Sleeping Sun, part 2/?
Nov. 23rd, 2005 01:31 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
calime2.
Marjatta, korea kuopus, tuo on piika pikkarainen,
/…/
Marjatta, matala neiti, etsi suolta poikoansa.
Poika suolta löyettihin, tuolta tuotihin kotia./…/
(Mariatta, child of beauty,
Magic maid of little stature,
/…/
Mariatta, child of beauty,
Virgin-mother of the Northland,
Straightway seeks her babe in Swamp-land,
Finds him in the reeds and rushes;
Takes the young child on her bosom
To the dwelling of her father./…/)
Kalevala, Rune L
Marja was hungry and tired and wet. She was also more than slightly peeved – she had fulfilled her part of the bargain – at least as far as the wood spirits were concerned.
She had brought them a gift, an intricately woven small bracelet made of the mane of the last wild horse she had hunted and killed, declaring her intention and asking for the spirits’ permission to hunt another. She had dutifully returned the head of her previous quarry to the woods, so that the soul of the animal might come back once more in the body of the shaggy hoofed creature and the ranks of the forest-dwellers would not be diminished. She had equally dutifully presented the kill to her tribe and uncomplainingly shouldered her part of the tasks involving smoking and curing the meat.
She had not said a word of protest when the Mother and the Holy Man of the tribe, or the Akka and the Ukko, as they were respectfully called, decided that the skin of the animal would have to go to the newly-mated pair from her tribe, who had a squalling baby to look after.
Marja snorted at the memory. The hide of the kill was by tradition the property of the hunter, to be bestowed however he or she deemed appropriate. But no-one argued with the Akka, or the Ukko, for that matter. ’You have no young to take care of, Marja,’ the Akka had said, and then, gazing pointedly at the knife on her belt, ’perhaps if you would deem a man worthy to give your knife to, the Earth Mother would bless you with children, seeing that there would be someone else to hunt for them when you are carrying another one around in your belly, or at your breast. The Mother does not like to give her gifts to those that will not take proper care of them.’
Marja snorted again. As far as she was concerned, the Earth Mother withholding little screeching hungry things from her was fine. She had seen first hand what trouble those little ones were, starting with their painful entrance to the land of the living. And as if birthing and feeding and raising the little ones was not a hardship enough, one was expected to pick a mate when one’s belly started to swell; to help and support the mother in raising the young. Hinder, more likely,thought Marja, and she had absolutely no intention of giving up her wondrous knife in token of accepting a paltry man as a mate in return.
The knife had come from far away places, over the salt water from the east, from where the people lived on the bank of the big river, and they in turn had gotten it from a traveller who had come to them through the deep forests of the south. It was a beautiful piece of work, unlike the ordinary flint knives of the tribe. She had given a dozen good pelts and two chunks of amber and her bone amulet carved in the shape of the lightning snake for it. Several others in the tribe had some ornaments of the strange stuff the knife was made of, but no one had a knife like hers. She could not imagine wanting to swap it for a mate, so, truth be told, she was deeply grateful to the Earth Mother for sparing her from a baby in her belly.
But she could definitely use a nice horseskin, and the dried meat would come in handy during the cold season, so she had carefully prepared for the next hunt to ensure her success.
And at the beginning of the hunt everything had seemed to be right. On the second day away from the village she had found a small group of wild horses grazing on lush grass at the edge of the swampy ground that would gradually lead to the great bog. She had singled out an elder foal that was much too curious for its own good and with painstaking patience had waited while the foal wandered further away towards the softer ground in search of more succulent rushes.
She had just placed herself between the foal and the herd grazing farther away and was stringing her bow, aiming for a perfect shot at the foal’s neck, when a sudden low rumble from the distance caused both the horses and the hunter to lift their heads and look around in alarm. Dark clouds that had been hanging low in the heavens for the better part of the day had suddenly become even darker and the late summer heat more oppressive. With a sudden sharp, deafening crack of thunder the heavens opened and white water poured down; the horses jumped up and away as one, the curious foal bounding on the heels of the herd, while Marja’s hastily loosed arrow swished harmlessly away into the undergrowth.
She could only grumble under her breath while seeking shelter from the rain. How could she be expected to remember to appease all the gods beforehand? It had been really rude on the behalf of the Thunder god to mess up her hunt. ’See if I’ll spare you anything next time, ’ she thought rebelliously.
