Free Thief Eyes by Janni Lee Simner Page B

“You said you know a way out of here?” Once we were out maybe I could find a raven’s feather—a normal non-talking raven’s feather—and try the memory spell. Or maybe my memories would return on their own once we were away from Muninn.
    “There are some problems. But yes.” Ari got to his feet, gave a small gasp, and fell again.
    I helped him back up. “Sorry,” he said. “Sorry, I—”
    “It’s not your fault,” I snapped, doing my best to ignore the warmth of his arm as he leaned on me.
    Around us, the memories of other bears, of other times, growled softly. “I think I am not quite used to being human again.” Ari’s white hair—and eyebrows and eyelashes—made his face seem very pale. He shuddered. “I did not know it was possible to forget such a thing.”
    Apparently it was possible to forget all sorts of things. I steadied him as we hobbled down the hallway. At least he was okay. We’d deal with everything else later.
    “If you can get us back to the place where you slept,” Ari said, “I can find the way from there.”
    I shone the flashlight back the way we’d come and played all the turnings in my mind. “This way.” I hoped Muninn wouldn’t be waiting for us when we got there.
    Ari kept leaning on me as we walked. Freki followed at our heels. Ari gave the little fox a suspicious look, then shrugged and walked on. Memories whispered around us, none of them mine.
    An old woman’s voice:
“I must to bed, but ale for all, and enjoy yourselves as you will.”
    A young woman’s voice:
“Take me abroad with you, for it is not Iceland that I love.”
    A small smile crossed Ari’s face. “I know that story.”
    “Did he take her?” It was clear enough the young woman spoke to a lover.
    Ari stopped and turned to me, his expression strange. “I did not think you knew Icelandic. Have you been—how do they say?—holding out on me?”
    “It’s not in Icelandic.” But I listened harder. The words were different from the words Ari and I spoke with each other, even though they made just as much sense.
    Ari scrunched his pale brows together. “Can you hear me now?” he asked, all trace of accent gone from his voice.
    “Sure.” Only after I spoke did I realize we’d both used that other, not-English language.
    “Did I speak both languages before?” I asked in slow, careful English.
    “Not that you told me,” Ari answered, still in the other language. “You tried to speak Icelandic once, but your accent was terrible. Now it’s just—a little odd. Old-fashioned, maybe?”
    Freki nudged the back of my knee with his nose. “It is my master’s mead.” The little fox spoke Icelandic, too, though something about his intonation was different from Ari’s. I realized I’d been speaking Icelandic with Freki, as well, and with Muninn—automatically answering in whatever language I was spoken to in.
    “Your master—” Ari stopped short to stare at the little fox.
    “My master no longer walks in this world,” Freki said.
    “Well, that’s
something
, at least.” Ari looked like he was trying to figure something out. “Aren’t you and your brother supposed to be wolves?”
    Freki’s whiskers twitched. “There are no wolves in Iceland,” he said matter-of-factly.
    Ari grinned at that. “Yeah, well, remind me to tell my teachers. I’m sure they’ll be very interested. So Haley drank—the mead of poetry?” He sounded like he was trying to get his brain around a difficult idea. That made two of us. How could some drugged alcohol teach me a whole new language—not to mention mend broken bones?
    “Even my master’s mead can only do so much. Given the gibberish Haley spoke when she arrived here, it’s a wonder we got her speaking intelligible words at all.” Freki flicked an ear toward me. “You’ll have to handle the poetry on your own.”
    “I’ll cope.” I kept using Icelandic so Freki wouldunderstand. “Do you have the mead of memory lying around someplace,