Thief Eyes (9 page)

In the distance, I heard a roar. I quickly slowed back to a walk. I was breathing hard, but that felt good, too. Freki caught up with me as the coin pulled me sharply left.

Up ahead, the tunnel ended abruptly. The bear—Ari—huddled against the far wall, his nose hidden beneath his enormous legs. My blue light shone on his white fur. Two terns perched on the ledge above him.

He looked up, through eyes that seemed more blue than green by my light, and growled.

“You may want to stop here,” Freki said.

“Yeah. Good idea.” I stopped, though the coin kept pulling me toward the bear. Did it
want
to kill me? Mist curled past the beam of my light. Around me I heard the memories of other roars and growls. The hair on my arms prickled at the sound.

“Are you still in there?” I asked Ari. He kept staring at me. He was trembling—maybe he was as scared as I was.
Yeah, but it’s not like being trapped with a scared polar bear is a good thing
. I looked at his long black claws. My light wavered, shining off the walls. I saw images of bears in battle, tearing through warrior shields and chain vests as if they were paper.

“Any ideas?” I asked Freki.

Freki wrapped his tail around his legs. “I am no spellcaster, and even if I were, it is not my place to interfere.”

I remembered something from the notebook in my pack.
Other useful spells follow
. Freki was no spellcaster, but what about me?

The coin kept urging me on. I stuck it in my pocket, keeping only the handkerchief in my hand. The pulling continued. It wasn’t the coin that wanted to kill me—it was the handkerchief.
I should drop it and run away
. How could I make a bear remember who he really was when I didn’t know who
I
really was?

Was I the sort of person who would run away? I seemed pretty good at running. Was I the sort of person who’d abandon someone who had tried to rescue me? Who maybe cared about me, and who maybe I cared about in turn?

To hell with who I was. That’s not who I
am.

The bear kept growling. I shoved the handkerchief into my pocket and pulled the notebook from my pack. Freki lay down and buried his nose beneath his fluffy tail, watching me all the while.

By the flashlight’s blue beam I flipped past the pages I’d
already read.
A spell for restoring one’s own memories
, the next page said. I hesitated, but the spell required a raven’s feather. Maybe I could find some way to steal one from Muninn—later. I turned the page.

A spell for returning berserks to their true form, whether they will it or no
. “Berserks?” I said aloud. “Like crazy people?”

Freki lifted his head. “Warriors with animal shapes. Very powerful. My master valued them. Fearsome in battle, ill suited to life outside of it.”

The bear didn’t look like a warrior, pressed against the wall like that. I quickly scanned the spell.

Berserks do not respond as readily to runes and chants as others do to magic. Still, you may try reciting these words and see if the shifter wishes to change back
.

The words that followed were a mix of familiar and unfamiliar letters. I had no idea how to sound them out. There was a bit more English at the bottom of the page, though:
Alternately, you may offer the berserk some item that belongs to him, and see if it reminds him of his human life
.

I dropped the spellbook and yanked the charred, bloody handkerchief from my pocket. “Was this yours?” Was that why it had led me to him? Had my backpack led Ari to me, too? Did objects remember, in some strange way, who they belonged to?

I started toward him, holding the handkerchief out in
front of me, while the birds on the ledge watched through tiny eyes.

“You have a warrior’s soul,” Freki said, but he made no move to follow me.

Here, kitty, kitty
. I kept walking, fighting nervous giggles, until I was close enough to reach out and touch the bear’s nose—if I had a death wish. I reached toward him. Ari snarled. I dropped the handkerchief at his feet and skittered back.

With surprising care, the bear drew the thing between his paws. He sniffed it with his long nose, as if it were a book he was reading. He made a questioning sound and looked up.

“You still there, Ari?”

A ripple ran along his body, like wind on water. Fur retreated into black bear skin, claws into paws. Skin turned to clay once more, and beneath it the bear shrank, paws melting into human hands, snout into a human face. That skin drew away from legs and arms and face—

All at once Ari knelt gasping before me on hands and knees, wearing his leather jacket and jeans. He looked up at me, his eyes wild, his whole body shivering. The hair beneath his wool cap was bright white, not brown like before. The birds took off from the ledge, chittering harshly as they disappeared down the tunnel.

