by Andre Norton
“My very thoughts,” Ysa agreed. “Askepott, you will carry the earthenware bowl. Our efforts will be better if we can find a silver basin. Zazar, gather as much pure snow as you can.”
For once, Zazar didn’t resent the high-handed way Ysa issued orders. She left Askepott putting jars of herbs and bits of other items into a small carry-sack while she went back into the cold of the walkway atop the wall to gather as much fresh snow as her bucket would hold.
When the three women arrived at the NordornQueen’s door, they were admitted immediately. Despite the blazing fire, the room was cool enough that the fashionable coats were a necessity. Outside, regardless of the hint of returning springtime, the snowfall had intensified so that objects a few feet away could scarcely be discerned. It seemed a good day to stay inside, as warm as possible. Zazar brushed snow off her cloak.
“What brings you here?” Ashen inquired.
“We have that which we must show to you,”Ysa said. “In private.”
Ashen turned to Tjórvi. “Go back to your quarters, please, and continue your lessons. Mark the places where you do not understand and we will work on them later.”
“Yes, Madame,” the boy said. Obediently, he gathered his books and closed the door behind him.
Two of Ashen’s ladies, Ragna and Karina, were sitting near the fire, embroidering. “You must leave us as well,” Ashen said.
“Madame,” Karina said.
Both ladies curtsied and left the room, though they did not take their embroidery with them.
“What is this mystery that is so important?” Ashen asked.
“We must show you, rather than tell you,” Ysa replied.
Then, at the table where so many important private meetings had taken place, Askepott set the bowl at the place recently used by Ashen and Tjórvi. At the Duchess Ysa’s direction, the Nordorn-Queen and the other two pulled chairs up around it.
“Do you have a silver bowl we may use?”
“Of course.” Ashen called Lady Ragna and requested that the item be brought from the storeroom where such things were kept.
Zazar had made sure the pail was filled to its utmost from the freshest of the fresh fall. Ysa carefully packed it into the silver bowl Lady Ragna handed her. Then Ragna left the room again.
“We might get better results if we start with snow, rather than water.” Ysa murmured a few words, gesturing with both hands. The snow immediately melted, but the water covered only the bottom of the bowl. “More,” she said. “Let us bring the level up past halfway.”
It took two more fillings and meltings before the Duchess was satisfied with the results. She spoke the words of the ritual, and the tableau unfolded before them. Ashen gasped and grew pale as she realized what she was seeing.
Zazar noted that the red-bearded man was no longer on the deck of the white ship. He now occupied a chair pulled up to a table whereon lay several charts and maps. A white candle in a stone holder stood atop the captain’s desk, from which the chair had most likely come. Mikkel—Ridder Rødskjegg—moved the candle to the table and lit it for better illumination as he studied the materials before him. The silver bowl definitely made a great difference.
Ysa spoke again, unintelligible syllables to the uninitiated.
Outside the captain’s cabin, to Zazar’s surprise she heard a female voice. Mikkel looked up. “Are we there already?” he asked.
A woman entered, a blur at the edge of the window into Ridder Rødskjegg’s world that the Duchess Ysa had opened. “We are,” she replied, her voice thin and distant to those in the private chamber at Cyornas Castle. “Snow Gem is very easy to handle. She flies through the water.”
“Can—can you widen the area we can see?” Ashen asked. Her voice was unsteady.
“I will try.”
Ysa murmured a few more unintelligible words, made more gestures with her hands, and the scene before the watchers opened out. “We may have to add yet more snow water,” the Duchess said. “Perhaps we can do it without losing our connection.”
Zazar noted that the water level in the bowl was down to half of what it had been before the viewing began, most likely because they were now hearing as well as seeing. She exchanged glances with Askepott who nodded, understanding without having to be told. “We’ll keep it coming as long as necessary,” the other Wysenwyf said.
