Shoving herself to her paws, Kallik backtracked to the last stretch of water. She swam back to the large chunk of ice and padded cautiously across it, sniffing the air every other pawstep for any trace of the other bear. The night was still, and the sound of her paws crunching on the ice seemed eerily loud. But she was lucky; the other bear had moved on.
She found the seal carcass he had been eating and nosed it for any scraps he had left behind. There wasn’t much, but she was willing to eat anything, even if it wasn’t the most delicious parts of the fat or the skin. Her mouth watered as she chewed, and the few bits she was able to pull off helped take the edge off her hunger.
She didn’t want to risk seeing the other white bear again, so she left the carcass as soon as she’d eaten every last scrap of meat. Following her nose, and steering clear of any scents that might be other bears, she hurried on toward land, only stopping to sleep for a short time when the moon was high in the sky.
The next morning, when Kallik opened her eyes, she saw something different along the edge of the sky in front of her. A smudged line of gray, like a clawstroke through the snow. She sat up and stared at it, scratching her ear. It looked a little bit like storm clouds coming, but it wasn’t moving. Land!
She sniffed the air; the unfamiliar scents were stronger than ever. The air felt wet and soft, and the ice had a layer of melted water on the top, dripping off the edges into the sea. Kallik got to her paws and started walking toward the gray line, raising her nose so she could inhale as many of the new smells as possible. She could tell that some of them were strange animals: musky fur and fluttering feathers, scents of hunger and danger and fear, some predators and some prey. There were other scents, too, that were tangy and fresh in a way she’d never smelled before.
She swam across three stretches of water before she began to see the land in front of her more clearly. It looked gray and hard and rough, like the sharp edges of glaciers but darker. Birds swooped overhead, more birds than she’d ever seen in her life—almost as many birds as there were ice spots in the sky. They screeched and flapped, diving for fish and preening themselves on the rocks.
Kallik shivered. What would she eat on land? There were no seals there. She was pretty sure there was no way she’d ever catch one of the birds. Without Nisa’s help, how would she know what to eat? She remembered Nisa’s stories about grass and berries, but she couldn’t see any “green whiskers” growing out of the ground. Would she recognize them if she saw them?
She kept walking, watching the rocks get bigger as she got closer. Finally she reached a place where there was no more ice—nothing but water from here until the land. This was it…the place her mother had been leading them to. She had never intended for Kallik to come here alone.
Kallik dove into the water and paddled hard. The waves picked her up and drove her forward, then sucked her back. They were stronger than anything, even her mother’s paws, and she couldn’t control where she was going at all.
“Spirits of the white bears!” she called, gasping as water poured into her mouth and nose. “If you haven’t melted into the sky yet—if any of you are left in the water—please help me before you go.” Large floating pieces of ice pounded her on every side as she swam closer and closer to the rocky shore. She was nearly there when a wave seized her and smashed her into a large rock. A jolt of pain shot through her; she scrambled with her claws, trying to grip on to the rock, but the surf dragged her back into the open water again, shoving her under. Salty water surged over her muzzle, and she struggled desperately forward, scraping her claws on the rock as she wrapped all four paws around it.
I can’t die now! she thought. Taqqiq might be waiting for me on land—he might be only bearlengths away.
It took all the strength she had to haul herself onto the top of the boulder, but finally she heaved herself free of the sea and stood, panting for breath, on the flat, hard rock. From there she could jump to the next rock, and then clamber over smaller ones until at last she stood onshore, her paws sinking into a pebbly brown surface that she guessed was the dirt her mother had told her about.
She shook the water out of her fur and breathed in deeply.
She’d made it. She was finally on land.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Lusa
Snow had fallen overnight, leaving the ground soggy and cold as it squelched between Lusa’s claws. Dirt clung to her fur whenever she rolled around playing with Yogi, and as they raced to get to their food, they left long streaks of churned-up mud behind them.
Lusa shook herself, trying to get some of the mud out of her fur. She trotted over to her mother, who was lying limply under the tallest tree. Ashia had been eating less and less for days, and she was starting to look thin. Lusa buried her nose in her mother’s fur, which was no longer glossy and sleek but patchy.
