The girl curtsied and vanished into the kitchen.
“Your daughter is growing into a lovely young woman,” Kipa said.
Bear laughed. “She is at that. I would have tried to get you to take her hand, but you have found another lovely for yourself.” He turned to me. “No worries, milady Raven, I will not interfere. I would have loved to have Kipa for a son-in-law, but then again, he has been known to play fast and loose with the hearts of many a woman throughout Kalevala, and I would never wish that on my daughter, Aiedal.” He paused then, blushing. “Not that I think he would do so to you—”
“Give it up, Bear. You always end up with foot-in-mouth disease.” But Kipa laughed and draped his arm around my shoulders. “Don’t worry, love,” he said to me. “You know I’ve left my wandering eye behind.”
“I should hope so,” Phasmoria said.
Bear snorted and slapped his thigh. “Best beware, Wolf. You know how mothers can be.”
“Oh yes,” Kipa said. He gave a reverent nod to my mother. “Phasmoria knows I won’t ever play her daughter fast and loose.”
I remembered Kipa telling me that, among the Finns, the true heroes were the mothers of the heroes. They often bailed their sons out of trouble and managed to unravel the messes they made. So that meant my mother had some clout here.
“What brings you to our neck of the woods?” Bear asked as Aiedal carried in a serving tray that was almost as round as she was tall. She set it on a folding stand and began to fill the table with dishes. There were bowls of soup, a basket of warm, fresh rolls, a crock of butter, a round of soft cheese, what looked like a whole fish that had been roasted in the oven, a cranberry tart, and a ham, sliced and ready to eat.
“I’ll return with your drinks,” she said, vanishing again.
I stared at the spread, once again ambivalent about the food in my world. As I tasted the potato soup, my body began to wake up and I realized that the extreme cold had made me feel like I was shutting down and going to sleep.
“We’re seeking Väinämöinen and last I heard, he was staying here, in your inn.” Kipa picked up a roll and tore it in half, slathering it with the spreadable cheese.
Bear went into a coughing fit, accepting a stein of ale from his daughter, who had returned with several bottles of wine, two steins of ale, and two goblets. She set the goblets in front of my mother and me, and handed Kipa the other stein. Bear guzzled down the ale, wiping the foam off his lips as he cleared his throat. He handed the empty stein to his daughter. “More, please.”
She carried the stein away.
“So, you’re here to see the old coot?”
“Don’t talk like that. You owe him some honor for all he’s done,” Kipa said. “I’m irreverent and even I give Väinämöinen his fair due.”
I watched the interplay with interest. I had seen Kipa around Herne, and around Cernunnos and Morgana, but until today I hadn’t seen him around other gods of his kind. And given Bear was his cousin and some sort of god, it fascinated me to see how he interacted with him.
“True that, my brother. True that,” Bear said. “He can be frightening. But yes, he’s here. He’s in a room on the second floor, but I will tell you this—he seems surly today. I’m not sure what happened but he stormed in, ordered that he’s not to be disturbed, and had four bottles of wine sent up to his room.”
Kipa stared at his plate. “That’s not comforting.”
Phasmoria broke open one of the rolls and added butter, ham, and the cheese to make a sandwich. I wasn’t that hungry because I’d been eating potato soup, but the ham beckoned to me, too, and so I added several slices to my plate.
“Come walk with me,” Kipa said, motioning to Bear. “We’ll be right back,” he added, turning to me.
As they walked off toward the corner where we couldn’t hear them, I glanced around. “This is a pretty inn,” I said.
My mother bit into her second sandwich. “So, what do you think?” she asked, keeping her voice low. “Would you ever live here?”
“Maybe,” I said, blinking. “Why?”
“Because if you and Kipa stay together, eventually he may want to return here and then you’ll have a choice to make. You’ll have to ask yourself if you’re willing to give up city life for a life here.”
“I doubt he’d want to stay, though. He seems to like the ‘modern’ era,” I said.
“I know, but you can never be entirely sure of what’s going to happen.” She paused, then added, “The Dragonni are making inroads and the gods aren’t having much luck turning them back. I know all about…their secret weapon, and we can hope that it will turn the tide, but you need to seriously give some thought to what happens if Typhon and his kind manage to take over. You need a place to retreat to, Raven, a place you’ll be safe. Because anyone—anyone—aligned with the gods in trying to repel the Father of All Dragons will be marked for execution. I’ve seen wars like this before. And I will not have you murdered in your sleep, even if I have to drag you off to the Morrígan’s castle.”
I pressed my lips together, suddenly grasping her meaning. If Echidna—the Mother of All Dragons—wasn’t able to beat Typhon back into the realm in which he had been trapped, then the world would be doomed. There was no option for compromise. With Typhon, it was all or nothing. Even now, the Father of Dragons was working on two fronts—one offensive, and the other, much more insidious.
“I suppose I could go to Annwn. That’s where my gods are, and that’s where Herne and Ember and Angel would be,” I said.
“If it comes to that, don’t wait too long. Whether it be Annwn or here. I’m so proud of how you’ve stepped up to helping with the war effort, but don’t put your life on the line.” She went back to her dinner, leaving me to think over her words.
A moment later, Kipa and Bear returned. Kipa motioned to us.
“Bear’s arranged a meeting with Väinämöinen. Come, we don’t want to risk him changing his mind.” He slid his arm around my waist and, with Phasmoria following, led us toward the stairs. On the way up, he added, “Bear’s right. Väinämöinen is a crusty old salt, but he’s also one of the most powerful bards in the world and he’s crafty and sly. So watch your words, mind your manners, and maybe we’ll come away with what we need.”
As we ascended the stairs to the second floor, I found myself getting nervous. As a witch, I instinctively revered the Force Majeure. They worked some of the most powerful magic in the world—sort of the rock stars of the bewitching set.
We stopped at the second door on the left side of the hallway, and Kipa knocked. A moment later, a young man opened the door. He looked muscled and strong, and young, and though I knew that magic could enhance the illusion of youth, I was startled by how real the illusion seemed. That is, until the youth led us into the sitting room area of the inn’s suite, and I realized that he wasn’t Väinämöinen.
An older man was sitting in a rocking chair beside the fireplace. His face was lined with wrinkles, a topographical map of his life, and he wore a long pale blue robe. His hair hung in braids down to his back—shining white and smooth—and there was a quiet aura of power surrounding him that almost muffled the entire room. My stomach fluttered and I found myself frozen as I stared at him and doubt began to emerge. Who was I, a mere bone witch, to ask such a powerful bard to teach me his magic? I blushed, my cheeks red and hot as I bit my lip.