Raven Speak (9781442402492) (12 page)

“They don't know what they want,” Jorgen had growled. He cast a black-eyed look upon the ring of blank faces. Then he turned his back to them all, bundled himself in his cloak, and squatted in his corner. What he did then wasn't known, though he muttered and hummed and worked his arms and shoulders in such a way that he might have been carrying on with his whittling or been performing some mystic ritual known only to skalds.

The faces, nearly in unison, swung back to the chieftain. Asa remembered her mother placing a hand on her father's shoulder and him gently pushing it away. “Well, then,” he'd said, “shall we have another game?” And she kept picturing the faces, gaunt and bewildered in the firelight, bobbing first from Jorgen and then to her father and then back again, endlessly, like so much driftwood at the mercy of the tide. How had she not understood all this before?

“I said”—Wenda was speaking again—“why didn't your father act?”

Asa felt her cheeks flush hot. It was only a misjudgment; she could still defend him. “He did act,” she began. “He made plans for next summer's crops, and he designed a separate cooking
house that would be closer to the storeroom and still catch some wind.” Was that really answering the question? “He kept us thinking about the future,” she explained. “This has been a very tough winter; a lot of people have died. My father was doing his best—”

“And what was Jorgen doing?”

His worst
, was the answer that came to mind. He'd managed to march her father and all of the able-bodied men onto the
Sea Dragon
and shoved it into a stormy sea, leaving him nearly free to take control.

“Or your mother, what did she do?”

Asa rubbed her forehead, shielding her eyes. Images of her mother flashed through the blackness: trying to sit upright though trembling with nausea, overseeing the cooking, directing Jorgen to tell a story—or had that been herself?—but finally giving in to her illness, the sweat and fever fogging her orders.

“They're blind,” the woman said, to which Asa nodded, not even looking up. “So you must go back. But not as yourself.”

That night Asa hugged herself into a tight ball, tucked her cloak around her knees and clasped it close to her neck, and lay facing the fire. She'd not been offered a mattress or even so much as a blanket by Wenda. Soon after the woman's cryptic remark, when her white-haired head had begun to nod and her one eyelid had slowly closed over its intimidating orb, she'd watched the woman suddenly startle awake, rise to her feet, and pull herself up into some sort of woven bed suspended from the rafters, the likes of which Asa had never seen. The thick netting had sagged and swayed back and forth for a time with the woman's settling weight, but when she finally fell still her lumpy silhouette could, in the dark cave's smoky haze, have been mistaken for one especially large chunk of drying meat—a chunk of meat that emitted a heedless, whistling snore that only added to Asa's aggravation. So she lay curled between Rune and the fire, catching some warmth from both and thinking glumly that the long day was ending much as it had begun: huddled within a rocky shelter far from home, plagued by thoughts of what the morrow might bring.

When her own eyes finally relented and she gave in to a fitful sleep, Asa dreamed of a stranded whale, a large blue-black one, with one great round pale eye that blinked at her. The whale's hide glistened, bathed as it was in an ethereal light. Sparkling rivulets of seawater traced paths along its creamy throat and sleek flanks. The creature's cavernous breathing, deep and slow, in and then out—as rhythmic as the ocean—pulsed through her blood. For some reason the whale seemed to have flung itself on the shore to wait for her, and as she stood staring up at its immense bulk, it blinked and waited and breathed and waited. She was supposed to do something, but she didn't know what that something was. And as she stood helplessly, squinting up at it in the blazing light, the two ravens came flapping their way into her view, circled the whale, and then landed on its broad, sloping back. There they strutted arrogantly, pecking at its blowhole and demanding in their raven speak (which Asa could understand in her dream) that the whale offer up its eye.
What do you want for it?
they screeched.
What shall we trade you for your eye?
And the water that trickled off the whale was blindingly bright and then she awoke.

At first she lay motionless, her heart kicking against her ribs. Where was she? It seemed to be the sheltered niche at the shore, because a stone wall blocked her view of the ocean and somewhere nearby the two ravens were screaming. But where was Rune? She scanned her surroundings. No, not the shore—inside Wenda's cave. That much was coming back to her. But still, where was Rune? She lifted onto an elbow, trying to think.

