Their Bear snuffled at the tracks, but did not look agitated. That was peculiar, too — unless, of course, this was another of the Great Beasts and he recognized the scent. They left the same burning building behind them as they left the third village, but this time, as they left, the Bear began to pull the sledge with perceptibly more speed, as if he was trying to get somewhere as quickly as he could. Now Annukka was certain there was something more going on than she had been able to puzzle out. But her instincts told her that the Bear could be trusted, although she hardly knew why.
But it was when they saw a thin plume of smoke in the distance, a plume of smoke toward which they were heading, that she was sure that there was a great deal more going on here than she could ever have guessed.
They left the stream that they had been using as a road, crossed what must have been a meadow, and which now was a blessedly flat stretch of snow, approaching a mountainside and the start of a forest. The smoke rose above the trees in a thin, white stream. She wasn't at all surprised to see that there was a human-shaped figure waiting for them — but what did surprise her, and send a jolt of fear down her spine, was when she realized that the person beneath the long, white, fur cloak was a woman.
All she could think of was — this was the Snow Queen! The terrible creature that the North Wind had told them about, the thing that had stolen Veikko from them, had somehow found them. The Witch had tracked them down and the Bear was her creature, sent to bring them straight into her trap.
Kaari realized it at the same time, and both of them pulled their deer to a halt and fumbled for their bows.
“Peace!” called a clear, low-pitched voice, as their Bear put on a burst of speed and interposed his body between them and the woman — was she the Snow Queen after all? — so that they could not shoot her without shooting him.
As Annukka sat on the back of her deer like an old sack of grain, the woman spoke again. “I am Godmother Aleksia, the Ice Fairy, also known as the Snow Queen,” came the voice from the other side of the bulk of the Bear. The woman stepped out into the open, with one hand on the Bear's shoulder. “And I am not the one who stole your son and betrothed, Annukka and Kaari. Nor am I the one who slew helpless people of three villages.” Her eyes flicked from Annukka to Kaari and back again. “Still, I know who did. And I mean to stop her. But I need your help.”
She was one of the most striking women that Annukka had ever seen. It began with her hair, arranged in braids coiled about her head, as white as the snow around her, yet it was clear from her smooth face that she was no ancient. And that face itself was remarkable; strong and full of character, with a delicate, but square chin, high cheekbones and penetrating eyes of a piercing blue. She held herself as upright as a spear, and there was a sense that there was nothing she would not face if she had to. Annukka judged her age to be near her own or, remarkably, perhaps a bit younger.
She wore garments as white as her hair; white boots, white trews beneath a short gown, a white fur coat, held close to her body by a belt of silver plaques.
The silence lingered. The sun shone down on them all, and there was no sound but the sighing of the wind in the bare branches. Kaari was the first to put up her bow, stowing it in the sheath at the side of her saddle. “Mother Annukka, if this woman had wanted us dead, she could have had the Bear slay us days ago,” the girl pointed out. “How hard would that have been? And what could she gain by bringing us here to kill us? If she meant to capture us, for what purpose? We are of no use to her. She knows our names, she knows about Veikko. I have heard of the Godmothers, though our land has never seen one. They are said to be able to hold the fates of entire lands in their hands. We would be foolish not to trust her.”
Annukka did not bother to point out that an enemy would also be able to know their names and their intentions. Because Kaari was right — if this “Godmother” had wanted them dead, the Bear could have finished them off long ago. She and Kaari would make poor slaves, and if they had been meant as sacrifices — well, there were easier wasy to have sacrificed them. She put down her bow. But unlike Kaari, she did not stow it away, instead, she kept it on her lap, with one hand on the quiver full of arrows.
“All right,” she replied cautiously. “I am willing to listen.”
“Then come into this cave and out of the bitter cold,” the woman said, with a glance at the setting sun. “There is room for deer and all there, and I have started a fire. These things are better discussed over heat and food and drink. We have a hard task ahead of us — and one that will require much planning.”
The woman had cleared the cave and the fire she had built was burning bright, showing the rough stone walls around them. The sledge they left outside, disguised with brush and snow, but the contents were all brought into the cave, as were the deer. And, of course, the Bear, who was indeed one of the Great Beasts and who was called, so the woman said, Urho. The pack on Urho's back proved to belong to the woman, and held clothing, a sleeping roll and most of the same things that Annukka and Kaari had with them. That, strangely enough, was reassuring. This was not some strange monstrous thing in the shape of a woman, nor a ghost nor vengeful spirit, nor one of the creatures like the forest spirits. This was a woman who needed clothing, needed a comb and hair pins, needed blankets to sleep in. If she was some sort of powerful Witch or Sorceress, she was not making profligate use of magic, and that was reassuring.
And the more she spoke, the better Annukka liked her.
She begged their hospitality, as she had no provisions of her own. “There are means I can take later to help our supplies,” she said, spreading her hands wide, “But not at the moment.”
“We have enough to spare,” Annukka replied after she and Kaari exchanged a long look. “As you have welcomed us to your shelter, we welcome you to share what we have.”
It was clear that the woman did not know how to cook, but Annukka would hardly have expected that of her kind. They were used to servants and being tended to, not doing the tending. Nevertheless she was willing to put her hand to whatever was needed, and for that, Annukka had to give her full credit.
It was a long night around the fire in the cave. Wariness slowly gave way to agreement, and agreement to trust. Odd as that seemed. Perhaps it was because of the way that the woman spoke to them — as equals, not as inferiors, asking rather than dictating what would be done.
