Raven Speak (9781442402492) (10 page)

It touched him then how the girl's mother hadn't protested when he settled himself into the chieftain's place. She'd looked up and smiled, dreamlike, contented. Wisely she realized the importance of having a man leading the clan, a man who could and would safeguard their future, who'd make certain that no one who proved his—or her—worth went hungry.

Right off he guaranteed his ability to provide for them by passing around a small sack of hazelnuts. He'd discovered the bounty on his way down from the mountains, he explained, when he'd finally given up looking for Asa. Only one had questioned him: Tora, that outspoken pig of a woman. “How could so many nuts last the winter lying on open ground?” she'd challenged. “No other creature had found them?” All the while stuffing them into her wide, lipless mouth. He'd masked his disgust—inwardly marking her unworthy—and replied that he didn't know. Perhaps the gods had led him there. The forest was very thick, he explained—had
they not seen the scratches on his face?—and the place where he had found them was hidden from all but the keenest eye. The hazelnut bush was growing above a deep cleft between two rocks, no wider than this: He'd held up his forearms, touching at the elbows and spreading only two fingers' width at the wrist. The nuts had obviously fallen into the cleft many months ago and piled there unseen. The woman had frowned, but her chewing closed her mouth to further questions.

An evening wind hurried up the fjord. He sniffed. A change coming? He flared his nostrils and sniffed more deeply, testing the cold air on the moist roof of his throat. For as long as he could remember he'd been able to predict a change in the weather by the smells carried on the ocean winds. Tonight he detected a subtle difference in the salt-laden odors. Were they fair or foul? Of that he wasn't certain. He lifted his gaze to the few stars speckling the deepening sky. Islands of luminous white clouds floated beneath them, their flat bottoms still glowing pink. Neither night nor day.

Hearing a movement, he turned slowly. The two horses were standing at the crest of the hill, looking down at him, their ears pointed. He made the smacking sound again and slapped his thigh. “Come! Come!” One horse snorted and lifted his head; the other took a cautious step backward.

Before he could call again, the strangest noise disturbed the air. It was the voice of an animal, he was certain, though it sounded like a nut cracking apart. He looked up to see two ravens flapping steadily toward him.

Ravens! He hadn't seen a raven in months, and now here was a pair of them, so strongly reminiscent of the regal pair Odin sent forth daily to gather information from the world that it had to be a good sign. One of the black birds gurgled, whined, and uttered a stream of hammering
tok
s, all of which the other echoed. It seemed they were speaking a language, and for a fleeting instant he wondered if they were speaking to him, perhaps carrying a message from the god himself. His father had sworn such had happened to him at one time. But the birds flew on in a true line and disappeared.

Idly he wondered if there was a way to entice their return. He'd never eaten a raven, but roasted over a fire any bird had to taste better than dried pea soup. He had hardly finished that thought when the pair came winging back, low enough now that he could see their black toes tucked tightly to their feathers. They were still trading chatter: rapid, burbling sounds punctuated by an occasional
quork
. Apparently they were oblivious to his presence, though he imagined the nearer bird tipped an eye toward him as it flew over.

He watched them go, then shook himself back to the present. He needed to get the horses into the byre. What were a couple of birds high in the sky when two meaty animals stood almost within reach? Wetting his lips, he smacked them—once, twice—hating the way it reduced him to a little girl. “Come!” he ordered loudly.

Quork. Quork.
Strangely enough, his order had brought the
ravens wheeling around. Their chatter united in harsh cries as the birds suddenly spiraled out of the air to attack the horses. He felt his mouth fall open. The horses squealed, spun, and galloped out of sight. He heard them thundering up the hillside, the birds shrieking in their wake. And then everything was silent.

The wind charged his back, punching its cold through to his bones. His stomach growled. Images of roasting meat had readied him for a feast, and now he was as empty-handed as ever. To Nifelhel with those odious birds! Here he'd thought they were signs of good fortune and he'd been rudely deceived; they were nothing more than meddlesome creatures deserving of a miserable fate. Glaring at the darkening skyline, he roughly adjusted the cloak across his shoulders and heaved a sigh of frustration. Well, he could allow himself a few more of the hazelnuts he'd held aside. He hungered greatly, though, for a chewy piece of meat—one dripping with fat.

