“I know you can hear me,” she whispered. “I know you understand, even if Mother and Father don’t. If there’s any way…anything you can do…just so I can see what the wild is like and decide for myself. Please, I have to know.” She blinked, and the star seemed to blink back at her.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Toklo
Toklo’s stomach was growling. He hadn’t eaten in days, except for a few scraps of moss he’d been able to claw off tree roots. He’d tried to hunt for salmon in the river several times, but usually he saw no signs of fish at all—and the ones he did see moved too fast for him to catch.
Melting snow was mixing with the dirt, creating an icy mud that clung to his paws and made traveling slow and wet. The river rushed by, bubbling over large black rocks with a constant roaring, gurgling noise that was beginning to sound, to Toklo, not that different from the BlackPath.
He caught the scent of prey and lifted his nose in the air, taking a deep breath. It was coming from the trees above the river, at the top of a steep embankment.
He scrambled up the icy rocks, digging his claws into the stone and slipping on the slick surface. Sharp edges pressed into the pads of his paws and snagged on his fur as he dragged himself over the last ledge and climbed to his paws under the trees. Pine needles lay thickly underpaw, giving off a strong evergreen scent that mingled with the smell of the prey. He put his nose to the ground, sniffing, and tracked it to a spot where four trees grew close together, their trunks almost touching and their branches overlapping. The earth below them was still covered in hard, densely packed snow where the trees blocked the sunshine from reaching it.
Toklo crouched and crept closer. The scent didn’t move; whatever it was didn’t know he was coming. When he could smell it right below his nose, he pounced, striking hard and fast at the snow. He dove into it with his forepaws, digging ferociously, throwing back snow and loose earth with his claws. When his paws reached something that was neither earth nor snow, his mouth began to water. Toklo brushed away the snow to reveal two squirrels, a stoat, and a couple of animals he had never seen before. They looked like they had been killed only recently, and the delicious smell of fresh meat wafted up to him.
Toklo turned over the stoat with his paw and saw clawmarks on its underbelly. He sniffed deeper and realized that under the smell of the prey there was the muskier scent of another bear. That bear must have buried this prey here, saving it for later. Toklo’s fur burned with jealousy. It wasn’t fair that this other bear had so much that he could bury meals like this.
His mother must have taught him how to hunt properly, Toklo thought.
He glanced around, pricking his ears and sniffing the air. There was no sign of the other bear. Whoever had buried this would be furious if some of the catch went missing…. Toklo remembered his mother telling him never to steal prey.
Why should I care what she thinks anymore? She doesn’t care about me! And she’s not here to tell me what to do.
He crouched and sank his teeth into the soft flesh of a squirrel. He could feel his strength returning with every mouthful, and his thoughts of Oka melted away like the snow.
After he had eaten as much as he could, Toklo covered the rest of the kill pile with earth and snow. He tried to pat it down so it looked undisturbed, although he was worried that his scent would still be on it. Quickly he searched through the tangled undergrowth until he found some strong-smelling leaves and spread them over the hiding place. Perhaps that would help to hide his scent, at least long enough for him to get out of the other bear’s territory.
Feeling better after his meal, Toklo bounded into the woods. One day he would have a territory of his own, too. He just had to keep moving, find enough food to stay alive, and stay alert for other bears until he was old enough and big enough to fight for his own range somewhere.
He kept his ears pricked for the sounds of another bear as he climbed up through the trees, heading farther up the mountain. He deliberately avoided the wet patches of dirt so he wouldn’t leave a trail of pawprints. There was enough frozen, packed snow still on the ground for him to walk on, and he found more and more of it as he went farther up through the trees.
The wind seemed to get colder as he traveled, buffeting his fur and making his eyes water. Toklo was scrambling up a slope littered with large rocks among the trees when he saw a large dark shape moving through the woods several bearlengths away. He froze in the shadow of one of the rocks.
