He almost believed it.
With time the blazes burned brighter, and Axel began to see traces of the Boils. A patch of wire grass here, a runty juniper there, a sudden stand of hickory trees. Then one morning they arrived at a familiar-looking patch of woods. “Why are you stopping?” Saara said. The air around them had suddenly grown damp and buggy. Her small round ears began to dance to discourage the insects. It made her look a little psychotic.
Axel didn’t answer. He looked down at the ground and saw that the shifting mosaic of snow and mud had been replaced by fine white sand. He looked up into the looming trees and then out at the surrounding bramble. After so many wrong turns and near misses, he was a little reluctant to call it. But sand pines don’t lie. And neither did Grandpa Paul’s trailer, faintly visible through the branches up ahead. Nothing but a ripple in the path, a few short steps, and here they were.
The Boils looked as much like the afterlife as anything Axel had ever seen. A fog rolled in from the scrubby hardpan, reshuffling the sunlight. Spanish moss hung all around like tree-bound kelp, throbbing gray and bright. But if this was the afterlife, it came with mosquitoes and decapitated snakes. It came with cigarette butts and crushed beer cans and crumbling ziggurats of bear scat. It came with rusty lawn furniture and a moldy birdbath shot to bits by years of target practice. It came with Paul.
“This is it,” Axel said. “We’re here.”
Saara neither balked at this, nor showed any great sign of pleasure. She had her eyes on the prize, and the only prize was her husband. She wouldn’t celebrate until she found him. “If this is the spot, where is my Sam?” she said.
Axel looked again at Paul’s trailer. The screen door hung wide, and a bald lightbulb affixed to the fiberglass lintel flickered and spat. The trailer was ringed with trash, the refuse spreading out into the woods in all directions. Sometimes when they came down for a visit, Sam would spend the first day just picking up garbage.
“He should be close,” Axel said. “Have some patience.”
“Patience.” Saara pressed her soft nose between his shoulder blades and pulled her lips back. “Say ‘patience’ to me again.”
Almost everything that came out of his dead mother’s mouth could be construed as a threat, and Axel found that he was getting good at ignoring them. He stepped away from Saara’s snout and picked his way through the debris surrounding the trailer. None of the garbage looked fresh. Most of it was weather-beaten, already half reclaimed by the woods. A small fleet of mismatched canoes lay bloated and still, little plants growing out of the mud in their throats. Plastic bags and strips of foil adorned the tops of bushes and the lower branches of trees. It got worse the closer they got to the trailer.
“This is where you wanted to live?” Saara said, stepping gingerly around a pizza box slick with moss.
“It was more Tess than me,” Axel said. The mention of his sister’s name briefly filled him with regret.
They were almost at the open door when Axel caught a faint strain of conversation. Somebody inside the trailer was whispering. He stopped to listen. Whoever was in there had a lot on their mind—they were weeping softly, begging, promising that it was all over, that it had meant nothing, that it definitely wasn’t love. Grandpa Paul didn’t say those kinds of things. It was just the television. Axel peeked his head into the trailer and saw the little box set shining on the foot of the unmade bed, the volume lowered to a murmur.
It was even more of a disaster in there than out in the yard. The countertops were stacked with soggy boxes and empty cans, as well as a generous layer of what appeared to be animal droppings. There was a plate on the table, whatever food had been on it long since turned to fuzzy gelatin. Ashtrays overflowed with cigarette butts, and the peeling carpet was polka-dotted with burns. This was rough living, even for Grandpa Paul.
Then, behind the sound of the TV, Axel heard a gentle rustling. It was coming from the bathroom, down the carpeted hall. He leaned farther into the trailer, rapping hard on the doorframe and calling out: “Hello?” The noise in the bathroom stopped, and there was a long silence. Then an armadillo, tasseled with toilet paper and looking like an ugly little Volkswagen done up for a wedding, tore out of the bathroom door, bouncing down the hall in a panic. It wasn’t a ghost armadillo. It was a regular armadillo, stinking of Pepto and toothpaste. The thing shot through the trailer door and ran between Axel’s legs. It paused for only the briefest moment in front of Saara and then disappeared, squealing into the brightening fog.
