Chapter 49 - Mother Bear
Where the wilds meet the soils. SE Britain
It was yesterday morning when we departed from the Tiaa camp to head east. We trekked our way towards the barbarian camp called Oma. At first we followed the directions given by Vultrallão, but they took us to marshes recently impassable with floods. Forced to divert inland, we came across more water logged rainforests. Su’lan is skilled as a navigator and leads us through these obstacles. I follow close behind, but find myself absent of a small child. I call out,
‘Qan, hurry, catch up with us. Come this way’.
He heard my request, but pulled one of his stubborn faces as he pointed to a faint animal trail meandering to the north. I insist,
‘No Qan. Su’lan leads the way and it's he who we should follow’.
Again the boy frowns. Qan picks up a stick with which to point out his alternative trail. Su’lan has seen our exchange, and pauses from clearing a way through dense understory. He returns to squat next to Qan. The child continues to insist we divert up his side trail to the north. Su’lan spots the tracks of a beast which passed this other way. The Storyteller announces to me,
‘Such heavy tracks have been left by a large wild bull’. With a knowing grin he ogles me. Su’lan knows our quest is guided by the spirit of such an animal. I smile and nod back to them. We turn up Qan’s little trail to the north. Quietly I give gratitude to the spirit of the Bull.
Qan’s insight was sound. The shimmers of a bull led us first north, then more easterly to pass by flooded forests further south. This trail brings us to dry, lightly forested ground on which we can turn to follow the small, shallow vale of a tiny, babbling brook. This stream flows in zigzags towards the estuary further south, and hopefully towards Oma.
This is a fruitful and blessed valley, still abundant in wild berry. A sheltered paradise which resists autumn. We travellers cannot help but pick at sweet treats and we three all wear grins. Yet we're savages rather than fools, and are cautious. For we know even a paradise may contain great hazards.
Mother Bear feeds well upon the acorns and berries still abundant within this lovely vale. Desperately she builds fat for the leaner months ahead. She needs to generate rich milk for her young daughter. Larger river courses than this brook might have been more generous with mussels, clams, crayfish and salmon. But Mother Bear knows of a huge, bad tempered male bear who hogs the closest such larder. She can’t risk the safety of her cub by invading his spot. Mother Bear does love her daughter, and these acorns and berries fare well.
Bear Cub has so much to learn. She attempts to copy her mother dodging thorns to reach the largest, sweetest fruits. Mother Bear views her with fondness. A scent arrives on a breeze, and Mother Bear sniffs to ascertain its origin and direction. Her nose is extremely cunning and she knows the human-kind approach from upstream. They can be a troublesome kind. Mother Bear ruffles up fur to appear larger. She grunts at her sweet toothed daughter to prompt her to take cover. The hesitant cub ignores her anxious parent, and is punished with a gentle swipe of a large paw. Upset by rebuke, the cub scampers off whimpering before scaling the trunk of a tall lime tree.
Mother Bear makes this spot her stand. No one threatens her little one. She hears our arrival. Vegetation cracks, our feet fall onto fallen leaves. Mother Bear sees two and a man cub. How dare we invade her peace?
We wildborns know in a situation like this we need to respect spirits of the wild. If we follow the rules of our rainforest, we'll be unharmed. We don’t run around panicking and scream out, ‘Bear bear, bear!’
No, we’re not stupid. Rather we fake a calm indifference, apologise for our intrusion, slowly step back. This female bear is upset by our presence. I’d guess she has a cub or two hiding nearby? Step by step we retreat as I pray to the bear spirit. Nevertheless, this bear is particularly grumpy, and she charges closer. All three of us react defensively by fanning our arms as we growl through our teeth. Qan gives a hiss. This joint defiance stalls Mother Bear from further aggression. She gives a nod in respect of our bravado, and turns away.
Out of danger we giggle with relief. Su’lan calmly suggests ‘Perhaps we should find a diversion around this obstacle?’
Qan raises his trusty stick and points up the side of the vale. Once more we accept his guidance, and continue to march towards the estuary.
At last we reach our destination. From wildwoods we stare across the open countryside of a barbarian camp. Su’lan proposes,
‘This must be Oma’.