It was an adult bear—and from the scent drifting on the wind toward him, it was the one he’d stolen the prey from. The strange bear’s shoulders were broad and his fur was matted with mud. Toklo kept very still, knowing that any sudden movement might catch the bear’s eye, and even the crackle of a twig beneath his paws could attract its attention. He was glad that the wind was blowing in his face instead of carrying his scent toward the bear.
Toklo crouched lower, hoping the rock would keep him hidden. The breeze dropped for a moment, and in the stillness a bird squawked loudly, as if it could see Toklo and was shouting, “He’s over here! Come get him!”
Toklo’s heart started to pound. He saw the other bear stand up on its hind legs and sniff the air. Please don’t smell me. Please keep going. Toklo buried his face in his paws and waited for a heavy paw to clamp down on his shoulders.
After a long moment, he opened his eyes again. The bear was shambling down the mountain toward the river. Toklo hoped he wasn’t heading for the hidden newkill, but just in case, he picked up the pace and began running through the trees.
Ahead of him he could see the shimmer of sunlight, and with a burst of speed, he shot out of the trees into a wide open meadow. Suddenly he was surrounded by bright yellow warmth, and for a moment he had the confused feeling that he’d run right into the sun. He blinked until his eyes adjusted to the light. He was standing in a field of yellow flowers, the color both startling and comforting, like a pool of melted sunlight. In the distance, beyond the meadow, a mountain rose into the sky. Toklo stared at it. It looked like the head of a bear, its nose raised to the clouds, its mouth half open as if calling out to the sun, which was slowly setting behind it.
He lowered his muzzle to sniff one of the yellow flowers. The stem had no leaves on it, and the yellow flower was drooping off the top. Its smell was fresh and sharp, stronger and tastier than the dandelions his mother had made him eat by the BlackPath. An even more mouthwatering smell was coming from below the ground.
Toklo dug his front claws into the dirt and scraped away the earth around the base of the flower. The stem ran down under the ground to a round white bulb. Toklo scooped out the bulb with his paw and bent his head to eat it. It crunched satisfyingly between his teeth, and after a moment he felt a curious tingling sensation of heat in his mouth and throat. He dug up the flower next to it and ate that bulb, too.
Warm and full, he moved to the bank of snow on the edge of the tree line. Night was creeping across the meadow, dimming the brightness of the flowers, and stars were beginning to appear in the dark sky. Toklo dug a shallow den for himself in the snow, making a hollow he could curl up in with some protection from the wind on all sides. He crept inside and lay down, looking up at the stars as they twinkled to life one by one.
The brightest star was up there, almost directly above him, and as the night got darker, it seemed to grow brighter, shining right down on him. He remembered his mother telling him about how it was the spirit of a bad bear, driven out by the other animals. As he watched the star, he knew how it felt. The star was alone—the loneliest star in the sky—just like he was. It didn’t need any other stars to survive. It lived on its own in the endless sky, the same way he was wandering by himself across the endless mountains.
His eyes drifted shut, and in his muddled dreams he thought he could hear the star calling to him. “Toklo! Be strong like me,” it whispered. And then he dreamed that he was walking through dark purple clouds right into the sky, and when he looked down, his fur was shimmering
silver, and he realized that he’d become the star. It was cold in the sky, and he could hear the voices of other animals whispering from far away, but he lifted his muzzle proudly toward the moon. Whatever he’d done to get here, he was alone and proud of it, and that was how he would stay.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Kallik
Kallik was walking at the foot of a low cliff, watching the tide creeping up the beach. She knew she needed to turn inland before long. She reached a place where the cliffs had crumbled down onto the shore, and scrambled up. Blasts of foul-smelling wind flattened her fur and stung her eyes.
From here she could see down to a flat gray path with straight edges that stretched in either direction to the edge of the sky. Beyond it was a cluster of dens like the one she had seen several days ago, propped on squat legs with flat walls and pointed roofs.
