When I exit the market, struggling with the sac thrown over my shoulder like camping gear, the hairy man with antlers is still there. He's got a few things packages left to unload, and his strange horse doesn't seem interested in me anymore. This time, the man nods and smiles and says "Good morning." And I think he looks rather handsome when he smiles. His brown, chiseled face lights up.
I blush and whisper 'good morning' back, wondering if the shoes changed his behavior. Did he think I was a witch before? Do witches not wear shoes here?
Did Kivuli omit that bit of information on purpose? The slip-ons flap against my heel, and I wander down the street, toward the ocean.
More of those reptile-horse creatures travel by, pulling carriages and wagons. A few people have rifles and blue uniforms, their pants rolled up to their knees to reveal heavy-duty boots. I don't make eye contact with any of them. Were they soldiers or cops? I couldn't tell, but I don't want to be questioned. I literally have no answers. I turn the corner, making a right like Kivuli's mom told me, and now the ocean is to my immediate left.
Black sands leads down to the shoreline where the waves are calm. Sunlight sparkles along the surface and my heart kind of lurches. My body wants to rush into the water and never look back.
The boat I'd seen before is a distant dot, bobbing on the horizon. The boardwalk stretches into the ocean like a limb, and I almost want to walk to the edge, but the sack of food is straining my back, and my legs are already exhausted. I pass a building with the sign reading 'Blossom Water Bakery' but it's burnt. The walls are charred black and the glass front is shattered. Inside are the ashy remnants of tables and shelves and walls. I don’t think it’s been in use for ages. It seems haunted too, so I don’t look inside a second time.
The town's filled with buildings like this. Ruined, aged, destroyed. Ignored. Everyone else walking around town didn't seem to mind. I realize it's mostly men, working men like farmers and traders with a handful of those people with rifles. Scattered between them are a few women. They wear long flowing dresses and big hats to protect themselves from the sun. Some of them side-eye me, making a face, and I can’t help but want to shrink. I want to disappear. They’re all so pretty. Their dresses are colorful, ranging from vivid purples to emerald greens. But they’re dressed like people I’d only seen in history textbooks, covered from neck to feet in cloth, almost puritanically. Somehow it feels like it’s wrong for women to show skin here, and I’m glad my gown is so big.
But then I spot one blonde woman sitting on a horse creature. Her shoulders are bare. She's rather curvy, hot in the way tough women are hot, and she's surrounded by a group of guys. And I realize she’s practically naked compared to the other women. The only thing she’s wearing is a pair of denim overalls.
When she catches me staring, she spits on the ground and then squints at me. She grabs her hat and places it on her golden curls, a movement that shows off her chest, and I can't help but blush furiously and hurry away. I think she says something to the guys because two of them laugh.
A few doors down from the burnt-down bakery is a large warehouse-looking structure. It's the last building on this road, and beyond it are the dense trees of the woods. There are no doors or windows; the front opens like a mouth, and the interior is one large room. Wooden shelves, tables, and chairs sit out front. There are carriages and wagons waiting to be used. Piles of lumber from various kinds of trees sit along one wall. There's even a boat, a large canoe.
I drag the sack inside and look for someone who could sell me the chair. I'm breathing hard and sweating profusely, grateful for the shade of the warehouse, when everything starts rumbling. The furniture rocks. Heavy footsteps approach. A wall of white fur suddenly takes up my view. It’s a bear.
"Hello and welcome!" he bellows on all fours. It's a polar bear with bushy white eyebrows smiling at me. His eyes twinkle warmly, and even his voice is fitting for a bear: deep and kind of growly, low and firm. “I am Bluebell the Bear. How can I help you today?”
I stand there gawking, unable to move. He gets on his hind legs, straightening up. White fur, a mountain of muscle and fat, and bushy eyebrows. He sniffs the air, his great head several feet above me. I thought that Arctic Squirrel was bear-sized, but that squirrel would've been a chew toy compared to Bluebell.