Ari tried to get up. His legs wobbled and he crumpled to the ground. I knelt to take him in my arms, my own body
trembling with relief. Holding him felt familiar and right. Surely I knew this boy. “You’re all right.” I held him tighter, until his shivering eased.

He looked up at me. “Thank you, Haley.” He had an incredibly sweet smile. Our faces were just a few inches apart.

I felt like I was still being pulled. I did what felt right, even if I couldn’t remember why. I pulled my hood back, leaned down, and brushed my lips against his. Surely—yes—I’d done this before.

Ari drew away a moment, as if still frightened. Then he drew closer. We pressed our lips together while the damp air raised more shivers from us both. I reached beneath his hat and ran my fingers through his hair. It felt coarse and soft at once. I shrugged off the backpack and let the flashlight drop from my other hand. That hand brushed my pocket. The coin felt warm through the denim.

A fragment of memory:
A dark-haired boy—the boy in my wallet photo. We kissed beneath the bright desert moon while hot wind blew all around and we promised we’d e-mail each other every single day. The boy was shorter than me, and my hands cradled his head. I drew back to look down at his quiet brown eyes—

I jerked abruptly away from Ari and groped for the flashlight. I shone it toward him. He smiled, but then his green eyes grew uncertain.

“How long have I known you?” I hoped he’d be hurt that I could possibly forget him.

Ari looked down as if embarrassed, and my stomach knotted up. “Time passes so strangely in this place. Sometimes it feels like we’ve been here a few hours, sometimes like years—” He shut his eyes. “That is not what you are asking.”

“Before we came here.” More than anything, I wanted to draw him closer again.

“Yes, of course. That would be—perhaps a day.”

“One
day
?”

“To give me some credit, I did not start that kiss.”

My cheeks burned hot. “You could have stopped it!”

A sheepish smile crossed his face. “Yes, but I am not stupid.”

“And you think I
am
?” I scrambled to my feet. Freki looked up and cocked one ear quizzically.

“No, of course I don’t think that. …”

My lips still tingled. I feared if I spoke at all, I’d begin kissing him again, and that wouldn’t be fair to either of us. Or maybe it would be fair. Maybe I’d broken up with the desert boy months ago.

I
had
to get my memories back. I couldn’t spend the rest of my life like this.

“I did not stop because I did not want to stop,” Ari said slowly, “but also because I thought you did not want to stop. I am sorry.”

Great. He had to go ahead and be nice about it. I grabbed his handkerchief from the floor, wiped my stinging eyes, and handed it to him. He shoved it into his pocket. I stuck the spellbook in my backpack and pulled the pack over my shoulders. “You said you know a way out of here?” Once we were out maybe I could find a raven’s feather—a normal non-talking raven’s feather—and try the memory spell. Or maybe my memories would return on their own once we were away from Muninn.

“There are some problems. But yes.” Ari got to his feet, gave a small gasp, and fell again.

I helped him back up. “Sorry,” he said. “Sorry, I—”

“It’s not your fault,” I snapped, doing my best to ignore the warmth of his arm as he leaned on me.

Around us, the memories of other bears, of other times, growled softly. “I think I am not quite used to being human again.” Ari’s white hair—and eyebrows and eyelashes—made his face seem very pale. He shuddered. “I did not know it was possible to forget such a thing.”

Apparently it was possible to forget all sorts of things. I steadied him as we hobbled down the hallway. At least he was okay. We’d deal with everything else later.

“If you can get us back to the place where you slept,” Ari said, “I can find the way from there.”

I shone the flashlight back the way we’d come and played all the turnings in my mind. “This way.” I hoped Muninn wouldn’t be waiting for us when we got there.

Ari kept leaning on me as we walked. Freki followed at our heels. Ari gave the little fox a suspicious look, then shrugged and walked on. Memories whispered around us, none of them mine.

An old woman’s voice:
“I must to bed, but ale for all, and enjoy yourselves as you will.”

A young woman’s voice:
“Take me abroad with you, for it is not Iceland that I love.”

A small smile crossed Ari’s face. “I know that story.”

“Did he take her?” It was clear enough the young woman spoke to a lover.

