The Raven and the Reindeer Page 13

  Gerta started to deny it, and then remembered the witch and her long waking dream. “…uh,” she said, and explained, as best she could, what it had been like to wake up seven months older, in a body that no longer fit around her the way that it should have.

  “Ah!” Livli looked briefly pleased, and then indignant. “How dreadful. Something will have to be done. We are all of us lonely, but we don’t go kidnapping children and keeping them wrapped under spells so they don’t leave. That’s mother-love twisted around and gone sour.”

  She leaned back. “Well, it’ll get sorted. But that’s not quite it either. You’ve got something, Gerta. Or…not got it?”

  “No magic,” said Mousebones from the rafters. “Unmagic until it’s almost something in itself. I said she was like a branch covered in frost.”

  “Yes…” said Livli slowly. “Yes, I can see that. You’re like an empty pot that someone poured magic into and poured out again.”

  Gerta did not much like being called an empty pot. Livli laughed at her expression. “Peace, child, it’s not a failing on your part. It’s not that you’re weak-willed or anything like that.”

  “But I am weak-willed,” said Gerta glumly. “If I wasn’t, the witch would never have caught me.”

  Livli shook her head. “You may be or not be, but it’s no bearing on the matter. Being an empty vessel, magic will always take you very hard, I think, and leave something of itself behind for a time, like dregs at the bottom. But at the same time, it can’t really get at the core of you. You can be filled up and emptied out, but the pot does not become its contents. Does that make sense?”

  “A little, I suppose,” said Gerta. It sounded rather dreadful when put like that. Was she going to spend her life wandering around being filled up with other people’s enchantments?

  “Well, then.” Livli sat back. “The hide is safest on you. You will change easily, but I do not think you will get completely lost in it.”

  Janna still looked rebellious. “But—”

  “If nothing else,” said Livli, “it was a gift to her, and gifts given freely are a bit less likely to turn bad on you. It’s a thin bit of luck, but there you are.”

  “I’ll take all the luck I can get,” said Gerta determinedly. She was the one who had to find Kay. This was her journey, after all. And if she was going to stop being weak-willed, then she should start now. “Janna, it’s all right. You got me away from…ah…the bandits…”

  Janna’s lips quirked as Gerta stumbled over this phrase. “Well,” she said. “More or less, yes.” She slipped her arm through Gerta’s.

  Gerta was prepared to feel annoyed by this and was a bit surprised to find that she didn’t. Janna’s hands were warm and her arm was solid. The part of her that was still a reindeer wanted to lean against the bandit girl, shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip: herd, herd, herd.

  This was a strange set of thoughts to be running under the human ones. Gerta shook her head and would have flicked her ears if she had ears worth flicking.

  Livli was looking at her. Gerta had a feeling that the old woman knew what she was thinking, and felt vaguely embarrassed. She lifted her chin defiantly.

  “I’ll wear the hide,” she said.

  “Is there some other way?” asked Janna. “Some way that you can teach me?”

  “Teach you what?” asked Livli. “Don’t think that I have answers!”

  The stove popped and cracked. Janna made a small sound of frustration, rather like the stove.

  Livli reached out and tapped the bandit girl’s knee. “I am not trying to be unkind here. This is not a Sámi thing. We don’t take our skins off any more often than anybody else. Less often than some, if you believe all the stories of wolf-skin walkers from the south. There are stories of noaidi from long ago turning into birds, to lure flocks north to Sápmi, but those are only stories. I’m in the dark nearly as much as you.”

  “But you seem to know all about it!” said Gerta, surprised.

  Livli laughed. “What I know, I know from talking to ravens and swans. Birds are terrible gossips. They know as much about shapechanging as anyone, although swans won’t tell you everything they know, and ravens think they know everything worth knowing already. You’ve not got a swan with you, so it’s up to your raven.”

  “Awk,” said Mousebones. “And I do know everything worth knowing. Almost.” He snapped off a flaky brown chunk of fish and swallowed it down.

  “At any rate,” said Livli, sitting back, “the swans tell me that shapechanging is easier when your own shape does not quite fit. The door inside your skin is a little way open—or at least, I think that is the human equivalent of what they are saying. Swans don’t speak of doors, and they have very sharp minds.” She rubbed her forehead, as if to banish an old headache. “So children when their bodies change to adults, and old women when they are becoming crones…and girls pregnant for the first time, though that often ends badly for all involved.”

  Gerta dropped her eyes, faintly embarrassed. “No chance of that,” she murmured.

  Janna gave her an amused, unreadable glance out of the corner of her eye.

  “You’ll need a sled,” said Livli, passing over the awkwardness. “It will be much easier than riding. Gerta can pull it, but Janna, you’ll have to take her out every night. Both the harness and the hide.”

  Janna nodded. “How do I do it?”

  “I imagine you’ll have to cut her out,” said Livli. “Not a deep cut. Tickle her throat with a knife, eh?”

