The Bear is Born

by Remy Morgeson

  In less than an instant, Asbjorn was back to his feet, casting the broken weapon aside as he pulled his father’s axe from where it hung on his back. The giant bear lurched after him still on its hind feet, leaning on the rocky rim as it swiped at the man with its claws. Asbjorn hacked at its reaching forelegs with his swinging blade, the sharp steel leaving deep wounds where it bit in, but still the beast came for him. With another bellow, it roared at the Northman, its searing eyes flaring as its steaming breath blew around him. The monster reared itself up even higher, bringing all of its enormous weight down to collapse the ledge in a shower of stone and rubble. As the rocks cascaded down, Asbjorn fell with them, tumbling over the beast’s back to crash to the cave floor behind it. He scrambled to his feet to immediately carve into the bear’s backside and around to its right flank, the axe seeming to only anger it even more as it whipped its head about to shake away the dusty debris.

  The big Northerner screamed in vengeance as he continued to furiously chop at the monster, the grievous injuries left by his hewing arms still doing little to slow it down. It slammed its weight into him to pin the youth between its side and the cave wall, crushing the breath from his lungs with its massive girth. Again and again the beast smashed into his body, until the cave quaked and rocks from the ceiling above were crumbling on top of the two. In a showing of desperation, the winded Asbjorn dropped to the floor just as it tried to ram into him once more, crawling through its legs to sprint to the far side of the rumbling cavern. The great devil bear came around to face the young man yet again, its coat soaked red as it eyes still burned for his blood.

  “Come on, you demon!” he bellowed in defiance, the scarlet spittle flying from his lips. “Come and finish it, then!”

  As the wild Northman shouted, the bear swayed on its tree trunk like legs, the creature’s heaving breaths coming labored and heavy now. Its side and haunches were marked with deep lacerations that had slashed down to the bone, its back peppered with the broken off shafts of no less than a dozen arrows. It pulled in great lungs full of air and let out a ferocious roar that nearly crumpled the man to his knees, throwing itself into a vicious charge that came straight at him.

  Asbjorn could feel the stone shudder beneath his feet as the monster barreled in, its great mass picking up more and more speed as it rushed towards him. It looked to plow headlong into him for certain, battering him to the ground and then finally devouring whatever broken bits remained, but only if it could get a hold of him. At the last possible moment, Asbjorn flung himself aside, the devil bear ramming full speed into the unforgiving rock wall just behind him. The earth itself moved under the force the beast’s titanic impact, the shock of the collision causing the heavy ceiling to at last completely give and come plummeting down. Asbjorn ran for the tunnel that led out to the black grove as tons of stone dropped from above, the bear and any sense of his whereabouts lost within a cloud of choking dust. He managed to throw himself prone just as he passed through the mouth of the exit and into the safety of the tunnel, the sound of the last few rocks toppling down and settling into place coming to his ears as he covered his head.

  The dust slowly cleared as Asbjorn pulled himself up on wobbly legs, the fine particles that swirled around him clinging to his sweat. Gradually, the red glow that had heralded the bear’s coming died away, replaced once more by the crystal moonlight that crept in from outside. He leaned his back wearily against the cool stone as he reclaimed the breath that had been crushed from his lungs, resting on the handle of the axe as he stared at the fallen rocks that had buried the beast within its own den. It was a bittersweet victory for the Northman not to have struck the killing blow with his own hand, but it was a victory none the less, and he would take it.

  “For you, father,” exhaled Asbjorn, clutching the axe. “For all of you.”

  The exhausted man turned to make his way out when the fallen stones exploded around him, the great bear lunging after him with gaping jaws and its one free claw that was not still pinned down. It took a vicious gash from his left side with its raking nails to send him to the ground, but it was not over for the Northman just yet. With a frenzied cry, Asbjorn launched himself with reckless abandoned at the trapped monster, cracking the thing across the face with the blunt hammerhead of his axe. He brought the weapon around again in an arcing blow to torque all of his strength behind the strike, nearly bludgeoning the beast unconscious as the steel connected once more. It made one final effort to get to grips with the man, but he kicked the thing’s listless foreleg aside, bringing the axe high over his head. For just an instant, Asbjorn gave pause to stare into demon’s blazing eyes, the same rage that coursed through him reflected in kind within those fiery orbs. And then, with a fall of his blade, the devil bear was at last slain, a wafting of steam drifting up from where his axe had embedded itself.

  The young Northerner let out an exhausted breath as he nearly collapsed on top of the fallen beast, the once searing light now gone from its sockets. It was finally done after so many long years, and for the first time in a long time, his heart was still. As Asbjorn stood, he gripped the handle of the axe to help steady himself, using his foot to pry the blade free from where it had cleaved into the side of the creature’s skull. With the flip of his wrist, he went to flick away the glistening fluid that clung to the cold steel as he yanked the weapon loose but found that the scarlet was stuck fast to the blade. The beast’s viscous blood had stained the once vibrant axe head a dark crimson, the same steam that had risen from the killing stroke lingering around the steel. As the solemn Northman’s fingers tightened around the handle, his forehead bowed against the blade.