“Mother?” Lusa whispered. “Are you all right?”
“I remember a pool of water,” Ashia said, blinking. “Where is it? It was right there…and there were other bears…a cub named Ben, I think….”
“What do you mean?” Lusa asked, scared. “There’s no pool here. What cub? Mother, what’s wrong?”
92
“She’s thinking of the first zoo she lived in,” Stella said, coming up beside Lusa.
“But why?” Lusa asked. “Doesn’t she like it here anymore?”
Ashia pressed her paws to her muzzle, staring up at Lusa. “Who are you?” she asked. “You look like me. Where are the others?”
“I’m your cub. Don’t you remember?” Lusa pleaded.
“She’s just confused,” Stella said. “Maybe she’s tired. We should let her sleep.”
“Don’t you want to come into the den?” Lusa asked her mother. Night was falling, and Lusa knew it would be much warmer inside the stone walls. She patted her mother’s paws with her own. “It’s time to sleep. Let’s go inside.”
Ashia covered her face with her paws and mumbled something, rolling away from Lusa.
“It looks like she wants to sleep out here tonight,” Stella said, heading back to the den. “Let’s give her some peace.”
“What’s wrong with her?” Lusa asked.
“I’m sure she’ll be fine,” Stella said. “If she were sick, the flat-faces would take her away and make her better.”
“Really?” Lusa perked up. “They can do that?”
“Unless they take her away and don’t bring her back,” Stella mused. “Then I’m not sure what happens.”
Lusa shuffled her paws on the floor. “Has that happened to other bears?”
“Once in the time I’ve been here,” Stella said. “But that bear was very sick, and we all thought his spirit was ready to go into the trees.”
“Stop this nonsense,” said a deep voice behind her. Lusa dropped to all fours and turned to face her father. King was looking at Stella sternly.
“There’s nothing to make such a big fuss about,” King growled.
“But what about Mother?” Lusa asked. “Will the flat-faces make her better?”
King shrugged, his fur rippling across his shoulders. “Who knows what the flat-faces will do? I don’t even know why they keep us here, let alone why they fix us when we’re sick. It’s no use trying to figure it out. Let’s wait and see.” He scratched his ear and lumbered away.
Stella nudged Lusa gently with her nose. “Don’t worry, Lusa. Your mother is a strong bear. Maybe she just feels like sleeping in the open tonight—the way your father does.”
Lusa glanced over at King. Even he wasn’t sleeping on the cold, muddy ground. He’d found a flattish boulder and was settling down on top of it, his paws hanging down on either side.
“I hope she gets better soon,” Lusa said.
“Spirits of the bears,” Stella murmured, gazing into the sky. “Make Ashia feel her normal self by morning.” She nudged Lusa again. “Come on, let’s go to sleep.”
Lusa fidgeted all night, worrying about her mother and feeling the emptiness of the d
en without Ashia’s bulk to lean against. As soon as light started to creep across the Bowl, she scrambled to her paws, shook herself, and trotted out of the den. Ashia was still lying in the same position. It looked as if she hadn’t moved since the day before.
Lusa didn’t know what to do. Nothing like this had happened in the Bowl in her lifetime. Why did bears get sick? How would Ashia get better? Her mother was like the boulders of the Mountains—always there, always the same. If she changed, it would be like the earth vanishing from under Lusa’s paws.
Perhaps she’d feel better if she ate something. Lusa gathered some of the fruit the feeders had left for them and brought it over to her mother. “Mother?” she said, dropping the ripe berries beside her mother’s muzzle.
“Lusa,” Ashia whispered, pressing her paws to her belly. Relief flooded through Lusa as she saw that at least her mother recognized her. Maybe she was feeling better than last night.
“Mother, are you all right?” Lusa asked. She nosed the berries closer to Ashia. “I brought you some food.”
Ashia made a groaning sound and turned her face into the dirt. Mud and snow were caked through her fur, but she made no move to shake them off. She didn’t even lift her head to sniff the fruit Lusa had brought. Lusa heard a rumbling sound from her mother’s belly. This wasn’t better. This might even be worse.
