by Edith Pattou
“Where did the trolls take you, cher Winn?” I whispered.
He looked just the same, but there was something off about him. I couldn’t put my finger on it. His eyes seemed different to me. More alert, brighter. He smiled again and all at once let out a string of sounds, almost like he was talking. They weren’t words, and I knew it was just bairn talk, but the expression in his eyes was so intent, like he expected me to understand him.
Suddenly the door swung open and Urda walked in. She came over to us and held out her arms to take Winn, but I pulled away, praying she couldn’t hear my hammering heart.
Did she see me out of the room? I wondered.
“Why are we here?” I said loudly, my voice shaking. “When can we go home?” I couldn’t help it as tears welled up in my eyes.
Urda stared at me, then she abruptly turned and left the room. This time I heard the key click in the lock.
Rose
SNOW STARTED TO FALL MIDMORNING.
“I must leave you,” Ben abruptly announced. He had been eyeing the sky since dawn. “The weather is changing, and I need to return to the snow field before it gets worse.”
“You will go straight ahead for a league,” he said, pointing, “and soon after, you will be near the bottom of the summit of Mont Blanc. You should make camp there, for I fear a blizzard is coming, and it will be best for you to take shelter until it passes. Look for a small crevice in the rockface. It is not quite a cave, but there is an overhang that will give you some protection.”
Ben did not linger over goodbyes and said that we could pay him when we returned. I found myself taking faint cheer from his belief that we would actually be returning from Mont Blanc. But of course he did not know that if I was right and if we even made it that far, we would be confronting an immensely powerful and evil Troll Queen at the top of the peak. If he had known that, perhaps he would have demanded payment upfront.
And then he and Molly and Pip were gone. The falling snow obscured them from our sight in a matter of moments. Charles and I turned and silently trudged forward.
Some hours later, we made camp at the spot Ben had described, a shallow indentation in the face of the mountain, with a craggy overhang.
After constructing a makeshift tentlike barrier around our crevice, we unpacked our bedrolls and a few other supplies. We even managed to get a small fire going and cooked some frozen rabbit meat.
The snow fell unabated, and the wind began to kick up, fierce and loud. We burrowed into our bedrolls and sat huddled by the fire. The barrier we had created helped, but the wind whistled in at the sides, along with icy pellets of snow.
We were quiet at first, each lost in our own thoughts. I was remembering the last time I had been huddled against a blizzard. It had been with the Inuit Malmo on my journey to Niflheim. Before the blizzard hit, she and I had constructed a sturdy dwelling made of ice blocks, which offered a good deal more protection than the makeshift barrier Charles and I had put together. But that had been against a blizzard that lasted for days and days. Hopefully, this one would be a great deal shorter.
“Can I ask you,” I said abruptly, “about the thing that happens in your head, the flashes of color?”
He looked up at me, wary.
“Do you know what brings it on?” I asked.
Shaking his head, he opened his mouth to speak, then closed it again. “The thing is,” he finally said, “is that I fear . . .” He paused and took a deep breath. “My father, King Charles VI, was mad, you know. I saw him once, lying on the floor of a palace hallway, crying out that his head was on fire and that someone must get water and put out the flames.”
I knew this about my white bear’s father, at least the general fact of his madness. Charles had gone to Neddy soon after we were married and said he wanted to know about his father and mother. Neddy had filled him in on what the historical records revealed. We learned that King Charles VI suffered from an intermittent and debilitating madness from the age of twenty-four until he died.
“I also saw him once,” Charles went on, “sitting on a chair, not moving. He stayed there for days, and we were all told that he believed himself to be made of glass and that if anyone touched him or made a loud noise, he would shatter.”
I shook my head in wonder.
“Nyamh,” he said, “sometimes I feel like I am going to shatter, too. And, worse, I fear that I have inherited my father’s madness.” The words came tumbling out, his eyes bright.
Outside our flimsy tent, the storm raged.
“No,” I said, “I do not believe that is true. I think that what happened to you is only to do with the Troll Queen. It was her punishment, either from an injury to your head, during the shipwreck, or through her arts. But you can get better. You will get better. See how far you have come already, the memories that have returned to you.”
“You are kind,” he said, anguish still in his eyes, “but I fear you are wrong.”
I cast about for something that would distract him from his thoughts. And suddenly I remembered the story knife.
“I was caught in a blizzard like this before,” I said. “I was in the Arktisk with an Inuit woman named Malmo. It was a blizzard called Negea, and it was worse than this one, lasted for days. To pass the time, Malmo taught me about the story knife.”
I burrowed into my pack and drew out the small knife made of ivory. As Malmo had done before me, I used the flat side to level a patch of the snow that lay between us. “She did it like this,” I said, using the tip to sketch a picture into the smoothed snow. I drew a very simple picture of a dog. “It is a way to tell stories, to pass the time.”
“What is that a picture of?” Charles asked.
“I am not very good at drawing, but that is Pip.”
“Of course,” he said, smiling. “You said you were in the Arktisk,” he went on. “Was I with you? Did I know this Malmo?”
“You did meet her,” I said, “but you were not with us during the blizzard Negea.”
