Finally she heard the door clanking again, and she turned to see another feeder come running through, pointing a metal stick at Oka, which let out a loud pop. Oka reared up from the first feeder and turned to the new one, roaring and lashing out with her claws. For a moment Lusa was afraid that the other flat-face would be hurt as well, but then Oka stopped, swaying. She blinked, shaking her head, and then her eyes closed and she toppled to the ground with a crash that sent up a cloud of sand.
The second feeder ran to the flat-face on the ground, and more came running in behind him. They pressed what looked like white pelts over his wounds, but blood came welling up under their paws. All of them were shouting, and Lusa could see the flat-faces at the wall being herded away.
Lusa stayed in the crook of the trunk, trembling. She’d never seen a bear treat a flat-face like prey before. She didn’t understand how any bear could be so savage and violent. Ashia and King must be right—there was something wrong with Oka.
The flat-faces moved the hurt feeder onto a tightly stretched white pelt and carried him out of the enclosure. Two of the feeders stayed behind, looking down at Oka’s sleeping form, murmuring in their language and shaking their heads.
Lusa scrambled down the tree and ran over to Ashia and Stella, who were sitting on the Mountains looking shocked. “Why did she do that?” Lusa blurted out. She buried her face in Ashia’s fur, and her mother patted her head with her paws.
“It’s all right,” Ashia soothed. “It’s over now.”
“I knew that bear was crazy,” Stella said, shaking her head sadly.
“Can the flat-faces make her better?” Lusa asked. “Like they fixed you, Mother?”
Stella and Ashia were quiet for a moment, exchanging a long look.
“I remember a white bear,” Stella said finally. “A long time ago, when I first came here. He clawed a feeder very badly.”
“What happened to him?” Lusa whispered.
“The flat-faces took him away,” Stella said. “And he never came back.”
Lusa whimpered.
“We don’t know for sure that this will happen to Oka, though,” Ashia said quickly.
“Maybe they’ll take her back to the wild,” Lusa said hopefully.
“I doubt it,” Stella said, her voice gentle. “You can see how unhappy and dangerous she is. She wouldn’t be any better off out there, and they’re probably worried that she would attack other flat-faces if they let her go.”
Lusa crept over to the back corner of the Fence and waited there for the rest of the day, watching Oka sleep. As the last of the daylight was fading, Oka grunted and woke up, staggering clumsily to her paws. She looked around the enclosure, and then her eyes turned to the Fence, where she saw Lusa waiting.
The grizzly dragged herself over and lay down with her muzzle on her paws. She sighed heavily. Lusa didn’t know what to say.
After a long pause, Oka squinted up at Lusa and said, “It’s all right. I know what I did.”
“You do?” Lusa said.
The brown bear flexed her claws, looking down at the dark, dry splashes of blood on her fur. “I was so angry—with myself for losing Toklo, with the flat-faces for keeping me here—just with everything. I don’t even know why.” She stopped and looked at Lusa again. “They’re going to send me into the longsleep, aren’t they?”
“I—I don’t know,” Lusa whispered.
“It’s all right,” Oka said again. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. “There is nothing for me here anymore. At least now I can be with my Tobi.”
Lusa lay down on her side of the Fence. She wished she could reach through the web and press her nose into Oka’s fur. “I’ll stay with you,” she promised. “Until they come.”
“Thank you,” Oka said.
They lay for a while in silence. Lusa could hear King grumbling to Ashia, but she knew her mother would understand. She would let Lusa stay with the brown bear tonight.
As the sky darkened, Lusa lifted her head and searched for the Bear Watcher. There it was, shining fiercely in the dim orange-lit sky. “The Bear Watcher is looking down on us,” she said.
Oka followed her gaze to the bright star and snorted. “That is the saddest star in the sky.”
“Why?” Lusa asked.
“It is the spirit of a very bad bear—a bear who did terrible things. As a punishment, it was imprisoned in the coldest and most lonely place the spirits could find. It’s all alone up there…like me.”