  “It’s finished,” he said with a long exhale. “This time, it’s finally finished.”

  But there was still one more thing for him to do before all was said and done. In the silence of the darkened cave, Asbjorn’s gaze fell back upon the bear.

  VII

  It had been nearly two weeks in the village of Brekka since Asbjorn’s brawl in the streets, the huntsmen steadily arriving with their kills and the men of the surrounding land bringing in their trade goods to barter for the oncoming winter. Not a single man or woman had seen a trace of the big youth since the jarl had once again secured his release from the town jail, not that any of them were actually going out of their way to look for him of course, save for one.

  Magdalena sat before a warming fire in her father’s home, running an elegant comb of varnished cedar through her golden hair. She stared quietly into the skipping flames with a sullen expression, her thoughts firmly centered on the missing Asbjorn. She had tried to visit him several times over the past days out at his home on the outskirts of town, sneaking away when her father and mother had been too preoccupied with their duties of overseeing Brekka to notice her leaving. But each time that she had ventured out to the small longhouse, she had found it quiet and empty, as if the big man had just gathered up a few unnoticed items to depart without a word. Magdalena had tried to speak with her father about her growing concern for the absent Asbjorn, but each time the jarl had simply said that perhaps it was better off this way, letting the restless youth seek whatever peace he could find elsewhere. But Magdalena had the stubbornness of her mother running through her veins, being far from the type to merely forget or abandoned those that she cared about, especially one that she had never realized just how deep her feelings ran for, until now.

  As she sat before the hearth, Magdalena wished that she could see the young man just once more, if for nothing else then at least to tell him goodbye before he was to go. There were so many things that she wanted to say to him now that he was no longer here, words that she had kept locked away deep within her heart, even from herself. But now it seemed the chance to say all that had remained buried and unspoken would never come, the feelings only a lingering reminder of something that might have been. As the young lady gazed into the flames, she let out a long sigh, still lost in the glowing fire.

  “What troubles yo
u, my daughter?” asked a tender voice from just behind her, Magdalena’s mother coming into the room. She was an elegant woman of poise and almost statuesque beauty, the resemblance between her and her daughter more than apparent to any of the people of Brekka. Where the jarl could many times come off as gruff and hard, she was very much the softness that stood behind him, a calming word to help sooth away any of the village’s woes.

  “I’m sorry, mother,” Magdalena answered after a moment. “I didn’t hear you come in. I was just, thinking.”

  “About him again I expect,” her mother said, coming to sit next to the girl and take the comb in her own hand.

  “Yes,” nodded Magdalena. “I’m worried where he might be, it’s not like him to be away this long without at least returning for a short time. It doesn’t look like he’s been back home for days.”

  “I thought that you might have gone out there a few times,” her mother smiled, running the smooth cedar through Magdalena’s honey locks. “You always ran after him, ever since you were children, helping to get him out of trouble. Why should that change now?”

  “Forgive me, mother,” Magdalena responded, “but I just have to know where he is. I can’t believe he’d just go and not come back like that. Do you think that I should just forget about him like father says, even if it hurts?”

  “Well that all depends, now doesn’t it, my dear,” her mother answered.

  “Depends on what, mother?” she asked.

  “It depends on whether you believe he’ll come back or not,” the woman said, gathering up her daughter’s hair to work it into a long braid. “Asbjorn has always had a great unease in his spirit, you know, ever since the day his father was killed, like a storm that refuses to settle. Perhaps whatever he’s doing is his way of trying to quiet that storm. I doubt his leaving has anything to do with how he may feel about you, though. Rather it might just be something he has to do for himself. I remember that your father was a lot like Asbjorn when he was younger,” she went on, “always disappearing to run off on some adventure. There were times when I wondered if he ever really cared for me at all, but he did, more than I ever realized. What you have to ask of yourself now is, do you feel that Asbjorn is worth waiting for, or is it time to let him go?”

  There was a long silence before Magdalena let a reply slip from her lips, small tears welling up in the corners of her blue eyes. She gazed through the front window that was cracked open just enough to let the cool air from outside creep in, wishing that she would see him walking towards her home on the opposite side. Her mother continued to weave the young lady’s thick hair together, already knowing the answer her daughter was about to give.

  “I know he is,” Magdalena finally said, wiping her eyes.

  “Then you must let that thought be your guide, my dear,” her mother replied softly, tying off the end of the braid. “And never give up hope.”

  The two embraced one another where they sat for a long moment after that, the woman’s comforting arms wrapped around her daughter in front of the warming hearth. She knew all too well how the young lady felt, but also knew that these were not her decisions to make. In the end, Magdalena’s heart was her own and she must respect that, come whatever her daughter may want out of life.

