“Dude.” No fucking way was he calling him Dad to his face. “This isn’t about me. It’s about saying good-bye to Gale. It’s about Isleen getting the closure she needs to heal and move on.”
His father’s eyes shifted to Isleen. She still clung to Xander, but her face was aimed at the open grave. He sensed her—the her that had been missing for the past few days—close to the surface, ready to break out of the protective shell she’d formed around herself.
Dad pulled a small leather book from his pocket. The binding was frayed, the leather worn and smudged. “The Legend of Fearless and Bear began three centuries ago. Gale and I both thought their story was our story. We were wrong. Gale left. I let her. Our bond broke. Our story doesn’t have a happy ending.” He held the book to his face and began reading aloud.
A man, different than all others, used to roam this land. A man who was more than man. He carried a bit of spirit inside him. But even that bit of spirit was too great to contain within. Some of it showed on his skin.
The People, suspicious of all things unknown, believed a Bad Spirit had marked him—cursed him—for all to see. For all to avoid. For all to fear. The People believed the Bad Spirit wanted their souls.
So the man lived a solitary, nomadic life, nearly driven mad by isolation. One day a desperate loneliness overtook him. He tried to fight it, but was drawn to a field of women harvesting corn.
The women ran from him screaming.
A maiden stayed behind. Unlike the others, she did not fear him, but walked directly to him. Her face and arms bore the remains of a hundred healing wounds. He held out his hand to her.
She didn’t hesitate, but settled her palm in his. A jolt of fire passed between them, but neither withdrew.
The maiden closed her eyes. “Take my life, and you may have my soul.”
He stared at her, mesmerized by her fearlessness. Why would she want to die?
When death did not claim her, she opened her eyes and pulled her hand from his.
He saw a pain inside her greater than what her body had endured. “Why do you wish to die?” he asked her.
“I possess dream sight. I’ve seen my fate and would rather die than submit. Death would be freedom.”
“Do you not fear me?”
“I fear this life more than you.”
The sounds of many feet running through the forest came to man and maiden.
“Kill me now. I do not wish to survive another sunrise in the village.”
“I do not take souls.”
The maiden’s face twisted as if in great pain.
“Come with me.” The man held out his hand.
Men burst through the far side of the field.
The maiden hesitated only a moment before she placed her hand in his. As one, they turned and ran—together somehow swifter than the fastest of warriors. They ran until the dark of night covered the earth and the man no longer sensed anyone following them.
At a stream, they stopped. He lowered himself to the ground and the maiden collapsed atop him, knocking him back against the earth. Fearing his curse had claimed her, he grasped her shoulders and lifted her to see her face.
Her eyes made great pools of water that rained down her cheeks and fell upon his lips.
“Do not fear me.” He tried to move away from her. “I will not kill you. I will not take your soul.”
She clung to him, pressing her wet face against his neck. “I am not afraid. My eyes wash away the memories of the Bad Ones so I may live in peace.”
Her lack of fear, her willing touch, astonished him.
He named her Fearless, and she called him Bear for his great size and ferocity in protecting her. She soothed his loneliness by her presence. And she found joy for the first time. No longer under the control of the Bad Ones, she smiled and laughed when she never had before.
Bear suspected the Bad Ones were trying to reclaim Fearless and moved them constantly. Sometimes his senses tingled, and in those moments, they would do as they had done at the first. Run. Hand in hand through the forest.
Bear and Fearless grew closer and closer until Bear began to worry over his feelings for her.
His fear came to life when Fearless was struck with a deep affliction. She needed the medicine of a powerful healer to save her. For weeks Bear traveled, carrying her to the wisest medicine woman.
He was not permitted in villages or near dwellings. It was feared the Bad Spirit would claim a soul in each dwelling he passed, unless he himself offered his life. And he would, for he valued Fearless’s life above his own.
He carried her to the village center, the location of the tribe’s power. The tribe’s men surrounded him, brandishing their knives and hatchets, waiting for the wise woman’s command.
In the light of the fading sun, the wise woman cried a keening wail that hushed the people. She examined Fearless’s wrist, spit on the star-shaped mark, and rubbed her tunic over the spot. Then she raised Fearless’s wrist up for the tribe to witness. The people whooped and yelled, welcoming Fearless to the tribe.
The wise woman would care for her now. Bear laid Fearless down gently and tucked the heavy robes around her.