Page 4

“Thank you,” Gytha said again. She curtseyed a little and turned away. Hildr was kind, and she would have been a good sister-by-marriage, even if Torvald was too old. Gytha might have done worse.

She had done worse. What would they do now? She had condemned her family to a tragic winter of starvation and illness and slow death.

The walk toward home was a blur of icy wind and despairing thoughts. What could she do? Her skin tingled with fever. Her feet were heavy and her head was light, as if she would be borne away in the next frigid gust.

Solveig took the little bag of flour from her and tucked it into the larger sack with the chicken, which she slung over her shoulder. She gripped the end of the sack with one hand and tucked her other hand in Gytha’s.

The wind gusted so hard that Gytha staggered and fell, nearly pulling Solveig down with her. She remained on hands and knees for a moment, staring at the snow, and then slowly clambered to her feet.

When she looked up from the path, there was an enormous white bear.

Chapter 2

Gytha froze, trembling with cold and fear and fever. Though she wished to run, she could not make her feet move, and so she stood still.

The bear stepped forward, each great white paw nearly as wide as her body.

“Gytha,” Solveig’s whisper was panicked. “What do we do?” Her fingers gripped Gytha’s sleeve.

“Don’t run.” Gytha clenched her jaw and raised her chin, too tired and feverish to think of anything else to do.

No one else was on the path. The trees rustled overhead.

The chicken! Gytha grabbed the bag from her sister and held it out as if the bear would be distracted by it. As if a scrawny chicken would satisfy a beastlyhunger.

The colossal creature took another step forward, and another, each movement slow and steady.

The bear stepped so close that his nose nearly touched Gytha’s, ignoring the chicken entirely. His soft breaths warmed her face.

She tried to stand firm, as if she were brave, but her heart was thudding so hard that she could barely hear Solveig murmuring prayers beside her.

The bear’s thick fur rippled in the breeze. Its head was huge, and though she could not see its teeth, she imagined them long and white, just inches from her face.

It stared at her silently, huge black eyes intent on hers.

Gytha was so cold she felt faint and distant from her body. Perhaps the bear meant to eat her. Perhaps it didn’t.

She ventured a quavery, “Hello.”

She was so cold that she barely cared if it ate her. Perhaps it was all a fever dream.

The bear snuffed softly into her face and took another step forward. It sniffed curiously at Solveig’s woolen hat and then her shoulder, and then turned his attention to Gytha. The warm air of its breath tickled her neck, and she trembled, imagining huge teeth crushing her throat.

A voice as distant and faint as a memory said, “Are you afraid?”

“Yes.” Her voice shook.

There was a sound like a soft, grieved sigh. “I mean you no harm.” The bear’s huge, dark eyes held hers as its body curved around them, blocking the wind.

“You’re a bear.” Gytha’s voice cracked, the sound somewhere between a shriek and a sob.

“You are troubled by many things, not only your fear of me. Will you tell me of your griefs?”

Solveig’s huge, terrified eyes were filled with tears. “It’s going to eat us,” she whispered.

Perhaps it was the fever that loosened her tongue, or perhaps it was that she felt that talking could not make the situation any more hopeless than it already was. “My father and mother are sick, and we’ve run out of food.”

The bear merely looked at her, as if it expected more, and its patience, or what she took to be patience, shattered what little control she still had.