  As Magdalena’s mother smiled at her, the two of them suddenly heard a loud banging against their door, the grumbling Manus stomping from his private chamber at the back of the house to investigate the incessant pounding. He mumbled annoyed curses under his breath about how he was far too busy to deal with any more trade or merchant disputes today, gruffly remarking that this better be important or someone was going to hear about it. He threw back the heavy door to find a wide-eyed young man from the village standing before him, the stunned youth’s hand raised in mid knock, about to fall again.

  “What is it this time?!” Manus barked out. “I have pressing things to attend to!”

  “I’m, I’m sorry to disturb you, jarl,” the young man almost whimpered. “But coming into the village, there’s something you should see.”

  “Fine,” the jarl huffed. “Magda, Magdalena, I’ll return shortly.”

  “To beg your pardon, sir,” the youth interjected, “but I think that it might be something they wish to see as well.”

  With puzzled expressions on their faces, mother and daughter just glanced toward one another, looking back to the annoyed jarl as the man nodded a hasty approval. It was not uncommon for Magda to accompany her husband on official matters from time to time, but the request of Magdalena’s presence as well was quite a rarity. The three of them threw light furs on over their shoulders to help guard against the midday cold, following the nervous messenger as he led the way.

  As the jarl and his family trailed behind the youth, they could all see a large crowd approaching from the direction of the village square, the men and woman gathered around a broad figure that marched at the center. The people gave the man a wide birth as they walked cautiously by his side, almost as if they were terrified to pass within arm’s reach of him. In his hand, he carried a heavy axe whose blade shown a deep red, and around his muscular frame was draped the blackened pelt of a massive bear, the head hanging from his shoulder. He looked like a conquering warrior coming in from a great battle, the masses parting in his wake as he strode through their number. He came before Jarl Manus and the two stately women that stood at the village leader’s side, his chestnut eyes looking into those of Magdalena and then to her father. He pulled the bear’s pelt off to show it to the man that stood speechless in front of him, presenting the dead beast’s skin so that the whole of the village might see.

  “You all told me that the devil was only a myth, jarl,” he said, “but I saw it take my father from me so many years ago. I looked into its eyes of fire when I was only a boy and I was afraid, but then it found me again and this time I did not look away. I have finally slain the demon beast of the northern forest. The bear is dead, jarl, and I have taken its head with my own hands. The hunt is finally over.”

  And with those words, Asbjorn was home.

  VIII

  An ocean of stars churned and roiled in the heights of the obsidian chamber, the walls of black glass reflecting the movements of the planetary bodies and the celestial heavens above. The massive room was like an expansive void that rose ever upwards, a portion of the infinite universe contained within its smooth confines. Galaxies spiraled in the deep blackness, while the trails of streaking comets cut through the cosmos, their tails of blazing gasses crisscrossing the sky. Suddenly, the scattered stars flared bright, coalescing together to form the constellation and the image of the great Ursa that hung in the northern sky. Below, the polished iron doors of the chamber swung open, a grizzled man in black steel and trailing cloak sweeping past the similarly clad sentries that stood in silent watch. Their eyes did not dare follow him as he entered, the guards simply remaining stoic and unmoving at their posts.

  General Zantz strode down the center of the lengthy chamber, the golden trim of his ebon armor shining in the reflected starlight from above. A forged broadsword hung from his left hip, a helm in the image of a leering death’s head carried under his arm. He walked confidently along the path of lush indigo that stretched from the entryway, following it to a great throne of bronze that sat upon a raised dais. The seat seemed as if it had been twisted and pulled from a metallic liquid, the tarnished metal flowing up into a spire that resembled outstretch claws. Upon the dreadful chair rested a solitary figure in the shape of a man, the being’s body looking to be made of star flecked night that swirled like the heavens above. It was draped in violet satin, with two horns cresting from its brow to follow the curve of its head. Its visage was a featureless hole in space, save for two golden orbs that burned where eyes should be, watching General Zantz approach.

  “You summoned me, Lord Xiphactinas?” the general said, stopping and bowing his head before the great throne.

  “Yes, Zantz,” responded the figure that sat upon the br
onze. “Those that dwell beyond the stars have spoken to me again, and they send a grave forewarning.”

  “How may I be of service to you, my lord?”

  “Look above, Zantz,” answered Xiphactinas, motioning with a hand whose fingers ended in dagger like tips. “And tell me what you see.”

  “I see the heavens as always, lord,” Zantz replied, “and the image of a great beast.”

  “It is the great bear of the north, general,” whispered the star flecked being. “And I have been told that one of his kin shall come to strike me down. This cannot be allowed to stand, Zantz. I will not be destroyed by the likes of such savage filth.”

  “Command me as to what I must do my, lord,” the general said, “and it shall be so.”

  “I charge you with this, Zantz,” spoke Xiphactinas. “You are to take two companies of my black steeled warriors to the lands at the top of the world, over the cutting mountains that separate those chill climes from the rest of civilization. You are to put every man, woman, and child of that region under your blade, leaving none alive to draw so much as half a breath once you have finished. But this Son of the Bear is not to be killed, general. Bring him back to me in chains, broken in both will and spirit.”