by Max Candee
My stomach worries about the distance to the bear den. The new moon is only three days away. I hope we aren’t too late.
* * *
We used Monsieur Nolan’s credit card to book ourselves into a nice hotel to take much-needed showers and change. After we were done, Gavril met us outside.
He waited in a rusty yellow Niva car, the Russian off-roader. The engine sounded almost as cranky as he did, and he gunned it as soon as we hopped in. The city was jammed with morning traffic of all kinds: cars, pedestrians, and mopeds scooting in and out between the vehicles. Lauraleigh looked a bit shocked. Though she was getting better, she was still used to the new and expensive cars we drove in Geneva, not to mention Switzerland’s more restrained road habits.
We arrived at the wharf on the Angara River, whose wide waters were covered with huge barges loaded with shipping containers. They were gigantic beasts of rusted metal and cables, with men crawling over them like ants. For a moment, I wondered if Gavril planned for us to travel on one of those. But the traffic finally moved and we drove past the docks without stopping.
We left town, going southeast toward a range of mountains, and the road immediately became pitted with holes and rocks. It was clearly not very well traveled. We bumped around the back of the Niva without seatbelts as Gavril navigated the barren stretch of road like a race car driver. At first, we followed the bank of a relatively narrow river; then we turned onto a forest road that cut straight through the old, tall Siberian woodlands.
After two or three hours of nothing but trees, the ground began to rise.
“Where are we?” Lauraleigh asked.
“Mount Burghed,” Gavril grunted. “Means ‘Eagle’ in the Buryat language. That’s what they speak around here.”
Even though we were now climbing a mountain, Gavril didn’t slow down. The Niva careened around twists and turns, some of them hairpin curves that bent the road back on itself. Gavril didn’t pay any attention even as we lurched way too close to the edge of the road on the side of his blind eye. Lauraleigh and I fought to brace ourselves.
After an hour of this, Lauraleigh finally lost her cool. “Slow down!” she shouted. “You’re going to kill us. You only…” She cut herself off in mid-sentence, but I thought what she wanted to say was, “You only have one eye and one arm, Gavril!”
“Lots of things in these mountains can kill you,” said Gavril over his shoulder. “My driving isn’t one of them.”
“How can he even drive?” Lauraleigh whispered to me in French. “Isn’t it illegal to drive with one hand? And a manual car too!”
“I have no idea,” I whispered back.
“If we roll over, can you save us with your magic?”
“I’ll try,” I said. But I didn’t feel very sure.
The road evened out eventually, and Gavril went even faster. In my mind, I started calling him “Gunner.” Maybe it was the speed. Maybe it was the thought of him shooting my beloved bears. In any case, Gunner’s driving made it impossible for Lauraleigh and me to relax on the remaining hour-long drive to Babagai, a village at the base of Mount Burghed.
We stepped out of the car, and I shook my legs and arms, trying to get feeling back into my limbs. My muscles were cramped from straining to keep still in the jostling Niva. Gavril gave us no chance to recover but simply tossed our packs at us.
“Wait here,” he said gruffly, and went inside a shack beside the road.
Babagai was a village in name only. In reality, it was no more than a crossroads with a small store and a single gas pump. Behind the store, a rundown barn leaned against a fenced pasture where six shaggy ponies grazed. Three more ponies were tacked up and tied to a rail in front of the store.
“Our noble steeds,” Lauraleigh whispered with a giggle. I didn’t know how she had the energy for humor right now, but I was glad for it.
I smiled and felt better. Amazing how something as simple as a smile can turn a painful situation around.
The day was warm, with cloudless blue skies that brought back vivid memories of my days in the mountains with Uncle Misha. The air was clearer here as if nothing stood between me and the huge blueness above. Uncle Misha had always said that in the mountains, we were closer to the moon than anywhere else in the world. I believed him too. And when I looked around, there it was: the moon hanging like a sickle in the sunny sky. With my old friend at my back, I suddenly felt energized. I could take on anything, even a grumpy, one-eyed and one-armed guide. I studied the moon through my dream stone, and I felt much calmer.
