The Boy & The Bear

“What will we find tomorrow?” he asked Seal as they watched the flames dance around the frozen salmon. Steam was beginning to rise from the fish and its bright red coloring was coming back, as if it were returning to life. “A bear or a man?”

Seal only whimpered at the mention of the bear, her blue eyes big and unsure. She would follow wherever he lead them, but Iñuksuk was sure she was questioning his sanity for taking them up the mountain. The bear has already taken two of them, he thought. And injured three others, and myself. And Yaari...

“We must be brave,” he reminded her. “For Yaari.”

Looking up at the mountain however, he wasn’t sure he felt very brave. The peak reached high into the clouds, hiding shyly behind their veil. It was a magnificent mountain. It would be both a mental and physical battle to reach the top. The pine trees along the side stood crookedly from the icy winds that constantly swarmed the mountain, their boughs hung heavy with fresh snow. Smooth cliffs of ice glimmered in the sun, slick walls that would not allow passage. The path they followed was simply a game trail: a winding, worn road in the snow. Luckily, the bear had left a steady trail of blood from its injuries. It wasn’t enough for Iñuksuk to see, but it was enough for the dogs to smell, and follow. It will lead us right to him, and we will settle our score with the beast.

Iñuksuk wondered if his dogs would be strong enough to pull him up the mountain. They had been fourteen when they set out from the village, now they were nine. The bear had killed Iriqtaq and Evergreen with its mighty paws, ripping them open mercilessly. Angayuqaq had half of her face bitten off, Snowyface had lost a leg, and Midnight’s belly was ravaged by claws. Iñuksuk had no other choice but to release them to return to the village. It was their only hope. He couldn’t heal them himself, but if they made it back to the village there would be someone who could help them. If they can make it. It was a slim chance.

Iñuksuk saw Yaari again, red lines drawn across her face as the bear stood before her. It roared, living fire dancing in its good eye. The other was torn open and blind, a crooked scar stretching across its skull. Yaari held her spear in both hands and shouted as it came down. For a brief moment Iñuksuk thought that she had killed it, but then he saw the spear break in half and heard the crunch of her skull in the giant bear’s jaw.

That’s when he had thrown his own spear. It missed badly, jutting out of the snowbank a few feet away from the beast. The bear snorted, Yaari’s blood dripping from its jaws, and charged at him. Its evil eye hungry for blood. Defenseless, Iñuksuk had lifted an arm to shield himself. The bear pummeled him over, and slashed the back of his head, the claws dug in so deep that he believed he must have been decapitated. He lay in the snow bank, waiting for death to come. The killing blow never came though. After an eternity Iñuksuk had opened his eyes to see the dogs attacking the bear. Blood flew freely from jaws and claws until finally the bear backed off, dragging Yaari’s body with it. That is when Iñuksuk had passed out.

He woke up to Seal’s tongue on his face and a throbbing pain in the back of his skull. He reached a hand to the wound, and drew it away thick with blood. A torn piece of Yaari’s kuspuk was the only remaining evidence of her, and it made for a good bandage. He wrapped it around his head and tied it as tight as he dared, grunting in pain as he did. Again, his mind returned to Yaari. He had always called her that instead of Mother. She had insisted, claiming that she would rather be his friend than his mother, and that is exactly what she was. When she weaved, Iñuksuk was with her, gathering the twigs and watching as her hands formed them into shapes. When she hunted, Iñuksuk was with her, carrying her extra arrows, traps, and spears. When she was sick, Iñuksuk stayed at her side in the warmth of the village ena, pressed up against the black icy walls as Chikuk forced her remedies down Yaari’s throat. When the medicine lady was gone, however, Iñuksuk would sing to Yaari. When she fished, Iñuksuk was there too. He strung lines, cleaned fish, and broke the ice every time it froze over their fishing holes. Now she’s gone.

It didn’t make any sense. It didn’t feel right. It didn’t seem real.

