The Quest Begins (10 page)

Kallik crouched low to the ground, like her mother had taught her, dragging herself forward on her belly as slowly and quietly as she could. She imagined crunching through the shells, and her mouth watered with anticipation. She crept closer and closer, dreaming of the delicious taste of the eggs…

An angry screech sounded from the sky. Kallik didn't have time to roll away before a bird launched itself at her head, scratching and pecking. Kallik's heart leaped with terror and all her fur stood on end as she tried to dodge her attacker. The bird shrieked again, swooping away and then diving back down, jabbing at her with its claws. Its sharp beak hammered at her head and the claws swooped close to her eyes, scratching at her muzzle.

Terrified, Kallik fled. The bird pursued her out of the marsh, only giving up when she scrambled into a patch of trees and hid under a pile of branches. She could still hear its angry cries as it wheeled away and flew back to its nest.

Kallik curled herself into a ball, feeling wretched. She couldn't even hunt a pair of eggs that were just lying there. How was she ever going to catch real prey on her own? The land was too strange and too frightening. She belonged on the ice, with the bear spirits guiding her paws and snow whistling through her fur.

Maybe she should try to find the place of the Pathway Star, where the ocean was frozen forever and the spirits danced in the sky in many colors. No matter how far away it was, it had to be better than this nightmare of mud and heat and starvation. Maybe Taqqiq would have gone that way, too. Maybe that was the only place a white bear could ever truly be safe.

Lusa stared sadly at the closed
doors. The walls of the Bowl didn't feel cozy and sheltering now. They felt hard and unfriendly, trapping her somewhere she didn't want to be. She wanted to know what was going on outside. She wanted to be with Ashia while she was sick, but she couldn't. There was no way for Lusa to find out what was happening to her.

What if they had taken her mother away forever?

Four sleeps passed, and on the morning of the fifth day, Lusa started pacing around the walls of the Bowl, desperation rising inside her. She wondered how things would be different in the wild if a bear got sick. At least then she could be with her mother and see what was happening to her. She wouldn't be stuck inside these stone walls with no way to escape and no choice about it.

There was a rumble at the back, near the big doors. Lusa galloped over, sniffing the air. She could smell the metal firebeast—and Ashia!

The doors opened a little way, and a cage was backed into the Bowl. One of the feeders unlatched the door, and Lusa's mother climbed out, blinking and shaking her head in the sunlight.

“Mother!” Lusa barked. She capered around her mother's legs, jumping up to touch Ashia's muzzle with her own. “You're all right! You're alive!”

“Of course I am,” Ashia said. She sounded sleepy.

“Are you hungry?” Lusa asked. “I saved you some really good berries. And it was hard, because I really wanted them! But I saved them for you because Stella said you would be back, and I told the Bear Watcher I would be good and not eat the berries as long as he brought you back so you could have them, wasn't I good?”

“Very good, dear,” Ashia said. She lowered herself to the ground between two of the boulders and raised her head, as if she wanted to feel the sun on her shoulders. Yogi and Stella bounded over and crowded around her.

“Where did you go?” Yogi demanded. “What was it like?”

“Did you see the forest?” Stella asked.

King strolled up, nudging the others aside. “Give her some space,” he ordered. He bent his head and sniffed Ashia, pressing his nose into her fur. “You look well,” he said gruffly.

“I am,” Ashia said, lifting her muzzle to his.

“Mother!” Lusa butted in, bouncing on her paws. “We want to know everything! Tell us where you went and what you saw, please please please!”

“It was quite strange,” Ashia said sleepily. “I woke up inside
a cage, like the one that left me here just now. The cage was in a flat-face den, with straight walls on all sides, like the ones in our stone den, but even straighter and with no openings that I could see. I felt strange, as if I'd just woken up from a long sleep, and heavy. I couldn't move my paws or my head or anything.”

“Were you scared?” Yogi asked with wide eyes.

“No,” Ashia said. “I felt like I was dreaming. I remember staring at the ceiling a lot. And when I dozed off I had a lot of strange dreams, about the forest and the river and berries growing on bushes, thousands and thousands of berries.”

“What are thousands?” Lusa asked.

