Bear In The Rough: Book 1: Treasure Hunt (BBW Bear Shifter Romance) (13 page)

              “We might, actually,” he said. “Stay here; I’m going to have another look at the museum of relics.”

              And, dropping my hand, he ran off in the direction of the museum. “But—” I said.

              “Be right back!”

              I glanced nervously around at the shadows in the room. In my imagination they seemed to be getting longer, drawing nearer. I thought I could feel presences gathering around us. Henry liked to say I was more superstitious than I pretended, and certainly in moments like these I was willing to surrender my hardheaded scientific rationalism for the certainty that ghosts moved among us. My breathing quickened; beads of sweat formed along my brow like morning dew.

              “Don’t look at the shadows,” I said to myself. “Forget they’re even there.”

              Instead I turned my attention to the door. It had certainly been exquisitely wrought, and I wondered how they had managed to drag such a massive object over four miles underground. It left open the enticing possibility that there was a forest in this vast recess, a forest of oak trees from which they had carved this and every other door in the temple.

              While I was admiring the ornate artwork (featuring, among other things, a giraffe and a wyvern being led across a forest by a wise-looking bear), I noticed that in the center of the door was an impression in the size and shape of a human hand. Curiously I placed my right hand into it; with a slight rumble the door slid easily open.

              I called out to Henry, but there was no answer. Overcome by curiosity, I entered the dark chamber.

              There on the floor directly in front of me lay a slender white arm. I flashed my light on it. The arm belonged to a skeleton, seemingly sprawled out in the last stages of agony. At his feet lay another skeleton, and beside that one, another. The room was filled with skeletons, some large, some small. Some were clearly children; some had only just been born. There were skeletons of beloved pets, dogs and cats. Some were bears, having presumably died in their shifter state.

              “So this is where the entire population of the tribe was buried,” I said to Henry, who had belatedly returned with the kids’ bicycle. Not a sound echoed through the temple as we strode through this chamber of the dead but the solid patter of our feet against the cold marble. Skeletons littered the ruin, peeking out of shadows or sprawled across the floor.

              “They died peacefully,” I said, in the spooky stillness. “There was no battle, no courageous last stand against innumerable forces.”

              “How can you tell?” asked Henry.

              “Their burial uniforms, for one,” I said. “For another, there’s no sign of a struggle. No broken skulls, no broken bones.”

              “But the entrance collapsed.”

              “Naturally, I suspect. Whether through an earthquake or the slow decay of time, this temple fell into ruin. The people fled here to escape an enemy, but the enemy never found them. They lived out their lives in peace, but couldn’t escape the greatest enemies of all: death and time.”

              “The temple was already here then,” said Henry.

              “It appears so,” I said. “To them it must have seemed the greatest blessing. And it was, for a time.”

              “But all things die,” said Henry.

              “All things die.”

              We spent another hour searching the temple. We found no gold, and there was no trace of the treasure that legend said was buried here, the legend that had led Henry’s grandfather on the final trip of his life.

              “Are you disappointed?” asked Henry as we left that night.

              “No, should I be?”

              “You lost your job, and at the end there was no treasure, no pot of gold at the rainbow’s end.”

              “There’s usually not,” I said. “But you get used to that.” With a smile of satisfaction I gazed down at the books in my hands. We had resolved an historical mystery and found the last home of his people. Somehow, that was enough.

Chapter 13—Henry

              We left the temple and began making our way back across the water, through the tunnels towards home.

              Olivia took the lead as we swam through the shaft. Once again there was the familiar panicking situation as I wondered, just a second before we surfaced, whether we were going to be trapped in the water forever. As before, we didn’t bother changing into our normal clothes once we emerged from the water.

              “They should be dry by the time we get home,” I said.

              “What’s our ETA?” Liv asked.

              “It’s a quarter to four now. If we’re able to walk back at the same speed we came by, we should reach the ferry by eight and be back at the inn not long after.”

              The journey home felt shorter, although according to our watches it took about the same amount of time as before. Perhaps it was because, at that time of night, we were both so exhausted we were shambling blindly through the darkness like zombies. Scenes that had fascinated us on the first and second trip through the tunnel now earned no more than a cursory glance and a nod as we passed them. We only made one stop along the way, to pay last respects to my grandfather who had brought us on this whole crazy journey. Without him, Liv and I would never have met.

              “I think I will leave him here after all,” I said. “He’s happy.”

