The Last Polar Bear

Chapter 25

Tilbakekomst – return

The trek back to Mikenberg was further than I remembered and I felt unsure I would be able to find it once more. The likelihood of my return seemed to fade from view as the further I journeyed the more my past seemed to shrink away. I had to have faith that my instincts were correct and would not fail me when I needed them.

The seasons shifted again with the telling sign of the fractured pack ice, caused by the powerful forces of Verden, stretching in a endless span before me. I had no alternative but to cross it before I could reach the open expanse of the sea. Monstrous chunks butted heads, neither submitting to the other's will, until the gradual clash pushed the ice skywards to fall like torn limbs. They lay discarded and shattered, groaning as the melt pulled them away into small icefloats. I continued onwards, undeterred, and tried to ignore my tired legs for as long as possible until I knew it was time to rest.

I found some food on the way, a lone snub resting on one of the smaller floats. I was thankful for the strength, as I needed it for the long swim ahead to Mikenberg. In the moments that I lay, I pondered the reason for my return. I knew my battle to kill one of the two-tusk would be severe and I would have to remain on their shores for some time before I could attempt to swim back. The thought of the return journey already clawed at me but I considered it my final rite of passage to prove to myself I could kill with only my skill and courage to guide me.

I tried to shake any ill feelings that rose as I plunged into the beckoning waters and began the second leg of my journey. As I dived below, the memories of my capture in the jaws of the floating beast came flooding back. But as soon as my head emerged from the depths and I paddled away, I forgot my fears and enjoyed the freedom of swimming in still waters.

I followed Öben's single light, now glimmering in the sky to the north, breathing in the light wind that swept against me. I continued out into the deep for many lengths. When his light seemed to be swallowed by the sky, a fresh breath of wind caught my scent and brought with it the exciting tingle of heavy two-tusk flesh. It gathered my dwindling energy and lifted my anticipation to see Mikenberg once more. As the soft waves swelled and subsided in front of me, I finally caught a glimpse of a black shape on the horizon – a thin outline of land, lost against the ripples of night.

I welcomed the thought of solid land so I could rest and held it in my mind until, at last, I reached the shore where I had hauled myself from the white foam all those seasons before. Stretching myself out, I felt the welcome rub of rock beneath me as I dried my fur, satisfied I had found my faraway kingdom once more.

I did not seek the protection of the higher rocks as I had done before – this was my special land where no other björn could roam. Weary, I padded to the shelter of a large raised expanse, just before the two-tusk hunting ground, and lay down with my head on my paws using the rocks to support my side. The warm feeling of sleep began to creep over me and I fell into a restful slumber.

I dreamt of Tórbjörn.

He stood in front of me, a few lengths away. He did not approach but stared at me for the longest time, watching me through calm eyes. His face expressionless, he showed neither anger nor pleasure but he was not the björn I remembered. He had the same eyes but he had grown in size and strength and his mass carried a controlled ferocity easily summoned. I raised my head, calling to him as though we had only just parted and he had returned from a swim. He hesitated, unsure whether or not he should come closer, then, without saying a word, padded back towards the sea. I called after him but he did not seem to hear; my voice became lost amongst the growing cries of the skydwellers.

The splatter of skydweller stain rudely awoke me as it hit my nose. I looked up in disgust as they flocked above me with their mocking caws. Its reek filled my nostrils and I decided that I could not stand the smell any longer, so I trailed down to the water's edge to wash it off. When I had cleaned myself, I returned to the snow to dry off but the sight that met me froze my limbs. Björn tracks in the snow much larger than mine – an adult male – big. I smelt them and they were still fresh. Had I been dreaming? How could this be? Had fortune found Tórbjörn and returned him to me at last? A sudden and peculiar rush of excitement and fear flowed through me. I had to find him.