Shoes had been my biggest problem; my big boots would hardly go well with a moon gown, but Tuki had once again come to my aid by finding me a pair of cast-off slippers. They were an old pair of the queen’s, he told me, which she had given to Urda when the queen had tired of them. They were too small for Urda, but she had kept them anyway, in the back of her closet.
I slipped on the shoes, which were white and trimmed with tiny pearls. They fitted. I don’t know why exactly, but it was unsettling to me that the Troll Queen and I should have very nearly the same size feet.
I was ready. I had planned to time my arrival after the feast, when the dancing was to begin. I would be a latecomer, from a far-distant land, and would, hopefully, be able to slip into the throng without anyone noticing. I had practised over and over in my head the troll words I would say if questioned. I was not sure if I would be able to capture the rough cadence of the troll voice, but the few times I had attempted it with Tuki, he had assured me that I would pass.
I think it was all a game to Tuki; he played along with all the eagerness and enthusiasm that he had shown when I’d used the story knife or we’d played the language game. I worried about him, though, and hated pulling him into my plot. Tuki was a simple soul, and guile did not come naturally to him. I prayed that I could keep Tuki from harm. I would not have been able to bear it if something were to happen to him.
I saw Tuki for just a moment that afternoon, and he whispered to me, when no one was near, that he had given Myk the unpowdered slank again the night before. It had been seven days since the white bear’s last dose of slank laced with rauha. Tuki saw a difference in him.
I was sure that if only I could get near enough to look into his eyes…he would remember me. He had to.
It is a triumph! The banquet hall is aglow with colour and light, from the finery my people wear in my honour to the brilliance of the revontulet, the northern lights that stream rivers of colour through the sky. Viewed through the crystalline walls and ceiling of my ice palace, it is extraordinary. A masterpiece.
Myk seems sleepy eyed, somewhat subdued. I suppose it is the effect of the double portion of powdered slank I gave him last night. But when he looks at me, he smiles.
I have never been so happy.
My queen is radiant. I can hardly believe it is me she wishes to wed. Tomorrow. How can I be worthy of such an honour?
Tuki is acting odd. All the time he gazes at the entrance, as though expecting someone to enter. He has hardly touched the delicious food.
I wish I did not feel so drowsy and dull witted.
All of the outlying buildings, except the stables, were connected to the ice palace by tunnels, creating a weblike maze that caused at least one softskin a day to get hopelessly lost. There were trolls who were assigned the job of leading those wandering softskins to their proper place. Though it did not seem likely there would be trolls in the passageways on the night of the wedding feast, I did not want to take the risk. Even the most unobservant troll would think it odd to find a party guest roaming the passages leading to the servants’ quarters. So I decided to circle around and approach the front entrance of the palace from the outside.
I put on my reindeer-skin parka over the dress, donned my old boots (putting the dainty pearl shoes in my pockets), and went outside.
The northern lights were extraordinary. I had never seen them so glorious, so richly hued and vivid. Though I was not particularly cold in my layers, I began to shiver. The Troll Queen’s power was immense. Did I really think that I, with nothing but a flimsy mask and a ring on my thumb, had any chance of taking away that which she desired above all else?
It was a long walk, skirting the outside of the ice palace, but eventually I came to the front. I slipped stealthily around the corner and saw palace guards busily meeting and attending to the sleigh of a group of late-arriving trolls. No one noticed me as I made my way up the sweeping ice stairway. Ahead of me a pair of trolls were just entering, and I trailed behind them. They, too, wore furs, which they hung on a treelike contraption made of ice – a coat rack, I guessed. There weren’t many coats on it, as most of the visitors had arrived earlier and were staying inside the ice palace. I found a spot for my coat and placed my boots under it.
I entered the banquet room. The sight before me stopped my breath. It was an enormous hall, with glistening ice walls, a cathedral ceiling, and towering windows made of clear ice. Through the windows the northern lights were visible in all their overwhelming beauty. The ice refracted the pulsing blues, greens, and purples, causing colour to swirl across every surface of the room. The radiance and perfection of it was almost too much to take in.
