West

by Edith Pattou

  “No, thank you,” I said. But I did take a seat in the chair opposite him.

  He was studying my face closely. “I am very sorry for your loss,” he said, his voice deep and solemn. I saw his eyes take in the two rings on my thumbs, and he seemed to flinch a little.

  “Tell me,” I said.

  “It is hard . . .” he started.

  “Hard to remember? Or hard to tell me?” I asked bluntly.

  “Both,” he said. “I have seen much of death, but this was . . .” Again he trailed off. He was looking down at his hands.

  “I want to hear it. Don’t worry. I am strong.”

  He looked up at me briefly. “I can see that,” he said.

  And so he launched into the story I had heard Neddy read from the letter. The words were much the same as those I’d heard in my parents’ great room. Except for the word inviolable. He didn’t use that word.

  “You are sure he said ‘from Charles’?” I asked.

  His eyes were on his empty tankard, as if he wished it were full again.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “Thank you for keeping the ring and seeing that it was sent to me,” I said, touching the ring on my right thumb.

  He nodded, still staring down at his tankard.

  It was a plausible story. There was nothing in his manner, other than not always meeting my eyes, to indicate he was lying.

  “I am deeply sorry,” he said again. And his voice broke a little, almost as if he meant it.

  “Thank you,” I replied. “You have been through a rough time yourself,” I went on. “It must have been comforting to see your cousin.”

  “Cousin?” he said, puzzled. But then his expression shifted, and he quickly added, “Yes, yes indeed. It was good of him to travel here.” He rose abruptly. I thought for a moment I detected fear in his eyes, which unnerved me. It was so at odds with his reckless air of bravado.

  “I am sorry to rush off,” he said, “but I have an appointment down at the harbor regarding a place on a ship heading back home to Spania. You can find me here later if you have any further questions, or if there is anything at all I can do for you.” He stood and limped across the room and out the door.

  Neddy

  ROSE WAS NOT YET BACK from her errand, so I went to look for Sib. Though I had not found Charles’s name in the lists of identified bodies, I was still feeling low in spirits. All those lost lives, all the grieving families—mothers, fathers, wives, children—left behind.

  I came upon Sib sitting on a large rock near the shoreline. She welcomed me with a smile and made room for me next to her.

  “You found nothing?” she asked softly.

  “Nothing,” I replied.

  “That could be a good thing,” she said.

  I didn’t answer. Sib saw that I was downcast, and she laid a hand on my arm. At the touch of her warm fingers, my heart began that overloud pounding and I could feel myself flush. She did not seem to notice, her gaze now directed toward the blue expanse of the sea.

  As she looked outward to the water, I studied her profile, the pale, ageless skin, the clear brown, farseeing eyes. And I wondered as I had so many times before how old she was, all the life she had lived before coming to be connected to our family.

  She never spoke of her past except in vague generalities, and she would always evade the questions that Rose in particular was not shy about asking. But the few times she did speak of her family, it was with love, not bitterness. I wondered what had happened to them, why there had been no one to return to after leaving Niflheim.

  “Have you ever been married, Sib?” The words came out of my mouth almost unbidden, and I immediately regretted them.

  She looked startled and turned to me.

  “Why do you ask?” she said.

  I cast about for a reason that might make sense and came up with a half-true but feeble statement about how seeing the names of the dead had made me think of all the widows left behind.

  “I wondered if you have had a similar loss,” I said.

  She nodded slightly. “Yes, I have,” she said. “But not a husband. My father was lost to the sea when I was only a bairn. And I lost my mother as well, many years ago.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, laying my hand on hers. I thought there was no way she could not be aware of my hammering heart. She did turn to look at me, and I could have sworn the look that passed across her face was one of sorrow.

  But then she smiled her sweet smile, squeezed my hand, and stood, saying, “Perhaps we’d better see what Rose is doing? She has been gone long.”

  I nodded dumbly and rose to my feet. As we walked back toward our lodging place, I was pleased that Sib laced her arm through mine.

  Rose

  I FOUND IT VERY DIFFICULT following the soldier Julien without him being aware of me, but somehow I managed it. Fortunately he didn’t move swiftly due to his limp.

  He did not go to the harbor as he had said, but instead to the inn near the docks where I had first gone looking for him. He went inside, and as I stood in the shadow of a shop, trying to decide what to do next, he emerged again, carrying a large pack.

  I shadowed him to the harbor. He stopped in front of a ship docked there, set his pack down, and stood still, seemingly waiting for someone. I tried to look inconspicuous, sheltering near a large pile of barrels. Shortly Julien was approached by a tall, thin man in a black coat. They appeared to be arguing, but I was too far away to hear what they said.

  Abruptly the soldier Julien turned and headed up the gangway of the nearby ship. The man in the black coat watched for a moment, then turned and headed in the opposite direction.

  I stood still, my heart beating fast. Should I board the ship and confront Julien, or should I follow the man in the black coat? I decided all at once to follow the man in the black coat. The one I was convinced was a troll.

  Estelle

  GRAND-MèRE EUGENIA INSISTED that I tie a pouch containing garlic and angelica root to my bedpost.

