River of Lost Bears (9 page)

Kallik lifted her dripping muzzle. “Is that wise?”

“The forest doesn't belong to the wolverines.” Toklo puffed out his chest. He'd chased them off once. He could do it again. “Do you want to hunt in the woods, Kallik?”

Kallik reared up and plunged her paws into the water. She hooked out a fish and snapped it between her jaws. Her voice too muffled to hear, she shook her head. Toklo guessed that she wanted to stay here.

Sedge rustled as Chenoa bounded into the woods.

“We'll see you later, then.” Toklo followed. The rich scent of peat filled his nose.

“Hurry up!” Chenoa was already racing between the trees, her small paws light on the springy moss as she wove around hummocks and ducked low branches.

Toklo broke into a run, skidding clumsily on the uneven ground as he tried to follow her path. A branch jutting low from a fir caught his cheek. He stumbled against a tussock and twisted his paw. “Ow!”

Chenoa spun around. “What happened?”

“This ground is too uneven!” Toklo crossly shook the pain from his paw.

“Should I go slower?” Chenoa padded to his side.

Toklo huffed. “What are you rushing for, anyway?”

“I told you! There's something I want to show you.”

“I thought we were hunting.” Toklo wanted to give his throbbing paw a rest. “We'll scare every bit of prey in the forest if we run.”

“It's not my fault if you thump along like a white bear.” Chenoa sniffed his paw. “Is it okay?”

“Yeah.” The pain was easing. Toklo put weight on it, relieved to find it wasn't injured. He twitched as rose-colored feathers flashed beyond Chenoa. “Prey!” Silently, he stalked past her.

A dove was strutting along the top of a long anthill, pecking at the tiny insects. Toklo could already taste it. His mouth began to water. He crept closer, thankful for the soft moss muffling his pawsteps. Less than a bearlength away, he paused, hunkering down, ready to pounce.

“No!”

Chenoa's bark shocked him. Her paw jabbed Toklo's flank, hard as stone. He staggered, fighting to keep his balance, then tripped on a stone and hit the moss with a peaty splash.

“What was that for?” Toklo yelped as he sprawled on the wet forest floor. Anger flared in his belly. “What in the stars are you doing?”

Feathers fluttered as the dove escaped into the branches. Toklo jumped up and glared at Chenoa. “I was about to catch it!” he growled.

“You can't kill a dove!” she exclaimed.

“Are you crazy?”

“No!”

“Why? Are they poisonous here?”

“No!”
Chenoa's eyes were round. “My mother told me my name means ‘dove'!”

“
Chenoa
?” Toklo stared at her, incredulous. “So you can't kill them?”

“It feels wrong.” Chenoa gazed up into the tree where the dove had settled.

Toklo sighed. What was the point of arguing?

“There's plenty of other prey,” Chenoa reasoned.

Toklo stomped away. “Let's find some, then.” He glanced over his shoulder. “What does
Hakan
mean? Just so I don't waste my time stalking his namesake.”

“Snake.” Chenoa padded after him. “You weren't planning on hunting snakes, were you?”

Toklo scowled at her. “No. Were
you
?” Had she just brought him into the woods to show him he didn't belong here? Why was she hanging around, anyway?
We're just passing through.

Chenoa looked at him. “Do you want to hunt or do you want to argue?” She turned and pushed past a clump of bracken. “We can do both if you want.”

Growling under his breath, Toklo followed. Chenoa glanced over her shoulder, eyes sparkling, and broke into a run.

Toklo raced after her.
What's the rush?
The soggy moss sucked at his paws. It was like running through quicksand. Chenoa zigzagged between tussocks, skimming the ground. Toklo began to pant, hot beneath his pelt.

The ground sloped upward and grew drier.

“Nearly there,” Chenoa called. A few moments later, she skidded to a halt.

Toklo stopped beside her, on the brink of a clearing where long grass swished in the breeze. Overhead, torn clouds opened onto blue sky.

“Birds love to nest here.” Chenoa nodded toward the ragwort and knotweed clumped around the clearing.

“You seem to know this territory well,” Toklo commented. “Do you come here a lot?”

“It's where I come to get away from Hakan when he's being a real sore-paw. It's no-bear's-land.” She lifted her muzzle toward a ridge beyond the trees. “Way over there is Alach's territory. Back there”—she tipped her snout—“is Hakan's.”

Toklo wondered if there'd be empty stretches of forest like this when he reached the mountains. “Why don't you make this land yours?” he asked.

Chenoa snorted. “Do you really think Hakan would let me?”

Toklo felt a flash of impatience. “Then find somewhere else. I wouldn't let some bear tell me where I could live.”

“He's not
some
bear, though,” Chenoa growled. “He's my brother.”

“He's not much of a brother.”

“What do
you
know?”

“I've seen him try to rip your ear off, remember?”

“It's not that simple, okay?” Chenoa turned and stalked away. She sat down and leaned against a tree. “Go hunt.”

“Don't you want to help?”

“Why?” She glared at him. “So you can tell me what to do some more?”

Toklo pushed into the long grass and snuffled among the roots of a wide swathe of knapweed. Didn't Chenoa realize that she didn't have to stay with Hakan? He shoved the thought away. Why was he worrying about her?
I've got my journey; it's up to Chenoa to make her own.

Something rustled ahead of him. He stiffened, excited, and tasted the air.
Grouse.
The musky smell was familiar from hunting before they reached the Endless Ice. As the knapweed shivered, Toklo pounced. Plunging his forepaws among the leaves, he flailed until he felt feathers, then grabbed on. The grouse squawked and struggled, but his grip was tight. He thrust his muzzle through the grass, caught the grouse by the neck and, with a snarl, snapped it cleanly.