“He’s not in there,” Saara said. Axel couldn’t tell if she meant Sam or Paul, but it didn’t matter because both were true. It looked like the trailer had been empty for a long time. No wonder Tess hadn’t been able to reach Grandpa Paul.
Axel stepped inside to shut off the television and all of the lights. It was probably dumb luck that the electric company hadn’t been out to disconnect the power, but they’d certainly be by if the trailer kept draining juice. Then he closed the flapping screen door and returned to the yard. Saara, disinterested in the trailer since the moment she’d established that it was empty, had wandered a few paces off. Her snout was upturned, bobbing as she tried to catch a scent.
“Something’s coming,” she said, her voice suddenly on edge. The mangy hairs on her neck and shoulders began to stand on end. “Something’s here.”
“What do you mean, something?” Axel looked over his mother’s wooly shoulders and into the sand pines. He saw a flicker of movement in the shadows and then, all at once, the Hiisi appeared. It rolled across Paul’s property, bumping and juking over the garbage. It wasn’t the same glittering beast that Axel had escaped in Talvijärvi—the Hiisi looked, once again, like nothing but a wheelchair. If it weren’t moving on its own, he could even have mistaken it for a real one. Still, it was a terrifying sight. Axel knew what the Hiisi was capable of.
It came to within a few yards of the trailer and stopped. It sat there motionless, watching them. Saara let out a long, pathetic groan and began to back away. Axel pressed himself into the screen door and slowly slid along the trailer wall. Then a breeze cut through the sand pines, and every needle spoke.
“Wait,” the Hiisi said.
They did, but it was mostly out of shock.
The Hiisi’s wheels rotated, and it rocked forward and back. Then it spun around and returned bouncingly into the sand pines. “Follow,” it said. Axel and Saara looked at each other. When they didn’t move from the trailer, the Hiisi paused, its back still to them. Axel would have thought it impossible to read the body language of a wheelchair, but somehow he could tell that the thing was getting impatient. “Quickly,” the Hiisi said through the voice of the trees. “If you miss this chance, another will not come.” And then it disappeared back into the shadows.
Was it offering to bring them to Sam? Saara must have thought so, because she padded off into the trees, after the Hiisi. Axel went with her, and together they followed the monster through the sand pines and into a thick stand of tall reeds. Their passing disturbed a trio of jays, streaks of blue shrieking into the sky. Clouds of bugs clotted the air in here, but they all made way for the Hiisi. The reeds parted as well, bowing down as though to royalty, opening up a clear path for them to follow. Soon Axel could hear a glassy burbling, and they emerged onto the verge of a clear spring pond. This was what gave the Boils its name—warm springs that poured steam into the woods. The Hiisi rolled to the far rim of the pond, its wheels cutting ski-like tracks through the mud.
“Look,” the Hiisi said.
Axel saw that signs of his grandfather were rife about the water’s edge. A kicked-in cooler sat filled with headless duck decoys, beside an empty plastic handle of cheap bourbon and a car magazine that had been all but veneered into the mud. There were a pair of rotten canvas camp chairs set before the clear water, and standing on the seat of one of the chairs was a great blue heron. Saara’s attention snapped toward the bird the moment she saw it. For a second Axel thought she might try to e
at the heron, but she didn’t. Instead, his mother spoke to it.
“Where is Sam?” she said.
“I wish I could tell you,” the heron said, its arrow-shaped face aimed sharply at the water. “He hasn’t been by to see me yet.” It took Axel a moment to process the fact that the voice coming out of this ragged creature was that of Grandpa Paul. Axel didn’t quite realize what this meant at first.
“But he’s here?” Saara took a squelching step into the mud ringing the boil.
“Sam’s somewhere,” the heron said. “He could be here. Should be, I think. But if he is, then he’s not letting me know about it.” The bird paused for a minute to run his bill through the dirty puff of feathers on his breast. “But I don’t suppose I can blame him for keeping his distance.” Then the heron turned away from the water and looked Saara in the eye. He appeared to know that this shaggy beast was the dead wife of his dead son. “Who knows,” the heron said. “Wouldn’t be surprised if he was out looking for you. That would be quite the mix-up.”
