The Girl Who Speaks Bear

by Sophie Anderson

  I charge through the forest, crashing through low branches. With every blundering bound, I grow accustomed to the feel of my legs, and soon all four of my paws are drumming the earth in a steady rhythm. My claws sink deep into the ground, and the muscles in my legs ripple and shake.

  Birds fly from my racket, and small animals sprint away from me. I feel the wind in my fur, smell heady sap and sour fear in the air. Though the forest is dark and full of shadows, I see everything. The night is so much clearer than it was with human eyes.

  I feel huge and powerful on the outside but tiny and weak on the inside. I want to go home, to Mamochka. I want her to hold me and tell me we belong together—no matter what I look like. I wish she’d done that when I first grew bear legs. I wonder if she’ll be able to do it now.

  Trees crowd around me, but I keep running, faster and faster, until I can’t see the moon or the stars and I’m not sure I’m heading south anymore. Panic crashes through me as I realize I don’t know where I am. I can’t hear, or smell, the river. I’m far from any trail, and I’ve lost all sense of direction.

  I slow down and collapse in a small clearing, my chest heaving with despair. A tiny stream trickles alongside me and I lap up the cool water. A groan rises in my throat at the sight of my long, pink tongue and the reflection of my huge, furry face. Even if I could find my way home, would Mamochka recognize me like this?

  Nobody could possibly know it’s me inside this body. Apart from maybe Mousetrap. Mousetrap. Why didn’t I go to find him first? And Elena and Valentyna and their house with chicken legs. Maybe they could help. I rise to my feet, close my eyes, and lift my head high, searching for their scent.

  My nose twitches at a rich, sweet smell, and before I know what I’m doing, my snout is buried in a patch of young leaves. Tiny early strawberries are hidden beneath them, and I snuffle along, gathering them into my mouth. It’s been so long since I’ve eaten, and they’re so juicy and delicious; all I can think about is finding more.

  Clink! My front claws tap something hard. I sniff and scrape at it, trying to work out what it is. It goes on and on, smooth and cold beneath a tangle of brambles. It’s like polished marble or … tiles. It’s the remains of a floor. I sit and look around.

  Behind the trees are crumbling walls, covered in vines and creepers. There’s a thin slice of curved roof, balanced between stone pillars. The star-filled sky shines through gaps where other parts of the roof have caved in. This is the castle from Anatoly’s stories.

  It’s where the Bear Tsar and Bear Tsarina lived with their son—my father—before they were turned into bears. Maybe it was a grand castle once, with rainbow walls and a shining golden domed roof, but now it’s in ruins. Both the castle and the humans who lived here once have been swallowed by the forest. Leaves rustle above me and I close my eyes. I feel like the forest is swallowing me too, threatening to take away everything that’s human about me, leaving only a lost bear. I sink to the ground, feeling as broken and crumbled as the castle around me.

  Then a familiar scent shivers up my nose: old rain and leaf litter, with the edge of something rotten. My ears prick up, but apart from the whispering stream, it’s eerily quiet. The air is tense, like all the creatures of the forest are holding their breath, waiting for something to happen.

  A tingling sense of danger rushes along my spine. Then a howl cuts through the silence. My heart stops. Another howl rises. Then another. My ears turn to track them all. Wolves, at least four of them, surround me. Goose bumps rise like ant bites and my fur stands on end.

  I roll my huge shoulders and remind myself I’m a bear. Not even a pack of wolves would attack a bear. Would they?

  A white wolf steps out from behind a tree and flashes his teeth. He’s not as big as Ivan, but he’s more muscular and there’s a coldness in his blue eyes that chills the air. “You smell weak. Like prey.” He licks his fangs and prowls forward.

  “I’m not weak,” I roar as loud as I can, and rise onto my back paws. But I wobble and stumble backward. The white wolf wastes no time—he leaps, lunging for my neck with open jaws. I try to block him, but he slams into me with such force that I fall to the ground, and his teeth sink into my shoulder.

  More wolves dart from the shadows and bite at my legs and side. The pain unleashes a great rush of anger. I roll over and swipe at the wolves with my claws. Yelps and snarls split the air, and I press my ears tight against my head to muffle the sounds.