“It means lots,” Stella explained. “Only more than lots…so many lots and lots that you need a bigger word for them.”

“Oh,” Lusa said. “So, like the
thousands
of fleas on Yogi.”

“Hey!” Yogi protested. “That's not true!” Lusa chuffed with laughter and ducked away as he swatted at her head.

“Then what happened?” Stella prompted Ashia, ignoring the cubs.

“The furry flat-face in green was there,” Ashia said.

“I didn't like him,” Lusa interjected.

“He was very nice,” Ashia admonished her. “He spoke gently to me and fed me and took care of me until I was well again.”

“Then why did he shoot you?” Lusa challenged.

“I don't know what that was,” Ashia said. “But it only stung for a minute, and then I fell asleep, so it can't have been anything too bad.”

“Hmmm,”
Lusa said skeptically.

“And then when I stopped hurting inside, and wanted to eat again, they brought me back here.”

“Did you see the tigers?” Lusa asked. “And the fla-min-gos?”

“I did!” Ashia said, looking a bit more awake. “There are so many different animals out there, very close to us. Most of them are behind Fences like ours. I saw one with long, long, skinny legs and a neck so long and tall, it could reach up to the top of the tallest tree in our forest.”

“No!” Lusa cried. “How did it get like that?”

“Maybe it just kept reaching and reaching for berries until its neck stretched,” Yogi suggested. “Maybe that'll happen to you if you keep dancing for the fruit the flat-faces throw you.”

“I also saw an animal that was big and gray with a long dangly nose,” Ashia interrupted, warding off another argument. “Its ears were the size of our biggest water dishes, and it had two long fangs, like curved claws, sticking out of its mouth on either side of its nose.”

Lusa tried to picture this, but her imagination failed her. How could a nose be long and dangly? She touched her forepaw to her own shiny black nose and blinked in confusion.

“And there was a tall Fence running all the way around the whole place,” Ashia went on. “Inside, with the animals, there are mostly trees and grass and gray paths in between. But on the other side the paths are wider and full of firebeasts roaring and running around. Next to the paths are flat-face
dens—like our stone den but much bigger.”

“Why do flat-faces need bigger dens than us?” Lusa asked. “They're much smaller than we are.”

“I don't know,” Ashia answered. “Perhaps they keep their trees and boulders inside their dens instead of using the ones outside.”

Yogi scratched his ear with his back paw. “Or perhaps the firebeasts live in their dens, too. They're pretty big!”

King
harrumph
ed and waggled his head. “I've stuck my nose in a few flat-face dens,” he growled. “They hoard things, like squirrels and magpies do. Their dens are full of food, if you can figure out how to get to it, and they collect shiny treasures that aren't any good for eating.”

“Why?” Lusa wanted to know.

“Don't ask me,” King grunted. “Flat-faces make no sense.”

Ashia lay down and looked up at the puffy white clouds floating in the sky above them. Her eyes kept closing, and her voice dropped to a murmur. “And in the distance,” she whispered, “beyond the paths, beyond the dens, beyond the firebeasts…I could see a mountain. A huge mountain, one that makes our boulders look like specks of sand. This mountain has snow on the top and dark forests all along the sides…forests that could swallow our small trees whole.” She sighed. “It was beautiful.”

King reared up on his hind legs and made an angry huffing sound. “Don't talk about that sort of nonsense,” he ordered. “The mountains and the trees that we have here in the Bear Bowl are big enough, and there's no use dreaming
about what we cannot have.”

“Is that the mountain you came from, Father?” Lusa asked. “Have you been up to where the snow is?”

“Look what you've done,” King snarled at Ashia. “That's enough talk of the outside. Do not speak of it again—that goes for all of you.” He dropped to all fours and lumbered off, his rage radiating through his fur.

Lusa watched him curiously. Why did stories of the world outside the Bear Bowl make her father so angry? She waited until he'd settled himself in the far corner, out of earshot, and then she whispered to her mother, “I want to know more about the mountain. Please tell me more!”

But Ashia was already snoozing, a light sleepy hum coming from her nostrils. Lusa nudged one of her mother's paws, and Ashia twitched but didn't wake up.

