The Girl Who Speaks Bear

by Sophie Anderson

  “Tell her that if she listened properly, she might understand.” Mousetrap’s whiskers twitch with annoyance. “And that it’s impolite to disrupt a cod-fishing expedition.”

  “He mostly talks about cod.” I glance up at the Blue Mountain and sigh. My feet are itching to climb it, but Mousetrap is looking from me to the river with shining, eager eyes. I’ve waited my whole life to find the story of my past. I suppose I could wait a few minutes longer—for Mousetrap. “How do you think you’re going to catch a cod?” I ask him. “The ones Anatoly brings us are huge. Big enough to eat you.”

  “After all we’ve been through, you doubt my cod-fishing skills?” Mousetrap huffs out an offended snort, leaps off the canoe, and sprints toward the water. “Come on, human girl. Bring the boat.”

  I hoist the canoe onto my shoulders and turn to Elena. “Would you like to watch Mousetrap catch a fish?”

  “I’d love to.” Elena lifts a paddle and a five-pronged fishing fork from hooks under the eaves and follows me to the river. “What’s that basket for?” she asks.

  I lower the canoe into the water and peer at the soot-blackened wire basket dangling from a pole at the front of the boat. I remember something Anatoly told me once. “Freshwater cod are attracted to firelight. The basket must be for a small fire.”

  “I can get one.” Elena rushes off and returns with a skull. “From the skeleton store—the skulls and bones of the fence run into it when the house moves.” She lights the candle inside the skull and places the whole thing in the basket. “Will this do? The skull should stop the breeze from blowing the flame out.”

  “It’s perfect.” I nod, trying not to grimace at the eerie, glowing skull.

  “Come on,” Mousetrap shouts from the front of the boat. “I smell cod already.”

  I step into the boat. It sinks low into the water but feels stable. Elena gets in behind me and pushes off from the bank, and we let the current carry us away from the shore.

  Mousetrap’s fur shines like brass as he leans over the edge of the canoe, his head tracking movements in the water.

  “They’re coming,” he purrs, flashing his teeth. “There’s a plump one lying in the skull light right now.”

  “What did he say?” Elena whispers.

  “He sees a fish.” I reach for the fishing fork, but Mousetrap turns and scowls at me.

  “I’ll do the fishing.” He scampers along the narrow pole toward the basket, shrieking louder than I’ve ever heard him.

  Then a bird swoops out of the darkness, its wings as wide as I am tall, snatches Mousetrap up in its long, splayed claws, and disappears into the night.

  Water slops against the side of the boat; my body sways and my thoughts reel. Mousetrap can’t be gone. Not like that. Cold air creeps into my collar and swirls in the space where he always curls up.

  “What …” Elena’s voice trails off.

  I listen to the silent night and finally hear a tiny, distant scream. The noise gets louder until it’s ringing in my ears, then the bird rushes back out of darkness, straight toward us. It’s an owl—the biggest one I’ve ever seen—with tousled ear tufts and bright yellow eyes. It dives in front of the boat and I spot Mousetrap on its back, his head held high and an enormous grin on his face. Relief rushes through me.

  “That one,” Mousetrap yells. He grips the owl’s ear tufts as if steering it, and they bank down out of sight. There’s a splash and another shriek. Then the owl flaps back into view, rises above the boat, and drops a huge cod from its talons. The fish lands at my feet with a wet thud and a chaotic splatter.

  “How many shall we get?” Mousetrap shouts, pulling back on the owl’s ear tufts until it turns around.

  “Amazing!” Elena squeals and claps her hands.

  I look at the fish at my feet. It’s as long as my forearm. “This is plenty,” I call after Mousetrap.

  The owl circles around, effortlessly lifts another fish from the water, then lands on the front of the boat, making the bow dip and bob back up again. Mousetrap jumps down. “This is Blakiston the fish owl,” he says with a flourish. “I told you how I rode on his back for three days and nights. This is the human girl I live with, Yanka, and this is a new friend of ours, Elena. She’s a Yaga girl who lives in a house with chicken legs.”

  “Pleased to meet you both,” Blakiston says in a deep, flowing voice.

  “You too.” I nod. “This is Blakiston,” I explain to Elena.

