Chapter Text
When Moomin opens his eyes, his cheek is pressed against the windowpane, and the sun is high and bright and poking insistent fingers into his face. He squints through it, and has to work a kink out of his back from the strange position he’d found himself in, and wonders what on earth he’s doing sleeping at the window.
“How’d I end up over here, Snuf?” he asks, turning around.
He’s fully expecting to see his friend somewhere in the room behind him. Perched on the nightstand, or lounging across the foot of the bed, a crooked smile ready for the moment he realizes Moomin is finally awake.
And while his harmonica is there, on the table where he left it the night before, there’s no Snufkin to be found.
The smell of breakfast solves that puzzle quickly enough, and Moomin hurries downstairs. Papa and Sniff and My are all sitting at a table laden with rice porridge pies, and Mama is coming out of the kitchen with fresh coffee. There’s a stack of familiar clothes folded up on the table by the stairs, a floppy hat taking place of pride on top of the pile, but...
“Where’s Snufkin?” Moomin asks.
It’s strange to see this weathered green hat without its owner nearby. Stranger still to be clutching a familiar harmonica in his hand because it was simply left somewhere. Snufkin has so little that he takes very good care of what he does have, and this is--
It’s a very odd morning.
“I don’t know, dear, I haven’t seen him,” Mama says. Her eyes drop from Moomin’s face to the harmonica he’s holding, and then to the laundry by the stairs, and something passes through her expression that he doesn’t quite recognize. She straightens, rubbing her hands clean on her apron, and says, “I’ll check the garden. He can’t have gone very far.”
But he could have gone far. It’s what he does every year, traveling as far as he can in any direction before spring pulls him back to Moominvalley. Sometimes he wants to be left alone and disappears for hours at a time, but it’s never felt like this before. It’s never happened first thing in the morning, and never after a comfortable night together like the one they just had.
If he’d been in need of open space and fresh air, he’d be lounging on the veranda. If he’d decided to take a walk, he certainly would have dressed first. Moomin can’t think of a single thing that would have sent his friend haring off into the early morning with nothing but the borrowed clothes on his back.
He taps the harmonica twice against his palm, the way he’s seen Snufkin do a hundred times, but it doesn’t make him feel any better. He remembers, quite suddenly, what he saw earlier that morning, when dawn was still just an idea and fields were barely visible for all the fog; Snufkin by the bridge, and the Guest standing next to him, and the hand he raised to Moomin’s window.
What was it he had said? “They like deals, you know.”
“I’ll check by the river,” Moomin declares, and rushes out without breakfast. He hears a commotion take place behind him, his little brother squawking in distress and plates being overturned, and then the patter of much smaller feet right on his heels.
“If there’s trouble to be had this early in the morning, I want in,” Little My says with a relish that Moomin doesn’t think is appropriate for the worrisome situation they’re in. He doesn’t waste time turning to argue with her, intent on making it down the hill without slipping in the damp grass, but she continues a beat later on her own, anyway: “It has to do with that fairy Mama and Papa were talking about, doesn’t it?”
Surprised, Moomin glances at her sidelong. “How’d you figure?”
“You’re all too nice. You probably invited it right into the house and introduced yourselves first thing,” My reasons frankly, and the accuracy makes Moomin wince, “but here you all are, whole and hale, not a one of you turned into a mouse or toadstool. Why is that, I wonder.”
It isn’t truly a question, because the answer is obvious. Moomin feels his heart sink to the bottom of his stomach like a stone. “Snufkin said he talked to her after dinner.”
“And there you have it,” Little My says, hopping over a large stone in her way. Her face is set in a scowl that can’t seem to decide if it wants to look more irritated or worried. “If my dumb brother is involved, that makes it my business. Just try and send me away. It wouldn’t work, and I’d cut holes in all your blankets.”
