Polar Destiny

by Skye MacKinnon

  I’m tempted to open one immediately and devour all the sugary goodness in one go, but my mind wins the fight with my stomach. Let’s explore the house first before I eat.

  The other room is a small bedroom with an old-fashioned double bed. It looks like one of those creaking beds where you can feel every single spring whenever you turn. There is no bedding left on it, but I find a scratchy blanket in the wardrobe – together with some clothes. Granted, they’re twice my size and stuff that was in fashion fifty years ago, but it’ll do. Better than walking around in a nightie. I choose some leggings and a large fluffy jumper and immediately feel more comfortable. I even find a scarf to wrap around my waist like a belt to keep the jumper from getting in the way. The only shoes though are high heels which are at least two sizes too small, and a pair of felt slippers. I will need to find an alternative for outside, but for now, the slippers will do. The floor is covered in dust and my bare feet already have a grey shine to them.

  There’s a small fireplace opposite the bed and I make a mental note to look for peat later on. Maybe there’s a stash somewhere outside. A box of matches is lying on the mantelpiece, so that’s a good sign. Even though I’m not cold now doesn’t mean it will stay that way. I prefer to be prepared.

  I make another discovery when I open the drawer of the bedside table. A book! Grimm’s fairy tales. Guess what I’m doing tonight – oh. No electricity means no light. I should better hurry up before it’s too dark to see anything.

  A door with a large crack in it leads to a bathroom. The shower is no longer working and neither is the tap. Guess I will have to use snow to wash for now, until I find a stream or even the sea. And I’ll dig a hole outside to become my toilet – without a working flush, this one is useless. A mirror catches my view and I use my sleeve to wipe it clean. My blue eyes stare back at me and I’m tempted to look away. They are too bright, too intense. And there’s something else that’s different… it takes me a moment to figure out what it is. My hair now has thin pale blonde streaks. It’s always been a boring brown until now, nothing special, but those new highlights… I grudgingly admit that I like them. Even if they remind me of Torben’s blond hair. Damn that man. He’s even infiltrated my hair – wasn’t my heart and mind enough?

  I look down at my hands and smile as I see that my normal fingernails have returned. I wonder if the claws were a one-off, but judging from Torben’s expression when he saw them for the first time, I don’t think so. I’ve changed permanently and I still don’t know the extent of these changes.

  My stomach growls again. “Yeah, let’s get you something to eat,” I say to myself (and my stomach), breaking the eerie silence of the cottage. I can easily imagine the ghost of the previous occupant still lingering here. Although maybe she’s still alive somewhere. But for now, I’m grateful that she has left and I can now take her home as my own. Rent free. I smile at that. Money used to be so important before the Drowning. I spent most of the week making plans for what I’d spend my pocket money on. Now I couldn’t care less. Money was irrelevant, all that was important was having enough food and supplies to survive. Which I had, for now. I should really be rationing the canned goods I had. Arnold and Bertrand had talked about a trading ship coming here occasionally, but I had nothing to trade for. Thinking about it, even the clothes I was wearing weren’t mine. If I thought I was poor before, it was nothing against now.

  But I had myself. That sounded really sad. Okay, I had Bonnie and Clyde as well. And my rumbling stomach. All three of which were not the best company. I better get used to being on my own. Alone with my thoughts.

  The baked beans are delicious, even though they’re cold. Sweet and savoury at the same time… yummy. I had planned to eat only half the tin, but hunger took over. Now it’s empty and I curse my missing self-control. I better explore my surroundings tomorrow, maybe I’ll find a source of food somewhere. Even if it’s just some roots.

  It’s getting dark quickly so I retire to my bedroom. Strange how in my mind, it’s already ‘my’ room. My new home.

  As expected, the blanket is very scratchy and the mattress uncomfortable, but exhaustion has finally caught up with me and I fall asleep quickly.

