The twelve-year-old girl squatted in the snow. Her forefinger touched the ice at the centre of the paw print. She looked down the slope at the dark spruce and tamarack. A sheer cliff behind her dropped into a deep coomb littered with boulders poking up through the snowfield.
“She’s gone back to the trees. We’ll have to camp up here for the night,” she said.
Torvald huffed, his warm breath rising upwards to the still blue sky. “I knew that,” he said. “You didn’t need to tell me.”
Maireadh was cross. Her older brother was a useless tracker, slow and noisy. Sometimes she thought him half blind, the signs he missed.
“You couldn’t follow old Squash on fresh snow,” she said, but beneath her breath. It wouldn’t be good to fight up here. They mustn’t separate. She could see from the paw prints that the bear had moved into the wood, surely to protect her new born cubs. Torvald was already traversing the hill to the large boulder shouldering out of the snow. “Come on. We’ll camp under here.”
Half an hour later, as the sun slid away and the sky darkened, the small dome tent nestled up against the rock, protected from above and behind. Thick snow was piled up against the exposed sides, and two pairs of skis stood guard outside the tent flap. Maireadh and Torvald raced each other back from the tree line, carrying wood for the small fire. Their panting competition echoed from the ridge.
“Beat you,” crowed Torvald. “You’ll have to scrub the pans.”
Maireadh’s pale skin glowed from the cold and the run. She was fitter, but Torvald’s legs were still longer. She crouched down by the fire, poking twigs and pine cones into the base to make it hotter under the pot. “D’you remember when we went out to the far islands with Gudrun?’ she said.
“And the canoe capsized. Everything was wet!”
“She was so upset, and then that oterot came and stole her jerkin when she hung it up to dry.” They were both laughing now, remembering the way the river hunter had dragged the waistcoat out to a rock in the middle of the stream, struggling as it got heavier with the water. It had pulled at it, chewing and scraping, chittering with rage at the stubborn leather. In the end, it had dived again, leaving the useless trophy behind. Torvald had waded into the icy water to retrieve their mother’s favourite clothing.
“We’ll just have to be too indigestible for the bear,” Torvald said. “And if she comes, I’ll look after you.” He put his arm round Maireadh. She leant against him for a moment, glad of the rare gesture, proud of his determination to make the trip, pleased with herself too. She was young to be initiated into Trance, to make the trip to Nedlagn’spunkt, but Gudrun and the other family heads had decided that her restlessness and her tracking skills needed to be brought into the service of the kauhau. Most of all, Gudrun wanted her daughter to explore her precocious interest in the ways of Tonarssûk, the great white bear.
It was no easy decision: youngsters died on the trek every year. This high route, with its dangers of weather and bears, was many days shorter than the trek winding low through the forest. And that route was none too safe, as Tonarssûk headed for the spring-rich seas and the rivers filled with snowmelt. Up here, travelling faster, they could carry much less. For Maireadh and Torvald, used to high climbing, it had been a straightforward choice.
The two chatted as they ate and Maireadh scrubbed the pans. It was their second night on the trip, and they had skied thirty miles that day. Twenty-five to go. By the time it was dark, they were tucked inside the little tent, squeezed into their sleeping sacs, the fur lining soft against their faces.
“Goodnight little sister,” Torvald said. “Sweet dreams.”
“You too, big brother. Sleep well.”
The clear stars of Oslaven looked down over the cold high ridge that led from Kingnait to Nedlagn’spunkt. Jots shone steadily, above the horizon all night at this time of year. Later, the stars began to twinkle, as cloud gathered in the high atmosphere, and wind stirred the needles on the conifers. The youngsters slept, undisturbed, in the comfortable familiarity of their camp.
Before dawn, Maireadh struggled out of her sleeping sac, muttering at the cold. She looked at Torvald’s gear, seeing the jacket hung askew from the central hook, the boot lying on its side. Gudrun would snap at him, she knew, but he wouldn’t take it from her. He snuggled into the last few moments of soft warmth as she unlaced the two flaps, making almost no sound. Like the mouse that looks to see if the cat is bored yet, she put her head outside, her eyes darting around, assessing the surroundings in the grey pre-dawn. Everything was as they had left it. Skis upright. No bear was sitting, a dark and threatening statue, waiting for them to emerge. She twisted round to look up at the boulder. All clear. Pulling on her fur lined overcoat, she crawled out and stood up, stamping her feet and flexing her knees
“Torvald!” Her startled cry brought her brother out of the tent, hastily struggling into his boots and pulling the sleeve right-side-out in his jacket. “Look!” Around their tiny camp was beaten a flat area of snow, a track some six feet wide encircling the tent and the boulder. Something had walked around them many times as they slept.
Torvald’s eyes were round with shock as he swung slowly on the spot. “What on Innishaaf is this?”
