West

by Edith Pattou

  Whence does the wind blow o’er the waves, yet is never seen itself?

  —The Edda

  Troll Queen

  THE ROAD BACK HAS BEEN LONG, and it has been slow. But I am very close to being whole again. And I am stronger even than before; my arts blaze hot and terrible.

  When the ice palace was destroyed and I fell into the abyss, the troll prince Jaaloki found me and helped me to heal. He and his fellow Under Huldre.

  But it was Urda who kept me alive until they came. I would not have survived without her. And the same is true for her. We were both mortally wounded, and we depended on each other, fed on each other, blended our arts. At first she blamed me for her son Tuki’s death, but in time, she came to see that he deserved to die. His betrayal was too immense.

  My hate has fueled me during the long recovery, giving me strength when I weakened. For I did hate. I do hate. I hate them all. I hate all softskins, their pasty, doughy skin, their artless, messy ways.

  The time has come to rid the earth of softskins.

  Especially the softskin girl. But first I will amuse myself. Make her suffer.

  She has jumped ahead in the game. I knew it was a possibility, and it matters not. All that is lost by her going to Etretat and finding Jaaloki is that she will not witness firsthand the painful deaths of those family members she loves most. She will only hear the news of it instead.

  And now, as I have instructed him, Prince Jaaloki shall make the first move.

  Rose

  “I AM JAALOKI,” THE SKELETAL TROLL SAID, his black eyes staring at me. “Prince of the Under Huldre. I was a wedding guest. I saw you wash the shirt. I saw my queen fall. But she was strong, and she survived. I helped her, along with others of the Under Huldre.”

  I dimly remembered Charles telling me of the different races of trolls. There were trolls who lived up in the farthest regions of the Arktisk in the kingdom called Niflheim, as well as those at the bottom of the world, the Southern Huldre. And then there were the Under Huldre who lived below the earth’s surface.

  “She has healed, softskin girl,” he went on. “And you should know that her arts are stronger than before. She has moved to her favorite aerie at the top of the softskin world. And she prepares for Aagnorak.”

  “Aagnorak?” I said.

  All he did was smile, and again my stomach knotted.

  He let out a hissing sound that I took to be a laugh and said, “She is weary of softskins. It is time to be done with you.”

  “Where is Charles?” I said.

  “The one who was a white bear?” he said. “Ah yes, he is easily found. At least what remains of him.”

  My skin went cold. “What do you mean? Is he alive?” I asked.

  He let out that hissing laugh again. “You can discover this for yourself. Because he is in a place you know well, where you spent a year of your life.” He paused, giving me an appraising look, and added, “Though you may not know that place as well as you thought you did.”

  “But Charles,” I stuttered out, my brain whirling, “what has—”

  He interrupted me sharply. “The one who was a white bear no longer matters to my queen. He is not important. It is the bairn who matters now.”

  He smiled his evil, sick-making smile. “My queen plays with you, softskin girl. Like a game of skac.” His eyes went briefly to the echecs set on the nearby table. “You made a lucky guess, jumping ahead in the game. But it will not prevent the inevitable. And now it is my move.”

  He let out his hissing laugh, then spoke one last time. “You must not take what is not yours. You softskins may lack respect, but that is an inviolable rule in the Huldre world.” His eyes went to the sword, which I still held in my hand. I glanced down at it, having forgotten that I even had it.

  I felt a flickering of outrage. The Huldre had no trouble stealing softskins to use as slaves and then discard. Perhaps this “inviolable” Huldre rule, not taking what was not yours, applied only to precious objects, not to people.

  I heard a rustling sound and looked back up in time to see him throw off his black cloak and his body begin to change.

  Neddy

  SIB AND I WAITED FOR ROSE a while longer, then decided to go to the home of the healing woman named Hannah, the last place we knew Rose was headed. Hannah told us that she had directed Rose to the lodging of the soldier Julien, whom she described to us, and so we made our way there.