Some of the feeders were leaning over the wall. Lusa scrambled over to them and stood on her hind legs, trying to get their attention. Couldn’t they see that her mother was sick?
One of them chuckled a little and threw a piece of fruit to Lusa. Frustrated, the cub sat down again. Flat-faces never understood what you really wanted. She batted at the fruit, then abandoned it to go back and sniff her mother. Maybe if she tried harder…Lusa ran back to the edge of the Bowl, stood up to look at the feeders, and then ran back to her mother. She did this a few more times, clacking her teeth to show she was frightened.
The flat-faces pointed at her, and then at Ashia. They spoke in quiet, serious murmurs like the rustle of leaves in the trees. Finally a few of them came through the door in the wall and went over to Ashia, making gentle sounds and walking around her carefully.
A tall flat-face that Lusa had never seen before came into the Bear Bowl. Unlike the others, he had some bushy gray fur on his face. Two round shiny things were perched on his nose, and his removable pelt was green. He was carrying a long black-and-brown stick cradled under his arm. Lusa didn’t like the way it smelled…like the Fence but darker and more smoky.
The other feeders brought in big poles and a roll of webbed stuff that turned into Fence when they unrolled it. They set up the poles around Ashia and put the new, smaller Fence around her. Lusa didn’t realize what they were doing until they stepped away and it was too late. Now she couldn’t get close to her mother. Ashia was alone inside the new Fence.
Lusa tried to claw at the Fence to join her mother, but one of the feeders came over and shooed her away. What were they doing? Why wouldn’t they let her be with her mother? Lusa backed away, then scrambled up the tree, pushing herself quickly higher with her hind paws. From the branch above her mother, she could see right inside the small Fence. She saw the tall flat-face walk in and point the long metal thing at her mother.
There was a sharp popping sound, and something shot out of the black stick into her mother. Ashia grunted once, and then slowly her eyes closed.
Horrified, Lusa cried, “Mother! Mother!”
But Ashia didn’t respond.
“Mother!” Lusa screamed.
She tried to climb back down, but now something loud and roaring was coming into the Bowl, and it scared her back up the tree again. It coughed smoke and swaggered so loudly that all the other bears scattered to the far corners of the Bowl, staying as far away as possible. Lusa guessed that this was one of the firebeasts she’d heard King talk about. She’d seen them from the top of the tree sometimes, charging around the paths outside the Bowl, but she’d never been close enough to smell the scent of metal and burning before.
The feeders gathered around Ashia and rolled her onto a large flat skin the color of the sky but shiny like water. Each of them picked up a corner and lifted the large, limp bear. They hoisted her onto a flat thing with round black paws, and then they hooked that to the firebeast.
With a great roar, the firebeast lurched away through the big doors at the back of the Bear Bowl. Lusa rushed down the tree as the doors were closing. “Mother!” she howled. The doors slammed in her face, and she stood up on her hind legs, clawing at the wall. “Mother! Don’t go! Wait, please don’t take her!”
CHAPTER NINE
Toklo
Pebbles of frozen ice caught in Toklo’s claws as he dug through the snow, searching for something to eat. The sun glowed red in the sky as it crept slowly down below the trees, and an ice-cold wind raced up the mountain, slicing through his fur and making him shiver.
Oka had not moved for the rest of the day, nor had she spoken. She lay beside Tobi, unmoving, as the day passed and night crept on again. Toklo could see they would be staying here again tonight, even though his belly was howling in protest. The salmon couldn’t be too far away now. Surely they were less than a day’s travel from food that would finally fill him up.
What if his mother never moved again? Did Oka want him to stay here until his spirit grew so hungry it joined Tobi’s in the water? He wished she would see that having one living bear cub was better than having two dead ones. It was also better than having one alive and one half dead. Now they could travel faster and take care of each other better.
His claws snagged on something soft, and he brushed away the snow to uncover a pile of moss. It was damp and soggy and crumbled in his paws, but he swallowed it down anyway. He scooped up some of it and brought it back to his mother where she lay under their rough shelter.