As she lay there, a roar came from the distance, and in a moment a loud, smelly creature came galloping along the path. It shot past her with a blaring noise and a blast of smoky air. Kallik coughed and coughed, trying to breathe although her nose was filled with the horrible scent. Her mother had told her that the only creatures bigger than white bears were something called “firebeasts.” Nisa had said that they didn’t eat bears…but Kallik shivered, wondering if that was true.
On a patch of grass in front of one of the dens, three creatures were playing. They walked on two legs and had rainbow furs in many colors, like birds. Kallik thought they looked too small to be dangerous, although they were too big to be prey. She wondered if they were more like bears or birds, and she wished she was brave enough to go over and sniff them more closely. They were wrestling and chasing something, and once again she felt a pang of missing her family.
Underneath the horrid smoky smell, Kallik picked up faint traces of other scents that smelled fatty and salty, like food. They were coming from the other side of the stone path. She pushed herself to her paws and trotted down the slope to the path, her ears twitching and her nose held high. It was hard to tell which scents were old and which were new; the smell of the path overwhelmed them all.
Kallik took a deep breath and bounded onto the path. It felt strange beneath her paws, pebbly and smooth at the same time. She raced for the other side as fast as she could, but she was still a few bearlengths away when a terrifying rumble shook the ground. She glanced to the left and saw one of the firebeasts bearing down on her much faster than she could run.
With a howl of terror, Kallik picked up speed and threw herself to the grass on the far side of the path. She hit the ground and tumbled head over claws into a thorny bush as the firebeast shot past behind her. Still terrified, Kallik sprang to her paws again and kept running, blundering through bushes and thickets until she crashed into a new kind of barrier, short and white and made of wood, like a series of tiny identical leafless trees growing next to one another. In her panic, she knocked over a whole section of these wooden trees and floundered into an enclosed space of peculiarly short, even grass.
A high-pitched scream sounded from inside the nearest den. Kallik ran back through the hole she had made, following the smell of trees. She blundered into an overgrown patch of woods behind the dens and found a large bush with branches hanging low to the ground. Kallik crawled underneath and lay there, panting, until she was sure that nothing was chasing her.
She rested her muzzle on her paws. She was shaking all over and her fur felt as if it had been dragged through an ice storm. It took her a long time to fall asleep, and when she did, strange creatures chased her through her nightmares, yowling and roaring. Through the chaos of noise and color, Kallik spotted her mother, pale as snow, on the far side of the stone path. Nisa looked into Kallik’s eyes, then turned and walked away. As she walked, the ground beneath her turned to ice, and the cool blue stillness spread out from her paws, rippling to the edge of the sky. Unable to move, Kallik watched helplessly as her mother walked farther and farther away across the ice.
The path seemed quieter when she woke in the early morning. Kallik sniffed the air, braced herself, and sprinted across at full speed. This time she was lucky: No firebeasts sprang out of hiding to attack her. She made it across and kept running uphill past lone scattered trees until she reached the top of the cliff that looked out over the water.
Her paws were sore and bleeding from the harsh surface of the stone path, and her coat was gray with the dirt that seemed to hang in the air around it, filling her nostrils with its scent. Her throat hurt from the scratchy air, and the bright sun beat down on her fur, scorching her nose and overheating her body.
At the top of the cliff was a stretch of dry ground covered in scraggly grass and tiny, leafless bushes. Kallik tried to eat some of the grass, but the spiky leaves hurt her tongue and throat. She sniffed the air for any scent of fresh water and was relieved to find a trace that seemed close by. Kallik padded across the bare earth to a gully, where she found a stream running along the bottom. She scrambled down the side of the gully and raced to the edge of the stream. There she stopped short in dismay.
Only a few bearlengths away, sprawled in the water, was another white bear.
He was older than her, but still young, probably only one or two burn-skies old. He was not as large as some of the bears Kallik had seen, but he was a lot bigger than her, although he looked thin and starving like she was. He was lying on his belly, letting the flowing water cool him off. Kallik took a step back, hoping he hadn’t seen her yet. There was a snap beneath her paws as she stepped on a twig, and she froze.
