Текст книги "East "

Автор книги: Эдит Патту

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 24 страниц)

Father

WHEN MAPMAKERS OF OLD were faced with charting an unknown area, one that had proved unreachable, the temptation was to fabricate, to look into the imagination. They would depict the area as being inhabited by fearsome, man-devouring monsters, especially in the vast reaches of the sea. Master Esbjorn found the practice antiquated and unacceptable. He believed that if the truth was not known, the paper should be left blank.

I was like a long-ago mapmaker. When faced with uncharted territory—a talking beast in my home—I saw evil. And when my wife spoke of giving in to the request of an evil creature, I saw evil in her, too. To willingly sacrifice one daughter for another was an abomination. For the first time in our married life, I began to doubt my Eugenia.

We borrowed a small cart from Torsk to transport Sara. We told him that I needed to make repairs on the chimney before the landlord came to take over his property. It would be a sooty, messy job, and it would be safest to have at least part of the family move to Torsk's farmhold sooner rather than later. He was willing and so we bundled Sara into the cart. Fortunately, it was a fair day, though cold, and she was no worse for the trip.

Rose, Neddy, and I made our way back to the farm in silence. Eugenia had left a pot of soup on the hearth for us, along with a small loaf of brown bread. Rose deliberately laid out a tablecloth, one she had made herself, and Neddy set the table.

We ate the modest meal in silence. The minutes ticked by.

After we had finished eating, and had washed and put away the dishes, Rose took up some sewing while Neddy read. I aimlessly poked the fire, then sat down to look over our accounts, though my mind was not on my task.

It grew late—later, I thought, than when the white bear had come before. Hope began to flicker in me that he would not come after all. Perhaps a hunter had felled him. Or perhaps he had changed his mind. I was about to break the silence in the room to give voice to these thoughts, when there came a noise from the door.

This time no one opened the door. It swung open on its own. And standing there, the moon shining bright behind her, was Eugenia.

I let out a deep breath, then crossed to her.

"What are you doing here, wife?" I said, my voice ragged. "Is it Sara?..."

She stared at me, then shook her head sharply in the negative. She sidestepped away and went to Rose. "Daughter," she said, "I do not want to lose you. I have always tried to keep you close. But you must go with the white bear."

"Eugenia!" I shouted.

"You will use all your wits and your east practicality. And you will not be lost to us, not forever. I know it." She took Rose's hand as she spoke.

Rose was pale. She stood. Then she deliberately removed her hand from Eugenia's and stepped away from her.

"'East'?" Rose whispered. "'East'..." she said again, louder, shaking her head. "No, not 'east,' Mother. North? And her last word filled the room.

Then the white bear was at the door. And before any of us could move, Rose had crossed to him. She reached behind a large wooden trunk that stood by the door and drew out a small knapsack. She must have hidden it there earlier.

"I will go with you," Rose said to the bear, and I watched, unbelieving, as the animal's great paws flashed and Rose was suddenly astride the bear's back as if he were some enormous horse.

The white bear turned and disappeared through the doorway.

Neddy let out a cry and ran after them, grabbing his coat as he went.

I started after them as well, but Eugenia blocked my way.

"She must go. It is her direction. Her choice."

I looked back at Eugenia. Then looked from her to the empty doorway. I had lost everything I held dear. And there would be no reclaiming it.

Neddy

I COULD SEE A BLUR of white ahead of me.

"Rose!" I shouted. "Wait! Rose..." I kept calling as I ran, till my throat ached. But somehow I kept the white blur in sight and they must have slowed, for I began to gain on them.

Then I realized the bear had stopped altogether.

The moon was very bright and I could see them clearly. Rose in a blue dress, sitting perched on the back of the massive beast. She looked unsure of herself, as though she wanted to find a way down but couldn't. It wouldn't be like dismounting from a horse. The bear abruptly kneeled and Rose managed to awkwardly slide off.

Rose tentatively moved toward me, looking over her shoulder several times. "I chose, Neddy," she said. "It is the right thing to do."

I wanted to grab her, to carry her back home to safety, but all I did was hod silently. I said, "Here," and held out the four pieces of her cloak. "I pinned it together. You can sew it whole later. Truth or lie, it may be cold where you journey."

She took the ragged cloak from me and fastened it around her shoulders. "Thank you, Neddy."

"One thing more," I said. And quickly I blurted out the tale of the white bear's rescuing her from the gorge when she was little. "If he did that," I ended lamely, "then surely he can mean you no ill." I believe I spoke these words as much to reassure myself as I did to reassure her.

