by Erin Hunter
“Carried in the sky?” the younger she-bear scoffed. “I think you ate a bit of bad fish and had a nightmare.”
“I did not!” Kallik retorted indignantly. “It was real. Later on I saw another metal bird putting a she-bear and her cubs down.”
“It’s true, Imiq.” The oldest bear gave Kallik an approving nod. “The same thing happened to me, many suncircles ago. The flat-faces carried me in a flying firebeast and took me back to the ice. Go on, young one.”
“That’s what Nanuk said! That the flat-faces were taking us to the place where the ice comes first. But then a storm came, and the metal bird fell out of the sky. We landed in deep snow…and when I woke up, Nanuk was dead.” Kallik’s voice shook.
“Flat-faces!” The younger female, Imiq, spat out the words. “Even when they try to help, they bring trouble.”
“They do their best,” the oldest bear said gently. “Bears make mistakes, too.”
“I can’t believe we’ll never see Nanuk again,” the mother bear murmured. “She wasn’t always easy to get along with, but she had a kind heart.”
“And she was a good mother to her cubs,” the oldest bear added. “She went without food to feed them, but they still died of hunger.”
“I heard that when they were dead she ate them,” Imiq said, an edge of spite in her voice.
Kallik whirled to face her. “Nanuk would never have done that. She loved her cubs. She was still sad about them when I knew her.”
Imiq looked taken aback. “I’m only saying what I heard,” she muttered.
“You shouldn’t spread wicked rumors like that,” Kallik told her.
The oldest she-bear put a comforting paw on Kallik’s shoulder. “Steady, young one,” she murmured. “Imiq never thinks before she speaks. Few bears will believe that tale. Most of us will grieve for Nanuk and honor her memory.”
“I miss her so much,” Kallik said, looking down at her paws. “She told me about the place of endless ice, where the spirits dance in the sky. She said it was a real place, not just a story. I wish we could have gone there together.”
A respectful silence fell, in which Kallik could hear the soft lapping of waves on the lakeshore and the distant voices of other bears.
“I know of that place, too,” the mother bear said at last.
Kallik pricked her ears. “Have you ever been there?” she asked hopefully.
Qanniq shook her head.
“I have,” the older bear said. “Once, many burn-skies ago, when I was young. It is true that the spirits dance there. I have seen them.”
Kallik stared at her. “What are they like?” she breathed.
“Tell us, Siqiniq,” the mother bear urged.
“They’re very beautiful,” Siqiniq replied. “Their faces and legs and arched backs fill the sky with light. They’re the only color in that place of snow and ice. I’ve heard they dance here, too,” she added to Kallik’s surprise. “But we can’t see them because the sky is too bright, and there is no true night.”
Kallik tipped her head back to look at the sky. It was still light, streaked with glowing pink. She wondered if there were spirits hovering above her now, hidden from her. Mother, if you’re there, she begged silently, show me where I can find Taqqiq.
“Spirits!” A loud voice from behind interrupted Kallik’s thoughts. Startled, she saw a group of young male bears charge past, jostling one another and sending the two young cubs scampering back to their mother’s side. “There’s no such thing as spirits in the sky,” one of them jeered.
Siqiniq faced him calmly. “Maybe you think that now. But when you are older, you will be wiser.”
The young male looked unsettled for a moment; then his eyes hardened. “Old fool,” he snarled, and dashed on after his companions.
“They have no respect for any bear,” Imiq huffed. “How dare he tell us he doesn’t believe in the spirits of the ice?”
“Half-grown males,” Qanniq growled. “What do you expect?”
“They’re getting worse,” Imiq pointed out. “Chasing and fighting and making noise when other bears are trying to get a bit of sleep. And I saw with my own eyes one of them stealing a fish from old Anarteq.”
“They do that all the time,” Qanniq put in, gathering her cubs closer to her. “They’ll steal from any bear who’s too weak to fight back.”
Siqiniq sighed. “I remember a time when there was enough food for every bear, and there was no need to steal. It was a time when every bear knew that their ancestors were looking down on them.”
