Read Online Raven Speak (9781442402492) by Diane Lee Wilson - Free Book Online
Authors: Diane Lee Wilson
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leader.
If he never ⦠No, she wouldnât think of that. She wouldnât think of anything except keeping herself and Rune alive.
And the other horses? It seemed her mind had to gallopthrough all the dire possibilities. Well, theyâd fled the byre. She didnât know what theyâd find to eat, but hopefully Jorgenâs knife wouldnât find them. Her mother had said to keep the horses safe, and so far they were.
The stars spun above them, following their own dark course, and still no path climbed into the shelter of the forest, no rocky niche offered refuge on the shore. The nightâs cold rimed her cheeks, pulling the skin taut; the oceanâs breath dripped from her nose. When she blinked, droplets quivered on her lashes.
Apparently the months of watered soup and bitter bread had carved a hollow inside her. She didnât realize how weak sheâd become, though, until she was slipping behind Runeâs shoulder and then his flank, and finally she was trailing him. Nor did she notice the oceanâs rising tide creeping ever closer to them. Unheeded, it swallowed so much ground that when they reached the tip of the middle finger of land, the snub-nosed bluff there loomed straight out of the oily black sea. There was no dry passage around it. She couldnât judge the waterâs depth and stood peering into the darkness, listening to the waves rush up, splash against the walls, slap down, and recede. Rush, splash, slap, and recede. Rush, splash, slap, and recede. The dreamy recitation held her entranced, unmoving.
Rune banged his head against her. Getting no response, he nudged her again, harder. Finally he nickered his concern, four honeyed notes that started deep and descended deeper, reaching through her numbed darkness. Asa grabbed hold of them withthe desperation of a drowning person and let them lift her up and onto his back.
Rune plunged ahead with enough confidence for both of them, although the icy waves leaped up to soak his belly and she had to lift her feet to his withers and ride hunched, swaying, like a bird on a windblown bough. Because of him they managed to round the bluff without being washed away. They returned to the ever-narrowing strip of crunching sand and proceeded.
After a longer period, when the fog lifted from her mind again, she whispered to him to halt and slid off. Gently she touched her fingers to each dark slash. The neck wounds felt sticky; the bleeding had stopped. His chest wound still oozed blood but much more slowly now. The dark wool thread still wrapped his leg. Holding two fingers to it, she repeated her chant to Odin, demanding him to heal her horse. Then, shoulder to shoulder, they took up walking again.
She had no idea how deep the night was or when the sun would appear,
if
it would appear for them. Inside her shoes her feet felt as if they had hardened to ice, and each crunching step seemed to shatter the bones, shooting stinging pangs up through her legs. The water-laden air left a briny moisture in her lungs that further weighed her down. In her stupor each step seemed to be carrying her from this world into the next. She didnât really care anymore. Rune was faring no better: His head drooped past his knees, and his hooves dragged wet furrows across the sand.
At last they reached the steep-sided cliffs banding theshadowy fjord beyond the fourth finger and couldnât go any farther. As black as the shore was, as dark as the vast sky was, the fjord was blacker. Silent. A bottomless cauldron that swallowed light and sound. The end of the world. She could see nothing, and standing there, frozen to the bone and with no place to keep walking toward, she gave in. Her journey was over.
Looming over them like a giant cresting wave was a bluff much taller than the previous one. Wind had carved a slight hollow at its base and, more recently, knocked a massive chunk of stone onto the shore. The narrow space behind the fallen rock
If he never ⦠No, she wouldnât think of that. She wouldnât think of anything except keeping herself and Rune alive.
And the other horses? It seemed her mind had to gallopthrough all the dire possibilities. Well, theyâd fled the byre. She didnât know what theyâd find to eat, but hopefully Jorgenâs knife wouldnât find them. Her mother had said to keep the horses safe, and so far they were.
The stars spun above them, following their own dark course, and still no path climbed into the shelter of the forest, no rocky niche offered refuge on the shore. The nightâs cold rimed her cheeks, pulling the skin taut; the oceanâs breath dripped from her nose. When she blinked, droplets quivered on her lashes.
Apparently the months of watered soup and bitter bread had carved a hollow inside her. She didnât realize how weak sheâd become, though, until she was slipping behind Runeâs shoulder and then his flank, and finally she was trailing him. Nor did she notice the oceanâs rising tide creeping ever closer to them. Unheeded, it swallowed so much ground that when they reached the tip of the middle finger of land, the snub-nosed bluff there loomed straight out of the oily black sea. There was no dry passage around it. She couldnât judge the waterâs depth and stood peering into the darkness, listening to the waves rush up, splash against the walls, slap down, and recede. Rush, splash, slap, and recede. Rush, splash, slap, and recede. The dreamy recitation held her entranced, unmoving.
Rune banged his head against her. Getting no response, he nudged her again, harder. Finally he nickered his concern, four honeyed notes that started deep and descended deeper, reaching through her numbed darkness. Asa grabbed hold of them withthe desperation of a drowning person and let them lift her up and onto his back.
Rune plunged ahead with enough confidence for both of them, although the icy waves leaped up to soak his belly and she had to lift her feet to his withers and ride hunched, swaying, like a bird on a windblown bough. Because of him they managed to round the bluff without being washed away. They returned to the ever-narrowing strip of crunching sand and proceeded.
After a longer period, when the fog lifted from her mind again, she whispered to him to halt and slid off. Gently she touched her fingers to each dark slash. The neck wounds felt sticky; the bleeding had stopped. His chest wound still oozed blood but much more slowly now. The dark wool thread still wrapped his leg. Holding two fingers to it, she repeated her chant to Odin, demanding him to heal her horse. Then, shoulder to shoulder, they took up walking again.
She had no idea how deep the night was or when the sun would appear,
if
it would appear for them. Inside her shoes her feet felt as if they had hardened to ice, and each crunching step seemed to shatter the bones, shooting stinging pangs up through her legs. The water-laden air left a briny moisture in her lungs that further weighed her down. In her stupor each step seemed to be carrying her from this world into the next. She didnât really care anymore. Rune was faring no better: His head drooped past his knees, and his hooves dragged wet furrows across the sand.
At last they reached the steep-sided cliffs banding theshadowy fjord beyond the fourth finger and couldnât go any farther. As black as the shore was, as dark as the vast sky was, the fjord was blacker. Silent. A bottomless cauldron that swallowed light and sound. The end of the world. She could see nothing, and standing there, frozen to the bone and with no place to keep walking toward, she gave in. Her journey was over.
Looming over them like a giant cresting wave was a bluff much taller than the previous one. Wind had carved a slight hollow at its base and, more recently, knocked a massive chunk of stone onto the shore. The narrow space behind the fallen rock
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