She leaned over and hugged me. We held each other for a long moment. Then she broke away and lightly crossed to the white bear.

I watched as he once again lifted her to his back.

And they were gone.

Book Two

South

They journeyed far and the white bear said, "Are you afraid?"

"No,"she replied. "I am not afraid "

Troll Queen

IT IS CLOSE NOW. Very close. And it shall unfold as I had planned from the beginning.

"Would you like to play?" he had said. A boy with a curling-up mouth and a voice soft as fresh-fallen snow. With those words came the wanting. And all was changed. Irrevocably.

I was Princess then, and The Book my father had given me was new. The Book had been a gift to me on the eve of my first journey to the green lands, to begin recording my royal days.

Today I travel to the green lands and lean hardly believe it. Ever since I was a baby, Urda, my old nurse, has told me stories of the softskin folk. Now at last I shall see them for myself.

When the king's eldest child reaches the age of knowing, it is the tradition to take him or her to see the green lands that lie outside Huldre. It is a strange world, my father says. He says it exists mainly for us to use—a place to get slaves and the raw materials for some of our food and clothing.

He says they are a very queer people, the softskin folk, not like us at all. They are backward and plain. Short lived. No arts like ours. Their jewels are pale, and except for a very few who are of royalty, most live in small drab huts, like our servants' quarters. It sounds very strange indeed.

But Urda told me more, told me about different things they have, amazing things. Something called music. And many, many kinds of animals. And bursts of fragrant color that grow out of the ground, called flowers. And their food is melting soft, too, exotic and all different flavors. My father calls it repulsive, says it would make me sick, but in spite of that I am curious.

The journey was long, but the sleigh was comfortable and there was plenty of hot slank to drink. In fact, it grew so warm after a time that we gradually had to peel away all our furs. How can the softskins stand this pressing warmth? It makes me feel choked and prickly.

We will stay for a week in the green lands. Our lodging is in a palace of rock, though my father says it is nothing like the Ice Palace of Huldre. He said it is not used often, only when we need to journey here to replace servants. And it is hidden from the softskins'sight.

Softskin folk do not live as long as we do and must be replenished. So we come every twenty or thirty years to take away more. My father says it is best to choose unwanted, unmarried people, not children, because less fuss is made when they disappear. Not that they could find us anyway. It is too long, arduous, and pulling a journey for softskin folk. And it is too cold in our land for softskins; without slank they would die within a few hours, a day if they were well equipped. Father says there have been a handful of softskins called explorers who have journeyed to within a hundred miles of our land. We collected one or two of these, he says, and they made especially good servants because they were so hardy.

In appearance the softskins are very different from us, but we are able to move among them easily because of our arts, and they don't even know we are there.

Urda takes me tomorrow to see softskin folk. I can hardly wait!

I cannot sleep. The most amazing thing has happened. I actually met one of the softskin folk! A boy. I touched his skin and it was as soft as they say– softer! And his voice ... it was like a ... I don't know. Like the song of the creatures they call birds that we heard on our journey south, yet odder and more beautiful.

In Huldre I have seen the softskin servants only from a distance, for they do the most menial work in the kitchen and stables. (Troll servants wait on the royal family.) And our softskins are dull and broken from living long in Huldre. So I had not known what they are truly like. Urda had told me they are ugly and their voices sound awful—thin and watery– but she was wrong.

Urda fell asleep; because she is old she is always sleepy, and she drank plenty of slank with the picnic lunch we had. So I wandered off by myself I moved through the grass, which was green and soft when I bent down and ran my fingers across the tops of the thin stalks. I felt almost di^yfrom all the smells that filled my nose. Sweet and thrilling they were. And the changeable feel of the gentle wind on my skin. So different from the hard and constant wind in Huldre.

Then I saw some children playing in the distance and thought I would use my arts to get closer without being seen, but abruptly their game ended and they all went away.

Except there was one boy who came back.

"Would you like to play?" he said, holding up a round red object.

Because of my arts, I could understand his words, but still I could only stare. What had happened to my breathing, I wondered. Then the round thing came flying at me and I ducked.

His mouth curled up, showing even more teeth,and he ran to get it. "It is a hall" he said. "I'll teach you how to catch it."

And his words and the curling-up mouth made me feel strange inside, warm and melty, like taking a gulp of slank on an empty stomach. "Show me," I said eagerly in his language.

And there came a surprised look on his face. "Have you been ill? Your voice is..." he started but stopped.

After that I didn't speak again, but I began to understand about throwing and catching the thing he called a ball.