“Well, talking catches no fish,” Qanniq said, rising to her paws and prodding her cubs, who were huddled together at her side. “Come on, you two. There’s not much fish in the lake, but we’ll see what we can find.”
She led the way down to the edge of the water. That was the signal for the group to break up, some following the mother bear, others padding off along the shore. Siqiniq settled down for a nap on the stones, folding her scrawny haunches underneath her.
“Thank you for telling me about the ice,” Kallik said, dipping her head politely.
“Thank you for telling us about Nanuk,” the older bear responded. “It is hard to lose a friend and not know why.”
Kallik felt encouraged by the warmth in her voice. “Please, can you tell me more about this Gathering?” she prompted. “I know we’re here to call back the ice, but I’ve no idea how we do that. My…my mother never told me.”
Siqiniq shifted around to find a more comfortable position. “The Longest Day begins at sunrise,” she began. “Every bear will gather on the lakeshore to tell the sun its reign is ending. And we call to the bear spirits to bring back the dark so that we can see them shining in the sky.”
“And the ice will come back?”
Siqiniq nodded. “Every suncircle, the ice comes back. The other bears are here, too,” she added, twitching her ears. “But they welcome the sun at the peak of its journey, while we send it away.”
“What other bears?” Kallik asked, puzzled.
“The brown bears and the black bears.” Siqiniq pointed with her muzzle. “They meet on the other side of the lake.”
Kallik stared at her, digging her claws into the rough shingle. How can bears be brown and black? She would have told any other bear that their brain was full of feathers if they told her there were different-colored bears, but her respect for Siqiniq was too great to argue. She gazed across the lake to the other side, a skylength away. The sky reflected in the water, turning it pink. Straining her eyes, Kallik thought she could make out movement over there, but it was too far to see if there really were bears with black and brown pelts. I wonder if I’ll get to see them?
“I’ve got so much to learn,” she murmured, half to herself.
“Where’s your mother, young one?” Siqiniq prompted. “Hasn’t she taught you these things?”
“My mother is dead.”
Siqiniq bowed her head. “I’m sorry. Did she die when the firebeast fell from the sky?”
“No,” Kallik replied, her belly churning as she remembered the terrible day she lost her mother. “Orca took her.”
“Orca,” Siqiniq echoed with a sigh. “They have taken many good bears. One of my cubs died like that.” She closed her eyes and let her muzzle rest on her paws. “Many suncircles ago, but I will never forget….” Her voice died away.
Kallik realized the old bear had drifted into sleep. I never asked her if she’d seen Taqqiq, she thought, annoyed with herself.
Maybe later.
She wandered along the shore, watching tiny waves rippling over the pebbles. Several bears were standing in the shallows, their eyes fixed intently on the water. As Kallik watched, one of them plunged his snout into the water and pulled it out again with a fish wriggling in his jaws.
Hunger griped in her belly; perhaps she could catch a fish, too. She waded a few pawsteps into the water, enjoying the cool sensation on her sore pads. She stared down; the water was clear, giving her a good
view of the pebbly bottom, but at first she couldn’t see any movement. Wind ruffled her fur, ridging the surface of the water. Spirits, please send me a fish, she begged.
Just at the edge of her sight, she glimpsed a flicker of silver. Thrusting off with her hindpaws, she pounced, but when her forepaws landed her claws gripped nothing but pebbles. Water splashed up around her, soaking her legs and belly fur.
“Watch out,” an older male bear growled from a few bearlengths away. “You’ll scare away what fish there are, bouncing about like that.”
“Sorry,” Kallik muttered.
She bent her head and concentrated once more on the lake bottom. It seemed a very long time before she saw the next faint movement in the water. She forced her paws to stay still as the fish swam along the bottom with little flicks of its tail. It was coming closer; Kallik held her breath, then lashed out with one paw, pinning her prey down. Then she plunged her muzzle into the lake and sank her teeth into the fish just behind the gills.
