Sun and Moon, Ice and Snow - Jessica Day George [40]
“Well,” she said to Rollo. “Now what?”
“I don’t like this” was his remark. “It’s likely more troll magic.”
“Of course it’s troll magic,” she snapped, “but if it lets me talk to Hans Peter, then I don’t—Oh!”
The open page of the book in front of her now contained a word.
Lass?
Hans Peter? she hurried to write.
Are you wel1? he asked.
Yes! And you? And Father? The others?
The words appeared on the page as quickly as he could write them. Very well! Askel brought down an isbjørn, and sold it to the royal furrier in Christiania. The king will have no other hunter now. Askel brings him meat for the royal table and furs for his clothing. Askel and Mother live in a fine house in Christiania. Einar is with them.
The lass gave a grim laugh. It was what her mother had always wanted. But you? she wrote, and Father?
Father and I remain at the cottage. You would not recognize it, though. The roof is new, a gift from Askel. But we’ve added another room and new furnishings courtesy of Father’s own good luck.
The lass stopped and read what had been written to the impatient Rollo. This last part made her catch her breath. Father’s good luck?
Day after you left, the first tree he cut down had a treasure inside it. A steel chest of gold coins that had been buried next to the tree when it was a sapling. The tree had grown up around it, hiding it until Father came along.
The lass was very pleased about this. She knew that it would grate on her father’s pride to prosper solely because of Askeladden. Now he could boast (not that he ever would) of his own wealth.
Oh, I am so glad, she wrote.
Hans Peter replied, What of you?
I hazard that you know what my life is. I live in a palace of ice.
It is as I feared.
You were here, weren’t you?
My cowardice has cursed us all. I am sorry, sister.
What do you mean? What happened to you?
There was nothing for a long while, and the lass feared that Hans Peter had gone away and left the book, too sick inside to even respond. She paced the floor in anguish, turning every five paces to look at the book again, willing more writing to appear. When it finally did, she ran to the desk so fast that she stubbed her toe on the chair. She had to hop around and curse for a minute before the tears cleared and she could read.
I cannot say. Even after all these years and all this distance, I cannot say. Her power is too strong. I am sorry, sister, but you must stumble in the dark as my Tova did.
“Tova?” The lass blinked and looked down at Rollo. “Who is Tova?”
“I don’t know,” he responded, scratching at her foot impatiently. “Ask him.”
She was beautiful, Hans Peter wrote in a shaking hand, and kind. You would have loved her. She is gone now. I can hear Rolf Simonson hailing me. I shall have Father write to you this evening when he returns.
And her father did, joyfully begging for news of her well-being and relating the happenings of home. The gold that Jarl had found had allowed him to send proper dowries to his married daughters.
That’s wonderful, Father, the lass wrote. I am glad that you are all doing so well.
It was late now, and she was already in her nightshift. During supper she had told the isbjørn about her conversation with Hans Peter, omitting the mysterious Tova and the talk of his curse. The bear had been pleased that his gift had delighted her, but again warned her not to speak of it in front of anyone else. Whenever Fiona had come in to serve one of the courses, the bear had changed the subject.
Once more, Erasmus was not to be seen.
The lass and Jarl wrote back and forth for some time that night, each desperately trying to sound cheerful and pretend that they were chatting over the table. Jarl promised that he would bring Jorunn in on the secret when she visited next, and have her write to the lass as well.
Elated but tired, the lass closed the little book and