“The star isn’t alone,” Lusa said, trying to sound reassuring. “There are other animals in the sky to keep it company. I know you can’t see them very well from here, because of all the lights, but Stella says they’re there. Like me—I’m here with you, so you’re not alone, either.”
Oka’s voice softened. “I am glad you’re here.”
“Do you think you’ll be put up in the sky, too?” Lusa asked. “I thought the spirits of bears became trees. Maybe you’ll become a tree. Maybe you’ll grow on this side of the Fence and I can climb you and we can still be friends.”
“That’s not what happens to brown bears,” Oka said. “My spirit will find its way to the Great Salmon River and be washed out to sea. Don’t worry about me, little cub.” She sounded gentler than Lusa had ever heard her be. “I welcome the longsleep,” Oka murmured. “It will bring me peace at last.”
She fell silent again.
“What is salmon?” Lusa said, wanting to make Oka talk some more. Her silence made Lusa feel scared. “You said Great Salmon River—is it a place?”
“Salmon is a kind of fish,” Oka explained. “They’re silver and slippery and they are the best food in the world.”
“Better than blueberries?”
Oka grunted with amusement. “Much better than blueberries.” She stared into the distance. “Toklo loved blueberries, too. But he would have loved salmon even more. If only I had been strong enough to stay with him.” She clawed at her muzzle with a sad whining sound.
“Tell me about Toklo,” Lusa prompted. This was her last chance to find out what had happened to Oka’s missing cub.
“I abandoned him,” Oka said in a low, raspy voice. “I don’t even know if he’s still alive. He’s so brave, and so strong…such a good cub. He’ll be a great bear one day, if he survives. But he’s so young…and he’s all alone, and it’s all my fault.”
Her voice rose to a keening cry and she clawed at her face again, this time leaving deep scratches in her muzzle. “My cub!” she cried. “My poor cub. How could I leave you? How could I drive you away like that?”
Lusa didn’t know what to say. Oka was crazed with sadness, and Lusa was afraid she might hurt herself badly. But what could she do? There was no way to help her.
“I’m sure Toklo will be fine,” Lusa said. “He sounds like he can take care of himself—he’ll find food, I’m sure he will.”
“No, he won’t,” Oka snarled. “He’s too little—he’s even younger than you are, and you could never survive in the forest.”
“Yes, I could!” Lusa cried.
Oka huffed and lay down. “You’re better off here,” she said, “where it’s safe, where there’s enough food, and you have a mother to look after you—one who will never abandon you. You’ll never know what it’s like to live in the wild.”
“But I do know,” Lusa protested. Her mind filled with images from her dreams—endless dark trees, glimpses of sun through the branches, rain pattering on thick leaves. It was where she belonged, wasn’t it?
“You’ll never know, because you’re shut in this place. While Toklo wanders alone, starving and helpless. I tried to find him, I really did. But what’s the use? His spirit probably joined the Salmon River long ago. He’ll never know that I’m sorry, that I loved him just as much as Tobi.”
Lusa couldn’t bear the despair in Oka’s voice. It wasn’t fair she should go to the longsleep without being able to help her last surviving cub. And Toklo didn’t even know she loved him. “Oka!” sh
e cried, jumping up and pressing her muzzle to the Fence. “Oka, listen. I’ll go to the wild. I’ll find Toklo for you and make sure he’s all right, and I’ll tell him that you loved him. You can go to the Salmon River and find Tobi. I’ll look after Toklo.”
The large brown bear met Lusa’s eyes. For a moment they stared at each other. No words needed to be spoken. Lusa just nodded.
I will find Toklo for you. I promise.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Toklo
A long sharp claw was prodding Toklo awake. He blinked and rubbed his eyes. At first he thought it must be his mother waking him, but then he remembered she’d left him by the river. He looked up and a bolt of terror shot through him.
It was the full-grown bear from the day before—the one whose prey he’d stolen. He had a deep scar across his muzzle and an unfriendly look in his eyes.
“What are you doing here, cub?” the bear growled.
“I—I’m—” Toklo stammered.
“Where did you come from?” The bear nodded his head toward the woods, where the pile of prey had been buried. “Did you go through there?”