The other bear raised his head and stared at her with small dark eyes. She took another step back, and he stood up, shaking himself so drops flew in all directions. Kallik was wondering if it would be wise to run when he spoke.
“It’s all right,” he said gruffly. “You can have a drink. I won’t eat you.”
“Oh,” Kallik said. Her voice sounded strange because she hadn’t spoken in so long. “Thank you.” She padded to the edge of the stream, keeping her eyes on the other bear. When he didn’t move, she ducked her head and drank quickly.
The bear was still standing there when she stepped back. Kallik didn’t know if it was really safe to talk to him, but he hadn’t attacked her yet, and maybe if he was friendly, he’d help her find her brother.
“Hello,” she said cautiously. “My name’s Kallik.”
“Hmm,” grunted the other bear. She waited. After a long pause, he said, “I’m Purnaq.”
“Are you all alone?” Kallik asked. It was such a relief to be talking to another white bear that she couldn’t stop the words tumbling out, quicker than water. “I am. My mother was killed by orcas and I lost my brother—I don’t know where he is, but I’m looking for him—he ran off into the snow and I’ve been trying to find him.” Purnaq cocked his head, listening. “It was so horrible,” Kallik went on. “I was in the water with my mother when the whales attacked, and she pushed me onto the ice but they pulled her under. And my brother is out there somewhere, all alone, and I have to find him….”
“It’s a sad story,” Purnaq agreed with a shrug. “But things are tough all over right now. Most bears have stories like that to tell.”
“Most bears?” Kallik echoed. “Have you seen a lot of other bears, then?”
Purnaq looked surprised. “Don’t you know where you are? Just look up there.” He nodded to the far side of the gully. Kallik splashed through the water and pulled herself up the dusty slope to the top.
The sparse, dry ground stretching in front of her was covered with white bears! More bears than she had ever seen in her life, more than all the claws on her paws. They were standing well away from one another, but most of them were close to the sea, which she could see glittering ahead of her. All of them looked thin and wretched.
She had done it…. She had reached the gathering place. “Taqqiq!” she cried.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Lusa
It was a warm morning in leaftime, almost a moon after Oka’s arr
ival. There were a lot of flat-faces clustered at the top of the wall, watching the bears in the Bowl. Lusa was in the Bear Tree, listening to them chatter. She lay on a branch, stretching her paws and feeling the sun warm her fur. The flat-faces sounded noisier than usual.
The doors in the wall on the other side of the Fence started to clank open. Lusa turned her head to look down into the grizzly enclosure. Oka had been clawing at her tree all day, roaring now and then with rage. She’d frightened Grumps off to the far corner, where Lusa could hear him grumbling about the damage to his poor tree. She wasn’t sure if there was anything making Oka angrier than usual, but the she-bear seemed very upset.
One of the feeders stepped through the door, carrying a bucket of fish. Lusa recognized the flat-face; he often brought her food and when she was very little he had sometimes play-wrestled with her.
Oka spun around when she heard the door clang shut. Her ears twitched and her eyes narrowed. She looked like she had just spotted a juicy piece of prey. Lusa sat up, sensing something was wrong. She barked, trying to warn the feeder, but he had his back to Oka and was setting the bucket down on the ground.
All of a sudden, Oka charged. In less than a heartbeat she had raced across the clearing and slammed into the flat-face. He fell over with a shout, and the grizzly pinned him to the ground with her paws. He reached up with his hands, trying to push her away, but her huge jaws yawned over his face and her claws ripped at his chest.
Lusa scrambled back to the tree trunk, wrapped her forepaws around it, and pressed her face into the bark. She could hear the flat-face visitors screaming and shouting from the wall. Even louder than them, she could hear the feeder howling in pain. The terrible sound seemed to go on and on and on.