The Bear and His Daughter Page 2

  “What do we do?” Teagan asked again.

  Liz grinned. “We’re gonna bring it home.”

  3

  All that evening, Liz and Teagan had been keeping their eyes open for game as they completed their real work: checking and resetting Father’s traps along the northern line. But they hadn’t seen anything at all, barely even any spoor, and the traps had been almost entirely empty. It was as if a new predator had descended upon the forest, pushing everything else away.

  This grey bear might explain that, Liz mused.

  On the other hand, it also had been a hard winter, cold and relentless. Even for folks down in the village, times were tight. “The King of the Mountain,” old man Jarlund had been saying all season, shaking his head. “He’s angry. Real angry. Been taking too much timber. Taking too much fur. When you upset the Mountain King, you’re in for some long trouble.” (Of course, Father thought that kind of talk was pure drivel and he’d remind them of that fact whenever the subject of Jarlund’s talk came up.)

  Regardless of the reason, if the traps were empty, then you had to improvise. “The mountain way,” Father would always say. “Do your best to find what you can, then do your best with what you can find.”

  Father didn’t like nonsense talk. No mountain kings, no stories, no messing around. Just get the work done. Day in, day out. Cycle the traps. Keep your eye out for game. Keep your eye out for spoor. Sharp and tight.

  But so far, all that Liz and Teagan had to show for their current outing were three pairs of snow grouse with barely enough meat to justify the effort. Still, you could make a delicious stew from what the grouse did have, and you could sell the feathers for fletching and pillow stuffing down in the village; even the feet could be boiled down for a nice broth. “But you can’t do nothing with nothing,” Father would always say.

  The little bear cub had to come home.

  No question.

  It was worth a hundred times more alive than dead, Liz was sure of it. What else were they supposed to do? Kill the poor thing for its meat? Little guy was barely big enough to be Soldier’s dinner.

  4

  “Is it worth a lot of coin?” Teagan asked, as if reading Liz’s mind.

  Liz glanced at the near-empty game bag hanging limply from her brother’s back and nodded. “He’s worth a lot more than what we’ve taken so far, that’s certain.”

  She put the hardtack and the smoked grouse that she’d pulled from her food pouch into her mouth and chewed on it hard, deliberately.

  “If it’s worth a lot of coin, that’s real good,” Teagan said, looking back at the bear cub. It hadn’t moved; it just sat there staring at them with its big eyes. “I mean . . . we lost that arrow yesterday morning. Remember that? I figured I’d get strapped for sure.” Tee stared at the cub. “How many arrows you think we can buy with him?” Then his voice went a bit lower and he started rubbing at the scar on his sunken temple. “Think I’ll get strapped all the same? Evan got strapped last time he lost those arrows couple weeks ago. Think I’ll get it?”

  “No,” Liz said, with her mouth full, still chewing. She spat the soft mass of tack and grouse into the palm of her leather mitten and began shaping the warm lump into a little food ball. She glanced at her older brother. The icy wind shuddered through the trees. Teagan was frowning, worried, still rubbing his scar. Teagan had always been slow, but sometimes he would get himself so worried that he’d just sort of shut down.

  Liz patted her older brother’s side. “Look there, Tee.” She pointed at the cub. “Look. This little one, I bet he’s not even off the teat yet, is he? See? Look.” She nudged Teagan again. “I’m gonna give it some of this yummy stuff here, see?” She lifted the food ball in front of Teagan’s face. “Get some grub into him. Father’s going to be happy about this, Tee. Happy. I promise you that. Hear me? That’s a promise.”

  “Yeah?” Teagan asked nervously, unconvinced.

  “Sure he is.” Liz nodded. She lifted her chin at the bear cub. “Look at him. That there’s a grey bear. Know what a grey bear is worth?” Liz paused, considering. “Don’t know for sure if he’ll eat this, though.” She glanced skeptically at the food ball in her mitten. “But we’ll give it a try. And look how tiny he is. Poacher must’ve found the mother’s den, roused her out with his dogs, killed her for her paws . . . .” Liz trailed off, looked around the clearing, studying the peculiar flurry of tracks, the marks not fully covered by snow. “But he only took her front ones. Why’d he leave the back paws? Why leave all that coin?”