Hundreds of trolls were gathered, all dressed elegantly in brilliantly coloured finery. The air vibrated with their guttural voices. Tables lined the outside walls, having been pushed aside after the banquet was done to make space for dancing. Many trolls were sitting at the tables, but most were dancing. What they danced to was barely recognizable to me as music. It was a rumbling, pulsing sound, combined with a higher-pitched noise, possibly from an instrument like a flauto, though there was little in the way of melody. The sound hurt my ears, but in some strange way fitted with the pulsing of the northern lights. Probably the queen had arranged that as well, I thought grimly.
The trolls’ dancing wasn’t very much like the dancing I knew from back in Njord, either. Pairing off, they held on to each other by the elbows and moved their feet in a crabbed, sideways motion.
Then I saw him and all my other thoughts fell away.
I had not seen his face since that night when I had dripped hot tallow on him. I no longer was aware of the troll music, and there was a strange prickly feeling all along my skin.
He was dancing with a troll lady, and he had a stiff but genuinely polite expression on his face. His eyes looked tired.
A voice at my side startled me. “Kaunis puku,” it said. Taking my eyes reluctantly from the man who had been a white bear, I turned to find a male troll with a leering smile on his ridged face. He wore a turquoise jacket. “Mutta miksi el varikas?” he continued. I was not sure, but I think the words meant he thought my dress lovely but wondered why it had no colour.
I smiled politely and, not knowing what else to say, croaked out in my best effort at troll language that I would love to dance. He looked a little puzzled at this but then said, “Et saa tanssi,” and, taking my gloved hand, led me out onto the dance floor. My heart pounding, I tried to follow what I saw the others doing. It did not seem difficult, though I managed to step on the troll’s feet several times. Luckily, he did not try to converse with me. It was not long before he led me off the dance floor and then left me. Relieved, I hoped he would pass along the word that the troll lady in the colourless dress had two left feet.
I found a spot by an ice pillar from where I could watch the dancers. That my moon dress was not brightly coloured made blending into the background easier.
I saw the Troll Queen at once. She was seated on a raised dais, on a throne that looked to be made of nothing but diamonds, and she was gazing out over the festive tableau with a serene, proprietary air. I noticed that most often her eyes were on the one she called Myk. And so were mine.
He was a stranger to me. And yet he was not. Though his form was that of a man, I could still see the white bear in him. Or perhaps he was the man I had seen in the white bear. But the way he held his head, the movement of his shoulders, the level gaze of his eyes. All those were familiar. And I remembered the days spent in the room with the red couch, my fumbling attempts at his music, the stories he had listened to me tell. The loneliness in his eyes, and the kindness. And as I watched the man who had been a white bear make polite conversation with a stout troll lady in an orange dress (one I had hemmed only the day before), I realized suddenly that this man, this stranger, was dear to me, as dear as one of my own family. Perhaps dearer, I thought, with a great rush of inexplicably strong feeling. There was a strange expectant beating of my hear
t that I had never felt before.
But just at the very moment I understood what this white bear-man was to me, I saw him gaze up at the Troll Queen. A look of warmth, knowing and affectionate, passed between them, and my stomach lurched. I felt as if Simka had kicked me there, hard.
Was it possible? Did he…love the Troll Queen? Had I come all this way to rescue one from a captivity he actually desired? My thoughts were jumbled, my hands sweating inside my white gloves. The ring felt slippery on my thumb.
Suddenly I saw Tuki. He was at the white bear-man’s side and was speaking to him earnestly. The Troll Queen had been distracted for the moment by a delegation of particularly elegant trolls wishing to pay their respects.
Tuki had the white bear-man’s hand and was pulling him across the dance floor. Towards me.
I watched them approach with a mixture of fear and excitement. It all has come down to this moment, I thought. Journey’s end.
