The Bear is Born

by Remy Morgeson

  “You know where he’s at,” said a rough, uncouth voice. “Just head to the back, same place as always. He’s beginning to make this like a second home for himself, wouldn’t you say?”

  Booted footsteps began to slowly move towards Asbjorn’s cell, the young man not at all looking forward to the coming conversation in the least. Jarl Manus came into view to stand quietly in the hall outside the barred door, a look of grave disappointment on his creased face. Asbjorn never enjoyed it when the jarl was given cause to look at him in such a manner, as if the older man were a disapproving father about to scold a rebellious son. The big youth did not look up to meet the other’s gaze, instead keeping his head down with his sandy hair hanging in front of his face. After a long silence, Manus finally spoke.

  “I just don’t understand you sometimes,” he softly uttered, shaking his head as his eyes also went to the floor. “I thought that after the last incident we had reached an understanding that something like this was not to happen again. You promised me that you would control that temper of yours, Asbjorn. Was there any truth to that or were they just empty words?”

  The jarl paused for a moment as he waited for a response from the young man that sat before him, unfortunately finding there was none to come. He had seen Asbjorn in here too many times than he cared to remember over the past few months, and he was fast running out of things to tell the village council to secure the other’s release. With a heavy sigh, he looked to where the big youth sat hanging his head, wishing that he had more to say than what he was about to.

  “You know,” he continued with a sympathetic tone, “when I brought you back to the village that day, the day after your father was killed, I felt a strong sense of obligation towards you, but I just don’t think that I can do it anymore, Asbjorn. You’ve become a grown man over the years that I’ve taken care of you, my boy, of age long enough now to stand or fall on your own merit, and I’ve grown very tired of speaking up for you. This was the last time that I could do this for you. It won’t happen again in the future. I just thought you should know that.”

  The jarl continued to stare at the silent Asbjorn, once more waiting for some sort of response, but still there was none that followed.

  “Don’t you have anything to say for yourself,” he asked, “or are you just going to sit there and keep looking miserable?”

  “So why did you then?” Asbjorn asked in a mumbling voice, still not raising his head.

  “Why did I what?” responded Manus.

  “If you’re so tired of it, then why did you speak up for me to the council again?” the other said.

  “Why do you ask questions to which you already know the answer to,” the jarl replied. “It’s the same as last time, and every other time before that. But I’ve told her the same thing that I’ve just said to you, Asbjorn. I won’t do it again, no matter how many times she asks me. Magdalena is my only daughter, and there’s very little that I wouldn’t do for her. But I have a reputation and obligations as the village leader that I just can’t ignore any longer, and seeing that proper justice is served out is one of them.”

  Manus gave a long pause after his last remark. He searched his thoughts carefully for the words that he wished to say next, glancing back at the young Northman that sat caged behind the iron bars. Asbjorn’s head still drooped low between his hunched shoulders, the pair’s eyes yet to meet in the dinginess. The jarl just gave out a solemn sigh in the silent hall, and then went on.

  “I know that you were only defending your father’s honor today,” he said, “and that you desperately want to bring the bear down. But it’s time that you realize that the beast is just not out there, my boy, it’s only a legend, nothing more. Now please let this hunt go, move on with yourself and let your father rest. I must leave you now,” he added with a heavy heart, “and I wish you nothing but luck in whatever you’re searching for, the same as I always have. I only hope that you’ll think hard on my words and bury the past before it buries you. They’ll be in to let you out and collect your things shortly, my boy. I pray that you find your peace and that it treats you well, Asbjorn. Goodbye, son.”

  With that said, the jarl was gone, leaving the young man once again alone in his dank cell. Asbjorn sat motionless on the cot for quite some time, listening to the steady dripping before he finally raised his sagging head.

  He’s right, dammit, the big youth thought, brushing his sandy hair back out of his face. Asbjorn knew that he had wasted a great deal of time pursuing the mythical bear over the years, many of his actions putting Jarl Manus at great odds with the village on more than one occasion. The jarl had stuck his neck out for the young man too many times to be counted now, Asbjorn always promising that things would be different but never seeming to follow through. But he also knew how to do nothing else with his life, his consuming obsession having stolen the last years of his boyhood only to follow him into becoming a man. And then there was her, the jarl’s daughter Magdalena. Out of all the people in Brekka, she had always been the one to watch over him the most, ever since he had been brought back into the village after being found near death in the northern forest. She had stayed by his side then just as she did now, what the young lady saw in him he would never fully understand.

  Eventually, Asbjorn heard the locks of the heavy door click open again, the jailor coming in to escort him out and gather his things that had been brought from the tavern. He dolefully headed home with slumped shoulders and a hanging head, the autumn twilight just beginning to creep across the sky. The young man once again did not glimpse up to meet the looks of the other villagers that he passed, but he could definitely feel the eyes that were cast upon him. He heard the bitterness in their low murmurs and the muffled insults they thought would not make it to his ears but did, the biting slights cutting him deep, more so today than they would have yesterday. Brekka had been his home now for all his life, but still he often felt like an outsider here, more than once considering leaving without so much as a word. He headed up the old trail that would take him to his home just outside the village, grateful to leave the spite filled comments behind. And then, just as he neared the thin tree line, he heard the sweet voice call out.

