Second gave her brother a sharp look, as though to say, Have some pride. Someday we’ll be the largest predators on earth, and we’ve already promised not to eat the seal.
But First was still yammering away. “Without our paws we are nothing.”
“Well, not exactly nothing, First,” his sister interjected before turning to the seal. “We don’t even know your name. What is it?”
The seal looked at them for several seconds. This was a problem. Seal names were long, complex strings of sounds that were nearly inaudible under the ice to other creatures. According to tradition, real names were never spoken above ice, though some seals did have an “above-ice name.” But this was the first time this seal had ever been asked. He paused to think before a word finally popped into his head. It was the name of a sunken ship, a ship from the time of the Others, that rested on a rock ledge in the bay near a river mouth.
“S. S. Jameson,” he barked proudly. “I mean, Jameson. And what’s yours?”
“Oh, we don’t have names yet,” First replied.
Jameson slapped his flipper onto the ice flow. It rocked slightly. “I forgot. I find that habit despicable. You should have names. Every creature on earth deserves a name. No matter how big or small.”
“But we have no one to name us,” First said.
“Are you orphans?” Jameson asked.
“No!” Second stamped her paw. “Our father has gone to the far north country to hunt with the male bears. And we are going to join him.”
“You want to hunt with the male bears?” The seal looked at Second doubtfully.
“Of course,” Second said, tossing her head.
“Our mum had to leave to go on a noble mission,” First said proudly. “But she’ll come back. She loves us. She just had to go.”
Jameson cocked his head. “What kind of a mission? I mean, other than noble?”
First took a deep breath. “She’s been called to the Den of Forever Frost. It’s the most important place in the history of bears.”
Jameson looked blankly at them. He seemed as ignorant of the den as Lago had been.
“It’s real!” Second said, stamping her paw again.
“I never said it wasn’t,” Jameson responded amiably. “Nevertheless, you still need names. Think about it while we swim up the tickle.”
The cubs exchanged a glance. First saw the doubt in his sister’s eyes. Did she have the same question he had? Why was it that the two times they had mentioned their mum going to the Den of Forever Frost, both creatures had seemed doubtful? But why else would their mum leave them? Despite his anxiety, First kept his fears to himself. It was too frightening to think that their mum had left them for no reason at all.
“You mean we should name ourselves?” First asked.
“Who else is going to do it?” Jameson swiveled his head around. “Come this way. It’s not that far from here to the tickle.”
They plunged into the water and swam after Jameson, nervously glancing behind them for any of the glittering blades of the krag sharks.
Deep layers of pale purple left from dusk washed the sky. At this time of year, the day clung to its colors at both dawn and dusk. It was as if the sun that had slid away to another world still wanted to leave some of its cloth of light behind. The haunting blues and the bruised lavenders remained. The stars appeared brighter against this cloth as the cubs swam behind the seal. The bear constellation was beginning to climb high into the night.
“Look!” Second said, stroking the water gently as she swam, then rolling onto her back for a better view of the sky. “There’s Jytte and Stellan.”
“Oh! They’re skipping ahead now,” First said. He too had turned on his back and begun to float.
“How come some stars become unstuck?” Second asked.
“It’s a mystery,” Jameson replied quietly. He was upright and bobbing in the water as he tipped his head back to watch the stars.
“That’s what Mum said about Jytte and Stellan,” First explained. “A mystery.”
Jameson turned his head and whispered, “Do you feel it?”
“Feel what?” Second asked.
“The halibut.”
“Halibut!” The cubs gasped and their stomachs rumbled in anticipation of the delicious fish.
“Calm down. Don’t scare it off,” Jameson warned.
“So you’re going to catch him?” First asked.
“He’s too big for me.” Jameson turned and swam toward them. “But just the right size for you. I’ll give you a tip. Halibut are slow swimmers, bottom swimmers. It’s not all that deep here. No time like the present to try. Now down you go; I’ll coach you. Just remember, you’re hunters.”
