The Raven and the Reindeer

by T. Kingfisher

Once upon a time, there was a boy born with frost in his eyes and frost in his heart.

There are not many stories about this sort of thing. There ought to be more. Perhaps if there were, the Gertas of the world would learn to recognize it. Perhaps not. It is hard to see a story when you are standing in the middle of it.

But if Kay had a sled-dog’s eyes, Gerta had a dog’s loyalty. It did not matter that he ignored her sometimes, or said “It’s just the neighbor girl” to the other boys in the town. Those boys did not know what Gerta knew.

“Go out with some other boys, then,” said her grandmother. “At least meet a few.” Almost under her breath, she added “Make Kay sweat a little, for a change.” “I don’t like any other boys.” “Yes, and he knows it, too.” Her grandmother shook her head. “Wouldn’t hurt to meet them. Girls not much older than you are getting married, and I’d hate to have you settle for the boy next door.”

Seated in the sleigh was a woman. Gerta, who had been highly delighted by the sleigh and the otters, felt the first chill.

The woman was very tall and very slim. Her face was as angular as a fox and her hair was white, yet somehow she did not look old. She sat in the sled with her hands on the reins and looked around, and the world seemed to change as she gazed down at it.

“I’m an old fool. I told you and Kay about the Snow Queen. I should have known he’d take it to heart. There always was a spot of ice in him.” “You couldn’t know—” said Gerta. “I should have known. Things come when they’re called.”

Making someone a fine wife had not included learning how to sleep in the woods without freezing or getting soaked. This struck Gerta as an enormous and unexpected gap in her education.

Feeling bad about feeling bad was not significantly better than feeling bad in the first place.

“It is a certainty that you are going to die,” said Mousebones. “All living things die. Then we eat their eyes.” “How nice,” said Gerta. “Are you going to eat my eyes?” “Well, obviously. You’d want a friend to do it, wouldn’t you?” Mousebones groomed a snowflake off her hair. “And it’s not like you’d be using them.”

“Let him go,” she said. “I’m sorry?” “Your friend,” said Gran Aischa. “That’s a story with no happy ending. You’ve still got a chance at yours.” She drank deeply and grimaced. “Let him go. Find yourself a strapping lad who knows how to listen and will worship the ground you walk on. They’re rare, but they’re worth

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.”

“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.”

“Words are like fish and you catch them and you get to keep them forever.”

“This is why you don’t mate with your nestmates,” said Mousebones pragmatically. “It’s always ‘Oh, yes, and remember the time you ate that cricket that I was supposed to get?’ for the rest of your life.” He paused, and then added, “Well, that and the inbreeding.”

Kay lifted his head. His eyes passed over Gerta without really seeing her, and it came to Gerta that he had looked over her like that many times before, that his frost-colored eyes had never really seen her. A year ago, it would have made her frantic, but now it just seemed easier that way.

Gerta did not particularly want to give Kay time. It seemed that she had given him quite a few years already, for all the good it had done her.