  A loud knock wakes me and I jump out of bed, fully awake. A sharp pain in my fingertips tells me my claws have come out again. I tiptoe to the front door which I managed to pull shut last night despite the cracks and mouldy bits in the wood.

  “Hello?” I call but there’s no reply. I walk into the kitchen to look out of the window. Nothing. Maybe I imagined the knocking.

  I open the front door and freeze as I see large paw prints in the fresh snow. Someone was here, but the trail runs to and away from the house. Whoever was here has already left. The prints come all the way to the door and – oh. A basket is lying right in front of me. How did I not notice that before? I’m a terrible detective.

  I hesitate. If I take it, is that a sign of defeat? Of giving in to their pressure? Should I leave it as a clear sign that I no longer want anything to do with them?

  But I can’t resist my curiosity and take the basket inside. Probably a mistake, but I couldn’t do anything today without wondering what they brought me. Bastards, manipulating me in this way.

  There’s a piece of folded paper on top of the basket. The writing is delicate and in blue ink; I doubt it was one of the guys who wrote this.

  Isla,

  I’ve told them to give you some space, but know that you’re always welcome to come back. The boys have moved into one of the houses in the village, so our spare bedroom is all yours, if you wish. They’ve promised not to seek you out until you’re ready. We’d love to explain everything as I’m sure you have many questions.

  Bertie will come again tomorrow morning, if you rather leave a message for us.

  If you want to come back, just follow his trail.

  Yours,

  Arnold & Bertrand

  I smile at his carefully worded letter. It’s not their fault what happened. They were simply our hosts, generous ones at that. I wish I’d had the chance to get to know them better, but right now, I associate them too much with the guys. And I know that would make me lash out at them. I don’t want to hurt Arnold and Bertrand, but I feel the rage in me will not differentiate between the six men. I’ve never felt as aggressive as now. I’ve always preferred talking over fighting. But not now. I want to hit something, kill something. The rage scares me and I push it back. Now is not the time to get angry.

  I pull back the cloth covering the basket. Inside is a blanket, some paper and a pen, a wrapped-up sandwich, a thermos can filled with hot tea and a round tin containing a cake. Where did they get a cake from? I sniff at it. Carrot cake. Heavenly. Guess what my breakfast is going to be.

  I find some cutlery and sit down at the kitchen table, enjoying the cake. It really is amazing. As is the tea, still hot enough to almost burn my mouth. With every sip, my mood improves and my anger lessens. If Torben and the guys weren’t still in that village, I’d return to stay with Arnold and Bertrand, at least for a while, until I decide what to do. And until I find out what’s happened to me.

  Even though I don’t want to believe it, I think it must be a partial shift that’s somehow got something to do with sleeping with Torben. Although I don’t think losing your virginity usually changes your eye colour and causes you to grow claws. If it did, there’d be no children. I imagine holding a baby in my clawed hands and shiver. And remember last night. And shiver again. We didn’t use any protection. Can humans get pregnant with bear shifters? Or are our genes incompatible? I really hope the latter. I’ve got enough to deal with right now.

  Now that I’m sated, I think about what to do today. I should probably explore my surroundings. If I stay here for a while, I need to figure out where exactly I am and what kind of resources I have around me. Oh, and build a toilet. That’s becoming a rather pressing matter.

  I decide to go barefoot again. The only shoes I have don’t fit and I want t
o keep the slippers dry. I didn’t feel the cold yesterday, and I don’t feel it now either. It’s like walking on sun-warmed sand rather than on snow. Weird. My eyes are telling me that it should be freezing, but my body refuses to believe that. How am I able to produce this much body heat without being feverish?

  Now that I’m outside, I can see more bear tracks around the house. Either Bertrand came to visit me several times or someone else was here. I guess it was wishful thinking that the guys would leave me alone. They may have promised Arnold that they would not seek me out, but promises don’t seem to matter to them. How did I ever think they were trustworthy? I should have run as soon as I found out what they were. If I hadn’t hurt my ankle, I likely would have. But instead, they managed to weasel their way into my heart. And now it’s broken. Damn bears.