  When we got to the inn near the docks, a woman sitting on the outside stoop said that as far as she knew, the soldier named Julien had just boarded a ship bound for Spania. She also told us that earlier in the day, she had directed Rose to a local public house where she would be likely to find him.

  We made our way to the public house, where the innkeeper confirmed seeing a girl talking to the Spanien soldier earlier that day. They’d both left at around the same time, though not together.

  “Where could she be?” I asked Sib as we left the public house.

  Sib shook her head. “I don’t know, Neddy. But she will turn up. She always does.”

  Rose

  IN THE COURSE OF MY JOURNEY to the land that lay east of the sun and west of the moon, there had been much that was magic, events that could not be explained by the natural way of things. But only a few times had they happened right in front of my eyes. Like the Troll Queen using her white-hot arts to turn Tuki into a smear on the floor of the ice palace.

  But this was different. The troll called Jaaloki was shifting, changing. It wasn’t a sudden thing but a steady progression. His features began to blur, his black eyes becoming smaller while his head grew larger. His whole body was growing, elongating, and as he thickened, the rest of his black clothing fell off, landing in a heap at his feet, or where his feet used to be.

  A hissing sound emanated from his mouth, which was now lipless, and he had no nose that I could see, except two long slits.

  He was down on the floor, his head upraised, and I realized that he had changed into a very large white snake.

  There are those who are terrified of snakes, like Estelle, who was much relieved to hear that there were fewer snakes in Njord than Fransk, but I was not one. I have always found them fascinating and beautiful in their own way. But no matter how beautiful, being faced with a snake that was larger than me was terrifying, especially as he began to slide forward.

  I grasped the handle of the sword tightly, thinking to somehow use it to defend myself, but before I could even react, he lunged at me. Beginning at my feet, he swiftly began coiling himself around me, first my legs, then my torso. Instinctively I raised my arms so they wouldn’t be bound to my sides, but he thrust his head sharply at my right arm, dislodging the sword from my hand. It clattered to the floor and I reached down to try to grab it, but in a flash he had wound around me, pinning my sword hand tightly to my side.

  He tightened his body around me, and I wondered if he was planning to squeeze me to death.

  He raised his head up, so that his small black eyes were looking directly into mine, and let out that hissing sound that I knew to be a laugh. His breath smelled of hidden dark places under the earth, and I saw that he didn’t have fangs like the adders we have in Njord, but instead two rows of small sharp teeth.

  Keeping his black eyes fixed on me, he began to tighten his coils around me. I felt my chest constricting, my ribs bending inward, and my breath grew labored.

  I suddenly remembered the needle I had stuck in my cloak from the mending I was doing on board the ship. I had never gotten to finish it and had left the needle where it was.

  Grabbing hold of the long needle hidden in the collar of my cloak, I reached up and instinctively thrust it at his face. I was aiming for one of those small black eyes, but at the last minute, he moved slightly, and instead the needle went straight into one of the nose slits and stuck there.

  His body jerked, and letting out a shrill, hissing scream, he struck at my face, his teeth bared.

  I felt a searing pain just next to
my eye. I cried out. He pulled his head back, and I could see my blood on his teeth. My lungs were heaving, and the pain on my face was almost unbearable, but I raised my arm again, and with the flat of my hand, I pushed the needle farther up his nose.

  He let out another shriek, and his body abruptly loosened, enough for me to wriggle free.

  I ran, grabbing up the sword at my feet, and headed toward the arched entrance. The sibilant screaming went on behind me, and I heard a dragging, sliding sound that I was sure meant he was coming after me.

  Estelle

  I WAS VERY CROSS WITH GRAND-MèRE EUGENIA. She said that I could no longer walk with Winn before dinner. I didn’t understand it. Grand-père Arne said it was because of her fears of an influenza epidemic. He said she lost both her mother and father that way, and I guess I understood that. After my maman died, I was very worried every time Rose, and Charles too, started to cough.

  But still. Only two people had died in Trondheim. It seemed unfair. And it didn’t help that Gudrun had gone off to the countryside for a visit with a school friend for several weeks.

