by Edith Pattou
Things happened very quickly after Harald Soren arrived.
Sara’s health began to improve. She grew a little stronger each day, and before long she was joining us at table, her appetite restored. The doctor said she might always be more prone to catching cold but otherwise should live a healthy life. Mother was overjoyed, but she never said anything more to me about owing Sara’s recovery to the white bear.
Father and Soren spent all their time together, poring over maps and charts.
One evening, after a long day spent shut up in the storeroom that served as Father’s work area, they came into the great room, and I could tell at once from the expression on both their faces that something important had happened.
Father cleared his throat. “It has been decided…that is… Well, you ought to tell them, Harald.”
“Of course. The long and short of it is that I am setting Arne up in his own business. The business of making maps,” he said grandly.
Mother let out a glad cry, and Sonja and Sara went to Father, hugging and kissing him. I stayed where I was but gave Father a happy grin.
Soren laughed and barrelled on. “I have spent much of the day trying to convince Arne that you should all move to Trondheim; I own a splendid house there that would be perfect for you, quite close to my own home… But your father would not hear of leaving this farmhold, though I can’t for the life of me figure out why.”
I knew why. It was because of Rose. Father wanted to keep everything just as it was before she had left us.
“I will be honest in saying that I would much prefer the work to be centred in Trondheim,” Soren continued, “but for the time being I have deferred to Arne. We have begun making plans for the storage room to be enlarged so that Arne will have an adequate workshop. And as soon as I return to Trondheim, I will order all the supplies Arne will need and have them transported by wagon.”
Over dinner that night Father and Soren went on to tell us the rest of what they had planned for the mapmaking business.
“You know that ingenious little device that your father invented, the one he calls a strip map? Well, I want your father to make more of them, many more. Unless I am much mistaken, there is remarkable potential in those strip maps.”
We were all well familiar with Father’s strip maps, as were most of our neighbours. Each map was carved onto a narrow strip of wood and was thus far easier to consult than a large piece of vellum, as well as being considerably more durable. It showed landmarks, bends in the road, crossroads, and the like, and as such a strip map was ideal for short journeys, for well-travelled and possibly confusing routes between villages. Over the years Father had made many strip maps of the lands radiating out from our farmhold.
“I have even drawn up a contract.” Soren held up a sheet of parchment. “It gives Arne a generous share of any profit that might accrue from those strip maps of his.”
“Will you have to travel a good deal?” I asked Father, knowing how little he liked this aspect of the mapmaking business.
Father nodded.
“Oh yes, he will have to do a great deal of journeying,” put in Soren. “I must insist on that. In truth it is my goal to eventually map all of Njord.” He laughed. “I know, I know. Never let it be said that I lack for ambition.”
I was surprised at Father’s easy acceptance of this condition, given his strong dislike of travel, but he explained it to me later.
“I mean to search for Rose,” he said.
“Then I will go with you,” I said at once.
“No,” he replied firmly. “You must stay here and watch over the family. You and Willem will run the farm. Soren has come up with a simplified plan of fewer crops that will mean less work. He has also promised new seed and a new, healthy plough horse.”
And so, before we knew it, building had begun on Father’s workshop, and Father himself had departed with Soren on the first of what was to be many journeys.
Several weeks later a whole wagonload of crates arrived with all the supplies Father required to start his mapmaking business. To my surprise and joy I found that tucked in among the inks and vellum and tools were some books for me. Apparently Father had told Soren of my interest in scholarly pursuits, and I marvelled all over again at the kindness and generosity of this man who had become our guardian angel. We were indeed very fortunate.
Our neighbours must have been astonished at our sudden reversal of fortune, but they were happy for us. To thank neighbour Torsk for his previous generosity, Mother invited him to dinner when Father returned from his first trip, a journey that had been extremely productive mapwise but had yielded no clues as to where Rose had been taken by the white bear.
As Mother served a thick potato soup, Torsk earnestly congratulated us on our good fortune.
“You’ll be able to send for Miss Rose now that things are going so well for you,” he said with a large smile.
Father stood up suddenly and left the table, his face pale.
Mother tried to smooth things over, offering Torsk some bread. “Rose will indeed be returning to us soon,” she said. “You know, I was just speaking with Widow Hautzig, who heard from a skjebne-soke down near Andalsnes that the winter will be a mild one…”
Father, who wasn’t to have departed for a fortnight on his next exploratory journey, left the next morning. He assigned me the task of setting up his workshop and said he hoped to return with good news.
In a dim corner of my mind, while I was still caught in the spell of weaving, I’d been vaguely aware of something moving into the room and settling itself near me. But I was oblivious to anything but the loom, and if I had any thought at all, it was that my dog, Snurri, had come to keep me company. Snurri was getting on in years and loved to lie beside me while I sewed or worked the household loom.
When I discovered that what I thought was Snurri was really the white bear, I jumped up from my stool, dropping the shuttle. It went skittering across the floor, unspooling the deep garnet-red yarn I had been using to create a sunset. The shuttle came to rest beside the bear, the yarn looking like a trail of blood from the loom to his gleaming white fur.