“I don’t remember her,” Charles said. “But I have had memories of a man, a large man with wild hair and a tendency to sing songs about ale. I helped him repair a ship?” he asked uncertainly.
“Yes, that is Thor!” I said. “He is a friend. I miss him,” I added. It had been some time since we had been in touch, but the last I’d heard, he seemed to be thriving, living happily with his Inuit wife, Rekko, in Malmo’s village of Neyak.
“Thor,” said Charles thoughtfully.
“Tell me a story,” I said, handing him the story knife. He shook his head, pushing the knife back toward me. “I have no stories,” he said. “Stories have a beginning, middle, and end. I have only moments, flashes of pictures in my mind.”
“That is what stories are made of,” I said. “Moments. One followed by another, by another. Until you have a story.”
He shook his head. “I do not believe that. Tell me your stories, Nyamh.”
I paused, wondering how far I dared go. Was it the right time to tell the white bear our story? Perhaps not. But I could tell him a part of it.
So I told him the story of a maiden who wove three dresses, one silver, one gold, and one the color of the moon. The first she lost to an unscrupulous ship captain, the second she used to bargain passage from a drunken ship captain, and the third she wore to a ball, where she sought to lift the enchantment on a prince.
It was my story of course, and his story. He enjoyed the tale, but he did not recognize it.
Disappointed, I wrapped it up quickly, giving it a simple fairy-tale ending. They lived happily ever after.
Which right now seemed impossible.
White Bear
WHEN NYAMH FINISHED THE STORY, she laid down the story knife. There was a sad look on her face, and suddenly my heart was pounding and pops of color dotted my eyesight.
I turned away from her, trying to will the feelings away. What if I was mad, like my father? And even if I wasn’t, how could I be any kind of father, or friend, if I
didn’t know who I was? With so many pieces of myself missing?
I was immediately struck with a certainty that I had felt exactly this way before. That I had left someone important behind to go look for myself, for my name.
This time I knew my name. But little more.
Estelle
URDA SURPRISED ME THE NEXT DAY by bringing things for Winn and me. Gifts.
For Winn she brought a gold rattle and a gleaming white ring that looked like a teething ring. I had noticed the tiny little white point of a tooth in Winn’s mouth, though it didn’t seem to be bothering him.
Urda brought books for me, as well as an echecs set. It wasn’t nearly as fancy as the one I had seen in the throne room, but it was nice. I looked at her in surprise.
“Merci,” I said, stuttering a little.
Urda nodded, setting the echecs pieces up on the table where I usually ate, and went to change Winn.
I looked at the echecs and wondered why she had brought it. I had no one to play with, unless . . .
“Do you play echecs?” I asked.
She looked at me briefly, then continued changing Winn’s cloths.
But when she was done, she crossed to the table and pulled a chair up to one side. She sat down, looking expectant.
I was stunned, but sat down in the chair opposite.
We played three games. She was much better than I was, and she won the first two easily, but in the third game, I made a few bold moves that took her by surprise. For a moment, I thought I might even win, but she came back and beat me decisively.
We didn’t speak at all while we played, and at the end of the third game, she just stood up and left.
Rose
I COULD TELL CHARLES HAD BEEN DISTURBED by my story of the three dresses. He had turned away from me, saying he wanted no more stories, that he needed to rest.
I put away the story knife and burrowed into my bedroll, listening to the blizzard. It seemed to be quieting a little, the winds not as fierce. I think I must have dozed, for abruptly I came awake and heard only silence. The storm was over. Charles was sitting up, watching me.
Silently we packed up our gear, and as I stepped out of the shelter, I caught my breath. Mont Blanc loomed above us, capped by fresh white snow that glittered in the sunlight.
“Magnificent,” I said softly.
Strapping on our snowshoes, we began our climb up the mountain.
Charles pointed out a cornice, a heavy, ridged arc of fresh snow up above, and I remembered Ben telling us about cornices, how they could be indicators of the potential for avalanche, and that the threat grew as the day wore on because the heat of the sun loosened the snow.
“Charles,” I said intently, grabbing hold of his arm. He turned to look at me. “I was thinking . . . if by chance we should get separated . . .” I paused, gazing up at the cornice. “If something happens to one of us, I think we should make a pledge that the other will continue on.”
Charles was silent.
“The stakes are too high,” I went on urgently. “It would be futile to waste time searching. Agreed?”
“We won’t get separated,” Charles said.
“It is possible. Promise me,” I said, holding his gaze. I knew that what I was proposing would be next to impossible for me to honor, that if Charles was swept away from me, I would feel the overwhelming need to search for him. But I also knew I must put Winn and Estelle first, even if it tore my heart in two.
“Very well,” said Charles. “I promise.”
As we climbed, slowly, cautiously, sounding for crevasses with our alpenstocks, I avidly searched the top of the mountain for any sign of a building or palace, but could see nothing.
What if I’m wrong? I thought to myself. What if we have come all this way and there is no palace, no Troll Queen, no Winn or Estelle? I pushed those thoughts away and concentrated instead on breathing. Every step took enormous exertion; my ears had a raspy ringing sound in them, and I battled against nausea.