Iñuksuk dug his teeth deep into the salmon; the skin was crisp and the flesh melted away in his mouth. He tore the rest into nine small pieces, tossing each dog a bite. Sleep came quickly then; the warmth of the fire and the soft heartbeat of Seal were as soothing as the lullabies Yaari sang to him when he was a baby.

His spirit rose as he slept, flying high on black wings. The fire shrunk in size below him until all that was left was a speck of orange among the white and black landscape. His wings beat heavily as he soared towards the mountain. Up at the top there was another orange glow, the warmth of a man’s fire, but what drew his attention was a small rustling movement in the woods below. Noiselessly, he dove. Branches flew past him, their fingers grabbing greedily. He steered through the trees, talons open as he fell on his prey. The lemming never knew it was in danger until it was a dozen feet in the air and held tight in the eagle’s talons. His wings fluttered as he landed on a branch. With a quick jab of his beak, he bit off half of the lemming, then looked up to let the morsel drop into his throat. There was the mountain peak again, the flickering light calling to him. Something about it sent fear deep into his heart. He swallowed the rest of the lemming and flew off into the dark night again. The taste of blood was sweet.

Iñuksuk awoke at the first sliver of light, his head spinning as he sat up. He tasted blood in his mouth and spat it out, then ate a handful of snow to get rid of the taste. The snow dissolved in his mouth, and in it he tasted the blessing of a new day. The bandage was stuck to his wound, and the bleeding had finally ceased. With great effort, he rolled to his feet and stumbled over to the dogs. He nudged them awake one by one. They yawned and stretched and took their place in line ahead of the sled. Iñuksuk walked the line, tying them in one at a time and kissing each one on the forehead.

Suputi was jumping, eager to go. Whitepaw dug in the snow, searching for something. Iñuksuk had to drag him back to the line. Blue and Tuqiiq wrestled over their favorite spot in line; Iñuksuk gave the spot to Tern. Nukalpiaq and Winter nipped at his hand as he tried to tie them. They must be hungry, he thought. Aurora was strangely calm today; she was the easiest to tie to the line. Lastly, Iñuksuk tied Seal into the lead. She was anxious, he could tell, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. He knew the answer though; she was scared. She licked her chops and pulled gently at the sled, ready to go. “Me too,” said Iñuksuk.

He mounted the sled and shouted the word they had all grown to love and dread. “Mush!”

Seal took it from there, leading the trail up the mountain. The skies were clear today, a blessing to be sure. A blizzard would have meant failure and maybe death. Iñuksuk tried to distract himself with counting the rabbits that littered the woods or watching the birds that circled the mountain, but his mind kept returning to Chikuk’s tales. She had a big mouth and a bigger imagination. As a child, Iñuksuk would spend hours listening to her stories long after the other children had gone to sleep. There was the story of Halik, the great fisherman who landed a whale by himself once during a famine and saved his whole village. There was the story of Emnuliqak, the bravest warrior of all time, who rode an elk into battle against an enemy tribe. He slayed their army single-handedly using only a fish net and a hunting spear.

But there was one story in particular that was on Iñuksuk’s mind today. He could see Chikuk’s huge rosy cheeks moving animatedly with each word and her chubby hands exaggerating everything the characters did. He could still hear her voice as she told it: quiet at times, at others nearly a yell.

“There was once a man named Yaqulpak, and he had a terrible rage. He loved to drink, and when he drank he would become an animal. His body was still a man’s, but his mind went wild. He would fight anyone who came near him, and when he fought he didn’t speak, but rather he growled and drooled. Uyaquq, the best hunter in the village, became so afraid of Yaqulpak that he banned him from the village, sending him to live in the mountain alone. Yaqulpak walked off into the cold night cursing them under his breath. He swore that he would come back and make them regret banishing him. Later that night, when the moon was high in the sky and the lights danced in the heavens, a huge polar bear thundered into the village. He found and killed Uyaquq with a single swipe of his paw, and then left as quickly as he had come.

