Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow (2 page)

“Saw what?” Askel looked up from the corner where he was polishing his worn boots.

“Saints preserve me from half-witted children,” Frida murmured to herself, and pulled her tattered shawl tighter about her shoulders. She picked up her knitting, ignoring Einar.

“The—the—the—,” Einar stammered.

“The—the—the,” Askel mocked, and went back to his polishing.

“The white reindeer,” Einar spit out, making his family freeze in astonishment.

Stories of the white reindeer were as plentiful as stories of lucky third sons. Everybody knew that if you found the white reindeer, it would give you one gift. And what wonderful gifts the reindeer had granted! Fabulous dowries for poor fishermen’s daughters, sacks of gold, new houses, kettles that were always full to the brim with delectable foods, seven-league boots, golden ships . . . and many more wondrous things.

Everyone was on their feet now, jaws agape. Everyone except for Hans Peter, who shook his head and went back to carving. Askeladden crossed the room in two strides and grabbed Einar by the shoulders, shaking the younger boy.

“You are certain? The white reindeer was seen?”

Einar nodded, struck dumb once more.

“Where?”

“To—to the east, past Karl Henrykson’s farm. By the three waterfalls.”

Askel released his brother and grabbed up the boots he had been polishing. Thrusting his feet into them, he pulled on one of the patched parkas that hung by the door. Then he took down a pair of skis and poles.

“Don’t wait up, Mother,” he said gaily, and went out into the snow.

The other children, who until now had not said a word, all scrambled to follow. Frida made no remark as all her remaining children save Hans Peter and the lass divided up the warm clothes and skis and went out into the cold. When the last of them were gone, she turned to Hans Peter and the lass, displeased.

“Well, your brothers and sisters are determined to make this family’s fortune, but I see that you are not,” she snapped. She stalked over to the hearth and took up the spoon that Katla had been using to stir the soup.

“The little one is too young to be off in the forest chasing moonbeams,” Hans Peter said. “And a nameless child should never wander in the woods.”

“And what’s your excuse, a great big man like you? Rather sit all day by the fire like an old woman warming your lazy bones?”

“The lass is too young, and I am too old,” Hans Peter
said mildly. “I went chasing moonbeams aboard the
Sea Dragon
, and I have always regretted it.”

The little lass looked from her grumbling mother to her sad-eyed brother and didn’t know what to do. She could remain here, she supposed. As Hans Peter had said, she was too young to be out in the cold, and night was falling. But what a glorious thing it would be to catch the white reindeer, the lass thought, and to ask it to make Hans Peter happy again.

“I’m going too,” she announced, and got up from her place by the fire. She felt a little thrill of fear, but thought that if any trolls confronted her, she would claim to be her sister Annifrid.

“What?” Hans Peter looked startled. He dropped the piece of wood he was carving and took one of her hands in his own. “My little lass, this is not a good thing to do.”

“I’ll be all right,” she told him, mustering confidence she did not feel.

“There are no parkas left,” Hans Peter pointed out.

“I’ll use a blanket,” the lass said after a moment’s consideration. She had set her mind to finding that reindeer, for Hans Peter’s sake, and nothing would deter her.

“You’ll freeze to death,” their mother said shrilly. “If you’d wanted a parka to wear, you should have moved faster. Come and stir this soup; I still have stockings to darn.”

“No.” The lass put her chin up. “I will find the white reindeer.”

“Then wear mine,” Hans Peter said. He climbed up to the loft and the lass heard him rummaging in his sea chest. He rarely opened it, and she could hear the hinges squeak in protest when the lid closed. Hans Peter descended the ladder and held out a parka and a pair of boots. “These will keep you warm. And safe.”

“Oh, I couldn’t!” Her hands rose to her cheeks, stunned by the beauty of the items he held before her.

The boots and parka were lined with the finest, whitest fur she had ever seen. On the outside they were of softly felted wool as white as new snow, embroidered with bands of bloodred and azure blue. The spiky patterns of the embroidery matched the style of the carvings that Hans Peter made, but none of these symbols were familiar to the lass.

