Read Two Ravens and One Crow (Novella) for Free Online Page A

Odin changed the subject.
    »We will speak of blood later. What I would like to know is why you’re alive.«
    »Why didn’t I die before the Common Era, you mean? How did I manage to live long enough to vex you?«
    »Precisely.«
    »I occasionally drink an herbal tea that renews my cells and reverses the aging process.«
    »Interesting.« Odin looked down at his soup and, deciding it looked good enough to eat, picked up a spoon. Frigg, the Morrigan, and I did the same, and we slurped up a spoonful or two before Odin asked another question. »And this tea you drink—is it readily available in these modern supermarkets? Or is it something you invented?«
    »No. I got the recipe from Airmid, one of the Tuatha Dé Danann. She’s long dead now, however. Tragic circumstances.«
    »A tragedy! Forgive me for noticing, but they seem to follow in your wake.«
    »You’re forgiven. May I ask you something?«
    »Of course.« His spoon hovered over his bowl as he waited for my question.
    »How did you find out where I was?« My cold iron amulet normally shielded me from divination; not even the Norns had seen me coming.
    »Hugin and Munin found you a couple of months ago, working out in the desert with that apprentice of yours.«
    Mentioning Granuaile wasn’t an accident. It was a subtle threat, but I pretended not to notice. »Oh. About the ravens. Which one …?«
    »Did you kill? Hugin. I languished in dreams of the past for years, attended by Frigg and unable to function in the present. But eventually Munin remembered Hugin and laid an egg. The new raven, when he reached maturity, became Hugin again. I awoke, sent the ravens abroad in search of you, and, once you were found, I watched from Hlidskjálf.«
    »I see. And how many of the Norse know I’m still alive?«
    »Only Frigg and myself.«
    »Why didn’t you tell them all?«
    »That is related to the blood price of which we will speak further. If you would not mind, I would like to know precisely how you learned the recipe for this brew of eternal youth.«
    I shrugged. »I already told you. Airmid taught me.«
    »Yes, but why? Why you and no one else?«
    I put down my spoon and exchanged glances with the Morrigan. She knew the answer, but no one else did. »Oh. That is quite a story.«
    Odin gestured at the table. »We have four more courses.«
    »It is not that long, but it is a story I have never shared before and I am reluctant to share it. It has a certain value.«
    Odin’s eye bored into mine. »Understood. Consider it a part of what you owe us.«
    »Very well.« I saw the waiter and sommelier approaching. »I will begin once we’ve been served the third course.«
    The third course was pan-fried pike with a side of white asparagus and some other assorted vegetables artfully arranged on a white plate, drizzled with a beurre blanc. The sommelier, an older gentleman with thinning hair but crisp movements and a steady hand, served us all a glass of chardonnay. After that, I had to share a secret I thought I’d never speak aloud.
    * * ** * * In the days when the Tuatha Dé Danann were puissant in Ireland, the most famous physician of the time—if I may use the modern word—was Dian Cecht. During the First Battle of Mag Tuireadh, the king, Nuada, lost his right arm in battle, and he applied to Dian Cecht for remedy. Despite his victory over the Fir Bolgs, he was no longer fit to rule with such a disability.
    Together with the craftsman Creidhne, Dian Cecht fashioned a magical silver hand and arm for Nuada; once it was attached, it functioned just like a regular arm would, and Dian Cecht’s fame grew ever greater throughout Ireland. People began to call the former king Nuada Silver-hand, for it was truly a miraculous sight and all who saw it were amazed. In public, Nuada was mightily pleased and recognized the fame his silver hand brought him. But in private—well, there were issues. It repelled his wife, who did not want it to touch her. And whether he wore it or not,