Noise began to swell from the sleighs and several other figures jumped out.

Impulsively I ducked back into my cave, then quickly made sure all my gear was safely stowed and left it there. I stealthily began to make my way toward the sleighs. The scene was a chaotic one, with lots of shouting and figures running around in confusion, and the light was still dim. I slipped into the fray, joining a small knot of fur-clad figures who were huddled beside one of the sleighs. I could not see anyone's face, so bundled were they all in fur-lined hoods and scarves. With my own Inuit fur-skins, I blended in easily. A larger figure came striding toward us, speaking in a harsh, guttural voice, and I recognized the language as Tuki's. The figure's face was not covered, and I could see handsome features and ridged, white skin. I kept my eyes down and let myself be herded into the sleigh with the rest of them. The large one with the ridged skin jumped up into the driver's seat, then turned and glared at us menacingly, continuing to speak. A few words sounded faintly familiar, but the voice was so rough that I could not be sure. I thought then of the little dictionary I had made of Tuki's words and regretted that I had not thought to grab it out of my pack before leaving the cave.

The one with the whip came toward us, dragging the captive behind him. He shouted out something to our driver, and this time I clearly recognized one of the words he said. The word for "dead." It was a word Tuki had taught me back in the castle, when we came across a large fly, its legs sticking up in the air.

I shuddered. The figure roughly unspooled his whip from the body and left the inert form lying on the hard snow. By then order had been restored and everyone was seated in the sleighs. Using their whips on the reindeer, the drivers guided the sleighs toward the ice palace.

Someone near me was sobbing quietly, but the rest were silent. I wished I could see the faces of the forms clustered around me in the sleigh.

I gazed back at the huddled figure lying on the ground. And then I realized that these creatures, with their harsh voices and ridged skin, driving the sleighs were trolls. Tuki and Urda were trolls. And the pale queen who had taken the white bear was a troll. The Troll Queen.

I felt foolish that I hadn't figured it out before. How often had I heard stories about trolls, or Huldre folk, when I was young? They were described in many ways—hairy, enormous, three- to twelve-headed, drooling, hideously ugly—none of which seemed to describe Tuki or that pale beautiful queen. And yet there were a few things that did fit—the voice like rocks and the craggy skin—and I did dimly remember the few tales of Huldre folk, a more obscure kind of troll, describing them as beautiful.

We came up to the palace, and as we began to circle it, I saw that it was even larger than it had appeared from afar. In fact, it was more of a town. The ice palace itself towered above, and in front of, an extensive sprawl of smaller buildings. These were made of ice as well but not the same finely polished glittering ice of the palace; they were more opaque and coarsely hewn. A high wall made of blocks of ice circled the compound, with various gates and doors granting entrance. We passed through an imposing back gate made of black iron that stood open.

There were several trolls waiting to greet the sleighs. Some stepped forward and took charge of the reindeer, while others roughly steered the occupants of the sleighs toward a low-lying building. I heard the drivers of the sleighs speaking to the palace trolls, and recognized the words "servants" and "dead." There was another word I recognized. It was the word "slank," which was a favorite beverage of Tuki's, although there was a particular kind of slank he hated. Urda gave it to him when he had been bad; it made him sleepy and forgetful. I resolved not to drink any slank until I knew what kind it was.

If it was not exactly warm inside the ice building we were herded into, at least it was not as cold as it was outside, and some of my fellow sleigh travelers began pushing off their hoods and unwrapping their scarves. I saw they were humans like me, and though their features and hair color varied widely, the expressions on most faces were similar—a dull, blank look, with their mouths hanging slightly open. The few who did not wear this slack-jawed expression looked frightened and confused. I tried to make my own face as blank as those around me, but I watched and listened closely to what was going on.

I understood the words "rooms" and, again, "servants" and "slank."

As we were led down a long hallway, I realized that the humans around me had been brought to the Troll Queen's palace to be servants. And that slank was what had put those dazed, blank expressions on their faces. It also, I guessed, kept them obedient. I wondered about the one who had tried to escape and was killed by the troll with the whip. Had the slank not worked on her, or had it worn off?

Then I was thrust into a small room, and the door was pushed shut behind me. I saw there was no handle at all on the inside of the thick ice door. Because of the diffused light that came in through the icy walls, the room was dimly lit, and I noticed a platform with a pile of fur-skins on it. And a bucket. That was all the room contained.

As I stared numbly at my new quarters, the door opened and a large troll appeared. He pushed a cart filled with steaming earthenware cups. Taking one off the cart, he thrust it at me, then quickly departed. I had made my face empty and slack, but he hadn't even looked at me.

Luckily he had not stayed to see whether I drank the beverage. I put it up to my nose, which was a mistake—for it smelled incredibly delicious, and hungry as I was, I had to struggle to keep from drinking it. But even smelling the slank made me feel woozy and stupid, so I began hunting around for a way to get rid of it. I discovered that the platform on which my bed of furs was piled was made of wood. It was also movable, so I pulled it away from the ice wall and poured my slank onto the ice floor, in a spot in the middle. Its heat ate a shallow hole in the ice. Then I pushed the bed back into place and sat on it, wrapping myself in a fur-skin.

So, I had done it. I had found the place that could not be found—the land that lay "east of the sun and west of the moon." And somewhere within the icy walls of the troll palace, I was convinced, was the man who had been the white bear.

White Bear

MY QUEEN IS VERY GOOD. She watches over me, ever thoughtful of my needs. I feel very fortunate to be valued so highly by my queen.

She is beautiful, too—the whiteness of her skin and her strong green eyes, her tall proud form, the richness of her clothing. She tells me that I once found her skin odd, its roughness and texture, but I do not remember this. In truth, I believe it is my queen herself who dislikes her skin, for she is always trying to change it using different creams she concocts with her arts. Some of the concoctions make my eyes burn or tickle my nose when I come close to her, but she will not give up the effort. I know she keeps trying partly because she so admires my soft skin.

I remember nothing of the time when we first met, my queen and I. She tells me it was in the green lands, and that I was never a servant like the other softskins. She tells me that I was a prince in the green lands, but I remember nothing of this. Sometimes I am curious, but mostly it does not matter to me, what came before.

I do, however, remember little bits from when I was a white bear. When I put on my white furs to go outside with my queen, it feels strange, like I am putting on what should already be there. And I remember that it was an unhappy time for me, though I do not recall why.