"Madam?" he asks, sounding puzzled. "Are you okay? Can I help you with something? Perhaps a fine wagon to carry your burden?" He sniffs the air again. "Smells rather good, I'd say..."
I squeeze my eyes tight, then open them. He's still there. Talking to me, and now I'm being rude for staring. But he's a giant polar bear with bushy eyebrows. He could eat me with a snap of those ferocious jaws. His paws are bigger than my face. One swipe and I'd be splattered on his workshop floor like a bug.
"I'm looking for a chair," I say. If it was nerve-wracking speaking up at the grocery, this is way worse. I hold the heavy sack defensively in front of me. If I have to run, I'll drop it and bolt. Even if my legs and arms are already burning from having carried this thing. Wait. I can turn into a squirrel. Bears can't catch squirrels, right?
His bushy brows go up. "A chair? I have chairs! Come this way, little one." He turns and pads away, and I can't help but think he sounds rather... friendly. Jovial? Jolly. He's jolly. He's a big jolly bear. Maybe he won't eat me.
Leaving the sack on a wooden table, I follow him, keeping my distance. The jolliness could just be an act to lure people into the shop. And no one's ever seen me around here before. I could become bear food and Kivuli would assume I've run off on a boat. This bear could eat me as a snack.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
He leads me toward the back, where an entire collection of chairs is lined up against the wall. Each one with its own unique design. Flower patterns are carved into the wooden backs. Darkwood, light wood. Cushions that were thick and thin, and I spot the maroon cushion on Kivuli's chair.
"Ah," he says, noticing where my eyes went. "It's a beauty. One of my favorite designs. I've only made four of these." He lumbers over on his hind legs, picks it up gently, and places it in front of me. "Here. Have a seat. I'm sure it'll do you some good. You look exhausted."
If I know one thing, it's that you never turn down a bear's invitation to sit down. So, I sit, and... oh.
"Oh," I whisper.
"See?" he says, laughing heartily. His entire body jiggles when he laughs, and it's a booming, happy laugh. The kind of laugh that makes you want to laugh too, even if you're not in the mood.
My lips curve slightly. My shoulders relax. This seat is... It's amazing. I can see why the ghost is so fond of it. The cushion hugs your butt softly. Your spine relaxes against the perfectly curved arch of the chair. All the tension in your shoulder blades and your waist and your hips melt away. Your hamstrings loosen. The nervousness evaporates; I can breathe.
"I call this design ‘The Evening Delight'," he says, looking proud. His brows are raised, his beady eyes glittering. "Made especially for human rears."
That's when I remember I have to pay, and I pull out the pouch. "Mrs. Kivuli said it'll cost five silvers?" I ask, feeling much more confident sitting in the chair. Somehow five silvers don’t seem anywhere near enough, but maybe she has a special deal or something.
He strokes his jaw. "Madam Kivuli sent you? Did something happen to her chair?"
Heat spreads across my face. "I... we had an accident," I mumble, looking at the oversized brown footwear Kivuli's mom gave me. Everyone's been so nice. I don't want to lie. I suck in a deep breath and tell him the truth. "I burned one of the legs, and it snapped off. The rest is kind of burned too."
"I see," he says, sitting back on his haunches, his arms loose between his legs as he stares with dark, searching eyes. He looks rather cute, and I don't sense any anger from him. "Tell you what," he says after a long moment. "Because your scent is so sweet, I'll give you the chair for free."
"For free?" I ask, bewildered. Sweet? Did he just say I smell sweet? So he really does want to eat me?
"Yes," he says, nodding. "You carry a sweetness I've never smelled before on a human. A little sad. A little sweet. A little... peculiar." He sniffs again, raising his snout and breathing loudly. He moves forward on all fours like he's hunting with his eyes shut, and I'm too afraid to get off the chair. He rests his snout on my lap.