Just as he was turning toward the byre, that wavering moment of twilight vanished and night began to descend rapidly. He thought about leaving the door open in case those stupid horses returned on their own, but then he'd risk losing the cow. In sudden anger he slammed his shoulder against the wood planks and shoved the door closed. Let the fool horses shiver. They'd be more appreciative come morning.

He stalked down the path toward the longhouse—oh, why had he used his bad shoulder, the one he'd wrenched last night?—and as he did, he became aware of the two black birds again,
congealing from the dusk. He shook his fist as they neared. If only …

From the edge of his eye he caught something falling. It was followed closely by an identical object and the instant he realized it, a damp clod thumped his head and crumbled down the back of his neck. Another splatted in front of him. Even in the gloom he recognized it as the fragmented turd of a horse. The birds' raucous chatter sounded distinctly like laughter as they melted into the night. He clenched his fists, shook himself off, and walked on.

Rune pranced, his long black tail swishing around his ankles with the agitation of storm-tossed waves. He struck at the cave floor and shook his head. Even when he ceased his fretting to momentarily look in Asa's direction, the skin covering his bony withers twitched with a spasmodic life of its own.

The woman's echoing wail had had the opposite effect on Asa. Though her heart pounded, she held herself motionless. Something was happening. Part of her seemed to fly away with the two ravens, yet the heavy blue cloak pinned her in place, crushing her neck and overloading her shoulders with its suffocating weight. Her head throbbed.

Rune snorted an emphatic blast that ricocheted off the stone walls. She was aware that he'd swung his head around and that his eyes sought the cave's arching mouth, the path to escape. If not for his loyalty, she knew, he'd go galloping through it.

She should join him.

That sudden and clear resolve stirred her to life. As carefully as she could, cautious not to make a sound, she began worming her way out from under the cloak.

“No!” The woman spun and pointed a finger. “What are you doing?”

That stiffened her and, caught as she was, burdened her one shoulder with the entire weight of the cloak.
Why
hadn't she brought Astrid's knife?

The pointed finger had no sway over Rune, however, and the clatter of his restless hooves grew louder. Their staccato cadence suggested imminent flight, and Asa's heart leaped into rhythm. “I really should go back to my clan,” she explained in a falsely calm voice. The lone eyeball didn't blink. “If they're in danger—”

“They are,” the woman interrupted authoritatively, “but your time's not yet ripe.” Lifting the cloak from Asa with surprising ease, she seemed to hug it to her chest a moment before folding it in half and laying it across the open trunk. “The way will soon be dark. And I promised you a whale, which I don't have—yet—but I do have, let's see …” She turned and scurried over to a dark barrel. Sweeping aside some leaf litter, she lifted the lid.

Asa sidled next to Rune, stealing a desperate glance through the cave's mouth. Across the fjord the zigzagging fissures and rocky outcroppings had already gone murky; silhouettes were steadily dissolving in the falling dusk. How would they find their way?

As if sensing her thoughts, Rune nickered. Instinctively, she put a hand on his neck to calm him, at the same time realizing it wasn't anxiety in his utterance but anticipation. Grain was being scooped from the barrel into a shallow basket, and the lush sound of cascading granules had hooked his ears.

“Barley,” the woman said, displaying the basket triumphantly.

Her approach elicited another resonant nicker from Rune, and when she set the basket at his feet he eagerly tore into the grain. The little mound, Asa thought, reddish yellow in the firelight, must seem as desirous to him as a pile of gold would to a man. And hard upon that thought came another: A well-fed horse could gallop that much faster and farther. “Thank you,” she said, drawing herself tall. “He's not seen that much in a year.”

In the woman's smile Asa was surprised to glimpse satisfaction, even a trace of motherly pride. The fan of wrinkles edging her one eye closely resembled her mother's, and the smile that made them pucker managed to soften her scowl as she prattled on. “Now for you, would you favor some klippfisk maybe? Or some fresh mussels? That's it! Mussels and leeks stewed in their own tempting broth. Something heartier than dried pea soup, eh? You'll stay the night now and share a meal.” Whether it was an invitation or a command, she didn't wait for a response, but scuttled off to another barrel to plunge her bare arm deep inside.