  “Maybe he got scared?” Teagan shrugged.

  Liz nodded. “Rangers have been up here lately. Father’s been complaining about it. And there’s lots of strange tracks and stuff around here, too. Weird.” She looked at all the tracks. “Like some kind of fight. Some blood over there by that boulder—.” She stopped. “Look there!”

  “What?” Teagan asked, looking around in every direction. “What is it?” The bear cub seemed to sense Teagan’s confusion and began looking around too.

  Liz grabbed her brother’s cloak, pointed at the dead bear’s side, then moved her mitten back and forth up the path, up to the forested ridge above them. “See that other set of tracks? On that path going back there through the trees, up the ridgeline? A second set. All different sizes. You can just make ‘em out. Almost a kind of path. See? Den’s probably up there. Maybe there’re more cubs? This little one probably came down after the poacher and his dogs moved off, stayed behind to protect his mom.” Liz didn’t know if that story made any sense, but it seemed to calm Teagan down a little.

  “Your eyes, Liz . . . .” Teagan squinted at the ridge, looking back and forth, clearly not seeing a single thing she was pointing at.

  Liz nodded. “The den’s gotta be up there, somewhere close. We gotta find it. See if there’re other little ones. Bring them back, too. Cut some choice pieces out of the mother’s flanks, wrap ‘em up to bring home—.”

  Liz paused, holding the food ball, suddenly doubtful. “If we can saw through the frozen meat, that is. That’ll be tough. And we’d need to do it fast.”

  She eyed the bear cub, the snow on its mother’s huge back. “She’s been dead for a couple days, at least. Don’t know why the wolves haven’t found her yet.”

  “Wolves?” Teagan asked, looking around, nervous again.

  Liz looked again at the sky, the bright moon. “And we’ve gotta start heading back. Can’t risk staying. Father might want us to come back for the bones. Boil ‘em down, maybe? Sell the teeth? By tomorrow, next day, she’ll be picked clean. Won’t be much reason to come back out.” But why hadn’t the scavengers found the bear already?

  “Why’d that hunter leave all that meat?” Teagan scratched his head, staring at the dead bear.

  “Trophy hunter,” Liz said. “Poacher, for sure. They just want the coin. You sell two grey paws that size, you’d feed me, you, Evan, Mother, and Father for the whole winter and more. Grey bears are hard to find in the wild. See that silver fur?”

  “Yeah.” Teagan nodded. “Nice and silvery. That means her paws are worth more coin?”

  “That’s right. You take the paws down to the village, you probably wouldn’t get much—they need food more than trophies, just like us. But you start walking down the big mountain—take ‘em down through the Trange, to Korfort, say—you could probably get a hundred copper suns, figure. Take ‘em all the way down off the big mountain, down to Adara’s Hold, you could probably get five hundred.”

  “Five hundred suns?” Teagan stared, his eyes widening.

  Liz grinned. “And, if you took ‘em all the way down—all the way down to Tarntown—you could probably get a gold sun. Long trip, take more than a year to get back, but I bet you could get that much.” She paused, looking again at the strange marks around the bear. “The rangers must have come. Chased the poacher off—.” r />
  “That cub is worth a lot of coin.” Teagan nodded, looking at it. “I understand. I should go look for its brothers.” He stopped, cocked his cap back on his head, looked up the ridge. “Or maybe it has sisters? I mean . . . what do you think?”

  “Dunno,” Liz said. “But it’s a good idea to go look. Leave Soldier here with me. Don’t get lost. Stay warm. Stay on the trail. Come straight back—and don’t get bit. If there’s another cub up there, if it’s alive, try to catch it in your cloak. Wrap it up. It’ll be starving, too. We’ll give it some more of our food.” She held the food ball that she’d made up to remind him. “Rig something out of some branches, something like that. Bring ‘em back home.”

