The isbjørn approached the doors and let out a roar, and the doors swung open. They entered into a lofty hall, hung with banners of silk that depicted a strange crest: a pearly white isbjørn on a blue background, with a golden sun to one side of it and a silver moon to the other. Beneath the bear there was a disturbing symbol that looked like a saw, or a serrated knife, embroidered in black.
The lass was pleased to find that, although the palace was made of ice, it was pleasantly warm inside. She slithered off the bear’s back and removed her hood, turning slowly to take it all in. The ceiling of the hall was supported by slender pillars of ice, carved all around with jagged markings. Her gaze sharpened on these and she went forward to touch one. The ice pillar was smooth and hard, but warm and not at all wet. She studied the carvings that spiraled around it.
“I recognize these,” she said in excitement. “This says something about whales, many whales, coming ashore.” She looked back at the bear. “They’re like the carvings my brother Hans Peter makes. He taught me what some of them mean.” She ran her hand over the carvings, feeling a spike of homesickness. She would not see Hans Peter again for a long time.
“Your . . . brother?” The bear came over to her, squinting at the engraved symbols. “You can read them?”
“Yes.” She held out the sleeve of her parka. “But I can’t read these. I’ve tried, but it doesn’t seem to make any sense. It looks like the same sort of thing, though, don’t you think?”
Now the bear squinted at her parka, studying the red and blue embroidery that ran in bands around the sleeves and the hem. Suddenly his eyes widened and he reared back, giving a roar. The lass cowered against the pillar, and Rollo took up a protective stance between them.
“Where did you get that?” The bear’s voice was thick with some emotion that the girl thought might be rage, but might just as easily have been fear. “Where?”
“It was my brother’s,” she said with a little quaver in her voice. “Hans Peter. The brother you met. He gave it to me. You were there.”
He came down on all fours, still quivering with emotion. “Yes. I remember.” Leaning forward, the bear squinted even harder at it. “Where did he get it?”
“I don’t know,” the lass said, nearly whispering. “He went to sea when I was small, and when he came back, he had it. Something had happened to him, something that made him sad.”
The bear made a strange barking noise that caused the lass to start sliding sideways, hoping to put the pillar between them. Then she realized that he was laughing. It was a hollow, bitter laugh, but still a laugh.
“Made him sad?” His voice was mocking. “I wish that were my only complaint.”
“What is your complaint?” She said it shyly, still halfway around the pillar.
The isbjørn stopped, and he began to sway again as he had at her house. “Can’t say,” he managed finally. A moment ago his words had come easily, easier than at any time before. But now his speech was labored again. “Can’t say!” The words rose to an angry roar. The bear wheeled around and ran off, disappearing through a door at the far side of the hall.
“Well,” the lass said to Rollo, blinking in shock at the bear’s strange behavior. “I suppose it’s just the two of us now. Let’s explore.”
It was so warm in the ice palace that she shrugged off the parka and the extra boots and carried them. They walked around the large hall, admiring the carvings and the enormous fireplace at the far end. The mantel and hearth, the entire structure was of ice, and yet the fire that burned brightly in it did not melt anything. There was a gorgeous rug laid in front of the hearth, and a chair upholstered in a cloth that the lass thought might be velvet, though she had never seen or felt it in real life. The chair was just the right size for her, she found when she sat in it, and there was even a small tapestry footstool placed at exactly the right angle. Other than the fabric and cushion-stuffing, both chair and footstool were also carved of ice.
“This certainly isn’t for our isbjørn,” she told Rollo, stretching her feet toward the fire.
“No, it’s for you, my lady,” said a voice from behind the chair.
The lass was so startled that she lunged forward and ended up on the hearthrug on her knees. Rollo dropped to a crouch, hackles raised and teeth bared.
“Oh, dear me,” said the voice. And then a little person who stood no taller than the lass’s shoulder came around the chair and into view.
He wasn’t human. Nor was he an animal, or at least any animal that the lass had ever seen. The upper part of his body looked like a man’s: he had a bare, muscular chest; two human arms; and a human-looking face. He had a beard and curly hair, both of the same reddish brown color. But there were two slender horns coming out of his hair, and his eyes were golden, with slotted pupils, like a goat’s. From the waist down, he was very much a goat, with reddish brown fur that matched his hair and beard, and little cloven hoofs. The only clothing he wore was a ribbon tied around his throat, woven of blue and red silk in a pattern that looked rather like the embroidery on Hans Peter’s parka.
“What are you?” the lass gasped.
“I’m Erasmus,” he said. “Oh.” His brow wrinkled. “You asked what I am? I’m a faun.” He said this as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
To the lass, however, it was even less natural than an enchanted isbjørn. Magical creatures such as white reindeer or bears that lived in palaces were the stuff of every fireside story she had ever heard.
Men that were half-goat were not.
“Can I help you to your feet, my lady?” The faun bent over her solicitously.
Feeling rather foolish to still be crouched on the hearthrug with her jaw agape, the lass waved away Erasmus’s offer and got to her feet herself. She tapped Rollo on the head, their signal for him to “stand down,” and he stopped snarling. However, he did continue to stand between his mistress and the stranger.
