Fargoer by Petteri Hannila Page A

border of their hearing were whispers which the night wind carried within. No cruelty or atrocious act of craving of the master had been able to touch Vierra’s hardened mind lately, but those whispers made her neck hair stand up and brought cold twinges to the bottom of her stomach. She instinctively moved closer to the man and his light-bringing torch.
    They stepped to the door of the summer hut and opened the latch. Alf and Oder were awake.
    “What has happened?” asked Oder.
    “Your master is dead, let’s go inside the house,” replied Ambjorn.
    “The Forest?” blurted Oder.
    “The Forest,” answered Vierra.

    The sacrifice
    “Let’s make torches for all of us and move in a line through the forest. God will show us the way,” Oder suggested.
    He, Ambjorn and Vierra sat as close to the flaming fireplace as it was possible. Alf was crouching by the master’s body. It was impossible to tell from his face whether he was feeling joy, sorrow, fear or suffering. Maybe a bit of all.
    Vierra looked at this silent man and a chill ran through her. That was the end of the road she was walking too. In the end, slavery led you either to death or to become like Alf, lost who knows where.
    “You have seen yourself what happens to those who escape,” Vierra argued. “They do not get further than a thrown stone into the forest. And definitely not far enough not to be heard from here.”
    “He got here,” Oder said and pointed to Ambjorn. “From the ones that tried to escape, none had put his faith in God. Everyone just believed in the demons and devils of this land. And that forest is filled with them.”
    Vierra was silent for a moment. For a long time she had had a bitter thought inside of her. Her tribe members would shun it, that she knew for certain, but the fear couldn’t fade it out completely. Now, for the first time, she dressed it up as words.
    “I will not put my life in the hands of gods no more, be them those of South or North. We have to come up with something else. I’d rather even wait for the morning.”
    Oder looked sad.
    “Think about your child, if not yourself. I for one will go, and I’ll take Alf with me. Alf, make torches and pack some food into a bag.”
    Alf lifted up his gaze and started to follow orders. His hideous face twisted into a satisfied expression.
    “Can you show us the way you came here?” Vierra asked Ambjorn.
    “I do not know. We were bear hunting when the sun blackened out and we were attacked by a group of indescribable... things, which I’d rather not remember.” Ambjorn shook his head. “I took a blow to the head and I wandered half-conscious in the forest, and I have no recollection of how I got here. I woke up from the edge of your glade.” Ambjorn sorted out the past events in his mind and kept his eyes intensely in the crackling fire. His gaze strayed to Vierra and remained there, staring at her thoughtfully.
    “It is madness to wait, I will go when the torches are ready. I will not stay here for one more moment,” Oder spat out and hurried on to make his torches.
    Vierra was filled with doubt. Entering the forest would mean death, and no god could protect them there. Her mind, that had woken up from numbness, was fighting to find an answer which could satisfy her moody, suspicious instinct. Her gaze circled the longhouse like a trapped animal. The woman stepped to the table, where stood a cask of beer, half full.
    “You were not sane when you came through the forest. You were not sane when you drank the master’s beer.” Vierra looked at Ambjorn meaningfully. “Let us drink beer until dawn and leave at its first light.”
    “By God’s name, what madness!” Oder blurted. “Make torches and come with us, surely with the four of us we can survive the forest with God’s help.” From somewhere he dug out the reed cross that he always carried with him.
    Vierra grabbed the stein that lay on the table and filled it with the dark liquid.
    “Do as you