              A smile played at the edges of her mouth, as if to say, “How happy can a dead man be?” Instead she asked, “What did your clan believe about the afterlife? Did they have one?”

              “Yes, they had a heaven,” he said. “But it wasn’t your average heaven, I guess. It was very Beowulf. They believed that the greatest good a person can know is to eat and fellowship with one’s kin, and so they taught that after death they would do this forever. All the dead would gather in a great hall known as Peranthiam. There they would eat and rest and laugh and talk and drink to their heart’s content. This is how they would spend eternity.”

              “Drinking and feasting and no possibility of hell?” said Liv. “Where do I sign up?”

              “They had their own hell, of a sort,” I said. “See, the great hall was said to be surrounded on all sides by a never-ending winter. A perpetual blizzard rattled the doors and windows of Peranthiam. The temperatures were unthinkably cold, and anyone who set foot outside would freeze almost immediately. But anyone who had been disloyal to kin, country, or family in this life would spend eternity knocking on the door of the hall, never able to get in. The storm was so loud that no one inside could hear them, or maybe they were so preoccupied with their own pleasures that they didn’t bother.” Liv shivered slightly. “It’s cruel, I know. But all hells are cruel.”

              “I find it fascinating that they placed so much importance on honoring one’s own people,” said Liv. “It seems like in our culture, at least some of us, we define virtue by how you treat people who are different from you. Strangers, foreigners.”

              “Some of us,” I said coolly.

              “It’s not universal by any means,” said Liv. “There’s a growing recognition that we’re all human and all belong to each other. We tell afterlife stories where people are punished for mistreating immigrants, national enemies, outcasts. It’s just interesting to see cultures that see virtue differently.”

              “It’s interesting,” I said. “I’m not sure what conclusions you would draw from it, because, like you said, there are people in our culture who don’t think like that at all, and I’m sure there were people in
their
culture who had compassion on outsiders. Everyone is different.”

“So maybe it’s just a question of what the majority of people considered important,” said Liv. Seeing the wounded look on my face, she said, “I’m trying to tread lightly here, because I want to be culturally sensitive…”

“I know, I get that,” I said. “I just think, if you measured by what the majority thought was important… I mean, are there really that many people even in our culture who value the rights of the Other? Who fight on behalf of outsiders? If you took a poll, I’m sure it would be a very small number, almost certainly a minority. And maybe in a hundred or a thousand years archeologists will be digging up our old bones and saying we valued our own countries, religions and families above all.”

“And yet,” said Liv, “the aspiration to love others, to love the Other, is enshrined in our most cherished sacred texts. We may not live up to it, but it is there. It’s something that most of us seek after, even if we stumble badly at it.”

“Yes, I suppose there’s that,” I said. “Archeologists are going to think we’re a lot more virtuous than we actually were, just because of our religions.”

*              *              *

              It’s entirely a mystery to me, the way the heart works in love. I had spent so many years telling myself I was never going to get married, and now this girl had walked into my life and threatened to upend all my plans. I suddenly found myself envisioning what life would be like when we had kids, watching her cradle our children to sleep singing them sweet lullabies. I saw us reclining in bed late in the morning, not wanting to get up so that we could keep staring into each other’s eyes.

              It was irrational, this love, like life itself. She just had a way about her. I had sworn I would never fall into this trap, would never be overcome by a woman. But all my defenses melted like wax at the sound of her voice. Even as we shambled through the tunnels that morning arguing about religion, she spoke to me and looked at me in a way that was only for me. I knew she looked at no one else like that, and the realization steeled me with hidden courage.

              I felt like an idiot for being so easily swayed by a girl. But there’s something about braving an adventure that brings couples together like nothing else can. And in the few days we had spent together, it was already clear that she got me in a way no one else did. There was a light of understanding in her eyes when I talked about my past, about my life with Granddad, about my struggles in the world. She revealed things to me about myself that even I didn’t know. She was simply amazing, and it angered me because I didn’t want her to be amazing, I wanted her to be an ordinary, mediocre person I could safely dismiss with a wave of my hand. I wanted to find the flaw in her, but there were none. Her every failure of character just made her more lovable.

              But how did she feel about me? She had played coy, kept her heart carefully hidden. I wanted to ask her, but wasn’t sure if we were ready to have that conversation. I would sooner brave an old temple full of skeletons than raise the issue of our being together long-term. I knew she envisioned herself as an independent, unmoored woman. I didn’t want her to know about the dreams I had for us, dreams of nursery wards and grocery store runs and doing our taxes together. Suddenly nothing would have made me happier than to settle down and lead a normal life.