“I’m to serve you for as long as you stay with us, my lady,” the faun continued when the lass was standing and facing him. He did come only to her shoulder, but she could tell from the fine lines around his eyes that he was much older than she was, although there was no gray in his hair or beard. “Would you like me to show you to your apartments? Or would you like something to eat?”
“Er.” The lass looked down at herself. She was damp and grubby from traveling, and very tired. But she was also ravenously hungry. She had not had time to eat the lefse and cheese that her father had packed for her.
“Why don’t I show you to your apartments,” Erasmus said kindly. “You can wash and change your clothes, and then I can bring you a tray with something to eat in your sitting room.”
“That would be lovely,” the lass said, all the while thinking, I have a sitting room?
She followed the faun down a long passageway that led off the great hall, Rollo at her heels. They went up a curving flight of stairs, and along another passageway, and then stopped in front of a door of beautifully carved bronze.
“Here are your apartments, my lady,” Erasmus said, and he pushed open the door. “I must say, it is a relief that you can understand me.”
Jaw agape, the lass gazed about in wonder. The room beyond was larger than her family’s entire cottage. Thick carpets of green and blue covered the frozen floor, a massive fireplace with a roaring fire took up one whole wall, and there were satin-upholstered chairs and couches scattered around the room. Most of the walls were covered in tapestries, but across from the door there were panels where the ice was so thin that she could see the night sky outside, only faintly distorted with a greenish cast.
“Oh, this room is too fine for me,” she told the faun. “Please, isn’t there something simpler?”
“No, my lady.” He shook his head. “Only the servants’ quarters, and you are not a servant.”
He crossed the room to the right and threw open another carved wooden door to reveal the bedchamber. It was just as large as the sitting room, with a fi
replace that the lass could have stood up inside, had a fire not been burning there, too, and a bed that could have comfortably slept ten people. The bed was also carved of ice, with slim posts at each corner that rose up to support a canopy of white silk. The pelt of a massive isbjørn lay across the foot of the bed, and another, smaller brown bear pelt served as a hearthrug.
Erasmus walked through that room as well, and into another, smaller room lined with wardrobes. There was no fireplace here; instead there was an enormous mirror and a small table covered with glass jars and bottles.
“Your dressing room, my lady,” the faun told her. He opened one of the carved-ice wardrobes and pulled out a gown of stiff peach satin. “There are some gowns here, but I’m afraid that they will have to be altered.”
“I can wear my own clothes, can’t I?” the lass said, defending her ragged sweater and hand-me-down trousers and boots.
“Of course, my lady, but you will be here some time, and if you wish to wear something else, you are welcome to anything here.” He gestured around at the wardrobes.
“Thank you,” the lass said, mollified. Then she, too, eyed the gown he was holding. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen a woman that tall before.”
The faun was holding the gown so that the hem just brushed the carpet, which meant that his arms were extended straight over his head. From the look of the gown, it had been made for someone fully a foot taller than the lass, and she was tall for a woman herself. Also, whomever the gown had been made for had had an impressive bosom indeed.
“This is not the gown of a woman,” the faun said as he put the gown back.
“Is it another faun’s gown? Are . . . lady . . . fauns very tall?”
“No, it is not the gown of a female of my kind, either,” he said sadly. “Most females were smaller than I, but it has been many years since I have seen one.”
“Are you not permitted to leave the palace?”
“Oh, my, no!” The faun shook his curly head. “I haven’t been outside these walls since I arrived.”
“Are you enchanted, like the bear?”
“That door beside the mirror leads to your washroom, my lady” was all he said. “I’ll leave you now. When you are ready to eat, pull the bellpull beside any of the fireplaces, and I shall bring your meal.” And he trotted away, the sound of his hooves muffled by the thick carpets.
“That was odd,” she remarked after he had left.
Rollo looked over at his mistress. He was standing beside the little table, sniffing its contents with interest. “We’re the guests of a giant isbjørn who lives in a palace made of ice” was his comment.
“I suppose you’re right,” the lass said.
She went through the door beside the mirror to see what a “washroom” was. It was a small room with an ornate washbasin, large bathtub, and chamber pot, all made of greenish ice. The chamber pot was as tall as a chair and half full of water.
Rollo and the lass stared at it for a moment.
“Perhaps it’s not a chamber pot,” the wolf hazarded. “Perhaps it’s water for me to drink.”
“But it looks like one,” the lass argued.
“What does that do?” With his nose, Rollo pointed to the golden knob shaped like a pinecone that sat on the back of the strange contraption.
The lass tried spinning it, but that did nothing. She tried pulling it, but that also did nothing. When she pressed it straight down, however, the water in the pot swirled around and went out the hole in the bottom.
“That’s amazing,” she said. “Look at that! The . . . waste . . . will all go out and away.”
“I still say it’s for me to drink.”
“Well, I need a chamber pot,” the lass said, “so I’m going to try it. Go and lie down by the fire.”
“Which one?”