  “Making trouble again I see,” it said in a soft tone like music on the breeze. “Don’t you ever learn from your mistakes?”

  Asbjorn looked up to see Magdalena standing just off the path, her honey colored hair curled around her fingertips as she waited for him to come by. She gave him a little half smile as she approached, her deep red dress swaying around her supple frame. To Asbjorn she looked like a vision from a dream, but behind her crystal blue eyes, the young man could see the concern that she always carried for him.

  “They started it,” he answered, forcing a slight grin of his own as he awkwardly scratched his head.

  “That’s what you said last time,” replied Magdalena, “and the time before that, and I think the time before that as well. I wish you could get a grip on that temper of yours and learn to let things go. I don’t like seeing you get hurt like this.”

  “I think that Dorn came out a little worse off than I did,” Asbjorn said. “He never was very good at backing up that mouth of his, even with his friends around.”

  “You know that’s not what I mean.”

  “I know,” the young man responded quietly. “But they just…they insulted my father again.”

  “I know they did,” Magdalena said softly, coming to stand close to him. “But you have to learn to just put their words aside and try not to listen to them. My father told me how angry everyone was with you this time. He said that he’s not going to be able to speak up for you in front of the council anymore.”

  “He’s already told me about it,” Asbjorn admitted, “and he’s spoken for me enough as it is. I know that whatever happens in the future is all on my shoulders now, and I can accept that. I’m thinking about just leaving so that no one else has to worry about me or what I might do anymore.”

  “N
ow you’re just being silly,” replied Magdalena, stepping even closer. “Just promise me that from now on you’ll put what they say aside,” she asked, gently brushing his cheek. “And be better than they are.”

  “I’ll try,” the big man nodded, touching her hand. “I promise I’ll try.”

  “Good,” Magdalena replied with a smile. “Now I have to get back before it gets too dark and father notices that I’m gone and judging by the smell you could use a bath before you attract every fly within ten miles. Now go and get cleaned up,” she added, “and I’ll try and come see you tomorrow.”

  As she turned to head back to the village, the young lady gave him a small peck on the same cheek that she had just brushed her touch against, the feeling of her warm lips lingering on his stubbly face for a long instant. As she went, she cast him one last smile over her slim shoulder, her eyes fluttering and staying on him for just a moment, and then she was off for home.

  Asbjorn stood on the wooded path until Magdalena was well out of sight, watching the lovely girl almost dance away as she left. It always seemed to bring the big man’s spirits up whenever he was able to see the enchanting young woman, awakening a feeling in him that he never quite knew how to express. But his mood was a very different thing on this evening, burdened by a weighted melancholy that he couldn’t seem to shake off.

  As the sun fell, the dejected Asbjorn plodded slowly back to his home down the darkening trail, his mind a tangle of thoughts and emotions as he went along. For the most part, he strongly regretted his actions at the tavern earlier this morning, resenting both Dorn and himself for having let what was said get so far under his skin and kindle his anger. Asbjorn was also deeply disappointed that he was again unable to draw out the great bear, returning empty handed after yet another frustrating hunt, having to weather the mocking looks of the other villagers and once more shame his father’s memory. Perhaps he should do what Jarl Manus and Magdalena had urged him to and just let it all go, but deep down he knew that he could never truly put his father to rest without slaying the beast. A large part of him yearned for it all to just be over and done with, but the need for satisfaction ran strong in his veins, and it must be fulfilled.

  As Asbjorn came around a bend in the path, he could just make out the silhouette of his small longhouse on the outskirts of Brekka, a light shining from within that he knew he did not leave burning, and he was in no mood for guests. The big youth pulled the cover from the old woodsman’s axe that he carried over his shoulder, cautiously creeping up to the strangely quiet structure. The longhouse had an odd air about it tonight, as if an unseen dread almost seeped from the rough timbers. The big man carefully peeked through the cracks in the shuttered windows, spying a crackling fire that burned in the hearth and the hunched shadow that moved in the glow of the flames. He quietly went around to the front door and took a deep breath to set himself, bursting through to nearly tear the thing off its hinges. Within, the only intruder to be found was an old woman standing before the table, her shaking hands moving to place down two bowls and a pair of spoons.

  “Welcome home, Asbjorn,” the wrinkled crone greeted him, not seeming to be alarmed or intimidated by his entrance in the slightest. “I’ve been waiting here quite some time for you to get back. You may not realize who I am, boy, but I’ve known what it is that you’ve been seeking for years now. My name is Heggra,” she said, “the witch of the north woods, and we have much to discuss.”

  V

  Asbjorn pulled out a chair to take a seat at the table that Heggra had prepared, a large iron kettle bubbling away from where it hung over the fire that crackled in the hearth. The big man could smell the meat and herbs that simmered away within, his stomach rumbling and his mouth watering at the thought of sustenance. He had not eaten since trying to take breakfast earlier this morning when first returning to the village, being rudely interrupted by the loudmouthed Dorn and his spiteful friends before he could have his fill. To say that Asbjorn was hungry was a gross understatement, the succulent aroma of stewed venison coming to his nose to entice his appetite. But the big youth also did not trust this woman who had so easily made her way into his small home. After all, only a great fool would knowingly drop their guard in a witch’s company.