Gavril came out of the store with a grizzled old man.
“This is Anton,” said Gavril.
Anton spoke to us in Russian. It had been over six years since Uncle Misha had left me in Geneva, and Anton’s accent was different — he sounded more Ukrainian than Russian. Despite my chatting with the train attendant, my Russian was still rusty. But I understood him well enough.
“He wants to know if we can ride horses,” I said to Lauraleigh.
“A little bit,” she answered.
I translated for Anton. The Russian words still felt clumsy on my tongue. Clumsy but good, like finding a treasured storybook you haven’t read since childhood.
“I haven’t ridden in many years,” I added. The last time I’d been on a horse had been during one of the many birthday parties that Sister Daphne put on for the orphans.
Anton grunted and tightened the girths around the horses’ bellies. While he did this, Gavril filled the saddlebags with our extra gear and tied our sleeping bags behind the saddles. He was using his one hand and teeth, and I had to admit that he moved with rough, efficient grace.
Anton laced his fingers and mumbled something to Lauraleigh. I strained but didn’t understand a word at first. He repeated himself for me.
“He wants you to put your foot in his hands,” I said. “He’ll give you a leg up on the horse.”
After one failed attempt, Lauraleigh swung her free leg over the horse and found her seat.
“What’s her name?” she asked, running her fingers through the dark brown mane.
“Dushá,” said Anton, and I translated the rest. “She’s a gentle mare and will carry you far.” He patted her neck. Anton might be a crotchety old man, but he loved his horses.
“Your horse is Kísa,” he said to me. “She’s fat and lazy. So if you fall off, she won’t run far.”
Great. I didn’t know whether to be insulted or thankful.
“Come,” Gavril said. “We have a full day’s ride. I don’t want to be caught in the mountains after dark.”
I found that remark odd. We would spend at least two nights in the forest before reaching Mama Bear’s den or Uncle Misha’s cabin, which were much farther up in the Sayan Mountains. Perhaps I’d misunderstood.
But before I could question him, Gavril kicked his pony into a walk and headed up the dirt road. Dushá followed automatically, but Kísa seemed to be dozing.
“Give her a kick,” said Anton. I did, hoping I didn’t hurt the poor beast.
Anton grunted. It might have been a laugh. “Flies sting harder than that kick.”
I kicked harder, and Anton made a kissing noise. The horse lumbered forward — and I nearly pitched off the saddle.
After I had stabilized myself, I turned to Anton. The old man stood on the roadside, looking at our horses and beaming.
“What a strange name for a village,” I said. “Babagai. It’s not even a Russian word.” I wondered if Anton had named the place in his native Ukrainian.
“It means bear in the Buryat language,” Anton said. “Many bears around here.”
Bears, huh. Well, that sounds encouraging, I thought.
By the time I caught up with the others, my butt was already sore from pounding against the leather.
I’d said it before. This was going to be a long trip.
* * *
As we rode through the mountains, I was excited to see this land again, to feel the magical, comforting presence
of the trees and rocks around us. But for some reason, it felt strange to be here in such a small group. A little unsafe, even. We were small dots lost in the harsh Siberian wilderness, and my chest tightened at that thought. There was hardly a person between us and the North Pole thousands of kilometers away. Only the forests, hills, rivers, and lakes.
I guess living in Geneva had spoiled me a little. When I had lived here, though I had known no one but Uncle Misha and the bears, I’d never thought of my home as empty. But after being in a big city for so long, I’d gotten used to people always being around, even if I wasn’t paying any attention to them. Being this alone was making me light-headed. On this brilliant summer day, why was I even thinking of the North Pole, where it’s always winter?
I tried to calm myself by thinking of the fairy tale Uncle Misha used to tell me. I started to imagine that the various cliffs and rock faces looked like Volots, mountain giants who are too heavy for the Earth to hold, which is why they always stay in the mountains. As I started seeing craggy eyebrows and straggly beards and great, gaping mouths in the gray stone surrounding us, I began to giggle a little. My anxiety waned.