  I struggle to my feet. Two of the wolves release their grip, only to jump straight back up and bite a different part of me. And the white wolf’s teeth hold firm. He whips his head back and forth, tearing at my flesh, and I roar until my throat is sore. But his teeth only dig in deeper.

  Dark spots cloud my vision and I gasp for air. Jaws clamp onto my neck, back, and legs, and scores of teeth pierce my skin. Blood pounds inside my skull and I sink to the floor, overwhelmed by the weight and power of the wolf pack. Pain jolts through me, and my shoulder—still stuck in the jaws of the white wolf—throbs endlessly.

  With all my strength I try to stand, but I’m trapped beneath the snarling, writhing wolves. I try to roar, but nothing more than a weak groan trembles from my lips, and my heart slows to a dull thud.

  Frustration storms through me. I want to go home. My mind fills with thoughts of Mamochka mixing medicines, Mousetrap pattering beneath the floorboards, Anatoly sitting by the fire, and Sasha gliding to the village on his blades like a swallow in flight.

  My heart beats stronger. I heave myself up, then stagger across the clearing. Wolves dangle from me, hanging on with their teeth and claws. I slam my body into tree after tree, squashing the wolves against thick trunks and spearing them with sharp branches. One by one, they yelp and fall and cower below me. But the white wolf holds on.

  “Let her go.” A deep snarl silences the wolf pack. The white wolf stops still but keeps his grip on my shoulder. His hot breath makes my wound sting.

  I turn to the snarling voice and recognize Ivan’s golden eyes and his scent that is edged with something rotten. He glares at the white wolf; his eyes are scorching embers.

  Finally, the white wolf releases my shoulder and licks his teeth. “What do you want, Ivan?”

  Ivan steps closer to the white wolf and looks down on him. “Leave her be.”

  “Why?” The white wolf tilts his head.

  I back away from the wolves. None of them try to stop me. They’re all staring up at Ivan and the white wolf, their heads lowered and ears flat.

  “Because I told you to,” Ivan snarls.

  “You aren’t leader of this pack anymore. You abandoned us.” The white wolf looks around at the other wolves as if for support, and a few of them nod and growl in agreement.

  Ivan raises his hackles. He stands head and shoulders above the white wolf. “I’ll lead this pack again, once I’ve proven my strength.”

  “You’re old,” the white wolf scoffs. “Your time as leader has passed. But you could still be a member of this pack. If you weren’t so proud—”

  “I’m not old,” Ivan barks. “And I’ll only return as pack leader.” His eyes flash in the darkness.

  The white wolf lets loose a blood-chilling, howling laugh. “You let a bear cub take your claw, and with it you lost our respect.”

  “True.” Ivan nods solemnly. “But I know how to prove I’m strong enough to lead again.” He glances back toward me. “That bear is the cub who took my claw. She returned to the forest two nights ago. I’ve been tracking her, and I’ve learned she’s no ordinary bear.”

  The white wolf stares at me with his cold blue eyes. “She smells like an ordinary bear. And tastes like an ordinary bear.” He licks his lips and sneers. The puncture marks he left on my shoulder sting like fire.

  “I saw her pull an elk from beneath the ice of the Silver Stream and ride with it on a floe along rushing meltwater channels. From the shadows, I watched her weasel tear through this very pack, and I heard the roar from her chest that scared
you away.”

  The white wolf flinches at Ivan’s words, and the pack dip their heads in shame.

  “I watched her stare into the skulls of the Yaga’s bone fence and ride in their house with chicken legs. But more important than all that …” Ivan pauses and lifts his head high, enjoying being the center of attention. “I watched her go to the high cave and turn from a human into a bear.”

  The wolf pack erupts into a chorus of whispers. My ears swivel as I try to pick out their words.

  “She has the curse,” a sandy-colored wolf growls. “The tree’s curse.”

  “She must be descended from the Bear Tsarina.” A small wolf with thick gray fur nods knowingly. “Has she come to face Smey?”

  My fur lifts. I’m scared of the wolves and what they might do; my wounds sting and I want to run home. But I’m also bristling with curiosity to find out what they know about me and the curse.

