Free The Shadow of the Bear: A Fairy Tale Retold by Regina Doman Page A

fixed to the wall behind the altar. The gold tabernacle box was closed, but the red glass holder where the sanctuary lamp would have stood was empty.
    Bear stood there a moment, silent, gazing at the floor. He seemed to have forgotten about them altogether, absorbed in some thought or memory. As he stood in the flickering glow of the candles, his long matted hair hallowed in amber, he had changed yet again. Blanche couldn’t tell how, but she sensed, dimly, a quiet, enormous sorrow overwhelming him. She couldn’t see his face, and there was no change in his silhouette, but a feeling emanated from him—and from the very walls of the church—of a deep and potent loss.
    Her eyes traveled upward to the empty tabernacle, to the pallid faces of saints and angels, to the darkness of the weakened roof, and she felt that sorrow beginning to slip in at the edges of her consciousness. And beyond that sorrow was a blackness, a terror, mixed in with the larger terror of the void and chaos of the City. Something had happened here—something terrible. She felt a coldness grip at her rib cage and she clutched the altar rail in sudden fear. There was something trying to get at them—no, trying to get at Bear. It was almost as though he was not resisting, but was allowing it to overwhelm him.

    Rose stood behind Blanche, erect and composed. The heat of the candles radiated against the frosty air of the nave, and the candle in front of them warmed her face. Again, her heart was beating the hard cadence of a march— questions falling and rising in her mind. Who was Bear? Why had Bear taken them here? What was his connection to this place? She sensed, dimly, a quiet sorrow and fear filling Bear, but she wasn’t troubled by it. The sense of danger made her lift up her head higher. There were battles coming. But life was meant to be a battle, wasn’t it? There was nothing to fear.
    They could have dropped into the stillness of eternity for an hour or more. None of them moved or spoke for several minutes. Only the candles continued their ceaseless dance on the forsaken church walls.
    At last, Bear roused himself and set the candle lighter to one side. He turned to face the girls, and his features were enigmatic in the candlelight.
    “I’m glad you came,” he said simply.
    “It’s—lovely,” Rose said at last. “I’ve never seen such an altar.”
    “If we could come here in the daytime, you’d see much more of the church’s character,” Bear said. “But you can feel it, even in the dark. Can’t you?”
    “Yes, I can,” Rose affirmed. Blanche said nothing.
    He walked towards them in a roundabout fashion. “Careful of the floor. Come around behind the altar. You can see the statue of Christ best from behind it.”
    Rose hadn’t even noticed the marble statue of the Savior towering above the tabernacle, and felt somewhat guilty. But when they reached the spot Bear indicated they should stand, her mind was arrested by something else, completely different—there were stains on the carpet behind the altar.
    Even in the shadows, she could make them out—faint, irregular marks on the light plush of the carpet. Suddenly, Rob’s story about bloodstains behind the altar flooded her mind, and she felt nauseous. But that was silly. Rob had been teasing her, hadn’t he? She drove it from her mind ruthlessly, a profane distraction in this holy place. But the thought still mocked her.
    Rose saw Bear gazing at the statue of Jesus and realized his expression had changed again.  Now he seemed to be struggling to contain a silent fury inside him. Suddenly, he noticed her and all at once, averted his eyes, as though he hadn’t meant to drop his guard.
    “You ready to go?” he asked, and his voice sounded tired.
    Blanche nodded, but Rose was too distracted to answer. As Bear went back and forth, extinguishing the candles, the sisters watched as the barren church slowly succumbed once more to its habitual gloom.
     
    Outside, they all