My fear turned quickly to anger, and foolishly forgetting the bear’s enormous size and strength, I strode over to him and grabbed up the shuttle, my eyes blazing.
“How dare you sneak in here!” I said. “I have looked everywhere, through every corner of this place, and now you turn up and just sit there, as if…as if…” I trailed off, not able to find the words. Then I began again, my voice shrill with frustration. “Where am I? Why have you brought me here?!”
The white bear rose slowly, almost apologetically, as if he did not want to remind me just how very big he was.
He was so overwhelming, so white and so large, that the room seemed to shrink. Whatever other words I had been about to say died on my lips.
“Come,” the bear’s voice rumbled.
And quietly I followed him back to the room where I had my meals; in my mind I called it the red-couch room. Another pot was bubbling on the fire, but I barely noticed. I sat on the couch. The white bear took a place by the hearth. He remained standing on his four paws.
“To talk…is hard… I can only do…little.” He paused, took a breath. “Your questions…I cannot…answer.”
I sat still, mesmerized by his hollow voice and the blurred edges of the words. The sound came from deep down in his chest. His mouth moved but not the way people’s lips move when they talk. I could see glimpses of his black tongue, rippling.
“Anything you need…wool, colour.” He stopped again and breathed heavily. “Ask.”
I nodded. “How long am I to stay here?” I could not help myself; I had to know.
“Cannot…answer,” was all he said. Then, “Stay…with me.”
“I cannot leave?”
“Stay…no harm.” It seemed to be getting more difficult for him, as though finding words was almost an impossible strain.
“But the woman in the kitchen, who
is she? May I speak to her?”
The bear had begun to lumber towards the door. His steps were unsteady, his eyes clouded.
“Was there something you wanted me to make on the loom?” I asked.
The white bear kept moving, though just before going through the door, he turned his head sideways and the words “no harm” came again.
I sat for a moment, watching the now empty doorway.
I found myself wondering why he had brought me to this room to speak to me. Then my stomach rumbled and I realized I was starving.
I grinned. The white bear was making sure I ate.
It is difficult to explain, but after that interaction with the bear, I felt more at peace.
Nothing had changed, I didn’t understand any more than I had before, and I was still a prisoner. And yet for some reason the words “no harm” comforted me and stayed in my head. For some reason I believed them.
I ate a nourishing meal from the stewpot, accompanied by dark bread and a cup of goat’s milk. Then I returned to the loom and worked until I was sleepy. I had no idea whether it was day or night. I would have to make more of a routine for myself so that I would know when the day was done, although when I exited the weaving room, most of the lamps in the hall had been extinguished.
So it was night-time – at least in the castle carved into the mountain.
A small lamp had been lit and left for me by the door. I picked it up and made my way down the darkened corridor. It was eerie, walking through the echoing halls of the castle, but I firmly repeated to myself the words “no harm”
I went to the room where my knapsack had been placed and unpacked the little I had brought with me. The bed looked a lot more comfortable than the red couch. And it was, far beyond anything I had ever slept on. It was large, so large I felt that my whole family might easily have fitted in it.
Several oil lamps set in wall sconces lit the room. The oil in the lamps was different from any I had known in Njord. It smelled sweeter and burned cleaner and more slowly. But I had been unable to discover how to light the oil lamps myself. I looked for flints or some kind of striker but found none. In the castle there was no need to light a lamp myself, for each time I entered a room, lamps and candles were already burning.
When I was ready to sleep, I blew out all the lamps and candles but one, so the room wouldn’t be completely dark.
As I lay there nestled in the softness of the mattress and comforters, I thought of my family. At home I was used to sleeping with at least my two sisters, and I felt lonely and strange, lying by myself in that large bed.
I slept. Sometime later I awoke, softly. My sister Sara had just climbed into bed and I pulled a little away, because her feet were always chilly and I was so warm and drowsily content in the soft…
Suddenly I came wide awake. I was not at home and it was not my sister who had climbed into bed beside me.
I still have my father’s decree in my Book:
My daughter, the princess, has defied me and taken a high-born softskin. As punishment she shall forthwith be bound by my edict in this matter.
The boy stolen from the green lands shall be transformed into a white bear. He will reside in the castle carved into a mountain in the softskin land we call Suudella, and he will be given enough arts so that he may survive. A Huldre servant will also be supplied to serve him in the castle in the mountain.
Further, no request that he shall make of one of Huldre shall be denied. Except the request to be released from his enchantment. To be released from the enchantment, the white bear that was a softskin must abide by and satisfy a set of inviolable conditions. These conditions shall be made known to him in their entirety.
So it has been decreed, and let this stand as an example to those who would defy their king.
It was pitch-black in the room. I lay there in the darkness, my heart pounding and my limbs stiff, thinking desperately of what I could use as a weapon to protect myself. But the figure beside me in the bed stayed well away; there were at least two arm-lengths between us, so large was the bed. It briefly adjusted the covers and then lay still.