Triumph flooded over her as she straightened up, the fish in her jaws. I caught one!
But before she could turn to go back to shore, a bear crashed into her side, pushing her over. Water frothed around her, blinding her as paws pummeled her flank. The fish was wrenched out of her jaws.
“No!” she spluttered, getting a mouthful of lake water. “Stop it!”
The pummeling stopped and she heard pawsteps splashing away. Scrambling to her feet, water streaming from her pelt, she spotted a young male bear heading back to land with her fish in his jaws.
“Hey!” she yelled. “I caught that! Give it back!”
The bear ignored her. Furious, Kallik splashed after him. He had joined three other young bears at the water’s edge; they tore her fish into pieces and gulped it down before Kallik could reach them.
Kallik’s belly was bawling with hunger and every hair on her pelt was hot with rage as she stood stiff-legged at the edge of the lake. “Thieves!” she snarled. “Why can’t you catch your own fish?”
The young bear who had attacked her glanced around. “Shut up, seal-brain.”
Kallik got a good look at him for the first time. Something about him was oddly familiar…the shape of his ears…the way he ran with his paws splayed out…. No, he was too big.
But I’m bigger now, too.
“Hey, Taqqiq, that was a good catch!” one of the other bears said, nudging him with his shoulder. “Can you get us another one?”
Kallik caught her breath. It is him! “Taqqiq!” she cried. “Taqqiq!”
Her brother narrowed his eyes. “Who are you? How do you know my name?”
“I’m…I’m Kallik,” she stammered. “Your sister.”
“My sister’s dead,” Taqqiq growled. “She and my mother were killed by orca.”
His companions were gaping at Kallik; one of them nudged Taqqiq. “Ignore her, she’s crazy.”
“I’m not crazy. I’m alive. Nisa pushed me onto the ice before the orca dragged her down. But you were on the other side of the water, and I couldn’t get back to you.”
Taqqiq padded over to her, his huge feet crunching on the pebbles, then stretched out his neck and sniffed her. “You are Kallik,” he whispered, his eyes widening.
“Of course I am!” said Kallik. “And I found you!”
Taqqiq glanced at his friends, then back at Kallik. “What are you doing here?” he hissed. “I didn’t ask you to come looking for me!”
Kallik felt her heart turn to ice and her legs went very wobbly, as if they weren’t going to hold her up for much longer. This wasn’t how she had imagined her reunion with her brother.
“Are you staying there all day?” one of the other bears growled. “We’re going to look for some more food. If you want any, you’d better come.” He padded away, closely flanked by the other two.
Taqqiq turned and followed them up the shore. “Leave me alone,” he snarled to Kallik over his shoulder. “I have my own friends now.”
“Wait!” Kallik called after him. “What are you doing? It’s wrong to steal food. Why can’t you catch your own, like our mother taught us?”
Taqqiq stopped and curled his lip, revealing strong yellow teeth. “Things are different now. If Nisa wanted to show us how to survive her way, she shouldn’t have died and left us alone.”
“Our mother didn’t choose to die.” Kallik’s heart twisted at the bitterness in her brother’s voice. “Her spirit is still here, watching over us.”
But Taqqiq kept walking up the beach and didn’t look back.
Kallik gazed after him, the cold lake water washing around her paws. In all the times she had imagined finding her brother at the end of her long, long journey, she had never once dreamed that he would not be pleased to see her.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Lusa
“I can’t stay in this tree forever,” Lusa decided.
She felt too exposed at the top of the tree; the sight of so much open space made her dizzy—and frightened. She had never imagined that the trees would just end, that there would be endless empty land with no bear spirits at all. She scrambled down into the thicker branches to crouch in a fork where she could keep watch on the ground below. No bear padded past, though she could still hear the murmur of voices from the big clearing. In spite of her anxiety about the end of the trees, her pelt prickled with excitement at the thought of meeting real wild black bears. I wonder if any of them knew King?