  Quelle odeur!

  I asked Grand-père Arne why I must have it there, and he told me that for now it would be best if I was patient with Grand-mère Eugenia. He said it was just her superstitious way. He said that she was upset about a recent death in town, but more important, the family was going through a hard time because of not knowing what had happened to Charles.

  I knew everyone thought he was dead. Except Rose.

  But I believed in Rose and was sure she would find him and bring him back to us, safe and sound.

  Then Grand-père Arne said he would draw me my own wind rose! I was très excited.

  Rose

  I ALMOST LOST THE TALL DARK FIGURE several times but managed to keep him in sight. Just beyond the harbor, there was a path leading up and above the chalk cliffs. It wound along the coastline, and he followed it for several miles until the town was left behind. We passed the distinctive white arch that jutted into the sea right beside the aiguille blanche.

  Abruptly he veered right, away from the sea, and came to a small house. I saw him open the front door and enter, closing the door behind him.

  I stood for several minutes, not sure what to do next. If he was a troll with arts, it would no doubt be foolish to confront him. Should I go back and ask for help from Neddy and Sib?

  I couldn’t wait, though. I had to know. I went up to the door and knocked.

  There was no response, so I rapped again. Still nothing. I reached down and tried the handle. It turned easily, and I opened the door.

  It was one big room, with a fireplace, a rough table and chairs, and a pallet in the corner for sleeping. Light came in through the windows, and it was immediately clear that no one was there.

  The furnishings were simple and impersonal, and it looked to be a place rented out for short-term lodging. It did not in any way resemble my idea of a troll dwelling. Certainly it had none of the grandeur of the ice palace in Niflheim, nor the rich furnishings of the castle in the mountain.

 
; I had noticed there was a shed attached to the back, and cautiously I crossed to the small door at the far end of the room. Opening it slowly, I leaned forward. It was darker in the shed, but it too was clearly empty.

  Had he slipped through the shed and out the back? I walked to the far door, tripping over something that protruded from the floor. I opened the door and peered out into the sunshine. I could see no sign of anybody.

  Backing up, I went to see what I had tripped over. I knelt down and discovered what looked to be a handle of some kind. Curious, I pulled on it. It was a trapdoor and swung up easily. I peered down into the opening, but it was too dark to see anything. I had my pack with me and dug into it for the candle and flint I had brought. Lighting the wick, I held the candle over the opening and saw what appeared to be a short ladder. My pulse quickened. It was not a simple wooden ladder that you might expect in the cellar of a plain house like this, but rather it was a finely wrought, ornate ladder made of gleaming metal, decorated with scrollwork and patterns of leaves.

  This is definitely more troll-like, I thought. The flickering light of the candle only revealed so much, but I thought I could see where the ladder ended, on a shelf of rock not too far below. Blowing the candle out, I slung my pack on my back and began to climb down the ladder, feeling my way in the dark.

  When I reached the bottom, I stepped off onto the rock surface. I relit the candle and held it up, surveying my surroundings. I was in a small cave, and at the other end I could see an opening. It looked to be the entrance to a tunnel, so I crossed to it and peered in. I could see it had been carved by skilled hands; the walls were smooth, and there were decorative patterns etched around the entrance.

  I had to bend low to enter and couldn’t walk upright most of the way. In fact, it kept getting lower and narrower, so that by the time I reached the end, I was nearly doubled over.

  Finally the tunnel ended and I stepped out onto a broad ledge. There was a dim light coming from somewhere, though I could not find its source. But it gave enough light for me to make out that I was standing on a cliff, overlooking an enormous cavern.

  I walked to the edge and peered over, but the dim light didn’t penetrate all the way down, so I couldn’t see the bottom.

  A few feet away, I noticed a pile of what was clearly coiled-up rope. I went over to examine it and saw that it was very long and attached at one end to a large metal ring, which was in turn bolted to the rock ledge.

  This seemed to be the only way to get down into the cavern. I knew that it was reckless and that Neddy would be horrified, but I decided I would climb down to find out what lay below.

  I lifted the heavy coils of rope and threw it over the side. I listened closely to see if I could hear it hit the ground, but I heard nothing. Either the rope wasn’t long enough and hadn’t hit the bottom at all or the bottom was too far away for the sound to carry.

  It didn’t matter. If there was a possibility, however small, that my white bear was somewhere near the bottom of that cavern, I had to go there.

  I took a deep breath and gripped the rope firmly. Letting myself over the edge, I squeezed my legs around it and began to descend, hand under hand. As I went, I instinctively clenched the rope between my feet to keep myself from sliding down too quickly.

  When I was a child, Father had made me a perch up in a tree near our home. It was not quite a treehouse, more like a wide shelf, and it could be reached only by climbing a long rope. It was one of the many ploys my parents had come up with over the years to keep me close at home rather than wandering far and wide and falling into ravines and ponds. Such ploys didn’t work of course, but I did love that tree perch, and Father described my ability to climb the rope at an early age as something miraculous, since I took to climbing as if I were part squirrel.