My is a force of nature even when she’s not particularly interested in whatever game they’re playing or adventure they’ve fallen into, so to have her fully invested is more reassuring than Moomin would ever admit out loud.
But despite their best efforts, and Moomin’s extensive knowledge of all of Snufkin’s favorite hiding places, he’s absolutely nowhere to be found. They search high and low until well past lunch, to no avail. Moomin is thinking he might be sick, staring at the empty spot on the riverbank where Snufkin’s fishing gear should be, when a familiar voice drifts over them from Snufkin’s bridge:
“You two are certainly energetic this morning,” says the Guest, lounging on the sun-warmed planks. “Are you looking for something?”
Her bramble-like hair is so long it falls well over the side and into the water next to her dangling feet. She smiles like she did the night before, like it’s an excuse to bare all her teeth, and this time it sends a chill down Moomin’s spine.
She certainly wasn’t sitting there before, because Moomin and My must have trekked over that bridge a dozen times this morning, but she looks so comfortable she could have been there for hours.
My is sizing her up, eyes narrowed. Moomin ventures a step forward uncertainly.
“It’s Snufkin,” Moomin tells her. “He’s disappeared.”
“No he hasn’t,” the Guest says in a cheerful tone. “He’s doing me a favor.”
“So he did deal with you,” Little My says viciously. She glowers at the fairy like she’s trying to set her on fire with a look. “You had better bring him right back. The only person allowed to torment these folks is me. ”
The Guest laughs. It’s a very cold sound, even under the bright summer sun, and Little My bristles. Moomin shuffles to the side, so that he’s a step in front of her-- less for her protection, and more because she’s not as likely to attack with a moomin-sized obstacle in her path.
“He’ll be back in three days,” the Guest tells them, all good humor. “It’s just a little errand. Once he finds what I sent him to retrieve and returns with it, you will find him right here at dawn, and I’m to leave the whole Moomin family alone. That was the agreement.”
“Um... so he’s okay?” Moomin asks. He’s fidgeting nervously, turning the harmonica over and over in his hands. “It’s just, he doesn’t even have his boots. Or his overcoat. If you know where he’s gone, maybe I could-- bring those to him?”
“You’d never get there in time,” says the Guest. “I turned the bridge into a magic door, and it will only work twice. If you use it to reach him, I’m afraid you’ll all be stranded hundreds of miles from home, and your snufkin will fail.”
Dread is pouring out of Moomin’s heart like a sieve. He can’t help remembering Snufkin’s fear last night at the dinner table, wasting a whole plate of Mama’s cooking in a manner wholly unlike himself in his eagerness to get away from the Guest-- to get Moomin away from her. How quickly he picked up on this danger that the rest of the family was utterly clueless about, and how quickly he intervened on their behalf.
“I’ll always come back,” Snufkin had whispered in the warmth and darkness of the bedroom, his fingertips gentle against Moomin’s cheek. It was a farewell, Moomin realizes. Oh, he hadn’t known it was a farewell.
He wishes he could go back to that moment, and snatch Snufkin up in both arms, and hold onto him so tightly that whatever magic took him away would have had to take them both.
Moomin can feel his eyes burning. “But is he okay?” he asks in a small voice.
The Guest’s smile fades somewhat as she sits there looking at him. The mirth is gone, replaced by something calculative.
“Would you like to help him?” she says with great interest.
Moomin jerks his head up, surprised. Of course he would!
But Little My suddenly clambers up Moomin’s back to his shoulder, jabbing him with heels and elbows as she goes, and interrupts the conversation with a strength of presence better suited a carthorse than a very small mymble.
“Let’s go back home, Moomin,” she declares with a rude look at the Guest. “We’re done talking.”
“But-- “
“We know when he’s coming back, and that’s all we need to know. Let’s tell the others.”
There’s something very defensive about the way she’s gripping his arm, and by the stubborn set of her chin, he knows this is an argument he’s doomed to lose. With a lingering glance at the Guest, still sitting on the bridge as peaceful and patient as anything, Moomin takes the long way round the river and heads home.
