Moving Targets and Other Tales of Valdemar

Mola went completely still, afraid to move. A scream bubbled up in her throat, but she forced herself to swallow it. Loud noises infuriate bears. She could not remember where she had heard that, but it did not seem worth challenging. Unable to move, she dredged up other lore: Playing dead doesn’t work, bears can climb trees, they won’t bother you if you don’t bother them, bears can’t run downhill.

That last bit of advice seemed useful in a way the others did not. Spinning on her heels, Mola broke into a terrified run, back the way she had come.

Behind her, Mola heard the creature roar again, then the slam and rattle of heavy paws behind her. It can’t run. It can’t run downhill. The advice cycled through her head in a desperate chant. Yet, to her ears, the bear was moving. And swiftly. She dared a look behind her. Not only was the bear running downhill, but it was clearly gaining on her. In a moment, it would have her.

The scream Mola had suppressed tumbled out, unbidden. Another followed. And another. Not knowing what else to do, she ducked her head and came to an abrupt stop.

The bear launched itself, landing where Mola would have been if she had still been running. Thrown off-balance, the bear lost its footing, stumbled, slid partially down the hill, then tumbled a few steps further. Mola tensed to run back up, cursing whoever had assured her that bears could not run downhill. If she survived this, she would do whatever it took to counteract that myth. And punch that person in the lying face.

Before Mola could take a step, the bear gathered its paws back under it. Running now, Mola realized, only made her a target. Gathering her courage, she jabbed the makeshift spear toward the animal.

The bear reared back up. As the spear rushed toward it, it slammed a massive forepaw against the pole. The branch shattered. The biggest pieces flew in opposite directions, rattling down toward the mountain’s base. Bits of wood showered Mola.

“Demons!” Disarmed, Mola stood, rooted in panic, as the bear ambled toward her. She could read murder in its dark eyes, smell the fetid odor of its breath, see the teeth and claws that would maul her from existence.

:Move!:

The voice in Mola’s head was not her own, but it mobilized her just the same. Shrugging the pack from her shoulder, she grasped it by the strap and swung it at the bear.

The pack slammed the beast in the face.

Roaring, the bear caught the pack in its teeth. Its nose twitched. The pack crashed to the ground, and the deadly claws ripped into it instead of Mola.

Move! This time, Mola chastised herself. Her supplies would not distract it long. Whirling, she tore back up the mountainside, desperately seeking the rockiest cliffs. Grass turned to stone beneath her feet, and she staggered up onto a crag.

Not as far away as she had hoped, the bear ripped through the remains of her pack, then raised its head. Nostrils twitching, head swiveling, it finally found her and loped effortlessly toward her.

Mola leapt from her perch to a higher crag, then another. She hunkered down, gaze never leaving the animal, hands mindlessly raking stones and small boulders into a pile around her.

Shuffling directly beneath Mola, the bear rose on its hind legs to stare at her.

Heart pounding, Mola found herself now more angry than frightened. How dare it want to kill me. I’m no helpless rabbit to be eaten on a whim. Grabbing a large stone, she hurled it at the bear.

The rock hit the bear squarely on the cheek. Enraged, it rose taller, roared louder. Took a menacing step toward her.

Mola threw another rock, and another, pelting it with anything she could get her hands around. “Go away!” she yelled. “Leave me alone, you stupid, smelly beast!”

The pain only infuriated it more. Its roars echoed. Its ears pinned tightly to its head. It roiled the air with maddened swipes of its massive paws.

Struggling with a boulder, Mola drew together all the strength she could muster and, with the help of her higher position, sent the rock crashing into the bear’s chest. It hit with a loud thud, driving the creature backward and to its haunches.

That proved enough. The bear whirled and fled, seeking less dangerous prey.

Mola sank to the crag, out of both ammunition and energy. She did not know how long she lay there, but the sky had greatly darkened by the time she opened her eyes, as the sun slipped behind the mountain. Weeds tickled her nose, green and leafy, filled with pink flowers. Pink flowers. Mola sat up. Pink flowers? She started to laugh. She lay in a patch of five-leafed clovers. I found them! Thank the gods, I found them.