The Girl Who Speaks Bear Page 8

  Before I can move, a second wolf darts in and grabs one of Yuri’s back legs. Another surge of movement, and a third lands on one of his front legs too.

  My gaze flits from wolf to wolf as I try to work out what to do. Panic speeds my heart and fogs my brain. Mousetrap trembles on my shoulder—then leaps into action.

  He moves like a streak of copper through the dark, bursting from one wolf to the next. Yelps rise into the air, followed by snarls and barks. Mousetrap bites a nose, tears an ear, nips an eyelid. He moves so fast he’s out of range by the time each wolf snaps at him.

  Yuri lurches up, kicking out at the wolves as he staggers away. A hoof lands in a stomach, and a wolf yowls in pain. But it jumps back up, baring long, gleaming fangs.

  Finally, my muscles surge to life. I push past Yuri, and a roar explodes out of me, so loud that the forest shakes with the force of it.

  The wolves scatter instantly into the trees. And I stare after them, lungs burning, unsure if I’m more shocked by the noise I made or them fleeing.

  “Come on. Before they regroup and attack again.” Mousetrap runs up my arm. He’s still trembling, licking blood from his teeth, and I realize he does shake with fury after all.

  “You were brilliant,” I whisper to Mousetrap as I step over a ditch to Yuri.

  “I know.” Mousetrap curls around my neck. His tiny body burns with heat. “You needn’t sound so surprised though. I told you I’ve exceptional hunting skills.”

  Yuri groans and I peer at his wounds in the dim starlight. Spots of blood ooze from bite and claw marks on his back and legs, and there’s a nasty open cut on his rump. It’s the sort of wound Mamochka would close with aloe leaves and smother with a balsam she makes from beeswax and sandalwood and other secret ingredients. Just the memory of its scent is healing.

  “How are you feeling?” I ruffle the woolly fur around Yuri’s neck.

  “Sore.” Yuri snorts. “And cold.”

  “Keep walking,” Mousetrap urges. “It isn’t far now.”

  Guided by Mousetrap on my shoulder, I lead the way, attempting to clear a path for Yuri, who keeps getting tangled in knotted shoots and thorny briars. Though my muscles are working hard, I’m ice-cold. The forest here feels hostile, like it’s trying to block our path.

  Finally, despite the wind pushing us back, yellow light glows through a snarl of spiky branches ahead. I squeeze between two gnarled old tree trunks, which seem to move closer together to shut us out, and see a clearing and the corner of a cabin.

  “Stop.” Mousetrap grabs my ear, and his sharp claws pierce my skin.

  “What?” I snap. “It’s one of Anatoly’s cabins.”

  “No, it’s not.”

  “Of course it is.” I try to brush Mousetrap’s paw from my ear without knocking him to the ground. “Only Anatoly has cabins in the forest.”

  “I smell bones.” Mousetrap sniffs the air.

  “So? You said you smelled cooking before, remember?”

  Mousetrap’s claws dig deeper into my ear. “You don’t understand. I smell human bones.”

  “It can’t be real,” I whisper, scanning the skull-and-bone fence for evidence it’s fake.

  “It smells real.” Mousetrap’s tail tightens around my neck. “I was wrong to lead you here. We should go.”

  I nod but don’t move. I can’t pull my gaze from the fence. Icicles drip from long chains of vertebrae strung between upright bones. Skulls balance on top, candlelight creeping out between missing teeth and through empty eye sockets.

  The villagers tell stories about Yaga—witches who live in houses with chicken legs surrounded by skull-and-bone fences. In their stories, Yaga eat lost children and steal their souls. But in Anatoly’s stories, Yaga aren’t cannibals. They’re linked with death though, so I’ve never been sure if they’re good or bad.

  I look at the house behind the fence. It’s a small log cabin, not unlike my and Mamochka’s. I can’t see any chicken legs, and I picture Mamochka shaking her head and telling me what nonsense that would be. But still, something about the house lifts the hairs on the back of my neck.

  The lines of the windows and door curve, making the shape of a face, and as I stare, they change expression.

  “Let’s go.” Mousetrap pushes my neck with his tiny paws. “A fence of human bones is a sure sign you’re not welcome here.”

  I itch with curiosity about the house and ache to rest somewhere warm. But Mousetrap is right. The skull-and-bone fence is not a welcoming sight.

