by Edith Pattou
Upon returning from the harbor, I discovered that Sib had gone to her favorite inlet, and I found Rose at the inn, in the room she and Sib shared.
“What do you think you will find at the castle in the mountain, Rose?” I asked.
She shook her head, closing her eyes. “I don’t know.”
“Do you think the Troll Queen will be there?” I asked, trying to keep the worry out of my voice.
“No, I don’t,” she replied, opening her eyes. “The troll Jaaloki said she was somewhere else, her favorite aerie above the softskin world. Preparing for Aagnorak, whatever that may be.”
“But you think it means ill for our world?”
“I do.”
We fell silent.
I studied my sister. She had unwrapped the wound on her face, and it was still livid and inflamed, though better than when I had first seen it.
“Does Sib’s balm help with the pain of your bite?”
“It does,” Rose answered. “And she said, too, that it would lessen the scarring. Sib has been wonderful through all this. I am ever astounded at all the things she knows about, the skills she possesses.”
I nodded. “Sometimes it is puzzling, almost impossible to fathom in one so young. Although I don’t know her age. Have you been able to find it out?”
She shook her head, then said gently, “Neddy, what are your feelings for Sib?”
I shifted in my chair, trying to act natural. “What do you mean? She is a friend.”
“Is she perhaps more than that?” Rose asked.
My heart beat a little faster. I had always told Rose everything, but this time I felt constrained, not sure how to express what my feelings were since I barely understood them myself.
“You are blushing, Neddy!” she said, smiling. “I haven’t seen you blush since you were a boy.”
“I’m not,” I protested. “The room is warm—”
“Neddy, what is wrong with you? I love Sib. We all love Sib. If you have feelings for her, make them known. It is high time you were married.”
“I don’t know what you are talking about,” I said stiffly.
“Oh, Neddy,” Rose said. “You are as stubborn as I am. But you should say something to her. I know what you can do! Why don’t you write her a poem?”
Rose was teasing me, referring to my long-ago efforts at writing poetry. I refrained from telling her I had had the urge to write a poem about Sib and, wisely, abandoned the idea.
“You always were terrible at giving advice, Rose,” I said, teasing back.
“All right, I’ll stop meddling. But”—and her face grew serious—“one thing I have learned, Neddy, is that life is short. You must not waste time.”
I smiled absently, thinking about Rose’s words. Perhaps she was right.
Rose
I FELT WELL ENOUGH THAT AFTERNOON to join Sib at her favorite inlet.
“A good spot for wind-listening?” I asked, teasing.
“In fact, it is,” she responded with a smile. But her smile quickly faded. “The winds that caused the shipwreck, Rose, as I said before, they had a dark music to them. They were all wrong. At first it seemed as if they had come from no specific direction. But then I found that they were mostly southern and yet had a mountainous feel to them, which is an unusual combination. I decided they must have come from the highest peaks of the mountains that run along the border between Fransk and Sveitsland.”
“The Alpes?” I asked.
“I think so.”
The Troll Queen’s aerie, high above the softskin world. Could it be in the Alpes?
“I have never been there,” Sib said. “They are said to be breathtaking.”
“One of the few places you haven’t been,” I said with a smile. “I swear you are as much of a wanderer as I am. Perhaps even more so.”
She smiled, her gaze on the horizon.
“Sib, can I ask,” I said suddenly. “What do you feel for Neddy?” So much for my vow not to meddle.
She gave me a startled look and fell silent, as if deciding whether or not to give me a direct answer. She closed her eyes for a long moment and when she opened them again, they were soft with feeling.
“He is dear to me.”
“As friend or brother or more?” I asked.
Again she hesitated. “There are reasons, Rose, that I . . .” She paused and then began again. “My past has things in it that make it difficult, perhaps impossible for me to ever think of having a husband.”
I stared at her in wonder. “What things?” I asked.
“I have never spoken of them, to anyone. Do you recognize this wind, Rose?”
I thought she was trying to change the subject and shook my head impatiently. “No—” I began, but she interrupted.
“This is ciuin. I introduced you to it once before, and it is one I know well, for it blows through Anglia and Skottland.” She closed her eyes and breathed it in, and I saw both her lips and her fingers move almost imperceptibly. And I don’t know how else to describe it, but the wind seemed to curl around us, as if it were a pair of arms.
“Listen,” she said.
And I did.
Just for a moment, I heard a soft, laughing sort of music. I got a queer feeling in my heart and looked at Sib as if she had become a stranger all of a sudden. I remembered our talk of winds before, about how knowing the winds allows you to bend them. And how she had identified my sword as a wind sword, not troll made.
“Do you have arts, Sib?” I whispered.
“Not arts, not like the Troll Queen,” she said. “I call it music. Wind music.”
“Is this wind music the reason you can’t marry?” I said, looking her directly in the eyes.
“No,” she said, unblinking. “But it is related, the why of it.”
I gazed at her, mystified.
Sib let out a sigh, looking unbearably sad. “You have to believe me, Rose. It is better for Neddy that he seek a wife elsewhere.”
And she stood and began to move away from me, taking her curling wind with her.
“Sib!” I called after her.
