The Raven and the Reindeer (18 page)

Gerta felt, by this point, that it was better to admit ignorance. The world had proved all too full of things that she didn’t know that could hurt her. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I don’t know what that means.”

Mousebones, perched on the top of the house, cawed once. “The Mother of the Dead,” he said.
 

“What the raven said. Bury it,” Livli said. “Under scree or under earth.”
 

“I’m sorry,” said Gerta, feeling that she had failed somehow. “I didn’t know—”

Livli patted her arm. “No reason you should, I suppose. You’ve got your own gods to deal with. But reindeer belong to our gods, and our gods belong to them.”

“I thought you were Lutheran,” said Janna.
 

“I am. Doesn’t mean I’m stupid, girl. Luther lived a long ways away.
Jábmiidáhkká
lives under my feet. And I’ve never heard that Luther had much to do with reindeer, which was clearly a failing in an otherwise upright man.”
 

She held out the hide. “Enough. It’ll last as long as you need it. Don’t expect to be walking the road when you’re old, unless you find another way.”

Gerta nodded and took the hide.

It went on more easily this time, or perhaps she did not fear it—
or perhaps I am simply not panicked and ready to run from bandits—

And then she was a reindeer.

She tested it this time, delicately. Her legs were so long, and they clacked with every step, a signal to others in the herd
here I am here I am here.

When she drew breath, her lungs filled more deeply than a human’s lungs could, and the cold air was sharp and wonderful and made her feel alive.

She tried to bounce on her hooves, but it came out as a buck instead. She walked, one step at a time, and then she ran.
 

The reindeer body was swift and strong and it understood running. Mousebones flew alongside her, laughing his cawing raven laugh.

 
At last, she settled, and trotted demurely back to Livli and Janna. Both of them were grinning.

“That looked like fun,” said Janna.

Gerta remembered how to nod and did so, vigorously.

“Ah, that’s a good use of a skin,” said Livli. “Seals and reindeer have the best of it, I think.”

“Ravens can fly,” said Mousebones, sounding affronted.

“Swans can fly, too,” said Livli. “But they never seem to be enjoying it much. Come on, Gerta, let’s get this harness on you and see if you can pull a sled.”

The sled was ridiculously easy to pull. Gerta stood while Livli fussed over straps and belts, muttering to herself. “Your skin comes from a
heargi—
one of the draft males—and you’re about the same size.”

“He was smaller,” said Janna, “but it might just have been that he was thin.”

Livli nodded. “They get thinner as they get old. The truly ancient ones, you can practically see the wind through their bones. Lower your head, Gerta, I’m putting a bridle on you.”

“Err,” said Janna. “Is that…uh…”

“If she goes deep into the dream, you’ll want a way to catch her,” said Livli practically.

Tell them I don’t mind,
said Gerta to Mousebones.

He told them. Livli nodded.
 

Janna sighed. “I wish I could talk to ravens.”
 

The bridle didn’t hurt. There was no bit like a horse would have. The strap behind her ears felt like her hair had been newly braided, and was still tight against her scalp.
 

“It’s the principle,” said Janna. “You start putting tack on people…” She shook her head.

“We’ve been putting tack on four-legged people for thousands of years,” said Livli.
 

“People who can talk.”

“Plenty of four-legged people can talk. Not everybody listens well. Never got the trick of it, myself, but beasts are quieter than birds.”

Janna threw her hands in the air. “Fine, fine! I will keep my objections to myself.”
 
Mousebones snickered.
 

Livli hitched Gerta-as-reindeer up to the sled, and then undid it all and made Janna do it again while she watched. Once she was satisfied, she slapped Gerta’s flank and said, “Pull and see how that works.”

Gerta pulled.

It was easy. It was ridiculously easy. Janna climbed onto the sled and that was a little heavier, but the reindeer body knew how to pull on some level deeper than thought. It was what reindeer
did.
Gerta threw her shoulders into it and her haunches and the sled slid over the snow-slick ground and it was all so
easy.
 

She felt powerful.