  Still, I had not climbed a rope in many years, either up or down, and it didn’t help that the light grew dimmer as I descended into the cavern and that I had no idea what lay at the bottom.

  Climbing down a rope wasn’t as hard as climbing up, but this was a very long rope. My muscles began to ache, and my hands were getting raw from clutching the scratchy material. One of my legs began to cramp. And I still couldn’t see the bottom.

  I can do this, I said to myself. It can’t be that much longer. I looked down again and thought I saw a glimmer of something almost shiny. Water maybe. A little hope flared in me. If the water was deep enough, it might break my fall if my hands and legs gave out. I continued to descend, hand under hand, my trembling legs clinging.

  Suddenly my foot came to a place in the rope that felt different, thinner, and when my hands reached it, I realized with horror that the rope was badly frayed. It began to come apart in my fingers. And then it split and I was falling.

  I’m not sure how far I fell. It seemed like time slowed and I was hanging in the air, my arms and legs flailing.

  I landed, hard, splashing into cold water. I thudded onto my backside on the rocky bottom of the pool of water. Pain shuddered through my tailbone, and water splashed up into my eyes and mouth. Spluttering, I pulled myself into a sitting position, discovering that the water only came up to my chest.

  I got shakily to my feet. Nothing felt broken, just a sore backside, and I was already shivering from the cold water.

  I splashed out of the pool onto a dry rocky surface. There was still light, but it was very dim, so I retrieved my candle, which fortunately had only gotten slightly damp. I was able to light it, and holding it up, I gazed around me. It was a high, vaulted cavern, large in width, with the pool of water in the center.

  I spotted a faint circle of light on the far side of the cavern. I cautiously crossed to it and saw that it was the entrance to another tunnel. I could see that it was a larger version of the tunnel I had gone through to get to the top of this cavern, the same polished surface and similar carvings. And a brighter light shone from within.

  Taking a deep breath, I entered, holding my candle in front of me.

  Mother

  IT WAS THE MORNING of the fifth day after the death of Farmer Magnus when word came that Havamal’s wife had fallen ill. She was dead by evening.

  I felt a chill of foreboding. I prayed that this was not the beginning of a full-blown epidemic of influenza, but I very much feared that it was.

  Arne insisted we send word to Neddy and Rose in Etretat, since Havamal was one of Neddy’s closest friends. I briefly argued against it, saying there was nothing they could do, and if there was trouble ahead, they were better off staying away. But I knew Arne was right. Neddy would want to know.

  I put Estelle to work gathering acorns, and soon our window­sills were lined with them. And now all of us had garlic and angelica root tied to our bedposts.

  Rose

  THE FARTHER I WENT, the lighter it got, and I no longer needed my candle. As I blew it out, I noticed that it wasn’t any smaller than when I packed it back in Trondheim. Troll wax was clearly different from ours.

  The tunnel took a sharp right turn and emptied into a large, well-lit room with walls and floor and ceiling all made of the same polished white stone. It was different from troll domiciles I’d been in before. Nonetheless, I was sure it was Huldre made. And it was the first real proof to me that I had been right, that trolls were involved with what had happened to my white bear.

  It was grand but also austere, and still I could not find a source for the light. It was almost as if the pale stone itself was glowing.

  There wasn’t much furniture, mostly tables of the same white stone that lined the edges of the room and one large table in the middle with white stone chairs around it.

  There were objects on the tables that lined the walls. One table had a grouping of ornate metal boxes; another had an imposing echecs set laid out with delicately carved game pieces made of white and gray marble.

  My eye was caught by the table next to it, which held a collection of swords. They ranged from small to large, each one different, but all were unlike swords I had seen b
efore, certainly not like the one the soldier Julien had worn at his hip. Most were elaborate, made of light-colored metal, and were encased in scabbards that bore swirling designs embellished with jewels. But at the far end of the table was a small sword that stood out because it was so plain and battered. While the others were gleaming and new, this one looked old and well-used, and for some reason, I was drawn to it. It was encased in a beaten-up leather scabbard, and the scrollwork on the pommel was so worn down I couldn’t make out the design. I picked it up, and it felt good in my hand.

  “An excellent selection.” A grating voice came from behind me, echoing harshly in the large room. “But it is poor manners to take what is not yours.”

  I jumped, then spun around. A tall figure stood not ten feet from me. The man in the black coat. He was skeletally thin, and his skin was grayish white. The texture was rough, and I could see why Hannah had called it scarred, but I immediately recognized it as the whorled tree-bark skin of a troll. He had the fine, beautiful features of trolls, but the gray cast of his white skin and his skeletal frame made it a repellent beauty. He wore black clothing, and his eyes were black as well.

  “She said you were resourceful, though I doubted her. A softskin girl,” he said with disdain. “Still, my queen is sparing in her compliments.”

  My mind whirled. My queen? Was it possible? No, it could not be. I had seen her die.

  “No, she did not die,” he said, with a smile that made my stomach contract. “My queen is very much alive.”

  Alive. My heart started beating high and fast. The Troll Queen was alive.

  Book Two

  SUND