West

by Edith Pattou

VERENDI HAD REMINDED ME that in the world of Morae and trolls, appearances can be misleading. And so it was with the blackhouse.

  As soon as I crossed the threshold into the room, everything shifted from dull browns and blacks to crystalline, shimmering ice. In fact, it was a room made entirely of ice—the walls, the ceiling, and even the floor, though it was textured so it wasn’t slippery. The few furnishings were all carved from ice. And there were beautiful ice sculptures dotted here and there, with two delicate ice chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. There were round windows set high in the ice walls, which let in sunlight, and one large round window above, directly in the center of the ceiling. The sun that shone through that window was focused on a table below it.

  The table held an echecs game board, its squares etched in the ice it was made of. But there were no pieces on it.

  The other item of furniture that drew my eye immediately was against the far wall, just below one of the round windows. It was a golden cradle, and it rested on a rectangular dais of sheer ice.

  I quickly crossed to it, my heart racing. And there was my bairn! He was all bundled up in white furs, looking like a small white bear, fast asleep, his thumb in his mouth. I felt a great rush of love and relief, gazing down on that sweet, rosy face. He looked healthy, unharmed.

  “I might have known,” came the voice of rocks.

  I spun around, and there she was in the doorway. She looked magnificent, more beautiful than ever, despite the scar on her face. She was dressed in a breathtaking white gown, covered by a shimmering white fur cloak. Dazzling translucent jewels sparkled at her throat and wrists.

  “How did you manage to get in?” the queen said, but her glance fell on my hand bound with cloth bandages.

  I thought I saw a hint of admiration in her eyes. She shook her head and moved toward the table with the echecs set in the middle of the room. She was holding something white in her hand, and she set it down in the middle of the board. I could see it was the queen piece, an exact duplicate of the one I had thrown in the fire.

  She looked up at me.

  “There is no fire here,” she said with a smile. “Only ice.”

  I thought I could hear Winn stirring behind me.

  “Here is what is going to happen, softskin girl,” the queen said quietly in her jagged voice. “You are going to die. And while you die, slowly, I will tell you of the plans I have for your son. Who will become my son. I shall call him Minonn. I will describe to you how I will raise him as a troll and how once the world is rid of softskins, he will help me rule. It will not take him long to forget you and the others of your race. I have already begun giving him arts, you know,” she went on with a tone of satisfaction.

  I let out a cry.

  “Oh, yes, one needs to begin the process young. By the time he is of age, he will be powerful, his arts the equal of any troll’s.”

  Winn let out a little gurgle, and I turned to him protectively, thinking to pull him into my arms.

  “No. That I cannot allow . . .”

  And I felt the invisible hands, on my throat, on my arms. They were dragging me away from the cradle, across the room to a chair made of ice. I was pushed into a sitting position, and I was bound there, unable to move.

  The Troll Queen crossed to the cradle and, lifting Winn out, returned to her spot by the echecs table.

  I noticed that Winn was now able to hold his head up and move it around, his eyes alert. His gaze fell on me. A smile curled his mouth, and he reached out his arms.

  “Maman,” I thought I heard him say. I couldn’t believe it. Was my bairn already able to talk? Surely he was too young.

  “Winn!” I cried.

  The queen looked annoyed, and I felt pressure on my neck. My breathing became labored. She gazed up at the round window in the center of the ceiling.

  “When the sun is directly above, and it will be soon, I shall finish what I have started. Aagnorak.”

  Winn began to wriggle in her arms. “Maman!”

  I definitely heard it that time.

  The grip around my neck grew tighter.

  My bairn began to cry. It tore at my heart, and I struggled desperately against the invisible bonds that held me.

  Winn was straining to get free of the Troll Queen. She was clearly unused to babies and was awkwardly trying to keep a grip on him.

  The pressure on my throat lessened for a moment, and I gasped for air, taking deep breaths. But I still could not move.