  “Right!” Teagan nodded “Got it! I’ll go look! Come on dogs! Soldier, you stay.” He immediately pushed his way up the ridge, humming one of his songs. The hounds followed eagerly, little Rosie already out in front, nosing the trail.

  Liz turned back to the bear cub, the food ball in one hand, and stepped to the cub’s side.

  “Alright, little one,” Liz said.

  And then Teagan screamed bloody murder, yelling at the top of his lungs: “LIZZY!!”

  Liz snapped her head around, her braid whipping over her shoulder.

  Teagan had stopped halfway up the trail.

  His face was ghost white.

  He was pointing his mitten at something, just off the path.

  Liz took a deep breath, then asked patiently, “What is it, Tee?”

  “Up here!” he cried. “Here! There’s a lady up here! She’s dead!”

  5

  “Great Sisters,” Teagan whispered.

  Liz nodded.

  Couldn’t have said it better herself.

  The young woman was dead.

  That was certain.

  Dead and frozen through.

  But she most certainly wasn’t some random trapper or some lost forager from some lumberjack’s crew.

  She was a ranger.

  Almost certainly.

  One of the Tarn’s mountain wardens.

  Liz could tell by her gear.

  Probably all the way up from Adara’s Hold.

  Or maybe even from farther down the mountain, from the look of her equipment. The ranger wore a finely-made vest of padded leather and a beautiful fur-lined jacket. A handsome wolf-skin cloak was crunched up beneath her shoulders. She wore an antler-handled dagger sheathed crosswise at her belt. Her boots and gloves were fine, too. Dyed dark blue, the Tarn’s royal color, made from a soft hide the likes of which Liz had seen only in the best shops down in Korfort; they weren’t local made, that was certain. Her leather belt was fastened with a small silver buckle. The buckle was embossed with a six-pointed sigil, an emblem that Liz recognized immediately. Acasius’s Star. The Dallanar Sun. The high symbol of the overlords of the Tarn.

  Somewhere, over the wind, a crow cawed.

  Teagan started at the noise, looking around this way and that. “Crow in winter,” he muttered, turning back to her, rubbing his scar. “Bad luck.”

  Liz didn’t look up.

  Teagan scooted closer. “What happened? Who is she?”

  “Dunno.” Liz shook her head, fidgeting with the thick end of her braid. “Keep the dogs away from her, Tee.”

  Teagan tried his best, but the dogs were curious. The woman had short blond hair that she’d worn at chin length; it was much lighter than Liz’s, more silvery than blond. Her earrings were unique. Dark blue jewels held in the grip of silver claws, like lizards’ claws; Liz could see the individual scales on each talon. Royal craftsmanship, for sure. The woman was about ten years younger than Mother, maybe a bit younger. A heart-shaped face, her eyes barely open, one slightly more so than the other, only their whites showing. A single drop of blood marked her cheek. Liz reached down and brushed the snow away from her face.

  And there it was. The real giveaway as to the young woman’s identity: a small blue tattoo above her right temple. The six-pointed star. The Dallanar Sun, once more.

  “Ranger, for sure.” Liz nodded to herself.

  Teagan looked at her.

  Marked for life as a servant of the Tarn.

  The crow cawed again.

  And then Liz saw the wound.

  “Look at this.” Liz pointed with her mitten, scooting closer to the body. Teagan leaned over her, eyes wide, trying to hold Soldier back. Liz took off her mitten, put her finger into a small hole in the ranger’s fur-lined jacket, high on the left side of her chest. The hole was punched through the leather armor; the material around it was blackened, charred-looking.

  A bullet hole.

  Fired at close range.

  Straight into her heart.

  “This was no accident,” Liz muttered. And where was the ranger’s breastplate? Most of the Tarn’s wardens that Liz had seen usually wore a breastplate of high silver. “Ancient, priceless, and indestructible,” old man Jarlund had told her when she’d asked about it. “But the high silver ain’t just protection. It’s another symbol—a symbol of the Tarn’s power.”

  “Wouldn’t be dead if you’d worn your gear,” Liz muttered under her breath.

