I don't know how long I lay there, eyes wide open, waiting, but suddenly the lamps went out. I started to sit up; I was sure there had been oil enough in those lamps to last the night through. But I froze when moments later I felt something climb into the bed and pull up the covers. I briefly cursed the lack of a flint to relight the lamp, vowing to search for one in the morning.

But this time I had been fully awake when my visitor settled onto the bed, and I was better able to gauge the give in the mattress. It confirmed my initial feeling that this was a being somewhat larger than my sister but certainly not as huge as a bear. It could not be the white bear.

I thought for a moment of trying to speak to the figure but had a strong sense that I should not. Something mysterious was happening, and I felt that the sound of my voice would be jarring and wrong.

Again, the visitor did not move and stayed well away from me. And again I felt my tension drain. As I was drifting toward sleep, I even had the sensation of comfort, almost like I was at home sleeping beside my sister.

And once again the next morning, my visitor was gone.

Father

FOR MY THIRD JOURNEY I headed due south. My previous two had been north and northwest. Soren was eager for me to explore to the south, as there were so many areas there that remained uncharted.

In the course of mapping the lands I traveled through, I spoke to many local inhabitants, asking them about towns, rivers, and lakes, and the best routes between this point and that. Always at the end of our conversations, I would throw in a casual question about white bears, saying I had heard they were occasionally seen about and had any passed through of late. I dared not ask whether anyone had seen a white bear and a young girl traveling together, for I would surely be thought mad. Even my innocent question about white bears raised eyebrows, especially the farther south I went. A white bear? This far south? their faces would seem to say.

Though I had my work to occupy me, I was still beside myself with worry about Rose. Every dead end, and every blank look at my queries, sent me deeper into despair.

But in a small town not far from the seacoast, I finally had luck.

I came across a gentleman leading two heifers along a country road. We bade each other good day, he gazing with curiosity at the pad of paper and other tools I had been using to mark the road. We conversed for a moment, as I explained that I was a mapmaker, then casually I trotted out my usual query about whether he or anyone he knew had ever seen a white bear in the vicinity.

"Only the likes of Sig Everhart has ever claimed to see bears, and that's only when he's paid one too many visits to the wine barrel," the man responded with a laugh.

"Ah yes, wine can make us all see things." I laughed with him, but my interest quickened. "And where might I find this Master Everhart?"

"Lives in town," the man replied, cocking an eyebrow at me.

"I'd be obliged if you could direct me," I said.

And the man did, saying, "Sig's a good fellow, except for his weakness for wine."

But I was already hastening along the road to town. I quickly tracked down the man in his barn, where he was halfheartedly grooming a scrawny horse. He was clearly nursing a painful hangover.

I was not in the mood for tackling the subject sideways, so I just came right out and asked, "Have you seen a white bear in the past month or so?"

He frowned, and said suspiciously, "Ah, after a bit of fun, are you, stranger? Who put you up to it? Asa? Or Jonah?"

Impatient, I told him that no one had sent me and that I just needed to know the answer to my question.

Sig Everhart looked at me, then turned aside and spat into the hay. "Saw a white bear—last full moon, I think it was. Past midnight. I had lost my way in the woods outside town. Mind you, I was drunk as a horned owl. But I saw it, I swear. And it had summat riding on its back."

My heart felt like it would pound its way out of my chest. I grabbed the man's arms with my hands. "Which way was it going? How fast did it travel? Could you see what was on its back?"

He pulled away from me, looking wary. "Probably naught more than a ... What do you call them?...Hallucination. Brought on by the drink. Haven't been that soused since. Although last night I came close..."

"Please," I said, my voice cracking. "Just tell me." The man must have sensed my desperation, for he held up a placating hand. "Sure, sure. Well, whatever it was, hallucination or not, it was moving fast. But it had slowed down, to pick its way over Rilling Creek. And it was heading south. Could see naught of what rode its back. Could have been dirt even, or leaves. Or the wine.. ." he added with a grimace, putting his hand to his temple.

That was all I could get from the hungover Sig Everhart, but it was enough to give me my first spark of hope in a long while.

In my own mind I had no doubt that what the man had seen was my Rose riding on the back of the white bear. And so I found my way to Rilling Creek and from there headed south.

But days turned to weeks, and I could find no other trace of Rose and the white bear. I combed each village, asking everyone I saw. I roamed the woods, the meadows.

Finally I came to the sea, the farthest south I could go. I had combed the coastland, east and west, asking everyone I met, knocking at the doors to hundreds of strangers' homes. And so I stood by the water's edge and stared over the waves. It had been more than two months since I had left home, and the only clue to Rose's whereabouts had been from a drunken sot. But it was a slender thread of hope and I clung to it like a drowning man.

Rose

I LOOKED IN VAIN for a striker; I could not find even a flint or a bit of iron. I tried fashioning something for myself. But nothing worked. When nighttime came (or at least what could be considered nighttime in the castle), I could find no way to illuminate the utter blackness of my bedroom, no matter what I tried. Candles, oil lamps—all were extinguished the moment before my visitor arrived. Night after night it happened, the unlightable darkness followed by the give in the mattress, and the odd thing was, I grew used to it.

I decided it was an enchantment. And that I wasn't meant to see who, or what, my visitor was.

One night I did try speaking out loud to my visitor, but my tongue felt overlarge in my mouth and my voice came out hoarse and unintelligible. And what was there to say, really? There was such an air of wrongness about it, as if I were violating some sacred code or rule, that I did not try again. At any rate, there was no response to my croaking, not even a rustle of a sheet.

One or two times I was overtaken by the strong desire to reach over across the bed and touch whatever it was, to see if my fingers would encounter skin or fur or ... But that, too, felt strictly forbidden, even more than talking, and somehow I knew I must not risk it.

Yet I never stopped trying to guess who my visitor was. I came to believe that it was the white bear. His smaller size was due to the fact that he had shed his fur for the night, which would also explain the lack of bulk. From riding on his back, I knew just how deep and heavy the bear's coat was. And this theory fit with something I had noticed—that the figure next to me often shivered, pulling the covers up close and tight as if to warm himself. I couldn't imagine just what the bear would look like without fur, but the idea didn't repulse me. Instead it made me feel sympathy for him.

With time, life at the castle took on a routine. I measured my hours by the number of feet of weaving I had accomplished and by the grumblings of my stomach, and I measured my days with a calendar of sorts I made from a piece of fabric. Each day I put one stitch in the fabric. I changed the color of thread when I had counted thirty stitches. For exercise I walked the halls of the castle. I grew to know by heart every doorway, every painting on the wall, every inch of every rug. And one day I discovered something that made my imprisonment in the castle easier to endure.