  I saw Winn turn to look at the person holding him, the person who was keeping him from his mother. And I heard the Troll Queen let out a cry. I could see her body jerk, a look of surprise on her face, and she almost dropped Winn. But she didn’t. She straightened, holding him tighter, and let out a laugh.

  “Only a bairn, and already your arts are working,” she said to my son. “Very good. Still, I can’t have you distracting me.” She cast a glance up at the round window above her and quickly crossed the room to the cradle. She laid Winn down in it and gave him a glass cup filled with a milky liquid. It had a teat of some kind at the top, and Winn took the cup happily, putting the teat in his mouth.

  The queen came to stand in front of me, and this time she put her own hands around my throat. I could see in those beautiful eyes that she wanted to watch me die. Up close. I could feel the ridged skin of her hands as they bit into my throat. I gasped, and my breathing stopped.

  “It shall be as I said, softskin girl. Your child is now my child. Your prince, my Myk, is now a shell of a softskin with no memory. And Aagnorak shall destroy your world.”

  I struggled against the bonds that were holding my body still. Her eyes were a blazing white-yellow, blinding me. I felt myself starting to lose consciousness.

  But over the queen’s shoulder I saw a blur of white moving rapidly toward us.

  I heard a roar, and a large white paw swung at the Troll Queen’s head. It knocked her violently to the ground.

  I could breathe again, and move. Gasping, I jumped up and darted to where my sword lay. I grabbed it.

  My white bear, and he was truly a very large, very angry white bear, loomed over the queen, who lay dazed from the blow to her head. She was looking up at him, in astonishment.

  “How . . .” she murmured. “Ah, the Morae,” she said with a sigh.

  She rolled away from the white bear, scrambling to her feet, and began heading for her echecs table. She was looking up at the circle of sunlight coming from the ceiling.

  “The echecs queen!” I shouted, and the white bear attacked. The Troll Queen spun to face him, and I saw in her hand what at first looked to be a sword but, I realized, was some kind of icicle, or rather an ice sword, sharpened to a deadly point. I watched in horror as she thrust it into the white bear’s body. Red blood blossomed from the wound, and he fell with a groan.

  I became filled with a fury unlike any I had felt before, and without thought, I charged across the room, and knocking the queen to the ground, I was on top of her. I felt my throat constrict, but I lifted the wind sword up and, with a cry that I didn’t even recognize as coming from my own throat, drove it into her.

  Time seemed to slow. The Troll Queen stared at the sword buried in her chest, then up at me. Black-red blood was flowing from the wound, soaking her white gown, and a line of it seeped from her nose, trickling down into the valley on the right side of her face. Her eyes locked onto mine, and the squeezing around my throat tightened. Once more, I could no longer breathe. My vision dimmed; the room spun around.

  “Charles,” I whispered.

  The Troll Queen’s body gave a great shudder and went still. I gasped. I could breathe again.

  My throat burning, I stared into her eyes, and as I watched, they faded from white-yellow to green. And then they emptied. She was dead.

  Estelle

  TANTE SIB HAD FALLEN INTO A SLEEP we could not wake her from. Oncle Neddy said she was still alive. He had me put my fingers to her throat, and I could feel a very faint pulse there.


  When Oncle Neddy needed to rest, I sat by her. I told Tante Sib I had been listening to the winds, but I needed her to get better so I could understand their music.

  Rose

  I LOOKED OVER AT WHERE THE WHITE BEAR had fallen and saw that he was now a man again. He was Charles. And he was bleeding heavily from his left side.

  I went to him quickly, still breathing hard. I looked closely at the wound and thought that, unlike Urda’s, it was not a mortal one. But I needed to stanch the bleeding.

  His eyes flicked open, and he saw me. A small smile curved his mouth.

  “Nyamh,” he whispered.

  “Yes,” I rasped, through my injured throat.

  And the hope I’d had without even being aware of it, that once the Troll Queen was dead, he would remember me, died. He would never remember me. I realized that now.

  But I saw feeling in his eyes. Relief and joy that I was alive, that Nyamh was alive. And I thought maybe somehow this was destiny, the way it was fated to be. Nyamh had been my first and true name given to me by my father.

