It was happening too fast. She knew she would do it, but she had just seen a man die and she was about to see a reindeer die, and—“Wait!” said Gerta.
The reindeer rolled a mild eye in her direction.
“You have no time,” said Mousebones, overhead.
Gerta wrapped her arms around the reindeer’s neck and said “Thank you.” Tears were pouring down her face. Where had they come from? I don’t have time to cry, I have to help Janna, I can’t do this—
“It will be well,” translated Mousebones. “Strike, human, and cut the frost from my heart at last.”
Janna put her hand on the reindeer’s chin and pressed her forehead against his muzzle for only a moment. It came to Gerta that the other girl had known him for far longer and loved him in her own way and she cried then for Janna’s grief.
The knife was sharp and silver. The blood was boiling red.
The reindeer sank to his knees and Janna sank down with him, her clothes soaked in scarlet. She held his head while he breathed his last and then she stood. Her one good eye was bright with unshed tears.
“This is all quite mad,” she said hoarsely. “I am listening to a girl talk for a raven. My father is coming and now he will kill me if he can. But I don’t know what else there is to do. Help me roll him over.”
Mousebones circled the clearing on dark wings. Gerta took a stumbling step forward, then another, and helped Janna skin the reindeer who had been her friend.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
It was hard, messy work, and in very short order it was hard and messy and cold.
The reindeer’s body was hot and the hide was warm, but the blood cooled on Gerta’s hands and she knelt in bloody slush that refroze around her legs.
If there was magic here, it was nothing Gerta recognized. The Snow Queen’s magic was cold and clean and pure. The witch’s had been drowsy and sweet.
This was mud and hide and horror. Gerta had never skinned a large animal. Her grandmother got meat from the butcher, already separated. She’d skinned rabbits before, and plucked chickens, but there was a vast difference between a rabbit and a reindeer.
Janna had skinned deer. Her movements were deft, even one-eyed and groggy. There was only one knife between them, so all Gerta could do was grab things when Janna told her to, and try not to look at the dead reindeer’s face.
How is this even going to work? I don’t know how to do magic! Do I put the hide on…or am I supposed to do something…say something…
Did we just kill him for nothing?
Her heart clenched thinking of this, but all she had to do was hold a leg up out of the way while Janna slit down the belly, so it didn’t matter if she couldn’t see for tears.
“Do I leave the head?” asked Janna.
“I don’t know,” said Gerta. “I’ve never done this before.”
“I don’t know if anyone’s done this before. Where’s Mousebones?”
Gerta shook her head. The raven had vanished.
Maybe it’s just as well. If he was trying to eat the poor reindeer’s eyes, I don’t think I could handle it.
“I’ll leave the head, then. It takes longer, that’s all, since I have to skin backward.” She grimaced “If we could get the head up in a tree, this’d be easier, but I don’t think either of us can lift him.”
They tried. They couldn’t. It seemed obscene to be manhandling the reindeer’s body like that. They laid him back down and slumped against each other, shoulder to shoulder. Janna’s breathing was harsh and steamed against the air.
It was nearly twenty minutes later that Mousebones returned. He landed in the snow and cocked his head.
“The man-flock’s arrived at your old nest.”
“What are they doing?”
“Oh, it’s a regular anthill. Lot of swirling and shouting and people carrying things back and forth.” He fixed an eye on Janna. “A few of them are coming up your backtrail.”
Janna started to nod, then grimaced. Blood smudged her cheekbones, mostly the reindeer’s, a little of her own.
“I’m working as fast as I can,” she said. She had her hands under the reindeer’s skin now, punching at it to pull it away from the body.
“What do we do once it’s off?” asked Gerta desperately. “Are we—are we supposed to do something?”
“Awk! You put it on.”
Janna had all but the front legs clear now, cutting off the hide at the joint. The skinned body was red and white, garishly bright against the snow. Gerta tried not to look at it and hated herself for not wanting to look.
That’s the reindeer. Part of him, anyway.
She shoved her hair out of her face with a bloody hand. And how will it do him any good if I stare at what’s left of him and feel sick?
Someone shouted off in the distance. Gerta jerked upright, looking over the bushes, then realized that was a very stupid thing to do and dropped down beside Janna.
“Almost,” panted the bandit girl. “I hope holes don’t matter.” She gave a final pull, nearly tearing the skin off, cutting the last bits holding flesh to hide—and it was free.
More shouting. Whether they were bandits or soldiers no longer seemed remotely important.
Janna clutched the hide to her chest. It was pale underneath, stained pink with blood. “Ready?” she panted.
“Yes? I don’t know!” Gerta laughed, because things had gone too far for tears. “How do you get ready for this? What if it doesn’t work? Are we supposed to say some kind of words?”
Mousebones looked at her—a little oddly, Gerta thought.
“Try thank you,” he said, and then Janna dropped the hide over her shoulders.
Gerta did not have time to fear that it wasn’t working. All she felt was the clammy interior of the hide, and the weight of the skull, bowing her shoulders.
The weight bowed her right down to the ground. Her hands hit the snow and a shock traveled up her arms.