He's the size of a minivan, his head about as big as a watermelon, and he's just casually using me as a pillow.
He presses his nose to my belly and sniffs again. "It's very... soothing," he says, as I sit there in shock, my hands hovering. His head is so heavy, but there's sawdust between his white fur, and I brush it off instinctively. As soon as my fingertips touch him, the thought comes up.
I think yes almost by accident. Bluebell the polar bear slumps forward, resting his hefty weight in front of me, his head still on my lap, eyes shut. His breathing slows, almost like he's sleeping.
I stroke the sawdust from his fur. He seems so sweet, like a bear from a children's show trying to teach you about the world. A tickling sensation climbs up my fingers, spreading over my palm, before pulsing through my arm and into my chest. He's becoming a part of me!
It's over as quickly as it began, and I manage to keep the notification for
"Oh dear," he says, and he backs away quickly, looking side to side. He looks thoroughly embarrassed, and I think he's... he might be blushing. I can't even tell because I must be blushing even harder.
I jump out of the chair. I'd just acquired a polar bear. A Snowstream bear.
"Sorry, madam. I didn't mean to..." He clears his throat, bringing his paw to his jaws and everything. "I apologize. I did not mean to alarm you. I only prey on fruits and vegetables. I've not eaten meat since I was a cub."
He's as embarrassed as I am. But I don't think he noticed that I acquired him or anything. Because then I'd be the one fumbling for words and trying to explain, or he might be cross. I need to figure out the ethics of this if I want to keep doing it.
As if to wave away the awkwardness, he tells me to bring him the ruined chair. He'll repair that and keep it in his shop should any future accidents befall the chair he's giving me.
He brings out a red wagon. It's smaller than the ones I'd seen the reptile horses pulling around, but he lifts the sack Kivuli's mom gave me and places it on the wagon beside the new chair. Then he secures everything in place with rope, and I admire his skillfulness despite his large paws. He loops the rope through with careful claws, then pats the sack into place.
"Kindly return the wagon too," he says once he's done. "The wheels are carved from a special ore, and the axels are handmade so it sails extra smoothly. Efficient and no jostling or turbulence guaranteed. I call it my Wagon of Speed and Prosperity." He grins wide.
For a second, I think about people back home in the city who'd steal shopping carts from supermarkets. I always thought that was a stupid thing to do, but this would be even stupider. Who would rob a polar bear?
"I promise I'll bring it back," I tell him, still feeling rather shy, squeezing my arm. He seems less frightening now after I'd seen him blush with awkwardness. He's almost... I want to say cute. Like a giant stuffed bear, and I want to hug him. His fur would probably be very soft. "Thank you, Mr. Bluebell."
"Please," he says with a laugh and a wave of his paw. "You can just call me Bluebell, Madam."
"You can just call me, Sam, then," I say, mustering up a smile and glancing at his bushy brows. "No need for 'Madam.'"
"You are truly sweet, Madam. Sorry, Sam. Most humans aren't as kind to a big old bear like me. Madam Kivuli and you are the only ones who don't see me as just an animal." He sniffs the air again. "You are welcome anytime, Sam. Any woodwork you need, I shall do my best to provide."
"Thank you," I say again, picking up the handle of the wagon. I pull it out of the warehouse, and this is so much easier. The wagon doesn't jostle at all. It's silent and smooth, and everything that I'm pulling feels shockingly light.
I glance over my shoulder and wave, feeling a little silly. Who waves at a bear?
But Bluebell waves back. Then he drops on all fours and turns to disappear into his workspace. I lead the wagon away, my heart pounding. I can turn into a bear if I want. Overhead, clouds seem to be gathering, dark and enormous, moving swiftly. The sunlight's fading, and that's just fine with me. The air's already starting to cool down. I wonder if it'll rain again like last night. But my itinerary is nearly done; all I have to do is get this stuff back to the lighthouse cottage.