by Edith Pattou
A prince? Was I a prince?
I saw I was lying on a red couch. There was a table against the wall, and food was on it. If I was in a prison, at least I would not starve. Not right away, anyway.
When the skeleton man put the velvet pouch on the table, my heart leapt. I knew what was inside. A flauto. It was something I knew and loved. It was another clue to who I was.
A boy, a prince perhaps, who had been learning to play a flauto.
After that, I had more memories. Of living in a palace. Of an aunt named Valentina. Of playing with a red ball.
A boy, living in a palace.
But I knew that I was not a boy. My body was larger than a boy’s body. I could feel that I had the stubble of a beard on my face.
I snatched my hand from my face, overcome by another wave of fear.
I stood, looking down at myself. I was wearing nice clothing, not sumptuous court clothing as I was used to, but not rough servant’s clothing either. Black pants, finely made black leather boots that fit me well, a white shirt, some kind of wool vest, and a jacket. A jacket with pockets.
I reached into the pockets eagerly, hoping to find more clues to who I was. But they were empty.
Panic took hold again. I felt alone and empty and undone. My body began to shake. My head was filled with bursts of light and color.
I remembered my father, the king, once falling to the floor, and they had rushed me away, saying he’d had some kind of fit.
Maybe I was having a fit.
My head pounded. Breathing was hard. As I lay back down on the red couch, hands pressed to my head, I saw the flauto lying on the table.
I lurched over to it and lifted it, feeling its cool metal on my skin. And when I put it to my lips and began to play, the flashes of light and the emptiness and the fear melted away.
I seemed to know one song by heart. I played it.
I lost track of the days. Sometimes when I slept, the food was replenished, freshened. I tried to be brave and to believe the skeleton man when he said someone would be coming for me soon, yet I did not trust him.
But it turned out he was right. For she had come, the lady with purple eyes. And somehow I believed she would help me find my way home.
Neddy
SIB CAME OUT OF LISSA’S ROOM, untying the strings that held the muslin covering over her face. Her hands were chapped and shook slightly from exhaustion.
“She will live,” Sib said in a low voice. “She is weak, but she sleeps now. The crisis is past.”
I reached for Sib and pulled her close.
“Thank you,” I whispered, lightheaded with relief.
She pulled away. “Wash your hands, Neddy. You cannot be too careful. All of us. And, Neddy”—her voice shook a little—“I fear for Sara. She is exhausted and . . .”
I felt some alarm. “Do you think she has . . .”
Sib shook her head. “No, not yet, anyway. Try not to worry,” Sib said. “I have sent her to bed. We just need to keep an eye on her.”
We told the news of Lissa’s recovery to Mother and Father, who were anxiously waiting in Sara and Harald Soren’s great room.
After Sib and I washed up, we went to the kitchen, where I cut some meat and cheese and bread for us, though I hadn’t much appetite. We both had little inclination to talk, and I savored those moments, sitting quietly with Sib, the early morning sun gleaming through the window.
Lissa was all right. Sara would be too. I even let myself think that the worst was over.
Rose
AFTER WE GOT OUT of the underground labyrinth and were up inside the castle, I watched Charles’s face closely to see if the sight of all the familiar furnishings might awaken his memory. But his expression remained unchanged. He gazed around as a child would look at a new place he’d come to.
“What is this palace?” he asked. “Who lives here?”
“No one, not anymore,” I replied.
“Who used to live here?”
“A prince,” I said, thinking, A prince who was enchanted into a white bear.
“Like me,” he said.
“Yes,” I said. Then changed the subject, my voice brisk. “You will need a pack, to carry your flauto and other gear for the journey.”
“Will there be danger on the journey?” he asked gravely. I could see his eyes on the sword I had put back in my pack.
“I don’t know,” I said, but then decided it was best to be honest and went on. “There may be.”
“Then I would like a sword,” he said.
I told him there was a room on the second floor with several swords in a case. “And take whatever else you want from this castle. We have been given leave to carry away what we need.” He nodded understanding.
“There are a few things I must get,” I said. “We will meet back here shortly.” We were in the great room of the castle. He nodded again.
I had remembered something I wanted to find. It was a book that had been here back when I was living with the white bear. It was in a foreign tongue, one I didn’t recognize at the time, and seemed to be a book of maps. It was only later, when I was a servant in Niflheim and saw troll language written down, that I realized it must have been an atlas, a guide to the lands of Huldre. I had thought of it when I realized it might be possible that Charles was hidden at one of the Troll Queen’s other dwellings. And even though I had found him, I still had a yearning to see that book, to see if I was right about it.
I found the atlas without much trouble and tucked it under my arm to look at later.
I went back to the weaving room. Even though I had taken a good portion of thread and wool the first time around, there was still much left. I decided to pick three spools of thread, as I had done before. The first was a flame red. I had been wanting to make Estelle a dress, and red was one of her favorite colors.
I was then drawn to a blue-violet color, thinking it a nice blend of my eye color and Charles’s. And finally I picked a pale, silvery, almost translucent thread, which reminded me of Sib. It also reminded me of the moon thread I had woven into the dress I had worn to the troll ball back in Niflheim.