“You can and you will,” he said, holding them out. “The boots are too big for you, of course. But if you keep your old boots on underneath, they’ll work well enough. Strap on some snowshoes and you’ll be able to walk like a bear. And the parka will cover you from stem to stern, which is a good thing in this cold.”

“Those things are too fine for her,” their mother snapped, her gleaming eyes checking the seams and verifying the quality. “We could sell them to the next trader for a pretty penny, and no mistake.” She crossed her arms under her bosom. “Why did you not say before that you had such things to trade? And here the family is going wanting!”

“I’ll not sell these for love nor money,” Hans Peter said. His eyes held the dead look that they’d had when he first arrived home, the look that was only now beginning to fade.

“But,” Frida began.

“I’ll not sell these for love nor money,” her eldest son repeated. “I earned them with blood, and I’ll part with them when death takes me, but not before. The lass shall have them tonight, and after that, back into the chest they go!”

Not wanting to argue with him in this strange, fierce mood, the lass took the proffered clothing and put it on. The parka extended well past her knees and the boots rose to meet it. With her own scuffed boots underneath, they were just snug enough, and she had to push the heavy sleeves of the parka back in order to use her hands.

“I’ve never been so warm,” she said in wonder. She had never known what it was like to feel the glow over your whole body that you felt on your cheeks and hands when you sat close to the fire.

Her brother pulled the hood up, tucking in her hair, and pulled the ribbons to tighten it around her face. “God willing, one day you shall be this warm all the time,” he told her, his voice gruff with emotion. Then he held back the sleeves while she tugged on her mittens, and she went off in search of the white reindeer.

It did not take long for the young lass to find the trail of the other searchers. The snow had become so trampled and muddied that it was hard to see what they were following; any signs left by the white reindeer had long been obliterated. Even through the thick, fur-lined hood of Hans Peter’s parka she could hear hounds baying and men shouting and cursing. She rolled her eyes at the foolishness of it. Any animal would bolt to hear such a din, and the white reindeer was a creature out of nature, a magical beast with the intelligence of a man. It would be long gone by now.

The searchers had gone straight up the side of the mountain, and the girl could see them now, struggling between the dense pine trees. So she went around the base instead, following a small stream that wound between the trees. The edges were iced over, but the middle still ran free where the flow was fast moving.

She was so enjoying the sensation of being warm, and making such good time walking along the bank, that she didn’t realize what she was seeing when she rounded a boulder and came upon the white reindeer. The boulder
had concealed a small, dense thicket. And caught in that thicket was the legendary creature itself.

It was as white, or whiter, than the snow around it. As white, or whiter, than the parka she wore. As white, or whiter, than anything she had ever seen. Its great rack of antlers was dark and burnished like polished wood, and its rolling eyes were blacker than soot.

“Oh, you poor thing!” The lass went forward to see if she could help. “You’re trapped.”

From the tracks in the snow, the reindeer had been coming down the side of the mountain and had slid down a small drop-off into the brambles. The animal snorted and tried to swipe at her with its entangled antlers as she approached, but the lass just clucked her tongue.

“I can help you get free, just hold still now,” she said in a soothing voice.

All thought of holding the creature there until it granted her wish was gone. The lass had a tender heart and hated to see an animal suffer. The brambles had scratched the reindeer terribly, and dark red drops were staining the fine white pelt. Its breath made clouds in the air, and its hooves struck sparks on the stones beneath the churned snow.

“Sh, sh, sh,” the girl soothed. “I’ll get you free.”

Moving slowly, she sidled up to the animal and took hold of a long bramble cane that had wound itself several times around the left branch of the reindeer’s antlers. The
canes were still green at their heart, which was bad for the reindeer because it meant that they couldn’t be easily snapped off.

As soon as she let go of the first cane, it sprang back, pricking the back of her hand even through her thick woolen mitten. It struck the reindeer on the side of the head, making the animal bellow and twist.

“Stop that,” the lass ordered. “You’re making things worse!”

Realizing that there was no other way, she opened her parka to get the little belt-knife she wore. The rush of cold air that came in froze her ribs until she thought that taking a deep breath would crack them.

Seeing the knife out of the corner of one rolling eye, the white reindeer stamped and bellowed, but it couldn’t move very far. It was now so securely wrapped with brambles that it would never get itself free.