A commotion sounded outside the cave—flapping wings and pinging stones—and then he came wandering in, bobbing his head the way he did when he'd found an especially tasty treat. His lips oozed a green foam. “Rune,” she called with relief, and he ambled over, hooves lazily scraping the stone, and nuzzled her head. She tried to duck away but, too late, a wet glob was deposited on her scalp. Laughing, she reached up to give him a shove and had to stop short with a pained gasp. The muscles in her shoulders and back had recoiled in protest. That brought another memory: her battle with Jorgen. With bubbling anger she noted the slashes across Rune's neck but also saw that his chest, where the short hairs swirled in damp disorder, had been washed clean of any dried blood. Hearing someone approach, Asa climbed to her feet too suddenly and another spasm gripped her, so that when Wenda entered the cave, the two met as crooked twins.

“Ach! You've not enough winters to be walking like an old woman,” Wenda said.

She seemed to be in tremendous good spirits, as changeable as the weather. Rune left Asa to give the empty grain basket a shove with his nose, and that made Wenda laugh.

“Soon enough, soon enough,” she said, picking it up and carrying it to the barrel that held the barley. Rune's ears pricked at the vigorous crunch of the scoop biting into the grain. He nickered eagerly as she approached with the filled basket, and in the next instant he was tearing into the mound, his thick black-and-silver mane clouding his face.

It pleased Asa to see him eating so well. That winter she'd often wished to go hungry herself—to offer up her measly bowl of pea soup if it would help—rather than see her old friend suffer. “Thank you,” she said to Wenda, “again.”

That got her a quick over-the-shoulder glance and a lopsided smile that hinted at secrets. Then Wenda busied herself with the fire, nudging its embers into flames.

The morning view through the cave's crooked mouth showed no rain. Within the sunless gloom shading the opposite side of the fjord she could just pick out the narrow trail that had led here. Certainly they could find their way now. And, anxious to move on, she announced, “We'll be leaving as soon he's finished.”

“You will?” Was it doubt or sadness that colored the response?

She had to nod. She'd foolishly followed the old woman here yesterday because she'd been promised a whale. Obviously there was none; she'd been misled for who knew what reason—if
reason
had even had any part in it. So she needed to resort to her previous plan: climb higher into the mountains and search for food there, then return to her clan.

The makeshift rafters with their bounty of dried meats tugged her gaze upward. If Wenda was a generous host—well, there was no need traveling along that path; if she wanted a share she'd boldly have to ask for it. Even then she'd still search for more food before returning to her clan. Who knew how thin this winter could stretch?

“I'm grateful for the shelter and the food. And for bathing his wounds.” She indicated Rune. “I'm afraid I was so tired I didn't hear you leave earlier. Is there some work I can do for you before I go—fetch water or gather more firewood, something to pay for your kindnesses?”

Wenda began to smile in preface to her reply. Or so it appeared. Instead the smile widened, pulled the lips thin and bloodless, and contorted them into a grotesque, frozen mask. Slowly the woman lifted her arms, spreading them wide. As if the gesture alone were a voiced command, the ravens came flapping into the cave with powerful whooshing strokes and alit, one upon each arm. Their beaks stabbed the air as the feathers on their heads rose up in a menacing display, and both birds yelled at Asa.

“You wish to pay me, do you? Can you pay for a whale? How much is one worth, would you say? You have no silver coins.” Here Wenda raked her head up and down like one of her birds, critically eyeing Asa's full length. “So what would you trade for it?”

“I'm not talking about a whale—”

“Yes, you are!” the woman shrieked, and at that Rune startled sideways, snorting alarm. Her one eye rolled back inside her head. The wrinkled lid fluttered, the narrow slit showed a mucous, yellowy white, and all the while her two black birds hollered at Asa as if she were the cause of the woman's torment.

The skin on Asa's neck prickled and the tingly sensation raced across her shoulders and down her arms. She needed to escape this crazy old woman.
Now.
The shelter and food had
been welcomed, but she and Rune risked unknown danger with each passing moment. They had to be on their way.