Every step is an aching one. His heart is so heavy it’s a wonder he can move at all.
For the next three days, Mama keeps them close to the house. Normally, Moomin and his friends would chafe under such restriction, but they’re too preoccupied and worried to miss the sunny fields they might have otherwise played in, and it doesn’t feel safe to venture outside anyway.
The Guest is haunting the bridge; every time Moomin wanders to the window to see if she’s still there, she meets his eyes unerringly and lifts her hand in a wave that feels like a mockery of Snufkin’s goodbye, and Moomin has to yank the curtain shut.
On the third night, Snorkmaiden whispers, “I’m certain he’s alright. Snufkin is very clever. I’ll bet that fairy will get more than she bargained for.”
The four of them are sleeping together in the drawing room, a mound of pillows and blankets on the floor serving as their bed. Papa fell asleep in the armchair, and Mama is still awake in the kitchen. There’s only one person missing, and he’ll be back in the morning.
Moomin falls asleep with a hand on Snufkin’s hat, and wakes up to a swift kick in the stomach.
“Wake up!” My shouts, disrupting the stillness of the room with an ease no one else could ever hope to match. “Something is happening by the bridge!”
Everyone is on their feet and out the door in moments. Only Mama and My are wide-awake, as if they’d never gone to sleep, but Moomin is more and more alert with every second. He trips off the last step of the porch in his hurry, heart in his throat and an unbearable heat in his eyes, straining to get a glimpse of--
Yes! He’s there!
Snufkin, in a nightshirt that’s torn and muddied, arms scraped raw, a little blue bird on his shoulder. He’s holding out a gem in one hand as if in offering and clutching an empty teacup in the other like his life depends on it. He’s barefoot and trembling but he’s home.
Whatever task was set for him, whatever goal, he met it. He came back. Of course he did, he promised he would.
“Snufkin!” Moomin sobs, running like he’s never run before. “Oh, Snufkin!”
The mumrik reacts slowly to the sound of his name, but the smile that fills his face when he sees his friends coming to meet him puts the dawn sky to shame.
“Moomin,” he says, full of love, and then he falls.
Snorkmaiden cries out, it’s such a sudden thing. One moment he’s stepping forward off the bridge, and the next he’s crumpling to the grass like all the life has blown out of him. Moomin is scared, scared, scared as he crashes to his hands and knees at Snufkin’s side, turning him over as carefully as he can through his panic.
“Oh, Snuf, are you alright?”
Snufkin’s hair is hiding his eyes, and Moomin smooths it back with a shaking hand, and….
“Is he-- asleep?” Sniff asks in a tremulous voice, half-hidden behind Mama.
Snufkin’s face, pale and dirty and tear-stained, has gone slack and peaceful. It’s as if they’ve stumbled upon him hours into a lazy afternoon nap. If Moomin hadn’t seen him on his feet just a moment ago, moving and talking and wide-awake, he never would have believed it.
“Wake up, Snufkin,” Moomin insists, giving his shoulders a little shake. Snufkin’s head lolls a bit to the side, cheek pressed to the grass, and his eyes don’t so much as flutter. Moomin looks to his mother in a panic, but My is well past that.
“You broke the deal,” My snaps at the Guest, wasting no time in placing blame. “It must have been you, Snufkin wouldn’t have smiled when he saw us if he’d failed.”
“That’s right,” Snorkmaiden says. She’s kneeling next to Mama, one of Snufkin’s paws clutched tightly in her hands, and although her eyes are bright the way they are before tears, the rest of her face is angry. “What was it you wanted, anyway? Didn’t he bring it, whatever it was?”
“Is this it?” Sniff asks, drawn toward the blue stone that Snufkin only dropped when he collapsed. It’s glinting in the grass, polished surface inviting.