The new scene revealed the white vessel, Snow Gem, slipping into a berth in a kind of pier projecting from a nearly vertical mountain. It looked to be made all of ice. Slender, white-clad girls leaped out onto the pier and quickly secured the vessel while others lashed the snowy sails neatly until they should be needed again. The girl they had seen earlier was, Zazar realized, the leader of a troop of young warriors, all in white, all armed with throwing-spears or bows and alabaster-tipped arrows. Only she wore a necklace with a green gem in it.
Mikkel watched the work for a few minutes; then, apparently satisfied that all was being taken care of properly, turned to the young woman by his side.
“We need more snow,” Ysa said.
Zazar cursed under her breath.
“Never mind, I’ll go,” Askepott offered. “You have more at stake with young Ridder Rødskjegg than I do. Tell me what happens when I get back.” Taking the bucket, she slipped out the door.
The other women returned their attention to the tableau playing itself out on the table. Ashen NordornQueen watched raptly, absorbing every detail.
Ridder Rødskjegg and his companion walked past the icy crags toward what seemed to be the solid stone of the mountain-side. The girl touched the stone, and it opened onto a small room, which the two entered. Zazar felt a little dizzy and realized that this “room” was conveying the inhabitants downward. In a moment, another door opened and the man and girl emerged into a world the watching women could never have dreamed of in all their imaginings.
It was a city, deep underwater, walled in crystal through which could be seen lazily swimming ocean creatures. Light was provided by glowing bones attached to the numerous columns. The inhabitants, all women similar in appearance to Mikkel’s companion, bowed and smiled at the two as they made their way along a white-paved street toward what looked to be a small palace, not much larger than a Nordorn count’s city home. The walls were clear crystal over white curtains, the doorway flanked with mirrored panels.
“I have seen magical light sources like those before,” Ashen murmured. “The glowing bones. They were in Galinth. But never such a city nor such a palace.”
The women interested Zazar. Though Mikkel’s companion’s garb was obviously designed for freedom of movement in battle, here in the city, the women dressed in long white robes that fluttered with every movement, girt with silver chains or pale sashes. All of the women were barefoot, some with pearl adornments. The streets must be warm, Zazar thought, else they would have white shoes.
“Is that where Ridder Rødskjegg is living now?” Askepott had entered unnoticed, and now stood staring, as rapt as the others, her bucket of snow forgotten in her hands.
“Yes.” Ysa reached for the bucket. “The water is nearly all gone. Let me try—”
She scooped a handful of the snow in her hands and attempted to slide it under the vision. To no effect; it sputtered and vanished at the touch, leaving only a little water in the bowl.
“Shall I try again, Ashen?” Ysa asked with unwonted gentleness.
“Thank you, no, Madame Mother,” Ashen said. Tears were now running down her cheeks. “Beyond all belief, I know now where Mikkel is, and have an idea of what he is doing. But how he came to be so grown up, I still do not know.”
“Well, maybe I can help there.” Askepott set the unwanted bucket of snow on the floor. “I’ve been thinking, and I believe I know when his unnatural growth began.” She glanced at Zazar. “It was around the time of your second visit to Holger den Forferdelig’s steading.”
“Second visit!” Ysa exclaimed, but Ashen hushed her with a gesture.
“It seemed to me
he then began a growth spurt the like of which I had never encountered before. Judging by the way he outgrew his clothing, he was acquiring a year’s growth in a week.”
“And do you think this is still continuing?” Ashen asked. Her face was deathly white but Zazar could detect no sign that she was going to faint.
“Brave Ashen,” she murmured.
“I don’t know,” Askepott replied, “but I would doubt it since he is out of Gunnora’s immediate presence. Nor,” she added as if to forestall the NordornQueen’s next question, “do I know if the process can be reversed.”
“There is something else I would venture,” Ashen said. “The Rock-Maiden. You recognized her.”
“Yes. Her name is Petra. I think we earlier heard Red Fox address her as such. She, too, has changed, but not so much as Mikkel.”
“It seemed to me that perhaps she sensed the spell as a human woman would detect a glowing spark, be it ever so small, in a darkened room.”
Ysa raised her eyebrows. “Now that you mention it, it did so seem. I shall have to think on this and how we might turn it to our advantage.”