Ari stopped and turned to me, his expression strange. “I did not think you knew Icelandic. Have you been—how do they say?—holding out on me?”

“It’s not in Icelandic.” But I listened harder. The words were different from the words Ari and I spoke with each other, even though they made just as much sense.

Ari scrunched his pale brows together. “Can you hear me now?” he asked, all trace of accent gone from his voice.

“Sure.” Only after I spoke did I realize we’d both used that other, not-English language.

“Did I speak both languages before?” I asked in slow, careful English.

“Not that you told me,” Ari answered, still in the other language. “You tried to speak Icelandic once, but your accent was terrible. Now it’s just—a little odd. Old-fashioned, maybe?”

Freki nudged the back of my knee with his nose. “It is my master’s mead.” The little fox spoke Icelandic, too, though something about his intonation was different from Ari’s. I realized I’d been speaking Icelandic with Freki, as well, and with Muninn—automatically answering in whatever language I was spoken to in.

“Your master—” Ari stopped short to stare at the little fox.

“My master no longer walks in this world,” Freki said.

“Well, that’s
something
, at least.” Ari looked like he was trying to figure something out. “Aren’t you and your brother supposed to be wolves?”

Freki’s whiskers twitched. “There are no wolves in Iceland,” he said matter-of-factly.

Ari grinned at that. “Yeah, well, remind me to tell my teachers. I’m sure they’ll be very interested. So Haley drank—the mead of poetry?” He sounded like he was trying to get his brain around a difficult idea. That made two of us. How could some drugged alcohol teach me a whole new language—not to mention mend broken bones?

“Even my master’s mead can only do so much. Given the gibberish Haley spoke when she arrived here, it’s a wonder we got her speaking intelligible words at all.” Freki flicked an ear toward me. “You’ll have to handle the poetry on your own.”

“I’ll cope.” I kept using Icelandic so Freki would
understand. “Do you have the mead of memory lying around someplace, too?”

Freki’s whiskers twitched again—because he thought that was funny or because there really was such a thing, I couldn’t tell. “You’re no help,” I told him.

The little fox stretched his legs out in front of him, unconcerned.

“And they say Icelandic is hard to learn,” Ari said wryly. “If it’s all the same to you, I’ll stick to my own language from now on. English is not so easy for me, you see.”

His English sounded awfully good to me, but what did I know? Not much, at the moment.

“If Haley doesn’t want that mead next time, you can give it to me,” Ari told the fox. “I’ll give you poetry complete with a solid bass line.”

Freki didn’t answer that, just headed down the hall ahead of us. I thought of the mead in my pack. Ari probably wouldn’t be half as interested in it if he knew it would put him to sleep.

He gave a rueful laugh. “And to think I once told my mother all her sorcery talk was nonsense. If we make it out of here, I owe her an apology.”

I heard a whisper of memory—in my head, not in the air around me. “But you said it wasn’t sorcery you were sorry for.”

A pained look crossed Ari’s face. “You remember that?”

I tried to remember more. My thoughts slid away;
my head began to hurt. A drop of water dripped from the ceiling and trickled down my jacket. “What
were
you sorry for?”

Ari drew a sharp breath. “See, answering that question is one of the things that got us into this mess.” He pulled away from me. “Thanks, Haley. I think I can walk on my own now.”

I missed the weight of his arm on my shoulders, but I didn’t say so. I gripped the flashlight tightly as the tunnels whispered on.
“Take me abroad with you, for it is not Iceland that I love, love, love.”

“Of course he didn’t take her with him.” Ari scowled. I couldn’t tell whether he was angry with me or himself. “He went abroad and flirted with the pretty Norwegian girls, and so she married his best friend instead. And then both men died. A tragedy, just like in Shakespeare.”

I’d gone abroad, too. Had I left someone behind? More water dripped in the distance. “What happened to the woman? Did she die, too?”

Ari shook his head, white hair falling into his eyes. “Nah, she remarried and lived to a ripe old age.”

What kind of romance was that? A bit of mist floated past the beam of my light. “Didn’t take her long to get over him, did it?”

“What makes you think she got over him?” Ari plucked a strand of hair from beneath his cap, squinted at it, and frowned. “It’s not that simple.”