  I try not to look at the tracks, they only make me angry. Instead, I walk around the house, looking for any tools that might help. I don’t find any peat for a fire, but hidden under a foot of snow is a small shovel.

  Time to practice my toilet-building skills.

  The day passes quickly. I’ve walked for about a mile in each direction but there’s not been anything exciting. To the west I found a small stream which is currently covered in ice. For now, I’m melting snow to use as drinking and washing water, but it’s good to know that there’s an alternative not too far away. The sandwich Bertrand brought me is a lovely dinner. I’m surprised that all the physical exertion isn’t making me hungrier, but the opposite is true. I missed lunch but didn’t feel hungry at all. The only reason I’m eating the sandwich now is because it’s a habit to eat something in the evening.

  The piece of paper is lying next to me, waiting to be filled with words. I don’t know what to write. If I want to write something at all. On one hand, I’ve got so many questions, but on the other hand, I just want to ignore it all and be by myself. Get away from the world for a bit. With the ‘world’ being four bear shifters in particular.

  I sigh and take the pen, drawing a random doodle into one corner. This is going to be one hell of a difficult letter.

  Dear Arnold & Bertrand,

  Thanks for the food. I’d prefer to stay here, I don’t want to see the guys.

  Can you tell me what happened to me?

  My symptoms are:

  - Claws on my fingers and toes

  - Changed eye colour (blue instead of brown) and hair colour (blonde highlights)

  - Increased speed and strength

  - Better eyesight and hearing

  - Increased body temperature

  - No appetite

  I wonder if I should include my anger, but that might just be because of the bears’ betrayal. Maybe I’m interpreting too much into the rage that is still bubbling inside me. It might go away soon. Hopefully. I’m not used to this anger. I don’t know how to let it out, how to get rid of it.

  I sigh, then I write down the question that’s been running through my head all day. And all night, to be honest.

  Am I turning into a bear?

  Isla

  That question sounds so silly that I want to erase it as soon as I’ve written it. No sane person would ask whether they’re turning into a bear… unless they’ve been living with bears. I know they were all born as bear shifters, but in the werewolf stories in books people can be turned into wolves, so who says the same isn’t true for bears? The claws and eye colour change are definitely not normal. The other things I could probably explain away somehow, but claws… nah.

  I put the letter into the basket, add the empty thermos and place it outside for Bertrand in case he comes again in the morning.

  It’ll be hard not to stay up all night to wait for him to arrive. And then it’ll be another day to wait for the answer to come. Maybe I should just go back to their house to ask my questions. Much faster. But no. The image of Torben steals itself back into my mind and my anger comes forward, hot and intense. He made me into this… abomination. I’m no longer human, and I hate him for it.

  Ten

  Just like yesterday, a knock on the door wakes me. This time, I don’t get up immediately but stay in bed. I want to make sure he’s gone before I open the door. I don’t want to see Bertrand or Arnold or any other bear. My dreams were filled with claws erupting from my hands, of fur covering my face. Once, I woke up screaming and ran to the bathroom to check in the mirror that I hadn’t indeed grown fur. Safe to say that I don’t want anything to do with bears today.

  For once, I’m not feeling warm. I draw the blanket closer around me. The heat that’s been warming me for the past two days has gone. Maybe I’m becoming normal again? The human Isla I used to be?

  After ten minutes, I can’t stay in bed any longer. I need to know what I got brought today. I run to the door and rip it open. The same basket is waiting for me and I happily carry it back into the bedroom. I wrap the blanket around me as I explore my new gifts. A letter is lying on top again, and below is tea, another sandwich and a book. A History of Bear People in the Northern Hemisphere. It looks old and well read. In my head, I promise them that I will look after this book as if it was my own. Books are precious and this one looks particularly important. I can’t wait to start reading, but I unfold the note first.