“Hush now,” the lass said, “this is for the brambles, not for you.”

Sawing through the canes was tedious and snagged her mittens badly. She took them off, but her fingers quickly became too stiff to be much good, and she had to put the mittens back on and blow down into them until her fingertips regained feeling. All the while she softly sang the lullaby that Jorunn had sung to her when she was little. The singing soothed the reindeer, and it calmed under her hands, which made it much easier to untangle the creature’s
antlers. She tried to cut as few canes as possible, seeing each severed branch as a handful fewer cloudberries to find in the months to come. But it was more important to get the poor beast free.

When the last of the canes was loose and the reindeer could raise its head and rattle its great antlers at the sky, the lass gave a whoop of delight. The white reindeer stepped delicately from the circle of mangled brambles and turned to face her.

“Thank you,” it said.

The young girl’s jaw dropped. She had been so absorbed with freeing the reindeer, she had forgotten that this was not just any reindeer. This was a magical creature . . . one that could grant wishes.

“You’re welcome,” she said, feeling suddenly shy. She hadn’t caught the animal, but maybe, if she asked nicely . . . ? She made a tentative motion with one hand. Perhaps she should grab hold of its antlers, while it still stood so close? But she couldn’t bring herself to do it.

“I shall grant you a boon,” the reindeer said. Its voice was throaty, yet musical, and it made the girl’s heart ache to hear it, as if she were hearing beautiful music that she would never hear again.

“Oh, please, that would be wonderful,” the lass said. She made as if to clap her mittened hands, remembered just in time that she was still holding the knife, and hastily dropped it into one of the parka’s pockets.

“What do you wish?”

“I wish for my brother Hans Peter to be made whole,” the girl said, breathless with hope.

“He is ill?”

“He went away to sea, and when he came back, he was . . . different. Faded. Sad. Gray.” It was hard to describe the change: there was nothing specific, just a general sense of wrongness when you compared him now to how he had been.

“Hmm, a puzzle,” said the white reindeer. It stamped and shifted its feet in the dusk. The girl moved too, for now that its head was unencumbered, the huge animal was taller than she and its antlers spread wider than her outstretched arms. “What is that?” The reindeer’s voice was sharp. With its velvet muzzle, it pointed at the sleeve of Hans Peter’s parka.

The lass looked down. The moon was rising, and in its milky light the embroidery on the parka stood out like the dried drops of blood on the reindeer’s silky pelt. She frowned at the embroidery. Some of the symbols looked half-familiar, and she hazarded a guess at some that lay around the cuff. “A journey? Ice and snow?”

“That is the writing of the trolls,” the reindeer trumpeted. It recoiled from her. “You have been cursed by the trolls!”

“No, no,
I
haven’t,” the girl protested. “It’s my brother’s parka, and his boots. He brought them back
from his sea voyages. Please help him!” She held out her hands to the reindeer in appeal.

“There is nothing I can do,” the reindeer said, shivering and flinging droplets of blood into the snow around them. “If the markings on this garment are true, then what has harmed him is well beyond my power.”

The lass began to cry. Hans Peter, cursed? Then there was nothing anyone could do for him, and he would have to spend his life there, under the bitter eyes of their mother, haunted by this evil. She sagged to her knees.

“Tch, tch, little one,” the reindeer said in a kind voice. It whuffled her shoulder with its soft lips. “Is there nothing you want for yourself? A pretty gown? A dowry? I am usually asked for such things by human girls. Would you like a handsome suitor?”

The girl gave a wobbly laugh and smeared the tears away from her eyes. “I don’t think I’ll need a dowry, and I doubt that any suitor would court me for long,” she told the reindeer. “I’m an unwanted fourth daughter. I don’t even have a name.”

“Then I shall give you one,” the white reindeer said. “A creature of such generous spirit should have a name of her own, or the trolls might steal her away and use that fine spirit to fuel their dark magic.”

And then the reindeer leaned its velvet muzzle close to the girl’s ear, and named her a name in the language of the great beasts of the forest and mountain, the sea and
plain and desert hot, which is the true language of all creation.