It was such an unexpected sensation that she would have laughed, if reindeer could laugh above a gentle wheezing. It had not occurred to her before that she was weak. She had been a perfectly average young human, if a bit short. But she had never before felt
strong.

I am strong,
she said to Mousebones, astonished.
 

“Awk! Very strong! And I am clever,” said the raven, laughing for both of them. “We ought to be unstoppable now.”
 

Livli snorted. “The Snow Queen will be stronger than either of you,” she said. “Nothing is stronger than winter. I don’t know about clever, though.”
 

Mousebones looked smug. Gerta snorted and stamped her hoof.
 

“Well,” said Livli. “That’s sorted. Now for the last bit. Janna.”
 

“Must we?” asked Janna, sounding lost and a little forlorn.

Livli snorted. “Better to practice it now. Do you want to try for the first time tomorrow night, with no one to help you if aught goes wrong?”

Janna swallowed. She stepped up to Gerta’s head and caught the bridle under the chin.

Gerta braced her hooves.
I will not run. I will not.
 

It was surprisingly easy not to run. Janna was the herd, and you did not run from the herd.
 

Janna leaned forward and rested her forehead against Gerta’s, between the eyes.

“What are you waiting for?” asked Livli. “A magic knife?”

“If you have one, yes!”

The old woman snorted. “Knives aren’t magic, girl. All they are is sharp. Cut or don’t, but don’t dither over it. It only makes it worse for both of you.”

Janna let out a single dry sob and set the point of her knife against Gerta’s throat.

She did not hesitate for long.
 

In the end, it hurt differently than Gerta expected.

The blade was very sharp. There was hardly any pain, only a hot sting—but either Janna was slow or the cut was far longer than she expected, and Gerta felt the dreadful queasy feeling of cold metal being dragged through her flesh.

It lasted three heartbeats, no more.
 

Then, as if the point of the knife were the axis of the world, everything flipped over. It was not her skin being cut any more, it was the reindeer hide flapping open and she was inside it.

She staggered. Janna flung the knife aside and threw her arms around Gerta’s shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” she said thickly. Gerta thought that the bandit girl was crying. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s all right,” said Gerta, still a little dazed from being a reindeer. She had not sunk so deeply into the dream that time, and her skin was only a little tender. The harness flapped loose and ridiculous around her shoulders. She would pull it off in a moment, but she didn’t want to push Janna away. “It’s all right. It only hurts a little.”
 

Janna took a shuddering breath and stepped back. She was paler than Gerta had thought she could be. “You’re bleeding.”

Gerta put a hand to her neck. There was a narrow line of heat, more sore than painful. “Am I?”
 

“Cut any deeper than the skin, and she’ll bleed plenty,” said Livli. “Cut long and shallow. You didn’t do badly, though.”

Gerta shook off the harness and squared her shoulders. “Do you think you can do that again?”

Janna met her eyes, only for a moment, then had to look away.
 

“If I must,” she said, and picked up the fallen knife.
 

They set out early the next day.

The nights were long, this far north, and would get no shorter until the year turned. So Gerta took the reindeer shape when it was still dark and Janna hitched her to the sled and Mousebones grumbled about the hour.
 

“The blessing of the saints upon you,” said Livli. “If you can bring down the Snow Queen, so much the better. That’s an old spirit, and not a kind one. But if all you can do is get your friend away, that’s not a failure, either.”
 

“Thank you,” said Janna. “I know I—we—appreciate it. Without you, I don’t know how…”

Livli snorted. “Don’t worry about it. Aischa sent you to me, and it’s the least I can do to send you on. Both of you. I doubt you’ll come free of Gerta’s story easily.”

Janna gave a short, pained laugh and climbed onto the sled.
 

“I’ve packed you food,” said Livli. “Fish, not reindeer. I thought perhaps you wouldn’t want to eat that at the moment.” She slapped Gerta’s flank. “Go well.”
 

When they were out of sight of Livli’s home, Janna said “I left her money. A sled’s worth a lot around here, even an old one like this. I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but it matters.” Gerta nodded her head up and down. There was no paying for the aid they had gotten, but for the sled, one could at least give a good price.
 

