Ursus of Ultima Thule (7 page)

Well, regardless, he knew what he had to do now.

He watched the man (formerly bear) swimming strongly in the water, bobbing under, emerging with hair all sleek, shaking his head, then resuming his swim, finally passing out of sight around a bend in the river. He would certainly be back. But Arnten was certain that he would not be back at once. Unencumbered by any burdens, all of which he left in the hollow, he climbed carefully down; he ran, eyes racing between three places — the ground, lest he stumble — the water, lest the man, returning, see him soon — the bearskin, lest — lest what? Lest, perhaps, and most horrifying by far, the empty skin somehow take on life and move, either toward or away from him. For a second it did indeed seem upon the point of doing so and he gasped in fright. But it was only the wind raising a worn corner.

He seized the skin and ran, flinging it across his shoulder and feeling it on his back, bounding and bouncing. He could see it, feel it, thankfully he could not hear it, he had no desire or reason to taste it. He could smell it, though, and its reek was very strong, partly bear, partly man. All these things he perceived without being aware of concentrating on them. He concentrated first on getting out of sight of the water. And then he paused to think of what he should do next.

And, with a start, realized that he had already done something. Perhaps he should not have, perhaps he should return and undo it. But he knew he would not. That which he had so greatly desired, the one whom he had so straightly sought, the source of his being and his childhod’s woe, man or bear or man bear or bear man, the witchery creature which had been his weakness and must now be his strength …

“I am afraid,” he whispered.

True, That One In The Water clearly had desired to see him, had left a trail for him to follow perhaps not as clearly as if it had been blazed, as if it had consisted of traditional and familiar hunters’ marks or patterns (but blazing and patterning were not intended to be other than open for all who could to read). And yet — and yet,
why
had he intended that his son should some day follow? How sure he had felt the son would follow, would meet the nains, would understand the messages bound up in the witchery-bundle: but this was for the moment beside the point and the point was: the bear man/man bear was power, and power, as much as it was to be desired, so much was it to be feared.

Presently something showed itself in the river, moving against the current. Arms flashing in the declining sunlight. A figure came padding out of the water on a sandbar, moving as a bear does on all fours, but was not a bear; moved to the other end of the sandbar, where, motionless, it seemed to be staring into the water. A forelimb moved so fast that the motion could hardly be followed. Something flew out of the water, sparkled, fell. Twice more was the scene repeated before, now walking upright, a fish in each hand and one in the mouth, the figure walked through the water to the shore and shambled up the bank. Another, smaller figure, watching, trembled. The tall one was thickly built, with hair (now slicked down flat with water) so thick that almost the skin could be termed a pelt. It seemed that all the brightness of the sky of Thule, which had only an hour ago been evenly divided, was now moved and crowded to one side and that side so much brighter; while a blue dimness gathered on the other side. The birds began to fall silent. The air grew cool. Leisurely, the tall figure ambled up the slope and onto the bluff. The fish fell from its hands and mouth and it dropped backward so that it came to rest sitting down, legs straight out and arms crooked upright from the elbows. It gave a great roar of disbelief and rage. Then it rose and stabbed at the mossy ground and took up something in its hands.

The talisman, the wooden carving …

Then the head rose and scanned the bluff, the brush, the crowded arbor of the forest. Abrupt growls from the thick chest formed themselves into rage words.

“Where are you?

“Why have you done this?

“Where is my skin?”

A voice came from somewhere up above, from the thickening darkness. “I will not answer your questions till you have answered mine.”

“Ask, then — ”

And the other voice, a moment silent, wavering a bit, but not halting, said, “Who are you? Who am I? What is next?”

• • •

Appropriately the backlog of the fire had come from the great beech tree. “Long since, I have made fire, or eaten food cooked on it, or food with salt on it,” said Arntat. His hands, however, seemed to have lost no skill. The fish had been deftly gutted, gilled and grilled. Salt, in a screw of barkrag, was still in Arnten’s basket. “Salmon will be better,” Arntat said, smacking his mouth at the thought, “but these are well enough.” Sparks leaped, embers blackened, glowed again. Abruptly he swiveled and faced the boy. “You be thinking, ‘Is it to hear talk of fish and fire that I’ve come this long way, waiting?’ Eh? I see it by your face, ‘tis so. Arnten. I have waited longer than you. Be patient.”

