East (11 page)

"Hello," I said.

She said something in response, but I couldn't understand her. She was speaking another language and her voice was rough and gravelly.

I must have looked startled, for she clamped her lips shut. Then I noticed what looked like a boy hiding behind her. He had the same kind of white-skinned beauty as the woman, though his hair was dark brown rather than white.

The woman said something to the boy in a whispering voice that sounded like chicken claws scratching over a rough surface. He crossed to a basket nearby and pulled out a pastry of some kind. Then he hesitantly came over and offered it to me.

"Thank you," I said, taking it. He was not a boy at all, I realized. He was only a little shorter than me and his features were those of an adult, and like the white-haired woman, he had a perfect nose and wide black eyes. He was staring at me even more intently than the woman had.

"My name is Rose," I said to the small man. He did not respond, nor did he take his eyes off me. Suddenly he reached out and touched the back of my hand. As he drew his hand back, with a sideways glance at the woman, his eyes grew even wider, if that was possible, and he rubbed the finger that had touched me, his expression filled with awe.

The woman glided over to us and gently slapped the man's hand, shaking her head and making more guttural sounds.

He sheepishly backed away.

"It's all right," I said. "He didn't hurt me."

The woman just shook her head at me. Then she picked up a glass and pointed to it.

"No, thank you," I said. "I'm not thirsty. What I would really like is a bath."

She just looked at me blankly.

I tried to pantomime washing myself but couldn't seem to get the idea across. The small man let out a grating noise that sounded like it may have been a giggle.

But finally something dawned in the woman's eyes and she purposefully strode over to me, took me by the wrist, and led me out through the door covered by the tapestry. The feel of her skin on my wrist startled me. It was rough, as gravelly and coarse as her voice had been. I glanced down at her hand; the texture of her skin was like the bark of a tree, whorled with ridges, fissured. I could make out traces of the flour lodged in the crevices of the white skin. Her touch repelled me, but I didn't let my feelings show.

To my relief she dropped my wrist when we were in the hallway. I understood I was to follow her.

She led me up the stairs and along the hall I had explored the day before. Stopping in front of a door not far from the weaving room, she turned the handle and we entered. It was a lovely room, not fancy but warm and comfortable. A fire burned in a large fireplace and there were several overstuffed chairs in front of it, but the first thing I noticed was the large, lovely bed made of dark polished wood. It was piled high with puffy quilts and pillows. And sitting beside the bed was the small pack I had brought with me from home.

I turned toward the white-skinned woman only to find she was gone.

I quickly explored the room, discovering a large jug of water, a bar of white soap, and a basin large enough for bathing. Using a large kettle I warmed the water over the fire and had the most wonderful bath I could ever remember having.

I dressed in a clean shift and tunic, and then sat in one of the chairs by the fire. I wanted to head directly back to the loom, but instead I made myself sit still and think.

I reviewed it all in my mind. The white bear appearing in our house. His request. The discovery of my parents' lie. The anger in me that drove me to go with the white bear. The journey. And this castle with its comforts, the fires lit all the time, the delicious food, the white-skinned woman and man. But mostly I thought about the white bear.

It was the white bear who had brought me. And I had no idea why, or what I was to da

Perhaps I had been brought here to be a servant, to help the white lady and her companion. But the room she had led me to, where my things were, was hardly the room of a servant. I thought of the loom. Perhaps I had been brought here to weave, to make something for the white bear. Something in particular. Clearly, no expense had been spared outfitting that room. But why me? Surely there were weavers of far superior skill in the world.

The loom. I wanted to see it again. But I continued to hold myself still. I needed to keep thinking.

Maybe the white bear had tried other weavers, but none had families so willing to part with them.

I suddenly felt impatient, and stood up. It was useless trying to sort out the inexplicable. Only the white bear knew the answers to these questions and it was to him I must go.

I exited the room, then hesitated. Where would I seek him? The only places I had seen him so far were the room with the food, the front entrance, and the hallway between the two.

I found my way to the front door. There was no one to be seen in any direction. Perhaps, I thought, I should try the door. It would undoubtedly be shut fast. It was.

My hand was still on the doorknob when I heard a noise, like a sigh or a puff of wind. I whirled around, but there was nothing, or no one, in sight.

He must be here somewhere.

And so I began an exhaustive search of the castle, room by room, hall by hall. I thought I had been over every inch of it but still discovered parts I had not seen before. When I came to the weaving room, I resisted the urge to stop my search, though the loom was as beautiful as I had remembered it.

I tried the door behind the tapestry, the one leading to the kitchen, but this time it was locked. I halfheartedly pounded on the door, but no one came. It seemed unlikely the white bear was in the kitchen, nor did I believe that I would get any help from the two white-skinned folk, so I resumed my search.

Finally, when it seemed I had been over the whole castle twice, I gave up. Nowhere was there a large white bear.

I was angry. What right had he to be wandering around the world outside while I was a prisoner? I realized I was being ridiculous, and it was lucky that I hadn't been able to find the white bear, for I could easily have said something stupid and gotten myself eaten.

I returned to the entrance, and though it was late, well past time for the midday meal, my stomach felt tight and I was not hungry for any of the good food that would surely be waiting for me in that room with the dark red couch. Then I thought of the loom, and this time I did not hesitate.

Once again my hands became a part of the warp and weft, and my body again found the rhythm of the picture I'd begun. It was a meadow not far from our farmhold; the spring-green grass was dotted with purple fleur-delis, and an impatient brook cut through the foreground. I believed it was the best work I had ever done. Then I heard a noise. This time when I turned, the white bear was lying on the rug not four feet from me, his black eyes watching.

O
N THE DAY
I
BROUGHT
the softskin boy to Huldre I wrote in my Book:

It is done. He is here at last and my joy is unbounded.

But my father rages at me. It must be undone
,
he says.

I point out to him that it cannot be undone. Death is death in the green lands as well as in Huldre.

"
Then there will be punishment" he says. "You cannot keep what you stole., unless conditions that I set down are met.
"

I have never seen my father so angry. But I am not worried. I shall meet his conditions. And it shall be as I have willed it to be.

T
HINGS 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 barreled 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 centered 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 neighbors. 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-traveled 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 plow 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 marveled all over again at the kindness and generosity of this man who had become our guardian angel. We were indeed very fortunate.

Our neighbors must have been astonished at our sudden reversal of fortune, but they were happy for us. To thank neighbor 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.

I
N 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.