  “You understand me?” Blakiston swivels his head toward me. “It’s rare to meet a human who can hear the creatures of the forest.”

  “My human girl has learned to listen.” Mousetrap’s tiny chest puffs up with pride, and warmth rushes into my cheeks at Mousetrap calling me “his” human.

  Blakiston tears the cod at his feet in two and nudges half toward Mousetrap. “Aren’t you eating yours?” he says to me, glancing at the other fish in the bottom of the boat.

  “We’ll take this one back for Elena’s mother, Valentyna,” I say, not wanting to offend Blakiston.

  “That would be lovely.” Elena scoops the fish up into her arms. “She could make a fish soup for the next guiding.”

  Blakiston gulps down his share of the cod whole, then turns back to me. “What are you doing so far into the forest?” he asks.

  “I’m going to see my grandmother, the Bear Tsarina.” I smile at my words. I’ve never had a grandmother to visit before. “She’ll be able to tell me about my past, and my legs.” I dip the paddle into the water and begin pulling us toward the shore.

  “What do you want to know about your legs?” Mousetrap mumbles, his mouth full of food.

  “Why they’ve grown like this.” I tap my claws against the floor of the boat, wondering if Mousetrap has even noticed my bear legs. He’s never mentioned them. “And whether I’m meant to be a bear or a human,” I add when Mousetrap doesn’t look up from his fish.

  “You don’t know?” Blakiston stares at me, unblinking.

  I shake my head, and all of a sudden I feel so lost and confused that tears well in my eyes.

  Mousetrap sprints up to my shoulder. “You’re human, human girl,” he squeaks into my ear. But his words only make the tears fall, because they’re not true. I’m half bear and half human, neither one thing nor the other. The paddle slips from my hands.

  Elena reaches out and steadies the paddle before it falls. “Are you all right?” she asks.

  “I will be.” I take a deep breath and carry on paddling. “I just need to find my grandmother. She’ll know what to do.”

  The boat bumps into the riverbank and I step out. But even on solid ground I feel like I’m rolling on waves. I don’t know who or what I am. Elena follows me, cradling Valentyna’s fish, but Blakiston shows no sign of moving, so I drag the boat from the water with him still sitting on the bow.

  “I have some cod left.” Mousetrap leaps back into the boat and runs over to the remains of his meal. “Would you like some, human girl? It would make you feel better.”

  “No thanks.” I sit on the bank next to the boat and wait for Mousetrap to finish eating. Moonlight dances on gentle eddies, and without thinking, I lower my feet into the water and let the fresh, cool currents swirl around my toes.

  Blakiston scratches an ear tuft with his claws. “I don’t understand how your grandmother will know what you’re meant to be.”

  “Because she cared for me when I was a cub. Or a baby.” I frown, because I’m not sure which I was. “And because she’s like me. She was a human who turned into a bear.” A story swims into my mind—a story Anatoly told me years ago—that begins before the Bear Tsarina was a bear. When she was a girl, just like me, who felt she didn’t fit.

  Elena sits next to me and rests a hand on my arm. Mousetrap snaps a fish bone, leans back against Blakiston’s thick feathery legs, and picks his teeth with it. And I tell the tale, as Anatoly told it to me, starting with “Once upon a time …”

  Once upon a time, there was a girl named Anya, who
felt like a goose among swans in her village. But when she wandered into the forest, Anya swelled with such happiness that she rose onto her toes and danced.

  She spun to the melodies of the wind, twirled to the harmonies of the rain, and bounced to the beat of the woodpecker’s beak. Anya spent every spare moment she could in the forest, and by the time she had grown into a young woman, she felt she didn’t need the company of people at all. At least she felt that way until she met the woodsman, Dmitry.

  He smiled at her. She smiled at him. And they danced together through long summer days and cold winter nights until they fell in love.

  They moved into a home at the edge of the forest and made it as comfortable as a feather-down nest. And when a baby boy arrived, all three of them danced together under the towering pines at the bottom of their garden.

  Everything was perfect.

  Until Dmitry brought strange gifts from the forest: seeds that grew faster than was natural, and jewels that shone brighter than rainbows. When Anya asked Dmitry where he’d found these things, he only smiled and kissed her cheeks.