Now there was one person in the village who loved Yaqulpak, and he loved her as well. Her name was Amlliq, and she had red hair that fell to her ankles. She was skilled with the bow, and she could kill someone as easily as looking at them. When she heard that Yaqulpak had been banished, she took a cooking pan, a skin of sheep’s milk, and the fur of a polar bear, and she set out to find her lover. When the villagers asked what the fur was for she smiled and said “If he has become a bear then so will I!” As for the cooking pan and the sheep’s milk, she told them, “What better way to cool a man’s temper than a hot bowl of akutaq and milk to wash it down with?”

Amlliq travelled to the top of the mountain to find Yaqulpak, but days passed, and then months, and then years, and she never returned. Some say that the bear didn’t even recognize her and that he ate her, washed her down with milk, and had akutaq for dessert. Others say that she never found him, that he had retreated so deep into the mountain that even Amlliq couldn’t track him. Still she searches for him daily, wrapped in her bear furs and holding a bowl of akutaq in hopes that he will follow the smell to her. Still, others say that she has found him and that they live together above the mountain. By day they are human, man and wife. But every night Yaqulpak becomes a bear, and every night Amlliq dons her bear furs and fools him. Then Yaqulpak leaves and hunts, but he always comes home in the morning to the smell of akutaq and to his lover.”

Iñuksuk always loved that story. He couldn’t help but think that Yaqulpak was up on the mountain peak, eating his akutaq and drinking his milk. The bear killed Yaari, he reminded himself. If he found Yaqulpak instead of the bear, he would kill him the same. It made no difference if he were a bear or a man. He was still a monster.

The dogs were tiring; Iñuksuk could feel it in the way they pulled now. They stopped and started, seeking out a good path up the steep incline. The days were short this time of year, and the sun was already low in the sky. Iñuksuk couldn’t bring himself to rest when they were so close, so he pushed his dogs harder. It was another hour before they finally came to flat ground. It was a small clearing with more mountain rising on one side and woods on the other. There was smoke coming from within the woods, and he knew they had arrived.

Iñuksuk stopped and tied his sled to a spruce, untying the dogs and letting them explore. They marked trees and fell to the ground, exhausted from the days journey. He reached in the sled and took out several handfuls of salmon, tossing it to his loyal dogs. Fear flooded Iñuksuk’s stomach as he walked through the trees alone towards the smoke. He held his stone spear in one hand and used the other to push the thick foliage from his face as he pressed through the woods.

It wasn’t long before he came to a clearing and saw the source of the smoke. There was a large tent made from animal furs, gray smoke drifting up lazily from a hole at its peak. Iñuksuk realized how hungry he was when he smelled the sweet scent of salmon. He arrived at the entrance and was about to push open the furs when he heard a voice.

“Come in,” it said. It was a kind voice; an old voice.

Iñuksuk pushed through the furs and found himself in a smoky, homely room. Several dozen wooden masks hung from the far wall, and animal furs covered the ground just as they covered the walls. There must have been a hundred furs in total—elk, moose, caribou, along with many smaller critters—and by the fireplace was the huge white fur of a polar bear. In the center of the room, sitting cross-legged on a woven mat was an old man with a steaming bowl of soup on his lap. His hair was thick and grey, a massive beard and mustache hiding his mouth. Only one eye peeked through his shaggy bangs, the other was white and blind with a crooked scar running through it.

Yaqulpak, thought Iñuksuk. I will show no mercy to him.

“Boy, what are you doing so high on this mountain?” asked the man.

Iñuksuk raised his spear. “I’m hunting a bear,” he said, glaring at him.

A sad look passed over the man’s face. His lone eye looked down at his soup as he stirred it, searching for the right words. “So it was you, the boy with the dogs?”

Iñuksuk said nothing. He only lifted the spear higher, ready to throw it. The man was only a dozen feet away; he couldn’t miss this time.

“What was her name, the woman?” asked the man.

“Yaari,” said Iñuksuk, although he hadn’t meant to. Why am I speaking with him? I should kill him and be on my way. “You killed her.”