  Dear Isla,

  As you didn’t visit yesterday, I assume you want some time on your own. We accept that, but please note that our offer stands. Let me know if you need anything, whether it’s food, clothes or something else.

  I’m sending you a book that has been in my family for a long time. You might find chapter eleven particularly interesting.

  Best wishes,

  Arnold

  The kindness of what are effectively strangers makes me tear up. How do I deserve them looking after me like this?

  Just below, someone else has scrawled a quick message.

  No, you’re not turning into a bear. Read the book. It’s just the bond making itself known. It needs to be completed soon. B.

  Now, that’s kind of ominous. And scary. And all sorts of other things.

  Torben mentioned a bond before I ran away. Something about him thinking it would only be a mental bond rather than a physical one. Guess with physical he means the claws. I check my fingers to make sure they haven't reappeared, but thankfully, my fingernails are looking very human. There's dried blood around them though. Again. I must have had the claws out while I was sleeping. I really need to learn how to control them. It's definitely tied to emotions, but how the heck am I supposed to repress them when I'm asleep? I don't want to wake up after a nightmare with bloody scratches all over my body.

  I should probably eat something, but even just looking at the sandwich makes my stomach roil. Maybe I'm getting ill? I'm feeling cold and achy all over. Maybe running around barefoot in the snow wasn't such a good idea after all.

  I open the book and inhale the scent of old dusty paper. There weren't many books on Salvation Island, but the few we did have, I devoured. Reading was my refuge when everything else seemed bleak.

  The font is old-fashioned and full of little flourishes. They make it pretty but also a lot harder to read. I rub my eyes and focus on the table of contents. The Birth of the Bears... Plants and Potions... The Great Ursine War... Dealing with Cubs... It seems this book is a collection of articles and essays by several writers, all dealing with aspects of bear shifter life.

  Arnold mentioned chapter eleven. The Mating Call. That sounds very animalistic somehow, not very human. But I've now learned the hard way that my...ehm, the bears are nothing like normal humans. They are feral and driven by their instincts. Had Torben been human, he would likely not have done what he did. Or maybe he would have. Who knows. Right now, I feel like I don't know the guys at all.

  I flip to chapter eleven. A few stains mark the first page and notes have been scribbled in the margins. Someone has read this chapter extensively.

  Trying to decipher the old writing and language, I read the first few pages, my eyes widening with every sen
tence. What. The. Fuck. This can't be real. This isn't happening. Not to me. Please not to me.

  At some point, I can't go on. I'm raging. Torben will suffer for this. He's not only destroyed my life, he's also gone against the laws of the bears. I'm not sure if he knows that, but I assume so. He may be looking for answers about their heritage, but that doesn't mean he has no clue about bear life. Bear mating.

  I jump out of bed and run outside. I need air. This is too much. I don't want it. Can't take it. I just want to rewind time and keep things as they were. Maybe I should have stayed with my uncle. Maybe the marriage wouldn't have been that bad. Not as bad as ... this.

  Torben has killed me. I'm dying.

  Nothing justifies that. No matter what arguments he will produce, I'm done with him. With all of them.

  I start running, the freezing snow hurting the soles of my feet. All warmth has left me and now I know why. My body is shutting down. I've got a few more days, at most. Then I'll die, alone. if I was desperate, I'd return to Arnold and Bertrand, just to die with other people around me. But I can't. I need to do this on my own. The bears will force me to survive, and I can't do that. I won't give in. I won't.

  I stumble over something hidden beneath the snow and fall down, icy crystals cutting into my exposed skin. I stay in that position. Maybe lying in the snow will make it quicker. I remember how it felt when I was hypothermic on the ice, before I met the bears. I was peaceful. Dreamy. If those dogs hadn't made me panic, I would have likely stayed and frozen to death.

  The book didn't say much about how I'll die, but I imagine dying from cold might be nicer. I chuckle mirthlessly. I'm debating how I want to die. How sad is that.