He saw my dress first and something flickered in his eyes, some dim spark of recognition, and I remembered the white bear watching me through the doorway when I’d tried the dress on. He hesitated, pausing in his approach. Tuki looked eagerly between us. But when the white bear-man looked up at my face, the spark faded. That polite, kind look I had seen him wear most of the evening replaced it. I could barely hear past the pounding of my heart, but I think Tuki introduced me in troll language as “Rose, who is visiting from distant lands”.
“Would you care to dance?” he asked politely in stiff troll words.
I nodded. He led me onto the dance floor.
“I hope you are having a pleasurable evening,” he said, again in troll language. He was not looking at me but keeping his eyes politely averted. Troll small talk, I thought wildly. My mouth felt dry, my tongue leaden.
“Your gown…” He hesitated, that dim spark returning to his eyes. “It is…unusual.” He dropped one of my elbows and rubbed his forehead, as if trying to dispel whatever was clouding his thoughts.
“I have something to show you,” I said in a low voice, using my own language and making no attempt to sound like a troll.
He looked genuinely startled by that, even alarmed. His eyes searched my face.
“Your voice… And…” I think he had seen that I wore a mask.
Quickly I slipped one glove partway off and removed the ring from my thumb. I pressed it into his palm.
His feet kept moving as he gazed down at the ring. The edges of his eyes creased, as though he was puzzled. Then he gave his head a little shake and handed the ring back to me.
“It is very nice. But I cannot…”
“It is yours,” I said urgently.
He shook his head. “I do not think so. But thank you.” He wanted to get away from me, I could feel it.
I once more pressed the ring into his hand. “Look more closely,” I said.
“You are kind,” he said, “but I must return to my queen.”
He reached towards me, to return the ring, but I backed away, curtsied, and said, “It is a gift. Please keep it.”
Moving blindly I made my way back to my pillar and leaned heavily against it. I watched the man who had been a white bear move away from me across the dance floor. He put his hand into his pocket, and I guessed he had put the ring there. Then I looked up at the queen’s throne and saw her eyes on me. I felt a shiver of fear. Had she seen? Had my mask slipped? But then her gaze shifted to the one she called Myk. I was not prepared for the look I saw on the pale queen’s face. It was an expression of pure love. Love. Not ownership, or cruel manipulation, but wholehearted, even tender, love. And though I could not see his eyes, I guessed that her expression was reflected in his.
So that was it. They genuinely cared for each other.
Suddenly I could not stay there another moment. I had to leave. I wanted to run but forced myself to walk out of the banquet hall. Tears were already beginning to soak into the stiff fabric of my mask. The moment I was out of sight I began to run. I found my parka on the coat rack, and my boots, and, hastily putting them on, headed for the palace entrance.
I slid sideways out the front; the trolls there were busy sharing some kind of steaming beverage that was making them laugh loudly in their coarse voices, and they did not notice me. The cold knifed into me, and the mask, damp from my tears, began to freeze to my face. Quickly I ripped it off and shoved it into a pocket.
I ran around the side of the palace and made my way to the stables. The trolls there were also drinking and talking loudly as they watched over a full paddock of the visitors’ reindeer. I was able to sneak into a back stall, where I found one of my favourite reindeer, a sleek white beauty I had dubbed Vaettur. Taking his halter, I led him from his stall and out one of the back entrances to the stables. I mounted him and cautiously guided him to the nearest gate. All the gates had been left open to accommodate the troll visitors. As soon as I was some distance from the palace, I gave Vaettur a kick and we were off.
Vaettur was strong and fast, and I clung to him like a drowning person. I had no thought, no plan, except to get away from the ice palace. What a fool I had been. Every inch of that endless journey, the days, weeks, months… It had all been for nothing. And the worst of it was that I knew then what I had lost.