  I sigh and turn away, but as I do, the house screws up one side of its wooden face and winks. “Did you see that?” I gasp, but Mousetrap has disappeared into my pocket and Yuri is lying down, facing the other way, quietly whining.

  The door creaks open, and a girl steps out. She’s about my age, small and slight, with dark hair and big round eyes. I step behind the nearest tree and hold my breath.

  “Hello?” she calls. “Are you lost? Do you need help?”

  I stand stone-still, hoping she’ll think it was an animal she heard. She looks like an ordinary girl, and her words are friendly. But she lives in a winking house with a skeleton fence. She could be a Yaga, and she could be the kind who eats lost children. I curse myself for not leaving as soon as Mousetrap suggested it.

  “Don’t be scared.” The bone gate rattles open, and footsteps crunch toward me. My heart accelerates like a bird taking flight. Mousetrap trembles in my pocket, and Yuri lowers his head to the ground.

  If she’s a Yaga, I should run. And if she’s not a Yaga, I should still run because I don’t want her to see my legs. I can’t face another reaction like Sasha’s, or any more stares that confirm I don’t belong with people.

  The girl steps so close I hear her breathing. My leg muscles tighten like springs. Then they release, and I try to sprint away. But my foot slips on slush and I fall backward, smacking my head against a tree and landing hard on the ground, legs in the air. Pain shoots down my spine, and my head rings.

  “Are you all right?” The girl leans over and offers me a hand. “I’m Elena.” She must see my bear legs, but she doesn’t appear shocked or scared. She doesn’t look at me like I’m different at all. Elena just smiles a big, wide smile that makes her whole face light up. And for some reason, that makes my eyes sting with tears.

  Bones clatter behind me, and the groan and grate of moving wood echoes through the forest. Yuri scrambles to his feet and I try to do the same, thinking a tree is about to fall, or a skeleton is about to jump on me, or both. But my limbs aren’t working, so I squeeze my eyes shut and brace for impact.

  Light runs across my eyelids but nothing hits me, so I peep my eyes open again and flinch at the sight of one of the house’s windows right above my head.

  “What are you doing?” Elena hisses at the house. “You’ll get into trouble again.”

  The house swings up and away, and a huge shadow falls over me. It’s a massive foot, scaly like a bird’s but made of wood, and it plunges straight toward me.

  “Stop, you dastardly witch house!” Mousetrap darts up to my shoulder and flashes his teeth.

  The foot hesitates. Then a clawed toe unfurls and pokes one of my legs. My muscles jump to life and I roll out of the way, but the rest of the wooden toes spread out and wrap around my waist. I scream as the foot grips me tight and lifts me, like I weigh nothing at all. I’m vaguely aware of Mousetrap growling as he attacks the house’s ankle.

  “What’s going on?” an older woman’s voice shouts from the porch above. “House. Put that girl down.”

  My head spins as I sail through the air toward the porch steps. Floorboards rise impossibly to cradle me as I land. Gray spots cloud my vision and I groan. I don’t want to pass out. I can’t pass out. Not now. This is a house with chicken legs. The home of Yaga who eat lost children and make fences from their bones. I imagine my own skeleton becoming part of the fence, and for a strange, calm moment I wonder if my oversized bones would fit in with the rest or stand out, like I
do in life. Then Mousetrap nips my ear, bringing me back to the present.

  “We’re meant to be guiding.” The older Yaga woman prods the porch canopy with a broom. She’s short and round, wearing an angry scowl and a headscarf decorated with skulls. “You should be scaring away living souls, not picking them up and putting them on your porch. When are you going to stop getting distracted by every little thing that stirs your curiosity and start taking your responsibilities as a Yaga house seriously?”

  “She needs help.” Elena appears next to me and puts a hand on my arm. “She’s frozen, and wet through. And look at her elk. It’s bleeding.”

  Yuri is lying at the bottom of the porch steps, still whining. I try to work out what’s happened. Yuri hasn’t moved toward the house. But the house has moved toward Yuri. I hold my head to stop it spinning. Maybe this is all in my imagination and if I hold my head tight enough I’ll wake up in bed, without bear legs, and none of this will have happened at all.

