Mercedes Lackey - Anthology (3 page)

 
          
He
stared at the rumble of rock where part of the cliff had slid away, wondering
if he could get down. Then a call from overhead brought his gaze upward to the
circling black shape in the sky.

 
          
"Are
you telling me I can make it, or do you just hope for more food?" Despite
their companionship, he did not suppose the ravens would care whether they
feasted on the carcass of a seal or his own. Nonetheless, he chose to take the
bird's arrival as an omen, and with spear strapped to his back, he began the
difficult descent to the shore.

 
          
By
the time he reached the moraine at the bottom of the cliff, Bui was scratched
in a dozen places. As he sat down on a rock to catch his breath, he heard a
familiar "swoosh" of wings.

 
          
The
raven braked, banked, and settled on an outcrop of basalt, where it sat
preening its wings and surveying Bui with a distinctly humorous gleam in its
black eyes. He saw without surprise that it was the young bird with the white
spot on its tail.

 
          
In
the first days of his exile, Bui had wondered if isolation would lead to
madness. It was the ravens that had saved him from it, unless he was crazy to
think their response to him the act of an intelligent will. The ravens belonged
to Odin; the god was watching over him through their eyes, and he could
reassure himself that when he talked to them, he was speaking to the god.

 
          
"Are
you laughing at this clumsy human?" he asked, inspecting his bruises.

 
          
"You're
right. It would be a lot easier to get down here if I were a bird. But you
can't kill a seal!"

 
          
Bui
wondered if he could. Seals were accustomed to human hunters, and wary, but
perhaps he no longer smelled like a man after three moons spent in the wild.
Nonetheless, he stayed hidden for a day, observing, before he made his move,
clambering down to hide among the rocks while the beasts were at sea, and
waiting until they had settled down to bask in the autumn sunlight before
rising with poised spear.

 
          
The
seal Bui had selected was young, without a thick a layer of fat to get through.
He focused on the spot between the shoulderblades and drove downward with all
his strength, knowing, even as the honed blade struck, that his aim was true.
Feeling its death, the seal reared up beneath him. Bui hung on with all his
strength, knowing he must not allow the wounded animal to reach the sea, and
even with the boy's weight to anchor it, the seal managed to reach the edge of
the water before it died.

 
          
It
was fortunate, reflected Bui as the world stopped spinning around
him, that
it was just past high tide, for he knew he did not
have the strength to haul the carcass back up the beach. He slit the animal's
throat, and as the blood drained into the sea, the raven spiraled upward, its
exultant yelling interspersed by ear-splitting trills.

 
          
By
the time Bui had the belly open, the rocks behind him were covered with black
birds. Cursing, the ravens drove off the yammering guillemots and gulls,
then
dropped back to their perches, watching his progress
with critical gaze.

 
          
As
the boy pulled open the slit flesh, the steaming guts spilled out onto the sand
and the entire flock rose in a fluttering mass, calling excitedly.

 
          
"Very
well—here's your share!" Bui exclaimed. "Now leave me in peace while
I get mine!" He scooped up as much of the slippery mass as he could and
pulled it to one side, and as he finished extracting it, the ravens swooped
down and began to feed.

 
          
The
gods were kind, and gave him three days of fair weather before the clouds
closed in once more. By that time Bui had carved most of the nuscle meat away
from the bones, sliced it into thin strips and hung them to dry. The ravens
picked clean what remained and took to harryring the gulls and stealing their
food. The hide he pegged out, scraped clean and scoured with brine. But when
the first drops of rain began to fall, he bundled it all into the shelter of
the cliff.

 
          
He
had lived his life mostly inland, and was not prepared for the fury of the
storm. When the waves were driven almost to his refuge he was terrified, but
better he should die now than abandon the food that might get him through the
winter. And presently the waters began to calm. It was when boxes and bundles
and the timbers of a wrecked ship began to wash ashore that he realized that
the sea had more bounty to bestow.

 
          
With
them came the corpses of men.

 
          
Bui
dragged the bodies ashore, swallowing his revulsion at the feel of clammy flesh
for the sake of the garments that covered them. Sea-stained though they were
,
they were better than his own rags. It was a race between
him and the ravens, who did not understand why he would not share this windfall
as he had always shared his prey with them before.

 
          
He
finished piling stones over the body of a man whose wool tunic had been clasped
with gold, and started toward the next two bodies, which were lying tangled in
the seaweed just above the tide. The white-spotted raven had landed on the head
of the nearest, but before

 
          
Bui
could wave it
off,
it hopped aside with a screech of
exasperation and then flapped away. As the boy reached down to grab the
neckband of the man's tunic he felt a faint pulse. His own pulse leaped as the
other body stirred, and he realized that these two still lived!

 
          
They
were barely conscious, and the tide was coming in. Trembling, Bui dragged them
over the stones to his shelter. It had been so long since he had spoken to
anyone he wondered if he could still master human words. He built up the fire,
and laid them as close as he dared to its flame, chafing chilled limbs, and
presently first one and then the other began to cough and shiver and open his
eyes.