I hope you didn't think I was teasing you," he said. I didn't understand the word teasing, but he went on. "Your voice is fine," he said. Still I kept silent, and we continued to throw the ball, back and forth.

Then I heard the sound of someone calling, and he said he had to go, that his servants were looking for him but perhaps we could play again another time.

I watched him run down the mountain toward a large building. He moved quickly, with grace.

When I went back Urda was searching for me, still groggy from her nap. I told her I had taken a walk. I decided I wouldn't tell her about the boy. The next day I would make her take me there again. And I would make sure she drank even more.

Rose

THE WHITE BEAR HEADED due south of the farm, keeping to the woods and away from the places where people lived.

It was a frosty, clear night, and the stars shimmered against a black sky. Usually, looking up at the stars on such a clear night filled me with a breathless pleasure, no matter how often I gazed at them. But that night I was hardly aware that there was a sky.

Riding a bear was nothing like riding a horse. First of all, the bear was far larger, and I could not ride with both legs straddling his back, the way one does with a horse. At first I didn't move at all but stayed frozen in the position I had been in when I had landed on the broad back—sort of a crouch, my legs tucked under me. When he first began to move, I instinctively grabbed hold of the great ruff of fur at the back of his neck to keep from sliding off.

But after a few hours I grew stiff. I had the feeling we would be traveling for a long time, so I got bolder and began to shift my body, trying to find a comfortable position. I finally settled with one leg dangling down and the other bent under me. I didn't need to use my legs to hold on. Despite his enormous speed, the white bear's gait was surprisingly smooth and his back so broad that as long as I kept a firm hold on his thick fur, I was in no danger of falling off.

The white bear's fur was extraordinary. It was as soft as rabbit's fur, yet much thicker and longer. When I burrowed my hands into it—which I only worked up the courage to do after we had been riding a long time and my fingers were numb with cold—my hands and forearms disappeared up to my elbows. And the fur was so warm. It took only moments for my fingers to thaw. My legs, too, stayed warm, nestled in the deep fur.

But the rest of me—my face and upper body—was cold, and I was very glad of my cloak. I thought of Neddy finding pins and carefully lining up the torn edges, and my eyes blurred with tears. Better not to think about Neddy.

I thought instead of the beast upon which I was riding. I remembered the imaginary companion of my childhood. How many times had I imagined myself riding a magnificent white bear through the night?

He moved faster than I would have thought possible for such a large animal, and by daybreak we had journeyed far, into country I had never seen before. The land was heavily forested; there were fewer and fewer evergreens, more broad-leaved trees. We were still heading south.

Though the journey lasted seven days, the white bear stopped only once.

During that time I must have been in some kind of trance—or maybe it was an enchantment or spell. For those seven days I neither ate nor drank, nor slept. The strangest thing was that I didn't feel any different, except extremely aware and alert. It all seemed very natural; I was drinking it all in—the vivid greens of unfamiliar plants, the distant call of a strange bird, even the approaching smell of the sea.

When the white bear did stop, it took me by surprise, and I found myself slipping off his back and landing quite hard on sand. Catching my breath, I sat up and gazed around me. We were on a remote stretch of brown sand and waves were breaking not twenty feet away. It was dawn, and over my right shoulder the sun was just beginning to rise. Considering the direction we had been traveling, I guessed that this must be the southern reaches of Njordsjoen, the North Sea. And even though there was an enormous white bear not two feet from me, I felt a thrill of wonder. My grandfather had sailed this sea, and my great-grandfather before him. I had always promised myself that one day I would come to Njordsjoen, although I never could have imagined it happening quite like this.

Out of the corner of one eye, I saw the bear fiddling with something small and dark, and then he pulled at it with his great paws. Like taffy, whatever it was began to lengthen and grow.

I watched, dazed and fascinated, and then suddenly he came toward me, and before I knew what was happening, I was being encased from head to toe in some kind of soft, pliable covering. It was brown and smelled of fish and musk, and I thought maybe it was a sealskin. Then he pulled it up over my eyes and I felt myself being patted all over, as if I were a bairn being checked to see that my blankets were snug on a cold night. Suddenly I felt a pressure on the back of my neck and shoulders, a clamping down. I was being lifted and we were moving forward. Then the light and sound changed, became dimmer and muffled, distant.

Though I could see nothing, I knew we were then underwater.

I panicked for a moment, wondering how I was going to breathe, but I quickly discovered that I could breathe quite normally and gave myself over to the sensations of traveling under the sea, swaddled in sealskin and being carried, I suspected, in the jaws of a great white bear.