“I don’t care, just go.” She gave him a gentle boot to the rear, and closed the door of the washroom behind him. When she was done with the odd chamber pot, she discovered that knobs shaped like acorns caused the washbasin to fill with water, and the tub as well. Little crystal jars of soft potions that smelled of flowers had been set on a shelf above the tub, and there was a bar holding soft white towels on the wall beside it.
With a sigh, the lass took off her clothes and slid into a gloriously warm bath. For the first time in her life, she was the first person to use the water. It was so relaxing, she could have fallen asleep. Rollo kept scratching at the door, though, to remind her that he hadn’t eaten all day either, and that the idea of submerging oneself entirely in hot water was unnatural. With another sigh, she got out of the tub after no more than half an hour, dried herself, and put on a long robe of fur-trimmed silk that dragged on the ground behind her and slipped off her shoulders when she moved her arms too much.
As she and Rollo sat down to the supper Erasmus served in her sitting room, she looked around and smiled. “I could get used to living in a palace. Especially since I know that soon my family will have wealth as well.” She spread a snowy napkin across her lap and tore off a hunk of the whitest bread she had ever seen.
Rollo looked up from the platter of meat he was attacking. “We shall live here for only a year,” he reminded his mistress. “And there is something not right about this.”
“I know, but let me enjoy it for just one night,” she said.
“All right, but be careful.” And then he went back to gorging himself.
“Just one night,” the lass murmured. “Then I shall get to the bottom of this enchantment. Of all these enchantments.”
Chapter 10
The lass went down to the entrance hall as soon as she finished breakfast the next morning. With Rollo by her side, she started at the pillar nearest the golden front doors.
“Man. Reindeer. Ship. Something. Ship. Something. Man.”
“That doesn’t make any sense,” Rollo pointed out. “None of them do.”
“I’m aware of that, Rollo.” The lass put her hands on her hips and sighed. “The trouble is, Hans Peter never bothered to carve things like ‘run’ or ‘sail’ or ‘hunt.’ He only carved things like ‘reindeer’ and ‘man’ and ‘ship.’ So I know that there’s a man and a reindeer, and they have a ship, but I don’t know what they’re doing.” She rested her forehead against the smooth ice. She’d been deciphering the carvings for hours. “Stupid!”
“Are you well, my lady?”
The lass jumped and spun around. Erasmus was standing behind her with a strange look on his face.
“Oh, yes, I’m fine, thank you. I just—I was—” She gestured at the pillar.
“You were just what, my lady?” There was a wary look in the faun’s eyes.
It occurred to the lass that she barely knew this strange creature. He had seemed sad, and pitiable, last night when he spoke of his years inside the ice palace. But that might be an act. Could she trust him?
She decided to be wary. “I got lost,” she lied. “I was . . . looking for the isbjørn.”
Erasmus blinked as though not certain he could believe her, and the lass gave him a wide, innocent smile. The wary look left the faun’s eyes. “My lord sent me to fetch you for luncheon,” he said. “If you will follow me?”
The lass followed him out of the entrance hall and down a wide corridor. All along the corridor were niches with pedestals in them. On one pedestal sat a straw basket. The next held a pair of knitting needles with a half-finished mitten on one needle, the ball of yarn neatly placed beside it.
“Erasmus?”
“My lady?”
“Why are there balls of yarn and baskets and old rag dolls on display?”
The wary look came back to the faun’s face. “I couldn’t say, my lady.”
The isbjørn was waiting for them in a long, narrow room that was dominated by a long, narrow table. The lass counted two dozen chairs, though a golden plate and gleaming silver were set at only one place. The isbjørn was hunkered down near that chair, waiting for her.
Feeling a cold th
rill down her spine, the lass sat in the place that had been set for her. It unnerved her to see the huge bear sitting there so calmly. As kind as he seemed, she could not forget that he was still an animal, a predator large enough to eat her and Rollo both.
“Did you sleep well?” The rumbling voice sounded genuinely interested.
“Er, yes, thank you.”
“That’s good.”
“Yes.”
Erasmus took several platters covered with silver domes from a sideboard and laid them in an arc around the lass’s plate. One by one he lifted the covers to reveal delicately seasoned fish, roasted chicken, soft white bread rolls, honeyed fruit, and pickled vegetables. She had never seen most of the things before her, and the things she could identify (fish, chicken, potatoes) she had never seen cooked that way. Her mouth watered and her stomach gave a lurch and a growl.
With a rumbling laugh, the isbjørn told her to eat.
“But I had breakfast only a few hours ago. And that was so much . . . fruit and sweet rolls and porridge . . .” She trailed off. “I’ve never seen so much food in my life.”
The bear blinked at her. “But . . . is it so bad? Where you live?”
“The winter has lasted a long time,” the lass said, not wanting to give the impression that Jarl was a bad provider. “No one has very much. But my family doesn’t starve.”
Blinking again, the bear said, “Of course not.”
“Aren’t you going to eat?” The lass took a piece of succulent fish, then a large portion of the chicken.
“No.”
Something in his tone warned her not to ask any more questions about his eating habits. She deboned the fish and started to give it to Rollo, but then she saw Erasmus uncover a platter of raw steak and lay it on the hearthrug next to the wolf.