Mistress of the Wind (4 page)

Astrid walked a little way away from the cottage, and he followed her, intrigued at her bravery in seeing him alone.

The shutters were not closed across the windows tonight, and light spilled from them. “Stand in the light a little, Bear, I would see you properly,” she said, turning to him, and Bjorn obeyed. He had made sure to see her properly, after all.

He felt her eyes on him and then she reached out and touched his fur, rubbing the soft white between her fingers.

He suppressed a shiver.

“I will go with you, Bear, on two conditions,” she said, and he could see from the way she spoke, and the way she stood, arms crossed over her chest, that she had thought this through.

“What are they?” He held his breath, wondering if they were at all in his power to grant. So close . . .

“I need your word that you will treat me always with respect and never let me come to harm.”

“You have my word, on my life.” The words were the most heartfelt he’d ever spoken.

She stared at him a moment, then nodded, satisfied, and Bjorn felt the first fizz of joy in his blood.

“Then, I wish you to give the gold to my family in such a way that my father and brother Eric are not the sole controllers of it.”

That gave him pause. He flopped to the ground and rested his head on his paws as he thought it through. Then he stood again, stretched, and grinned. “That I can promise you, also.”

“Then, Bear, I will go with you.”

He let the words swirl on the crisp autumn air for a moment, then he stood on his hind legs and bellowed out his triumph.

You are half-defeated, Norga.

The door of the house slammed open, and the youngest brother came running out. “Astrid.”

Bjorn dropped to the ground, and bowed. “Your sister is safe. She comes with me.”

“Astrid?” The brother said again, ignoring him and looked at Astrid,
his
Astrid.

She nodded.

“I will go with the bear, Tomas. But he has a promise to fulfil, first.” She looked pointedly at the bags of gold.

“Woodsman,” Bjorn called, and one by one, Astrid’s family filed out of the cottage. “Your daughter is willing to come with me. And as agreed, I give you two bags of gold to see you settled.”

Bjorn placed a massive paw on top of the bags. “The gold is enchanted, and should be used for each person in this family equally. If any one takes more for him or herself out of greed, the gold will call to me, and I will come and hold that person to account.”

Astrid’s father looked longingly at the bags, and then moved his gaze to Astrid. “That was your doing.”

“It was,” she said calmly, and came to stand by Bjorn’s side.

“Would you go and fetch your things?” Bjorn asked her, and she held up a small rag, made into a bundle.

“I have everything with me, already.”

“Then say your farewells, we have far to travel tonight.”

He watched her embrace her mother, the youngest brother and the younger of her two sisters, who had begun to weep from the moment Bjorn had announced Astrid’s choice.

More cautiously, she put her arms around the older sister. To her father and older brother, she bowed. He saw the older brother pass something small to her, and the surprise on her face as she looked down at what was in her hand. She slipped the small gift into her bundle.

“Climb onto my back,” Bjorn told her, crouching down so she could do so, and she clambered up and hung on to his neck.

“Goodbye,” she called back as he began to lumber away, but he hardly heard her, and thought not at all of her family. He could go home at last. Rest at last.

“Where are we going,” she asked him as he ran into the forest, a catch in her voice.

“To my palace,” he answered, and sped up.

Chapter Six

T
he time for second thoughts had come and gone. The bear ran with long, ground-eating strides, his massive paws as sure-footed on the rocky mountain paths as on the soft forest floors.

Astrid’s arms felt numb from holding tight, and she wondered if the night would ever end. If they would ever rest. But she kept quiet. He was doing most of the work, after all.

But at last they came to a quiet clearing, deep in a forest far from home, and the bear sank down in the lee of a massive tree trunk, his breath coming in short, sharp pants, little white puffs in the cold darkness.

“I can go no further tonight,” he said, and waited for her to slide off his back before he stretched out on the leafy ground and groaned.

Astrid stood next to him, unsure what to do, what was expected of her.

“Come lie with me for warmth, Astrid, the nights are bitter.”

She hesitated.

“Are you afraid?” He spoke with his eyes closed, without even looking her way.

“No. I wonder where I might lie that you will not roll on me and crush me by mistake.”

One eye opened. “Did I not swear mere hours ago that I would never let you come to harm?”

“You did.”

“Well then.” He shuffled closer to the tree, and she sat next to him, then gingerly lay her head on his extended paw and tucked her hands into the deep fur of his chest.

He rumbled his approval, the sound vibrating against her fingers, and she closed her eyes, so tired now they had stopped, she could barely remember her own name, let alone any danger she might be in.

“You really aren’t afraid, are you?”

“No,” she whispered. “I am not.”

And as she fell heavily, deeply into sleep, she realized she was telling the truth.

* * *

When Astrid had slid down his back, he’d felt a lurch of conscience when he saw her pale face, the way her arms shook with fatigue.

He’d forgotten that she would have had to hold fast to him so as not to fall, and yet she had not made a single complaint.

It felt so good to lie with her close, her golden hair spread across the white of his massive paws, her hands fisted deep into his fur. He was so tired, and yet having her lying against him, the first touch of anyone for so long, he found he was not able to fall asleep just yet.

And when they got to the palace . . . He closed his eyes, thought what that would mean.

Every day when the sun set, after eleven long months, he would be a man again.