Throughout the journey to find the white bear I had told myself I was doing it to make right the wrong I had done. It was a matter of honour, of responsibility. But that had been only part of it. The truth was I loved him. I loved him as a white bear, and I loved him still as the man who had been a white bear. I was no better than the Troll Queen, only I had cloaked my feelings in virtuous words.
And I had lost him. For the second time.
The cold seared through me, but it did not matter. Nothing mattered.
My heart felt frozen inside my chest. It was too cold a night for a broken heart, I thought irrationally. Where would I go, what would I do? “Go home,” I told myself. Keep riding until I was back with Neddy, and Father and Mother. Then I railed at myself for behaving like a spoiled child who hadn’t gotten the prize she wanted at a party. And it was absurd. As strong and swift as he was, I could not ride Vaettur all the way across the frozen land of Niflheim, much less back to Njord. I would need the right clothing, the rest of my gear. But I was not thinking clearly.
Suddenly the reindeer shied and then reared back. Lost in myself, I had not been paying attention to where we were going. I looked then and saw that we were on the lip of a steep icy slope. Vaettur had not wanted to take on such a descent at the pace we were going, and I didn’t blame him.
As I looked down into the frozen valley, my eye was caught by a scattering of shapes that lay opaque against the frozen background of white snow. The northern lights were still illuminating the sky, though not as bright as before, and they gave teasing glimpses of the shapes below.
Despite the jumbled state of my feelings, I was curious. What could those objects be? I wondered. There were scores of them lit up by the lights above bursting into even greater brilliance. I urged Vaettur forwards. Cautiously he began to descend the slope.
We reached a point more than halfway down where it was too slick for the reindeer to get a footing; in fact, I saw that there was a band of glittering ice about twice my height that ran around the perimeter of the valley floor.
But that was not all I saw. Dismounting, I stared into the valley, my eyes transfixed. Was it possible…? Vaettur snuffled at my pockets, looking for a treat, but I did not even notice. I just stared in disbelief and horror.
At last the dancing was done. I was so tired, my cheeks stiff from smiling at all those faces I did not know. I could not wait to leave and go to my bed.
My queen was well pleased with the evening. And even with all she had to do, was ever thoughtful of my comfort. When she saw how tired I was, she sent me off to bed, with Tuki attending. She said she would look in on me before going to sleep herself but that I needn’t wait up for her, as she had to look after her guests. Before I left her my q
ueen asked me about the troll girl in the moon dress. I told her she did not dance well but was pleasant. I did not tell my queen of the girl’s odd behaviour, of her voice and the language she spoke, and of the ring she thrust on me. And that she seemed to be wearing some kind of mask. I don’t know why I did not speak of those things, except that I thought it might displease my queen in some way and the girl might be punished. I do not think the girl meant any harm.
Before getting into my nightclothes, I took the ring out and gazed at it. Why did it look familiar and yet not familiar? It made no sense. I placed the ring on my finger. It fitted. Perhaps I had been wrong and it was mine, from long ago. And yet why would a troll girl I did not know have it? Or was she a troll? Her voice, and the mask… But I was too tired to think any longer.
I took the ring off and placed it in a drawer. My queen would know the answer. I would ask her in the morning, without telling her where I had gotten it.
Tuki brought my slank as usual. Then he, too, asked me about the girl in the moon dress. I repeated what I had told my queen and thought I saw a look of disappointment cross his face. I believe he wanted to talk more, but I was too exhausted. I told him to leave. I did not even care that his eyes looked bright with unshed tears at the shortness of my tone. I was so tired.
My bed felt inviting and I fell swiftly into a deep sleep.
I dreamed of the girl in the moon dress. We were dancing and I could not take my eyes from her eyes. Purple, like fleur-de-lis… In truth, I had barely noticed the troll girl’s eyes while I danced with her, but in the dream they were bright and dark and full of some kind of feeling I could not put a name to. As we danced I felt happy, happier than I had ever thought possible. It was a different kind of dancing, too, flowing, moving in wide circles, my hands at her waist. I did not want the dance to end.