              As we emerged from the cave early that morning, we paused to let our eyes adjust to the fresh rays of sunlight. Liv set down her pack, which she had been carrying without rest for hours, and I set down mine beside it.

              “It’s a shame adventures always have to end,” she said. “Now what am I going to do? I’m out of a job, and I probably won’t be seeing you anymore.”

              “Why not?” I asked. My heart began to beat loudly.

              “Because neither of us has a reason to stay here. You’ll go home, and I’ll go home. It’ll end up being one of those things where we agree to keep in touch, we exchange numbers, become Facebook friends, and check in on each other occasionally. And you’ll be like, ‘Hey, how are things going?’ and I’ll be like, ‘They’re pretty good, remember that one time?’ and you’ll be like, ‘Boy, do I ever,’ and that’ll be the extent of it.” She shrugged indifferently. “But at least we made some good memories.”

              “You’ve got it all planned out,” I said with a hollow laugh.

              “That’s the way it always goes,” she replied.

              Maybe so, I couldn’t help thinking, even though I hated myself for thinking it. Nothing lasts in life, and love is no exception.

              Liv picked up her bag and began walking again. I grabbed mine and followed her to the dock, where the ferry was waiting. On the way home I watched the foamy waters flying from the stern with a feeling of aggrieved melancholy. I realized it was my own cynicism that had always doomed my chances at lasting love. I never had it because I didn’t think I could have it. Liv was the same way. Our mutual sense of fatalism was threatening to tear our relationship apart before it even began.

              “You okay?” said Liv, coming over and standing at my side, looking out over the waters.

              “I just don’t think we should be in such a hurry to pronounce our relationship dead,” I said. Then, suddenly filled with a new courage, I turned and looked at her with a fierce look. “Liv, I’m not ready to be done with you. If you’re not ready to be done with me, then nothing can stop us. I am all in. Are you in?”

              Liv searched my face for a moment, as if half-convinced I was joking. But when she saw I was dead-serious, tears formed in the corners of her eyes. “Yes,” she said. “Yes. If you’re in for me, I’m absolutely, 100 percent in for you.”

*              *              *

              We docked at the mainland and began the steep climb uphill on foot towards the inn. Pearls of dew glistened on the grass of the lawn. From a distance you could already hear the stirrings of the first customers shuffling and talking and ordering their morning breakfasts.

              “I motion that we grab something to eat,” I said, “and then shower and get cleaned up and spend the rest of the day in bed.”

              “Sleeping?” said Liv.

              “We can sleep,” I said, “if we get around to it.”

              Liv laughed. Moved by a sudden impulse, I grabbed her around the waist and began to tickle her, which only made her laugh louder. Customers coming through the front door of the inn stopped to look at us, expressions of confusion and disapproval written on their faces.

              “Stop, stop!” she cried, beating in vain with her fists against my chest. “You’re going to wake up the whole inn.”

              “Don’t encourage me!” I said, when I felt a violent jolt on the back of my head and my whole body shuddered… I felt faint, and was rapidly losing consciousness…

              The last thing I saw was Liv being carried off by a tall silhouette, one hand over her mouth. Then I fell back onto the lawn and all was silent.

*              *              *

              When I awoke, there was no sign of Liv or the shadowy figure. I grabbed the back of my head to make sure my skull was still intact, then picked myself up and stumbled across the dewy grass to the inn.

              “Where’s Olivia?” I yelled, startling three customers who were quietly sipping coffee. “Did any of you see what just happened?” They ignored me and went back to reading their newspapers.

Carrie was standing in the back making hash browns; I ran towards her. “Where’s Olivia? Someone took her. We were ambushed and someone DRAGGED HER AWAY.”

              Carrie’s reaction was oddly calm, given the circumstances. She poured me a pot of coffee and stood at the counter looking thoughtful. “Devin came in last night,” she said. “He was behaving strangely.”

              I slammed my fist into the rough-hewn oak countertop.

              Carrie eyed me warily but went on with her story. “He staggered in last night around dinner time, wanted to know where she was. I told her you’d gone to the caves. He drank three glasses of ale before I told him he’d had enough. Started rambling about having lost his funding, and spilling the blood of the innocent…”

              A cold shiver ran up my spine at the words. Without another word I ran out the door, into the blinding sunlight.