Edith Pattou - East

I was only a third of the way across, and my nerves were strung so tight I thought I would break apart. I began to sweat heavily and could feel a thin sheet of ice forming on my face.

Desperate, I willed myself forward, lifting one foot, then the other, and then quickly planting each one again.

It was at about the halfway point when a sharp, biting wind suddenly kicked up, and startled, I lost my concentration. My left foot slid forward and went over the side. I fell, trying desperately to grab hold of something, but my hands slid, my torso slid. And I could feel my whole body sliding inexorably toward the edge. Frantic, I dug into my pocket and grabbed the handle of what I thought to be my small sharp knife, the ulu. With all my strength, I stabbed it into the surface of the ice. Then I saw that it was Malmo's story knife. Miraculously it held, and I in turn held on to it, tightly. Slowly I dragged my dangling foot back onto the bridge, and digging the kitchoa into the ice, I pulled myself up until I was in a crouching position.

I made it the rest of the way across the bridge in this same crouched-over position, using the ulu (after carefully putting away the story knife) and my two clawed feet. When I finally reached the far end I tumbled off onto the snow-covered ground and just lay there, breathing heavily. From the position of the moon I guessed that the journey across the bridge had taken most of the day.

I sat up and looked around. I realized at once that the land was very different from the one I had left behind on the other side of the bridge. First, there was the wind. It was constant, sharp, and insistent. Everything about the place was sharp and biting and bright and hostile. The snow on the ground had the texture of broken glass, brittle and sharp edged. It had been blown by the wind into shallow, undulating ridges that reminded me of Tuki's skin. There were occasional formations of ice that resembled smaller versions of the pinnacles in the ice forest Malmo and I had traveled through, but these looked like actual daggers piercing up from the ground, as though they would cut you if you brushed against them.

I took off my makeshift claws and strapped on my skis. The hard, ridged snow was slick, and I was able to travel swiftly over it. The ice daggers broke under my skis, though I took care to avoid the larger ones. I headed directly north.

As Malmo had told me, there were no animals at all in this land, so I had to carefully conserve my remaining seal meat.

The journey was grueling—the constant knifelike wind nearly drove me mad. My senses went numb. I moved my legs forward and kept my eyes trained on the horizon. After seven days I got my first glimpse of the ice palace. I first spotted it as a piercing glimmer. The late-winter sun had just dawned for its fleeting daily visit, and sent light reflecting off the palace's sheer ice walls and slender glassy towers.

The palace lay directly north of me, and I was still a long, long distance from it, but as I slogged forward, and day followed day, I began to see how vast and splendid it truly was. It stood so tall and shimmering on the snowy plain that it could be seen for miles and miles. One morning, I emerged from my tent after a fitful night's sleep. The glare of the sunlight off the palace was so intense that I only just turned my eyes away in time to avoid doing them damage. From then on I had to be vigilant about averting my eyes, even with my ivory goggles on.

It took many more days to reach the palace. There were few places to hide on the icy plain, but I used all available ridges and hillocks, and the occasional snow cave, to try to keep out of sight of any who might be keeping watch.

When I had come within a quarter mile of my destination, I found a small icy cave, barely as tall as me, in the side of a hill. I dug out the snow inside so I could get deeper into the cave. It faced south, away from the ice palace, and I made myself a snug little camp, sheltered from the relentless wind.

In the cave I thought about how I was going to get inside the glittering palace. Being fairly close, I saw how enormous it was, perhaps three times the size of the tallest church in Andalsnes.

I was down to my last packet of smoked seal meat. I made a small fire, ate a little of the meat, and soon after slept, no closer to a plan than before.

I awoke to the sound of bells.

Neddy

I HAD ONCE TOLD ROSE that if she needed me I would go to her, no matter where she was. She needed me, I was sure of it. So I left the reading room and ran all the way to the printing press to find Father. But when I arrived Father was not there, having just left on an errand.

"I must have a ship," I blurted out to Soren.

He could see that I was half out of my mind with worry. He pulled up a chair and calmly beckoned for me to sit. "What has happened, Neddy?"

I poured out the whole tale, of Rose and the white bear and how I felt she was in danger and that I must go to her right away. My sister Sara had told Soren about Rose sometime before, and he was immediately sympathetic.

"Where do you think to go, to find your sister?" he asked, not unreasonably.

"North," I replied without hesitation. Though I had not had a clear view of Rose, I had had a sense of her as being dressed for cold weather in furs and mittens. I knew that feeling may have been just the power of association, given what I had been reading at the time, but nevertheless I was sure she was somewhere in the north.

"North, eh? That covers a lot of territory," Soren said. "Let me make enquiries," he went on. "Your father and I have long thought we ought to do so, but I confess we have both been so wrapped up in this new printing press. At any rate, I understand that the letter you'received from Rose came originally from Tonsberg, via La Rochelle in Fransk. It seems to me that Tonsberg is where we should begin our search, and then move on to La Rochelle."

"That will take too much time," I said impatiently. "I must not delay."

"I understand," replied Soren. "It will only take several days, and that is what we shall need anyway to get a ship outfitted and ready to go."

"Thank you, Soren," I said, clasping his hand in a warm handshake.

Soren waved away my gratitude. "I am tired of being cooped up with this splendid but maddening contraption," he said, gesturing at the printing press. "And I have always wanted an excuse to journey north. It has been little charted and 'twould be a great feather in our cap to do so. Of course, I must be sure to be back in time for my wedding day," he added with a grin.

"Of course," I replied, grinning back.

***

Soren's inquiries proved to be very fruitful, as well as somewhat worrying. We learned that Rose had gone north in a ship—an old knorr —headed for Suroy at the top of Njord, but that the knorr had not reached its destination. And then Soren's enquiry agent made an extremely lucky discovery in Tonsberg. He found a sailor who had actually been on board Rose's ship headed for Suroy.

The sailor's name was Gest, and he said that the knorr had been hit by a mighty storm. He himself had been swept overboard but had managed to survive by grabbing hold of an empty ale cask. He was then rescued by a passing ship that took him back to Tonsberg. He said that his mate, a man named Goran, had drowned but that he did not know what had happened to the captain of the ship and the girl who had been a passenger aboard the knorr. His best guess, as it was of those who knew of the storm in question and which way it had blown, was that if the ship had survived the storm, it was likely to have been driven far west and north, maybe as far as Gronland.

I tendered my resignation to Master Eckstrom, telling him that a family emergency had arisen, and said a fond good-bye to Havamal. As a parting gift, my new friend gave me a manuscript, which he had hand copied, with extensive information about Gronland and the people who lived there, as well as some practical details about traveling by ship into frozen waters.