The Raven and the Reindeer (10 page)

What little she could see, in between wheezing, was a hard packed courtyard and a building like a pigeon coop. It looked shabby and half-falling down.
 

“Goddamn, Marten,” someone said over her head. “What have you done?”

The red-faced man—Marten?—said, “She was in the woods.” His voice was very deep.

“People are
allowed
to be in the woods.”

“She was nosin’ around. Looked to walk right in here.”

“So you decided to make absolutely
sure
she found us. How useful.”

The speaker walked into Gerta’s line of sight.

She was tall and lean and not much older than Gerta herself. Her skin was dark brown and her hair was blacker than Mousebones’ feathers. She wore a bright scarf around her shoulders.

Gerta recognized her immediately.
 

The girl reached down a hand and pulled Gerta to her feet.
 

“It’s you,” said Gerta stupidly, still clutching her hand. She was aware that she was streaked with vomit and her hair was hanging in rags and she felt embarrassed again, because she would have wanted to make a better impression.

The other girl turned her head slightly, suddenly wary. “Do we know each other?”

“From my dream,” said Gerta. She could feel the blush coming on because what she was saying was dreadfully stupid, but the words kept coming out and there was no stopping them. “The grapevine dream. I saw you. You were in it, with the wood-pigeons.”
 

This is not something normal people say to strangers. Now you’ll have to explain about the witch and then explain that you were stupid enough to be enchanted for months and incidentally you’ve sort of been kidnapped, and probably you should worry about that instead—

Her face was burning, clear to the tips of her ears. She wiped her hand across her mouth, feeling unutterably foolish, and yet this was without a doubt the woman that she had seen in the dream given to her by the grapevines.
 

“Wood-pigeons,” said the girl slowly. “Yes. I keep wood-pigeons.”

“She’s got money,” said Marten. “Or a little jingly pouch, anyway. And her pack’s full and we could kill her and nobody’d hardly know.”

“Sure,” said the girl. “And then the farmers wonder why one of their daughters have gone missing and they go looking and they find us and they say “Oh, look, bandits wintering over!” and wipe us out. Because there are
five
of us, Marten. Have you forgotten?”

“…lot more of us…” mumbled Marten, staring at his feet.
 

“Yes. There are. And they’re currently either south lying low or they’re rotting in jail because my father took it in his head to—”

She stopped and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Never mind,” she said. “Never mind that. The milk is spilled, and I should stop crying over it.” She took Gerta’s arm. “Come with me. My name is Janna, and I suppose you’re my prisoner now.”

“No!” said Gerta. “That’s—no, I’m sorry, that won’t work.”

Janna looked at her. She blinked a few times, slowly, and then said, “Being my prisoner isn’t going to
work
for you?”

Gerta took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. I have to keep going. I’m looking for someone. He’s been missing for a long time now, and—look, I didn’t mean to come here. You can have my money. But I have to go.”

Now that she was standing, Gerta could see that the pigeon coop was probably not where Janna and Marten were staying. There was an earth-house there, a hillock in the woods with an open doorway in one side. Piled sod on the top had sprouted grass that stuck out in tufts through the snow.
 

Mousebones soared in, with a flirt of wings, and landed on Gerta’s shoulder. It was hard to tell in a raven, but Gerta thought that if he were a human, he would have been embarrassed.

“This is her,” he said. “The girl who helped my wing. I suppose that oaf who grabbed you must have been about as well, but I didn’t remember him.”
 

Janna’s eyebrows were up so far that they nearly touched her hairline. “Midnight? Is that you?”

“His name is Mousebones,” said Gerta, trying to follow two conversations at once.
 

“I’m sorry,” said the bird. “And we ravens don’t apologize often, so please make a note of it. She helped my wing so I thought she’d help you. I didn’t think that a human could be kind to a raven and cruel to another human.”
 

“Mousebones
,” said Janna. “Well, she was called Midnight when she came flapping in here with a broken wing, and quite a job I had to set it.”

“He’s a he,” said Gerta. “I mean—well, he’s very clear that it’s not my business either way, but he says that’s what he’ll be. Because he’s not an it.”