I do hope so. Here we hope to find Ur’salla. The weather has taken a turn for the worse. The gentle breeze of the day beats up into gusts of wind. From our position within the treeline, we witness the arrival of a dark, threatening weather front. The winds batter the trees either side. The camp ahead of us appears less established than that south of the estuary. I see no longhouses of timber, no great stones or circles of totem poles. Pitiful clay hovels of newly arrived farmers. These spread alongside their grubby gardens, carved out of wilds. I see barbarian men with dogs braving weather to bring home their longhorn cattle. Sunset isn't far away, but I can see the sky is already darkened by the actions of a coming storm.
Beyond the barbarian camp we make out vast salt-marshes with creeks leaching into a thin band of grey I know to be the estuary. A veil of rain falls in this distance and the waters merge with the dark sky above. I carefully consider our next step. We’ll need shelter from a storm.
Where could these barbarians be holding my best friend? I and Su’lan scan the miserable landscape for any sign of Ur’salla. I see no obvious candidate. Desperate to know more before being forced to build a den in the woods, we step forward taking a closer view. We hadn’t spotted these folk keeping dogs leashed close to the edges of the wilds. One such mutt senses our presence, and barks in competition with the howling of wind. I could try to silence it with my arrow. These winds are strong, and already it's too late, for more dogs now bark across Oma.
I see children brave the weather to run across muddy gardens. They are eager to see what has so upset their canine watch. One barbarian boy, perhaps no older than Qan, sees us and yells to his folk. Su’lan decrees,
‘We should leave now. Beyond these children, already their fathers gather’ Let us make a trap for any pursuers’.
Oma
Paaxti as an elder calls upon the men of Oma to join his posse. The winds bite, and he curses,
‘What sort of damned savages would bother us in a storm? Blast their hides’.
He recruits Aava, Brazille, Mazde, along with two thin farmers named Alaax and Hippo. All bear arms in readiness to defend farmsteads. They tread up towards the woods, when Lanella joins them with her poor man. She petitions Paaxti,
‘Please, we’d like to help you to hunt down wild savages’.
He retorts, ‘but your own savage husband isn't fit to fight!’
Cooly she replies, ‘Saabiaske is now well enough, and he is the best tracker of wild folk’.
Paaxti acknowledges this and accepts, ‘we’re most grateful to you’.
The reinforced posse crosses the windswept gardens reaching the wildwoods. Each pull furs closer to flesh as they fight the chilled gusts. Entering the forest where we were seen retreating, Saabiaske picks up on our shimmers, leading them through the understory. Boughs creak, and branches rattle in the winds. The occasional crash as a tree limb breaks and falls. Saabiaske examines our tracks and brazenly declares,
‘Two grown savages and a child’. He smirks at Lanella and she grins back. Lanella translates more of her man’s words for Leva friends,
‘There are two of them and a child. Their shimmers lead towards the small brook yonder. Which flows from the north of the camp’.
Mazde seems apprehensive. He’s nervous at crossing these windswept woods further from home. Twigs snap, and leaves swirl in mini tornados. He protests,
‘This weather worsens, the light fades, and it's not safe for us to be here. This is a dangerous dark place, the trees threaten to fall upon our weak bodies’.
The Leva elderman stares back angrily at the strawman, and barks back,
‘Summon the magic of ancestors to diminish these winds you fool’.
The part-time priest appears sheepish. He pulls his bow close to chest, an arrow held ready in the other hand. They move deeper into the wilds, and despite failing light, Mazde suspiciously studies every cluster of saplings, each mossy trunk, expecting dark demons to stare back.
They enter the dale of the babbling stream where Saabiaske locates more fresh shimmers. He points further upstream, grunting savage words to Lanella who translates to the Leva,
‘The savages have gone that way, up by this brook’.
Light is seriously diminishing, and Mazde trembles with apprehension. This vale is sheltered, he loads his bow. In silence the posse stalk their prey up the winding vale. Their wildborn tracker becomes less certain of the shimmers. Something is wrong. He loses sight of evidence, but sights more fresh tracks. These weren't left by savages. These are the paw prints of a…?