Lusa sat down to wait. This wasn't the end of it, whatever her father said. She wanted to know more about the wild, and she would find out…one way or another.

Sadness and confusion swept over Toklo,
like the river washing over his paws. He looked around at the other bears gathered by the river. Most of them were still fishing, but a few had glanced up to watch his mother walk away from him. Oka climbed onto a large rock and sat with her back to Toklo, hunching her shoulders and acting like he wasn't even there.

He didn't understand what was happening. Why had she rescued him if she was just going to ignore him? He couldn't figure out why she was so angry. It wasn't his fault the giant bear had tried to kill him.

The river gurgled and splashed around his paws, scattering chilly droplets in his fur. Clouds had blown in on the wind, dimming the sunlight so the day felt grayer and colder. Toklo gazed up at the snowy mountains towering over the forest and felt suddenly small and very lonely. He didn't want to lose his brother and his mother both at the same time.

“Mother!” he called. “I said I was sorry!”

Oka didn't turn around. She shook her head and then lowered it to the rock, letting the fur settle on her shoulders.

Fine then,
Toklo thought crossly.
I don't need you, either.
He turned away and stepped purposefully through the water to the other side of the river. He found a rock opposite his mother and sat down on it, watching her.

After a long time, Oka got up and stepped off the rock. Toklo sat up, wondering if she would come over and say she was sorry. But she didn't even look at him. She began pacing along the riverbank, back and forth, back and forth. She seemed to be talking to herself. Another bear wandered near her, dabbing its paws in the water as it searched for fish. Oka spun around and snarled at it. Startled, the other bear reared back and galloped farther downstream.

Toklo felt his fur prickle along his back. Why was his mother acting so strange? Oka turned in a circle, following her stumpy tail around and around, and then sat down in the water. Even though there were no other bears near her—all the bears along the river were giving her a wide berth now—she snarled at the air as if she were being attacked.

Finally she lay down, half in and half out of the water, and sank her head onto her paws. Toklo could see the fur rising and falling on her back as she breathed. He curled up on his rock with his back to her. He wasn't going to watch her anymore. If she didn't care about him, he didn't have to care about her, either. He would just stay right here until she came over to apologize and take care of him again.

The sun sank slowly behind the mountains as Toklo lay
there, waiting. A deep purple dusk settled over the valley, and he was starting to fall asleep when he heard the shuffle of large paws on the pebbles nearby. He scrambled up, his head spinning from the sudden movement. Hope leaped into his chest as he saw a large female bear approaching him…and then died again when he realized it was not his mother. He glanced sideways and saw that Oka was still lying in the same position.

The large female came closer and sniffed him curiously. “Why are you by yourself, little cub?” she asked. “Where is your mother?”

Toklo didn't want to admit that his mother was right there but pretending he didn't exist. He shrugged his shoulders. “I'm waiting for the salmon,” he said. “Like every other bear here.”

The she-bear shook her head, her brown eyes sad. “They're not coming anymore,” she growled. “The bear spirits must be angry with us.”

The bear spirits,
Toklo thought.
Like Tobi.
Was Tobi angry with him? Did he blame Toklo for his death, too, like Oka did?

“Why would the bear spirits be angry?” he asked nervously.

“Or maybe it's the flat-faces,” the bear said. “They're building a dam upriver that stops the salmon from getting through.”

Toklo knew what a dam was. He'd seen beavers building a dam in a stream on the other side of the mountain. That had been a good day—Tobi had been feeling stronger than usual, and they had played a little bit in the water while Oka caught
them a hare to eat. A pang of grief stabbed at Toklo's heart.

The she-bear tilted her head and looked at him kindly, as if she could sense his sorrow. “Tell me where your mother is, little cub,” she said.

Toklo slid off his rock and padded over to the river's edge. He pointed with his nose to the dark shape of his mother, lying partly in the water on the other side.

“You should go back to her,” the female bear said. “Or she'll start to worry about you.”

I wish
, Toklo thought. The she-bear stepped into the river as if she were going to walk him across.

“It's all right,” Toklo said quickly. He didn't want her to see how strange his mother was acting. “I can go by myself.”