  Janna winced. She reached across the space between them and gripped Gerta’s hand tightly. Gerta squeezed back, wondering who needed more comfort.

  Being cut out of the skin does not sound pleasant at all.

  “It won’t be quite so bad,” said Livli. “The skin remembers the knife that cut it. Usually.”

  “You didn’t use a knife,” said Janna.

  “Get to be my age, girl, and your tongue will be as sharp as one. Then you can try cutting someone out of a skin with words alone. Until then, it’s the blade or nothing.”

  Janna exhaled slowly.

  “That’s the other reason it has to be Gerta in the skin,” said Livli. “Of the two of you, who do you think could cut the other’s throat, and do it again and again, for however many days it takes you to reach the farthest north?”

  Janna’s fingers closed convulsively tight. Gerta laid her free hand on the other girl’s shoulder, not sure what to say or if there was anything to say.

  We are so far beyond what is normal here, there are no words. My grandmother never told me any stories about this. Kay and I…

  She looked down at Janna’s dark fingers laced with her own pale ones. She could not think of anything that she and Kay had ever done that had mattered half so much or had been even half so strange.

  “You must not let her sleep as a reindeer,” said Livli. “Not if you can avoid it. I don’t know this for certain, the birds never told me, but my gut says she’ll go so deep that getting her out again will be a job for saints, not women. I don’t say that she can’t come back—there are stories of people who have come back from years in wolf skin, but they aren’t right afterwards, not by a long stretch.”

  “So I cut her throat at night, or I—we lose her completely?” asked Janna. She gave a hoarse bark of laughter. “When you fetched up on the doorstep, Gerta, if I’d realized what this would be like…”

  “You don’t have to come,” said Gerta. It hurt her to say it, more than it should have. “I’m sure Mousebones can…I’m sure there’s another way.”

  “No,” said Janna. She released Gerta’s hand and pinched the bridge of her nose between her fingers. “No, I’ll do it. You always want someone you trust to hold the knife, hey?”

  Do I trust you? thought Gerta. I barely know you and you frightened me and then you kissed me, and truth be told, that frightened me even more.

  Livli smirked. “I bet it’s not the first throat you’ve cut, girl,” she said.
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br />   Janna gave her a wry look. “No,” she said, “but it’s never been anyone I liked.”

  This was a reminder that Gerta hadn’t really wanted, even as Livli laughed.

  Well. Still, it is probably better to take someone who can cut throats along. Who knows what it will take to get Kay away from the Snow Queen?

  “Tomorrow, then,” said Livli, and both girls nodded.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  In her dreams that night, Gerta saw Marten die. She saw it in far greater detail than she had seen it in reality, every drop of blood the size of an apple, striking the snow and staining it red. The bolt grew to the size of a tree trunk and she watched him twist and fall, over and over, until she woke up gasping.

  Janna’s back was against hers. Her breathing was slow and even.

  Yes. I’m awake. I’m alive. It’s not happening. It isn’t real.

  Except that it was real, and the man was dead.

  She curled her fingers in the reindeer hide.

  She wasn’t mourning for him. She hadn’t known him, and what she knew she didn’t like. He’d done violence to her and to Janna both.

  No, it’s more…it was just…there. In front of me.

  I’ve never seen anyone die before.

  Her father had died when Gerta was very small, but she did not remember it. She sighed and settled herself more solidly against Janna’s back. The other girl mumbled something, gave half a snore, and subsided.

  When Gerta fell asleep again, she dreamed of plants.

  There were bands of trees a long way off, but this part of Sápmi was low grass and meadow. The plants slept beneath the snow, or had died outright and were only dreaming seeds.

  The plants knew the teeth of reindeer, and the reindeer knew the taste of plants. Gerta sank into a dream that ran like the reindeer road, free of thought, the living and the dead going on together, on and on forever.

  Livli brought out a reindeer sled the next morning; or rather, had two Sámi men drag it out from storage. The two men laughed and joked, flirted with Janna in the few words that were common between them, and then took themselves away as soon as Livli shooed them off.

  “They’re good lads,” she said fondly. “But if they sit and watch girls turning into reindeer, they’ll ask too many questions.”

  “Won’t they wonder where the sled has gone?”

  “Certainly. I’ll tell them I traded it to a smashing young man in return for a night of passion. It’ll do my reputation no end of good.”

  Gerta raised both eyebrows. “Will they believe you?”

  “Probably not, but they won’t dare ask any questions for fear of getting more details.”

  Livli herself took down the reindeer hide.

  “I’ve cleaned it,” she said, “and stretched it a little. It’s all I dare do. The swans do something to their feather cloaks that keeps them supple, but they won’t tell an outsider how they do it.” She shook out the hide, like a cloak. The inside was faintly pink. “Scrub it down with handfuls of snow. It won’t last forever, but the cold will keep it from rotting out while you need it. When it’s done, give it to Jábmiidáhkká.”

  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.