“All will wait until Admiral-General Tordenskjold sails northward to unravel the mysteries we have but touched upon,” Ashen said somberly. “Let us go down to the Council Chamber at once. I will call the family and what other nobles are currently in the city to meet us there as soon as possible. Then we will show them what has become of the child who so rashly ran away to seek his fortune.”
It was Zazar’s turn to gather more snow. By the time she reached the Council Chamber, a goodly number of people stood outside it, with a few stragglers hurrying down the corridor. Apparently rumors ran swiftly in Cyornas Castle and many of the inhabitants were avid for news of their missing prince. Inside, Zazar saw that Gaurin and Ashen occupied their chairs. With them were Bjaudin NordornPrince, Duke Einaar, Counts Tordenskjold and Svarteper, and, a little to her surprise, young Tjórvi as well. Ashen must have brought him.
Despite protests, only those invited were admitted. The last to enter the chamber was one who made Zazar’s conscience bite her a little—Esander, the priest whom she had all but coerced into lending the books on magic. She hoped the results of his going against his instincts would mollify a well-deserved anger that the Duchess had once again meddled in matters Esander considered to be highly dangerous.
He fixed Zazar with a steady, disapproving eye, his usually cheerful expression now one of suspicious gloom. She would have some work to do, to rebuild a trust she knew was seriously damaged if not entirely destroyed.
“My lady Duchess,” said Gaurin, when Esander had pulled the door closed behind him, “you have important information for us?”
“Yes, I do,” Ysa replied. She did not take a chair at the table, but stood calmly, her hands clasped in front of her. “I have broken an agreement made long ago concerning my use of magic—”
A murmur arose from the two powerful counts, hushed when Gaurin raised his hand.
“Yes, I have broken the agreement. I and only I am to blame, but I am sure you will agree that I did so in a good cause. Further, it was not for my personal aggrandizement, but rather in an effort to ease your mind concerning the fate of your youngest child.”
She glanced at Zazar, and then at Askepott, and nodded. Askepott immediately started clearing a space at the Council table. Zazar hefted her bucket of snow. It wasn’t melting as fast as she wanted to make the pure water Ysa would need. Apparently Ysa noticed this as well, for she gestured and spoke a word, whereupon the snow immediately collapsed and turned into liquid.
“Ashen NordornQueen and these two ladies with me have seen what I am about to show to you,” Ysa continued. “Please have no concern. Just observe.”
Zazar poured some water from the bucket into the bowl. With a certain flourish, Ysa murmured a few more unintelligible words—and then, clearly, said, “Mikkel.”
The mist rose from the bowl and the red-bearded man appeared, on his ship once more. Zazar noticed details she had missed before—the careful combing of his hair despite the teasing breeze, the neat braids, the tunic and trews of white silk, the way he stood so easily on the moving deck of the ship.
“That cannot be Mikkel,” Gaurin objected. “We thought the same, at first,” Ysa answered. She turned to Askepott and nodded.
“He looks so—so old,” Bjaudin said.
“Not much past twenty,” Ysa responded. “How old was he when he was taken? Eleven? Then he would seem old to anyone who knew him then.”
“I am searching for a trace of that eleven-year-old boy in the person you are showing me,” Gaurin said. “He is gone, and I think he will never return. Nevertheless, it is Mikkel, grown.”
There was no mistaking the red hair or the ice-blue eyes, or the shape of the nose. His chin was hidden by his beard. The pearls braided into it were large and perfect.
Then the image faded. The bowl was empty and dry.
“He is bespelled, NordornKing,” Askepott said. A fresh murmur arose in the room. “Yes,” she went on, “it is a spell laid on him by a woman of the Wykenigs, though not Wykenig herself. I don’t think she knew or cared about the damage to your son. Before I left Holger den Forferdelig’s steading, I was aware that he was growing at an unnatural rate. Now I know that he was aging as well.”
“And—and is he still aging at this terrible rate?” Gaurin tried and almost succeeded in keeping his voice steady.
“I do not know, NordornKing. Perhaps now that he is out of Gunnora the Golden’s sight, the aging will slow down.”
