Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow Read online

  “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.

  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.

  Chapter 4

  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.