She turned and looked at me.
“Can you teach it to me?” I asked. “This wind music?”
She smiled and said, “Yes.”
“Now?”
She laughed. “I can try. A beginning, anyway.”
She came back and sat beside me and started telling me about the wind. How, according to an early belief, the only two things the creator did not make were water and air.
“I told you already that all the winds have names,” she said.
“Yes,” I said, “and that you know many of them.”
She nodded. And in a lilting voice, she began to list them. I knew I would never remember them all, so I just listened, entranced by the poetry of their names and the remarkable variety. They ranged from the gentle, kaiaulu, a soft trade wind from the tropics, to the moderate, williwaw, a sudden blast of wind descending from the mountains to the sea, to the vast, jufeng, a violent wind blowing from all four directions.
When she was done naming the winds, Sib had me close my eyes. She said to just listen. When I said I couldn’t hear anything, she said to try listening in a different way.
“Listen with your ears, but also with your skin, your nose, your fingers, your heart.”
With my eyes shut all I could hear was the sound of the waves breaking on the shore, the piercing cries of seabirds calling to each other. But I tried to focus harder, to make my whole body aware of the air around me, the feel of it on my skin.
“There is a different wind now, one that blew ciuin away. Listen,” Sib said.
And this time I heard it. It was similar to the soft music of ciuin, but clearer and brighter. It was very direct, not shy at all.
“You hear it,” said Sib.
I nodded, my eyes still closed.
“That wind is deasiar, a southwesterly wind from Anglia.”
“I like it,” I said, opening my eyes.
&n
bsp; “Yes,” agreed Sib, “it is a good wind. But I find that most winds are good. There are only a few I do not like, that frighten me. The powerful, unpredictable, killing ones.”
“Like the one from the Alpes,” I said.
“Yes,” Sib replied with a slight shiver.
We were interrupted then by Neddy, who was calling to us.
“Thank you,” I said to Sib.
She smiled at me. “It is nice, even sort of a relief, to share this with someone. With you,” she said.
And arm in arm, we went to join Neddy.
Neddy
WHEN WE WERE PREPARING TO BOARD our ship for Trondheim, I was approached by the first mate, who told me the ship had stopped in Trondheim on its way south to Fransk, and that he bore a letter for me. It was from Father.
Tearing it open, heart pounding, I quickly scanned the contents. I was relieved to learn that there were no ill tidings of the family, especially Winn, but was devastated to hear the news of Havamal’s wife, as well as the death of Farmer Magnus. I thought back to what I had learned of the Sweating Sickness from the Anglian man on our voyage to Etretat and felt uneasy.
When I told the news to Rose and Sib, they too were alarmed.
“I hope it is not the beginning of an epidemic there,” said Rose.
“I also hope that,” said Sib gravely. “But I am glad I am going with you, Neddy.” She went on to say that she once lived through an epidemic of the Sweating Sickness, that she knew how to treat it, and more important, how to prevent getting it.
I saw the fear in Rose’s face and could tell that for a moment she was wavering in her decision not to come with us. But abruptly she straightened her back.
“Look after them,” she said to us both. “And, if you are able, send word to La Rochelle with news. I will go there after the castle in the mountain.” She gave us both a fierce hug and stood watching as we boarded the ship.
Rose
IT WAS DIFFICULT SAYING GOODBYE to Neddy and Sib.
I watched their ship set sail and then, walking away, felt an unexpected stab of loneliness. I had gotten used to having Neddy and Sib as traveling companions. I would miss them.
Impatient, I shook the feeling off. I had traveled solo most of my life, even after marrying Charles. It was in my nature to journey alone.
I directed my steps to the dock where the ship I would be taking to La Rochelle was due to arrive, wanting to find out the departure time the next day. I was stunned to learn that the ship had canceled its stop in Etretat. The next ship headed for La Rochelle wouldn’t arrive for a fortnight.
I could almost walk there in that time, I thought furiously. I checked my coin purse. Because of the uncertainty of what I would find in Etretat, I had brought a fairly large amount of money with me.
Counting what I had left, I thought I had enough to purchase a horse, though it would leave me with little left over. But I must get to the castle in the mountain. I could not bear any more delays.
My landlord referred me to a horse trader in town, and I made my way there. His name was Tomas, and he had two horses for sale. When he told me the price for the smaller horse, I was dismayed. It was much higher than I had anticipated, and I wondered if he was trying to cheat me. I had heard rumors that there were a few unscrupulous tradespeople in town who had deliberately raised their prices on goods, preying on the relatives of shipwreck victims.
I named a lower sum, one that was still more than fair, but he merely turned away as if I wasn’t worth his time.
“Please,” I said. “I must get to La Rochelle, and there is no ship until—”
He interrupted me with a Fransk curse word. I stood still, anger filling me.
“Perhaps,” I said, a tight smile on my face, “I ought to pay a visit to the mayor of this town before I depart. The healer Hannah told me he is an honorable man and would be dismayed to learn there are tradespeople in Etretat who are taking advantage of the victims of the terrible tragedy that happened here.”
“Now, see here—” began Tomas, looking uneasy.
