Part 27

[And of course, it is also raining now.]


Frida: Hello... I'm looking for work.

Jyrki: Work? Eh? The li'l girl wants some work? What is she expecting? That we just hand it out? There's no work here, li'l lady. We're not very well-off, and there's more than enough of us on this river! And we got enough women in these parts with that old harpy Helva! Go on, it's not to be mean, but you see there's no work here. Go see the tavern, mayhap you'll find some work there.


Frida: Hello! Aren't you a bit young to be a waitress?

Raisa: (She laughs.) I'm not really a waitress! I help my father during the day. There's a real waitress at night, when all the clientele come to drink!


Frida: Hello! I'm looking for work!

Mauno: Work? (He scratches his beard.) Well, I'm sorry little lady, but I already have all I need. My daughter helps me during the day, and I have a waitress at night. Don't need more help, y'see? Sorry. I don't have anything for you.

Frida: Oh. Nevermind.


Frida: No. Why?

Anniki: I work with her. Well, at least in theory. We don't get along very well. Madam doesn't like careless work. But there is nothing to mess up in this lousy job. I used to work in the capital before. That sure was better. My name is Annikki.

Frida: Annikki? Isn't that a Gallic name?

Anniki: (He straightens, obviously angry.) No, my little lady, it's not a Gallic name! It was my grandfather's name, and his grandfather's before him! But it's because of idiots like you that I got sent to this godforsaken hole in the middle of nowhere. All because of the Gallican purge. I was supposedly a little too Gallic around the edges. Me?! Me, Gallic?! What a world filled with idiots! You're no better either! Go away. Get the hell out, I tell you!

Frida: No need to get angry. I'm leaving.


Frida: Umm... Excuse me? I'm looking for work.

Mielikki: (She looks up from her work.) Work? (She is quiet for a moment.) Work? There is no work here. Did you get the impression that there was enough work for two? In the best of cases, I have a client every three days. And you are too old for an apprentice.

Frida: I... I see. Thank you.

(Mielikki shakes her head, irritated, and goes back to her calculations.)


Ven: The sun is already setting. You've been looking all day. Maybe you should take a break?

Chichi: Cheer up, Frida! Those people don't know what they're missing!

Frida: Thank you. Did either of you come up with anything?

Ven: I should have enough saved up for myself if I get a good price for these pelts, but that will be about all I have. Sorry, Frida.

Chichi: I managed to get a fishing job, but that was only because they know me and my winning personality.

Frida: Well, that's good, at least. Let's go back to rest. I'm tired.


(You awaken in the dark room. The day has not yet risen. How long were you asleep? Judging by the noises coming from downstairs, you couldn't have slept more than two hours. Night has just fallen. You don't even try to go back to sleep—it's useless. Like the night before, you get dressed again and go out to catch some air.)




[Back to the bar. Frida, do we need to talk? Actually, we have to go to the bar to advance the plot, so we might as well make the most of it.]

Mauno: The tavern is never empty this time of year!

Frida: A shot of rum, if you please.



[Well that was a depressing day. ]


Great Mystery: To accept oneself in all one's weaknesses, in all one's lack of understanding, in all one's ugliness. To accept oneself as one is: old, fat, hysterical, ugly—ugly on the inside, ugly to the depth of one's soul. Eyes that see the world are strangely more difficult to hide than eyes that look within oneself. Those seem simple, so easy to hide. You know that, don't you? You've spent so much time hiding those eyes, so that they lie to you, so that you no longer have to accept yourself in all your defeat.

All is but Mystery. This town, this story, this body, this dream; all is but Mystery. You will learn, soon, to love the Mystery.

[Nothing particularly noteworthy about this battle, except that the light mechanic is in effect. Frida 100%s it like a boss.]


(You wake up late, but rested. Perhaps you'll have better luck today.)




[Now it's all foggy and misty. Spooky.]


[Mysterious old woman with her own portrait appearing on a foggy day, huh...]

Kir: (As you approach, you realize that she's a fisherwoman. Her voice is soft and damaged with age.) Hello, young lady. It seems as if you're looking for something.

Frida: How did you know? I am indeed looking for work.

Kir: Work? (She seems to think about it.) Well, perhaps you like to fish? You look like the kind of young woman who would know how to appreciate work of this kind. Work where nothing is really sure—without any certainty other than that of a line or a net thrown into the abyss. (She smiles mysteriously.)

Frida: Really? Do you really have work for me? I accept!

Kir: I thought as much. (She smiles gently.) Welcome on-board. I was just looking for an apprentice. I don't have much money for you, but I think that it'll be enough. Come here tomorrow morning at dawn.

Frida: Very well! Thank you very much!

(As they walk away...)
Frida: Is that who you're fishing with too, Chichi?

Chichi: No. I can't say I even recognize her. Not that I know everybody in the whole city, but wow. I thought I would have remembered someone so distinctive.

Frida: Frida: Hmm... Well, that's a shame. I would have liked to work next to you. Er. You know what I mean.

(Chichi giggles.)

[I wish I didn't have to make these up... but your companions have literally no new dialogue for the rest of the game at this point. It's pretty disappointing, if perhaps understandable.]


Great Mystery: (In the darkness, a dry voice, once again. To accept oneself. It is here, finally, where lies the heart of the story. To accept oneself in one's shame, in one's ugliness. Are you really ugly? Are you that ugly woman on the inside that you believe you can see in Sygg's eyes—are you that ugly woman on the inside that you think you see when you get your period, painful, black, black, and stinking like a sadness held for too long... That bloody period that awakens in you, regularly, all that you hate. You've never known regularity. Perhaps it was taken from you. You are not very regular.

There are rules. There is one law. Some think it is divine, others think it is natural. Others believe nothing at all and, doubtless, are no less happy for it. And you, what do you believe in? Here, everything is but Mystery. Do you like Mystery at this moment?

You don't know the rules, but you can learn them.




[Each enemy has a name, as does each raised tile. The enemies correspond to a specific tile, and our goal is to maneuver or push them onto the tile that “matches” them thematically... Though some of the matches are a bit head-scratch-worthy. Once they're matched, they become harmless Tamed Mysteries:



Starting from The Father and going clockwise, the enemies are:
--The Queen
--The Death
--The Voices
--The Love
--The Devil
--The Travel
--The Maid
--The Village

And starting from the tile right below The Father, the tiles are:
--The Book
--The Loneliness
--The Tower
--The Snow
--The House
--The Judgment
--The Opening
--The Metamorphosis
--The Silence (the one in the middle)

The Father will usually walk onto The Silence on his way to us without our intervention, so we know those two are linked. Most of the rest don't start so close to their match, however.

This encounter would be pretty good, if it weren't for the fact that it bugs everything out like whoa. Worse, it's the first part of a three-part gauntlet, with no way to save in between parts. So even if you do everything right and don't die, you can still fail and have to start the whole thing over when the game simply stops responding to your clicks or crashes to desktop.

The good news is that I have finished the game! All that remains is cropping and a lot of writing. The sort of bad news is that this is probably the best place to cut the update. My poor computer also needs to recover from trying to run that much Adobe Air. Feel free to speculate on what piece goes where, but it's not a vote or anything.]