Edith Pattou - East

"Sooner, I should think," I retorted.

"You'll need to pay close attention. I'll not say things twice. And I am not a patient man."

That was an understatement. Thor was ill mannered and ill tempered, and how much of either depended on where he was in his drinking. If he'd had too little, he was impossible; if too much, he was careless and impossible.

Still, he managed to cram a great deal of information into a short span of time. His knowledge of the ship and of the sea was impressive, and it was obvious how much he loved it all, which made up for his gruffness. He instructed me as I repaired the steering oar and then rigged up a short mast from deck boards. He taught me about the rigging, and even explained to me the smallest details of how the knorr had been built.

Finally he launched into the subject of navigation.

"There are as many ways to find your way as there are sailors. Smell the different flavors of a stretch of coast, listen for the curve of the shore, taste the air," he said to me.

He explained how to read the stars, the sun and moon, the tides, the weather, fish and bird life, and even water temperature, color, and texture. And then with great solemnity, he showed me how to use his highly prized leidarstein .

Much of what he taught me had a practical simplicity to it, but taken altogether it was overwhelming, and there were times that I despaired of remembering it all.

By the end of the first two days of Thor's instruction, my hands were raw from handling the rigging, my back was sore, and my head ached from all I'd been trying to absorb. I recalled my previous ocean crossing—the simple, dreamlike trip through the sea, wrapped in a sealskin and carried like a baby in the mouth of a white bear. And I realized how much more complicated life is without the benefit of magic. Rubbing linseed oil into my blistered hands, I thought wistfully of how magic lets you skip over the steps of things. That is what makes it so appealing.

But, I thought, the steps of things are where life is truly found, in doing the day-to-day tasks. Caught up in the world of enchantment as I had been at the castle, it had been the routine things I had missed most, which was why I had set up that laundry room and insisted on doing my own washing. But I had missed so much. Sitting at the table back home and peeling potatoes with my mother and sisters in a companionable silence. Feeding the chickens, their urgent feathery bodies crowding my legs, and looking up to see Neddy coming back from the fields. Going on one of my long exploring walks, having a blister come up on my heel but at the same time stumbling upon a fox den and catching a brief glimpse of a mother fox nursing a brand-new litter of kits. And though I might have wished away the blister, slowing down to favor the pain in my heel was part of how I came to see the kits.

And I knew, without ever having been told, that the white bear would have gladly traded the comfortable magic life in the castle in exchange for a whole horde of blisters on his feet.

Finished with the linseed oil, I took up some rigging that needed repair, and I had a memory, clear as day, of the face of the stranger who had been the white bear—and of the hopelessness in his eyes. I could not help the hot tears that smeared my vision.

"Work too much for you, eh?" I heard Thor say.

I quickly blinked away the tears and looked over at him, a cup of ale in his hand and a sneering look on his face. "Of course not," I retorted.

"A little too much sun in the eyes then?" he asked sarcastically.

"I was remembering something," I replied stiffly, and focused on the length of rope in my hand. "Someone."

There was a silence. Then, "Forgive me. 'Twas ill spoken," came the unexpected words from Thor.

I looked at him, amazed.

"Why do you go to Suroy?" he suddenly asked. It was the first time he had ever asked me a question about myself.

I looked at him and for some reason I told him the truth. I think it was because of his eyes. They reminded me, for just a moment, of Neddy's.

I spoke for a long, long time, telling the whole story. I expected at any moment he would interrupt me with a shout of laughter or disbelief. But he did not.

When I came to the end, I took a deep breath, my fingers unknowingly twisting the ring on my thumb.

Thor was silent. Then he said, "'Tis a strange tale." There was a pause. "And so you go north, to make things right with this white bear. Or the man that was the white bear."

I nodded.

"My grandfather said once that a white wolf spoke to him. But then, he was overfond of mead." Thor grinned. "An appetite that runs in the family." I did not return his smile, and his faded, too.

"I have traveled north," Thor said, a far look in his eyes. "Well beyond Njord. Saw a white land way off in the distance, but I had to turn back because of the ice. If something remains of magic in the world, I believe it would lie in the far north, in the places where people cannot go."

We fell silent.

Thor broke the silence at last, and it was the first time he called me by name. "Well, Rose," he said, "once we get that sail raised, the knorr shall take you north. After all, you did save my life. And 'tis only common courtesy to take you where I said I would."

We both laughed then.

Neddy

IN HER LETTER ROSE had sounded different. Older, I guess, her tone more serious. And it wasn't the words of the letter but the new voice that made me feel sad, as though I'd lost the old Rose forever.

After Mother confessed her folly that day, she and Father had come back together. Widow Hautzig had been banished from the household, and Father set out on no more journeys.

Once we received Rose's letter, Father and I spent many evenings talking about what to do. Despite the few clues Rose had let fall during our conversations while she was at home, we were still no closer to knowing where the castle was, except that it lay across a body of water. Finally we decided that for the time being we would do nothing; we would trust Rose and rely on her to find her way back home to us.

Although Mother agreed with that, she believed she must do more than just sit and wait. It was she who made the effort to find out all she could about the disappearing merchant, the one who had sold her the candle and flint. There wasn't very much to learn, though there were rumors aplenty. There was one story going around that he had been spotted late one night by the Romsdal Fjord and, when he turned around, was seen to have no back at all, only a big hollow space where his back should have been.

The only facts that could be pinned down were that the merchant said he came from Finnland and that he had an aversion to very warm weather, although even on the hottest days he wore long sleeves and long pants, as well as gloves made of soft leather. He made no friends and kept very much to himself. The other interesting facts that Mother told us were that the skin on his face was odd, scarred and ridged, and that he had an unusual voice, rough and deep, as though he had a perpetual sore throat or cough.

One happy event that occurred at about the same time was that my sister Sara and Harald Soren became engaged to be married.

Sara told me that at first it was her gratitude to Soren that made her like him so well. But as her health improved and they spent more time together, the gratitude ripened into love, and though he was a good deal older, it became clear they cared very much for each other.

Sara didn't want to set a date for the marriage until Rose returned—which we all understood—but we also felt that Rose would want her to go ahead with her life.

"She'd hate to think that you are delaying your happiness on her account," I said to Sara.