Sniff stoops to pick it up, but a small, feathered projectile propels him back a few startled steps instead. The little bird that arrived on Snufkin’s shoulder unleashes a volley of chirps and shrieks in his face that don’t sound particularly polite and then snatches the stone up by a piece of its broken chain.
“That’s for the best,” the Guest says mildly. She’s leaning against the railing of Snufkin’s bridge with a self-satisfied smile, and looks delighted by everyone’s distress and alarm. “It’s a cursed stone, you see. Everything inside the tomb your friend snuck into is spelled against thieves. The moment he left my door and completed my task, the curse took him.”
Moomin stares at her, speechless with horror. A task like that was doomed from the start!
“Never mind all that,” Mama says suddenly. “Papa, would you bring Snufkin up to the house please? There will be time to worry about curses and cures once he’s been taken care of. Grandmother’s recipe book will have the answer, I’m certain of it. Come along, now.”
And so they go, the little bird flying overhead with the stone and the Guest left behind at the bridge. In short order, Snufkin is cleaned up and carried to bed. Ointment is applied to the scrapes on his arms and his hands, and the cuts on the bottom of his feet are washed out and wrapped up. He’s dressed in another one of Papa’s nightshirts that drowns him and tucked away beneath fresh sheets, and only then does Mama sit back and touch his hair, sadness and care in her eyes.
Snufkin sleeps through all of it, still and unaware. What if he never wakes up, Moomin wants to ask, but he’s terrified of what he might be told.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?” comes the voice of the fairy, from right there in the room. They all jump and look round to find her standing just inside the closed door, her head tilted curiously. “You wanted him to stay all the time, if only it wouldn’t make him unhappy. Like this, he isn’t unhappy, and he’ll never leave.”
Moomin thinks it’s awful, how a fairy can take exactly what a person says and make it mean something entirely different.
He isn’t inclined to think anything nice of the Guest anymore, but he admits it is very smart of her to keep an eye on Little My, who would bite a person’s ankle just because they weren’t paying attention. In this case, she might do something much worse and with much less provocation, crouched protectively at the foot of her half-brother’s bed.
“Of course not,” he tells the Guest, hurt. “I’d never want something bad to happen to Snufkin, not for any reason. If there was a way to make this right again, I’d do it. I’d do anything.”
She brightens at that. “Would you?”
Impatient and upset, Moomin opens his mouth to tell her yes, of course he would, who wouldn’t? but he doesn’t get the chance. The bird on the headboard, forgotten until now, gives a mighty screech and catapults itself into Moomin’s face, much like it did Sniff when he tried to touch the gem that Snufkin brought back.
Moomin yelps and stumbles, and the bird rounds on the Guest in turn, remarkably angry for something so small. The Guest waves it away, looking annoyed, and it flutters back to Snufkin’s side with its feathers all puffed out in offense.
“Wise thing,” Papa says approvingly. “Snufkin has gone through a lot to protect us. It would be sorry thanks to undo his hard work just because we weren’t patient in finding another cure.”
Ashamed, Moomin nods. But there’s one thing he still doesn’t understand. He’s not as clever as Snufkin, and nowhere near as calculative as their Guest, but from where he’s sitting, it seems an obvious oversight.
“Stop me before I say something stupid,” he says to the bird, who ruffles its wings as if to say obviously. Reassured, he looks at the Guest. “You said-- Snufkin’s deal was to protect our family, right?”
“That’s right.” She looks very interested as he addresses her. Her tone is… not as tricky, somehow. He’s not sure what that means, but it’s the least of his worries now. “Unless we enter into an agreement of our own, you’re all safe from me.”
“What I don’t understand, then, is why you’re still here,” Moomin confesses, trying not to be rude in front of Mama. “If you’re not allowed to mess with us anymore.”
“Because it might be fun to play with the little snufkin some more, if you manage to wake him up again,” the Guest replies brightly.