  These thoughts ran through my mind as I carefully cleaned and bound my white bear’s wound.

  “Where is Winn? Where is my son?” he asked as I worked.

  I had already checked on Winn, knew he was still in the cradle. When I had glanced in, I saw that he was awake, but barely. I guessed that the cup he’d been drinking from was filled with slank.

  “He is fine,” I said, my voice raw. “Hold still, please.”

  Suddenly Charles noticed my bandaged hand. “What happened to you, Nyamh?” he asked.

  “I will tell you later,” I croaked.

  When I was satisfied with the binding of his wound, I helped him stand and cross to Winn. Our bairn was fast asleep now. Charles reached over and gently touched his face, his eyes tender. He turned to me.

  “Let us leave this place, Nyamh,” he said, with a glance over at the lifeless body of the queen.

  “Yes,” I whispered fervently.

  I gathered Winn up, taking the blankets and furs from the cradle with me, and I took him outdoors, away from that room of ice. I settled him in the currach, surrounding him with the bedding. Charles followed me slowly. He was weak from his wound and the loss of blood.

  He stopped in the doorway, looking back.

  “Should we . . .” he said, trailing off.

  “What?”

  “Her body,” he said.

  “Bury her?” I asked.

  We were both silent for a few moments.

  “No,” I finally said, touching my throat.

  I went and got my bloody sword and my pack. And, almost as an afterthought, I picked up the queen echecs piece from the table.

  I shut the door behind me. I could hear a click. Putting my hand on the door handle, I tried turning it, but it did not move.

  “It is locked tight,” I said in my thick voice to Charles. “And I have the only key.” The key made of my bone lay in my pocket.

  I looked up at the blackhouse. “Her tomb,” I whispered.

  Charles went and sat by Winn in the currach, gazing down contentedly at his son.

  “Food . . . in the basket,” I said, though I was sure I would not be able to swallow anything for a while.

  While Charles inspected the contents of the Morae hamper, I took the wind sword down to the water and washed it clean of the Troll Queen’s blood. I dried it with a cloth I had taken from the Morae’s basket. It was soft, like the cloth Verendi had given me to dry myself.

  While I was drying the wind sword, I heard a distant sound, a melody. And I thought I heard Sib, her voice, singing. I knew it was impossible, but it was a mournful song. It sounded like she was saying goodbye.

  “No, Sib, no,” I whispered, filled with anguish. Something bad was happening, to Sib.

  I listened closely to the wind.

  Neddy

  SIB HAD BEEN GETTING STEADILY WORSE. The words she had said to me, that seemed to say she welcomed death, tortured me. I couldn’t leave her side. I was afraid if I did, she would disappear, die.

  She could not die. I would not let her die.

  I was sitting by her. It was late afternoon, and I could hear the sound of the wind outside the ship.

  Sib’s eyes came open, and she saw me. “It is time, Neddy,” she said. Her breathing was shallow, but she was smiling.

  “No, Sib,” I said. I thought of Rose, wishing she were here. Maybe between us we could convince Sib to stay.

  And Sib’s eyes flickered. “Rose?” she said.

  I thought she had become delirious. “Rose will come back to us, soon,” I said.

  “Rose,” Sib said again, and smiled, but it was a different kind of smile. “Open the window, Neddy.”

  I knew she was delirious then, because the only window in the room was a porthole, and we were below the water line.

  “I can’t,” I said gently.

  “Oh, of course,” she whispered. “Take me up on deck.”

  And wordlessly, I gathered her up in my arms, wrapping her in blankets, and carried her up on deck.

  I found a fairly sheltered spot on the starboard side and settled her carefully in her blankets. It was a cool autumn afternoon.

  “Can you feel it, Neddy?” she said. “It is ciuin. Rose is sending it.” Her eyes were lit, and I thought I could see color coming into her cheeks.

  She laughed. “Rose, what a good student you are,” she said softly.

