her eyes watery. “Find your tongue at last?”
Gerta suspected that she was swaying on her feet. She thought she might throw up again.
She’s only an old woman, she’s only an old woman, she’s not that much different than Gran Aischa, just horrible, why am I so afraid of her…?
Those awful eyes searched her face, and perhaps failed to find what they were looking for.
“Flies on the wind,” said Nan, suddenly brisk. “On a sled pulled by winter weasels or some such. Never saw her, myself. Never want to. Go away, Janna, and let an old woman sleep by the fire.”
Janna grabbed Gerta’s wrist and pulled her back to the rear of the earthhouse.
“Winter weasels,” she said. “Close enough to white otters for me. I won’t swear you didn’t hear the story somewhere and make up the whole mad tale, but I also won’t swear it’s not true.”
“What’s wrong with her?” asked Gerta dully.
“Old Nan? I’d say she’s old, but she was like that when she was younger, too, from what I’ve heard. She was always cruel, but she got worse. And the healers tell me that you probably shouldn’t eat your enemies, even if you’re starving.”
Gerta stared at her.
“Don’t give me that look. I haven’t eaten anyone. It doesn’t come up as often as you’d think.”
Gerta rubbed her forehead. It seemed that she was only plodding along from one exhaustion to the next. She was in danger here, but how was that any different than the day before, or the one before that?
Cold, cannibals, witches…it’s all the same…
“Not quite as bad as all that,” said Janna, which was when Gerta realized she’d been muttering to herself. I got in the habit of talking to myself on the road. I have to stop if I’m going to be around people. She pressed her lips together.
“We’ve got the cannibals, certainly,” said Janna, “but no witches, and we’ll be warm enough tonight.”
Janna surprised her by springing up the ladder on the wall, and flipping open the hatch. A dusting of snow came down around them.
She banged the hatch a few times, letting a cold draft into the lodge, then shut it again. Gerta shivered.
“That’ll do for the night,” said the bandit girl. “Now I’m going to bed, and I suggest you do the same. Unless you’d like to get in the sauna…no?”
Gerta glanced around, wondering where she was going to sleep.
“It’s large enough for two,” said Janna, “and will warm up faster. Here.” She opened a trunk and tossed Gerta a piece of fabric.
It was a nightshirt. It was pale blue and embroidered with little flowers around the hem. It did not look even remotely like something that Janna herself would wear.
It was also about two sizes too large and hung on Gerta like a tent. “Did you…err…make this?” asked Gerta.
“All stolen goods, I’m afraid,” said Janna.
Gerta blinked. Well, of course, they’re bandits…did I think she was spending her nights with an embroidery hoop?
Janna nobly refrained from laughing at her, and simply pulled back the furs. She had changed into her own nightclothes, which had significantly less embroidery.
“Come on,” she said. “We’re stuck in here for a few days, and the more time we spend asleep, the less time we spend going for each other’s throats, or listening to Nan talk about who to eat first.”
The sleeping platform was larger than Gerta’s trundlebed, larger even than her grandmother’s big four-poster. Gerta crept in, staying close to one side, as far from Janna as possible.
What do I expect her to do? Strangle me in my sleep?
She had no idea.
Janna pushed a pillow in her direction and rolled over. Her hair, freed from the kerchief, was thick and dark and curly.
“If you’re thinking of waiting until I fall asleep and sneaking out, by the way,” she said in a conversational tone, “I’d warn you that Aaron—the one with the crossbow—doesn’t sleep well. He’ll be awake for
Gerta suspected that she was swaying on her feet. She thought she might throw up again.
She’s only an old woman, she’s only an old woman, she’s not that much different than Gran Aischa, just horrible, why am I so afraid of her…?
Those awful eyes searched her face, and perhaps failed to find what they were looking for.
“Flies on the wind,” said Nan, suddenly brisk. “On a sled pulled by winter weasels or some such. Never saw her, myself. Never want to. Go away, Janna, and let an old woman sleep by the fire.”
Janna grabbed Gerta’s wrist and pulled her back to the rear of the earthhouse.
“Winter weasels,” she said. “Close enough to white otters for me. I won’t swear you didn’t hear the story somewhere and make up the whole mad tale, but I also won’t swear it’s not true.”
“What’s wrong with her?” asked Gerta dully.
“Old Nan? I’d say she’s old, but she was like that when she was younger, too, from what I’ve heard. She was always cruel, but she got worse. And the healers tell me that you probably shouldn’t eat your enemies, even if you’re starving.”
Gerta stared at her.
“Don’t give me that look. I haven’t eaten anyone. It doesn’t come up as often as you’d think.”
Gerta rubbed her forehead. It seemed that she was only plodding along from one exhaustion to the next. She was in danger here, but how was that any different than the day before, or the one before that?
Cold, cannibals, witches…it’s all the same…
“Not quite as bad as all that,” said Janna, which was when Gerta realized she’d been muttering to herself. I got in the habit of talking to myself on the road. I have to stop if I’m going to be around people. She pressed her lips together.
“We’ve got the cannibals, certainly,” said Janna, “but no witches, and we’ll be warm enough tonight.”
Janna surprised her by springing up the ladder on the wall, and flipping open the hatch. A dusting of snow came down around them.
She banged the hatch a few times, letting a cold draft into the lodge, then shut it again. Gerta shivered.
“That’ll do for the night,” said the bandit girl. “Now I’m going to bed, and I suggest you do the same. Unless you’d like to get in the sauna…no?”
Gerta glanced around, wondering where she was going to sleep.
“It’s large enough for two,” said Janna, “and will warm up faster. Here.” She opened a trunk and tossed Gerta a piece of fabric.
It was a nightshirt. It was pale blue and embroidered with little flowers around the hem. It did not look even remotely like something that Janna herself would wear.
It was also about two sizes too large and hung on Gerta like a tent. “Did you…err…make this?” asked Gerta.
“All stolen goods, I’m afraid,” said Janna.
Gerta blinked. Well, of course, they’re bandits…did I think she was spending her nights with an embroidery hoop?
Janna nobly refrained from laughing at her, and simply pulled back the furs. She had changed into her own nightclothes, which had significantly less embroidery.
“Come on,” she said. “We’re stuck in here for a few days, and the more time we spend asleep, the less time we spend going for each other’s throats, or listening to Nan talk about who to eat first.”
The sleeping platform was larger than Gerta’s trundlebed, larger even than her grandmother’s big four-poster. Gerta crept in, staying close to one side, as far from Janna as possible.
What do I expect her to do? Strangle me in my sleep?
She had no idea.
Janna pushed a pillow in her direction and rolled over. Her hair, freed from the kerchief, was thick and dark and curly.
“If you’re thinking of waiting until I fall asleep and sneaking out, by the way,” she said in a conversational tone, “I’d warn you that Aaron—the one with the crossbow—doesn’t sleep well. He’ll be awake for
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