The Raven and the Reindeer (13 page)

Mousebones landed in the doorway with a flirt of wings. “Ark!”

“Mousebones!”
 

“Ark. You’re alive, yet. And so am I, and so is she, so I suppose that’s something.” The raven picked at one of his feet with his beak. “Is she going to eat that pigeon?”

“He’d like the pigeon,” said Gerta. “Um.” It felt strange to ask that. “You don’t have to. I don’t think he’ll starve.”

“I might,” said Mousebones, aggrieved. “It’s not like someone’s leaving eyeballs out in the snow for any hungry raven that might come by.”
 

“He can have it,” said Janna. “Someone might as well get a little good out of it.” She approached the doorway and set the dead pigeon down in the snow to one side of the door, where they would not need to see the raven picking at it.

“Did you mean it?” asked Gerta. “About letting me leave?”
 

“Yes,” said Janna. “Though I’m still working out the details. I am not planning on staying here myself, you understand. But Marten and Old Nan won’t be happy to see me go, and Aaron will not be best pleased either.”

“Aaron?”

“With the crossbow. A friend of my father’s.” She stood up. Outside the door, Mousebones tore at the frozen pigeon.
 

“In theory, I am in charge here until my father comes back,” Janna said, “but I believe he’s been hanged. And since it is only fear of my father that is keeping Marten from throwing his weight around, that will make things difficult for me sooner rather than later.”

Her father’s been hanged. And she doesn’t sound like she cares at all.
Gerta was not sure if Janna’s indifference impressed her or frightened her.
 

Then again, he must be a bandit chief, so he’s probably not a nice man…

“Aaron fears I’ll get myself into trouble going off,” Janna continued. “But staying up here with a restless bully and a pair of old cannibals is not my idea of pleasure. Nan knows I’m bringing in most of the food, and Marten’s got a fool notion that if he is ruling the roost, I’ll swoon at his feet, so no one’s keen to see me haring off into the woods.”
 

 
The notion of Janna swooning at anyone’s feet boggled Gerta’s imagination.
 

“So we shall have to find a way to leave quietly,” said Janna. “And get a long way away.”
 

“I have to go north,” said Gerta. “To the Snow Queen’s palace. She’s got Kay there.” Nan’s story of frozen boys in the palace made of ice haunted her thoughts, as hard as she tried to forget it.
 

Was Kay in there already? Would she get there and find him as hard as stone, with a rime of ice over his frost blue eyes? “I have to get there before she freezes him.”
 

“And you don’t know where it is,” said Janna.
 
“Or even if there are directions mere mortals can follow.” She shook her head.
 

“I’ve come this far,” said Gerta. “I have to try.”
 

Janna looked like she was about to say something else, but there was a grumbling, creaking noise from the far side of the shed.
 

The ancient reindeer in the corner heaved himself to his feet.

Gerta jumped back, startled. Janna took a step back and laughed. “My goodness! I thought you were looking like dying, old man.”

The reindeer stood, swaying. His legs looked very thin beneath him.

He opened his mouth and breathed out, his breath barely frosting the air, making a noise so low that Gerta could hardly hear it.
 

“He
is
dying,” said Mousebones, from the doorway. The bird cocked his head. “He says…You must walk the reindeer road, if you are going to the farthest North. He would take you but he cannot. His bones are full of frost, he says.”
 

Gerta, not taking her eyes off the reindeer, translated for Janna.

“The reindeer road,” said Janna. “Up north? With the reindeer people?”

“Yes,” said Mousebones. “No. What? Make up your mind, mammal! Ark!”

The reindeer wheezed gently, and Gerta thought it sounded like laughter.

“There are many roads,” translated the raven. “Some the reindeer walk with humans, and some they walk alone. He would take you if he could, but he cannot. So you must walk the reindeer road instead. He will give you this, because the human was kind to him.”
 

“I wouldn’t have left him to that trader,” said Janna, when she heard this. “But how do we walk the reindeer road, then?”

Mousebones cocked his head, listening but not speaking.

After a moment he began to laugh.

