Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow - Jessica Day George [15]
“The third son’s birthright!” Frida said.
“It is a fine thing, to set your sights on crystal towers and golden thrones,” Hans Peter said quietly. “But first you had better see what lurks within those towers, and what sits on those thrones. Every palace needs a foundation, Askeladden. Make sure that yours isn’t of human bones.” And with that, Hans Peter got to his feet, his every movement as slow and jerky as an old, old man’s. The rest of the family watched in stunned silence as he made his way up the ladder and into the darkness of the loft.
“He’s mad,” Askeladden said quietly after a moment.
“He’s hurting,” the lass said fiercely. “He’s hurting, and none of you care.” She was still standing, her fists clenched. Rollo stood beside her, pressed against her thigh, uncertain what to do to comfort his beloved mistress.
“Pika, pika,” Jarl said softly. “I care. But there’s naught we can do.” He smiled sadly at his youngest child. Then, turning his gaze to Askel, his smile faded. “I have never known your brother to speak madness—”
“Until now!”
Jarl held up one hand in a sharp gesture to silence Askeladden. “I have never known Hans Peter to speak madness. His counsel has always been sound, and he knows far more of the world than I ever hope to. You should listen to his advice.”
“Jarl, don’t talk nonsense!” Frida pounded on the table with her bony fist. “Hans Peter is a good-for-nothing, and my Askeladden is a strong, brave man. He’s a fine hunter, and if he says that he will bring down the isbjørn, he will!”
“Thank you, Mother,” Askeladden said in a lofty tone. “I think I shall sleep here tonight, to rest up while this storm blows itself out, and then I shall be off after the bear.”
“An excellent plan, my son,” Frida said. “Here, have some more stew, and some bread and cheese. You need to keep up your strength. And before you leave tomorrow, I’ll pack you a bag with plenty of dried meat and cheese and bread, for the hunt.”
“You will regret this,” the lass said.
She was speaking to Askel, but she never knew if he heard her. Her gaze was fixed on the little window beside the door. The shutter had flapped loose when Askel had come in, and she had not yet closed it. The greased reindeer hide pane barely let the light filter in when the sun was shining, but now she thought she could see the snow swirling outside. It seemed to make shapes: an isbjørn and the shambling form of a troll.
“You will regret this,” she repeated, her voice no more than a whisper. “We all will.”
Chapter 7
When Askeladden had been gone three days, even Frida began to worry. The storm had been fierce, but after the skies cleared, the pristine snow looked welcoming. Askel had tested his skis and found the chill temperature had made the snow perfect for travel. He loaded up his knapsack with food, his crossbow, bolts, and knives, and waved a cheery farewell to his mother.
Hans Peter sat by the fire and said not a word to anyone, not even to the lass when she pressed him to eat something. He ate reluctantly and didn’t carve a single piece of wood. Rollo sat beside him, his head on Hans Peter’s knee. His silence affected the entire family, and added to it was a strangeness in the air.
Jarl went out and about his work, as usual, skiing through the trees and pulling back a great sledge of wood at the end of each day. The lass and Frida milked the reindeer and made cheese, and the lass found a squirrel’s cache of nuts and ground them into meal. But all this was done in silence. Though not a talkative woman, Frida had a sharp tongue and enjoyed giving orders to her husband and remaining children. But for three days she said almost nothing. The lass did not sing, Hans Peter did not tell stories, and Jarl did not share the details of his day.
And then another storm descended.
The wind raged around the little cottage, and there was not