At this Saara fell silent. It wasn’t a possibility that she or Axel had even considered. “I’m going to find him,” she finally said, sounding more wistful than defeated.
“Of course you will,” the heron said. “Or he, you.”
“Grandpa?” Axel said. That was, for the moment, all he could say. He fell backward, landing on his butt on the cold mud.
The bird’s gaze twirled about for a moment before settling tentatively on Axel. It was as though he couldn’t quite see him. “Oh,” the heron said. “That’s not—no, that isn’t right at all. Why are you here?”
Axel could have asked his grandfather the same question, but he already knew the answer. Grandpa Paul was dead. Out across the water there was a gnarly old cypress, sodden with moss. Axel remembered it well—a few summers ago Sam and Paul had been able to work together long enough to hang a rope swing from the lower branches. Tess and Axel had spent the whole afternoon casting themselves out over the boil, dropping down into the warm upsurge of water. Axel remembered how the force of the water shooting out of the spring seemed almost strong enough to trampoline him back up into the air. Sam and Paul had watched them from the water’s edge, sitting in these very camp chairs, quietly working their way through a cooler of light beer. It had been a great day, maybe the best they’d ever had all together like that. Grandpa Paul must have remembered how sturdy the branch was—how much weight it could hold. Now he was on both sides of the bubbling pond at the same time. He was sitting here in the shape of a heron. And he was floating there, hanging from the rope they’d used for the swing. It looked like it had happened a while ago.
Axel’s throat caught, and his hands fell limp into his lap. Grandpa Paul’s gaze followed Axel’s up the cypress tree, where it snagged on his own hanging body. He seemed puzzled by the sight, as though his old self were nothing but a distant acquaintance—a friend who’d fallen out of touch.
“I was sick,” Grandpa Paul said, his yellow eyes brightening as though he’d suddenly remembered. “I had been for a while.”
“I know,” Axel managed. “Is there anything I could have—”
“No,” Grandpa Paul said, his face wheeling back toward Axel. “I was sick, and it was coming for me, sure as time. I’m sorry I couldn’t get better.” Then he fell silent for a moment. Paul’s bird head turned sideways, causing his feathered crest to hang low like rank hair. Just as he had by the sight of his own body, he seemed vaguely baffled to see Axel sitting there on the edge of the boil.
“How did you . . . ?” Grandpa Paul glanced back at Saara. “I didn’t think it would be him. I’ve been expecting the other one.”
“What other one?” Saara took another step into the mud, her claws sinking deeper. “You mean Sam?”
“No,” Paul said, whipping his sharp head about. “The girl. Tess. She’s supposed to arrive today.”
That got Axel up off his butt. “Why are you expecting Tess?” he said.
Paul’s long neck curled, and his wings arched up—it almost looked like he was shrugging. “She’s supposed to arrive today,” he repeated. “That’s why I’m here. I’m waiting for her. I know it’s not the best welcome. . . .” His head darted from side to side, mud-streaked beak pointing at the mess around the spring. “But she’s been through so much. She’s lost everything now. I figured she deserves—”
“What do you mean, arrive?” As far as Axel knew, there were only two ways to get here, and one of them involved dying. “Mom, what is he talking about?”
Saara didn’t answer him at first. She’d already wandered a few paces off and was staring back into the reeds. Axel could tell that all of her thoughts had now returned to Sam—the only place her thoughts ever went. Finally, she looked back at her son and blinked slowly. “What’s that?” Saara said.
God, she was useless. Axel turned his attention to the Hiisi, sitting neat and prim beneath the cypress tree on the opposite bank of the boil. Axel had no doubt now that this was why it had led him here. “Where is my sister?” he said.
The Hiisi didn’t answer. It just stared at him through a curtain of steam.
Axel pulled his father’s sword out of his belt and said it again. He shouted it. “Where the hell is my sister?”
“What are you doing?” Paul’s yellow eyes went wide, senseless with fright. “You’re going to make it angry!”