She took his hand, unnerved by the crack in his voice. Gudrun’s admonitions rang in her ears. “Your brother is in charge,” she’d told Maireadh. “He’s the older. You’ve the greater snow wisdom, but he must be leader.” Maireadh had nodded solemnly, given her word. Now she needed him to play his part.
He rose to the challenge. “Have a good look,” he told her, his voice steady now, “but stay where I can see you.”
She studied the trampled snow as he kindled the fire and heated water with berries and corn. There were many prints, the round pads making distinctive shapes. The crescents overlapped each other again and again, outlined by striations as individual as finger prints. The great claws had hooked into the snow, making patterns and ridges, each tiny col as sharp and varied as the saddleback above them.
“More bear,” she said. “Some of it definitely the same one, but I can’t be sure if there were others.” She kept her voice steady, a dry report to the expedition leader. Inside she trembled with excitement, the wrenching fluttering, almost nausea that accompanied her thoughts of Tonarssûk. Nothing else made her feel that way. It wasn’t quite fear, she knew that, though indeed the bear was frightening. It wasn’t love, for the bear was not kin. She’d thought a lot about it, and decided it was curiosity. She couldn’t imagine anything else.
Torvald watched her, the slight flush on her cheeks, the hands wrapped around the warm cup trembling so the liquid shook. “If this is Tonarssûk, we could be in great danger,” he said, conscious of Maireadh’s tension. For himself, he wanted nothing of the great bears. He was his mother’s son. He would make this trek to Nedlagn’spunkt, look after his competent, curious sister, do his long solo. And then he could live his own life and join Uncle Leif in the laboratory. Heroics were not his style.
“She won’t hurt us,” Maireadh said, her eyes shining. “She’s our friend, our guide.”
“You’ll get ideas above your station.” Torvald mimicked their cousin, daughter of the todosch. The older girl, Baldur, acted as if the Voice was hereditary, as if without challenge or proof she could assume her father’s mantle. She scorned the old ways, where only those Tonarssûk chose to lead in Trance could speak for the people and land of Oslaven.
“Trance is all very fine,” she would scoff, “but we need more than that to feed our people and keep them safe.”
Now Torvald added, “All that might be well and good in Nedlagn’spunkt, but we must get there first. Eat up and we’ll break camp.” He kept his voice firm, and both of them felt better for it.
The tops of the trees beneath Maireadh and Torvald were tipped with red, the early sun reflecting off wisps of cloud high in the sky. It was the steep boulder field beyond the ridge where darkness would linger. Together they packed their rucksacks, the canvas patterned with stitching giving them textures which made each bag recognisable in the dark. The knotted strings that held the bedrolls to the wooden frames were coloured in reds and purples, with occasional strands of yellow. Small bells were tied in at intervals, so every movement of the pack let out a little chime. Gentle woodland smells reached out to them across the crisp edge of the snow, mingling with the smoke of the fire and the aromatic herbs in the breakfast soup. Torvald breathed it all in, enjoying the mix, storing the smell of the camp to keep him company in the long trek ahead..
Above the rock, their little campsite cleared and tidy now, the children waited for the upper edge of the sun to appear. They needed the touch of light and warmth to start the long schuss along the ridge. And it was bad manners too, to start an important journey without greeting the morning. As the sun rolled majestically into view, they stood, arms raised high and wide.
Torvald said, “Greetings to you, the sun. We hope to travel well in your company this day, and be safe in Nedlagn’spunkt before you leave us again.” Both then crossed their arms across their chests, hands on opposite shoulders, and bowed their heads, still for a few moments.
Duty done, they hefted their backpacks, slight chiming and rustling the only sounds. Skis were well secured; sticks in hand they started south. Moments later, the only sign of their passing was the flattened area under the lee of the rock, and the trampled ring of snow marking the restrained curiosity of wanderers in the night.
Full dawn had come. The sky stretched out around them, blue, pink, silver, grey. To their left, the woods fell away, exposing snow slopes and curving valleys. On the right, steep boulder clad cliffs dropped between saw tooth saddles. The mountainside was bitten out, as if a giant had taken a mouthful of granite, spitting out the hardest pieces to lurk under the icing snow and make any attempted climb yet more treacherous. Far below, the sea crashed on tiny beaches, black rubble pulled in and out as the water gnawed at the land.
Torvald paused for a moment looking down. “No way down,” he grunted.
“It’ll be good to get there.” Maireadh’s voice was thin in the vast landscape.
Torvald gazed upwards. The beauty of the rising sun could not disguise the fish scale clouds spreading over the sky above the indented coombs and saddles. ‘There’ll be some wind soon. We must move fast.”
The sky was ominous, but still blue. “We should be fine,” Maireadh said. “I think the wind is at least three hours away.” She put confidence into her voice, wanting to get on, to arrive, to greet the excitement of Trance.