“On the other hand,” I went on, “if you will accept my previous offer, I might be persuaded to change my plans and leave Etretat without paying my respects to the mayor.”
Tomas was silent for a moment, then stuck out his hand. “Je suis d’accord,” he said gruffly.
I shook his hand and paid the sum I had offered.
That afternoon I left Etretat on horseback to go in search of my white bear.
Mother
SEVERAL DAYS WENT BY with no news of any other sickness, and I began to breathe a little easier. Perhaps, as Arne kept saying, they truly had been isolated cases.
But on the sixth day, word came that two children in the family of the farmhold down the road from Havamal had fallen ill.
I had seen the whole family at the marketplace just two days prior, and a sense of horror came over me. How many had come into contact with those children? And how soon would the parents be affected?
All I could do was pray.
Neddy
AFTER A STOP IN THE CITY OF AMSTERDAM in Hollande, we arrived in our first Njorden port of Stavanger.
Before we departed Stavanger, the captain informed the passengers that it had been confirmed that the Sweating Sickness had come to northern Njord and that as a result, the ship would go no farther than Kristiansund.
I was dismayed. Kristiansund was many leagues from Trondheim.
“Is Trondheim hard hit?” I asked, dread filling me.
“There is no word yet that it is, but we aren’t taking any chances,” the captain replied.
Later Sib and I stood by the railing, watching Stavanger recede into the distance.
“Is it a long journey between Kristiansund and Trondheim?” she asked.
I nodded, frowning. “And with the Sweating Sickness, it may be difficult to find conveyance.”
“Then we will walk,” she said, taking my arm.
Rose
THE EFFECT OF THE TROLL-SNAKE VENOM had not entirely left me. Sometimes, out of the blue, I would feel dizzy, the sky and ground tilting all around me, and I had to lay my head on my horse’s neck. It usually passed fairly quickly, and fortunately I never actually fell off my horse. She was a gentle filly I named Ciuin, after that gentle wind of Sib’s, and was all white except for her muzzle and her two back legs, which were dark brown. She took my dizzy spells in stride.
But worse than the lightheadedness was the fact that I had begun to have nightmares.
Like my mother, I had never been prone to dreaming. The one exception to this was while I was living in the castle in the mountain and had a series of horrific nightmares about my mysterious night visitor, one of the reasons I disastrously lit the candle and saw Charles’s face for the first time. Of course I hadn’t known then that if I had only kept my fear and curiosity under control for one more cycle of the moon, had not used the troll candle supplied by my mother to see who my nighttime visitor was, Charles would have been released from his enchantment. There would have been no impossible journey to a land that lay east of the sun and west of the moon. But that was not to be.
My first nightmare was about the troll-snake himself. Jaaloki. Except in the dream, he was half troll, half snake. He was coiled around me, but his face and upper body were Jaaloki’s. He reached out his skeletal hands and wrapped them around my throat, choking me. I woke up dizzy, my breath coming in gasps.
I laid my palm on my chest, trying to calm my rapidly beating heart. I decided that tomorrow I would start practicing with the sword in case I had to face the troll-snake again.
* * *
The next day, at my first stop for the midday meal in a grove of poplar trees, after I had finished eating, I took the sword from my pack.
It was heavier than I remembered. I held it awkwardly in front of me, and feeling slightly foolish, I made a halfhearted thrust forward. The weight of the sword threw me off balance, and I almost fell on my face.
Plantin
g my feet firmly on the ground and taking a deep breath, I cast my mind back to my childhood. The only time I had been exposed to swordplay was with my oldest brother, Nils Erlend. Because he had left home at a young age, I had barely known Nils. His visits home were few and far between. Mother liked to point out that he had the most north in him, which explained his wandering ways. He had had a series of occupations, including sailor, traveling merchant, and once, for a brief time, soldier.
It was during his stint as a soldier that he came home for one of his rare visits. I had idolized Nils Erlend from afar, and seeing him in his soldier garb, with the sword buckled at his hip, increased my admiration tenfold. I was very young at the time, and after Nils’s visit, I became fascinated by swords. My brother Willem agreed to whittle me a small wooden sword and even helped me fashion a belt with a loop where the small wooden sword could be carried. How I had loved that sword.
I recalled that during his visit, Nils had given Neddy and me a brief demonstration of swordplay. I was the most interested, with Neddy soon wandering off to read a book. If only I could remember the details.
I closed my eyes, concentrating. Nils had said something about how to grip the sword, how you should hold it lightly, delicately. And I remembered that he had laid great emphasis on how you stood in relation to your opponent—sideways was best—and that you must also be light on your feet. “Like you are dancing,” he had said.
I remembered giggling at that. Dancing was something you did with flowers in your hair on Midsummer. Sword fighting was a serious business. But Nils had frowned at me and said to stop laughing and listen.
So in that grove of poplar trees, I held the sword lightly in my hand and began to move. I imagined Nils Erlend before me. And an odd thing happened. As I lifted the sword, it unexpectedly felt lighter, moving easily, almost of its own accord. I held it high above me and stared up at the tarnished blade. The sun’s rays glanced off it, making it gleam in the afternoon light.