A crackling noise drew her attention to the nearby clump of pines – the tallest of those had been struck by lightning and was burning, the angry flames already reaching over from the broken and blackened stump to lick hungrily the branches of the neighbouring trees. Despite the rain, the ground around the burning tree was smouldering. Marja spared a glance around – yes, it had been a dry summer, and even considering the amount of water pouring down, staying in the dried-out forest was not smart, in case this little burning would turn into a full-out forestfire. She turned and started to trot away, picking her way over the uneven ground.
That was when she found him. She stumbled and almost fell over something, and when she got her balance back, she discovered that the something was not a tree stump, but a skinny, rather grubby child, about four or five summers old, if the size was any indication, lying on his side with knees drawn up under his chin and arms covering his head, as if laid out for burial .
For a heartbeat Marja thought that the child was dead, but when she gingerly touched the arm thrown over the dark head, the child jumped up as if bitten and stood, trembling and looking at Marja with frightened eyes.
The boy was perhaps a bit slimmer and lighter-skinned than the children of her own tribe, but not much. The strange thing about him was the colour of those frightened eyes. Marja’s people had usually grey eyes to go together with hair that ranged from darker brown to lighter colour of woodland honey, whereas others, those with very dark hair, had soft deep-brown eyes. But this boy had the eyes that were the colour of the boggybottomed forest pools in the sunlight, peering out from under shaggy head of dark hair that was almost black from the rain.
Marja sighed. It seemed that the Thunder god was not through playing tricks with her.
’What is your name, boy?’ she asked. The boy cocked his head with a puzzled expression on his face and remained mute.
Better and better. A wretched, mute, skinny child instead of a nice foal. The gods were really unkind sometimes. Sighing again, she took the boy by hand and dragged him along.
At least, he was big enough to know how to walk and had his own teeth, which meant no swaddlings or incessant crying or worrying about what to feed him with.
A second thought came to her, brightening her expression. Maybe the Akka would let her keep the next horsehide now that she had a little one by her fire as well. But in no way was she going to swap her knife for a mate, she could manage on her own perfectly well, even with a little thing to feed.
She frowned a bit, looking down at the child. He should have a use-name, at least, he was old enough for one. And as the child’s mother, it was her duty to give him the first name, wasn’t it?
She thought about it. The child had obviously something to do with the Thunder god, why else would he have ruined her hunt and given her the boy instead the foal? Maybe the boy was the child of Thunder or Lightning, just like the snakes were. She gave the boy another appraising glance. No, he did not look like a snake, more like a little grub. ’I’ll call you Mato,’ she decided aloud. The boy looked up at the sound of her voice and gripped her hand more firmly.
All in all, it could have been worse, Marja decided. She could have came home from the hunt empty-handed.
__________________
Note: Names are in Finnish - mostly contemporary Finnish, because despite being Estonian, I do not know any proto-fenno-ugrian *g*, and Finnish is much closer to the older forms of language spoken in the area than Estonian. 'Marja' means berry. It is probably an old name, but it is still in use nowadays. Akka and Ukko mean 'old woman' and 'old man' respectively; Ukko was also one of the names for a god with a bigger clout in the area of Finland and Estonia once upon a time. Some say that he was the Thunder god, and some said that the thunder gods (Pikker - Lightning and Kõu - Thunder) were his sons. And 'Mato' means worm, earthworm, grub, little snake. Don't look at me like that. It does. Honest.
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(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-23 04:24 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-23 06:02 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-24 12:00 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-24 12:02 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-26 11:06 pm (UTC)Just one question: Didn't the actual Finnish arrive with a people much later? I'm no historian, it's just what I was told. Maybe you can enlighten me. :-)
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-26 11:23 pm (UTC)But as noted, It's not supposed to be a very historically accurate rendition. I'm just playing with some scientific facts and putting on much of my own mind.
Thanks for reading, I'm glad you like it so far! And any nitpicking, suggestions, criticism is very welcome *begs*.
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-28 08:26 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-28 07:40 pm (UTC)I can see Methos' affinity to Thunder and Lightning--I wonder if his early experiences with wintry Ullr don't color his love of warmer climes in later times *g*
(no subject)
Date: 2005-11-28 07:53 pm (UTC)I wonder if his early experiences with wintry Ullr don't color his love of warmer climes in later times *g* Yep, you may be very right. Bora Bora is much nicer...and the beer, that is quite good up here now, did not unfortunately excist yet at 3000 BC *g*.