The seal is right, Second thought. We are hunters. But Mum taught us about hunting on ice, not diving beneath it.
First felt panic swell within him as he thought about the dive. He would have to angle his hind paws just right. That was his weak point, angling his paws in the water. Second was so much better.
Second recalled what Mum said about breathing underwater, not to inhale but to blow bubbles out, or their lungs would fill up with water and they would drown. Not happening, Second thought. We are not going to drown!
First seemed to read her mind about drowning. He looked at her nervously. “I don’t mean to sound dismal, sister, but … ”
“But you already do!” Second said. “And there’s no reason for it. Just remember, you have to stop blowing bubbles when you close in on prey, or the bubbles will give you away. Now stop worrying. You’re always thinking of reasons why things won’t work. We can do this!” Second was growing tired of her brother’s worries. “You can’t let your worries eat you. You must eat the worries and be done with them.” She paused as a thought came to her. “Remember how Mum told us the story about the Great Marven.”
“Oh, the legendary Great Marven,” Jameson broke in. “Greatest swimming bear ever during the time of the Great Melting. Killed more dragon walruses than any other Nunquivik bear. More seals too.”
“You know about Marven?” First asked. He was surprised that such stories could come down through the ages, and that another creature of a very different kind could know about them.
“I do,” Jameson replied. “We grew up with such stories. Though no one talks about them much anymore.” A light sparkled in Jameson’s eyes. “I can smell him. We’re closing in on that halibut.”
The shadow of the fish loomed ahead. As they drew closer, they were relieved to see that the halibut, although a husky fellow, was not nearly as big as the orcas. Jameson began making strange whistles that they didn’t understand, pointing this way and that with his flippers and head. The cubs dived and closed their mouths. No bubbles! The halibut moved very slowly and seemed confused by the two cubs and the seal. As First approached the halibut from the side, he realized what Jameson had been trying to signal to them. Get the fish to roll.
Second swam up close and made a swiping movement that stirred the water, but she did not touch the fish. The halibut started to roll slightly. Instinctually, First went in for the fish’s belly while Second whacked the fish’s back with her paw, breaking its spine. Jameson let out a shrill squeal and clapped his flippers as the cubs dragged the halibut to the surface.
“Oh Great Ursus!” First exclaimed. “I can’t believe it! We did it. We did it! My hind paws worked, worked again, just like Great Marven.”
“See!” Second said, glad to see her brother pleased with himself.
“Quick now,” Jameson coached them. “Get him out before others come and take a chunk out of him. What a fatty this fellow is!”
“Where can we put him?” Second asked.
“On the edge of the tickle. There’s enough room for all of us.”
The cubs clambered onto the rim of the tickle, dragging their catch. The redolent smell of the fish seemed to make the air quiver. It’d been so long since they’d eaten properly.
Second was just about to tear off a chunk o
f the tender flesh, but managed to stop herself. “No, you first—not you, First. I mean Jameson.”
“Of course,” First said. This is exactly why we need names! Too confusing.
After Jameson had his first bite, the cubs began feasting on the tender, flaky flesh. They ate and ate until only the bones of the fish were left. Their bellies were filled at last, and for the first time in days they felt satisfied.
Sprawled on the ice rim of the tickle, his paws clasped over his belly, First looked up at the sky. The big bear constellation was just clambering over the horizon. First waited patiently for the hind legs to appear and then began to search for his mum’s star in the heel, and then his father’s star in the knee. The sky seemed to arc so low over them that First felt if he stood tall enough he might reach out and pluck these stars from the night. They were so close, he could almost hear the stars whispering to him.
“Second,” he said quietly, “I have an idea. I think we should name ourselves.”
Second blinked at her brother. Could they really do that? What would they name themselves?
They each wondered silently for just a second or two; then they rolled up onto their knees, tipped their heads to the sky, and spied those two wandering stars. They knew in a twinkle what their names should be.