After departing the weaving room, I went to a room where I remembered there had been a large box filled with gold coins. When we left the castle for what we thought was the last time, Charles and I had not taken any, not wanting or needing troll riches, but now I thought gold coins might well come in handy for the journey that lay ahead. I found a leather pouch and filled it to the top.
I headed back to the great room and found Charles there, sitting on a large brocaded couch. Next to him were the flauto, a sturdy leather pack, a bedroll, and a sword.
He stood when he saw me, picking up the sword.
“I had been learning swordplay with a tutor back home. But I do not know much about swords. Do you know if this is a good one?”
I wanted to tell him that I knew little of swords myself, but I merely gave an approving nod. “It looks well,” I said. “Come, let us see if we can find more skin bags in the kitchen, and then we will be on our way.”
Once we were all outfitted and ready to depart, we made our way to the entrance.
It was midmorning when we exited the castle in the mountain. I immediately went to Ciuin, who was remarkably calm, though clearly in need of food and water.
“There is only Ciuin,” I said to Charles after introducing them, “and she is small. We will have to walk. Or take turns riding.” He nodded.
Then, pushing away memories of the last time I had done this with my white bear, I instructed this new Charles to help me push the rocks back up against the entrance.
“It is good to be outside,” he suddenly said, a pleased smile on his face. “I was in that room for a very long time.” The sky was blue and the air fresh. We began to walk.
Neddy
SARA FELL ILL THE NEXT MORNING. And by midnight she was gone.
It was a horrible blow, and every one of us reeled from the shock of it. My dear sister Sara, that s
he could have fallen victim to this cursed sickness seemed unfathomable. Her children left motherless, Harald Soren in a state of grief and shock.
I couldn’t help but think back to the time we had come so close to losing Sara before, back when the white bear had come to our door and offered to save her if Rose would come away with him.
Now I feared they were both dead—the white bear and Sara.
How cruel life could be.
Sib found me in the back garden, my face wet with tears. She took me in her arms, and we stayed that way for a long time.
Mother
I SAT BY LISSA’S BEDSIDE, watching her sleep. The poor bairn was still pale and weak from the Sweating Sickness. She would wake soon, though, and ask for her mama. How was it possible to tell her that her mother was gone?
I felt numb, undone by losing my daughter, too numb even to fear what yet might lie ahead.
Arne came into the room with apple juice for Lissa when she woke. He looked pale too, and after handing me the glass, he sank into a chair and laid his head in his hands.
“Are you well, Arne?” I asked, watching him closely.
“Fine,” he said. “’Twas just a bit of dizziness.”
Fear rose in me, and I crossed to him, putting my hand on his forehead.
“Don’t fuss,” he muttered. “I’m just tired.”
“Your skin is warm,” I said.
“I’m fine,” he repeated. “I just need some air. It is close in here.”
He stood, but his legs buckled under him, and as he fell, I could see he was trembling.
I quickly went to the door and called, “Sib!”
White Bear
IT FELT VERY GOOD TO BE OUTDOORS, to feel the sun on my skin. I followed the lady Nyamh, who was leading the horse called Ciuin.
She had warned me about the hanté forest, saying that it would be difficult to get through, but she was able to find the way she had traveled before. Since it was mostly cleared, it was not as hard to traverse as she had feared.
We took turns riding Ciuin, and I found that I felt awkward on her. At first I thought it was because there was no saddle, but I got used to that and realized it was more that I couldn’t find the rhythm of riding. It puzzled me because I remembered being good on horses before. The stable master once told me I had good form, and unlike others in court, he wasn’t one to give false compliments. But I realized that the awkwardness was because of this body I was not used to. My legs and arms were long, and my shoulders broader. Gradually I began to adjust. It helped that the horse was even-tempered and steady.
My thoughts were jumbled. I could not think of the future, and it troubled me to think of the past. I knew I must focus on the present. On what was happening in that very moment. If I didn’t, my mind would begin to pop and melt, and the panic would come.
Nyamh had shown me the book of maps she had taken from the castle. I found myself wishing there were a book of maps that would lead me back to my life. Or reveal to me the north, south, east, and west of my life. My tutor always did say that geography was one of my worst subjects. I found it dull, memorizing all those place names.
It was becoming clear to me that I couldn’t remember a large chunk of my life. From the point when I was a boy playing with a red ball to waking up in the underground labyrinth with no memory of what lay in between. Boy to man. What had become of my mother and father, my older sisters, my Aunt Valentina? Did they even still live?
The panic rose then, blurring my vision. My mind began to heave and bend, bright colors flashing. The sky was a burning blue; the green of the grass seared my eyes.
I let out a cry, and Ciuin shied.
“Steady,” I said in a voice that cracked, and I knew I was saying it to myself as much as to the horse.
I must think only of now.