We both stopped frequently, reminding each other to drink water from our skin bags.
At one of these stops I had to sit, my head spinning.
Charles went on, a little ahead of me. Through the buzzing in my ears, I heard him call back, “I think I see something just ahead.”
I drank, slowly, deeply, my chest heaving.
And then I heard it. A sound like far-off thunder. Could it be another storm? I wondered. But no. I knew at once it was not.
“Charles!” I cried out. But it was too late.
Swim! I screamed inside my head.
There was an extraordinary rush of sound, unlike anything I had ever heard. And I saw the wall of white descending, snow shattering and spilling down the mountain, heading directly toward me.
As the snow engulfed me, I desperately moved my arms and legs as if I were in the sea, but within moments, I had no idea which was up and which was down. Snow filled my mouth, and I spat it out. I caromed off things I couldn’t see, causing sharp jolts of pain. But I always kept my hands in front of me, always kicked my legs.
I hit something hard, and all went dark.
Estelle
AFTER OUR echecs GAME, I noticed that Urda hadn’t locked the door behind her, or at least I didn’t remember hearing the click of the lock. I wondered if my coming close to beating her in that third game had distracted her.
I waited a while, until Winn was napping, and tried the door. I was right; it was unlocked.
I slipped out and, following the same pathway I had taken before, soon found myself back in the throne room.
As I was crossing it, to see where the doorway on the other side of the room led, I heard the sound of footsteps. I was too far into the room to escape back the way I had come, so I darted to the nearest wall and slid behind one of the golden tapestries.
I could hear footsteps enter the room. I stayed still, making myself as flat as I could. It was probably Urda, I told myself. But what if it was the beautiful woman, the one I thought was the Troll Queen? My heart pounded.
The footsteps seemed to be heading toward me. But then they stopped, and when I heard the sound of game pieces being lifted and set back down, I realized that the person was near the fancy echecs board.
Everything was suddenly silent. For a very long time. I even began to wonder if whoever it was had somehow silently left the room. A place on my back was starting to itch, and it was stuffy and hard to breathe behind the heavy cloth of the tapestry.
Cautiously I peeked out. And there she was, the beautiful troll lady. The Troll Queen. Standing over the echecs set. I could see the profile of her face, the side without the scar.
She was holding up one of the game pieces, both hands wrapped around it. I couldn’t tell which piece it was.
Her eyes were terrifying. They were wide open and staring, but they weren’t the green color I’d noticed before. Instead, they were white-yellow and bright, almost like I was staring directly at the sun. In fact, even though I was not looking straight into her eyes, my own eyes burned, with little pinpricks of black like I got when gazing at the sun too long. I quickly ducked back behind the tapestry and closed my eyes.
The Troll Queen’s breathing was loud. I rubbed my prickling eyes and prayed she hadn’t seen me.
The deep breathing went on for a while. I decided she must not have seen me and was relieved, but I was getting stiff and desperate for fresh air.
She was quiet again, and I could hear her set down the playing piece with a click on the surface of the board.
I was curious which piece it was, so I risked another peek. It looked to be the queen, which she still had her hand on.
But it was her face that made me catch my breath. The white-yellow light was gone from her eyes, and her expression was full of triumph, like she had just done something she was very proud and pleased about. It scared me a little, and I pulled back behind the tapestry again.
I heard her footsteps as she strode across the room, away from me. And the so
und got fainter and fainter until I knew she was gone.
I cautiously moved from behind the tapestry, stretching my arms and shoulders. I crossed to the echecs board and reached out to touch the queen, but all of a sudden, I saw Urda. She was standing across the room, shaking her head fiercely at me.
Then she was moving toward me, so fast that she was beside me before I could even breathe. She grabbed my wrist hard.
“Do not ever play with the Morae echecs,” she said fiercely, “and never touch that piece.” She leaned even closer and hissed in my ear. “Never touch the queen.”
It took me a few moments to realize that she had just spoken to me in Fransk, the first time ever.
She dragged me to my room, so fast I could barely keep my footing, and shoved me inside. I heard the sound of the key turning in the lock.
Rose
I WAS SWADDLED IN SEALSKIN and completely submerged in the great Njordsjoen, and the white bear had me in his mouth by the nape of my neck. We were swimming in a dim green underwater world.
But abruptly the white bear was gone and I was floating by myself, drifting in the water, without direction. I couldn’t breathe, so I wiggled out of the sealskin and kicked my legs hard, swimming up toward the light above. I burst through the surface of the water with a great gasp and gazed around me at the impossible blue of the sky and expanse of sea. I saw someone swimming toward me, and at first I thought it was my white bear, but then I saw it was Winn, my bairn, floating right there in front of me. I was thrilled and relieved, and I reached for him. And it was then that I woke up.
I was buried in snow. The crushing weight of it pressed on my chest so hard I could scarcely breathe, and I could not move my legs. I remembered the long-ago prophecy of the skjebne-soke that had so frightened my mother. That I would die a cold and horrible death, suffocating under ice and snow. And in that moment, I was sure I was going to die.
But I could not die. I would not die. I had to live. I had to get to Winn and Estelle.