Asa hadn't felt so spun about, so dizzy and disoriented, since her childhood days playing brigand and blindfold. Was this unpredictable old woman a danger or not? Rune had obviously lost his desire to flee now that he had his grain. He was nosing the basket across the floor with a colt's hunger, trying to snatch up every last kernel. She glanced outside. It
was
awfully dark. The night had blotted away all details that lay beyond the flickering shadows at the cave's mouth.

A shallow pot, dented and blackened with age, clanked as the woman pitched something into it. That was followed by another dull chink and clank, and then another. They were mussels, glistening blue-black mussels. She was pulling the dripping shells from the barrel, giving each a cursory examination, and rapidly filling the waiting pot. A noisy gurgle from Asa's stomach convinced her to stay. She was hungry, dizzy, and tired—oh, so tired. “All right,” she agreed, unsure if that was even necessary. “What can I do to help?”

The woman shook droplets from her wet arm, darted over to another basket—moving now with the agility of someone much younger, a quite excited someone—and dug out a bulb of garlic, which she tossed to Asa. “Here, you can peel that,” she said, and returned to the kettle.

In digging her fingernail beneath the flimsy, crackly skin, Asa punched a crescent into the garlic's flesh. Immediately she lifted the bulb to her nose and sucked in its fragrance. She loved the smell and taste of garlic—almost as much as her father did. For as long as she could remember he'd been teased for yanking young bulbs right out of the ground and crunching them between his teeth while he talked. The aroma within her cupped hands brought a pang; she could feel his breath warming the top of her head, sense his lips planting a kiss where so many had been planted over the years. Would she ever see him again, or had he and the others not survived the storm? And what about her mother? Rubbing her thumb across the bulb's waxy body, she recalled the knobs of bone
strung along her mother's bowed neck. Had death always hovered so close to them?

She took her time tearing away the remainder of the garlic's loose-fitting skin, all the while watching the woman with curiosity. Just how much did this stranger know about her and her clan? The reference to dried pea soup could have been a guess—long winters usually waned with a few monotonous days of dried pea soup—but she spoke so confidently. Just how much did she know?

“You were wanting this, I suspect.” With one brow arched enigmatically, the woman pushed a knife across the table, a knife so similar to Astrid's that Asa flinched with guilt. Flushing beneath the penetrating stare, she chopped the garlic as best as she could—the blade was somewhat dull—and slid the knife aside.

But she couldn't stop looking at it. Her palm ached to grasp the handle again, to hold the blade close to her, just for the comfort and protection pointed iron could provide. The old woman's back was turned. She'd never miss it in this mess, and almost before the thought was finished, Asa had secreted the knife in the waistband of her underskirt and was strewing the pile of garlic skins across the table and rearranging the jars and utensils to distract a questioning eye.

Once the garlic was tossed into the kettle, which was now nestled among the fire's embers, she was given the task of stirring the soup. She hunched over the pot, feeling the knife's cold iron poke her belly and wondering if the old woman knew. The mussels
grudgingly parted their mouths as they cooked, surrendering the sweet flesh hidden inside, and her own mouth watered with anticipation.

Rune, having finished his grain, immediately walked a tight circle, swinging his nose across the cave floor. Three times he circled until, apparently satisfied, he buckled his knees and sank to the ground. His accompanying grunt expanded into a drawn-out sigh as his head drooped and his eyelids fluttered and closed. Asa smiled. He deserved a good rest.

It wasn't long before she and her host were seated beside the fire, cradling steaming bowls of mussel, leek, and garlic soup. Her stomach was growling so insistently that she bypassed her spoon to slurp some broth straight from the bowl, and it coursed through her with a nourishing heat. The muscles in her back relaxed—she hadn't realized how knotted they'd become—and her hips loosened. Guilt evaporated. She'd be joining Rune in no time, she thought with a silent chuckle. Hopefully without going face first into her soup. To her dining companion she said appreciatively, “This is good.”