And the boy was silent.

And his fullfather said, “The bear is in the blood and the bear may take you as the bear took me. At any time whilest life blood be in you the bear may take you, for the bear is in the blood. If it takes you not, and it may not take you, if it takes you not then ‘twill take your son and if not you and not him then ‘twill take your son’s or daughter’s son for sure. Let this be no burden. Fear it not. I’ve dabbled and dallied with a queen of love, and though ‘twas joyous passion, yet ‘twas nought compared to shambling ‘mongst the new berries or finding honey in a tree or scooping forth first salmon, when I was gone a-bearing,” his fullfather said.

• • •

And he said, “Bear’s weird be better than man’s weird and better than nain’s weird. As a man I’ve been a chieftain high with lands and wealth — you may let your ears drop, ‘tis nought to you
where
and nought to you
what’s-my-name-then
. You were not made upon empty bear hide in lawful bedchamber, ah no, you were made when the bear was in the bearskin. My heritage to you is other than to my othergotten sons. Heed and hear me now, Arnten. By my witchery-bundle and by my shadow, sons you make outside the bearskin be outside the bear-blood. But sons you make when you be a-bearing and be inside the bearskin, the blood of the bear be in them. And if the blood of the bear be in them, then not running water nor icy pools nor fire-hot springs can wash it out.”

And the bear was silent.

• • •

Beechwood makes hard embers and hard embers make long fires. Long fires make long tales. Long they sat there in the scented night and Arntat talked and Arnten listened and learned. He learned that the shift and shape was truly not confined to man to bear, that other creatures indeed could pair, could couple, could double and shift.

He learned of the slow growth of metals beneath the earth’s skin and the formation of amber beneath the sea, how amber was one of the things of the perries, whereas metal was a thing of the nains. Once there was a metal called bronze but at length it grew green and sick and presently it died. Now there was iron.

“The sickness of iron is red,” said Arnten, “and iron is dying.” Red glints in the ashes. Reflections in the eyes of the watchers.

“Aye, eh,” muttered Arntat. “The sickness of iron is red.” He swung up his head and his hand gripped his son’s. “What say thee, bear’s boy? ‘
Iron is dying?
’ What?”

That he, knowing so much, should not know this kept Arnten silent and astonished for several heartbeats. Then he saw pictures in his mind: one, one, then he saw things moving, heard the nain tell of years since “Bear” was by them seen. Arnten said, “You have been long inside the bearskin, then, and that long you’ve not seen iron?”

Still the hand gripping his did not move. “
Iron is dying?
True, true, many springtimes I have caught and killed the great salmon and many summer-times I have climbed for honey in the honey trees and in the rocky clefts. Many falltimes have I eaten the last of the frost-touched fruits and the sweet flesh of nuts. And many wintertimes have I felt the bearsleep come upon me and felt the numbness grow inside my head and sunk into the lair till the snows grow thinner. Aye. Eh. I can count the time only by counting your time. You are barely a man. And the last iron I had seen, the last iron I had thought of, I wrapped well the iron knifeiet in my witchery-bundle and hid it well for thee. May it be sick?”

Arnten did not mind the grip upon his hand. He crouched against the crouching body of his fullfather. He rested on that puissant flesh which had made his own and which was now his present as well as his past. Defying mankind and beastkind and time and the night, he let himself recline against the great rough beast which was his father and he let his hand recline in that great rough paw. Quietly, almost drowsily he said, “That witchery-knife alone is not sick. But all other iron is sick.” And he muttered, “The nains,” and he muttered of the nains. And he sighed, “The king — ” and he sighed words of the king. And almost he fell asleep, comforted by the rough, warm body and its rough and powerful smell. Then the body moved, releasing his hand, and a sound which was almost a cry and almost a groan rumbled and broke loose from that strong fatherbody by the embers.

“Iron!

“The nains!

“The king!”

