Years later, Ilmarinen had moved to Paasilinna when Annikki turned two, but he never missed a chance to visit his daughter, who remained in the care of her grandmother, Louhi in Pohjola. The village echoed with laughter whenever Ilmarinen returned, his booming voice filling the air like a warm summer breeze.
Ilmarinen adored Annikki, yet the demands of work and fatherhood often clashed, leaving him torn between duty and love. Väino could vividly recall the way Ilmarinen’s eyes sparkled with joy whenever he spoke of her, recounting tales of her first steps and her laughter that bubbled like a brook. When she turned seven and it was time for school, she finally moved in with her father.
Years passed, and Ilmarinen transformed from an unknown attorney into one of the most respected in the city. He won many cases, his reputation soaring. Yet, amidst the triumphs, he lost some as well; it was an inevitable part of the game. Väino knew, however, that Ilmarinen always managed to make his defeats appear deliberate, a strategic retreat that only enhanced his colleagues' respect for him.
When Annikki was eight, Ilmarinen secured the position of Secretary of the Jäävarasto. Väino watched as the young girl flourished, her pale blond hair catching the light like spun gold, her olive eyes glimmering with the innocence of youth. She embodied a quiet grace, the opposite of her father’s boisterous nature. Yet, she had a sweet voice that captivated everyone around her, a melody that reminded Väino endlessly of Tytär.
But joy quickly turned to despair when, at the tender age of ten, Annikki fell ill. The doctor’s words echoed in Väino’s mind like a death knell—deficiencies in her heart, an incurable condition. The news shattered Ilmarinen, a man who had faced countless battles and emerged victorious. This was a war he could not win, and as the days turned into a blur of hospital visits and anxious waiting, Väino witnessed his friend’s slow descent into a compulsive state of self-destruction.
Annikki’s light flickered and dimmed until, one fateful day, it extinguished completely. Ilmarinen, once vibrant, became a hollow shell, drowning his grief in alcohol and opium, desperately seeking to escape the torment of loss.
That same afternoon, a frantic knock shattered the stillness of Väino’s home. He opened the door to find Ilmarinen standing there, tears streaming down his face, his blue coat heavy with sorrow. The desperation in his friend’s eyes sent a chill down Väino’s spine.
"I want you to help me make a doll," Ilmarinen implored, his voice raw with emotion.
Without hesitation, Väino agreed. For more than twelve hours, they worked side by side, carving, molding, and painting the pieces that would become a doll. The workshop was filled with the sounds of their labor: the scrape of wood, and the soft thud of tools against the workbench.
Annikki died in Pohjola, in her grandmother's house. The air in the room still felt heavy with the weight of grief as Marjatta, Louhi, Ilmatar, and the village doctor gathered to mourn the tragic loss.
As the gathering continued, Väino, who remained unaware of the tragedy, and Ilmarinen labored over the doll, pouring their hearts and souls into the creation. Once the doll was complete. The moment of truth loomed. “I'll teach you how to give her life,” Väino said. He handed Ilmarinen a mirror, its surface gleaming under the dim light.
"You must visualize the Aether in Mother Nature," Väino instructed, his tone firm yet encouraging. "Take one of the many threads of life that run through our world! That is the essence that gives life to a doll."
Ilmarinen’s eyes widened as he peered into the mirror. The reflection revealed more than just their tired faces; it unveiled a vibrant web of pulsating energy. On the mirror’s reflection, he could see millions of golden threads, each one connecting everything, shimmering like stars in the night sky.
"When you want to give life, you must use one of these mirrors," Väino continued. “You should take one of these threads and insert a part of it into this bottle!” He extended a small, transparent glass bottle with a yellow cork cap toward Ilmarinen.
“You must remember to always give a goal to the doll,” he reminded Ilmarinen, his voice softening. “Tell her why she is alive.”
Ilmarinen pocketed the bottle and the mirror, his movements abrupt and frantic. With a sudden resolve, he hefted the naked doll over his shoulder and bolted from the workshop before Väino could utter another word. The urgency in Ilmarinen’s stride sent a ripple of fear through Väino. What was he planning to do?
Stolen novel; please report.
Ilmarinen sprinted toward his home, the snow crunching beneath his boots. Yet, he hesitated at the threshold of his own home, the weight of his decision crashing down on him like an avalanche. The laws of Paasilinna forbade what he contemplated, and even if they did not, the act was undeniably unethical. He stood on the precipice of a choice that could unravel everything.
From the window outside his house, Ilmarinen did the unthinkable. He reached out, grasping the threads that still lingered, those fragile silken connections not yet severed from Annikki's dead body. With trembling hands, he pulled them into the bottle, feeling the surge of power coursing through him. The moment felt electric, charged with the thrill of forbidden magic, yet beneath it lay an undercurrent of dread—a warning he chose to ignore.