  The white wolf barks, silencing my thoughts and the mutterings of his pack. “I fail to see how any of this will help you return as pack leader, Ivan.”

  Ivan grins, exposing his long white fangs. “You all know Smey is the most destructive and dangerous thing in this forest.”

  The wolf pack snarls and growls in agreement.

  “He makes the northeast uninhabitable,” an angry black wolf barks.

  “He poisons the air with his sulfurous breath and heats soil into bubbling mud,” the sandy wolf grumbles.

  “And he melts rocks into blazing lava,” the small gray wolf adds.

  “He sends fires through the forest, burning our trees, charring our den,” the sandy wolf complains.

  “He covers our trails with his stinking ash.” The black wolf scowls.

  “Because of his fires, our prey flee the forest, and we go hungry for months on end,” the small gray wolf growls.

  “The time has come to defeat him.” Ivan’s voice rises above the rumblings of the pack. “This bear returning to the forest is a sign. I’ll go with her, to break her curse. We’ll defeat Smey together. This will prove my strength, and when I return, I will be leader.”

  My ears lift at the mention of breaking my curse. I don’t understand what Smey has to do with it—but breaking the curse would mean becoming human again. Completely human. I could go home and not worry about the pull of the forest or turning into a bear ever again. I could go back to the village and fit in, like everybody else.

  “Smey can’t be defeated.” The white wolf snorts. “And wolves do not fight with bears. You’ve lost your mind, Old Ivan.”

  Ivan’s eyes burn with determination. “We will fight Smey. We will triumph. Then I will return, as pack leader.”

  “If you defeat Smey, and if you return, I’ll bow to you as pack leader.” The white wolf nods to the other wolves and they disappear into the shadows, silent and speedy as moths on a breeze.

  I glance around, wondering if I could disappear into the shadows too, but the desire to go home human keeps me rooted to the spot.

  Ivan turns to me and nods a greeting. “I saved you from being torn apart.”

  “I was doing fine on my own.”

  “You owe me thanks.” Ivan tilts his head, and a pang of guilt flashes through me. The white wolf did only release my shoulder when Ivan arrived. I open my mouth to thank Ivan, but he speaks again before I get a chance.

  “I’ve proven my strength to you and helped you in a time of need. In return, you’ll allow me to fight Smey with you.”

  “Why would I fight Smey?” I ask, still confused about what Smey has to do with my curse.

  “Because Smey guards the tree that cursed your family to be bears. If we defeat him, you can ask the tree to turn you human again.”

  I stare at Ivan, unsure what to say or do. I don’t know anything about fire dragons. Questions swirl in my mind … along with a tiny, distant scream. My ears swivel to the sound. A familiar squeal rises into a screech, and Blakiston the fish owl swoops through the trees with Mousetrap riding on his back.

  Blakiston circles around the clearing, Mousetrap whooping and yelling, his teeth flashing like tiny stars. Then Blakiston lands on a branch, and Mousetrap glares down at me. “Where is my human girl and why do you have her necklace?” he demands.

  For the first time since I changed into a bear, I feel something nestled in the fur at the base of my neck. I lower my chin and make out the ice-blue arrowhead glinting through the darkness. “It’s me, Yanka.” I look up at Mousetrap, hoping he’ll believe me. “I turned into a bear.”

  “Oh, I see,” Mousetrap replies. “That explains the necklace. It was impolite of you to leave me with the Yaga girl, but we’ll have to discuss that later.” Mousetrap jumps onto the branch and flows down the tree until he lands on my back. “We’ve been looking for you everywhere. It’s your friend—the human boy …”

  “Sasha?” I ask. “What about him?”

  “I think he might be dead.”

  Blakiston flies ahead, pale and silent as mist in the moonlight. I race after him, the need to find Sasha a fire in my paws. Finally, my body feels like my own, and I speed through the forest, wanting only to see Sasha alive and well.

  I can’t hear Ivan, but the smell of him lingers, even after we’ve left the clearing far behind, so I assume he’s following, silently running through the shadows alongside us.

  Mousetrap clings to my ear. “The human boy is on the other side of the river. Blakiston and I were looking for you when we found him. He’s lying on the bank, wet, cold, and still. And he smells bad.”