Janna stared at her.
 

“…um,” said Gerta, who realized that she had just admitted that she heard a raven talk, which meant that Janna either thought she was lying or insane. “I mean…that is…”
 

I have got to stop babbling. I’m flustered, that’s it. Not that anyone
wouldn’t
be, when they’re made someone else’s prisoner.
 

The tips of her ears were burning now, and she was fairly sure that the blush extended most of the way to her navel.
 

Janna spun on her heel and snapped “Marten! Go do something useful! Make sure we’ve got enough firewood to last the night. It’s going to be an ugly storm.”
 

“But—”

“
Go.”

Marten made a long grumbling noise, like an old dog told to move, and plodded off.
 

“Please,” said Gerta, a bit desperately, “I need to get moving before the storm hits.”

Janna reached out and tucked Gerta’s arm under hers. It was a companionable sort of gesture, and it also prevented Gerta from bolting into the woods. Mousebones fanned his wings to keep his balance.

“Come with me,” said Janna. “You’re my guest, if you prefer that to prisoner. And you can tell me all about Mousebones.”

“Um…” said Gerta.

“And we’ll wait out this storm that is going to land on our heads quite soon, and I will keep Marten from doing anything unpleasant, and we will even feed you. How does that sound?”

“I don’t want to be any trouble…” said Gerta faintly, aware that any chance of freedom was trickling away. “Please…”

Janna smiled. Gerta had a dark suspicion that she knew exactly what she was doing. “It’s no trouble at all.”
 

Being polite is all well and good, right up until it’s a trap,
thought Gerta dully.
She’s going to do whatever she’s going to do whether I’m polite or not.
 

“I suppose I could go for her eyes,” said Mousebones doubtfully. “But she fixed my wing, and that would be poor payment. Um.”

“It’s all right,” said Gerta, even though it wasn’t. “Just…just stay out of reach, okay?”

Mousebones took flight and landed atop a nearby branch.

“Do you think she’ll kill me?” asked Gerta, and flushed again, because Janna was standing right there beside her.

“I don’t—but of course, you’re asking the bird,” said her captor.
 
She shook her head and muttered “Why are the pretty ones always crazy?” half under her breath.

 
“I don’t know,” said Mousebones. “I thought I did, but I don’t. Ravens know wise things, old things, and humans are a young and foolish race. I don’t know.” His beak gaped open and he made a small fledgling sound of distress.
 

 
“Come on, then,” said Janna. “Midnight—Mousebones—can come inside as well. The ceilings are very high, and if she—he—craps on the floor, no one will notice in there.” Her lips twisted.

Mousebones shook his head and fluffed up his feathers, as if something was alarming him, and then flew away. “I’ll be back,” he cawed. “I just—I need to think.”

“Or not,” said Janna, watching the raven flutter into a tree.
 

She led Gerta to the open doorway. Gerta felt herself resisting, trying to plant her feet, and had to concentrate to make herself stop.
If I resist, she’ll drag me, and once we cross that point it will all get worse. There may be no difference between being a guest and being a prisoner, but guests are treated better. I hope.

Janna glanced at her. “Gently,” she murmured. “This charade is not all for your benefit…”

They crossed the threshold. There was a drape made of deerskin tied to one side and Janna let it down behind them.
 

Gerta’s eyes were dazed by the shift from bright snow to darkness. She followed Janna blindly, feeling packed earth underfoot.
 

“Eh?” said a voice, off to her left. “Eh? What’s all the fuss? Is your father home?”

“No,” said Janna shortly. “Not home, and not likely to be home any time soon. The weather’s turning.”

“Is it?” The voice laughed, a series of short inhalations—
aah! aah! aah!

Someone very old,
thought Gerta.
A woman, I think, but very old. Older than Grandmother. Maybe older than Gran Aischa, too.
 

“What have you got there, then?” asked the old woman.

“Lost traveler,” said Janna. “Nothing to fret yourself over.”

The voice sharpened. “Traveler? Here? Are you sure it’s not a spy?”