  I missed Rose and Sib and Charles. I missed Gudrun. I missed my walks with Winn. I had just started to explore an area I hadn’t seen before, a little-used pathway down by the Nidelva River. The view there was magnifique. And now I was stuck in the kitchen every evening helping to chop onions and carrots.

  But then Grand-père Arne showed me the wind rose he was working on, the one he was designing for me. And it was beautiful! He said that Grand-mère Eugenia had guessed that I was a west child because I had many qualities that fit, but he said he saw a little north in me.

  “Seasickness notwithstanding, I believe you have a streak of the explorer in you,” he said with a twinkle in his eye.

  He showed me the symbols for west (a heart and a harp, among others) and the one for north he had drawn in. A lion. It made my heart swell with happiness.

  He said he hoped to have it finished in a week.

  Rose

  I RAN AS FAST AS I COULD, retracing my steps through the polished tunnel, emerging into the large cavern. I stopped and listened. No sound came from the tunnel.

  Blood was running down my face, and the pain was searing. I felt lightheaded too, my heart racing. I wondered if there had been venom in the troll-snake’s bite.

  Keeping an eye on the tunnel entrance, I moved over to the shallow pool I had fallen into when the rope broke. Setting down the sword, which I still clutched in my right hand, I found a cloth in my pack and wet it in the water, using it to wipe the blood off my face. I held it against the wound.

  No snake appeared at the tunnel entrance, and I wondered if perhaps he had been too hurt by my needle to follow. Or more likely, he knew there was no need because he had poisoned me with his bite.

  I tried to push the fear away and instead focused on looking up at the frayed rope that hung far above me. Much too high for me to reach. I walked all around the periphery of the cavern, looking for any other way out. There was none, only the tunnel leading back to the troll-snake.

  My legs were shaking by the time I came back to the pool and the rope dangling high above it. I sank to a sitting position and gazed up and around the cavern, studying the craggy walls.

  I was a good climber, not only of ropes, but trees and cliffs and rocky walls as well. There seemed to be plenty of crags and ledges to provide hand- and footholds, and I spotted what looked to be a decent-size ledge, several feet above the bottom of the rope. If I could make it up to that ledge, it looked as if I would not have to jump too far to grab the rope.

  But the light was dim and the pain of the troll-snake bite was searing. I willed myself to breathe slowly, to relax, but my heart was still beating fast and my skin felt cold and clammy. Maybe it’s just my wet clothing, I tried to tell myself. But when I stood, the rocky surface of the cavern tilted and I almost fell. I managed to stay on my feet somehow, and the ground below me steadied.

  I took several deep breaths, trying hard to keep the dizziness at bay. Then I cautiously began to walk over to the rockface directly below the ledge I had spotted. With shaking hands, I pulled the candle out of my pack and lit it. It gave me a little more light, and I gazed closely at the rockface, making note of the places in the surface where I could gain hand- and footholds. I couldn’t see clearly all the way to the ledge, but what I could see was sufficient. As long as my strength held out, I was confident I could make it to the ledge.

  My mouth was dry, but I had heard that one shouldn’t drink or eat after being bitten by a snake, so I refrained from drinking from my skin bag. I stowed the candle in my pack, along with the sword, and I began to climb.

  I made it up about ten feet before the first wave of dizziness hit me. I clung tightly, resting my clammy cheek against the rough rockface. I concentrated on breathing evenly.

  I gazed up, my vision blurring, and spotted my next hand- and foothold. I moved slowly upward.

  It took all my concentration, finding those little edges for my fingertips, wider places for my feet.

  I came to a more difficult stretch with fewer holds. In one place, there was only a shallow crack, and I had to put my toe in and twist it, hard. The higher I climbed, the more aware I became of the empty air under my feet.

  When I reached it, I discovered the ledge was narrower than it had looked from below. There was barely room for both my feet, and I had to hold myself onto it by clutching a rock crag that stuck out about shoulder level. I longed to sit or, even better, lie down, but there was no space for that.

