Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow (3 page)

The young lass, who now had a name to treasure in her heart, lifted shining eyes to the white reindeer. “Thank you, thank you, a thousand times thank you.”

Higher up on the side of the mountain, the girl heard the sounds of shouting and the crash of dogs and men bullying their way through the underbrush.

“Go, hurry,” she told the white reindeer.

The huge animal bent its head and pressed its black nose to the center of the lass’s forehead, then turned and ran off into the night. The lass stayed where she was, on her knees beside the little stream, until the searchers found her.

“Pika, what are you doing out here?” Askeladden grabbed her arm and hauled her to her feet. “Did you see which way the reindeer went?”

She blinked at him, thinking fast. The others clustered around, holding their torches high. A few even carried spears, as though they thought it would be better to wound or possibly kill the reindeer than let it get away.

“What are you talking about?” The lass looked around innocently. “Askel? Why did you come this way?” She pointed at the tracks in the snow leading away from where they stood. “I thought you were looking for a
white
reindeer?”

“We are, you silly girl!” Askel shouted. “Did you see it?”

“That wasn’t the white reindeer; it was a brown one.
It got caught in the brambles and I set it free.” She pulled out of his grip. “I thought it might be one of ours, but it was wild and ran off.”

“A
brown
reindeer?” Askel sagged, dismay writ large across his face. “I saw it from the top of the hill! I could have sworn it was white.”

“It had snow caught in its fur,” she said.

“Here, Askel, you’ve been leading us a merry chase, and to no purpose,” one of the other men shouted, disgusted. The others were grumbling as well, and a few had started off in other directions, looking for signs of their quarry.

“Gah!” Askel ran his hands over his face in irritation. “We’ll never find anything in this dark, even with the moon,” he complained. He grunted and turned back to his sister. “You’d best be on home, pika. It’s not safe for you out here, you know that.” Then his eyes fixed on what she was wearing. They narrowed, and he sucked in his breath. “Where did you get that parka?” His own coat was a motley collection of old furs and bits of wool, more patches than whole cloth.

“It’s Hans Peter’s,” she said, backing away from the greedy look on his face. “And he said I could borrow it, just for today.”

“So that’s what he’s been hiding in that old chest,” her brother mused, a hard look on his face. “I wonder what else he brought back from his journeying.”

“Nothing for you,” the girl retorted, but Askeladden
wasn’t listening to her. He was staring across the stream, a calculating look on his face.

“I’m going home,” she said, but her brother didn’t answer. She didn’t repeat herself, but simply turned and made her way back along the stream and down the lower slope of the mountain to her family’s little cottage.

“Well?” Her mother was standing by the fire, looking angry.

“I found a brown reindeer,” the girl said, taking off the beautiful parka and holding it out to Hans Peter.

“A
brown
reindeer does us little good,” her mother snorted. “We have brown reindeer in plenty in the barn, or didn’t you know?” She went back to the soup pot.

Hans Peter took the parka from the lass and knelt down to help pull off the boots. The girl tapped him on the shoulder and, when he looked up, jerked her head at the ladder to the loft.

He nodded, understanding. “Help me carry these back up, will you?” he said for their mother’s benefit.

She picked up the right boot, he took the left, and she followed him up the ladder. He did not open his sea chest in front of her, but sat on it, and motioned for her to put the boot down by the foot of his cot. She set it on the floor beside its mate with reverence, then sat on the end of the cot so that she could speak low and still be heard.

“Askel saw me in these things,” she said, feeling
ashamed, as though she had betrayed a secret. “He wondered what else you had brought back from your journeys.”

“He was after me before, when I first got back,” Hans Peter said, shaking his head. “Ah, well, it looks as though I’m up for another round of pestering.” He saw her stricken face and smiled. “Don’t worry, my lass. Askel is persistent, but I’m stubborn. He won’t find anything I don’t want him to.” He rubbed his hands together briskly as though washing away the topic. “Now. I don’t suppose you caught sight of the white reindeer, did you?”

The lass had thought to tell him the same lie she had told Askel and their mother, but her expression gave her away. She couldn’t lie to Hans Peter, not when he was always so kind to her, and had let her wear his special parka and boots.