“Quite sure.” Janna was leading her away from the voice. “Don’t fret yourself, Nan.”

Another voice—masculine, scraped almost as thin as the first—said “If the storm runs too long, we can always eat them.”
 

“Aah! Aah! Aah!”

Gerta’s fingers closed convulsively on Janna’s wrist.

“No one’s eating anyone,” said Janna. “We’re bandits, not cannibals.” Half under her breath, she muttered “An inch of snow on the ground, and the old fools always start deciding who to eat first. It’s like they’re looking for excuses.”
 

Gerta thought it best not to say anything.

Her eyes were adjusting as they crossed the room. The earth house was larger than she expected, the ceiling high overhead. The beams were blackened with smoke.
 

The fire in the central pit was low and flickering. Radiating out from the pit, like spokes from a wheel, were a dozen sleeping areas. Most appeared unoccupied.
 

Seated near the fire, wrapped in blankets, were two people so old that their skin hung off them like empty sacks. It was hard to tell where flesh ended and blankets began. They looked nearly identical, but Gerta could not have said if they were related or if they were simply equally ancient.

The old woman’s hands moved restlessly, working a drop-spindle, not looking down. The old man sat idle. He whispered something to his companion and they both laughed their high, gasping laughs again.
 

A little ways off from them, with his back to a wall, was a middle-aged man. He was sitting a little awkwardly, and it took Gerta a moment to realize that he was missing his left leg below the knee.

There was a loaded crossbow across his lap. He nodded to Janna, unsmiling, and she nodded back.

On the far side of the earthhouse was another doorway, much smaller. This one had another hide drape over it. The effect was strangely primitive, as if Gerta had stepped back in time to an age of earthen mounds and men who painted themselves in honor to the gods.
 

Janna herded her to the doorway. As the hide fell down behind them, Gerta heard the two old bandits begin to sing.

Janna’s room in the earthouse was not large, but it had a hatch set in the ceiling and a long ladder up to it. Gerta’s eyes fixed on that and it was hard to make herself see the rest of the room.
 

“I need to open it up,” said Janna, following her eyes, “and knock the snow off. Have to do it every few hours or else there’s six feet of snow over the hatch and I can’t get into the coop.”

“Coop?” said Gerta. That came out very normal, she thought. She was proud of how normal it sounded, while dread came clawing its way up her throat. She kept hearing the laugher from the other room, like birds calling over frozen ground.
 

“The pigeon coop,” said Janna. “You go up the hatch and it’s right there. It’s not in great shape, but it holds pigeons. I’ll show you tomorrow if you like.”

“Tomorrow,” said Gerta faintly. “But I must go…”

“Not until the snow is done,” said Janna. “Whoever you are trying to save, they can’t move any farther in this snow than you can.”

“They can if they ride in the Snow Queen’s sled,” said Gerta.
 

Janna’s eyebrows climbed toward her hair again. “I can see you have quite a story to tell me,” she said. “And I already doubt half of it, but I shall listen quite attentively.”

There was a single bed platform, very wide and covered in furs and ragged blankets. Janna sat down and patted the edge. “Have a seat,” she said. “I will get you a bowl of stew and then you may tell me all this tale. I find that preposterous stories sit better on a full stomach.”

“It’s not preposterous,” said Gerta. “Or—it is—but—” The dread was clawing at her throat again. She clenched her hands in her skirts. “It’s all true. I swear it is.”
 

“You have come here with a raven that I know personally,” said Janna, “which is quite preposterous in and of itself. She—
he
—was hardly a local bird. I found him a long ways off and brought him here when it was clear that his wing needed to be set. I could just barely believe that he remembered there was food here and returned, and that you are some mad girl that follows ravens about, but that hardly seems likely either.”
 

She smiled when she said it, and it was a good smile, a little rueful. Gerta found some tiny hope that perhaps she might yet leave alive.

I can’t hope, I can’t, the witch smiled too, she was very kind, kindness cannot save me…

Janna patted her arm. “It has been a long day for you,” she said. “Sit and rest. I shall see to the hatch and to stew and then I will listen to what you have to say.”