  “What?” Teagan asked.

  Had the ranger been surprised somehow? And where was her war bear?

  The dogs sniffed at the warden’s cloak with keen interest. Little Rosie pawed at the snow by the ranger’s side. When she did, the white crust broke to reveal a dark pool of frozen blood.

  The gusting wind went quiet for a moment. Liz looked up and around, suddenly nervous. She was on edge, she realized, the hairs on the back of her neck prickling, the wind reminding her with its sudden silence that they were over two days’ hike from home—and that they were completely alone out here. The penalty for interfering with, or attacking, one of the High King’s rangers was severe; Liz knew that from both old man Jarlund and from Father.

  But to murder a mountain warden?

  To kill a servant of the Tarn?

  She’d never even heard of such a thing.

  Liz glanced back at the dead grey bear, the strange flurry of tracks and markings around them both . . . .

  “We need to get outta here.” Liz cleared her throat.

  “You still want me to look for the den, Liz?” Teagan whispered.

  “Yeah,” Liz whispered back. “But you need to make it fast. And I mean fast, Tee. If you don’t find it right away, come straight back. I’ll tend to the cub and get him ready to go while you go look. Fast, Tee. Like the bunny.”

  “What we gonna do about this lady?” Teagan cocked his head at the ranger’s body. “I mean . . . she’s gonna get all chewed up, we leave her out here.”

  “Nothing we can do.” Liz pushed her braid over her shoulder. “She’s frozen solid and we can’t carry her. Leave everything. Don’t touch anything. We’ll ask Father what to do when we get back. Now get going.” Liz looked again at the dead body. She shivered. “We gotta get home.”

  6

  While Teagan moved up the trail, Liz and Soldier returned to the dead grey bear and her cub. When Liz approached, she saw that the little bear had moved around to the other side of its mother, apparently to keep an eye on her and Teagan as they’d discussed the dead ranger. Now the cub was watching Teagan and the hounds depart, following them with its gaze as they moved up the ridge. Its eyes were grey, intelligent, and discerning—but its whole body shook. When Teagan disappeared over the ridge, the little cub turned and looked at Liz. Then it blinked. It didn’t make a sound. Just looked at her, eyes wide, shivering.

  “Here we go,” Liz said.

  She made sure her mittens were securely fastened, then placed the food ball she’d made in the center of her palm. The mitten’s leather wasn’t thick, but the shell and its fur lining would provide some protection if
her plan didn’t work.

  “All right, little fella,” Liz said. “Let’s not do something we’ll both regret.”

  She took three steps forward, then crouched down to the cub’s level, holding the food ball far out in front of her, kind of waving it in the cub’s direction.

  The cub didn’t react. It just kept looking at her, straight into her eyes, blinking every now and again.

  Liz scooted up another step. Her boots crunched the snow. Soldier was right behind her.

  The cub tried to stand, swaying. It tried to raise its paws. Then it sat down abruptly, its bad back leg giving out. Liz could barely hear its breath. The cub looked at Liz for a long moment. Its eyes were smoky grey, the pupils large and soulful. Then it turned away, closed its eyes, and leaned its forehead against its mother’s side. It sighed deeply, then stopped moving.

  Liz scooted up another step and held out the food ball, waving it back and forth in front of the cub’s nose. She didn’t know if the smell of the hardtack and smoked grouse would be enough to tempt the cub. Or whether the cub was old enough to understand anything other than mother’s milk. The cub didn’t stir. It was smaller than she’d first thought. Liz was tall and long-boned, but even so, standing straight up, the cub wouldn’t come much past her knee. Curled up like that, it seemed smaller still, especially next to the enormous bulk of its dead mother.

  Liz moved a bit closer, reached out, and gently put her mittened hand on the cub’s back.

  The little bear twitched, but nothing else.

  She removed her mitten and put her bare palm against the cub’s back. She could feel its bumpy spine through its fur. It scarcely breathed. Its silver-grey fur was thick and incredibly soft. Its paws were enormous.