“I’m Jytte and no longer Second.”
“And I’m Stellan and no longer First.”
“It seems right, doesn’t it?” said Second, who was now Jytte.
“It seems very right to me!” Jameson chimed in, clapping his flippers in delight.
“Yes, it does sound right, but I’m not quite sure why,” Stellan said.
“I’ll tell you why, Stellan.”
“Why, Jytte?” They loved saying their brand-new names.
“It’s because those two stars are following our da, and we can too!” She said this firmly as her eyes looked at the star called Svern, their father’s star. “Remember what Mum said? His name is Svern, and that’s the star in the hind knee … ”
Stellan broke in, “ ‘The same leg as my heel star,’ Mum said. ‘You see, we walk together across the sky. Heel follows knee.’ ”
And so they were named.
Suddenly, the sky seemed to flinch, and then the dome of the night began to dance with color. Stellan tipped his head to the undulating hues. It was almost as if each color was raining down upon his pelt. His guard hairs were tipped in violets and starlit greens and rose. Was it possible to feel color? He looked at his sister. Her guard hairs shimmered as well, like she was part of a rainbow. Magic was happening.
“Jytte, is this magic, or—”
“It’s the ahalikki!” Jytte shouted in delight. Jameson looked up too. The white fur of the cubs’ pelts glowed with color, while his own sleek black coat seemed only to soak up the light. But still he felt it and basked in this night as the cubs began to rise to their feet.
The cubs had seen these lights once before with their mum. The luminous ribbons of color unfurled across the darkness silently. Then the ribbons began to pulse, and soon waves of crimson and orange flowed through the night. All perfectly silent. And yet the lights appeared to dance to a music of their own, a hidden music that belonged to eternity. The cubs basked in this palette of the sky. Sometimes their white fur was tinged with lavender or blue or the softest pink. The cubs felt driven to rise on their hind legs and join the dance to this elusive music of the sky. Jameson watched, wishing, so wishing, that he had feet.
The ahalikki seemed like a blessing of sorts from the sky in celebration of their new names. Was it possible, Jameson thought, that he and these cubs could become friends even though they were such different kinds?
The ice chimes were ringing the hour. Svenna had been here for a week, and in that time, the ache in her heart for her cubs had not diminished one bit.
This place, called the Ice Cap, was the strangest place she had ever been. Svenna gazed out the ice hole in the ceiling of her den. In the frosty air the big clock glowered. It was immense, standing taller than the biggest fir trees back in the Northern Kingdoms of Ga’Hoole. But unlike a real tree, it bristled with rods, strange spirals, and queer little springs and screws. Sheathed in clear ice, the metal parts gleamed night and day.
The shining crystal orb of issen blauen covered a “face,” a white disc on which numerals had been inscribed. There were long, pointy gold sticks, thin as whiskers but called hands, that moved around the disc.
A new bell began to chime. It was the Summoning Chime calling the bears to the Formularium, where they gathered once a day to chant before the clock. Svenna got up and walked from her den to join the other bears, who were streaming from the various ice corridors into the Formularium.
The ceremony was presided over by the Mystress of the Hands, a rather corpulent, squat bear whose paws were adorned with golden sticks, like those of the clock.
There were perhaps fifty bears in the Formularium, and as they entered, they all kneeled and began to sway in time with the swing of the pendulum.
“Repeat after me!” the Mystress of the Hands called out as she swung the golden sticks on her paws.
There were dire consequences for those who did not chant properly. Special bears, monitors with extremely big ears and acute hearing, threaded through the congregation. At least once during every service, Svenna saw one of these bears yank a lower-ranking bear from its knees, presumably for making a mistake while chanting.
Svenna never saw those bears again.
The Mystress of the Hands’s melodious voice filled the vast Formularium.