  Dmitry’s secret weighed heavily on Anya. She stomped and flapped around their home, frustrated that Dmitry would not tell her the truth.

  Then one day Dmitry took Anya and their son to a castle with a golden domed roof, hidden deep in the forest. “This is our new home.” Dmitry beamed with pride.

  Anya furrowed her brow and asked how this was possible, but Dmitry took her by the hands and spun her around until she felt the pulse of the forest, and her question drifted away.

  Dmitry danced with Anya under the golden domed roof, with the song of the wind and the chirp of the birds and a chorus of frogs around them. And they were happy, for a while, living in their castle deep in the forest.

  But all too soon, Dmitry came home pale and trembling, and everything changed. Dmitry would not tell Anya what had happened and fell asleep with his head on her lap. Anya burned with annoyance until she too fell asleep. And when they awoke, they were bears.

  “How is this possible?” Anya stared at her huge paws with wide eyes.

  Dmitry opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Guilt and remorse choked him.

  “Tell me,” roared Anya. “You have kept secrets from me for too long.”

  “This is all my fault,” Dmitry whispered. “We’ve been cursed because of my greed.”

  Anya frowned as she tried to remember what she’d heard about curses. “I believe with curses,” she said finally, “there’s always a choice.” And she rose onto her back paws and began to dance. “Dance with me.” She beckoned Dmitry and their son. “And maybe we’ll remember what it is to be human.”

  But the sounds and scents of the forest drifted through the open windows, and Anya, Dmitry, and their son were now bears. Their snouts twitched, and their ears swiveled, and they found themselves dancing out of the castle and into the forest. They spun to the melodies of the birds, twirled to the harmonies of the bees, and bounced to the beat of the snow hare’s feet.

  Anya felt the pulse of the forest stronger than ever before, and she danced deeper and deeper into it, through bubbling streams of silver fish, up mountains tingling with snow, and into caves that smelled of earth and autumn.

  For a while Dmitry and their son danced with her, but as the seasons passed, they danced a different way, and Anya found herself in a high cave alone. But with the forest and its music spread out before her, she felt part of a beautiful world.

  I finish the story, longing to roam deep in the forest, to find all the wonders of my grandmother’s world. My world. The forest was my home once too. The sky is lightening; dawn is coming. Snow drips and birds fidget in the branches above.

  Mousetrap is asleep against Blakiston’s legs, a fish bone in his arms and his belly bulging. Blakiston’s head is resting on his soft, feathered chest, and his eyes are closed.

  My gaze drifts to the Blue Mountain, and at that moment the sun peeps above the treetops and throws a brilliant shaft of glowing sunlight onto its peak. I rise to my feet, the urge to find my grandmother ballooning inside me. The hope that she will know the answers to my questions is like a breeze and a storm all at once, lifting me, tugging me, spinning me around.

  “I need to go to the bear cave,” I whisper to Elena, not wanting to wake the others.

  “What, now?” Elena asks. “You haven’t slept all night or had breakfast—”

  “I’m not tired or hungry.” My feet are burning, the urge to leave now overwhelming. “Would you do me a favor?”

  “Of course.”

  “Take care of Yuri? His wounds need to heal and—” I hesitate, bracing myself for what I’m about to say. “Can you take care of Mousetrap too?” I rush the words out before I can change my mind.

  Elena nods, although her eyes are tight with concern. “You know, we could all go together. My house could take us—”

  I shake my head. “This is something I have to do on my own.” I look into Elena’s eyes, hoping she’ll understand, because I can’t find the right words. I need to figure out who I am. And I love Mousetrap, but he can’t help me with this. He only sees me as the human girl he lives with, and that’s not what I am anymore.

  “All right.” Elena throws her arms around me. They barely reach halfway and tears well in my eyes as I think of Mamochka’s hugs, but I blink them away. “I’ll take Mousetrap to the house.” Elena releases me and takes a step back. “But if you change your mind or need anything, just shout. The house senses everything in the forest for miles around.”

  “Thank you.” I force a smile, and despite the doubts crowding in around me, I turn and walk away.

  The peak of the Blue Mountain dips out of sight behind the canopy. But I know which way to go. I feel it as a pull in my chest and a tingle in my toes. With each step, excitement rises in me like a swarm of bees.