“No!” Toklo lied. “I came down off that mountain over there. I haven’t gone into those woods.”
“Well, you’d better not,” the bear snarled. “This is my territory.” He reared up onto his hind legs. “See the marks on this tree?” He indicated a set of deep scratches in the bark. “That means this place is mine.”
“Fine,” Toklo said. “I didn’t know. I won’t go in.”
“Go back to where you came from,” the bear growled, dropping to all fours again. “There is nothing for you—or any other bear—here.”
Snarling, he lumbered off into the trees, and Toklo backed away into the meadow, watching the grizzly until he couldn’t see him anymore.
The sun rose higher in the sky, heating the earth beneath his paws. He could tell that the season of fishleap was truly beginning. Toklo kept journeying up the mountain, following the line of melting snow, digging up flower bulbs to eat all along the way. Their taste didn’t compare to squirrels or hare, but it helped his legs stay fast and strong…which they needed to be in case he encountered other hungry bears with strong feelings about sharing their prey with cubs.
He could smell the scent of prey in the air around him—small animals roused, like him, by the new-growing grasses and flowers. Toward the end of the day, he found a burrow that smelled promising. He paused at the entrance and listened. Not far inside, he could hear muffled shuffling sounds, and the scent of juicy prey made his stomach growl. There was a rabbit inside! Panting with eagerness, he sank his claws into the earth and scrabbled down into the hole, but the rabbit fled out of reach, its feet drumming on the earth. Toklo’s stomach rumbled loud as thunder as he drifted off to sleep that night, and he dreamed of sinking his teeth into rabbit flesh.
Three sunrises later, Toklo had made his way near the peak of the mountain. He stayed closer to the open meadows above the tree line to avoid the thick forests in the valley, which all seemed to be claimed by grizzlies already. He had his nose to the ground, sniffing for fresh water, when another rabbit leaped out of the bushes almost directly in front of him. Toklo raced after the rabbit as it fled up a small ridge. His paws pounded on the ground and the wind swept through his fur, making it ripple like grass. As he reached the crest, the rabbit vanished into a hole, and Toklo skidded to a stop. He was at the edge of a path like a huge claw scratch down the side of the mountain. On either side were trees and rocks, covered in snow, but the scratch itself was bristling with bright green shoots, standing out sharply against the bare trees on either side. At the bottom was a heap of snow-covered boulders and snapped tree trunks, as if a bear had kicked them off the top of the mountain and sent them crashing down the steep slope.
Toklo realized that this must be one of the mountain slides his mother had told him about. He looked around nervously, wondering if any other parts of the mountain were about to fall off.
“Listen to the birds,” Oka had said. “They will warn you. If you prick up your ears and hear no birds, run away as fast as you can.”
Toklo twitched his ears. Birds were chattering all around him, singing and whistling at one another. That must mean there was no danger from the mountain here. He sighed with relief. The claw scratch was alive with the smells of wildflowers, and he scrambled onto it, rooting around for food.
Toklo padded up the scratch, nosing through the mountain grasses and digging up roots. About halfway up, he came around the side of a gray boulder twice his height and nearly crashed into a full-grown grizzly.
“HEY!” the bear roared, standing on its hind legs. “Get out, get out!” He dropped to all fours and leaped at Toklo.
Toklo jumped back with a startled yelp. “I’m not bothering you!” he protested. “There are enough bulbs and roots here for lots of bears.”
“Is that what you think?” the bear snarled. “That just shows what an ignorant cub you are. Get out of here, before I rip your fur.”
“Why can’t I stay?” Toklo whined. He was sick of being driven away. How could every pawstep on this mountain be part of some other bear’s territory?
“The uplands are not for cubs,” the adult bear said bossily. “Go back down to the valley. Only the strongest bears can hunt up here.” He lunged with his claws outstretched, swiping at Toklo’s side. Toklo felt a sting of pain as the claws grazed him, and with a howl, he turned and ran back down the mountain. He could feel the other bear’s eyes on him as he stumbled over the rutted earth, his angry gaze pricking the back of Toklo’s ears.