“Almighty Clock, protect us always from the demon melting waters
May your gears and paddles turning
Save us from perdition
Let the faithful be rewarded
When the last chime tolls
Repent, repent, those who stray
And take our humble Tick Tock offering
And spare us from the last most dreadful day
We asked this in the name of the Highest Authority
The Grand Patek.”
Although Svenna had heard this chant countless times since her arrival, the words never ceased to make her shiver. This was not how bears were supposed to act. These strange rituals were not like the hunting laws intended to prevent prey from suffering unnecessarily. Nor were they the sort of laws that banned hunting char during the moon of the halibut, for that was when the char could cause sickness. These rituals were meant to prevent another Great Melting, but how was that possible? What could a clock do to keep the waters at bay?
As always, while the Mystress of the Hands spoke the last words, the Grand Patek entered, accompanied by his guard to recite the Creed of the Ice Clock.
Despite his lavish adornments, which included a shimmering ice crown and a shield studded with luminous rocks as bright as the lights of the ahalikki, nothing could disguise his battle scars. His body was striped with black from where the fur had been ripped away in a lifetime of ferocious battles. One ear had been torn off, and the crown sat at an odd angle on his head.
“The nonbelievers shall be ferreted out. Every second that ticks away, every tock of our clock will bring us closer to the truth. The blood has been sacrificed, and the clock, all-knowing, drinks that blood and makes all that was torn apart whole again. So it is that one cub is taken, and one is left behind to perish. The serpent of evil shall drown. The angels of the Ice Clock shall rise.”
Svenna felt a stitch in her heart every time she heard those words: “One cub is taken, and one is left behind to perish.” She still didn’t know why the Roguers stole cubs and brought them here. But there were dark rumors about how the cubs, known as the Tick Tocks, were used in the great Ice Clock.
The next portion of the ritual was the changing of the cubs. The guards removed two cubs from the wide pans that were part of a balance mechanism in the clock, attached to an unseen mechanism known as the wheel.
As always, they were thin and scarred. Was this what her own c
ubs, First and Second, would have been doing if she had not offered to serve in their place?
Svenna’s stomach churned as she watched the guards take the cubs away. This was not how bears were supposed to live—cooped up all together. Chanting instead of hunting. Stealing innocent cubs from their mums. She knew she wouldn’t last long in this terrible place. She had to find a way out before then. She had to make it back to her cubs, by any means necessary.
“Well, cubs, I fear that it is time for me to leave,” Jameson said. He’d given the cubs directions to the beluga as promised, though now that the cubs were full of halibut, it felt less urgent.
“You have to leave now?” Jytte asked. “Please stay a bit longer.”
“I can’t. The tide’s running out and the water in the tickle is becoming too low for legless creatures like myself.”
“But, Jameson”—Stellan looked into the shining dark eyes of the seal—“how can we ever thank you? You saved our lives.”
“I know. Strange, isn’t it? Prey saving a predator’s life.”
“We’ll never eat you!” Jytte blurted out.
“Never ever,” Stellan said.
“I know that,” Jameson said softly. “We’re friends now. True friends.”
Friends. The word had a wondrous sound, Stellan thought.
“And so, my friends, good-bye.” Jameson reached out with his flippers and patted each of the cubs, then slipped into the water.
He began swimming away but kept turning his head back, making tremulous whistling sounds that the cubs supposed meant good-bye. They kept waving until the seal was out of sight. Jytte turned to Stellan. “It always seems we’re waving good-bye to someone—first it was Mum and then it was Lago, and now Jameson.”
And now to ourselves, Stellan thought. As they stood on their hind legs in knee-deep water with their new names, Stellan experienced the peculiar sensation that they were also waving farewell to First and Second, the cubs they had once been. It was as if those cubs were fading into the gloaming of the endless night of the Nunquivik.
“Jytte, we can’t think about good-bye now. We’re going to find Da. We need to keep heading north, to those hunting grounds. We’ll watch for those Roguers. We’ll be careful.”