Chapter Two - Ursus

Other than a vague sensation of drifting with the current, Jake felt nothing. The terror that gripped him subsided, leaving behind a sleepy, languorous feeling. He felt light, at peace, content to go wherever the river decided to take him. He’d often wondered where it went; perhaps he’d find out. He was no longer cold, nor did he feel any particular need to breathe. It was a dream, he decided, and he’d wake up in his own bed to the sound of one of Mom’s morning news shows and the aroma of coffee and toast in the air.

It would be all right.

He drifted for what seemed like a long time. Sometimes a thought would try to form, but would dissipate as quickly as it came, like a bubble in the water. Jake surrendered to the feeling, content to float in the darkness.

He felt a sudden pressure on his shoulder, which subsided almost instantly. His shirt went taut around his neck and armpits. The feeling was more curious than alarming; until that moment he hadn’t been aware of his clothing at all. He felt himself being dragged, the river’s current flowing over his body told him he was moving in a different direction. Absolute darkness turned to gray, and then to a sparkling aquamarine, and then Jake’s head burst through the surface into warm, bright light.

Heaviness returned to his body. Whatever had grabbed his shirt dragged him out of the water. He coughed, vomiting water through his mouth and nose. After a few seconds of terror, he took his first breath and opened his eyes.

Jake lay on a grassy riverbank beneath a canopy of tall trees. Broad leaves quaked and shimmered where the slight breeze touched them. Beyond them was the sky. Blue, but not the blue he remembered. It was a deep, intense blue. It struck him that it was what blue was supposed to look like, but could never quite reach. The pale green in the leaves, the rich, vibrant grays and browns in the branches, all glowed with a clarity that Jake viewed in stunned silence.

Those were not his trees. They weren’t like any trees Jake had ever seen; even the smallest of them was as wide as he was tall. Branches spread in all directions, twisting and arching in intricate patterns, almost as if the canopy above was woven from wood. Wonder and fear mingled in his mind; as beautiful as it was, it wasn’t familiar. He had no idea where the river had taken him.

A thought came to Jake. Someone had pulled him out. Whoever it was, they must be nearby.

“Mom? Dad?” he called. He remembered calling out to his mother before the water sucked him under. Perhaps she had noticed his absence and started after him. Maybe she’d plunged into the icy river and pulled him out just as he was about to-

Jake chose not to finish the thought.

“Mom? He called again. There was no answer. He sat up. The river ran in a wide, meandering path, forming the border of a vast forest. The river was much wider than his own, so wide that he could make out very little of what lay on the opposite bank. As far as he could tell, the forest ended at the riverbank, but beyond that, nothing was certain.

The icy chill of the river seemed to be wearing off, and he found that he was able to think more clearly with each passing moment. The ground beneath him was covered in soft, fragrant grass, curiously warm beneath his skin. He realized that he could feel the grass against his skin because his shoes were gone. Not only that, but his clothes were different; he was dressed in a plain white t-shirt and brown pants with no pockets. He looked around for any sign of his clothes or shoes, but found nothing.

Possibilities crept into his mind. He’d been fished out of the river by a psychopath, thrown into a van, and carted off where his mother would never find him. He’d been captured by aliens and placed in some kind of huge habitat, like a fish tank for boys. A terrarium, where people kept pet lizards and turtles and things like that. Maybe the ground was warm because there was a heating pad underneath. Maybe he’d end up finding trays of food at regular intervals.

“Hello”? He said again, a little louder. His speculation wasn’t getting him anywhere. He needed the person who pulled him out of the water.

“Hey!” This time he shouted. The silence was beginning to close in on him, the peace almost oppressive. He struggled to his feet. It was difficult to stand, as if his arms and legs had been asleep, and were still waking up. He felt unnaturally heavy and clumsy. He tried taking a step, and stumbled. It was almost as if he was learning to walk again.

“Who’s there? Anybody?”

The forest remained silent. Only the low rush of the river and the quiet ripple of air through the leaves above disturbed the quiet.

“You do not belong here,” a voice said. It was deep, almost a growl, and seemed to come from everywhere at once. Startled, Jake leapt to his feet again.

“I don’t even know where ‘here’ is,” Jake said. “I was in the river-”

“I pulled you from the river. You are a Giver who does not swim.”

“I swim good,” Jake said. He could almost hear Mrs. Collins saying You swim well, Jake. Not good. “The water was cold. Thank you for pulling me out.”

“You are a Giver who does not swim. Now you are on dry ground It is good to please the Givers.”

Now Jake understood where the voice was coming from, and why he couldn’t pinpoint its direction. Whoever was speaking to him coming from inside. Speaking directly to him. Not to his mind, exactly, but something deeper than that. He didn’t hear the words, or think them, but felt them, the same way he could sometimes feel his mother’s disappointment when he came home with another failed spelling test, or his father’s disapproval when the report cards came out. The way he could feel Precious Peter’s smug grin boring into the back of his skull.

