Mercedes Lackey - Anthology (5 page)

 
          
"This
would be easier in
Norway
," breathed Torstein. "The houses
are made of wood, and we have lots of trees."

 
          
"Here
we have a woodpile," answered Bui. "And it will do—I only mean to
smoke them out, not to burn the whole house down."

 
          
The
house had two doorways. Moving quietly, they piled firewood in front of each of
them, while the dog frisked about, wagging its tail. When Bui smelled the
approach of dawn in the damp air, he unstoppefed the cowhorn in which he had
kept coals smoldering and blew them into flame.

 
          
"You
two stand at the far door. Ulfr and I will take this one," said Bui,
grinning as fire sparked through the kindling and began to bite the logs.

 
          
The
folk of the farm had slept all the harder for staying up so long. By the time
enough smoke had penetrated to wake them, the two fires were blazing merrily.
The door slammed open; for a moment they saw Harek, then he recoiled, cursing.
From inside the hall came a woman's scream.

 
          
"Uncle,
uncle—" called Bui. "For a year I have lived like a raven in the
rocks. Will you grudge me a little fire?"

 
          
The
main door was pulled back again and Harek peered out, breathing through a
cloth. His eyes widened as he recognized his nephew beneath the fantastic
headgear. At the same moment the far door opened. The flicker of Torstein's
spear was followed by a cry of pain.

 
          
"My
boy, have you gone crazy?" called Harek. "I am your kinsman—"

 
          
"Was
it the work of a kinsman to drive me from your door? Send out my mother, and
men may call me what they will." Bui had always known he risked outlawry
as a kinslayer, despite his fine words to Hogni and Torstein. But he could not
leave Groa in Harek's power.

 
          
He
cleared his throat. "She may bring with her the women and all the men
except those you set to beat me. But you shall choose whether to face my sword
of this fire!" He heard his own voice crack and did not know whether it
was with fear or rage.

 
          
He
waited, shaking with tension, as light grew in the east and the flames paled.
What if his uncle decided to hold Groa hostage? No reputation would be left to
him, but would he care?

 
          
The
door was beginning to smolder by the time it opened once more. Bui felt his
knees grow weak with relief as he saw his mother hesitate in the opening,
coughing, then leap through the flames. Her shawl had caught fire; he slapped at
the sparks,
then
shoved her behind him, sword ready,
as the others began to come through. He could hear her sobbing quietly, but she
knew better than to speak to him now.

 
          
One
. . . two . . . three ... he counted the maids and then the men. There was a
pause,
then
he saw Hild, with another woman muffled in
a cloak beside her.

 
          
"Oh
ho, my aunt, have you got a new maidservant since I've been gone?" As the
two women came through the fire, he lunged and sent the cloaked one sprawling.

 
          
His
blade followed his arm, and in the next moment he had the point at Harek's
throat.

 
          
For
a long moment there was no sound but the crackling of the flames. Then, from
the direction of the sunrise, he heard a raven's cry.

 
          
"You
won't get away with this!" snarled Harek. "Kill me, and you'll be
outlawed; spare me, and I'll have you killed!"

 
          
But
Bui was not listening. From the west the raven was answered, and from the
direction of the fell, and from the sea. From every direction ravens
came
flying; the bright air trembled with the sound of their
wings. Harek's rolling eyes widened as the black birds settled on the wall of
the garth, surrounding them.

 
          
Bui
began to laugh, and if there was a ring of madness in it, he did not care.

 
          
"Will
you accuse me before the Althing? Here are my witnesses! Or perhaps they are
hungry, and think your guts will make a good meal."

 
          
A
sickly stench began to pervade the air and he realized that Harek had soiled
himself. Hild stepped back, the anger in her face giving way to scorn.

 
          
Suddenly
Bui remembered how the king-raven had faced down an intruder, who cowered and
backed away.

 
          
I
have won!
he
thought in amazement. Hild will remember
this—they will all remember, and if he tries to attack me, someone is bound to
tell the tale.

 
          
He
laughed again, but now he was back in control.

 
          
"Harek
Ketilson, I accuse you of taking a free woman as a thrall and robbing me of my
inheritance. Will you acknowledge the wrong and offer me sole-judgment, or must
I take you bound in your filth to the Althing and seek an arbitrator
there?"

 
          
One
of the ravens spread its wings to their considerable width and launched itself
from the wall in a long glide to land beside his uncle's head. Without
surprise, Bui noted the white spot on its tail. Harek paled and closed his
eyes. The raven hopped closer, considered for a moment, and yanked out a strand
of hair. Harek recoiled with a squeak of anguish.

 
          
"I
agree—"

 
          
"Say
it louder," said Bui. "Do you all bear witness to his words?"