“You did see it,” Hans Peter breathed. His face brightened. “Was it magnificent?”

“It was,” she agreed, bouncing a little on the cot at the memory.

“How close did you get?”

“Very close.” She gave a muffled little laugh. “Very.”

He marveled at her. “You caught the white reindeer?”

“Some brambles caught it for me,” she whispered, leaning in even closer. “And I felt so badly for it that I freed it without a care for whether it was white or brown. And so it—” But then she stopped. It had granted
her a boon, not the one she had first asked for, but a priceless gift nonetheless.

“It granted your wish?” Hans Peter waited for her nod. “I’m guessing that you didn’t wish for a new cottage or dinner not to be burned ever again,” he said with a soft laugh.

The girl closed her eyes, feeling foolish. Of course, she should have asked for a new house! Or a soup pot that never ran empty. Or a purse of gold.

“It did offer me a rich dowry,” she mumbled.

“But you didn’t take it, because you’re too wise for that,” he said, patting her hand. “Too wise to wish this lot of ingrates to have a golden palace.”

“I should have—”

“You should
not
have,” he assured her. “Please tell me that, just this once, you wanted something for yourself.”

“I did,” she blushed, lowering her head.

“What was it, if I may ask?”

“A name.”

There was silence then. For a long time, brother and sister sat together, not moving. Then Hans Peter let go of her cold hand and put his arm around her, holding her tight to his warm side. “Ah, my little lass,” he said finally. “What a treasure to give you, you who have not even a name to call your own.”

“Would you . . . would you like to hear it?” she choked out. She had not thought of how awkward it was going to be, telling her parents that she had a name after all
these years. And what if they asked where she had gotten it? It was a beautiful name, but anyone who heard it would know that it was not from these lands.

“No,” Hans Peter said quietly. “You keep it safe; keep it close inside your heart. There are places in this world where not having a name is a lucky thing, a saving thing.” His gaze was directed far beyond their cabin walls.

The girl shivered a little, seeing the bleakness of his expression. “But why have a name if no one knows it?” she whispered.

“One day there will be a time and place for your name,” he told her. “But until then, perhaps you’re better off being our pika.”

“Your lass.”

“My lass,” he agreed, tweaking a strand of her hair.

They heard the cabin door bang open, and Askel’s voice roaring below. Hans Peter rolled his eyes, and his youngest sister laughed, and they went down the ladder together to face their brother.

It was a little while before the lass noticed that something about her had changed. Her family did not keep a cat, and the reindeer were tended by her brother Einar. They had a few chickens, but chickens were not great conversationalists, and if the lass noticed that she could understand their cackling, it didn’t stick in her mind.

It wasn’t until Jorunn and her husband, Nils, came for a visit, bringing with them their half-grown hunting dog, that the lass noticed it. The dog was a leggy animal with a sweet temperament that loved to sit by the fire while Hans Peter carved. When anyone came near, it would thump its tail on the floor and give him or her a look that was almost a smile.

The second night of Jorunn’s visit, the lass was making
lefse.
As she lifted one off the hot griddle with the flat stick, she heard a voice say, “That looks tasty.”

Thinking it was Hans Peter, she grinned over at him. “Thank you. Do you want a bit?”

“Hmm?” Hans Peter looked up from his carving. “What did you say?”

“I asked if you wanted a bit of
lefse.
”

“Not really.” He made a face. “I don’t like them plain.”

“Then why did you say it looked tasty?” She deftly transferred the flat disk of bread to the platter on the table.

“I didn’t.” He gave her a puzzled look.

The girl looked around. No one else was near.

There was a thump on the floor, and the lass looked down at the half-grown pup. It was gazing up at her, wagging its tail. “Can I have a bit, if he doesn’t want it?”

She looked sharply at the puppy. “Did you hear that?” She pointed the
lefse
stick at the animal, but her question was directed at Hans Peter.

“Hear what?”

“The dog asked for a bit of
lefse.
”

“No, it didn’t.”

“Yes, I did,” said the dog. Its ears drooped. “But you don’t have to give me any if you don’t want to.”

“Hans Peter,” the lass said, lowering her voice so that the others wouldn’t hear. “The dog is talking to me.”