Of all the things that had happened to me during the past days, this was surely the strangest, the most confusing. At first I wondered if the white bear himself had climbed into bed with me. But though it was a large bed, it was not so large as to fit both a huge bear and myself, with two arm-lengths between. And as my pounding heart slowed, I reasoned that, based on the tilt of the mattress, the weight of whatever was beside me was not much heavier than my sister, although it was difficult to judge because of the distance between us and the softness of the mattress.
The minutes went by and there was no movement at all from the figure. At first my mind whirled frantically, trying to fathom who or what it was. The white lady or man from the kitchen? Or another such person of the castle whom I had yet to meet? Was it indeed human? Or beast? Perhaps an enchanted king or some kind of ghost or spirit. But gradually my thoughts ran out and my fear and confusion seemed to drain away. Amazingly, I slept.
When I awoke there was a dim light in the room. The door was partially open and the light was coming from the lamps lining the hall. I could see that there was no one in the bed next to me, and for a moment I wondered if the whole thing was a dream. But the bed linens on that side of the bed were rumpled, and I knew it wasn’t.
There was food waiting for me when I went down to the red-couch room, but I was distracted as I ate the porridge and fruit. I could not stop thinking about the strange episode of the night before. I thought about it continually through the day, as I sat at the loom. I kept having the nagging feeling that, despite the evidence of my own senses, it had been the white bear that had lain beside me. I alternately dreaded and looked forward to going to bed that night. I dreaded it because the whole thing might happen again, and I looked forward to it also because it might indeed happen again and maybe this time would be explained. I resolved to keep the oil lamps in the bedroom lit.
The white bear did not visit while I wove, which, oddly enough, disappointed me. Though I doubted I would get an answer, I still yearned to ask him for an explanation of my night visitor.
When I was done weaving for the day, I ate a meal of meat stew and bread, and, taking the oil lamp with me, went up to bed. The lamps in the hall were no longer burning.
I washed, then put on my nightdress from home. I left one wall lamp lit as well as the handheld lamp, which I put on the table by the bed. I slipped under the covers and waited. I was determined to stay awake so that if the visitor came again I would be able to see its face.
I don’t know how long I lay there, eyes wide open, waiting, but suddenly the lamps went out. I started to sit up; I was sure there had been oil enough in those lamps to last the night through. But I froze when moments later I felt something climb into the bed and pull up the covers. I briefly cursed the lack of a flint to relight the lamp, vowing to search for one in the morning.
But this time I had been fully awake when my visitor settled onto the bed, and I was better able to gauge the give in the mattress. It confirmed my initial feeling that this was a being somewhat larger than my sister but certainly not as huge as a bear. It could not be the white bear.
I thought for a moment of trying to speak to the figure but had a strong sense that I should not. Something mysterious was happening, and I felt that the sound of my voice would be jarring and wrong.
Again, the visitor did not move and stayed well away from me. And again I felt my tension drain. As I was drifting towards sleep, I even had the sensation of comfort, almost like I was at home sleeping beside my sister.
And once again the next morning, my visitor was gone.
For my third journey I headed due south. My previous two had been north and northwest. Soren was eager for me to explore to the south, as there were so many areas there that remained uncharted.
In the course of mapping the lands I travelled through, I spoke to many local inhabitants, asking them a
bout towns, rivers, and lakes, and the best routes between this point and that. Always at the end of our conversations, I would throw in a casual question about white bears, saying I had heard they were occasionally seen about and had any passed through of late. I dared not ask whether anyone had seen a white bear and a young girl travelling together, for I would surely be thought mad. Even my innocent question about white bears raised eyebrows, especially the farther south I went. A white bear? This far south? their faces would seem to say.
Though I had my work to occupy me, I was still beside myself with worry about Rose. Every dead end, and every blank look at my queries, sent me deeper into despair.
But in a small town not far from the seacoast, I finally had luck.
I came across a gentleman leading two heifers along a country road. We bade each other good day, he gazing with curiosity at the pad of paper and other tools I had been using to mark the road. We conversed for a moment, as I explained that I was a mapmaker, then casually I trotted out my usual query about whether he or anyone he knew had ever seen a white bear in the vicinity.
“Only the likes of Sig Everhart has ever claimed to see bears, and that’s only when he’s paid one too many visits to the wine barrel,” the man responded with a laugh.
“Ah yes, wine can make us all see things.” I laughed with him, but my interest quickened. “And where might I find this Master Everhart?”
“Lives in town,” the man replied, cocking an eyebrow at me.
“I’d be obliged if you could direct me,” I said.
And the man did, saying, “Sig’s a good fellow, except for his weakness for wine.”
But I was already hastening along the road to town. I quickly tracked down the man in his barn, where he was half-heartedly grooming a scrawny horse. He was clearly nursing a painful hangover.
I was not in the mood for tackling the subject sideways, so I just came right out and asked, “Have you seen a white bear in the past month or so?”