  “What happened to him?” I gasp for air. Sasha came into the forest looking for me and I left him at the Silver Stream. It was half ice and half rushing water, and I abandoned him there, alone. Whatever has happened to him will be my fault.

  “I don’t know.” Mousetrap digs his claws tighter into my ear as I surge forward. “But I smell frostbite on his fingers, and he’s so wet he must have fallen into the river. Perhaps he succumbed to the cold. Or drowned.”

  “Please,” I whisper, “don’t let him be dead. Please, don’t let him be dead.”

  The smell and sound of the river fills the air and I accelerate toward it with no care for how many branches I break on the way. At last, the water appears behind the trees, rushing along, swift and black as the night.

  Mousetrap climbs onto my forehead. “There’s the human boy.” He points with his snout, but I see Sasha already: a small bundle on the opposite bank. Blakiston glides over the river and lands next to him.

  I wade in until the water is up to my chin, then lift my legs and kick frantically, worried my huge body will sink. But I’m surprisingly buoyant, and each sweep of my paws pulls me smoothly across.

  My thick fur protects me from the icy water, but I shudder at the sight of Sasha. He looks so tiny and frail. I scramble onto the bank and rush to him, but Mousetrap was right. He’s cold and lifeless. I nudge Sasha’s bluish face with my nose, then rest my head on his chest, desperate to hear his heartbeat, but there’s nothing.

  I shout for Valentyna, Elena, and the house. Sasha needs help, and I can’t do anything in this body. My voice comes out as an echoing roar, and I growl with frustration. They won’t understand me like this.

  “Mousetrap! Blakiston!” I yell, lifting Sasha into my arms and cradling him like a baby. “Which way is the Yaga house?”

  “Upstream.” Mousetrap runs to Blakiston and jumps onto his back, and they fly off together.

  I stagger after them, along the riverbank, my feet sinking deep into mud. I try to run, but on two paws, all I can manage is an awkward, swaying jog. Moonlight swirls on the river currents. Stars disappear and reappear as they’re swallowed and then spat out again by the waves.

  The scent of Ivan follows me like clinging smoke. I know he’s close, though I can’t see him. I try to huff his scent away, because I don’t want to think about him or his desire to fight Smey. I don’t care about fire dragons or curses anymore. All I want is for Sasha to be well.

  B
ut with every step, Sasha becomes chillingly lighter—as if his soul is floating away. He’s too quiet, too still. A cave opens in my chest and I lower my head to Sasha’s, wanting only to feel his breath.

  A thump shakes the ground. Then another. The Yaga house appears, its brightly lit windows higher than the treetops. My heart pounds with the hope that Valentyna and Elena might be able to help.

  One of the house’s chicken feet steps over a skeletal elm, and its long, clawed toes squish into the mud of the riverbank. The other foot swings down next to it, and the house lurches to the ground with a bump.

  Yuri is still lying on the porch, grumbling something about motion sickness, and Mousetrap waves a greeting from the roof, where he’s perched with Blakiston. “We brought the house to you,” he trills. “The Yaga don’t listen, but the house understands us perfectly.”

  “Thank you.” I stumble toward the porch.

  Then the front door swings open and my jaw drops, because floating next to Valentyna is the ghost of Sasha.

  I stare at the wispy, translucent figure in disbelief. A ghost. A real ghost. One that looks exactly like Sasha. Sasha’s ghost. The world crumbles around me. Sasha can’t be dead. He’s my best friend. Every day we walk together, talk together, climb together, race together … we live our lives together. He can’t be gone.

  I look down at Sasha’s body lying limp in my arms, and my heart clenches so tight I gasp in pain.

  “That’s my body!” Sasha’s ghost exclaims. His eyes widen in shock and I see through them into the house beyond.

  Valentyna steps closer to me and puts a hand on Sasha’s real, frozen cheek. “You’re freshly dead. Maybe it’s not too late.” She holds out her arms to take Sasha’s body. “Quick, pass him to me.”

  “Can you save him?” I lower Sasha’s body into Valentyna’s arms, and my paws tremble as I wait for her response.