Lusa had just begun to climb farther down when something big crashed into the tree above her. The branches waved wildly and Lusa lost her balance, swinging upside down from the branch with the ground rocking sickeningly above her head. Letting out a squeal of shock, she clung on with her hind claws, remembering how her father had told her that black bears never fall out of trees. Not unless some bee-brain shakes it around.
As the branches grew still again, she looked up. Another black bear cub had appeared in the tree above her. He was gazing down at her with bright curiosity in his eyes.
“Sorry,” he yelped. “Are you okay? I didn’t see you there.”
You didn’t try looking. Lusa bit back the sharp retort. “I’m fine,” she puffed, clambering up onto the branch again. “You startled me, that’s all.”
The other cub peered at her more closely. “I haven’t seen you before, have I? My name’s Miki.”
“I’m Lusa.”
Miki scrambled down the tree until he could crouch on the branch next to her, so close that their pelts brushed. He reminded Lusa a bit of Yogi. He was younger and smaller, but he had the same splash of white fur on his chest.
“So you just got here?” he said. “Have you come far?”
“A long way,” Lusa replied. “All the way from the Bear Bowl.”
Miki put his head on one side. His ears were round and very fluffy, like the rest of him. “What’s a Bear Bowl?”
Lusa wondered if she should have admitted right away that she wasn’t a wild bear. But Miki would be bound to find out sooner or later. She wouldn’t be able to hide that she didn’t know all the things the other bears knew.
“A Bear Bowl is a place where flat-faces keep bears,” she explained. “They feed us and look after us.”
Miki looked confused; he raised one paw to scratch his ear. “I always knew flat-faces were weird. What do they do that for?”
“So other flat-faces can come and look at us, I think,” said Lusa. “They were quite friendly.”
Miki let out a disbelieving huff. “I don’t like flat-faces. My mother and father went into some flat-face dens to look for food. And they never came back.” His eyes glazed with grief as he added, “It was on the way here. They told me to wait under a bush at the edge of the dens. I waited and waited, but they didn’t come.”
“Oh, that’s terrible!” Lusa knew how hard it had been for her to leave Aisha and King behind. It must be much, much worse to lose your parents and not know what had happened to them, or whether they were still alive. “What did you do?�
� she asked.
“I went into the dens to look for them.” Miki was rigid with sadness. “But I couldn’t find them. The trail of their scent stopped in a place that smelled sharp and smoky. Then I met some other bears. They said I should go with them, that they’d look after me now. I didn’t want to at first, but…I knew I’d never see my mother and father again. As well as the smoky smell, I could smell blood. I…I just hope they didn’t hurt for long.”
Lusa leaned over to push her muzzle into the fur on Miki’s shoulder. “I’m glad you didn’t have to travel alone,” she murmured.
“But you came here alone, didn’t you?” Miki asked, shaking himself as if his bad memories could be flicked off his pelt like water.
“No, I traveled with other bears.” Lusa wasn’t ready to admit that they were brown bears.
To her relief, Miki didn’t ask her where those bears were now. He sat up, balancing on the branch as it swayed. “I’m starving!” he announced. “Let’s go find something to eat.”
“Okay.” Lusa followed him as he bounded down the tree, her stomach growling.
“You’re a great climber!” Miki exclaimed as she landed neatly beside him.
Lusa stretched up proudly. “My father, King, taught me, back in the Bear Bowl.”
Miki lifted his muzzle into the air and drew in a huge breath. Lusa copied him; there was a tang on the air that reminded her of the scent of the fruit in the Bear Bowl.
“Over there?” she suggested, pointing with her nose.
“Hey, well scented. Let’s go!”
Miki bounded off, with Lusa hard on his paws, weaving among the trees until they came to a more open space. The ground sloped upward, covered with low-growing bushes; they had glossy green leaves and bright red berries. The sharp tang surrounded Lusa now and her mouth watered.
Other black bears were already feeding in the thicket, stripping the berries from the branches with sharp pointed teeth. Not far from Lusa two adult bears were bending the branches down so that their young cubs could reach the fruit.
