten the sting of defeat from the climb.

“Pike tastes like mud compared to perch,” Aure replied. “Mother will take my present first.”

“Surely she will not. You always burn your fish black. Nobody can eat them.”

It was hard to say from where she arrived to the fire. Neither Aure nor Vierra saw her approach. Like the girls, she wore only a leather belt, and her sparse hair was tied back with a string. But that was the end of the resemblance. Her extreme old age was evident, as her parched skin was dark and filled with wrinkles. Countless infants had nursed her breasts flat and left them hanging down her skinny sides. As dark as her limbs were, her face was even darker and protruded with a crooked jaw that had only a few teeth left. Despite her wretched appearance, her gaze was sharp as a blade, and a sense of power and wisdom surrounded her. She smelled strongly of resin and the forest, just like the boat that had carried the girls to the island.

At first she said nothing, and shoved her worn hands towards the girls. They looked at each other and then gave their cooked fish to the hag, watching silently as she ate them in the glow of the fire. She made no distinction between pike or perch, but ate the catch complete with tails, heads, and bones, swallowing them in big chunks. After this meal, she rubbed her hands together, obviously pleased, and spoke.

“Aure, Vierra,” she started, her voice as deep as it was solemn. “As girls you came here, and as women you wish to leave. But first you must hear of the birth of your people, and then we will see your worth.” She started to sing, her worn voice filled with an energy and raw power that belied her age and appearance.

The song began calmly, telling of the birth of the world. The Mother sang a story of a seagull that looked for a nesting place on the shoreless sea, and finally found a rock that pushed through the surface. The song strengthened as it portrayed the rising rage of the sea and the wave that destroyed the seagull's nest, throwing the eggs into the merciless ocean. It gained a sense of wonder as the seagull sang a crafting song, a song of great magic. From the pieces of the eggs, the wise bird made the world and the sky to cover it. The song gave birth to all plants, animals, and men. For every creature, the seagull made a mate, save for humankind, for they were seeds of sorrow and the source of all evil. Finally, the sea took up the task and created a woman for the man. But this woman, the First Woman, would not bow at the man's feet, but became instead the ruler of the land, the guardian of her people.

The girls listened to the song, mesmerized. They had heard it before, but the Mother's voice was different and it carried them through these stormy events. It made the girls forget their excitement and fear for a moment, and they let the tale take them somewhere else, to another place and time in the distant past. Finally, the song died down, allowing the girls to wake up and return to reality.

After singing, the old woman stood up from beside the fire and continued.

“Remember this song and sing it to your children by a fire, like your mothers have surely sung to you. Now we shall see what kind of women you really are.”

She approached them, first Aure and then Vierra, and examined them roughly from head to toe, grunting occasionally with approval.

“You will both make good mothers, but only one can be the chieftain. Aure, you are the chieftain's daughter. Vierra is the chieftain's niece, and not unworthy to the task. However, the ruler is not chosen by her bloodline but rather by her actions. Here, you are equal.”

Her gaze gained cold determination as she continued.

“If you, Aure, become the leader, our kind will prosper at first, but people in surrounding areas will eventually come, and the Kainu shall disappear forever. If you, Vierra, are chosen, our people will suffer greatly but shall be preserved for as long as my eyes can see. In this, I have a serious decision, because if Aure comes back from here alive, she will become the leader. Those of us who have survived have always been tough and resilient, and I say now to fight until only one of you is left. The survivor will be the chieftain after Aure's mother passes.”

This cruel suggestion was left hanging in the air, and the girls stared at each other, trying to read each other's intentions. Aure jumped up, drew the stone blade from her belt and approached Vierra with a grim look on her face. She wouldn't let anything come between her and her prize. Vierra got up nimbly and backed away from her cousin's knife. Their eyes met briefly over the gloom of the campfires. In their stare was something new, something that hadn't been there even in their worst quarrels. Something that could not be found in the eyes of a child.

They started a round of a dangerous game in the blaze of the fires. There was very little space to move around in: falling from the edge would mean a plunge downwards in the dark to the waiting rocks below. Vierra backed away for a while but finally had to let her cousin come close for fear of falling down. They grabbed each other, weapons in hand, and were soon rolling on the rocky cliff top, wrestling for their lives. They tumbled over Vierra's fire, spewing flames and a high spout of sparks as the burning wood moved violently. Both had wrestled almost as long as they had breathed, and they were equally matched in skill. Still, Aure's sturdiness gave her an edge, and she managed to push her cousin's knife hand to the ground as they struggled on the edge of the cliff. Aure's knife slowly approached Vierra's throat, inch by inch, until the jagged edge almost touched the glistening, sweaty skin. Shaking, they were both frozen in this position for a brief moment, and neither one seemed to be able to move forward.

Vierra swooped Aure off from on top of her in one swift motion, causing Aure to fall headfirst over the cliff's edge. Before Aure plunged down to her death, Vierra grabbed her by the arm. Aure's stone knife slipped from her grasp and clattered onto the rocks below, as she dangled in midair, held by her cousin. The girls gazed at each other, their eyes flashing with lightning in the dark. From the background came the eerie voice of the Mother.

“Let her go, Vierra. You will be the chieftain, and our people will live forever.”

For a brief moment, Vierra could not reach a decision. She looked into her cousin's eyes and remembered their friendship, the runs they had made through the forests while the village men nodded their approval, saying to one another, “Such great women they will be, but which one will lead?” She remembered how their differences and disputes had grown when they got older. Aure had tried to bend Vierra to her will, as she had bent all the other children of the tribe. Like a small chieftain, she had given orders in their games and chores as the adults watched from the side, amused. But Vierra hadn't approved of her rule and hadn't given in an inch. And when the spirits had taken Vierra's parents to them, one after another, and Aure's mother had taken the orphaned girl under her wing, the competition between them had risen to a completely new level. Besides the authority, they now also had a common mother from whom they both wanted admiration and attention.

Nobody would blame Vierra if she allowed Aure to fall to her death. The Mother was positively demanding it of her. She would get everything that Aure now had. She would be chieftain, and the Kainu would be preserved forever. Aure would definitely not save her, if it was the other way around.

Vierra yanked Aure back up to the surface with both hands and shouted, “This is enough! I won't kill my cousin, no matter who tells me to do so, not even if it is you, Mother. In the morning I will leave, with or without your blessing.”

The night air was cut with a rising, low-pitched laugh from the Mother's throat.

“The chieftain's blood truly runs in your veins. You both will have my blessing, of course. You have brought honor both to yourselves and to your people. Never again shall you enter the children's hut.”

The Mother fell silent, and neither of the girls said anything, either. Aure drew a heavy breath and avoided Vierra's gaze, a rare, secluded look on her face. They revived their fires as the burdens of the day started to slowly take their toll. Both tried to stay awake, but finally sleep took over. The last thing Vierra saw with her sleepy eyes was the Mother, poking the fire with a gentle smile on her wrinkly face.