  I had no idea what Sib was talking about, but I could feel the wind now, too. It was warmer and softer than the breeze I’d felt when we first came up on deck. And it seemed to be curling around us.

  “Very well,” Sib said, to no one, as far as I could tell. “If you both insist.” And she reached out and took my hand in hers. “I’ll stay.”

  Her hand was no longer icy cold, but warm. I was flooded with relief.

  “Welcome back,” I said lamely. But she understood.

  Estelle found us there, laughing and crying all at once, and she pronounced us a pair of cuckooheads.

  White Bear

  I WANTED TO HOLD MY SON, so I picked him up and set him on my lap. He beamed up at me, drowsily.

  I looked over at Nyamh, who just a moment ago had been cleaning her sword. Even at a distance, I could see the livid purple bruise marks on her throat. She was sitting very still now, the sword held between her hands. It looked as though her eyes were closed. And I thought I could hear her singing. Slowly she raised the sword up high, in front of her, the song growing louder.

  It was lovely. I closed my eyes and listened. Winn seemed to hear it too, and he nestled his head closer to my chest.

  I almost dozed off, and it occurred to me I hadn’t slept in many days. I had forgotten that white bears didn’t need much sleep, especially when they were swimming.

  But men do, I thought, yawning.

  Nyamh’s song ended. She lowered the sword and turned toward us, her cheeks flushed and a look of wonder on her face.

  I wanted to ask what had just happened, with the song and the sword, but I was too tired to form words. Later, I thought.

  Book Five

  OEST

  They had a fair wind and came to their father’s landing space.

  —The Edda

  Rose

  CHARLES FELL ASLEEP SHORTLY after we launched the currach, Winn snug in his lap.

  I was tired, too, very tired, but I wanted to get away from the island. There was a fresh wind, and it was that friendly western wind, ciuin, that I now loved better than any other. I raised the sail and pointed the tiller east.

  As Charles and Winn slept, I thought about what had happened when I was cleaning the wind sword. I had felt the music suddenly and the sword lifted up in my hands of its own volition. It had been a similar feeling to when I was demonstrating the wind cloak for the three Morae. I had felt as if the wind had entered me, making my body thrum with its music. And also, as before, I thought I felt Sib’s answer, and this time she wa
s telling me that she wasn’t going to say goodbye after all.

  When we came to the island of the Morae, I was careful to give the whirlpool a wide berth. Charles had awakened by then, and it was he who noticed the box floating in the sea.

  I recognized it at once as one of the boxes Verendi had shown me that held the echecs sets. They must have decided to be done with them. I was tempted to try to retrieve the box and take it home with us, but it bobbed away, and pursuing it would have meant getting too close to the whirlpool.

  So I let it go, wondering idly where it might wash up one day.

  One astonishing thing that occurred was that the Morae hamper of food never seemed to empty. No matter how much we ate, and Charles ate a great deal, it replenished itself. He liked the food, which he thought was the kind you might find in Gresk. He grew particularly fond of a pie he found at the bottom, made of spinach, creamy white cheese, and flaky pastry. As I watched him eat, I was very grateful to the Morae for this parting gift.

  It grew cold out on the sea. I was glad of the white furs for Winn, and I had Charles put on the black cloak that I had made to go under the fire cloak. It was small for him and he said it smelled of smoke, but he was grateful for the warmth.

  Charles was curious about the three cloaks I had made for the Morae, so in my raspy, whispery voice, I managed to tell him the whole story. I left out Verendi’s “great love” bit, but he marveled at my ingenuity, especially when it came to the wind cloak.

  I told him I thought Sib had had something to do with that.

  Then he wanted to know about my bound hand. I hadn’t dared look at it since, and the cloths binding it were dirty and stained with dried blood. Silently I unwound them.

  Charles was horrified. “Nyamh! How?”

  And even though it hurt to talk, I told him as best I could, about the bird and the lost key, and all that followed.

  He was silent for a long time after that, looking up at me in wonder every now and then. I busied myself with cleaning the place where my finger had been and carefully rebinding it with fresh soft cloth, again from the Morae hamper.