In an instant, an explosion ripped through the quiet night, shattering the stillness like glass. Flames erupted from his home, bright and hungry, consuming everything in their path. The air filled with acrid smoke, and the screams of the villagers pierced the night like a siren's wail.
Väino stood frozen in place in his front yard, paralyzed by shock as the flames danced and swirled, the heat radiating toward him like a living entity. The sheer chaos of the moment overwhelmed him. He could scarcely understand the destruction unfolding before his eyes. The fire crackled and roared, devouring the wood and memories, reducing Ilmarinen’s home to ashes.
Ilmarinen, his face pale and wide-eyed, fled from the inferno, desperation etched in every feature. He stumbled through the snow, the cold biting at his skin, but he felt no chill; all he could sense was the overwhelming need to hide the doll beneath the snow, to shield it from the chaos he had wrought.
Väino’s heart broke as he watched his friend prostrate himself in front of the remains of what had once been a home filled with laughter and love. The sight of Ilmarinen, a figure so broken and defeated, ignited a fire within Väino—a mix of anger and sorrow. He rushed forward, the world around him a blur, the crackling flames illuminating the path
Väino rushed into the chaos, his heart racing as he approached the scene of destruction. The choking trail of smoke clawed at his throat, thick and suffocating. Flames licked hungrily at the wooden structure of the house, crackling, and popping like a thousand angry voices. "What the hell happened?" he demanded, his voice rising above the din of the inferno.
Ilmarinen stood there, dazed, his eyes vacant and filled with despair. No answer came. In a surge of frustration, Väino struck Ilmarinen in the face, the impact resonating through the frigid air, knocking him to the ground with a sickening thud. Blood streamed from Ilmarinen's broken nose, staining the snow beneath him.
"Marjatta!" Väino shouted, panic clawing at his insides as he bolted toward the house. He felt the heat of the fire on his skin, the flames dancing like demons, hungry and wild. "Louhi, Ilmatar!" His heart raced as he pushed through the door.
Inside, the flames roared. He spotted Ilmatar in the kitchen, her body partially engulfed in flames, but she stood resolute, using her own burning body as a shield to protect the fainted Louhi. The sight pierced Väino’s heart. “Where is Marjatta?” he cried, his voice a mixture of fear and desperation.
He rushed forward, grabbing Ilmatar and Louhi, and pulling them out of the flames. He felt the heat sear his hands, but he pushed through, using the snow outside to extinguish the fire consuming Ilmatar.
Once they were outside, Väino turned back to the burning house, dread pooling in his stomach. He had to find Marjatta. “I will find her!” he shouted, but his voice trembled, uncertainty gnawing at him.
He dashed back inside, the heat wrapping around him like a vice. His heart thudded in his chest as he searched, but all he found was Annikki's lifeless body, lying in the remnants of the living room as flames burned her clothes. The sight of her pale face, once filled with laughter, now frozen in eternal silence, tore at his soul. “Where is Marjatta?” he shouted again, his voice breaking, desperation clawing at his throat.
“I don’t know,” Ilmatar lamented as he stepped back out carrying Annikki’s body.
Just then, Ilmarinen regained consciousness, his expression a mix of shock and horror. He stumbled to his feet, shaking off the remnants of his daze.
“Mrs. Marjatta is still inside!” a child’s voice shouted from outside.
“Jouka?” Väino asked as the boy remained standing at a safe distance, his face pale and wide-eyed, witnessing the devastation with innocent terror. “I saw her looking through the window on the second floor.”
In an instant, Ilmarinen bolted toward the burning house, moving faster than Väino thought possible, driven by a primal need to save Marjatta. The flames roared, the structure groaning under the strain, but Ilmarinen charged forward, fear propelling him. "Marjatta!" he shouted, his voice a raw mix of panic and love. “Where are you?”
Väino echoed his friend’s call as he followed, his heart racing alongside Ilmarinen's desperate sprint.
But then, the house gave way. With a deafening crash, the roof collapsed, a cascade of wood and fire tumbling down. The sound echoed in Väino’s ears, a finality that sent a wave of despair crashing over him. “No!” he screamed; his voice raw with anguish.
Neighbors rushed in, their faces etched with horror as they pulled Väino and Ilmarinen away from the wreckage. “You have to get out!” they shouted, their hands gripping their arms, dragging them back from the flames. Their voices blurred into a cacophony of panic, muffled by the roaring fire and the rush of blood in his ears.
As they were pulled away, Väino's world spiraled into darkness. He felt the freezing air bite against his skin, but the chill weather could not compete with the burning agony in his heart.