Wenda's mouth contorted into a new grimace. Her neck spasmed, yanking her head stiffly askew. The one eye continued to shudder and roll until the lid's gossamer folds closed over it. In another raspy breath it popped open. The woman swayed. She seemed not to know where she was and her one eye kept blinking and blinking, trying to find its focus.

The ravens' vocalizations softened at once. Their feathers smoothed and the pair gurgled and mewled quietly, almost contemplatively. One casually preened his—or was it her?—chest while the other trilled an intermittent, single-noted melody. As Wenda steadied herself (and as Asa hesitated, momentarily mesmerized) the birds subtly shifted their prattle into something more distinctive. The raven on her left shoulder—the female, Asa decided, because the bird was slightly trimmer and neat-looking—parted her wings and made a throaty sound that resembled a hammer striking metal. In response, the other bird—the male—emitted a series of emphatic grunts. He let the last grunt expand into a protracted groan. The exchange, nearly a conversation, continued as the woman blinked to awareness. Before long she was cocking her head this way and that and, even though her chest rose and fell with some effort, and her suspended arms trembled, she seemed to understand the birds' percussive litany.

It was all too strange and discomforting for Asa, and, seeing that Rune was finished eating, she sidled over to him and tugged
on his forelock, nudging him toward the cave's mouth. “Thank you,” she said again, carefully polite. She wouldn't be asking for any of the meats.

Wenda lifted her arms higher, gently flinging the birds upward. The two ravens winged their way once around the cave's upper reaches before obediently exiting. Whatever seizure had overtaken her had vanished. Her mouth opened and closed, tasting the air; an empty swallow rippled her throat. Her thin lips relaxed into place. Her one eye still blinked rapidly, but when her gaze fell upon Asa, it showed recognition along with unexpected good will. This time the smile remained warm. “Are you so easily swayed by an ill wind?” she asked.

Asa stood dumbstruck, neither understanding the question nor conjuring up any proper answer.

“Can you not use your two good eyes,” Wenda continued, “to see things as they are—not as people tell you they are—but
as they are
?”

It was like finding herself trapped knee deep in an unseen bog and being asked by a critical onlooker to discuss her situation. She didn't know how the misstep had taken place or why; she just wanted to get out of the suffocating, clammy predicament. “I'm sorry.” She measured her words with care, not wanting to irritate the temperamental woman again. “But I'm afraid I don't understand you.” Her hand sought for and found Rune's mane and she tugged on it with a subtle urgency. “And, you see, we really must be going …”

“And where will you run off to this time, Asa Coppermane?” Wenda's voice was as calm as Asa's, though its odd tenor matched the iciness in her pale blue eye. “Where will you run—nay,
how
can you run—when the people of your clan are trapped within the gluttonous grasp of Jorgen the Younger? Do you not feel the cloak of responsibility on your shoulders? Has all of your father's work been so easily tossed to the winds?” In a dramatic pantomime, she offered her leathery palm, leaned closer, and blew a gust of air across it, a breath that reeked of decay.

Asa was getting nowhere with Rune. He seemed to be entranced by the woman's nonsensical words and stood lock-kneed and unresponsive. “I'm not running away,” she countered, still measuring the distance to the entry and jabbing Rune's neck with her thumb. “I'm trying to find food for my clan. If you could kindly manage to share some of your store”—she jerked her head toward the rafters—“I'll carry it to them right away.”

Sudden disappointment weighed on Wenda's face. Taken aback and finding herself strangely concerned for the obviously lonely woman, Asa hesitantly added, “I'm certain you could come live with us… .”

But before she could finish, Wenda clenched her fists and shook them. “Don't be such a child! You're grabbing for worms when I'm offering you a whale.”

The whale again. That was it; she'd had enough. Half-witted or not, the old woman wasn't being coddled any longer. “You keep promising me a whale,” Asa retorted. “You lured me here, in fact,
with the promise of a whale, but you don't have one.” She slapped Rune's neck, startling him into movement toward the cave's mouth. She trailed him with her every sense heightened, gathering up her cloak and stepping cautiously but quickly. “Whales don't fly out of the ocean and come begging to be let in to someone's filthy cave.”