“You said the woman Gunnora was not Wykenig. Do you know aught of her?” asked Duke Einaar. His voice was not much steadier than his brother’s.
“I do.”
The women invoked the ritual again. With quick, economical phrases, Askepott described Gunnora’s heritage, ignoring the gasps of dismay at the news of the woman’s origins. And all the while, the image of what Mikkel had become dominated the attention of those in the Council Chamber. At one point, Mikkel could be detected consulting with the white-clad Rock-Maiden. And, again, she glanced around as if aware of something yet unseen.
“It’s clear what to do now,” Tordenskjold announced. “He is on a ship, and so we will take Ice Princess out, intercept him, and bring him back home.”
“You forget Holger den Forferdelig,” Askepott said. “I believe that he, too, will be seeking Mikkel, and even that Mikkel will be seeking him in turn.”
“Wait,” Ysa said. She held out her shapely hands and Askepott and Zazar clasped them. Then she said the words that allowed all to hear as well as see.
The figure of Mikkel was speaking in a tinny, but audible voice. “Our sea trial has gone well, much better than I expected,” he was telling the Rock-Maiden by his side. “Let us return to the City ’Neath the Waves before we encounter a floating island of ice that will put all our efforts at salvaging the Snow Gem for naught.”
“As you say, Ridder Rødskjegg.”
Mikkel laughed. “My father, Holger, called me Ridder Red Fox.”
“That was when you were still a boy,” the Rock-Maiden said. Zazar was now convinced; the Rock-Maiden definitely seemed to be speaking for another’s benefit. “You are more than that now. You are the Knight of the Red Beard who will defeat Holger den Forferdelig and free my people and many others from his cruel and thoughtless oppression.”
Mikkel laughed again. He might have drawn the Rock-Maiden into an embrace, but the small figures dissolved into the mist before the onlookers could see.
“He called Holger his father?” Ashen asked. “I was not aware of that earlier.”
“It would seem that he thinks so,” Askepott told her. “I have no way of knowing how Gunnora’s spell has affected his mind in addition to aging him unnaturally.”
“I should be grateful that he is still alive, even so altered,” she said.
The NordornKing arose from his chair and bowed. “We thank you, noble ladies all,” he said. “No
w that we have at least an inkling of what we face when our brave Admiral-General finally does go out searching for . . . for Ridder Rødskjegg, we can begin to make our plans.”
Tjórvi Sea-Rover, who had found a spot close to Ashen’s chair, now moved forward and took her hand. “Please don’t cry,” he said. “Maybe you have lost Mikkel. Maybe not. We don’t know yet.” He swallowed hard and then went on manfully. “But you have me.”
Ashen folded the boy in her embrace.
“I—I was sore afraid that when Mikkel came back, when Uncle Tordenskjold rescued him and put an end to Holger den Forferdelig, you wouldn’t want me anymore,” the youngster said, his voice breaking a little. “You’d turn me out to go back to New Vold, and they wouldn’t want me, either. I’d be too Nordorn for them. But now—”
“Now,” Ashen finished for him, “you’re all the boy I’ve got. Bjaudin is a man, a young man, but he is a man. And Mikkel does not know me or his father.” She hugged him even closer, tears running down her cheeks.
Most of the men in the room were weeping as well by now and even Tordenskjold found it necessary to clear his throat and rub his nose.
“Well, Duchess Ysa, I thank you as well, and Zazar and—whatever your name is.” Tordenskjold cleared his throat again.
“Askepott.”
“Yes. You’ve given us something to go on whereas before we had nothing.” The Admiral-General glanced at Gaurin, who nodded.
“Our kinsman Rohan will be sorely offended if he does not go with you on your quest,” the NordornKing said.
“I will send a messenger to bring him hence.”
“Yes, and while we await his arrival, let us all think about what we have learned this day,” the NordornKing said.
Nineteen
Gunnora the Golden had calmed herself from the fit of fury that had threatened to unhinge her reason when she discovered that not only had the young Nordorner hostage and the cracked-brain girl disappeared from the steading, but so had Askepott, taking with her who knew what magical secrets.