THE UNMAGIC WAS in every part of the forest. There was no way of avoiding it and its effects completely. And, in fact, the bear felt compelled to witness as much as he could of the death of his forest and its creatures. It was his last gift to them, his last farewell.
He and the hound were silent as they walked side by side through the dry section of the forest, where the unmagic was at its worst. The bear walked all the way around the area, forcing himself to get as close as he could, to measure its size. It took several hours.
The forest was shaped like a coin that had been melted on one end, and it was on this end that the unmagic was strongest, though it permeated the whole forest. As he walked the edge, the fur on the back of the bear’s neck rose and the hound whined.
The bear could see more than one mound of what had once been an animal caught in the unmagic and unable to get out, as if pulled down into quicksand. Some of the mounds looked no more animal now than a pile of leaves, but the shape of them made the bear certain of what they were.
And then there were places where there were mounds next to mounds. Families of animals that had died together in the cold death, or perhaps one had died and then the others had died trying to save the first.
The bear had to stop then, to take a deep breath before he went on. He thought of the man he had been and the man he now was, despite the skin he wore. He gave grudging credit to the wild man for a portion of that change. He never would have suspected he could care so much for animals.
At the edge of the unmagic on one side, the bear stopped at a mound that for a moment had seemed alive. There had been movement there, he was sure. But now, when he looked again, there was nothing. He stared at it another moment, then turned away.
A sound pulled him back.
What was the mound? It was the shape and size of a deer, though the legs had been pulled into the graying ground. The outline of the head, turned too sharply to one side to be still alive, was fast fading, and the torso was long and thick.
Very thick, in fact.
Could it be two deer caught together?
Then, as he was watching, he saw the movement again, a faint beat coming through the skin at the top of the mound. The reality came clear to him in a stark moment. It had been a doe nearing her birthing time, and the fawn had been trapped inside of her. Now the unmagic that had killed the mother was burrowing deep into the tissues of her flesh to kill the babe.
The hound was suddenly at his side, whining.
It was the sound the doe herself might have made as her flesh sloughed off, knowing that she would never see her fawn’s face, nor lick it free from the fluids of birth and watch it wobble on its new legs.
With a deep breath, the bear stood tall on his hind legs. He threw himself forward so that the weight of his body would carry him into the unmagic.
It was like falling into a frozen lake, as if the ice were shattering all around him and shards of frozen unmagic were slicing into him.
But he could hear the hound howling after him.
He dragged one paw forward toward the doe, sensing the life of the fawn beneath his claws. But it was fading. It would be gone if he did not act quickly.
He poured all of his energy, all of his own life, into one movement to press his claw into the abdomen of the doe.
It was not blood that spilled out, or any fluid that he recognized. It was the gray death itself, turned into a foaming gray gas that saturated his senses and made him choke for breath.
But when it had passed, he looked down and saw a hoof, then two.
The fawn seemed to have more strength than he did now.
It climbed out of the cavity of its mother’s death and then faltered.
The hound leaped forward and tugged on the fawn’s forelegs to get it moving away from its mother, away from the cold death.
The fawn took two steps forward, almost past the worst of the unmagic.
Then the hound somehow made her way to the edge of the unmagic herself and, barking, threatening, and dragging, pulled the fawn through to where there was green showing on the forest floor.
She looked over at the bear, her eyes so fierce that he knew she would try to come for him next. He would have to move if he did not wish her to endanger herself for him.
He bared his teeth and growled at her. Not much of a growl, perhaps, but it kept her back.
Then, inch by inch, he pulled himself forward.
After that it seemed easier. He lunged past the dark gray line of the unmagic and found himself face-to-face with the fawn. It blinked at him, utterly unaware that it should be terrified and shrink away from the bear who might devour it.
He turned to the hound and thought of how often he had wished to die and had been unable to. Now he had never wished so much to live.
The hound helped the fawn on its way. It scampered deeper into the forest, away from the unmagic. Even so young a creature had the instinct to flee that if it could. But how long would the fawn last here, without a mother to protect and feed it? How soon would the unmagic spread to the whole forest?
Well, the bear would do what he could for it and for the other forest creatures, even if it meant facing the worst, the wild man.
The urgency with which the bear moved away from the forest was now hot and pressing. Night came and went, and still he kept on pushing himself, past Kendel, past Sarrey, into the north. The hound struggled to keep up with him and he thought only that it would be better for her to stay behind. He had no wish for her to meet the wild man and pay for mistakes she had not made.
Then, one evening, he could not see her or even hear her behind him. He had his first taste of what it was like to be without her. The loneliness clawed at his throat. Still, he forced himself on and told himself she would at least be safe without him.
But she caught up with him that night as he walked under the stars of a cooling summer sky. She was covered with dried sweat and her tongue fell out of her mouth as she panted. Her eyes were red and swollen and she moved as if one paw were lame.
His first feeling was a selfish pleasure at the sight of her.
And then he felt ashamed of himself. Had he not learned to care for others, to wish for what was best for them instead of for himself?
She looked at him, head to one side, and he lifted his head, turned his back to her, and kept on going.
It seemed the only way to protect her from the wild man and from magic ruining her life once more.
But the hound followed him and he could hear her struggle with her left hind leg, injured by the bears in the spring, dragging more and more.
He felt sick himself with the pace he had set, but he knew the hound must fall back before he could take any rest.
In time she would give up. He had only to keep at it.
Yet the hound did not rest. Despite her lame leg, she kept after him. At one point, as he stopped at a stream, she came up behind him and moved past him, not bothering to drink at all.
As if to prove that she could do whatever he could. And more.