  Heggra continued to go leisurely about herself as Asbjorn’s eyes followed her every move, ladling out a heaping bowl of rich broth and chunks of meat and vegetables, setting it down before him. The suspicious Northman regarded the dish warily despite his protesting stomach, the old woman taking her own seat across the table. He had heard many stories about Heggra from his fellow villagers when he was younger, the outcast witch of the north woods as she was sometimes called. Many thought of her as nothing more than an eccentric medicine woman, someone to seek out and turn to when the more conventional remedies of Brekka had failed to cure an ailment. But there were others that whispered far darker things about the old woman, that to reach out for her aid was to enter into a pact with the worst kind of demons. Asbjorn had always suspected that the truth lay somewhere in between the two, but at the moment, neither mattered to him all that much. He simply stared at the old crone that had intruded into his house with a steely gaze, curls of steam still coming off the bowl that sat on the table.

  “You should eat,” Heggra said in a screechy voice, “someone like you needs their strength, you know. It’s not poisoned if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

  “Prove it,” Asbjorn responded coldly, pushing the bowl of stew towards her.

  “Oh fine,” she said, picking up a spoon with gnarled fingers. She swallowed down a mouth full of broth along with a hunk of venison, smacking her lips together to help drive her point home.

  “There, does that put you at ease?”

  Asbjorn slowly brought the bowl back towards him after the old woman had tasted of it, smelling it apprehensively as he continued to eye her. Heggra’s sunken face regarded him back with an odd grin, the strange, twisted smile showing the few nubby teeth that still poked through her gums. He had attempted to ignore it, but now that such food was so close the hungry youth could resist it no longer, forsaking a spoon to simply guzzle down the deliciousness within. It had been quite some time since something this good had been cooked within these walls, Asbjorn typically just getting by on dried, salted game and whatever else he could easily prepare. The young man had missed partaking of meals such as this in his home, even if it had been made by a stranger who was said to be a witch. As he finished off the last gulp, he became aware that he had forgotten about his uninvited guest that still sat across from him, embarrassed that he had let his composer slip as it did.

  “There now,” said Heggra, her grin widening. “Isn’t that better?”

  “Yes,” murmured Asbjorn, half red faced as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “Thank you. Now, why are you here?”

  “I’m here to help you, boy,” Answered Heggra. “To help you again, I should say.”

  “What do you mean again?” said Asbjorn, his puzzled brow raised. “We’ve never crossed paths before.”

  “Of course we have,” the old woman said, rising from her chair to pour the big youth a flagon of honey mead, the hemline of her frayed skirt swishing around her shuffling feet. “You were just half-dead at the time, and don’t remember it.”

  “I don’t understand,” he questioned, taking the mug from her tremor wracked hands.

  “Who do you think mended your wounds when they carried you back here all those years ago?” Heggra replied, the smile vanishing from her weathered face. “Certainly not those fools, do you? You were barely hanging on by the time the jarl sent for me, not even I sure that you could be brought back from how far you’d slipped. You were delirious with fever when I arrived that night, babbling incoherently to your father about all manner of things. But there was one that was always consistent,” Heggra went on, “the bear, Asbjorn, you kept speaking about the great devil bear. Giant, you said it was, with eyes of burning fire and claws as sharp a
s steel. They all thought that you had gone mad in that moment, but I knew the truth about what you spoke. That you had seen the beast for yourself, the same as I have.”

  “You’ve seen it too?” Asbjorn asked in a low whisper, leaning in closer to the old woman.

  “Indeed I have, boy,” she nodded, “many years ago.”

  “Tell me what you know about the thing,” he said grimly, an intense look coming to his piercing eyes.

  “More than you do, Northman,” said Heggra. “I know that it’s a creature of fury and death, a vengeful demon of the forests brought about by man’s encroachment. It walks the night in search of those that it might vent its wrath upon, appearing where it will before vanishing back into the surrounding woods. But I also know how to bring the monster to you, if you’re not too afraid to die that is.”

  “Why would you want to help me?” Asbjorn asked warily. “You owe me nothing.”

  “Because it’s you that owes me, boy,” the old woman hissed, her eyes narrowing in the waving firelight to make her look every bit the witch that she was said to be. “And I want the beast dead, the same as you do. I was not always like this, you know,” she continued, a trace of deep sorrow in her tone. “I was once young like you, if you can believe that, young and beautiful. But then that demon happened upon me, and in one terrible instant took everything that I held dear. The monster butchered my husband in our small home that rested within the forests not far from here, and then fell upon me to cost me the child that grew inside my womb. I awoke nearly dead and broken, no one nearby to answer my cries or come to my aid. You would be surprised at the bargains that one is willing to make with the dark things when all has been taken from them, Asbjorn, ready to trade their very soul to cling to life for a moment longer. But not even I can persist forever, and I’ve paid far too great a price and spent too many years chasing vengeance not to see it done. Perhaps we can help each other, what say you, Northman?”