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Gytha’s legs burned from the effort of holding on. In fact her whole body burned from the unfamiliar strain. Her face stung with the cold, and she feared that her nose had become frostbitten and fallen off. What if she returned to her family unrecognizable?

Exhaustion finally overcame her, and she lost her grip on Alexander’s fur. She slipped sideways with a helpless sense of falling into darkness.

The scent of bear and an incongruous feeling of safety and warmth filled Gytha’s senses as she woke slowly. She moved a little and then groaned; every muscle of her body ached fiercely.

“Are you hurt?” The bear’s voice rumbled through her bones.

She pulled away, struggling to make sense of where she was. The bear shifted and the world moved.

“Oh!” She had been curled up, lying between the bear’s front legs as it had laid its great head and neck over her. When she moved, snow slid off the bear’s head and fell into her face.

Gytha brushed the snow hurriedly from her face and stood up. The world was blanketed in another layer of heavy snow, though only a few fat flakes still fell. The world was gray and silver, and Gytha couldn’t tell whether it was dawn or dusk.

“Where are we?” She looked back at the bear .

He stood and shook the snow from his body in a great rush. “North.”

She looked around again. Her stomach was empty, and the feeling was both familiar and discouraging. Had she made a terrible mistake? Without the bear’s fur around her, her coat was too thin to protect her against the lethal cold.

“Is your food too frozen to eat?”

“Yes. But I will eat next time we stop.” She put two of the flatcakes and some of the elk venison into an inner pocket, where it would warm next to her body.

On every side were tall, dignified evergreens, and the snow was so thick that much of the underbrush had been entirely covered. The stillness was almost eerie.

The bear’s soft, rumbling voice broke into her thoughts. “Can you climb on again? We have a long way to go.”

Gytha’s legs buckled when she turned, and she fell to her knees, biting back a cry.

“What is wrong?”

“I’m terribly sore.” She groaned as she struggled to stand, legs trembling. “Oh, everything hurts.”

“Use me to steady yourself.”

She hauled herself upright with handfuls of his thick fur. At last she stood, resting her forehead against his shoulder and trying not to let her trembling breaths turn into tears.

“How far north are we going?” she managed.

“The end of the world.” Alexander’s voice was low and, if she wasn’t mistaken, grieved.

“Are there wolves here?”

The bear turned to look at her, his dark eyes grave. “There are wolves here, but we are going too far north even for them.”

He lowered himself to a crouch, and it still took her two tries to climb onto his back. When she was on, he began to run in the same powerful, rippling gait that had taken them so far.

“Is it morning or night?” she said, and the wind of their speed whipped her words away.

“It is winter, so it is night here. The sun does not come back until summer, and that is very short, and many months away.”

He ran for an hour before slowing. “Can you eat and ride?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Gytha ate while he continued walking. Her eyebrows and eyelashes were crusted with frost, and her face felt frozen when she opened her mouth for each bite. When she was finished, she put the rest of the flatcakes and elk venison back into her coat to warm.

“I am finished. I should have asked you if you wanted some. I’m sorry. Are you hungry?”

“I will not take food from your mouth.” He began to run again.

He continued without ceasing for hours. Gytha’s hands cramped in his fur, and she lay down with her head against his churning shoulders and dozed.

She woke when he changed course. They crossed frozen streams and wound through ice-crusted canyons that gleamed in the moonlight.

Perhaps he ran for hours. Perhaps days.

At last he slowed to a walk. Gytha sat up, dizzy with hunger and fatigue. Her legs, buried deep in his fur, were as toasty warm as if she were sitting by the fire at home, but her body was cold, and she felt weak and strange.

“Thank you for your courage.” Alexander’s voice sounded strangely thin. “Remember, do not look at or touch the stranger in your bed. Do not be afraid.”

Gytha frowned at his odd tone. “Are you all right? You sound ill.”

The bear tripped and nearly fell, but caught himself before she lost her grip and fell headlong.