  I gingerly turned myself around on the narrow ledge so I was facing forward, still holding tightly to the rock at my shoulder. I could dimly see the rope that dangled there, just out of reach. My breathing was short, and my head was swimming. And even worse, the palms of my hands were wet with sweat and kept slipping on the handhold.

  I stared fixedly at the rope. I guessed it was about four feet distant from me. Another wave of dizziness hit me, and my fingers slipped on the rock I was holding. I just barely kept my grip on it.

  I stared at the rope, and a sob closed my throat. I wasn’t going to be able to do it, to propel myself off the narrow ledge and grab the rope. My hands were too weak and slick with sweat, my legs rubbery.

  Despair filled me. I thought about what the creature Jaaloki had said about my white bear. He is easily found. At least what remains of him.

  What did it mean? Where was Charles? And if I did find him, what would I find? A corpse? A pile of bones? A dying white bear?

  My fingers slipped a little. My heart pounded. I was higher than I had been when the rope broke, and I knew that if I fell from this ledge, the water would offer little protection and I would be badly hurt. Between that and the venom that I was now convinced the troll-snake had poisoned me with, I would almost certainly die.

  I could climb back down somehow, but there was no way out except perhaps through the lair of the troll-snake.

  As I clung there, fighting off the dizziness, I thought about how it was I had ended up here on this ledge in a dim cavern with a bleeding snakebite on my face and poison beginning to trickle through my veins. What was the beginning moment? Was it my own violent birth on the stormy afternoon in Askoy Forest, or was it the lie when Nyamh became Ebba Rose? Or was it Charles’s beginning, his birth as prince of Fransk and the day he went to play with a red ball?

  It was all of these, I realized. But more, it was the moment when my life wove together with the life of an enchanted white bear.

  But where was my white bear now? And what was he? Nothing but a hollowed-out body, battered by the storm, left to die?

  And if he was gone, if he no longer lived, maybe it was easier just to let go. To stop fighting against the dizziness, stop scrabbling with weakening hands to hold on to the crag. My muscles ached; my head felt heavy.

  An image of my bairn’s face came to me. Winn. He was laughing as Estelle made silly faces at him, his tiny hands with pink fingers curling toward her.<
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  No. I must at least try to grab the rope.

  But then I heard a noise. The troll-snake finally slithering after me? I didn’t think so. It sounded more like a voice, calling out. It was faint through the roaring in my ears. For a second, I thought I was hallucinating. But it came again.

  “Violeta Ojos? Are you there?”

  It was the soldier Julien, naming me for my purple eyes as he had done in the public house. He was calling from the top of the cavern, where the rope was fastened. For a moment I didn’t know if I should respond. He had been working with Jaaloki and had lied about Charles. How could I trust him? But another wave of dizziness hit, and I realized I had no choice.

  “Yes, it is Rose,” I croaked. “Rose,” I said again, trying to make my voice louder.

  “Hello? Is someone there?” he yelled.

  “I’m here,” I called out as loudly as I could. “I’m hurt,” I added.

  “I’m coming.” The rope moved, and I could hear him grunting as he began to descend.

  After long moments filled with the sound of grunting, the creaking of the rope, and my own hammering heart, he came into sight.

  “Here,” I called.

  He lowered himself until we were at eye level. I was breathing heavily and didn’t think I could hold on to the rock much longer. But how was he going to be able to help me?

  He began a rocking motion so that the rope started swaying.

  “When I get close enough, I’m going to grab you. Are you strong enough to hold tight to me once I’ve got you?”

  “Yes,” I said, though I was fairly sure I was lying. I blinked hard against the blur in my eyes and brain.

  “Here we go.” He gave a great heave, and I felt his strong arm grab me around the waist. I fell onto him and wrapped my shaking arms around his neck, trying desperately to hold on.

  He let out a loud grunt, and we slipped down the rope a few inches. Now we are both going to fall, I thought dully. But we didn’t. He let out a string of what I guessed to be Spanien curse words, and painstakingly, laboriously, he began to climb up the rope.