He screams out to Lanella, ‘a bear cub!’
With this sudden realisation, a great big brown bear full of ursid rage bursts out of the berry bushes. With a terrible roar, the angry mother charges them. Out of instinct, Brazille rolls to the ground as if to protect his vulnerable throat. Both thin farmers Alaax and Hippo lose all nerve and scarper off in different directions as they scream. Mazde lifts up his bow and stretches the string with its arrow. Saabiaske sees this action and yells, but his words are too foreign to be understood. He had shouted,
‘No! You mustn't do that, you mustn't injure the bear’.
Too late, the string releases, the bow bounces as an arrow flies through the air. Sheltered in the vale, the dart strikes into the flesh of Mother Bear. She feels the agony of flint ripping at her muscle. This confirms to her these humans are a threat to her hidden cub.
The big shaggy bear chooses to dispatch the closest threat. The weakling who rolled to the ground. Brazille screams as she swipes at him with her damaging claws. He’s thrown against a tree trunk. Mother Bear roars louder then rushes up to bite Brazille into the back of his neck. She picks the dying barbarian up, and snaps his spine. Brazille hears Xagu’s giggles.
Instantaneously, the entire forest lights up electric white. A powerful thundercrack deafens their ears. Mazde cries out,
‘Foul magic, we must flee this evil place’. The remaining barbarians turn and run, Lanella and Saabiaske among them. Another bright white light, another thunderclap. They flee through the wilds and back to the open countryside of Oma. No rain yet. The posse of Oma runs wide eyed and doesn’t pause to catch breath. Not until finally safe, they emerge from the wildwoods, free of any pursuit by bear. From the safety of windswept gardens they turn to witness forked arcs strike the trees. The gods are angered.
Paaxti spots a lone figure dancing in a nearby garden plot. In heavy furs, it swirls around a bonfire streaking with the gusts of wind. Paaxti recognises the figure as Amaia, and she is clad in a bear skin. He hears her witchcraft chants. He knows it was she who summoned the bear, and then this unholy storm. His angst bursts,
‘It was that damned girl-witch who summoned the bear, and who called this storm. It was she who murdered poor Brazille’.
You might think such a charge might bring farmers armed with spears intent on burning an evil witch. Not in Leva society, where the daughters of Athiratu are protected by convention. Mazde loudly reminds his elder of this,
‘We mustn't hurt Amaia. It was her savage concubine who mesmerised her. That dark serf has brought with her dark forest magic to damage Oma. Ur’salla is responsible’.
Paaxti reacts, shouting through the wind, ‘That wildborn bitch will be alone in the witch’s lodge. Let’s snatch her, at least one savage may die tonight’.
Mazde supports this action, ‘Such sacrifice might appease the angry ancestors who threaten our skies’.
Lanella gleefully translates this to Saabiaske. They have revenge on their minds and both laugh with joy as the posse turns towards Amaia’s turf-walled house. They brave the dark storm to reach its wicker door. Aarva rips it open to find Ur’salla sitting alone by its fireplace. Paaxti and Saabiaske join him to drag poor Ur’salla outside. It is Mazde who lands the first punch into her face. They all join in to reign punches and kicks. Lanella asks their victim in her own tongue,
‘Hello Ur’salla, do you remember us?’ just before she rips out a clump of her hair. They pull her further away from the den, into the ashy muds of a garden plot where these monsters take turns in beating her. They crack her ribs, her fingers. They break her body. They care nothing about her unborn child. This violence they commit in a dark, windswept field until Ur’salla lies caked in mud, lifeless. Their priest, Mazde shouts,
‘Look at the forest!’ They pause from brutality to stare at the wilderness. The night sky is illuminated by flames blowing through the woods. An inferno spreads through the trees of the forest. Mazde dances with joy,
‘Ha! The ancestors are pleased with this sacrifice. The dark magic is being quenched by Raspu’s fire. The forest burns to make more pastures for our cattle’.
Over the crumpled body of a woman, they rejoice at the spectacle of a burning paradise. Ur’salla’s assailants forget their crime, returning to thatched huts to drink crude beer in celebration of their fine works.