Neddy
THE SWEATING SICKNESS TOOK HOLD of Father quickly and savagely, much the same way it had with Sara. The symptoms raced through Father’s body in quick succession. The violent shivering that no number of blankets piled on top of him could relieve, accompanied by severe pain in his neck and shoulders and arms. And then came the sweating. His body became as hot as a blacksmith’s furnace, and water poured off him, soaking the sheets and bedding. With Lissa, and even Sara, I hadn’t noticed any odor at all, but Father’s sweat bore a sickening, unpleasant smell, like that of rotting food.
He cried out in delirium, his hands pressed to his forehead as if the pain there made him want to tear off his own head.
Mother and I took turns ladling water into his mouth as fast as we could, but he still wanted more; his lips cracked with heat and thirst. His pulse raced.
Sib occasionally spooned an elixir she had made of ingredients such as burdock, heartsease, and geranium, as well as a few other herbs I couldn’t name. She also brought an unending supply of cool wet cloths to drape on his forehead and chest.
“It is going so fast,” Sib whispered as she replaced the wet cloths with fresh cool ones. “I haven’t seen it like this before.” She looked worried. She also looked exhausted, and would occasionally go to the window of the room as if to breathe in fresh air. But there was none. The weather continued hot and oppressive. Not a breath of wind stirred.
“Is there anything more we can do?” I asked, my heart thudding with dread.
“Don’t let him sleep,” she said.
I nodded, though Father seemed too agitated and restless for us to be concerned about sleep.
“Rose!” he suddenly cried out. “Where is Rose?”
I sat by him and said, “She is on a journey. But she is safe and will be back with us soon.” I prayed this was the truth.
He seemed to hear me and be reassured by my words, for he went back to his previous indistinguishable muttering and thrashing about on the bed.
I continued to hold cups of water to his mouth, but it seemed that as much of it spilled down his chin as got down his throat.
Sib returned with more of her elixir and gave Father several more spoonfuls, followed by another full cup of water. He seemed to settle slightly, though the sweat still poured off him.
Mother took my place, and I watched as she unfolded his hand, placed a key in his palm, and folded the fingers back over it.
I knew it was a superstition of hers that holding a key would take away a fever. And at this point, I was willing to try anything, even one of Mother’s old superstitions.
Rose
I SAW CIUIN SHY, AND I HURRIED to catch up to them. Charles looked ashen, saying his head hurt. I suggested it was time for a meal break, so we stopped in a meadow a short way down the road.
It was clear that my white bear was in a fragile state. The rift in his memory was deeply troubling to him, and he seemed to be plagued by headaches and strange visions.
I was terrified that the strain would be too great, that he would lose his reason altogether.
The sun had set, and we were both exhausted, so we decided to make camp in the meadow, building a small campfire. The nights were beginning to be cool.
We had stew that night, cooked over the campfire, and though we didn’t talk much, it was a companionable meal.
After we said good night and settled into our bedrolls beside the embers of the campfire, I gazed up at the night sky. The truth was I had very little in the way of a plan. The only thing I could think of was to take Charles to the home we had shared, the place where our son was born. I was desperate to see Winn again, to make sure the Troll Queen had not harmed him. But I couldn’t bear for Charles to be reunited with Winn and not recognize his son. So I prayed that that seeing our home would wake my white bear’s memory.
White Bear
I WOKE WITH A GASP. The world was spinning. I felt like my bedroll was going to lift off the ground and carry me up to the moon. I was shivering violently.
I heard the sound of bells, like a sleigh. The air was so cold it was freezing inside my mouth. There was ice in my mouth, choking me. I couldn’t breathe. I
tried crying out, and the ice cracked and slid down my throat like the blade of a sword.
“Charles.” A shadow loomed beside me. I couldn’t see, my eyes were frozen shut.
“Charles!” The voice came again. I was clawing at my throat, my eyes.
I felt myself being lifted, enfolded in warm arms. The ice in my throat melted. I could breathe. My eyes came unfrozen, and I flicked them open. The lady Nyamh was holding me.
“Charles,” she said.
And I said, “Thank you.”
Rose
AFTER HE HAD QUIETED and I returned to my side of the campfire, I was jittery, not able to get the sound of Charles’s polite thank-you out of my mind. It had felt so natural, holding him in my arms, only to have it torn apart with those distant careful words.
Charles had withdrawn, in a world of his own after his nightmare.
I knew sleep would not come, so I rekindled the fire and heated water in a pan for tea with chamomile and lemon. Charles’s hands were shaking as he drank.
“I just had a nightmare too,” I said, trying to keep my voice neutral.
He looked up at me, his face pale. For a moment I thought he was going to speak, but instead shook his head, staring back down into his tea.
I could hear his breathing over the sound of the campfire, and his hand periodically clutched at his throat. I was worried, not knowing how to soothe him. Then I remembered him saying that when the panic came over him in that room down in the labyrinth, he would play the flauto.
“I was wondering,” I said softly, “if you would be willing to play me something on your flauto? I don’t think I’ll be able to sleep, because of the nightmare, and perhaps music will help.”
He looked up at me again, and at first I thought he was going to refuse. But he set down his cup. “Yes,” he said, his voice strained. “I can do that.”