She’s as excitable as a woodie with a new toy, as if she doesn’t see a single thing wrong with anything she’s done to them up until now. Moomin looks at her, this person-shaped creature with a person-shaped smile, and can’t comprehend a single thing about her.
“But you can’t,” he says, confused. “That was the deal. Snuf does this crazy task for you, and you leave our family alone. You just said it a moment ago, plain as day.”
And the Guest sharpens so suddenly that it causes a ripple of surprise in the room, standing up straight and tall. “He isn’t a Moomin. A bird is a bird-- “
“And a Snufkin is a Snufkin. And he’s my best friend, and I love him more than anything in the whole world. We all love him,” Moomin says simply. It’s the truth, and she should know that if she’s as good at picking out a lie as fairies are supposed to be. “If you need proof, look at what he’s done. He did everything you said, even though it was impossible, even though he must have been scared and lonely, and he did it because he loves us, too. I don’t know a better word for that than family.”
Papa puts a hand on his shoulder, such a look of pride on his face that Moomin ducks his head. Mama tells him, “Very well said, my dear,” and even My looks pleased.
“So that’s that,” she says, meanly delighted. “He’s safe from you, too. Now undo this spell you’ve got him under and go away.”
The Guest is frowning, as though she knows she’s lost but she doesn’t want to admit it just yet. She looks between them all like she’s looking for anything to contradict what Moomin has told her, but of course she doesn’t find it. It’s the truth, after all, and that’s something that doesn’t change no matter how one tries to twist it.
You don’t have to be a moomin to be a part of the Moomin family, Moomin thinks, baffled by the very idea. That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard.
“It’s not my spell he’s under,” the Guest finally says. “My business is done here.”
And with that, she’s finally gone.
"Fairies sound so wonderful and magical in stories,” Snorkmaiden says, flushed with frustration. “But in truth, they’re just awful!”
“They’re not awful, dear,” Mama says. She isn’t one to speak poorly of a guest no matter what, but she looks happy to see the last of this one. “They’re just not people, and they can’t be expected to behave as people do. Now, let’s put all this behind us, and wake up our dear Snufkin.”
It’s a relief to cluster around her at the bedside as she opens grandma’s recipe book. She flips through the pages with an air of certainty, so convinced she is that the answer is waiting for them somewhere inside, that Moomin feels his own fears finally begin to fade.
“Ah! Here it is,” she says, scanning a page. “What To Do When a Loved One Has Been Tricked by a Fairy and Cursed by a Stolen Necklace. Let’s see…oh, my, it’s very simple, isn’t it? I should have guessed!” She closes the book and smiles around at them all warmly. “True love’s kiss will do the trick.”
For some reason, all of Moomin’s friends turn to look at him. He blinks back at them from where he’s clutching Snufkin’s hand, nonplussed. Surely they don’t think he’s going to do it.
Moomin loves Snufkin, of course he does, and he’s not secretive about it, either-- but he can’t just kiss him! Not when there are still some days when Snufkin doesn’t want to be touched, and Moomin has to make sure it’s okay before he gives him a hug. Not when there are still some days when Snufkin will shyly ask to hold his hand, as if Moomin’s affection isn’t a complete given. The thought of kissing him without his permission makes Moomin feel ill.
Giving away his first kiss to the person it belongs to is one thing, but doing it while Snufkin can’t say yes or no is another. He opens his mouth to attempt to explain all of this to his friends’ expectant faces, but he doesn’t have to.
“What an easy fix that is!” Papa says. “Here I was worried we’d have to embark on a quest of some sort, and the answer is right here. What else are parents for?”
Mama laughs and agrees, even as she leans over to kiss Snufkin on the forehead. It takes all of three seconds, and it starts to work immediately. Snufkin’s expression shifts, and his eyes drift halfway open, and Mama sits back with a sigh of relief. “There you are, my darling. How do you feel?”