“I know you must hate that bear, as does everyone below the mountain,” He stopped and ran a hand through his greasy beard. “But I am the one who hates that bear more than any. It was that bear that killed my friend Uyaquq, a wiser, braver man than I ever was or ever will be. It was that bear that forced me to this place on the mountain, to live alone.” A tear rolled down his cheek as he looked to the white fur on the floor. “It was that bear that took my . . . my sweet Amlliq from me although she didn’t do anything but love me despite myself. I hate that bear. I hate his stench and his unending hunger. I hate his anger and his hatred. I hate him for what he has done to me.

“But that bear is me, and I am that bear, and so I also love him. I love his freedom and strength. I love his pride and the sweet taste of blood when he hunts. I can’t kill the bear without killing myself, and so I have learned to live with him. Your Yaari didn’t need to die, but she would have in a year or two, or ten or thirty. That bear decided that it was her time, and I can’t blame him—he was hungry. Is a man guilty for what he does in dreams?”

The old man got to his feet and walked over to the fire. Iñuksuk could tell that he was talking more to himself than anything else. He lowered his spear.

“I haven’t shared a meal with anyone in a very long time,” said the man, drawing a ladle from a black pot that hung over the fire. “Will you eat with me?”

Iñuksuk was still wary, but he was also hungry. He nodded and took a bowl of the soup. He lay down his spear and sat cross-legged on a fur beside the old man’s mat. The soup was boiled salmon, flavored with a dozen herbs that Iñuksuk couldn’t name. They ate in silence, and with each bite Iñuksuk’s hatred dwindled. When the bowl was finished he felt content, and his eyelids were growing heavier by the second. He just wanted to sleep . . . to sleep . . .

His head jolted upright, a few feet away the old man was sleeping, air wheezing in and out through his nose. Iñuksuk grew worried. How long have I slept? He remembered the dogs then, and kicked himself for forgetting them. He picked up his spear, slipped his kuspuk over his head, and darted out through the fur door.

He heard the howls and growls immediately. They echoed off the mountain, giving the impression that they were coming from all around him, but he knew exactly where they came from. The snow was deep, and he tripped over himself twice before reaching the tree line. In the woods the branches slapped against his face, cutting his cheeks and eyes. He pushed through until he finally burst into the madness. In the clearing stood the huge bear, blood dripping from one of its paws, and its one good eye full of rage. The dogs were all around it, barking and growling, biting at its stocky legs. Suputi and Whitepaw lay in red patches of snow, and Tuqiiq was hobbling off into the trees, whimpering and leaving a trail of blood behind him.

Iñuksuk wanted to cry, he wanted to run, but he knew he needed to fight. My dogs were dying while I was sleeping. A shout left his throat before he realized it, it was a shout for Yaari, for Iriqtaq and Evergreen, for Suputi and Whitepaw, and for poor Amlliq who had loved this bear and died for that love. The beast stopped when it heard the shout, crashing to the ground. Seal thrashed out at the bear, but he sent her flying with a swing of his paw. Her head made a sickening thud as she was thrown into a tree. Iñuksuk charged, bracing the spear with both hands. I will not let my dogs die, he promised. The bear swung a huge paw, but Iñuksuk ducked under it and brought the spear upward. It caught the beast alongside its head, slicing deep into its cheek. The bear shouted in pain, and swung another paw. Iñuksuk tried again to duck, but the bear had learned. The claws raked his chest down to the very bones and sent him spinning before he fell onto his back. The white bear rose again to its hind legs, towering over Iñuksuk. A flash of grey caught it in the neck. Seal had recovered and leaped onto the bear. She bit at his throat, snarling, legs kicking wildly as she tore with all of her might. The bear fell backward, like the felling of a great tree, and didn’t rise again. It let out one last growl, its final word echoing off the mountain before fading into the still night. The lights danced joyfully in the heavens: red, green, yellow, blue.