Exhilarated, he carried his catch to Chenoa. She didn't look up, so he quietly laid it at her paws. “You have first bite.”

She glanced at him, then grabbed the grouse and ripped it in two. “Thanks.” She flung one part onto the ground in front of him.

The scent of blood made Toklo's belly rumble. Was Chenoa going to spoil his meal by grumbling through it? “I'm sorry, okay? It's none of my business.”

“Yeah.” Chenoa took a mouthful of grouse and chewed on it sulkily.

“I know it's hard to leave your family behind.” Toklo took a bite. The flavor sang on his tongue.

“So why'd you leave yours?” Chenoa asked.

Toklo stared at the grouse. “Every bear needs to find his own territory.”

“But I thought you said you were going home.” The sharpness had left her growl.

“That doesn't mean I've staked out a territory yet.”

“You said your home was in the mountains.” Chenoa swallowed. “But the mountains are huge. How will you know which part is home?”

“I remember the SilverPaths.” Memories of Tobi and Oka made his chest feel heavy. “We used to scavenge for grain there when I was a cub. And there was a wide river where we fished.” He took another bite of grouse.

“Like Big River?”

Toklo swallowed. “Not that big. It's where I taught myself to fish.” His heart twisted as he remembered watching a mother teach her cub how to catch salmon in the fast-flowing stream. “I nearly drowned in it once. Some big bears held me under the water.” His heart lurched; the memory was old, but the fear still felt fresh.

Chenoa leaned forward. “What happened? Where was your mother?”

Toklo stared at her, his mouth dry as he remembered how Oka had ignored his cries for help. “It doesn't matter,” he murmured. “I survived.”

Chenoa watched him curiously for a moment, then went back to her share of the grouse. She finished it in a few bites, spitting out the feathers, and climbed to her paws. “Come on.”

Toklo licked blood from his nose. “Where?”

“I was going to show you something, remember?”

Toklo swallowed his last morsel and stood up. Chenoa was already trotting away through the trees. She headed upslope, keeping a brisk pace, and Toklo followed. The land rose steeply, the pines pressing ever denser. The higher they climbed, the darker the forest got. It felt as though they were climbing into storm clouds.

“Is it much farther?” Toklo was worried about leaving the others for so long.

Chenoa scrambled up through a rocky gully. “No.”

At the top, the world opened around them.

“What do you think?” She led Toklo out onto the bare hilltop. It was black with the charred stumps of trees.

Toklo wrinkled his nose at the tang of smoke and ash. “What is this place?”

“I call it the Fire Ridge.” Chenoa looked around. “The fire happened just before cold-earth. We saw it from the river. It was like the whole hill had caught light. Hakan wanted to swim the river to get away from it, but I was too small.” She scuffed her paw through the ash. “So we waited by the shore and watched it swallow the forest. We thought it would eat everything, but the flat-faces brought clattering birds to drop water on the flames. They made huge clouds, like the earth was snow-day breathing.”

The breeze, strong up here, stirred the ash and blew it into Toklo's fur. He sneezed as it went up his nose. “Is this what you wanted me to see?” He glanced around the desolate hilltop.

“Look beyond the stumps.” Chenoa stared into the distance.

Toklo followed her gaze. The land dipped and rose, wave upon wave of deep green forest. Far below, the river curved one way and then the other, weaving a silvery path between the hills. Toklo cocked his head as he noticed bare swathes here and there on the hillsides, like flesh where fur had been ripped away.

“What's that?” He flicked his snout to the nearest wound.

Chenoa squinted. “That's where flat-faces steal the trees.”

“So many?” Toklo wondered how such clawless creatures could do so much damage.

Chenoa pointed her short black muzzle toward the distant mountains. “Is that where you're going?”

Toklo could just make out a hazy, purple range of mountains beyond the forest. “Yes.” Forgetting the wounds on the hillside, he felt his heart tug toward the distant peaks.

Chenoa blinked. “That's a
long
way! How do you know which way to go?”

“I trust my instinct.” The river would lead him.

“This is the farthest I've ever been.” Chenoa's gaze lingered on the far horizon.

Toklo shrugged. “But this is your home.”

“I don't want to stay here.”

Toklo hardly heard her. He was trying to guess how many days it would take to reach the purple mountains. What would happen when he got there? Was he strong enough to fight for his own territory yet? Yakone and Kallik would go back to the ice. Lusa would find her own home. He'd be alone. His thoughts swam, his belly hollow despite his meal. Was he really ready for this?

A muzzle nudged his flank. “Let's go see how Lusa is.”

Toklo dragged his gaze from the horizon. Chenoa was already heading down the slope. Charred wood crunched beneath Toklo's paws as he followed. He was relieved when they reached the forest and breathed air sharp with the tang of sap.

As he breathed it in, a new scent touched his nose.

Meat. Not prey, but flat-face food.

He licked his lips and veered away from Chenoa, making his own trail down the slope.

“Where are you going?” Chenoa called across the brambles.

“Can't you smell food?”

“That's not bear food.” Chenoa chased after him. “Don't go there!”

“Food is food.” Toklo quickened his pace, belly growling. “And this food smells great.” Toklo ignored the sour scent of firebeasts that hung in the air as he headed for the rich smell of fire-scorched meat. He was remembering Lusa's raiding trips when she'd bring back burned prey. It had been as tasty as real food.

The woods grew lighter as the trees thinned out. A BlackPath cut a canyon between the trees. Toklo paused and peered along it. It was empty.

Chenoa stopped beside him. “Let's get back to the others,” she urged.

Toklo jumped out of the trees and walked along the grass at the edge of the BlackPath. “Think how happy Lusa will be when we take her back something tasty.”