“Very well,” said the she-bear. “Good luck to you both.” She touched her nose to Toklo's muzzle, then turned and lumbered away into the dark. Toklo watched her go with an ache in his heart. Why didn't his mother care about him as much as this strange bear did? Why wasn't Oka the one checking up on him and nuzzling him and making sure he wasn't alone?

He splashed through the cold river, picking his way carefully across the rough current as his claws slipped on the smooth pebbles underwater. Oka didn't move as he got closer, and he was afraid to speak to her in case she snarled at him like she'd snarled at the other bear earlier. He climbed a short way up the bank and lay down, as close to her as he dared to get.

Snowflakes drifted past his nose, and the air was sharp and cold. Toklo wished he could cuddle into his mother's fur. He
almost couldn't remember what that felt like; she hadn't let him snuggle into her since Tobi had died. He rested his chin on his paws and watched her. She was growling in her sleep, muttering to herself. He saw her front paws twitch and flex, as if she was dreaming about pinning something down with her claws.

Toklo didn't like the feeling it gave him to see his mother like this—it was as if the trees in the forest had shaken the dirt off their roots and started walking around, or the river had switched direction and started flowing up the mountain. She was supposed to be his protector; she was supposed to be strong and to teach him the ways of being a bear. She certainly wasn't supposed to drive him away.

His mind teeming with dark, lonely thoughts, Toklo finally drifted into an uneasy sleep.

 

In his dream, Toklo found himself safely tucked under the ground. He looked around, blinking, and saw that he was back in his BirthDen. The earth walls curved around him, keeping him and his brother warm. Tobi was curled up beside him, opening and closing his mouth as if testing out how it worked.

Toklo could smell the richly packed earth. The scent of leaves and moss filled his nostrils. His nose twitched, and he sneezed, which startled him awake. He opened his eyes and saw his mother standing over him. There was a strange, heavy feeling in his fur, and he realized it was full of dirt and leaves. Oka had her eyes half closed and she was murmuring something….

“Guide his paws through the rocks and the soil until his soul reaches the water that lives deep within you—” she said softly. She was saying the words of the death ritual!

Toklo scrambled to his paws, shaking his fur. “Mother!” he yelped. “Stop! I'm still alive, see? I'm not dead!”

Oka's eyes were vague, as if she was looking into the distance instead of at her cub. She seemed shocked that he'd gotten to his paws.

“Mother?” he said again. “Look, it's all right. I'm not dead.”

Her eyes narrowed and she bared her teeth. “You
should
be dead,” she snarled.

Toklo took a step back and noticed a sign in the earth beside him. It was the same crossing-claws mark that Oka had made next to Tobi's body. What if the earth spirits came to get his spirit, thinking he was dead? Or what if he died somewhere else and they never found him, because the mark was here?

“Get out!” Oka roared. “There is nothing here for you.”

“But—but you're my mother,” Toklo whimpered.

“I have no cubs,” Oka growled. “Go away!” She lunged at him, her claws outstretched.

Toklo turned tail and ran for the trees as fast as he could.

He glanced back when he reached the trees and saw Oka standing on her hind legs, roaring. Her eyes were wild and she looked like a stranger—not like his mother at all. Toklo had lost more than his brother when Tobi died. Perhaps his mother's spirit had followed her cub too far into the dark river.

He ran into the woods, determined to put as much distance between himself and Oka as he could.
Every cub leaves his mother someday,
he told himself. That was true—but usually they had several more moons of learning to hunt and fish with her first.

“I can teach myself,” he said out loud. “I will learn to hunt and forage on my own.”
She wasn't teaching me very much anyway. Perhaps I'll be better off by myself. Now I can go where I please and make my own choices. I can stay in the mountains, far away from the stinky trails of the firebeasts.

The light grew brighter in the clear blue sky as he wove through the whispering, sun-speckled trees, following the bubbling sound of the river, and he felt the warm breeze ruffling his fur. It carried with it the promise that earthsleep was ending and fishleap was on its way—the smell of things growing and changing.

If he had to live this way, so be it. If there was any cub who could survive on his own, it was Toklo. He'd find a way to live.

He had to.