“I brought you some moss,” he whispered, laying it close to her muzzle. Oka didn’t open her eyes. The small shape of Toklo’s brother lay curled between her paws, limp and still. Toklo lay down behind his mother and crept slowly nearer, dragging himself along on his belly until his fur was touching her curved back. She didn’t move, so he rested his muzzle on his paws and closed his eyes, falling into an uneasy sleep.
The sudden movement of Oka’s body behind him startled Toklo awake. He scrambled to his paws, noticing that the sun was starting to rise and the sky was streaked with gray clouds.
Oka stood for a moment, her head bent to sniff Tobi once more. “It’s time to go,” she said.
Relief spread through Toklo. He didn’t have to die along with his brother after all. “To the river?” he asked.
“But first there is an earth ritual to attend to,” Oka said, as if she hadn’t heard him. She turned and saw the moss that Toklo had brought the night before.
“Yes,” she murmured. “That is what we need.” Gently she took the moss in her jaws and laid it down on Tobi’s fur. Then she swung her head up and stepped out of the den, her pawsteps measured and heavy. Toklo padded after her, confused but afraid to speak in case she snapped at him.
Oka nosed through the snow, digging loose bits of earth and twigs. She clawed a pile of dead leaves together, carried them back into the den, and laid those on top of Tobi as well.
Toklo didn’t know what she was doing, but he hoped that if he helped her, they could leave sooner. Copying her, he gathered dirt and branches and dragged them back to the den, where he helped her cover his brother’s body until it could not be seen anymore.
Oka lifted her head and spoke, her deep growl echoing off the back of the den wall. “Spirits of the earth, I commit this innocent cub, whom we called Tobi, to your care. Take him back into the warmth of your fur and protect him. Guide his paws through the rocks and the soil to the water that lives deep within you, and let him join his fellow bear spirits in the river that flows eternally.”
She paused, and Toklo wondered if he was supposed to say something. Oka scratched her claws through the
dirt one way and then the other, leaving a crisscross of marks next to her cub’s body. Still without speaking, she turned and walked away, out of the den onto the open slope of the mountain.
Toklo hesitated for a moment. It didn’t seem right to be leaving Tobi behind. Toklo pressed his nose into the mound of dirt and leaves and branches. “Tobi,” he whispered. “We’re going to the river now. I know you need to get there, too, so follow me, all right? I’ll take you to the river.”
Toklo stepped back and shook his head, brushing off the leaves that were stuck to his fur. Then he hurried after his mother, who was setting a brisk pace down the mountain. She didn’t speak to him, and he stayed silent, frightened by the tension in her shoulders and the faraway look in her eyes.
It was nearly sunhigh when Toklo noticed something at the edge of his hearing. It was a fast, rushing, happy sound, full of bubbles and life, like rain rushing across the valley. “Is that the river?” he blurted. “Are we nearly there? Are we going to catch salmon now? I can’t wait! I’m going to catch so many salmon, Mother, watch and see!”
They had left the snow behind them and were coming down through thick pine trees and clearings dotted with wildflowers. In front of them he could see the river glittering in the pale sunlight—a wide, shallow rush of water with pebbly shores on either side. He galloped ahead, nearly losing his balance on the expanse of pine needles that covered the steep hill.
And suddenly Toklo saw bears.
Bears were wading in the river, staring into the water. Bears were rolling on their backs in the water, splashing with their paws. Bears were pacing along the banks and running through the shallows, their fur sodden and spiky.
Toklo had never seen so many bears in one place. They all looked so big! Most of them were larger than Oka, and they were all much, much larger than him. He slowed down at the edge of the trees and waited for his mother to catch up. Together they stepped into the sunshine, moving out of the cool shadows under the pines onto the long, pebbly riverbank. Toklo didn’t like the way the other bears looked at him. They looked…hungry. One bear, an enormous adult male, stood up on his hind legs in the water to stare at Oka and Toklo as they approached the riverbank. His claws were long and sharp, and he had the largest hump on his shoulders that Toklo had ever seen. His fur was dark from the water and his muzzle was wet, as if he’d been diving for fish. He stared at Toklo with small, brown, unfriendly eyes.