“If you pulled me out, where are you?” Jake said. He spoke out loud; it felt more natural that way. There was no response from the voice. Jake peered along the shoreline and into the forest. Nothing stirred.

“So you pulled me out of the water and now you’re just going to leave me here? Where am I supposed to go?”

Silence. Then the voice spoke again. The feeling of it in Jake’s mind was jarring.

“Givers know all. All Givers know the Calling-Place.”

“Why do you keep calling me Giver? My name is Jake.”

“You are a Giver. You have the Giver’s scent. This is not the place for Givers.”

“Do you have a name?” Jake asked. At least that would be something.

“They call me Ursus at the howls.”

“I’m Jake. Glad to meet you.” He wondered what Ursus meant by “the howls” but he didn’t ask. Too many questions might drive Ursus away, or at least dissuade him from revealing himself.

The voice said nothing in reply. Jake scanned the forest again, hoping for some movement, a rustle of a branch, anything that would betray the presence of the voice. It said the had a certain scent, so whoever Ursus was, he must have been close. Jake sniffed his arm, wondering if perhaps the river or his time on the grassy bank had given him some kind of strong odor, but he smelled nothing. Eventually, he grew tired of scanning the river’s edge. Rivers always lead somewhere, he decided. What he wanted to do now was find his way home, and downriver seemed as good a direction as any.

Jake began to walk, picking his way down the riverbank in the direction of the current. Jake had a name; now he wanted a face. Eventually Ursus would have to come out of hiding to follow him. He walked for a few hundred feet, glancing around him, hoping to catch a glimpse of Ursus tracking him. He saw nothing but the trees, crowding the bank as far as he could see, up and down the river. He wondered what kind of a person Ursus was. It wasn’t a name Jake had ever heard before.

“The Calling-Place is not that way,” said the voice.

Progress.

“Maybe you could show me where it is,” Jake said. He spoke his words loudly, not knowing how far his voice would have to carry. He wondered if he really needed to speak at all. He couldn’t bring himself to try it. Talking was how he’d always done it before. He waited for a moment, watching, but the voice didn’t answer, and the forest remained as still and silent as a painting. He marveled again at its beauty, the magnificent trees, ancient and majestic, their colors so rich and deep that even his own idea of color paled in comparison. It was as if he had been blind for a lifetime, and then by some miracle been given the gift of sight. Yet even as he stood in rapt amazement, he felt a sliver of fear in his mind. Fear, and a question, one that he almost dare not ask.

Where was he?

His memories seemed to begin at the river. Even his name felt a little strange to him, a collection of sounds without meaning, but undeniably part of him nevertheless. If he concentrated, he could come up with facts; stop signs were red, sometimes ‘Y’ was a vowel, the capital of Pennsylvania was Harrisburg. But about his own life, everything seemed shrouded in a thick fog, impenetrable. He felt lost, alone, as much adrift now as he had been before Ursus had pulled him from the river.

“Hey, Ursus,” Jake said. He his voice quivered. He swallowed to ward off the tears that seemed ready to come. “I think I’m lost.”

His words were met with silence, and Jake was afraid that Ursus had abandoned him. Tears blurred his vision. He wiped them away.

From between two twisted roots, something moved. At first, its color seemed almost indistinguishable from the bark of the trees, but it moved closer, and Jake was able to get a better look.

Ursus was a dog.

It came within twenty feet of Jake and stopped, regarding him with eyes the color of dark amber. Its short, tawny brown coat stretched over rippling muscles that bunched around his forelegs and massive chest. His head was wide and heavy, with a thick snout and an upper lip that dipped down just underneath the lower jaw on both sides. Jake sensed no aggression from it; the dog regarded him with a strange, quiet sadness, something Jake felt more than he saw.

Ursus looked away, glancing down the wide curve of the river, then looked back at Jake.

Jake was sure that dogs were not supposed to be that big. The one standing in front of him was at least a head taller than he was. He doubted his head would come up to the dog’s shoulder. If it wanted to, the dog could most likely split Jake in half with one snap of its massive jaws.

“It is good to please the Givers,” Ursus said.

Now that Ursus stood before him, Jake could see without a doubt that the dog didn’t speak in the sense that he was familiar with. Somehow, they were connected, closely enough he could sense the dog’s pure thoughts, and his mind was able to form the dog’s thoughts into something understandable.

“I’m lost, Ursus,” Jake said. His voice caught in this throat. Saying it made it feel much more real.

“I will take you to the Calling-Place,” said Ursus. “I will take you to where the Givers call the dogs.”

“Thank you, Ursus.”

“I will take you. Follow me,” Ursus said. He turned toward the forest.

“Is it far?”

Ursus looked back at Jake. “Near and far is the same.”

Jake didn’t have time to ponder the dog’s strange answer. Ursus plunged into the forest at a brisk trot.

Next Chapter: Chapter Three