Page 6

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.”

“He is brave and good. All the same, I am sorry for it. You wouldn’t hurt me, would you?” Gytha studied the bear’s face. It was difficult to tell exactly how he spoke; his mouth was not made to form human speech, and yet it was not difficult to understand him. She felt sure he was a male bear.

His teeth were as long as her longest fingers and his head was nearly as long as her arm. She ought to have been terrified.

Instead, when she met his eyes, she felt only trust.

The bear held her gaze. “I would not harm you, no. But the great favor I must ask of you is not safe.”

“What would you ask?” She laughed in quiet disbelief. “What can I have to offer you? You saved my family from starvation this winter. I owe you my life.”

He withdrew just a little and shifted so that he breathed into her face again, his hot breath like a wash of summer sunshine that made her warm to her toes.

“There.” He ducked his head and sighed heavily, as if he were suddenly exhausted. “I have no hold over you, no healing held back.” He swayed on his feet.

The feverish chill in Gytha’s bones was gone, replaced by a sense of warmth and comfort. The crawling restlessness in her stomach, sick and sour, was entirely vanished.

Gytha frowned and looked at him more closely. “Had you held back before? I feel entirely better. How did you heal my mother and me?”

The bear did not raise his head. “A little magic. All I have.” After a moment, he said almost inaudibly, “I had not intended to withhold healing before. I found a little more strength in the night, and I wanted to spend it on you.”

With a sudden rush of gratitude, Gytha put one hand atop his head and caressed the fur as if he were tame.

He flicked one ear, and she froze. “I’m sorry. I just…I felt safe, and I didn’t think. I didn’t mean to offend you.”

A soft, tired rumble reached her ears like distant thunder. “I am not offended.” He turned his head a little, as if hinting that she might rub his ear, so she did so.

Then he said nothing else. As she stood beside him, leaning against his great shoulder with her hand softly scratching around his ear, she began to perceive what she had not at first. The crushing fatigue that made his enormous body shiver and tremble, not from cold but from the effort of staying upright.

“What favor could a great creature like you, full of magic, have to ask of me?” Gytha said at last.

The bear sighed again. “I ought not ask. I have been selfish to think of it.”

Gytha smiled. To think that this bear was dangerous! “Please ask, Master Bear. I would like to do you a favor after you have been so generous to my family.”

“My name is Alexander.” He lifted his head at last and met her eyes.

In the darkness, she could not see their color, only the faint, reflected gleam of the cold light of the stars.

“I would ask you to come away with me to the North for a long time. Far away from your family. I would not able to speak with you, but I would be with you. There are…others…there; they are not friendly, but they would not harm you.”

The young woman’s soft caress of his ear slowed. “And what would I do there?” she asked carefully.

The bear sighed and hesitated. At last he said, “You would be fed and housed and provided with entertainment of many sorts. But if you do not finish the task, I cannot ask another.”

“What task?”

“A man must share your bed for the nights of a year and a day, and you must not look upon him or touch him.” The bear’s voice was so low that Gytha strained to hear his words. “Of course he would not touch you either, you understand.”

Gytha frowned. “Will we talk, then? Much can be learned by honest conversation, and a man’s looks are hardly the most interesting or important thing about him.”

“You may talk as much as you like. He may not answer nor give any signal of agreement or disagreement.”

“So we are to remain strangers, even in such an intimate setting.” Gytha frowned. “Why would you ask such a favor?”

The bear turned to look at her again. “I cannot say.” His dark eyes gleamed in the starlight. “Do not agree out of obligation. It is too much to ask of anyone.”

“Why did you call Solveig ‘little sister’?” Gytha asked, partly out of curiosity and partly to give herself time to think.

“I thought I would be proud to have such a sister, and clearly she is younger than you are.” The bear hesitated and said, “I have given you my name, but I do not know yours. Will you give me your name, as if we are friends?”

The young woman blinked. “My name is Gytha,” she said. “I am sorry. It was rude of me not to tell you earlier. ”

The bear’s deep, rumbling chuckle set her mind at ease. “Gytha,” he said, as if testing the sound of it. “It is a beautiful name.”

“Why can Solveig understand you, too, but Papa and Sigrid only heard roaring?”

The bear sighed softly, as if grieved by this. “I have only a very little magic, and it is borrowed. It was an unexpected gift that she understood me. I thought only you would hear my words.”

Gytha chewed her lip as she thought. The cold seeped through her coat and her boots, and she shivered. Without thinking, she leaned a little closer to the bear, letting her shoulder rest against his again.

“Let me talk to my family and I will tell you my decision tomorrow morning,” she said at last. “But I think I want to say yes.”

Alexander twisted his head around to look at her again. “What? Why?”

She took a deep breath. “Because you asked it.”