 
          
"Make
your own judgment," cried Harek, "but send that black-feathered troll
away!"

 
          
"That's
no troll, uncle mine, but Odin's bird, the best witness of all." Bui
grinned. The part of his dream he had forgotten was clear to him now, and he
understood many things. He felt the invisible weight of Huginn and Munnin on
his shoulders
,,
giving him counsel.

 
          
"When
he took a mate, he did not drive off the birds
who
nest near this farm, but claimed a territory of his own, and so shall I. This
is the compensation I require—give me the upper part of the valley and the
slopes of Hrafnfjall. I will build a house of my own beneath the fells. I will
take my mother, and whichever of the men and maids she chooses, and the dog
Ulfr, and half of the sheep and cows. You will provide food and clothing and
weapons for me and my men, and everything we need to begin. But you will keep
this farm."

 
          
"Take
them—" whimpered Harek, weeping, "
and
may
Hella take you all."

 
          
Bui
glanced over at Torstein and Hogni, and saw wonder, and relief, in their eyes.

 
          
"Tie
him up—" he pointed at Harek, "and then put out the fires. And when
you have done that, bring us food. No—" he corrected himself as the maids
began to move. "Before you feed us, kill a sheep and put the carcass out
on the hill. I am Hrafn-Bui, and I will not forget what I owe my kin!"

 
          
His
mother came to him then, and he hugged her hard. A sudden wind stirred the
ashes, and as the black flakes lifted into the air so did the ravens, a swirl
of bird shapes, black and bright, mounting the morning sky.

 
          
Note:
For those who are interested in learning more about ravens, I recommend the
following.

 
          
Bernd
Heinrich,
Ravens in Winter, N.Y.: Vintage, 1989

 
          
Lawrence
Kilham,
The
American Crow and the Common Raven,
Texas
A&M
University
Press, 1989

 
          
Candace
Savage, Bird Brains,
San Francisco
: Sierra Club, 1995

 
          
Josepha
Sherman is a fantasy writer and folklorist whose latest novels are Star Trek:
Vulcan's Forge and Son of Darkness. Her most recent folklore volume is Merlin's
Kin: World Tales of the Hero Magicians. Her short fiction has appeared in
numerous anthologies, including Battle Magic, Dinosaur Fantastic, and The
Shimmering Door. She lives in
Riverdale
,
New York
.

 
          
ARIKAN,
travel-worn and weary, stopped on the narrow way between the cliffs to catch
his breath. It had been a long journey, and he was no longer a boy to go
tearing along. And ... it had been a long while since he'd been here.
Far too long.

 
          
On
either side, the jagged gray walls towered over him, with the bright blue
desert sky high overhead and the heat of the new day filtering down through the
fading chill of the night. Ahead, Arikan thought with a sudden surge of joy so
strong that it astonished him,
lay
the village of the
Eagle Spirit People.

 
          
His people.

 
          
No
doubt, Arikan thought, starting forward again, the lookouts somewhere up on
those cliffs had already spotted him. And, presumably, since there'd been no
attack, they had recognized him first as not of the Owl Spirit People, the enemy,
then as one of their own.

 
          
They
would recognize him, would they not?
Arikan's mouth quirked
up in a wry grin.
Maybe not, at that.
He had,
after all, spent a long time out there in the desert, years alone, seeking a
vision, seeking any sign
of ...

 
          
Of
some reason to still have faith.
To still believe in
something.
Arikan couldn't trace the exact moment when he had lost
belief, only that it had slipped away from him, leaving him empty.

 
          
Ridiculous for a man grown to be hunting a vision.
No wonder
he'd seen and felt absolutely nothing. Save fatigue. And thirst. And utter
boredom.

 
          
But
the desert's privation had changed him, given him a lean, spare body and a face
sharpened by its lack of any extra flesh. His hair was long and
ragged,
his reddish-tan skin burned a darker brown.
A wild thing, he, no doubt about it.
Unlikely, Arikan
thought wryly, that any would recognize him.

 
          
Ah,
but there lay the village, the skin lodges of the People spread out in the
so-familiar jumble, and Arikan's grin became a true smile. He hurried forward.
At least there was this in which to believe, the village and those within it.
His people.
His home.

 
          
A
child playing in the dirt saw him first, and let out a shriek that brought
everyone running. Arikan found himself facing a wall of warriors with drawn
bows, their eyes so wild with alarm that he said hastily, "I am Arikan!
You know me, Karik, and you, Lathai—I can't have changed that much!"

 
          
The
warriors stirred, moving aside to let a lean old figure pass: Wenketh, Arikan
realized. The shaman's hair had turned pure white, and his face held more lines
than before, but he stood as proud and straight-backed as ever.