Almost he flew awake. He slid down so that he might stand up. The day had been long and there was still much to talk about. The day had begun with the mammont hunt and he had run far and he had been hurt and nains and perries and Painted Men pursued him and he ran along the river and now the long long day was over and he had nevermore again to run to bolt to flee and
Iron! Sick iron! The wizards!
and
The King!
sounded their names in the darkness. And the embers slid down because they were tired and the embers slipped beneath the ashes and the embers slept.

In the morning the embers were awake again and spitting and flaring at the meat that turned, spitted and smoking. Arntat was still crouched by the fire as though he had never left it and as though the meat had come at his bidding and obediently slipped out of its skin and onto the spit. Arntat yawned hugely and glanced at Arnten and it seemed as though his teeth were still the tushes and the fangs of Bear, his eyes still Bear’s eyes so small and cunning and sharp, his blunt face still Bear’s muzzle and his hairy hands with long thick nails — The yawn closed with a snap.

The man said, “There was the lone one of you?”

“The — ”

“Sometimes a she kindles with twain. Or more. My get, by your dam — ”

“Only me, as I ever heard. I never knew her. Uncle said she drowned. Was mad.”

Arntat grunted. “It was time for it to be done and I was there and she was there and ‘twas done, so. If not she, another. If not me, another. If not she and me, then not thee.” He took the spit from its forks and rested the savory roast, dribbling, on the grass. “So. The lone one of you. Called me from my bearguise.” He seized his son by his downy shoulders. “Hid from me my bearskin.” Son resisted, wordlessly, was pressed down nonetheless. “Carried off with him my token. Found the nain. Found me. Called me from my bearguise. Stole away my bearskin. The lone one of you.” Arnten was on his back, flat. “Am I to regret ‘twasn’t twins? Or be one of such enough?” The single hand quivered the boy belly as one would a pup’s. Then moved, one hand, two hands, tore the roasted meat apart, slapped a part still sizzling on the place the hand had been — boy leapt up, yelping, bared his teeth and began to eat.

Boy teeth shining sharp in quick-closed mouth. Boy hand rubbing belly. Boy snout smelling savory food. Boy cub by bear man, tearing meat from bone.

Still eating when father got up and strode off, he followed at quick pace, still holding his own unfinished portion. “Am!” he said. “Arntat! Bearfather!”

Bearfather growled over his shoulder.

“The hide! The horn! The witchery-bundle! Shall I fetch?”

Arntat growled, “The hide? Leave it be. I’ll go no more a-bearing for now. The horn? Leave it be. Rather than call wrong, call none for now. The witchery-bundle? As you want.” And he melted into the shadows of the all-circling forest. Arnten followed, thinking and eating as he went. Claw and reed and stone and nut, he had read their message and read them rightly; he could part with them for now. The hide with its medicine signs he needed not now. For a moment he begrudged the knife, the good knife of good iron. He took a longing look at the slightly slant and towering beech tree, casting a long shadow in the morning sun as it had cast in the evening. They were all safe up there in the hollow of the hidey-hole. And there, safely, let them bide, then.

Still eating, he slipped after his father into the dappled surface of the forest.

Arntat did not precisely linger, he did not exactly dally, neither did he rush ahead with great speed, nor slink through the woods. Some sort of game was being played. For neither did Arnten go so fast as he might. It was the game, then, that each should generally hold the other in sight, but only generally. And sometimes the bigger one would suddenly hide himself and as suddenly reveal himself when the smaller paused to look around, then proceed as though he had not been hidden at all. Before long they had developed many aspects to this game and little tricks and presently they were again and again filled with silent laughter at each other. Through many a clearing and burn and along the paths they played their game, sometimes Arntat leaping along a fallen tree as lightly as a squirrel, at least once Arnten dropping several leaves before being realized and looked up at.

It lasted most of the morning and might have lasted much longer, but then Arnten, running noiselessly around a great lichen-studded boulder, ran full tilt into flesh which only in that first second he thought was his father’s. A swift blow and an angry word undeceived him before his eyes did — he who had for all morning dropped even the memory of blows and angry words — and, as he tried to scramble to his feet, tried to turn his head to see who it was, tried to run away any which way (all these at once), someone grabbed his arm and twisted it. Only then did he cry out.