The Hunting of Tulikettu

by Jordan Bianchi

***

“When you see your chance do not forsake it, for it may never return.”

Grandmother’s parting words haunted every step of Veikko’s hunting trip. Days ago he had left his village to kill a great beast on his own and prove his worth as a man.

High in the northern lands, it was the time of the polar night. The sun had not risen above the horizon as he ventured through the forest, and it would not rise for several weeks.

He had tracked a bear and followed it along the river. He readied his bow, but before he could take his shot, another appeared: a challenger. The bears wrestled, teeth barred and claws drawn. It was a vicious battle. A nearby tree fell victim. In time, his bear, wounded but still alive, was once again alone.

Veikko drew back the string of his bow.

Grandmother had helped him split and smooth birch trees, cut feathers and adhere them to the smoothed wood with glue from rabbit skin. The village’s arrowsmith supplied him with arrowheads for his hunt. Every hunter was given the same amount before they left on their journey: ten.

Veikko’s quiver now held just one arrow. One had pierced the shoulder of a moose but did not bring it down. Another made a reindeer stumble before it dashed away and vanished into the night. Many had broken upon impact with trees or rocks. Many were lost somewhere in the wilderness behind him, concealed by the snow.

This one had to make its mark.

The bear stood up on its hind legs to eat berries from a bush.

Aim was not Veikko’s strong suit. Neither was timing, as his family always reminded him. All he had to do was strike below its shoulder and he would pierce its heart. Nothing more. Nothing less. The other men had done this. To win his village’s respect, and the hand of Sigrit, the woman he loved, he had no choice.

With shaking hands, he released the arrow.

It flew through the needles of a fir tree and pierced the ground beside the bush. The bear did not look up from its meal.

Veikko was dismayed. He wanted to try again. The arrow looked unbroken, but he would have to wait to collect it until the bear moved on.

He fumed at the bear as it took its time savoring the berry patch. Had it really not seen the arrow at all? Was it teasing him with its apparent lack of fear?

Snow fell. The quiet of arctic night continued unbroken. After some time, the bear finished its meal and went on its way.

With a yank, Veikko retrieved the arrow. The arrowhead and wood were intact.

A second chance.

He had no food left so he ate the berries the bear had passed over. They were tangy and sweet. He put some in his bag. He wanted to follow the bear, but it was nowhere in sight. Its tracks were filled in with fresh snow.

Veikko’s stomach grumbled. He would have to fish again soon so he could survive until he took down a formidable creature and returned home with honor. Although, he was losing faith that that would happen after all.

Defeated, he retreated to his tent by the lake.

The snowfall stopped. The sky cleared.

He heard something by the water. He crept down, as quietly as he could, and looked through the thicket of hibernating vegetation that ringed the frozen lake.

Veikko’s heart skipped a beat.

Circling around the fishing hole Veikko had chiseled the day before was a polar fox. It appeared to be following a fish with its clever eyes.

But this fox was unlike any other he had seen trying to steal food from his camp. An iridescent kaleidoscope of color glowed outward from the fox’s body to the tips of its fur. They flickered and breathed like flames of his campfire.

Grandmother had told legends about this fox since he was a child. But no one had seen it in hundreds of years.

This was Tulikettu. Its tail twinkled with the same flames that created revontulet, the fox fires, the ripples and ribbons of ghostly, magical light that sometimes flickered through the northern skies.

This was his moment. The bear had given him a second chance. Sirgit would undoubtedly choose him if he brought back the pelt of this magic fox.

Although Veikko thought he had not made a sound, the fox turned to look at him with eyes as dark and endless as night itself. It watched Veikko curiously as he approached. Its furs flickered in time with its breaths.

Veikko raised his bow.

As he pulled back the notched arrow, he felt the weight of the bow, the weight of his family.

Veikko set his aim between the fox’s galactic eyes. His arm shook. How could honor be won by the death of such a creature? The energy of the heavens emanated out from its pelt. He lost himself in its eyes, twin stars that were wrapped in arcs of colored light.

With a heavy sigh, he lowered his bow. He tucked the final arrow back in its quiver.

Grandmother would be beside herself if she knew such a creature had been spared, but he could not bring himself to do it. It was wrong.

Tulikettu lowered its shoulders and bowed its head with unmistakable kinship. Somehow Veikko knew it to be true. It curled its glowing tail to its snout, and with a quick tug from its teeth, plucked out a clump of twinkling furs. It gently placed them at Veikko's feet.

Then it shot across the frozen lake like a shooting star. As it ran, colors of the rainbow–green, pink, blue–sparked off its flaming, iridescent tail and lifted off into the sky, higher and higher, until they burst into radiant curtains of revontulet. The display grew longer with each leap of Tulikettu’s paws. Its tail streaked flames across the entire night sky like a painter’s brush against a blank canvas.

Before long, the fox disappeared beyond the horizon. The Northern Lights were all that remained of the encounter.

The Lights, and the strands of magical fur. Veikko stooped to examine the gift given to him by the fox. On the snowy ground, the furs flickered like coals nipped by a fresh breath of air.

At his touch, they were neither warm nor cold. A murmur of shimmering light shone from within the furs. He stored them in his bag before the wind stole them away.

Although he had not made a kill, he was cold and tired. It was time to go home.

Grandmother stood alone at the edge of the village, silhouetted by the dancing sky lights. Veikko, defeated and spent, could barely look at her. Wordlessly, he opened his pack and took out the twinkling furs.

“You met Tulikettu,” Grandmother whispered.

Veikko nodded. Grandmother led Veikko to the great fire at the center of their village. Veikko hung his head low. “Veikko has shown great courage on his hunt,” Grandmother announced. Veikko was confused. The villagers were puzzled as well. Veikko bore no pelt or head. But when he opened his hand, they too were enchanted by the sight of the glowing strands of fox fur.

Grandmother took the flickering furs and wrapped them around the head of his final arrow. She lifted it high into the air and walked around the fire. Sparks flicked off the furs and fresh ribbons of revontulet burst out and danced overhead.

“You did not forsake yourself by letting the fox live. You are the reason we have light in the dark,” Grandmother told him. “This gift is greater than any that death could bring.”

The villagers, all his friends and neighbors, congratulated him. They were spellbound by the sight above.

Veikko fell under the spell of Sigrit’s beauty as she walked toward him. His face flushed as red as the curtains of revontulet as she took his hands into her own.

The villagers began to play music and to dance and sing. Sigrit and Veikko danced under the northern lights. Together, they celebrated Veikko and his gift from Tulikettu, knowing that forevermore, his furs would illuminate the depths of their endless polar nights.