And I knew, without ever having been told, that the white bear would have gladly traded the comfortable magic life in the castle in exchange for a whole horde of blisters on his feet.

Finished with the linseed oil, I took up some rigging that needed repair, and I had a memory, clear as day, of the face of the stranger who had been the white bear—and of the hopelessness in his eyes. I could not help the hot tears that smeared my vision.

"Work too much for you, eh?" I heard Thor say.

I quickly blinked away the tears and looked over at him, a cup of ale in his hand and a sneering look on his face. "Of course not," I retorted.

"A little too much sun in the eyes then?" he asked sarcastically.

"I was remembering something," I replied stiffly, and focused on the length of rope in my hand. "Someone."

There was a silence. Then, "Forgive me. 'Twas ill spoken," came the unexpected words from Thor.

I looked at him, amazed.

"Why do you go to Suroy?" he suddenly asked. It was the first time he had ever asked me a question about myself.

I looked at him and for some reason I told him the truth. I think it was because of his eyes. They reminded me, for just a moment, of Neddy's.

I spoke for a long, long time, telling the whole story. I expected at any moment he would interrupt me with a shout of laughter or disbelief. But he did not.

When I came to the end, I took a deep breath, my fingers unknowingly twisting the ring on my thumb.

Thor was silent. Then he said, "'Tis a strange tale." There was a pause. "And so you go north, to make things right with this white bear. Or the man that was the white bear."

I nodded.

"My grandfather said once that a white wolf spoke to him. But then, he was overfond of mead." Thor grinned. "An appetite that runs in the family." I did not return his smile, and his faded, too.

"I have traveled north," Thor said, a far look in his eyes. "Well beyond Njord. Saw a white land way off in the distance, but I had to turn back because of the ice. If something remains of magic in the world, I believe it would lie in the far north, in the places where people cannot go."

We fell silent.

Thor broke the silence at last, and it was the first time he called me by name. "Well, Rose," he said, "once we get that sail raised, the knorr shall take you north. After all, you did save my life. And 'tis only common courtesy to take you where I said I would."

We both laughed then.

Neddy

IN HER LETTER ROSE had sounded different. Older, I guess, her tone more serious. And it wasn't the words of the letter but the new voice that made me feel sad, as though I'd lost the old Rose forever.

After Mother confessed her folly that day, she and Father had come back together. Widow Hautzig had been banished from the household, and Father set out on no more journeys.

Once we received Rose's letter, Father and I spent many evenings talking about what to do. Despite the few clues Rose had let fall during our conversations while she was at home, we were still no closer to knowing where the castle was, except that it lay across a body of water. Finally we decided that for the time being we would do nothing; we would trust Rose and rely on her to find her way back home to us.

Although Mother agreed with that, she believed she must do more than just sit and wait. It was she who made the effort to find out all she could about the disappearing merchant, the one who had sold her the candle and flint. There wasn't very much to learn, though there were rumors aplenty. There was one story going around that he had been spotted late one night by the Romsdal Fjord and, when he turned around, was seen to have no back at all, only a big hollow space where his back should have been.

The only facts that could be pinned down were that the merchant said he came from Finnland and that he had an aversion to very warm weather, although even on the hottest days he wore long sleeves and long pants, as well as gloves made of soft leather. He made no friends and kept very much to himself. The other interesting facts that Mother told us were that the skin on his face was odd, scarred and ridged, and that he had an unusual voice, rough and deep, as though he had a perpetual sore throat or cough.

One happy event that occurred at about the same time was that my sister Sara and Harald Soren became engaged to be married.

Sara told me that at first it was her gratitude to Soren that made her like him so well. But as her health improved and they spent more time together, the gratitude ripened into love, and though he was a good deal older, it became clear they cared very much for each other.

Sara didn't want to set a date for the marriage until Rose returned—which we all understood—but we also felt that Rose would want her to go ahead with her life.

"She'd hate to think that you are delaying your happiness on her account," I said to Sara.

Sara nodded, then replied, "What of you, Neddy? Harald has said that you only have to say the word and he will get you a position with one of the leading scholars in Bergen, or even Trondheim, which is not so very far away. What you have said about me is just as true for you."

Sara was right. I had put off deciding to go, because of Rose. What if she came to visit and I was not at the farm? But receiving her letter had changed things. I gave serious thought to taking Soren up on his offer.

The matter was settled when Soren convinced Father to move the mapmaking business to Trondheim. Though not as large as Bergen or Oslo, Trondheim would afford a larger market for the maps Father made as well as more people he could hire to do the work. In addition, Father and Soren had discussed building a printing press in Trondheim. Printing presses had come only very recently to Oslo and Bergen, and were thriving. Soren felt the time was ripe for the business.

I still had my doubts. A part of me felt that if we moved on, it was as if we were accepting that Rose was gone forever. But a bigger part of me knew that she was not. Rose was alive somewhere and traveling the path she must, the way she always had.

Rose

A WEEK AND A HALF after telling Thor of the white bear, I spotted a seabird. At first I did not take in its significance. I was at the steering oar and, despite the chill in the air, feeling drowsy. It had gotten bitter cold in the past few days, and I was wearing all the clothing I owned. Thor had been sleeping for a long time, the result of his latest round of drinking. It was just after dawn and I watched the bird soar, its whiteness vivid against the blue sky. It dipped low, almost to the surface of the water, then rose again. The white bird had come from the west and, wheeling around, eventually headed back in that direction.

Then I remembered: A bird means land! How many times had Thor made that point? Even as recently as the day before, he had told me a story about a Viking explorer who had been lost at sea for weeks, near starvation, and the sight of a gull had caused him to convert to Christianity on the spot.

I let out a shout. "Thor!"

There was no response, so I left the steering oar and went to shake him awake. '

"A bird, Thor," I said. "I saw a seabird."

He came awake and, though groggy, raised himself to a sitting position.

"A bird, eh? Where?"

I explained that it had flown away in a westerly direction.

"Is it possible?" he muttered to himself. "Could it be?..." A strange look of pain passed over his face.

Grabbing his crutch he hobbled over to the steering oar, ordering me to adjust the rigging while he changed course. He set the nose of the knorr due west, then ordered me to bring him a new cask of ale. I hesitated. "Get it for me now, you lunkheaded laggard, or I'll throw you overboard!" he roared with such force that I decided it was best to do as he said.