Toklo tumbled to a stop at the bottom of the scratch and leaned against a rock, panting. It wasn’t fair! His mother should be here to fight for him, to make sure he got enough food. He could still hear the other bear roaring, so he forced himself to keep going, on down the mountain and into the trees, even though his belly felt pinched and empty.
After a while he heard the sound of firebeasts ahead of him, so he knew there must be a BlackPath close by, like the one in the valley where he’d lived with Oka and Tobi. This valley had many of the same smells—flat-faces, burning and metal, rotfood—but the shape of the mountains around it was different, and there was a river flowing through it that had split off from the one he’d been following earlier. Following the sound of the firebeasts, he clambered down through dark trees until he reached the edge of the BlackPath.
Something was lying on the grass that smelled like rotfood, but it wasn’t an animal, as far as Toklo could tell. It looked like moldy bits of lots of different things, wrapped in a thin black skin with no fur. The skin ripped easily when he sliced his claws into it, and what was inside came spilling out along with many confusing scents. Toklo stepped back, wrinkling his nose, trying to sort out the different smells. It definitely seemed like there was something in there he could eat.
He found a few bones with chewed meat still sticking to them, and he gnawed all the rest of the meat off and crunched the bones with his teeth. Then he found a hollowed-out shape with something sweet inside, and he stuck his tongue in to lick it all up. This wasn’t so bad. While he was stretching his tongue to get the last trace of sweet, sticky stuff, a blast of noise came from a firebeast racing past, and Toklo jumped. His muzzle scraped against a sharp metal edge and he felt his skin tear. The new stabbing pain in his mouth joined the throbbing in his side where the bear had clawed him.
Toklo backed away from the rotfood and padded back into the forest, climbing up the slope through the trees. Blood was dripping from his muzzle, warm and salty, and as soon as he found a snowbank, he stuck his nose in it. When his nose felt numb, he pulled it out and dug himself a shallow hole in the ground. He curled up and pressed his nose into the earth, breathing in the warmth and the clean growing scents of the dirt until sleep finally overtook him.
The next day, the firebeasts were quieter on the BlackPath, and Toklo was able to hear the splash of the river in the woods behind him. He followe
d the noise until he reached the bank and carefully stepped into the water. This river was smaller, shallower, and faster than the one where he’d tried fishing for salmon with his mother. The banks were made of soft earth that crumbled, instead of pebbles that sloped straight into the water. Toklo stood with his back to the current, watching the reflections dance and sparkle on the surface. He tried to listen for the bear spirits, but all he could hear was the rushing and splashing around his paws.
All at once, something silver slithered between his paws. Toklo was so surprised, he reacted instinctively and leaped for it. He landed on his belly in the water, soaking his fur, and the fish twisted away just out of reach, vanishing downriver.
But I was close! Toklo thought. He scrambled onto his feet and waited for another one to come by. Before long, he spotted the flash of movement again and dove at it. Once again, he ended up flat on his belly with a noseful of river water. He stood up, shaking his head. Every time he dove, water splashed in his eyes so he couldn’t see anything. But he couldn’t think of another way to do it.
Toklo tried to catch fish for the rest of the day. There was no shortage of fish—almost every time he stood up, another one darted between his paws. But that just made it even more frustrating when he couldn’t catch any. At last he stomped up the bank and sat on a rock, glaring at the river. He could see the dark shapes of fish flitting past, casting shadows on the riverbed. They seemed happy and unafraid, as if they knew they had nothing to fear from him.
“Thanks a lot, river spirits,” Toklo muttered. “Fat lot of good you are. Can’t you do anything useful, like send a fish to my paws? Stupid bunch of weasel-brains. You’re as useless as a black bear. Longsleeping, squirrel-faced, hollow-headed salmon-brains!”
The river kept burbling past, ignoring him. Toklo got up and began following it, pacing along the bank. The water seemed to be in a hurry, swirling by in a flurry of choppy waves and frothing splashes. He wondered where it was going at such a fast pace, and if all the bear spirits were going there, too. His mother had said that the bear spirits floated downriver until they reached the end, a place of forgetfulness where they faded from every bear’s memory.