Gerta found the reindeer road easily. The threads of light were strong here, pounded down by a thousand hooves.
 

“And here we are again,” muttered Janna, as they swung onto the road. “Ah, it’s worse down low like this.” She pulled her cloak up over her head. Mousebones perched at the front of the sled and snickered.
 

After that, it was only running.
 

There were living reindeer on the road as well as ghosts, which startled Gerta a little, and yet they seemed as glad to see her as any of the others. She ran alongside a young male, barely more than a calf, for a long way, their hooves striking in unison, and it was good.
 

They parted to allow the sled to pass, as if it were perfectly normal. Perhaps it was. The generosity of the reindeer to a human in their midst—and a human in their skin—should not have surprised her, and yet it did.
 

She did not sink as deeply into the reindeer dream this time. The short day passed swiftly, but Mousebones was there to call her back each time.
 

Perhaps you can get used to anything,
thought Gerta.
 

Perhaps it would be too easy to get used to this.

It had been dark for several hours, and Mousebones said “Pull off, Gerta, or I’ll fall asleep. Ravens weren’t meant to gallivant around in the dark.”
 

The landscape, when they left the reindeer road, was much like the one they had left in Sápmi—fields of snow-covered scree and distant trees. Gerta was still looking around her, wondering vaguely if there was somewhere to graze, when Janna came up and caught her beneath the chin.
 

“I’m sorry,” she said, and cut.
 

The skin fell away around the point of the knife. Gerta emerged, shaking off the hide, and Janna caught her.
 

“I hate this,” said the bandit girl, to no one in particular.

“Was it easier that time?” asked Gerta.

“Yes,” said Janna. “That’s what I hate.”

Her voice was matter-of-fact, and her hand on the knife had been steady. But Gerta looked up into her eyes and the naked anguish there was more than she could stand.
 

With barely any more thought than to stop that hurt, Gerta stepped forward and kissed her.
 

Janna made a tiny noise of surprise and then her arms came down around Gerta’s shoulders. One hand slid up the back of her neck.
 

Gerta thought for an instant that wearing the reindeer hide had left her skin raw again. Then she thought that perhaps she would have felt every fingertip on her skin burn like a brand anyway, and then Janna’s mouth opened over hers and she stopped thinking entirely.
 

She regained a little bit of sense when Janna sheathed the knife.
Oh, right, of course, has she been holding it all this time…?
 

Then Janna slid her free hand up over Gerta’s breast, and no one had ever touched her like that, and good Lord, why not—
no, no, it’s probably good, I might die, but that’s okay, I’d rather die than stop this—
 

They had to stop eventually. It was sooner than Gerta would have liked, but the wind was howling and she was wearing nothing but a few leather straps and some very cold buckles.

“You’ll freeze,” said Janna hoarsely, pulling off her cloak and draping it over Gerta. “I—oh God! I can’t.”

“Can’t what?” asked Gerta.

“Can’t tumble you right here and be damned.” Janna barked a laugh, short and sharp as a jay calling. “I want to. I can’t.”

“Can’t?” said Gerta. (Did she want to be tumbled? What would that involve, exactly? It seemed like a bad time to ask.)
 

Janna reached out and dragged her fingertips over Gerta’s cheekbone, down the side of her neck. “I can’t,” she said. “I shouldn’t. I’m strapping you up in harnesses in the morning and cutting your throat at night. The inside of my head is getting twisted up enough already. I’ll end up with a terrible passion for reindeer or something even worse.”
 

Gerta had to laugh at that. “Are you sure?”

“No. Not remotely.” Janna’s fingers stroked over Gerta’s collarbone, down the line of her breast—Gerta held her breath—and then she sighed deeply and laid her palm flat over Gerta’s heart. “I am the world’s greatest fool,” she said, and took her hand away.
 

“Humans,” said Mousebones, with deep disgust. “You can’t even figure out how to mate properly.” He stalked away into the snow with as much dignity as a walking raven could manage.