He looked down at Astrid, and his heart squeezed inside him. The rules of the bargain were that Astrid could never look upon him in his human form and he could never explain why to her. Norga’s last, vicious twist of a condition in case, by some sliver of chance, he ever did find the the girl from the clearing long ago.

Norga thought she’d been clever but he had had long months to think this through. Endless nights and empty days. Searching, searching and thinking of what might happen when his searching was over.

And he knew there was a way she could be his wife in all but name. And he would risk it despite what he stood to lose. Because he found as the months wore by, he’d begun to care less and less about the burden he carried not just for himself but for many others. His father’s people—his people—who counted on him.

He’d grown cold as the places he was forced to sleep, cold almost as Norga’s own heart.

And since he’d first laid eyes on Astrid, he felt a thaw. It was agony, this warming up. Every new emotion stabbed him through the heart. And he knew if he abandoned her in his palace, never held her, he would freeze up again. Become even colder than before.

He was playing with fire if he implemented his plan, but he’d rather get burned by such a fire than freeze, cold and alone and with nothing to show for it.

With a final huff, he closed his eyes, and let sleep take him under.

* * *

It seemed to Astrid the wind hushed as they emerged from the forest. The trees, almost alive while they’d been among them, stilled. The rock-strewn foot of a gray-stoned mountain was before them, the sheer cliff-faces soaring up to an ice-blue sky.

The bear paused just out of reach of the trees’ shadows.

“Where are we?” Astrid asked from her perch on his back, her voice sounding too loud in the quiet air.

“My home. Before us lies my palace.”

Astrid said nothing. She saw no palace, but didn’t like to say so in case she offended her . . . what was he? Not her master, no one was that but she.

But by letting him carry her off, she’d agreed to be his companion, and over the three days it had taken them to get here, they had formed a bond, a camaraderie that came from her riding his back each day and sleeping tucked up against him at night.

Now they were at their destination, though, and she knew things would be different.

A tremor of fear ran through her, and she had to breathe deeply, twining her fingers more tightly into his fur. She needed to keep her wits about her.

“What is wrong?” His words were soft.

“I see a mountain before me, not a palace.”

“Fair enough.”

She heard laughter in his voice and trained her eyes on the cold gray stones, wondering what sort of life she would have amongst them.

With a decided spring in his step, the bear ran forward, up the grassy slopes and into the rocky beginnings of the mountain. They stopped in front of a sheer cliff face.

The bear lifted a paw, placed it against the stone. “I am at my journey’s end, let me in.” He spoke quietly, with a low rumble in his voice.

Nothing happened.

Astrid felt him tremble beneath her. He suddenly reared up, taking Astrid by surprise. She cried out and slid down his back as he roared out:

“Let me in. Part of my quest is fulfilled.”

The stone began to shake, and then the faint outline of an arched doorway appeared. It parted, grinding and protesting as it made a gateway straight into the mountain.

The bear dropped down on all fours and looked back at her. “I never doubted you were the one.” He turned his full attention on the entrance. “Follow me. We are home at last.”

Astrid looked up at the blue sky and then at the dark, shadowed entrance to the mountain palace. This was not her home, no matter what bargain she’d struck. No matter what her strange new companion said.

She looked longingly at the green slopes down to the forest, and thought for a moment of running.

A gentle breeze brushed her face with fingers so solid she felt she could reach out and touch it back. A tear slid down her cheek and the wind flicked it away.

She turned back to the door. She had agreed to this, and as she’d told the bear once before, she never broke her word.

With head high, Astrid stepped over the dark threshold. If it were not home, she would have to make it so.

Chapter Seven

H
e was back.

The halls seemed more beautiful than he remembered them, the hundreds of torches suffusing everything with a warm glow that welcomed him again.

He shivered, the after-effects of the panic he’d felt outside the door when it had not yielded to him. He’d lied to Astrid when he said he’d never doubted she was the one. For a terrible moment he’d thought he’d made a mistake. Taken the wrong woman.

He looked down and saw a distorted reflection of himself in the gold-flecked granite floor, its warm brown polished to a mirror-like sheen. The black granite walls glimmered with silver sparkles in the fire-glow.

Behind him, the entrance ground and screeched closed, and he realized he’d forgotten Astrid.

He turned, and there she stood, rag bundle in hand, gaping at the hall, at the room of silver and gold flashing in the torch light.

“What is this place?” she whispered.

“I told you, my home. Built into the solid granite of the mountain.”

“And the torches? Who lit them?”

“No one. They burn on their own.”

She dragged her eyes away from the wonders and looked directly at him. “Who else lives here?”

“There is just you and me, although once this was full of my father’s servants and followers.”

He thought back to that time, the bustle and hum of this place when it was thriving and happy. When the balance was kept.

“We are alone?” Her voice sounded thin and frightened, bouncing and echoing in the empty chamber.

“Perhaps not forever.” If he could only outwit the troll queen who sought to end the balance for good.

Astrid nodded, but he could see she hardly heard him, her eyes bright with tears, and he felt a stab of shame for bringing her here, for taking her from her family and making her live alone.

But she was the one for him, and it was just for a year, if he could walk the thin tightrope of Norga’s conditions and his own desires.

Yes, she’d be alone during the day. But through the night—why, he’d make sure the loneliness melted away.

* * *

The palace was the most beautiful place she’d ever seen, and the most daunting.