 
          
It
was the next morning before they were able to tell him their story. They were
from
Norway
, nephews to the master of the foundered long-ship, come on their first
voyage to trade for wadmal cloth and walrus ivory and the skins of seals. Hogni
and Torstein were their names. Younger sons, they had intended to make their
way by trading, but all hope of that had drowned when their uncle's ship went
down. Did Bui know of a farm that needed laborers?

 
          
Bui
felt his own features contorting in a twisted grin. "If you are willing to
live like thralls, no doubt they will take you on at the farm," he said
stiffly. "But if you have the courage to risk a winter in the wilds, you
might one day share it with me—" Swiftly he explained how he had been
banished by his uncle and aunt, and his plans for revenge.

 
          
"You
would give us a share in your land?" asked Hogni, the elder of the two.

 
          
"I
would, or the value of it once it is producing once more."

 
          
"And
you have not been outlawed?" asked Torstein.

 
          
"They
do not know what has become of me," Bui gave a mirthless laugh. "I do
not offer you safety, but the chance to do deeds that will be remembered. It is
up to you. I ask only this. If you do not join me, then say nothing of my
presence on the fell. I think you owe me that much for pulling you out of the
sea."

 
          
Torstein
looked at his brother, and then grinned back at him. "It is clear that Ran
does not want us. Maybe we can earn a place in Odin's warband with you!"

 
          
That
seemed likely enough, thought Bui, but he took it as yet another sign from the
god.

 
          
With
two additional pairs of hands and the scavengings from the boat, they were able
to take three more seals and a quantity of fish to carry back to Bui's hideaway
at the edge of the fell. Once more, the ravens followed. Hogni and Torstein
marveled at the birds, and took to calling their rescuer Hrafn-Bui.

 
          
"You
are laughing at me, but I will claim in earnest the name you give in
jest," answered Bui. "The ravens are our allies—you will see."

 
          
As
the days diminished, the weather worsened, but the warm current that flows past
Iceland
's shores kept the temperatures on the south
coast relatively mild, and the
hot springs
warmed the fugitives when they did begin to
suffer from the chill. They were always hungry, but they never starved, and for
this, they thanked Bui's ravens.

 
          
As
once the birds had followed him, now Bui and his companions followed the ravens
to food. In those days, folk used to leave their herds to winter in the woods,
for there were no predators large enough to trouble a grown animal, and
sometimes the exiles would find a cow or pony that had wandered off in search
of the dry grasses that grew on the fell. They preyed on wintering waterbirds
and, between the frequent gales, on seals. And leading or following, the ravens
hunted with them, just as they did with the polar bears.

 
          
During
the long hours of darkness the three young men huddled in the light of the
seal-fat lamp and told tales,

 
          
"I'll
help you for a time on the farm," said Hogni, "but the sea is all I
ever dreamed of."

 
          
"My
father loved the sea more than he loved my mother and me," answered Bui, "and
it killed him."

 
          
Torstein
sighed. "You can die anywhere. Our father took a scratch that went bad.
His arm swelled up, and he burned with fever until he died. What glory was
there in that?"

 
          
In
his voice was a note that Bui recognized.

 
          
Both
of them, he thought then, had been abandoned by the fathers who should have
protected them.

 
          
"Is
that what you want? Glory?" he asked.

 
          
"Of course.
Don't you?"

 
          
Bui
shook his head. "All I want is my home. . . ."

 
          
"Do
you really think that the three of us can drive your uncle out?" Torstein
asked then.

 
          
"I
have dreamed that Odin and the ravens will show me the way."

 
          
Torstein
exchanged glances with his brother, but neither replied.

 
          
Either
they will keep faith with me, or they will not, thought Bui. He pulled on the
rough cape he had cobbled together from sealskin and went outside.

 
          
The
nights were beginning to grow shorter at last, and though clouds billowed on
the horizon, the sleet and snow had ceased. A soft half-light lay over the fell
and glittered on the branches of birch and willow where the buds were beginning
to swell. Bui let out his breath in a long sigh.

 
          
They
had survived the worst of the winter. It was colder up here at the head of the
vale than it had been at the farm, but there was shelter from the worst of the
wind, and the coast took the brunt of the storms. The land here might not be as
rich as it was farther down the valley, but the fell provided good grazing. It
occurred to him suddenly that if they had been able to live in his crude
shelter, in a properly built dwelling one might do quite well.

 
          
A
whoosh of wings overhead broke his train of thought, and he saw the young raven
with the white spot circle and alight upon a stone.

 
          
"Have
you been hunting through the night, or are you just rising?" Bui asked.

 
          
Ravens,
despite their color, were birds of the daylight. Could they carry enough fat to
sleep through the long winter darkness, or like men, were they able to hunt the
night when need compelled?