Ursus of Ultima Thule by Avram Davidson Read Free Book Online Page B

In the curious light he exchanged quick glances with a small fish, then bent his eyes to the river bottom. Green light wavered in the green water and rippled over the green stones.
    Reed in his medicine bag, reed beside the water.
    Greenstone in his medicine bag, greenstones beneath the water.
    It was the sought-for second sign.
    The boy-frog squatted on the sand, sand clinging to him here and there, and looked at the other two small things in his budget of wonders: the beechnut and the bear claw. Certainly the last was the sign of the Bear himself, and by now it was plain that what the Bear was saying was,
Seek these others if you would seek me. Find these others and you will find me
. In the way a scout leaves signs along a trail so that those who follow may see and know what his message is, so the Bear had left these signs — not indeed in any sequence set apart by space — so that one who followed after might follow farther yet.
    All clear, that. But what was the meaning of the beechnut? Beechnuts were good to eat, though perhaps not very good. The black swine of the woods were said to be fond of them. It wasn’t clear what connection the wild swine had with the bear. Perhaps none. He began to feel confused and set his thoughts to tracing their way as though through a forest path: Bear — black swine — beechnut — well enough, by working backward he had come at least to some certain thing — beechnut — forest — trees —
    Beechnuts, whatever else they indicated, certainly indicated a beech tree.
    Not bothering to brush the sand from his bare legs and bottom, not from the leather kilt he swiftly and absently donned, he slung on his gear once more and set off along the river. But this time he walked along the dry land and looked, not down, but up. And so, by and by, by its silver-gray bark and its pale green leaves, but most of all its height, he saw the trees he sought. Some long past storm or earthshake, or perhaps a hidden subsidence of the ground beneath its roots, had inclined it at a slight angle, for it was near enough the river for the stream in spate to have undercut and then covered up its excavating — or, perhaps the blow of a thunderstone had bent it; above the lowest branch, many times his own length high over his head a great scar was burned into the massive trunk.
    Once again he had the feeling of being watched; the feeling ebbed again.
    And there was certainly no sight nor sign of a bear.
    • • •
    His disappointment was great. It would have been easy to stumble or falter, only that day’s morning had he gotten up from a daze of illness which had lasted — he realized he did not know for how long — and he had barely paused for rest. He had drunk once. He had not eaten. Weakness rose inside him. What had he expected? To find his father and, in finding him, an end to all mystery and aloneness forever? Had he expected to find a father sitting at the bottom of the huge beech tree, ready to welcome him with warm embrace? Here he was, Arnten, and he was as alone, as hungry, as unknowing as he had ever been.
    What then was he to do? Slump behind the shelter of a bush and sleep and die? Weakness vanished. The very force of its sensation became a strength that blazed up within him and made itself felt without. He felt his skin tingle with something close to rage against this curious father who had cost his mother’s life, had never come near to see what he had begotten, had left his cryptic messages with the nains alone. A father who might be dead, long dead.
    Had he been pursuing a ghost? Had he himself perhaps died already under the blows of the Painted Man and was now himself but a ghost? Did ghosts hunger? He allowed himself a cry of anger and bafflement. Then, fiercely, he filled his bark basket with such nuts and berries and leaves and shoots of greenfood as were close to hand. At a small trickle on its way to join the stream, he filled the perryware flask, stopped its neck with a plug of