Page 9

The bear snuffled roughly and turned away, grumbling. He breathed into Gytha’s face, his breath hot and fierce, and said, “Your mother is healed. But your fever will not go so easily. I will come again tomorrow morning. Rest well.”

Finally able to move more freely, Ivarr caught up the axe again and swung it at the bear’s head. The beast barely avoided the blow and retreated into the night, snuffling and shaking his head.

Moments later, they were all inside with the door securely locked behind them. Once he had assured himself that none of his daughters was hurt by the bear, Ivarr collapsed into a chair near the fire with his face buried in his hands. His hands shook; in fact, his whole body shook as the terror receded. For several minutes, the only sounds were those of the wood in the stove.

Hlif knelt beside Ivarr and wrapped her arms around him. “I’m all right, and so are the children,” she murmured.

He gripped her shoulders with white fingers and pulled back to search her face. “Are you well, love? You’re not hurt? And your fever?”

The woman’s clear blue eyes were warm, and her thin lips curved in a soft smile. “Not the tiniest ache of fever. Feel.” She put her forehead against his. “I feel tired but strong and healthy, Ivarr, like I do at the end of a good harvest.”

She turned to look at the children, and he turned with her, his eyes gleaming with unshed tears. Sigrid sat with the little ones on the thick rug, helping Brinja change into her pajamas and glancing up at her parents at intervals. The twins, Ashild and Dagney, were making acorn flour flatcakes, trying not to look upset, and Randulf and Halvard were alternately practicing their handwriting with wet fingers on the chalkboard and looking at the adults. Solveig sat beside Gytha on their bed, talking quietly to her older sister.

“Look at them,” Hlif said. “We’re all whole.”

Ivarr stared at them all in turn, drinking in their faces with renewed love and gratitude for their lives. “I don’t understand.” He shuddered. “The bear was growling like it meant to eat them all.”

Dinner was rich and filling but quiet. Hlif seemed entirely well, though the fatigue of weeks of fever made her even quieter than usual. Ivarr looked down at his hands, lean andscarred, and the dried blood under his fingernails. He rubbed it away thoughtfully.

At last Sigrid spoke, looking from one sister to the other. “Solveig said you and her heard the bear speak. But I just heard growling and roaring.”

Gytha took a deep, steadying breath. "Yes. He was kind to us. He said he healed Mamma, but my illness would not go so quickly.”

“I just heard roaring,” Ivarr said. But his eyes found his wife’s gaze across the table, and her thin cheeks, now pink with health. “How do you feel, my love?”

“I have not felt better in years.” Hlif smiled again. “I heard only animal growls and roars, but if the girls heard him speak, I believe them. I cannot even tell you how wretched I felt, my mind half-gone with fever. The breath of that creature on my face felt like life breathed into me, hot enough to burn away the illness itself. I don’t know what magic it is, but that is not an ordinary bear.”

Sigrid bit her lip and looked at Gytha. “But you’re not well.”

The eldest of the children looked down at her bowl. “No.” She blinked, trying to ignore the shimmering black spots in her vision. “I feel less feverish, though.” That was true; instead, she felt dizzy and weak and light-headed, as if the floor kept tilting beneath her.

When she went to bed, she fell asleep before she’d even pulled the blanket up against the chill. Solveig crawled into bed over her, pulling the blanket up over them both.

Gytha woke well before dawn, her pulse pounding in her ears. For several minutes, she lay silent and still, trying to calm herracing heart. There was no reason to be afraid. But the dark spun around her, and she closed her eyes against the dizziness. That only made her feel sick, so she slipped her feet into her slippers and pulled on her sweater before stepping closer to the stove. She drank a cup of water and then stared through the grate at the embers.

Every inch of her ached, and chills crawled up and down her spine, alternating with sweaty heat. She brushed her hair with trembling fingers and braided it over her shoulder. The pale gold strands gleamed in the dim light.

At last, restless with fever and churning thoughts, she walked to the door. She pulled on her boots, her coat, and a hat she thought was probably hers, though it was hard to tell in the shadows, and then opened the door and slipped out into the frigid darkness.

The night was utterly still. Every now and then a distant sound reached her ears, the quiet creak of cold wood or the soft hoot of an owl. The silence felt immense.

Gytha swung her arms back and forth in a futile attempt to warm herself. Then she sat on the flagstone, leaned back against the wall of the lodge, and sighed. The air was so cold it stung her lungs, but she felt oddly free and full of hope.

The sky above shimmered with green and pink, soft ribbons of color undulating across star-strewn expanse. The ethereal beauty of this silent display brought tears to her eyes. There might be no flowers visible in the frigid winter, but there was color and beauty even in the wild, inhospitable north.

Across the wide yard, a great shadow detached itself from the looming darkness of the forest and ambled closer. Soon she could see that it was the bear. The snowy white of its fur gleamed under the bright, clear starlight, and its dark eyes were impossible to read.

At last it loomed in front of her.

“Are you afraid of me?” it rumbled softly.

“No,” Gytha said honestly. “You are a bear, and I know bears are dangerous, but I cannot fear you.” She braced herself on the wall as she stood, for the dim world of snow and shadows danced before her eyes. When she could focus on the bear again, she bit her lip.

The pale light of the stars fell on an ugly, blood-crusted scratch from the inside corner of one eye down its great muzzle almost to its black nose.

She stepped forward, and when the bear did not move, she put one hand on his neck. The other hand traced a line down his muzzle beside the scratch. “Did my father do this?”

“Yes.” The bear’s answer was quiet. “He meant to protect you. He is a brave man, facing a bear without even his axe in hand to save his children.”