The mumrik blinks once, and then again, as if he doesn’t recognize who they are and where he is. And then his expression crumples, and his eyes well up with tears, and he clutches Moomin’s hand as though he’ll float away without him to hold onto.
“I failed,” he says, sounding so heartbroken it breaks Moomin’s heart for good measure. “I made a mistake. I put you all in terrible danger.”
“You didn’t, Snuf, don’t think that,” Moomin says at once, getting up from his chair and clambering onto the bed with him instead. Any distance at all is too much, after the last three days he’s had. He helps his friend sit up, and holds him close when he leans heavily into Moomin’s side. “The fairy tricked you, that’s all. That stone she sent you after was cursed, and she knew it. She never wanted you to win.”
“The stone?” Snufkin looks down, as if surprised not to find it still clasped in his hand. “Where is it?”
“Your friend took it away before we could touch it,” Sniff says, pointing out the bird on the nightstand. It gives a loud chirp, and hops up Snufkin’s arm to his shoulder, where it settles beneath his ear like it will need a great deal of convincing to go anywhere else.
Snufkin tilts his head to rub his cheek against it while it chatters at him, and Moomin is seized by the sudden and overwhelming thought of how much he loves this snufkin, who can talk to birds and deal with fairies and go on a scary quest to protect his family.
I’ll kiss you someday, Moomin thinks fervently. But not to break a curse or keep a bargain. I’ll kiss you because I love you and no other reason. Someday, when I’m as brave as you, I will.
“If I managed to save you, that’s all I wanted in the first place,” Snufkin is saying slowly. “But Bluetail says I saved myself, too, and I’m not sure what that means.”
“Your deal, dummy,” My says impatiently. “You bartered for the whole family’s safety, and that includes you. I don’t know how you can be clever enough to talk in circles with a fairy but miss something as obvious as that.”
And he did miss it, judging from the expression of surprise on his face. He doesn’t seem to know what to say for a moment, plucking at the shirt he’s wearing with nervous fingers. His mouth is wobbling, and his eyes are still wet, and he looks as though he’d like to lay down and go back to sleep until all of this is a distant memory, but instead he squares his shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” Snufkin says, absurdly. His voice is awful, trembling and hoarse. “I ruined the shirt Papa lent me,” he goes on. And then he’s curling in on himself and sobbing the way he hasn’t since that day when Moomin barely knew him, when the comet came and dried up the whole sea.
And if Snufkin wants them to believe it’s a shirt he’s crying over, then that’s just fine. Moomin doesn’t let him go for a second, so Papa’s hug envelopes them both snugly, and Mama says, “You’re safe now, dearheart. You’re home.”
After all of this, some things change.
They still invite strangers in out of the cold. They still play in the fields and make new friends in the woods and go on adventures over the seas and the mountains. Snufkin still leaves for the winter and returns with the spring, with new stories and songs to share, and Moomin still looks at him and thinks Someday.
But they take care, too. Mama plants a rowan tree by the house, an earnest little sapling that will keep them safe as it grows. Papa spreads the tale across the valley so that no one will be caught unaware if this particular danger comes back again. Sniff, My and Snorkmaiden decorate their front doors with pretty wreaths of ivy and bramble-berry stems, to the mild perplexity of Snork and Mymble, just in case.
And everywhere Snufkin goes, he goes with an iron nail in his pocket, and a four leaf clover in his hair, and a bossy bush-robin only ever a short whistle away. He’s grown up an awful lot since what happened with the Guest, cautious and measured where he used to be reckless and daring, just a little bit slower to smile when a new friend asks his name.
But when he introduces someone to Mama and Papa, he tends to call them “my parents.” And when he shows a traveler the way to the Moominhouse, he tends to call it “my home.” And when he looks at Moomin, he tends to look like he’s thinking about a someday, too.
So Moomin can’t think all of those changes are bad. After all, some of them are wonderful. And the rest are necessary. And someday might even be tomorrow.