  “For spirit’s sake.” The Yaga woman leans over me and frowns. “Whatever state she was in before, she’s worse now. Getting grappled by your great chicken feet is enough to send anyone into shock. Elena, get some blankets and tea. And you …” She glares up at the house. “Open the Gate again so I can finish guiding before we bring her inside.”

  At the mention of being taken into the house, my heart starts thumping like a snow hare’s foot. What if my story ends here, with me being eaten by Yaga deep in the forest?

  The Yaga disappear indoors and I push myself up to sitting. But a hot, sickening darkness rushes around me and I collapse back down. Tears flood my eyes with frustration at not being strong enough to stand.

  “Come on, human girl. Get up.” Mousetrap pushes the back of my neck, like he could lift me himself. I manage to sit up again, but my legs won’t work.

  “It’s all right.” Mousetrap stands on my shoulder, his teeth and claws poised for attack. “If you can’t run away yet, I’ll protect you until you can.”

  I remember how Mousetrap took on the wolf pack and I can’t help but smile. I exhale slowly and focus on trying to move my feet. A sharp cramp seizes one of them and I stifle a cry of pain.

  The porch balustrades curl around my back, helping to support me. One of the wooden spindles snaps free and reaches toward my hand before erupting with bright white blossoms. I blink at them in confusion.

  “Aww. The house likes you.” Elena sweeps back through the doorway with a beaming smile, a bowl balanced on her head, blankets under her arms, and a steaming tray in her hands. She unloads everything onto the porch and tucks fire-warmed blankets around my chest and legs. The cramp in my foot subsides and my body tingles back to life.

  I stare at Elena, unsure whether to be scared or grateful. She finishes fussing with the blankets, pours tea into a mug, and passes it to me. I shake my head. The tea could be poisoned, her friendly smile some kind of trap.

  “What happened to your elk?” Elena asks, picking up the bowl and a small basket of mushrooms. She edges closer to Yuri, strokes his neck, and places the basket under his nose. He munches the mushrooms before I can tell him not to. “Was it wolves?” Elena takes a cloth from the bowl and washes Yuri’s wounds. He stops whining and becomes so calm I wonder if Elena is using witchcraft on him.

  “She doesn’t seem dangerous,” Mousetrap whispers into my ear. “Maybe I was right to bring us here after all.”

  The roof nods in agreement. “Your house—” I say without thinking, then press my lips tightly shut. I’m still not sure I should talk to a Yaga.

  “Our house is special.” Elena smiles. “I’m sorry if it scared you. It’s young and still learning how to behave.” She moves away from Yuri and sits on the porch steps, closer to me. “It annoys my mother because we’re supposed to remain hidden in the forest, but the house is terrible at it. It’s far too friendly and curious.”

  “Are you witches?” The question falls from my mouth before I can stop it.

  “No.” Elena shakes her head. “Not the sort you think we are anyway. We won’t eat you.” She winks. “I promise.”

  I glance toward the bone fence.

  “Oh, those bones are so old.” Elena laughs. “They’re just decorations that have been passed down for generations. They beckon the dead.”

  “Beckon the dead?” A chill runs through me and I wish I had accepted the mug of tea, if only to have something warm to hold.

  Elena glances at the door, then leans closer to me. “We guide the dead to the stars,” she whispers. “But it’s meant to be a secret, so don’t tell my mother I told you.”

  I nod slowly. I’m not sure what guiding the dead is, exactly, but Elena has such an easy smile, I can’t imagine it’s anything bad.

  Music swells inside the house; the excited strumming of domras accompanies the rhythmic thumping of dancing feet. The bone fence rattles and the flaming skulls sway as the whole house heaves and bobs in time to the beat. A window slides open and I smell rich creamy food that makes my stomach rumble.

  “Are you hungry?” Elena asks. I follow her gaze to the tray. As well as tea, there’s a bowl of mushroom stroganoff, a couple of fish rolls, and a thick slice of rye bread.

  “I’ll sample the foods.” Mousetrap leaps off my shoulder and rushes to the edge of the tray.

  “Oh! A weasel! Is he your pet?” Elena breaks off a small piece of bread and places it in front of him.

  “I’m nobody’s pet.” Mousetrap scowls.

  “He’s so cute,” Elena exclaims, clearly not understanding Mousetrap’s squeaks and squeals. Her finger hovers over his back, like she wants to stroke him, but Mousetrap flashes his canines, steps over the bread, and pulls a fish roll from the plate.