“You will not like this, Gerta. Aurk! Aurk! Aurk!”

“No,” said Gerta. “Absolutely not! It’s horrible! I won’t let you!”
 

Janna rubbed her face. “I have to believe that was Mousebones,” she said. “It would take a raven to come up with something that revolting.”

Mousebones looked proud and a bit smug.

The reindeer laughed his soft, wheezing laugh again.

“Humans are so touchy about skin,” translated Mousebones. “It is only a shape. My soul will go on to the herd of stars, and then when I am tired of stars, into the young calves that sleep in their mother’s bellies. I will die soon anyway. Let me give you a gift, for kindness’s sake.”

“But to cut off his skin and
wear
it?” Gerta felt ill. She could imagine how the inside of the skin would feel.
Raw and bloody and squishy.
I’d be inside a horrible bloody tent.
 

“It will let you walk the reindeer road, he says,” said Mousebones. “And—ah—” He tilted his head, listening. “Oh. Hmm.”

“Thirdhand conversations are maddening,” said Janna, to no one in particular.

“He says that it’s too hot down here in this country,” said Gerta bleakly. “He wants his skin to lie somewhere cold, where a reindeer can be comfortable for more than one season a year. He will be a spirit, but even a spirit likes to know that his old home is well-cared for.”
 

“Sounds fair,” said Janna practically. “I can skin him, if you like.”

Gerta gave her a shocked look. “But he’s not dead!”

“I can do that, too, if it’s really what he wants.”

Gerta put her face in her hands.
 

The reindeer took a few steps forward and rested his muzzle on Janna’s arm. She looked down into his eyes.

“Yes,” she said after a minute. “I believe it is.”

“No!” said Gerta. “He can’t—I mean—not for
me.
Nobody dies for me!”
 

Janna rubbed the reindeer behind the ears. “Are you willing to die for your little friend the Queen took?”

“Yes.” Gerta raked her hands through her hair. “But it’s different. He doesn’t even know Kay. And I mean—it’s
Kay.
I’m just me. It doesn’t matter if
I
do it.”

Janna’s eyes narrowed, and Gerta had a strong feeling that the other girl was angry. But she kept stroking the reindeer behind the ears and said nothing.

Mousebones flapped a bit. “Can I have your eyes?” he asked the reindeer.

“Mousebones!”

“What? He’s not going to be using them.”
 

The reindeer snorted.
 

“There’s got to be another way,” said Gerta hopelessly. “Where nobody has to die.”
 

The raven rippled his wings in a shrug. “Maybe the human flock coming knows one.”
 

“What?” Janna’s head shot up.
 

“The human flock,” said Mousebones. “From the south.”

It occurred to Gerta belatedly that she shouldn’t have translated that. If someone was coming to rescue her, she’d have had a better chance to get away if Janna didn’t know about it.

Except she’s going to let me go. And I know she said she’d go with me, but I could get away, or convince her to leave—but how do I get to the far north, then? I’d have to walk through the snow…

…unless I walked the reindeer road.

It was utterly mad. She didn’t even know how it would work. Put on a bloody reindeer hide and start walking?
 

It
is
mad. It’s as mad as a woman coming in a sled pulled by otters to steal your friend, and as mad as a talking raven and dreams of plants that come true.
 

“What sort of men?” Janna demanded. “Guards? Bandits? Who?”

Mousebones fluffed his feathers up in a shrug. “All humans look alike, he says,” said Gerta. “They have swords and a pack horse. The pack horse has seen better days.”

“How far away?”

“They were leaving the road and going into the forest when he was flying around in the morning.”

Janna cursed. “Why didn’t you tell us before?”

Mousebones looked blank. “It’s a human flock. It’s not
my
flock.”
 

“Is it guards?” asked Gerta.
 

“If we’re lucky,” said Janna grimly. “If we’re not, it’s my father coming home. Either way, we need to get out of here.”
 

She doesn’t want her father to come home?
 

Janna began going down the line of birds, picking them up one at a time and thrusting them into a wicker cage. They chirped grumpily, but did not seem to mind, and Janna’s hands were gentle despite her speed.
 