The snow seemed to be trying to swallow Iñuksuk, and he tried as hard as he could to fight it, to go up instead of down. Finally his wings returned and carried him up into the sky. He looked down at the gathering of dogs, howling and wailing, licking their wounds and collapsing from exhaustion. The eagle gave a loud cry and turned to the woods. The flight was quick and in only a matter of minutes he saw the fur tent. He dove and entered through the flaps, crying loudly for help.

----------------------------------------------------

Iñuksuk forced open an eye. His head felt like it was being split open by an axe, and his body felt as though it were soaked in burning seal oil, the flames licking at his belly. Above him was a sky of animal furs, constellations of branches weaving through them. A graying man stood over him, applying a cool liquid to his body. It burned and froze at the same time, making him squirm uncomfortably.

“Boy, do you hear me?” asked the man. Yaqulpak. The name returned to him. He killed Yaari, and Iriqtaq and Evergreen, and Suputi and Whitepaw. Angayuqaq, Snowyface, Midnight, and Tuqiiq may be dead too for all I know. The old man held a wet cloth to Iñuksuk’s forehead.

“You will be okay,” he whispered. “That bear scratched you badly, but you will live.”

What of the bear? Thought Iñuksuk. Will he also live? How many more people will he kill? But in the old man’s face he saw something that hadn’t been there before, a joy it seemed.

“Boy, I don’t know if you can hear me . . . But thank you for what you did. That bear is gone. Dead.” A huge smile spread across his face as a tear rolled down his cheek and fell into Iñuksuk’s eye. Dead, thought Iñuksuk. That bear is dead. The old man put a new layer of the cool liquid on the cuts and then walked away.

That night he flew over a glacier, following it as it cut across land heedlessly. It spilled into a lake, and a flash of movement caught his attention. Instinctively he dove, snatching the trout from the air before it could return to the water. He flew for a while longer, the smooth hills rolling out below him, the wind carrying him in its gentle grip. Finally, he spotted a pinnacle of stone jutting out over the glacier and alighted there to feast. The raw meat slipped down his throat easily.

Later, much later, Iñuksuk sat up. It must have been several days after the fight with the bear, but even so it nearly killed him to sit up straight. He saw seven dogs sitting by the fire. Only seven! And the old man asleep among them.

“Seal,” came his voice. It was a soft voice, distant and much older than it had been. Even so, Seal seemed to recognize it. She came to him, tail wagging, and licked his face happily. She had a nasty red scar along her neck, but she didn’t seem to pay it any mind.

“Seal, let’s go home.”

The old man stirred and came to them.

“I wasn’t sure you would ever wake,” he said worriedly. His good eye looked over Iñuksuk’s scars like a caring mother. “You should rest more.”

“No,” said Iñuksuk. “I should return to my village.”

The man nodded; he seemed to understand.

By mid-afternoon, the old man had stocked the sled with provisions, elk and sheep and salmon, a skin of milk, and a poultice to apply to his cuts three times a day. Iñuksuk thanked him quietly and boarded the sled. It took all of his effort just to stand there, and he winced in pain as they began moving.

“Thank you,” said the old man. “I prayed so long for this, I can’t-”

“Thank you,” interrupted Iñuksuk. “I hated that bear. I needed to do that, for Yaari, for my dogs, and for you.” He managed a smile. “Come back to the village, Yaqulpak.”

The old man cringed at the name. “Nobody has called me that since I— since I—”

“Since you were just a man with a temper?” finished Iñuksuk.

Yaqulpak nodded.

“I am only a young boy, Yaqulpak, but I have seen ferocious wolves become friends.” He looked to Seal at the front of his sled, tugging eagerly. “I have seen the kindest woman kill mercilessly.” He thought of Yaari and her spear that she loved so. “And I have seen the strongest bear cook seal soup and offer it to a boy.” Their eyes met, and Iñuksuk saw tears streaming down the old man’s face. “I don’t know what becomes of bears once they lose their claws, but maybe there’s a place,” he said, then he turned. “Mush!” he called to the dogs who had survived, and they disappeared down the mountain. That night he slept peacefully and dreamed he was just a boy . . . a boy without wings.