Raven Boy

Chapter 8

The rest of the time before noon was spent by Ari and Hrafn on the beach. With a stick, Ari drew on the wet sand the plan of the Foreigners' land. It showed the big cavern where their first battle took place and the coast line, leading to the fortress.

"We didn't have time to explore the rest," he explained.

Then Hrafn requested a plan of the fortress, asking questions about every step of their conquest and about everything they found inside.

Not used to that much talking, Ari had to call Orm, so that the latter would complete the missing pieces.

The boy seemed untiring, asking more and more questions about the Foreigners, their way of life, their traditions and gods, and soon both men didn't know what to say.

"Why do you need it anyway?" Ari asked with despair. "They are our enemies! We have to kill them instead of learning their ways!"

"I don't know yet," Hrafn confessed. "Anything can be useful..."

"He is right," Orm approved. "The more you know about your enemy, the easier it is fighting him."

Finally, Hrafn let both men go. Not that he had exhausted his large stock of questions, but they had told him all they knew. In addition, his stomach started rumbling loudly and he decided to go home and have a quick bite to eat.

He felt less miserable by now, but two important issues still had to be settled, for they burned him from inside, being the reason of most of his unease. He had to make peace with Olaf and to talk to their mother.

~~~

Coming to the house, he spotted Olaf in the yard and hurried toward him, eager to end it.

Olaf stood by the fence, clutching it with both hands, his back to his brother.

Hrafn strode toward him, purposefully making the grass rustle underfoot, so that Olaf would know he was there. But the latter didn't react.

"Olaf..." he began as he approached. "I need to talk to you..."

His brother slowly turned his head and looked at him. His face was pale and swollen, and his eyes were bloodshot.

"I'm sick..." he muttered and proved it with action.

Hrafn grimaced, but didn't make a sound.

"I'll get you some water," he suggested once Olaf raised his head again.

As his brother wasn't showing any reaction at all, he seized a wooden bucket and ran to the well.

Olaf didn't move while he was away – he just stood there clutching the fence, his head down.

Hrafn brought back the bucket full of fresh cold water and at once poured it all over his brother's head.

Olaf gasped, taken aback, and once his voice was back, he glowered at Hrafn and grumbled, "What's that for?"

"To help you out." sheepishly shrugged his brother.

Olaf remained silent for a while, as if listening to his own body. Then he croaked, "Bring more!"

Hrafn repeated the procedure. This time Olaf didn't grumble, but put his swollen face under the fresh jet. Then he took a deep breath, released the fence and made a couple of uneven steps toward the wooden bench, on which he carefully lowered himself.

Hrafn joined him. For a little moment both remained silent. Then Olaf groaned, "My skull's going to explode!"

"Ari said you have to drink a cup of mead to feel better."

"Urgh!" groaned Olaf. "It will make me even sicker!"

Hrafn shrugged, "You better try. Seems like it's the only remedy."

Olaf leaned his back on the fence and closed his eyes.

"I'll go and get something to eat," offered Hrafn standing, but once again Olaf showed no reaction.

The boy brought some meat, cheese, and four fresh round loafs, together with a jar of mead and two wooden cups.

Olaf threw him a bleary glance through half-closed lids and said nothing.

Hrafn started eating. He was so hungry that the simple food was incredibly delicious. He was halfway through when Olaf groaned, "All right, give me some mead. Can't stand it anymore."

He dragged back his lids to look at his brother and straightened his back.

Hrafn filled the wooden cup with mead and put it into his brother's outstretched hand.

Olaf averted his head at the mere smell of it. Yet he forced himself to take a good gulp.

Hrafn stopped chewing, closely watching him.

Olaf's face screwed and twisted as if he had just swallowed an angry hedgehog. He covered his mouth with his hand, rolling his eyes, and took several deep breaths.

"How is it?" nearly whispered Hrafn, observing his brother with sincere concern.

"Huhumm..." was the answer that Hrafn interpreted as "Feels better, thanks," because Olaf just finished his cup and sighed in relief. He leaned back against the fence and closed his eyes again.

Hrafn assumed with disappointment that there would be no further conversation and resumed eating. After some time, Olaf half opened his eyes and asked, "Gimme some bread, will you?"

He ate slowly and carefully, as if he was scared that his stomach wouldn't accept it. But that was not the case, and little by little, he finished the rest.

Then, without any further comment, he removed his wet shirt, stretched on the bench and fell fast asleep before his brother was able to decide what to say.

His back against the fence, Hrafn watched his brother, puzzled. He was definitely not going to wake him up, especially after Olaf being that sick. So instead, he tried to think of something useful to do next. But it was not easy after eating: he started feeling tired and sleepy, and the midday warmth with the gentle breeze in the shade of the tree only made it worse.

It can't hurt sleeping for an hour or so, thought the boy, sliding from the bench and comfortably laying himself on the grass.