“What’s wrong?” asked Gerta. She wanted to help—but then again, maybe she should be trying to stall Janna—but—

“They’ll realize that Taggen’s not here,” said Janna. “And then Aaron and the oldsters will realize that Taggen’s not down south with them. And that’s a conversation I’d rather not have.” She handed Gerta the cage full of pigeons.
 

“Who’s Taggen?” asked Gerta. The cage wasn’t heavy, but she could feel them moving around and occasionally soft wings or hard feet would brush her skin.

“A boorish young bastard that my father left in charge. I might possibly have killed him. Come on, old man, let’s get you outside…” She took the reindeer’s lead rope and began to coax him along.

Gerta gaped at her. “You
killed
someone?”
 

Why am I surprised? I shouldn’t be surprised. It’s stupid to be surprised about this, I knew she was violent, I knew it and I let her kiss me anyway—I mean, not really let, but I didn’t mind, and I should have because she’s killed people and it should have been different.

“Somebody was bound to do it and it just happened to be me. Men like Taggen are born for killing. Come on!”

Janna led the reindeer out into the snow and down the back of the hill. Gerta followed with her arms full of doves.
 

“Wait here,” said Janna, handing her the lead rope for the reindeer. She scrambled back up the hill and down the ladder.
 

It occurred to Gerta that she could run right now, and be rid of both the oncoming men and Janna the killer. But her arms were full of birds and she was holding the reindeer and probably she could drop both and run but there was snow everywhere and her tracks would be obvious and Janna was probably going to be faster than she was and then they’d have to have the awkward conversation where Gerta admitted that she’d tried to escape, and…well.
 

The pigeons might freeze.
 

And
she’s killed people. And I don’t have any reason to think she wouldn’t kill me.
 

Janna reappeared from the hilltop and slid down the embankment. She was carrying two packs and a cloak over her arm.
 

“All right,” she said. “Let’s get the birds on the reindeer’s back. Ah—can you ask Mousebones to ask him if he can make it a few miles?”

Mousebones dutifully relayed this.
 

“The frost is nearly at my heart,” said the reindeer, “but there are a few more strides left in me, at least.”
 

Gerta wasn’t sure if this was a yes or a no, but Janna nodded.

“Good,” she said, and took the lead. “Let’s—”

“Where do you think you’re going?” asked Marten.
 

Gerta closed her teeth on a frightened squeak—
don’t give yourself away
—and clutched the cage closer to her chest.

Janna turned toward Marten, looking disdainful. “I’m going to release the pigeons.”

The big man looked at her, then over at Gerta and the cage. Gerta tried to look like a person who was releasing pigeons, not a person who was escaping. She wasn’t sure what the difference was.
 

Marten stared at the doves for a few minutes, then back over at Janna. “So open the cage.”
 

“Not here,” said Janna, annoyed. “And have Aaron shoot one for supper tonight, after I went to all that work saving it? I’ll take them out in the woods. I don’t mind eating pigeon, but I’m not eating friends.”
 

“Why you got the girl, then?”
 

“God’s teeth!” said Janna. “Because somebody’s got to keep an eye on her, and those old cannibals will have her in the pot before you can turn around. And I don’t much trust you, either.”

Marten grunted. For a moment—only a moment—Gerta thought she might have gotten away with it. Marten was clearly a stupid man.

But her grandmother had said once, “It’s surprisingly hard to fool very stupid people.” So Gerta watched him with her heart in her throat, even as Janna rolled her eyes and tugged the reindeer’s lead.
 

Marten’s face darkened.
 

“You got packs,” he said. “You got packs and you don’t need packs to let birds go. And you’ve got her, and you’re going somewhere.”

He reached out and grabbed Janna’s arm.

“Get your hands off me!” snapped Janna, trying to yank away.

“No,” said Marten. “You aren’t going away. You’ll stay here.”
 

“I said, get your hands off me! My father left in me in charge!”

Marten shook his head and began pulling her around the edge of the hill, toward the entrance to the mound.