As I stared numbly at my new quarters, the door opened and a large troll appeared. He pushed a cart filled with steaming earthenware cups. Taking one off the cart, he thrust it at me, then quickly departed. I had made my face empty and slack, but he hadn't even looked at me.
Luckily he had not stayed to see whether I drank the beverage. I put it up to my nose, which was a mistake—for it smelled incredibly delicious, and hungry as I was, I had to struggle to keep from drinking it. But even smelling the slank made me feel woozy and stupid, so I began hunting around for a way to get rid of it. I discovered that the platform on which my bed of furs was piled was made of wood. It was also movable, so I pulled it away from the ice wall and poured my slank onto the ice floor, in a spot in the middle. Its heat ate a shallow hole in the ice. Then I pushed the bed back into place and sat on it, wrapping myself in a fur-skin.
So, I had done it. I had found the place that could not be found—the land that lay "east of the sun and west of the moon." And somewhere within the icy walls of the troll palace, I was convinced, was the man who had been the white bear.
White Bear
MY QUEEN IS VERY GOOD. She watches over me, ever thoughtful of my needs. I feel very fortunate to be valued so highly by my queen.
She is beautiful, too—the whiteness of her skin and her strong green eyes, her tall proud form, the richness of her clothing. She tells me that I once found her skin odd, its roughness and texture, but I do not remember this. In truth, I believe it is my queen herself who dislikes her skin, for she is always trying to change it using different creams she concocts with her arts. Some of the concoctions make my eyes burn or tickle my nose when I come close to her, but she will not give up the effort. I know she keeps trying partly because she so admires my soft skin.
I remember nothing of the time when we first met, my queen and I. She tells me it was in the green lands, and that I was never a servant like the other softskins. She tells me that I was a prince in the green lands, but I remember nothing of this. Sometimes I am curious, but mostly it does not matter to me, what came before.
I do, however, remember little bits from when I was a white bear. When I put on my white furs to go outside with my queen, it feels strange, like I am putting on what should already be there. And I remember that it was an unhappy time for me, though I do not recall why.
It is to my queen that I owe my freedom from my long enchantment as a white bear. A sorceress from the green lands cast a spell on me, and when my queen discovered my plight, she used her arts to release me. Then she brought me here to her northern kingdom of Huldre. This is just one of the many things for which I am grateful to my queen.
I am very well content in my life here. If it were not for the nightmares, there would be nothing to complain of at all. And my queen is most generous when the nightmares come. If I cry out, which I often do, she will come to me at once and bring me a cup of warm slank. She sits with me until my shaking abates.
Another proof of my queen's kindness toward me is the high regard in which she holds my music. She had her craftsmen make me a flauto. It is a very fine instrument, and she loves to hear me play it. And recently she told me I am to play for our wedding feast. It is a great honor, and once again I am filled with gratitude to her.
I hope I shall make my queen proud.
Rose
AND SO DID MY LIFE as a servant in the ice palace begin.
At first I was given the grueling, filthy routine of emptying the buckets of waste from the servants' quarters. There were many buildings of servants, I discovered, and the waste ditch was a long walk, some distance outside the palace gates. I worked from the moment I was awakened by the troll with the slank cart (he carried a whip, as if the slank were not sufficient incentive to rise; he only had to use it on me once) until I fell into my bed of fur-skins at night. Food was meager, and I began to suspect that the slank, which I continued to pour away under my bed, contained most of the nutrients that kept the servants going, as well as provided warmth in the frozen environment. The other softskins, though still slack jawed and dazed in expression, looked reasonably healthy and well fed, while I grew thinner each day.
I was always cold, too. The trolls clearly had a much higher tolerance for cold, for they walked around with only a single layer of clothing while we softskins attired ourselves from the pile of fur-skins in our rooms. I had my parka and long underwear from Malmo, which helped enormously, especially on my treks out to the waste ditch.
After several weeks I was moved to the kitchen, which was a definite improvement because there were ovens that warmed me and I could snatch an occasional scrap of food. Trolls, I discovered, were fairly shortsighted, which made stealing food without being caught easier than I would have thought. The kitchen was the domain of a large, loud female troll named Simka. She, along with the rest of the trolls, clearly considered the softskin servants to be little better than animals and treated us accordingly. Kicking was her favorite form of communication and she had a powerful foot. Despite the padding of my animal-skin clothing, I was soon covered with black-and-blue marks.
As I have said, my fellow softskins were kept sedated and dazed by the slank. They made little effort to interact with one another, and when I did hear them speak, I discovered that they spoke in a wide range of languages. The trolls must have gone in their sleighs to many different parts of the world to collect their servants, and I wondered how they went about it.
There were several trolls in charge of the servants, and they had at least a rudimentary grasp of the array of languages spoken by the softskins. But most of the communicating was done by pantomime—which was sufficient for the menial jobs the softskins were assigned. In the few cases when more complicated instructions were necessary, higher-level trolls were brought in to make explanations.
As for myself, I made a few attempts to speak to my fellow servants but was always met by the same blank look. Whether that was because they did not understand Njorden, or because of the slank, I couldn't be sure.
Slowly I learned about the workings of the palace, and by keeping my eyes and ears open, I picked up more and more of the troll language. Frequently I wished that I had my dictionary as well as some of my other belongings, which were stowed back in the ice cave.
I discovered early on that the softskins were not closely guarded. I think that was because of the drugged slank we were given, and also because of the frozen, deadly land surrounding the palace. In addition, we were not viewed as individuals at all but more as a herd of cattle or sheep. We went where we were told, did as we were bid, and found our way back to our "stalls" at the end of the day.
There were no locks on our rooms. None were needed. I experimented one night and discovered that although the door was very heavy, I could push it open with great effort. And there was no one patrolling the halls at night.
I suppose it would have been noticed if a softskin was missing when the morning slank was delivered, but it never happened. Occasionally a softskin would become confused and then be found wandering in a part of the palace it wasn't supposed to be in, but this did not cause undue alarm. The softskin was merely given a beating and led back to its room.
The troll language was very difficult to learn, bearing no relation to Njorden or any other language I had heard. It was lucky that I had made that beginning with Tuki, or I don't think I would have been able to penetrate it at all. As I learned more and more, I was reminded of times I'd had to pick out the stitches of a particularly complicated piece of sewing. One word might unravel a whole set of words, and then I'd come to a knot and have to begin all over again. Frequently I wished for something with which to write down the words I was learning, as I had with Tuki, but at least the lack of writing materials forced me to memorize. And learning the language gave me something to think about as I shivered in my pile of fur-skins every night.