But it was too late. The Hiisi slid wickedly forward, vapor hissing up around its many edges. It bent and unfolded, turning once again into the monster that had chased Axel back in Talvijärvi. The beast that had swallowed the Keeper whole. The Hiisi’s mouth arched over the surface of the roiling spring, belching out the light of another day, snow-sheathed trees for teeth. Axel’s grandfather let out a terrified squawk and flew up off the camp chair, a ragged silhouette against the fogged-in sky. Axel turned to his mother. She was already backing into the reeds.
“Don’t go,” he said.
Saara looked back at Axel, the light of the Hiisi shining in her dark eyes and across her broad, wet nose. She seemed, for a moment, to hesitate. But the moment passed. Axel’s mother turned and charged into the reeds, their shafts settling back in the wake of her passing. And Axel knew, even as she disappeared, that he could go after her. Wherever his mother was going, he could follow.
He didn’t.
Axel was all alone with the Hiisi now. “Where is she?” he asked again.
The monster answered him in a voice of moss and leaves, of branches and rope. “Under”—the Hiisi seemed to take a long breath—“water.”
“I don’t understand,” Axel said.
“Your sister,” the Hiisi said. “She is underwater. She’s coming now. Look.”
Axel began to hear a strange sort of crackling from inside the boil. He looked down and saw ice bubbling up out of the spring—big slabs of it, snapping and popping with the heat, spinning as they melted away to nothing before his eyes. And then, after the ice, a man. It was the Keeper, hatless and wearing a neon vest, sprung from the spring like a drowning in reverse. The Keeper splashed about, cussing and bellowing. He found his footing and then crawled toward the shallows, coughing up water. Then, a moment later, something else shot up out of the bubbling pond after him. Axel thought, for a second, that it looked just like his mother. But it was too small. It was too dark. It was a black bear. It was an American bear.
It was Tess.
Axel rushed into the warm water, grabbed his sister by the fur, and pulled her up onto the muddy bank. He looked up at the Hiisi. “Is she dead?” he shouted.
This time the monster didn’t hesitate to answer.
“Yes,” it said.
22
The Bear
Tess could be forgiven for not recalling exactly how it happened—falling into a freezing lake will, of course, disorient a person. Dying is even worse. She remembered being on the ice with the Keeper, the sick feeling that shot right up from her stomach when she felt her footing give way. She remembered th
e blinding punch of the cold and the drag of her soaking winter clothes. She’d kicked against their weight, but the bright surface up above kept getting farther and farther away. Tess remembered her chest filling up, but not with air. The water was heavy and sharp within her, and slowly she began to go numb. The last thing she felt was a tremendous sense of regret, as painful as the ice water in her lungs. Tess couldn’t believe that she’d failed her brother. She couldn’t believe that she’d done this to Jaana and Otso. It would destroy them.
But as it turned out, that wasn’t the last thing. Something followed the numbness, as Tess drifted down to the bottom of the lake. She felt pins and needles across her body, like the kiss of light rain. Like a soda fizz of bubbles. And suddenly she wasn’t cold at all. Tess looked down and saw that the lake didn’t seem to have a bottom. It had another surface—a shimmering ripple of light. She splashed right through it and was thrown nearly into the air. Tess felt arms coming around her shoulders, pulling her out of the warm water. They were skinny but very strong. They belonged to her brother.
Axel helped Tess crawl up onto a muddy bank, slapping her back as she hacked and choked. The water came out of her in great bursts, splashing across the mud, spattering her hands. But they weren’t quite hands anymore. Tess stared down at her own arms, braced against the bank. It was as though she were wearing a long-sleeved, fuzzy black sweater with matching gloves. In place of fingers she had gray-black claws. Tess tried making a fist, and the claws dug into the mud. Yes, they were definitely hers.
“Tess . . . what did you do?”
Tess looked up from her own perplexing paws and took in the sight of her brother. Axel was filthy. His clothes were caked in dirt and torn at the edges, and there were twigs sticking out of his messy, unwashed hair. His eyes were rimmed with red, and their father’s replica knight-of-the-realm sword was hanging limp in his fist. “What did you do?” he said again. Axel looked distraught, but Tess felt nothing other than joy to see him. She jumped up at the kid and they both collapsed into a hug. She had to be careful not to crush him though. Because he was just a little boy, and Tess was a black bear.
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