We were not long in the sea. If anything, the white bear swam faster than he ran. A strange regret overcame me when I felt myself being carried out of the water and laid upon the ground. The bear made quick work of removing me from my cocoon, and soon I was again on his back and we were speeding through a completely foreign country.

Only once did the white bear speak. It was soon after our sea crossing. We were moving through a lush, rocky valley crowded with rushing streams and slippery boulders.

"Are you afraid?" came the words from deep inside the bear's massive chest.

"No," I answered, and it was true. I had been too busy watching and listening; absorbing all the sensations, from the wind on my face, to the rhythmic rocking of the sightless underwater world, to the rich, flowery smells of the air as we moved southward. I had been caught up in the easy grace of the bear's motion and had given little thought to where we were going or to what would happen once we got there.

But later, during the fifth or sixth night, I did begin to think of those things. I must have sensed that we were nearing the end of our journey.

The moon had waned since that first night we set out, but it was still bright and I could clearly see the landscape around me. The land was mountainous in places, though the mountains were small and green rather than towering and jagged as in Njord. There were no pines at all; instead there were lush, broad-leaved trees, some with splashes of bright-colored blossoms. The smell was different, too—a thicker, richer smell of earth and flower and ripe fruit.

I was suddenly very hungry and thirsty, and found myself wondering if the white bear was hungry, too. The thought crossed my mind that I was to be the beast's meal, at the end of a long journey. I shivered, though the air was warm.

We were moving along the base of a small mountain, through a thick forest of some kind of pungent, wide-spreading tree I had never seen before. Though I could not make out any sign of a path, the white bear was surefooted. I had the feeling he had gone this way many times.

Without warning he stopped, and after seven days and nights of constant motion, I felt dizzy at the lack of it. There was a ringing in my ears. My stomach growled and my throat was dry.

The white bear knelt as he had when I'd said goodbye to Neddy, and I sensed he wanted me to dismount (if indeed that is what you call getting off a bear's back). I was even more awkward than before; going seven days with no food or sleep had left me weak. And though I didn't exactly fall off as I had on the sandy shore, I still wound up on my backside.

The bear stepped away. I heard a low rumbling from his throat, and even some faint words, but I couldn't make them out. And then there was a soft whooshing, and a piece of the mountain suddenly swung aside, as if it were a great earthen doorway. An entryway into the mountain lay open, and inside, a muted light flickered.

"Come," said the white bear.

I gingerly got to my feet, swayed a moment, then stumbled forward, my eyes fastened on the warm light within.

The bear let me go first, walking just behind me. If I hadn't been concentrating on putting one foot before the other without collapsing entirely, I might have been very frightened. As it was, I made it through the entryway and the next thing I was aware of was a delicious aroma, as of a great stewpot of juicy meat and vegetables simmering on a fire. My mouth watered; I let out a groan and forgot entirely about being afraid.

"This way," the bear said, and I followed, my nose telling me that he was leading us to the source of the smell.

We traveled down a long hall, past several rooms, and I got a fleeting impression of browns and golds, antlers on the wall and fur rugs on the floor. It reminded me of descriptions I had heard of a wealthy person's hunting lodge. Except it was bigger, as big as I imagined a castle would be.

At last we came to a room with a large fireplace and a great long table, which was laid out with various shapes and sizes of dishes, some covered with cloths. And in the fireplace was hanging a large black stewpot, the source of the wondrous aroma.

I stood still, swaying slightly as I stared at the pot, when I heard the white bear's voice. "Eat," he said, and then he left the room.

I made my way as fast as my limbs would carry me to the fireplace, took up a bowl, and ladled steaming stew into it. I crouched there by the hearth and spooned the tender chunks of meat and vegetables into my mouth. When the bowl was empty, I filled it again and then staggered over to the table and fell into a chair.

I emptied that bowl, too, with the aid of a great hunk of melting-soft bread I had found in a cloth-covered basket. I peeked under a few more of the crisp white cloths and found baked apples in pastry, and strawberries, and rich, thick cream, and all sorts of delicious cakes. Tempting though it was, I was suddenly exhausted and could barely keep my eyes open. I ate a few bites of a small piece of yellow butter-cake with blackberry preserves in the center, and drank half a cup of fresh frothy milk. There was a large dark-red velvet couch not too far from the hearth, and I sank down upon it, my stomach uncomfortably full. I thought about the white bear, wondering uneasily where he was at that moment, and then I fell asleep.