Torvald nodded. “You’re right about that.”
The two of them were heading almost directly south. Every thirty minutes they paused for a brief drink and a handful of berries. At each halt, they studied the sky. By the fifth time, the scaly clouds stretched across the horizon, and from the west a yellow fringe reached fingers out towards them. The two small figures stood high above the desolate landscape, feeling the first sharp taps of the cold wind against their eyeballs and cheeks.
“Not good. We must make camp now.”
Maireadh shivered as she agreed with him, feeling uncertainty in her stomach. He legs were tired, and the pack felt much heavier than when they started. They turned east, surveying the slopes for another sheltering boulder. At this point the ridge was broad, and sloped with unbroken snow for quite some way, offering little shelter from the approaching storm. Even as they looked, gusts pushed at their backs, lending urgency to their need to camp.
“We’ll go to the edge of the ridge because the tree line can’t be far,” said Torvald. Maireadh followed him. This was the domain marked out by the bear. The fluttering grew in her belly, making her swallow and work her jaw. She felt almost seasick. Now she knew fear, tasted the copper of it in her mouth, as well as sweet, flooding anticipation.
Torvald stopped and she bumped into him, setting the bells to dancing. Ahead of them, rising in silence from the snow, was Tonarssûk.
Foursquare she stood, her red eyes glaring down on them. Her breath was hot, the reek of old fish and new carrion rolling over them. She was enormous, her shoulders as high as Torvald’s head, dwarfing them both. Maireadh smelt her thick pelt. She had seen the tracks of those great claws this morning. Now they curved from the shaggy paws, tips buried in the snow, yellow and hard and sharp as a knife.
Maireadh could feel Torvald trembling. He was breathing fast and shallow, and as she glanced at him she could see his face was pale. There was sweat on his cheeks, making him look waxy. He was paralysed. For a moment, she wanted to scream. “I am only twelve,” she thought. “He’s supposed to know what to do.” She heard Gudrun’s voice, a crack in her mind like a slap. Pull yourself together girl.
Maireadh reached into the fluttering in her stomach, and found what she needed. Stepping forward, she bowed. It was a deep and slow, hard with the backpack on. She straightened, the little bells thin against the wind and the sound of Tonarssûk’s breathing.
“Lady Tonarssûk. Forgive us. We will go west.” She turned, still slow, and Torvald turned with her. “Walk,” she whispered. “Use the same ski track.” She lisped the sibilants.
The two of them recovered the ground, hard, slow going into the biting wind. It shrieked in their ears, but both could hear the heavy footsteps of the bear behind them, a giant shadow following their small movements. Maireadh heard her brother whimper in front of her, and the steady movement of his skis faltered.
“Keep going Torvald,” she said, her voice low. “We’ll have to go in the col.” Torvald’s skiing resumed its rhythm again and they schussed a little further. Suddenly, they had reached the edge, barely able to stand against the wind. Snow was whipping up around them, and it was getting hard to see down the steep slope as each moment passed.
“You go first,” Torvald said, his first words since Tonarssûk rose from the snow. He had been thinking about this inevitable moment.
“Why?” Maireadh demanded in a fierce whisper.
“I’m older,” he said, resignation colouring his resolve.
For a moment, Maireadh thought to argue, knowing Tonarssûk wanted her, believing in her own safety. But she remembered Gudrun’s instructions, so said no more, bent and unclasped her skis. From a pocket she slid some spikes and fixed them on her boots. Behind her she could hear the bear breathing, smell her rancid breath and sweet fur. Maireadh’s own breath was steady and quiet, but she was sure Tonarssûk could hear her heart hammering and the blood rushing in her ears. Her mouth was dry. Slowly, slowly, she took three steps down the steep slope, until her head was level with Torvald’s feet. A strong rock jutted out just wide enough for her to shrug off the weight of her pack.
Torvald gasped. “Be quick little sister,” he said. Maireadh stepped down again, two gentle dances round the boulder.
A cry made her look up to see Torvald high over her head, thrown to the wind. The great white shape now stood on her hind legs, towering with magnificent ownership above the snow. Her shovel-like snout pointed towards the racing clouds, lit by slanting sunlight that fanned across the slope and her forelegs extended after the rag doll pinwheeling against the clouds. The raking claws spread out, outlined so sharply Maireadh saw the shift from brown to yellow to ice white at the tips. Tonarssûk stood five metres above the snow, enormous to Maireadh crouched among the rock She bellowed, the sound filling the sky, echoing and rumbling like thunder. It drowned Torvald’s cry.
Tonarssûk landed again on all fours and looked straight down at Maireadh frozen in place. She could hear her brother’s body falling through the air. All else was silent. He landed with a thump of mortality and lay still, about fifty metres below her.
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