  “The food is good,” he mumbles. “You should eat.”

  But I hesitate, still unsure whether we’re safe. Then a dog bounds out of the front door and skids to Elena’s feet.

  “Wolf!” Yuri screams.

  “That’s not a wolf, it’s a dog …” My jaw drops open. “That’s one of Anatoly’s dogs—Nessa.” Instantly, I’m on guard. The Yaga must have eaten Anatoly, because he never leaves his dogs. “What have you done with Anatoly?” I demand.

  “She hasn’t done anything with Anatoly.” Nessa rolls her eyes and rests her head in Elena’s lap. “Elena and her mother are Anatoly’s friends.”

  “Do you know Anatoly?” Elena asks, ruffling Nessa’s ears and leaning down to kiss her snout.

  “Yes, he’s my—” I search for the right word, but can’t find one. “How do you know him?” I turn the question around, still suspicious. Anatoly never told me he has friends in the forest.

  “Anatoly and my mother have been friends for as long as I can remember. He often leaves his dogs with us when he goes exploring. He likes collecting stories for his bear-child—” Elena’s eyes widen. “That’s you, isn’t it?” She looks down at my feet and blushes. “I should have guessed. I was distracted by you falling, then the house moving, then your elk … You’re Yanka.” She beams. “I’ve always wanted to meet you. I’ve heard so much about you from Anatoly, you almost feel like family.”

  My face burns with annoyance. “He never told me about you.”

  “Oh, he’s not allowed to. My mother made him promise. Yaga—people who live in houses like ours—are very secretive. Because of the whole guiding-the-dead thing.” Elena’s eyes sparkle. “I bet he’s told you a few tales though?”

  I nod, thinking of all the stories Anatoly’s told that mentioned a house with chicken legs. He said there was truth in them!

  “I’d love to hear one.” Elena pours a fresh mug of tea and offers it to me. “I could tell you which bits are true.”

  This time I accept the tea, take a sip, and sigh as heat trickles into my body. “There’s the story of the Bear Tsar and the Yaga.” I glance up, wondering if Elena knows anything about humans turning into bears.

  “I haven’t heard that one.” Elena smiles and leans back against the porch ba
lustrades.

  Mousetrap finishes the fish roll he’s been eating, wipes his whiskers, and burps loudly. Nessa, Yuri, and the house’s front windows all turn to me expectantly. And so I begin the story, as Anatoly would, with “Once upon a time …”

  Once upon a time, the Bear Tsar, the king of the forest, found a crumbling castle hidden behind towering pines. Golden paint peeled from its onion-domed roof, and brambles crowded its great halls.

  The Bear Tsar’s fat, furry brow crumpled. The castle felt familiar, but he didn’t understand why. He was old, and his memories had faded. So he lay down, rested his chin upon his paws, and tried to remember.

  Images shimmered at the edges of his mind: dancing with a lady, telling stories to a child. The Bear Tsar felt he had lived here once, with a wife and child. But he couldn’t remember when, or where his family was now.

  The Bear Tsar longed to know the truth. So he rose onto his huge paws and set off to ask the help of the Yaga, who lived deep in the darkest part of the forest. A witch and a sage, the Yaga was said to hold all the wisdom of souls departed.

  “Don’t go!” cried the birds. “Baba Yaga has iron teeth that will crunch you up.”

  “My hide is tougher than iron,” laughed the Bear Tsar. “She’ll not crunch me up.”

  “Don’t go!” wailed the tree spirits. “Baba Yaga’s cooking pot can boil ten bears.”

  “I’m the Bear Tsar, stronger than twenty bears. She’ll not get me into her cooking pot.”

  “Don’t go!” howled the wolves. “Baba Yaga will steal your soul and send it to the other world.”

  “I’m old.” The Bear Tsar sighed. “My soul is leaving this world soon anyway. I want to remember my life before I go.” And he stopped before a fence of skulls and bones.

  Behind the fence a wooden house rose up on chicken legs and turned to face the Bear Tsar. Its windows blinked like eyes, and its door opened like a mouth yawning.

  Out stepped a Yaga, with bony legs and crooked teeth. “What do you want?” she snapped. “I have no time for bears.”