head? “Perhaps these will help you put some meat on those skinny bones.”
I took my gifts into a corner, and I watched Harald strap on his belt. I watched Bera pin Asa’s brooch to her apron. I held my knife and spoon in my lap and I cried.
But then, Ole, you called me over to your corner where you sat mending your nets. With a wry smile, you took your bone knife and sliced away some pieces of rope. And then your fingers went to work twisting, and knotting, and tying. And when you were done, you handed me a doll you’d made before my eyes.
I took it and I hugged it to my chest. It smelled of the sea, and I slept with it in my bedcloset. I carried it around Father’s hall until it was so tattered it couldn’t hold together any longer.
RAVEN
A few days later, Hake comes to me in the yard with something large and square in his arms, wrapped in a sack. Everyone watches him, and he shifts back and forth on the heels of his boots in front of me. He is so rough, and yet it was he who thought to protect me when Per did not.
“I have something for you, Solveig,” he says. “It is a gift.”
I manage a nod.
“Can we go inside?”
I nod again. We turn and approach the hall. There is an awkward moment standing before the door when Hake clearly wants to open it for me, but he looks at the bundle in his arms. “Let me,” I say, and open it.
He steps through, sheepish, and looks around as if to make sure we are alone. It seems we are. Bera and Raudi are outmilking the cows in the shed. Asa may be hidden away in our bedcloset, but I’m not sure.
Hake sets the bundle on the ground, and I hear a flutter inside. “First, I must confess something to you.”
I wait.
He clears his throat. “It was I who killed your goat.”
I know that, or had guessed it, but his integrity touches me. His voice becomes quieter. “I am sorry for that. I had no idea you had become so fond of the animal. So in recompense for what I did, I wanted to give you something. Something else you might be fond of.” He looks at me as though waiting for me to reply, and when I don’t, he kneels on the ground. “Here is your gift,” he says, and whips off the sack.
It is a cage made of sticks and fastened with leather cords. A young raven sits inside the cage, flicking its black-jewel eyes at me. Its feathers are glossy as pitch, almost blue. The bird makes a few halfhearted caws and hops around the cage. Its head is plucked bald in patches, as though someone had started preparing it to eat, and I can see its pink, wrinkled skin. Its wings are short, the flight feathers clipped, and one of them is bent at an odd angle.
Hake notices me looking at it. “That wing made it easy to catch him, as he can’t truly fly. It looks like it got broken some time ago, and you can see where the other birds have pecked him. I’m surprised he’s survived.”
“Poor thing,” I say. He’s an outsider, which is how I often feel.
“Ravens are smart. I once saw a man who had trained his raven to fetch things about the steading for him. They can even learn to talk. This one is young, and after he’s bonded to you, he’ll ride your shoulder.”
I am nervous about having this bird for a pet, but out of politeness I thank him.
“He’ll eat anything,” Hake says. “Your table and kitchen scraps. They’re scavengers.”
“Thank you,” I say again, wishing I could think of something more.
He hovers, hands behind his back, looking back and forth between the bird and me. “Do you like him?” he asks.
The bird hops toward me in the cage, looks up at me, and makes a clicking sound. I imitate the sound back at him, and the raven cocks his head and makes the clicking sound again, as if we’re talking to each other.
“I do like him,” I say. “Thank you, Hake.”
“You’re welcome. Will you name him?”
“Yes, but I don’t know what.”
I took my gifts into a corner, and I watched Harald strap on his belt. I watched Bera pin Asa’s brooch to her apron. I held my knife and spoon in my lap and I cried.
But then, Ole, you called me over to your corner where you sat mending your nets. With a wry smile, you took your bone knife and sliced away some pieces of rope. And then your fingers went to work twisting, and knotting, and tying. And when you were done, you handed me a doll you’d made before my eyes.
I took it and I hugged it to my chest. It smelled of the sea, and I slept with it in my bedcloset. I carried it around Father’s hall until it was so tattered it couldn’t hold together any longer.
RAVEN
A few days later, Hake comes to me in the yard with something large and square in his arms, wrapped in a sack. Everyone watches him, and he shifts back and forth on the heels of his boots in front of me. He is so rough, and yet it was he who thought to protect me when Per did not.
“I have something for you, Solveig,” he says. “It is a gift.”
I manage a nod.
“Can we go inside?”
I nod again. We turn and approach the hall. There is an awkward moment standing before the door when Hake clearly wants to open it for me, but he looks at the bundle in his arms. “Let me,” I say, and open it.
He steps through, sheepish, and looks around as if to make sure we are alone. It seems we are. Bera and Raudi are outmilking the cows in the shed. Asa may be hidden away in our bedcloset, but I’m not sure.
Hake sets the bundle on the ground, and I hear a flutter inside. “First, I must confess something to you.”
I wait.
He clears his throat. “It was I who killed your goat.”
I know that, or had guessed it, but his integrity touches me. His voice becomes quieter. “I am sorry for that. I had no idea you had become so fond of the animal. So in recompense for what I did, I wanted to give you something. Something else you might be fond of.” He looks at me as though waiting for me to reply, and when I don’t, he kneels on the ground. “Here is your gift,” he says, and whips off the sack.
It is a cage made of sticks and fastened with leather cords. A young raven sits inside the cage, flicking its black-jewel eyes at me. Its feathers are glossy as pitch, almost blue. The bird makes a few halfhearted caws and hops around the cage. Its head is plucked bald in patches, as though someone had started preparing it to eat, and I can see its pink, wrinkled skin. Its wings are short, the flight feathers clipped, and one of them is bent at an odd angle.
Hake notices me looking at it. “That wing made it easy to catch him, as he can’t truly fly. It looks like it got broken some time ago, and you can see where the other birds have pecked him. I’m surprised he’s survived.”
“Poor thing,” I say. He’s an outsider, which is how I often feel.
“Ravens are smart. I once saw a man who had trained his raven to fetch things about the steading for him. They can even learn to talk. This one is young, and after he’s bonded to you, he’ll ride your shoulder.”
I am nervous about having this bird for a pet, but out of politeness I thank him.
“He’ll eat anything,” Hake says. “Your table and kitchen scraps. They’re scavengers.”
“Thank you,” I say again, wishing I could think of something more.
He hovers, hands behind his back, looking back and forth between the bird and me. “Do you like him?” he asks.
The bird hops toward me in the cage, looks up at me, and makes a clicking sound. I imitate the sound back at him, and the raven cocks his head and makes the clicking sound again, as if we’re talking to each other.
“I do like him,” I say. “Thank you, Hake.”
“You’re welcome. Will you name him?”
“Yes, but I don’t know what.”
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