Lauraleigh’s voice jolted me out of my dream world. She sounded thrilled. “Wow. What is it? I’ve never seen anything like that.”
Ahead of us, on the left-hand side of the little path we were following, was a small hollow that seemed to radiate violet light. I jumped off Kísa and walked over to look closer. I didn’t know what I had expected to find, but it certainly wasn’t a beautiful gemstone the size of a chicken egg, with sunrays playing on its many sides. It was a stunning sight. I no longer had to imagine visions in the rocks to be astounded or reminded of fairy tales. I had never encountered anything like it before, and I was sure Lauraleigh hadn’t either.
Gavril glanced at us with a fierce grin. “You’ve never seen that before? How come? I thought Swiss jewelers had every kind of stone at their disposal.”
Lauraleigh clambered off her horse and moved closer. “What is it?” she asked, examining the stone carefully. She leaned over it and stretched out her hand to touch the scintillating stone.
Gavril said, “It’s a charoite. You won’t find this stone anywhere else—”
He didn’t have time to finish his explanation. He froze and put a finger to his lips.
A sound of tinkling bells was fast approaching, accompanied by a gust of wind. Gentle female laughter floated through the air.
Who was here? I’d just been thinking that there wasn’t a person around… But now there was someone else out here too. An invisible young woman with a melodic voice and tinkling bells.
The sound of laughter came closer and closer until it seemed right next to us, as if someone were laughing in my ear. But I could see no one.
I glanced around desperately and tried to stay silent, just as Gavril had instructed. I wanted to take out my dream stone and see if it would let me find the visitor, but when I tried to move, Gavril made a gesture at me that clearly meant “No.”
The sounds slowly moved away until they faded completely.
Gavril didn’t seem surprised in the least. Lauraleigh and I stared at him, dumbfounded and questioning.
“Charoites are our unique stone,” he said with a sigh. “They’re millions of years old, they say. You’ll find them only here, in a few square kilometers around this spot. Some of it gets mined and taken away to your Swiss jewelers. But others — well, they say there are those stones you’re not allowed to take. Those the Mountain Mistress visits when people come close. As long as you don’t take them, she’s going to be calm. You can look at them and even touch them, just so long as they remain in their place. If you try to move them, then…”
He shook his head grimly.
“Get back on your horses,” he said. “We’ve wasted enough time with your female foolishness and fondness for pretty things.”
Luckily Kísa hid my face from him because it gave me a moment to wipe the anger from it. If we hadn’t needed him, I would have told him a thing or two. I could see the same thought in Lauraleigh’s eyes. But we didn’t dare snap at him.
Seeing us struggling to return to our saddles, Gavril dismounted and helped us. He was probably cursing at us inside and thinking we weren’t just foolish but also weak and useless — but at least he was doing his job.
The forest became denser as we rode steadily uphill. These trees were not the kind you saw around cities. They were ancient pines and firs, their trunks barren of branches near the ground. When I looked up — way up — I saw the branches tangled together in a vast canopy of green that let in only flickers of sunlight.
Our trek was eerily quiet through this dark world. The ponies’ hooves were silent on the crush of pine needles underfoot. We rode in single file, which made conversation difficult. I didn’t want to speak anyway. It seemed wrong somehow to fill this place with human sounds. Instead, I tried to ignore the sore spots on my body where the saddle rubbed and enjoy the peaceful ride.
I’d been hearing the hushed sounds of water for nearly an hour before we passed a low waterfall. Gavril stopped upstream and let the horses drink. My legs jiggled like rubber bands when I tumbled off Kísa’s back. The pony gave me a backward glance and a whiffle before joining the others at the stream. From his backpack, Gavril handed out sandwiches, and we all drank from our canteens.
“When you said there were lots of things in the forest that could kill us,” Lauraleigh said, “what exactly did you mean? Things like that Mountain Mistress?”
Gavril chuckled. “No. Wolves. And bears.”