  Everything sparkles in the morning light. Dew glistens on spiderwebs, meltwater glazes rough bark, and new buds gleam like amber beads on the tips of branches. Spring is coming, everything is changing, and the forest feels fresh and new.

  When the mountain appears again, above a young, swaying willow, I scan its face for signs of the bear cave. The Bear Tsarina. Until now she’s existed only in stories and dreams, and memories so old they feel like imaginings. But she’s real, and close, and my grandmother. She’ll know the truth of my past and where my future lies.

  I wonder how she feels, waking after her long winter sleep. Perhaps it’s a nice feeling, like waking in a sun-warmed bed. Or maybe it will leave her thickheaded and bad-tempered, like when you’re pulled from slumber too soon. She’ll be hungry after months of not eating, and Anatoly told me at this time of year bears want meat. He always said to be wary of bears in spring. What if she doesn’t remember me? Or what if she’s not there at all?

  My nerves crackle as I draw close to the mountain, and by the time I reach the base of it, I’m so charged with electricity I feel like I’m glowing. I gaze up at the peak, which is hidden by mist, and the fur on the back of my legs lifts.

  “Yanka! Yanka the Bear!” a bullfinch calls, and I suppress the urge to run. I pick out a rough trail that zigzags its way between the steep rocks and begin the ascent, slowly and carefully. I’m not sure how far away the bear cave is, so I need to pace myself.

  My legs are strong, but they’re heavy, and scrambling uphill is hard work. Tiredness gathers in my muscles and I think of Elena reminding me I didn’t sleep last night or have breakfast today.

  The higher I climb, the colder it gets, so by the time I rise above the tree line, it feels like midwinter instead of spring. But I stop anyway, to rest and look at the view. The sky is clear all the way to a distant, glimmering horizon.

  Far in the northeast, flares of orange light shine through thick black smoke. That must be the Fiery Volcano, where lava streams down jagged rocks and pools into blistering hollows. Where Smey the fire dragon lives. The dragon who, I know now, killed my parents.

&nbs
p; I squint at the light and smoke until my eyes are sore. Part of me longs to catch a glimpse of a fiery tail or wing. But I don’t see anything, and soon my nose and ears are numb from the cold, so I move on.

  After the next bend, the trail rises steeply. At the top of the slope is a wide, flat ledge. I stare at it, my heart racing like a shrew’s. This place looks, and smells, familiar. A faint breeze drifts toward me, carrying the scents of earth and moss, berries and pine nuts. It’s a smell I remember from long ago, and it makes me feel warm and safe.

  I creep to the top of the slope and peer over the ledge. The sight of the bear cave whips the breath from my mouth. I recognize the shape of its entrance—the arc of rock, worn smooth by the Bear Tsarina’s movements, and the tree roots breaking through on one side, forcing cracks into the glossy stone.

  My feet carry me up and over the ledge—then I stop, a few paces from the entrance, hands trembling. Hopes and fears swirl inside me. I hear the Bear Tsarina breathing—a familiar, deep rumble.

  A pair of eyes flash in the darkness, and my heart stops. The Bear Tsarina huffs out a cloud. A huge, heavy foot pounds onto the rock. Slowly, she walks to me, out into the light, muscles rippling, every movement full of power and grace. Strength radiates from her, and a calm contentedness, as if she knows exactly who she is. And right now, in this moment, I want to be just like her.

  Questions die on my tongue. The Bear Tsarina’s long brown snout reaches out. Her shiny black nose twitches as it sniffs the air between us. She grunts a deep peaceful greeting, then sits beside me.

  The massive mound of her body curves around my back, and I collapse against her. I know the feel of her thick, warm fur. I know the pace of her breath and the sound of her heart beating deep in her chest.

  I slide my fingers through the fur of her neck and burrow into her, like I used to do when I was little. I curl up until I’m a tight ball, surrounded by her huge limbs. She turns and licks my face with her soft wet tongue and I close my eyes. All the years that have passed since I was last here melt away until all that’s left is a faint and distant memory of Mamochka in our house at the edge of the forest, far, far away, and this moment, in which I finally feel like I belong.