She was still cold, but the hide was warm. It wrapped around her like love, like her grandmother hugging her, and then she was warm and everything was warm and something happened to her spine and her legs and she gasped in surprise and it came out as Hwufff!
“Holy…Mother…of…God…” said Janna.
There seemed to be a bar between Gerta’s eyes. And things had colors around them that hadn’t been there before. Mousebones had a violet halo around his feathers. Janna was green and gold as summer.
The ground stank of reindeer blood—of her blood—and dark brown colors swirled up from the blood, like thin veins of smoke. Gerta lifted her hooves to get away from the brown smoke and tried to shy away, except that it was everywhere around her.
“Easy,” said Janna, and laughed in disbelief. “Easy, Gerta! Gerta?”
Gerta had to think what to do. A reindeer would have tilted her ears. Humans had stupid ears.
She nodded clumsily instead. It felt uncomfortable. Her antlers were a fan of swords, but her neck was a pillar to hold them up.
Mousebones landed on her antlers. “Awk! Awk!” He weighed nothing.
There was a clear place to the side. She gathered herself and jumped and halfway through she thought wait, how do I—? but then she landed and it hadn’t been hard at all.
“Easy,” whispered Janna, her voice lower. She caught Gerta around the neck, her hands full of the reindeer harness. “Can I—Lord! Is this okay?”
Gerta wanted to laugh. What came out was a soft wheezing sound. Was it okay? She didn’t know.
She nodded again, ears flicking to catch the sounds of the approaching men.
Janna worked as swiftly as cold-numbed fingers would move, letting the straps out. “I’m sorry,” she said. “You’re bigger than he was. A lot bigger. You’re not just him again. This is the strangest thing that has ever happened or ever will happen.” She laughed herself, with a slightly hysterical edge, and then snapped her teeth down over it.
Gerta stood still while the other girl draped the harness over h
er shoulders. It didn’t hurt. It felt normal.
Janna lifted the halter that was supposed to fit over a reindeer’s ears. She looked at it, looked at Gerta, shook her head, and threw it into her pack. “Come on,” she whispered. “Let’s get out of here.”
They moved through the forest as silently as they could, which wasn’t very. Gerta’s every step clacked as loudly as the old reindeer’s had. Janna was still trying to fasten the wood-pigeon cage to the harness.
“Incidentally, they’re about to find you,” said Mousebones. Gerta flicked her ears, but there was no way to relay this to Janna. She walked forward, faster and faster, until Janna was jogging beside her.
The shouts behind them had a different note suddenly.
An arrow struck a tree with a crisp zzzip! sound.
Gerta, human, would have panicked. Gerta, reindeer, knew that she had to run, that running was the only way, but the human bit of her mind fought—I can’t run, if I run I’ll leave Janna, what do I do?
She dipped her muzzle under Janna’s arm and pushed upward, her eyes white and rolling in her head. Another arrow struck nearby.
Janna flung her arms around Gerta’s neck and put a leg over her back. She was heavy but the great reindeer heart in Gerta’s chest beat and the muscles in her hindquarters pushed and then it was easy, ridiculously easy, and she lowered her head and ran, as fast as her legs would carry her.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
She ran a long way, and she ran like a reindeer. The bushes parted in front of her and her legs knew where to strike to carry her forward and the important thing was to follow Mousebones and not to let her slow, stupid human mind get in the way of running.
The cries of the approaching bandits faded behind them, and the sound of arrows became the distant whine of mosquitoes, and then stopped entirely.
The raven led her out along the edge of the woods. It was easier in the open. There were no branches to tangle with her antlers. The air was cold and clear and swept the dark brown smell of blood away behind them.
When she could no longer run, she walked, and Janna slipped off her back and walked too.
“Are you all right?” she asked, and Gerta had to remember to nod her head up and down, like a sandpiper bobbing in the surf
but I’ve never seen a sandpiper
at the stony edge of the sea.
They walked for a little time, and then Gerta felt an urge to run again. She trotted a few steps, paused, looked back at Janna.
“You want me to ride?” asked Janna dubiously.
nod, nod, humans nod, crude gestures, nothing like the elegant flick of ears, a wolf could see a nod from a mile away
“Are you sure? I mean, when we’re running away, that’s one thing…”
you are so slow humans are slow up on their hind legs like birds
Mousebones laughed. “Careful,” he said. “Careful, Gerta. That’s the reindeer talking.”
She tried to listen. Gerta. Yes. She took a deep breath and tried to remember that she was Gerta, a human girl, wearing a reindeer skin like a coat.
It did not feel like a coat. She felt like ink slowly dissolving in a cup of water, each swirl distinct but slowly, slowly running together.
I am not a reindeer, I am a girl, I am looking for my friend Kay, but I must walk the reindeer road to reach him.
“Better,” said Mousebones. “Better.”
Janna looked up at him. “I wish I knew what you were saying,” she said.
“Awk!”
She has to ride, thought Gerta, or else it will take years to get where we are going.
And then, very faintly, like an echo without a sound to start it, where are we going?
She tucked her muzzle under Janna’s elbow and flipped it up, impatient.
“Fine!” said Janna. “I get the point!”