“I can’t think.” He stopped and shook his head roughly.

“I forgot my name for a long time,” he said in a rush.

“No one wanted it. No one remembered. Not even me. Only because I wanted you to trust me did I search through my mind for it.” He brushed one great paw roughly over his face and shook it again before stumbling forward.

For several minutes he continued walking in silence before he said, “I cannot speak to you once we arrive. Not even a word. Remember what I said. Do not look at him. Do not touch. Do not be afraid.”

“Don’t look. Don’t touch. Don’t be afraid.” Gytha murmured to herself. “Are you ill?”

“Tired.”

The bear kept walking, but his steps became more uneven.

“You must be hungry,” he said. “Eat if you want.”

“Do you want some of the meat?”

“No. Thank you.”

Still he pressed on without another word.

He turned a little to the left and crested the low hill which he had been following for some time, then picked his way down the other side.

The ice crust was heavy enough to hold his weight in most places, but sometimes his huge feet broke through and he went stumbling through the layers of ice and snow until he found better footing.

They had passed out of the forest into rolling hills, and the world was white and gray and silver in the moonlight.

To the west, the mountains were closer than Gytha had ever seen them.

To the east, the horizon was broken by low escarpments dividing this land from the higher tundra, and far behind them to the southeast, taller mountains reached for the stars.

“I didn’t know there were mountains to the east,” Gytha said. In the dim and sparkling night, they were only shadows, and she could not tell how far away they were nor any detail about them. “And I’ve never seen the ones to the west this close. We must have traveled more west than I realized.”

“My home used to be on the other side of those mountains.” The words were low and breathless.

“Are you all right?”

The bear shook his head again and snuffled his nose into the snow. “I am fine.”

He pressed on, carrying her miles across the tundra, until they reached a wide crevasse, and he turned east and followed it for several miles until he reached a broken path that led deep into the shadowy hollow.

His steps were nearly silent, but Gytha could hear his labored breathing.

Above them the sky was a splash of stars, but the hollow itself was as black as pitch, and Gytha could not even see the bear’s white head.

“How far down are we going?” she ventured.

“To the bottom and back up. Hold on.”

In the interminable night, she could not see the bottom of the crevasse, and she was too frightened to keep her eyes open as they descended.

She nearly catapulted over his head as he followed a steep, narrow path down the side of the gash in the world, but she gripped his sides with arms and legs and buried her face in the fur over his shoulders.

She could not tell if it was ten minutes or several hours later that his gait shifted as he reached the narrow icy floor of the ravine and began to scramble up the other side.

The climb was even steeper than the path down, and the way was uneven, slippery, and fraught with broken ice that crumbled under Alexander’s great paws.

More than once they nearly fell, but he always caught a better grip and surged upward.

By the time they lurched over the edge on the other side, Gytha had bitten back several screams of terror. The bear stood still for a moment, his sides heaving, before stumbling forward.

“I think you need a rest,” Gytha said .

“I’m fine.”

“Then say that I could use a rest. That was terrifying.”

“Oh.” Alexander stopped with his head hanging down.

Gytha slid down from his back. White fur strands stuck to her sweaty palms and between her fingers.

“You should eat again,” Alexander said.

“I ate everything but the acorn flour, and that must be cooked.”

“Oh.” The bear swayed as if trying to hold his feet in a strong wind, but the air was still.

“Aren’t you hungry?” Gytha said gently.

“I don’t know.”

Gytha rested her head against his shoulder and felt his exhaustion like a great abyss that would swallow them both whole.

Finally he said, his voice low and almost ashamed, “If you can withstand your hunger a little longer, I do not think I can face her tonight.”

“Face who?”

The growl that answered was nearly inaudible, for all its restrained fury. His throat worked, but he did not answer her. Finally he managed, “The queen.”

“The queen?”

He shuddered and nearly lost his footing.