“I see.” He put aside the bit of wood he’d been carving and carefully sheathed his knife. Standing, he went to his youngest sister and put a hand on her shoulder. “Do you have a headache?”

“No.”

“Have you eaten today?”

“Yes.” She shrugged off the hand in irritation. “He’s
speaking
to me. I’m not sick or mad or dreaming.” She pointed the stick at the dog again. “Say something else!”

“Can I have a piece before it gets cold?”

“There!” She turned triumphantly to Hans Peter. “Did you hear that?”

“No.” He shook his head, but he looked thoughtful. “But I did hear it make noise. Growls and yips, like dogs do.”

“But I heard the words quite clearly.” She slapped down the stick in frustration. Then, seeing that her mother was looking their way, she quickly spread more batter on the hot griddle and smoothed out another
lefse
with the edge of the stick. While it was cooking, she turned her attention to the dog again. “Did you know that my brother can’t understand you?” she asked in a low voice.

“No one can,” the dog said easily. “I talk all the time, but you’re the first person to understand.” He raised a hind leg and scratched at one ear. “Your sister is nice, but I beg all day long, and she never gives me anything good.” His big brown eyes fastened on the stack of
lefse
cooling on the table. “Please? Just a bit?”

The lass tore a strip off the edge of a pancake, rolled it up, and tossed it to the young dog. He caught it with a snap of his teeth and lowered his head to eat. When he was done, he looked back up at her with a sigh. “That tasted as good as it looked,” he told her.

“Thank you,” she said, still stunned.

“Are you still talking to the dog?” Hans Peter’s bewildered expression had passed and now he looked curious.

“Yes, and he’s talking back,” the girl said.

“Have you ever heard an animal talk before?”

“No, I . . . wait.” She pursed her lips. “This morning I could have sworn that one of the chickens said, ‘Here she comes again!’ when I opened the coop. But Einar and Anni were in the yard too.”

“Hmm.” Hans Peter crouched down beside the dog. “Can you talk to me, boy?”

The dog studied him and finally said, “I can try.”

Hans Peter looked up. “It just sounded like a whine.”

“He said he’d try,” she reported.

“What are you two whispering about over there?” Jorunn, jolly and rosy cheeked, came over to the fireside. “Are you teaching Nils’s dog a trick?” Her long-fingered hands rested on her pregnant belly with pride.

Hans Peter and his youngest sister exchanged looks. He cleared his throat. “We were trying to teach the dog to talk, but it doesn’t seem to have worked.”

“Oh, well! Nils says he isn’t very smart.”

The lass bristled at this. The dog seemed quite intelligent to her. “I think he’s smart. Let’s try the trick again.” She winked and pointed a finger at the dog. “Speak, boy!”

The dog sat up and barked.

“Good boy!” The lass tossed it a bit of
lefse.
“Now, lie down!”

It obediently lay down on the threadbare rug.

Another bit of
lefse.
“Roll over!”

The dog rolled onto its back.

“Hah!” The lass tossed it a last bit of
lefse,
amid the cheers of her other sisters, who had crowded around to watch.

“Kindly stop feeding that animal our dinner, pika,” their mother sniffed, bringing an end to the merriment.

“Yes, ma’am.” The girl straightened and went back to work. Jorunn and Hans Peter gave her sympathetic looks.

“Nils!” Jorunn greeted her husband merrily when he came in with the other boys from the barn. “Only see, my littlest sister has taught the dog some tricks.”

Nils laughed and came forward, and the dog dutifully performed his new feats. When their mother was not looking Jorunn crumbled a bit of yellow reindeer cheese off the wedge on the table and gave it to the dog.

“I wish you were as good with the reindeer,” Einar said wistfully as they sat down to dinner. “There’s something wrong with our oldest doe.”

“What’s that?” Jarl looked down from the head of the table. “Is she not giving the usual amount of milk?”

“She’s not giving
any
,” Einar grumbled. “She just tries to bite me when I come near, and after I get her hobbled and tied so that I
can
milk her, nothing comes.”

“That’s a concern,” Jarl said, rolling some dried fish in a
piece of
lefse
and chewing it thoughtfully. “That white-faced doe has always been our best.”