“Awk! Awk!”
“This would be more comfortable if I had a saddle,” said Janna. “But—ah—yeah, that might be crossing a line. Let me try to do something with cloaks.”
She folded them and tucked them under the harness. It made no difference to Gerta either way.
Janna’s weight on her back was welcome. It seemed to settle her more solidly against her bones. She began to trot and Janna leaned forward and fisted her hands in the shaggy hair at Gerta’s withers.
They went on like that for many hours, walk and trot, walk and trot, until the light began to fail. As evening came on, Janna made as if to slip off, but Gerta shook her antlers and so they continued into the night.
The strange light that had settled on Gerta’s vision helped. It was not that it was not dark, but the darkness itself was shot with bright threads.
The road that they were on ran north, a weave of blue and white. It was easy to follow. Even a reindeer with a human soul could not have missed it.
Mousebones had settled in to roost atop the cage of wood-pigeons. Janna rode with her chin tucked down and her cloak pulled up, her hands in her armpits to warm them.
It seemed to Gerta that some of the road-threads were plaiting themselves together oddly. The moon was rising, haloed by frost. Underneath it, the threads wove together, until Gerta was running on a long white braid of light.
And she was running. She had been running for some time, but it felt strangely effortless, as if the road was pulling her along it. She began to feel that she could have locked her legs, even lain down in the middle of the road, and the trees would still go rushing past her at a gallop.
Janna was lying almost flat against Gerta’s back. She could feel the bandit girl’s ribs rise and fall against her shoulders.
“What’s happening?” said Janna.
Even if she had known, she could not have answered.
It should have been frightening, but it was not. It felt familiar. Surely someone had told Gerta stories of a road like this…somewhere…long ago?
She could almost hear her grandmother talking, but she could not make out the words.
It smelled like snow. It smelled like other reindeer.
If other reindeer had come this way, then it was safe.
The braid of light veered away from the human road. Gerta left that road without question. The strike of her hooves against the ground was oddly muffled, as if the glowing threads were taking her weight.
Janna made a small noise; half alarm, half resignation. Gerta felt the girl’s fingers tightening in her hair. Humans had such small fingers. Good for things like scratching itchy spots, but useless for running.
If Mousebones had been awake, he might have said her name, but he slept with his head under his wing. There was no one to keep her from sinking into the reindeer dream.
The smell of other reindeer had grown stronger. She could make out individuals now—calf and cow, bull and matriarch. The echoes of their clicking hooves rang in her ears.
When the first one touched her, shoulder to shoulder, she was neither surprised nor frightened. Of course, of course, there they are, here we are, we are running…
Sight was the last sense to waken, but when it did she turned her head and saw them: the sea of antlers, the white backs, the ones who walked the reindeer road.
She was part of a herd and the herd was around her. She was not alone. While she was with the herd, she would never be alone.
Parts of her that were born lonely, as all humans are born lonely, were suddenly gathered up and loved and made one with the herd.
There were few human souls who could have stood against that.
Surrounded by the ghosts of reindeer, Gerta lowered her head and ran on, through the glowing threads of light.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
There was no time on the reindeer road. She could not have said if it was an hour or a day or a year. The human mind that carved the world up into hours and minutes was deeply buried, while the reindeer heart ran on and on.
“Gerta,” said Janna from her back, “where are we? Where did these reindeer come from?”
The words me
ant nothing. The reindeer dream was too strong for a human name to call her back.
It was Mousebones who saved them. He woke at last and looked around. “Awk! A long way! Awk!”
“I don’t know what you’re saying,” said Janna. “I wish I did! I’d feel less like I was talking to myself.”
Mousebones shook his feathers. “We’ll run off the edge of the world at this rate. Next time, put a bridle on her—human fledglings in reindeer skins can’t keep themselves for long.”
He hopped across her neck, down between her antlers, and pecked Gerta hard between the eyes.
“Whuff!” said Gerta, startled.
Mousebones pecked her again, and then grabbed one of her ears in his talons. He yanked.
Gerta turned her head toward the tugging.
“That’s right,” said the raven. “Come on.”
Alternating pecks and tugs, he steered her out of the main flow of the reindeer road. Ghostly bodies streamed past, their antlers a forest overhead.
The glowing threads were thinner here. Sometimes they tied together into knots and led outward. As Gerta swung her head, she saw some of her herdmates splitting off from the road, down the knots.
Mousebones cawed a question across the herd. “Which one?” he cried. “Which is this one?”
“Sápmi,” said one of the reindeer, who seemed a trifle more solid than the rest. A living reindeer on the road, perhaps, not one of the vast spirit tide. “And that one, and the next.”
“A very long way,” said Mousebones. “Aurk! Well, as good as any.”
He began steering her toward a knot, but Gerta resisted.
“Awk?”
“Not…this…one…” she said. The words were hard. They were human words spoken in the reindeer tongue, and they fitted together strangely.
“No?”
There was a fine glowing thread that was slightly different from the others. She had been following it for some time without quite realizing it.
It was only when her hooves left it that she recognized it for what it was.
The Raven and the Reindeer Page 11