Hunger curled in her belly, familiar and regrettable, but not intolerable. She was more tired than she could ever remember, and her legs trembled like those of a newborn lamb. “I am as tired as I am hungry. If you will keep me warm, I think a nap would do us both good.”

Feeling bold and yet entirely safe, she curled up between his front legs, with her back against his chest. Carefully he lowered his head so his neck was a warm weight over her body.

“I am sorry.” His low voice rumbled through her body. “I had hoped to carry you there safely before you had to suffer too much from hunger. Even if it is a prison for me, you will be safe there.”

“A prison?” She twisted, trying to see his face, as if he were a person and she could read his expressions.

His throat worked and he grumbled something inarticulate. At last he managed, “I…I cannot say more.”

When she said nothing else, he sighed heavily and relaxed. The weight of his head dropped, and she realized he had fallen into an exhausted sleep within seconds.

Despite her own fatigue, she lay awake for some time.

Beneath her, the ice was frigid, and she shifted several times so that different parts of her rested against that life-stealing cold.

Alexander might have been dead for how much he noticed her wiggling; his warm, solid weight was the most welcome shield against the cold and any other danger.

When she did drift into sleep, she dreamed strange, unsettling things.

Fingers made of glittering ice snatched at her arms. Something howled behind her, and when she whirled in terror, a shriek came from another direction.

Knives of ice spun in the air like snowflakes in a blizzard.

A castle of ice loomed over her, and a voice hissed, “Foolish child!”

Gytha jerked awake with a gasp, and Alexander rumbled a soft question.

“I had a bad dream. I’m sorry.” Gytha buried her face in his fur and tried to steady her breathing. He lay his great head over her back, and she whispered her thanks into his neck.

Her stomach growled.

“It is not far now.” Alexander sighed, his head still low. “I am bound to silence in the palace. Remember the rules.”

“Do not look. Do not touch. Do not be afraid.” Gytha nodded, as if she were not terrified. “Do not expect you to answer. ”

The bear nodded. Then, slowly, he stood, not quite stifling a groan.

“Are you sore too?” Gytha smiled up at him. His face was quite handsome, now that she thought of him as a friend. His dark eyes were soft and limpid, with the light of intelligence in them. Even the livid red gash down his muzzle seemed only to remind her of his gentle nature.

She patted his cheek affectionately and then said, embarrassed, “I’m sorry! Was that too bold?”

Alexander’s surprised chuckle caught her off guard. “Someone must be bold, and it cannot be me. Don’t forget the rules, Gytha.” He lowered himself to let her climb on. “Lie down on me. Your jacket is too thin for this place.”

When they set off again, Gytha could feel his fatigue and reluctance in every step, but he did not falter. He climbed yet another low hill, and then crossed a long stretch of broken ice chunks.

“I’ve never seen land like this.” Gytha sat up and looked around curiously.

Her eyebrows were covered in frost, and every breath felt like it was burning her with ice from the inside out.

Her eyeballs felt like they were freezing in their sockets.

She shivered convulsively and leaned down to press her body into his fur, her eyes closed.

Her back might freeze, but her face was full of the scent of clean, snowy bear.

He was safe.

Then there was a strange sound, like a rushing of wind and water and stone unlike anything she had ever heard before. His steps shifted and his body tilted, so that she felt she might slip forward if she did not hold on even more tightly.

She peeked through the rippling white fur. He was following a narrow, precarious path down a cliffside. To her left a steep rock face rose up above their heads. To her right, she could not see the ground, and the strange rushing sound came from far below.

“Remember, Gytha. Trust me, if you can, and be brave.” The bear’s words were almost inaudible.

Gytha took a deep, shaky breath and stretched a little farther.

Enormous chunks of ice surged atop the water, like the layer of ice atop a bucket that had been broken but not melted.

The icebergs crunched against each other with the force of the ocean waves below.

Bits of froth were visible at intervals between the sharp edges as the ice chunks broke apart and crashed together again.

As far as she could see, the starlight glinted on a vast, broken, shifting sheet of ice.

This was the edge of the world.