“I’m not afraid of bears,” I said automatically.
“Then you’re a fool,” Gavril mumbled around a mouthful of sandwich.
“We don’t use words like fool,” said Lauraleigh in such a perfect imitation of Sister Daphne that I almost laughed.
“Then you’re a fool too.” Gavril shoved the rest of his sandwich in his mouth as if our stupidity meant nothing to him. And it probably didn’t.
Lauraleigh glared at him. I wondered if Monsieur Nolan had paid our guide ahead of time, or if he was withholding payment until he had gotten proof that we had been delivered to Uncle Misha safely.
The shadows of the forest suddenly seemed more sinister — and it wasn’t because I imagined wolves hiding behind every tree.
“Why did you say that you didn’t want to be caught in the woods after dark?” I asked.
Gavril aimed his one squinty eye at me and took a long sip from his canteen. “I meant that we had better be camped before dark, with a nice fire burning to scare off the wolves.”
“Oh.” That seemed right.
We packed up our garbage and lured the ponies away from the sweet grass growing along the creek’s edge. Gavril swung into his saddle and his horse walked off down the forest path. Lauraleigh and I looked at each other.
“I guess he expects us to mount on our own this time,” she said. “Come on, we can do it. These ponies can’t be more than thirteen hands high.”
I knew that horses were measured in hands, but I had no idea how long a hand is. All I knew was that Kísa’s head topped mine by at least ten centimeters. To me, she was big. Lauraleigh helped me get my left foot in the stirrup and swing my right leg over the saddle; then she hopped up on Dushá. Having had twenty minutes off the saddle, my rear throbbed with pain as soon as I sat again.
“I don’t know how people do this for days on end,” I grumbled.
“I think it’s like learning to play the guitar.” Lauraleigh giggled. “You eventually get calluses or something, and it doesn’t hurt so much.”
Great. Just what I need, I thought. Calluses on my butt.
We stopped three hours later, when everything below my waist was numb. I slid off my pony and clung to her bronze mane until my feet had remembered what they were made for.
“Why are we stopping?” Lauraleigh asked. “We have hours before dark.”
“You know how to put one of these up?” Gavril t
ossed a small tent bag at her.
Lauraleigh, who looked as tired as I felt, dropped it. “I don’t.”
“You’ll figure it out before dark,” said Gavril. “Probably want to collect some wood for a fire before then. Fire starters are in the saddle bags, and you have food for another two days.”
“Wait! You mean ‘we,’ right?” I said. “We have enough food for two days.”
Gavril scratched his head just under the elastic that held the patch over his eye.
“From here on, the trees start to thin,” he said. “When you get to the point where the horses can’t go any farther, just loosen their girths and let them go. They know the way home.”
“Now listen here!” Lauraleigh rose to her full height, which was several centimeters taller than our shrimp of a guide. “You can’t just leave us here. Monsieur Nolan paid you to take us to Anna’s uncle.”
“No one goes into the Reaches.” He nodded toward the upper mountain. “The Great Trapper holds court up there. He don’t take to strangers in his woods. Not my fault if your Monsieur Nolan doesn’t know that.”
“That’s ridiculous,” I said. “There’s no such person as the Great Trapper.”
“No? You are what, ten years old? You know all the secrets of the universe?” Gavril sneered. “You go on then and trespass on the Great Trapper’s lands. But I know better. He sees all. He’s like a vengeful ghost that can hide behind every tree at once. Last time I went up there, only a few kilometers into his lands, he set his bears on me.” He flicked his eye patch with his good hand. “They gave me a beating to remember. No one goes into the Reaches.”
“Well, I’m not afraid.” I really wasn’t. “I was born on that mountain, and my Uncle Misha still lives there.”
Gavril’s one eye widened. “Misha — meaning Medved? The Bear?”
I nodded. Misha was a usual name for bears in Russian fairytales, but Gavril said the name like a title. Without saying another word, he turned his pony and kicked it into a gallop. After a minute, even the hoofbeats were lost in the dark silence of the forest.
