Mattie and the Star Bear ⭑ A Short Story

Welcome, Wanderers, to the final story of August — a piece full of adventure, courage, and the magic of making the right choice, even when it’s the hardest one. We hope this one sparks a bit of wonder in your soul today.

We will always remain reader-supported and ad-free.
If you’ve found a bit of wonder here, consider supporting the journal with a paid subscription; this helps us cover costs and give more to the writers who create the magic here.

Rather support us with a one-time donation? Click the button below!

Yes, I loved this story!

Young Mattie Gibbons blinked at the old Wizard of Dunhair over the cauldron and felt the slow slop of slime slink down his forehead. It landed with a plop by his feet and then scuttled off somewhere under the floorboards.

“I don’t think that was eye of newt, sir,” said young Mattie, eyeing the empty bottle in his hands with great suspect.

“For the first time in my life,” said the Wizard, wiping the dubious concoction out of his eyes, “I am resigned to agree with you. Mattie, my dear boy, I think we should have a chat.”

Mattie swallowed. He’d found in his short time upon this earth that when people wanted to speak to him, it often meant that they wanted to shout at him. Often with words he himself wasn’t allowed to say.

The old Wizard let out a long sigh and gestured for Mattie to follow him across the room, where he sat on a bench by the window. He patted the empty space beside him and Mattie followed.

“I’m sorry,” he said quickly. “I didn’t mean to mess up your spell, sir. Honest.”

“Yes, yes,” muttered the Wizard. “I know. I know. But, the truth is, in the last three months under my tutelage, you have yet to show any signs of improving. I’m sorry to say this, my dear boy, but I’m just not sure you’re cut out for this wizarding malarky.”

Mattie blinked. “But, sir …”

“You’re a good lad!” said the Wizard in a voice that was no doubt meant to be cheerful. “But perhaps your skills lie elsewhere. Like, raising cattle. Or long jumping.”

“But I want to be a Wizard, sir. Like you.”

The Wizard grimaced ever so slightly, looking down at him. “Ah. Yes, I know, m’ boy. It’s just—oh. Please don’t cry. Here, take this.” The Wizard pulled a handkerchief out of his sleeve, and then another one, and another one. This stream of colours went on for some time until the Wizard stopped, and let out a huff, tossing the handkerchiefs to the ground. “Oh, great heavens. I don’t even remember putting all these in here.” He shoved his other arm deep into his sleeve and flailed it around. “Where is the blasted thing?”

Mattie sniffed, wiping his nose on the cuff of his shirt. “Try the—hic—other sleeve, sir.”

He did so, and then, with a triumphant shout, pulled forth a red sucky sweet. He held it out to Mattie, who took it with great reluctance. It was littered with the blue fluff of the Wizard’s robe.

“What would I do without you, boy?” Then he laughed. “Probably be in less danger, hah! Oh, no. Oh, no. My dear boy, I didn’t mean to set you off again. Forgive an old man his jokes, eh?”

Mattie gave another wet sniff.

The Wizard looked at him for a moment, seemingly deliberating something. Then, he leaned forward with a sigh and said, “Look, I’ll give you one more chance, okay—on one condition. But I’m afraid that’s all I can give you. It’s a miracle my tower’s still standing with you still here, truth be told.”

Mattie’s tears dried at once. “Of course, sir! On what condition?”

“There’s an old wizarding tradition,” said the Wizard, “called the Rite of the Star Bear. I did it when I was your age, in the youth of my apprenticeship. My teacher did it, as did hers. So on, so on. But, eh, it’s fallen out of practice in our age. A great shame, really.”

“The Rite of the Star Bear?” echoed Mattie. “What is it?”

“It is a trial that utilises the erudition, the wit, and the compassion that the Wizard code states we must honour.” His eyes twinkled. “The catching of the fabled Star Bear. Do this, and you will have proved yourself a worthy apprentice. But, if you fail, well.” The Wizard seemed almost sad. “I am afraid then that these moments now will be the last we share together.”

“How do you catch a Star Bear?” asked Mattie.

The old Wizard laughed. “Oh, no—that’s cheating! All I shall give you is the task. It is you, m’ boy, that must find the solution. Best not tarry! Come now, I shall help you pack.”

Mattie set out from the old Wizard’s tower with a determined stride and a rucksack that rattled. With each step, his robes swung and the point of his wide-brimmed hat bounced. He appeared, to those who could see him in the distance, as a windup toy—cranked to max, and let loose.

As he came to the first village along his path, he stopped by the road to ask a farmer if she had seen the great Star Bear. She told him that the Star Bear wandered the mountains, and, only at the highest peak, would he find it. So Mattie climbed the highest mountain, and stood atop the peak and looked out over the land. But he did not see his Star Bear.

At the next village, Mattie stopped to ask the butcher if he had ever seen the Star Bear. The butcher told Mattie that the Star Bear lived in the ground, and used rabbit burrows to travel around. So Mattie dug through the earth and wandered the deep and winding warrens. He found there things that were dark and things that writhed and wriggled. But he did not see his Star Bear.

At the next village, Mattie found himself in conversation with a blacksmith. She told him that the Star Bear lived in the woods, where the trees were woven the tightest. So Mattie took himself to the woods, and squeezed through the cracks and popped out into a clearing. Still, he could not find his Star Bear.

He had been on the road for some time now, and was beginning to grow tired. He longed for a proper bed to rest his head.

He had lost the bounce in his gait somewhere along the road, and now his steps came heavy and aching. He yawned against the cold night air and shivered into his robes. He could hear, coming up behind him, the rumble of a carriage and the neat trot of a horse. Mattie turned to the side of the road, and waved to the driver.

She came to a slow stop beside him. “You alright, kid? Are you lost?”

“I don’t think so,” said Mattie. “But I’m not entirely sure where I am either. Do you know how far I am from the nearest town?”

The woman hummed lightly, thinking. “Oh, I’d say about a mile north.”

“Right,” said Mattie slowly. “And which way is north again?”

The woman narrowed her eyes slightly, leaning over the wooden dashboard. “Say, aren’t you a wizard?”

Mattie toed the dirt road, dropping his shoulders. “Only an apprentice, miss, and even that’s stretching it.”

“And your teacher never taught you about stars?”

“We haven’t quite cleared the lesson on not blowing things up, I’m afraid. I’ve only just started wearing the hat right.” As he said that, the point of his hat sagged down over his eye. He sighed. “Never mind.”

The woman laughed lightly. “Well, tell you what—I’m no wizard, mind, but I know a little. Enough to get you north, anyway. Do you see that star there, the big bright one?”

Mattie squinted, attempting to follow the woman’s finger. Then, he nodded. “Yes.”

“A little to the left. That’s the moon, little wizard.”

“Oh.” Mattie turned his gaze. “Yes, I see it now.”

“Follow that star,” she said, “and you’ll always be facing north.”

“What if I lose it?”

“Oh,” said the lady, “that’s easy. Look for the bear amongst the stars—Ursa Major, they call it. Look for that, and you’ll find it again.”

“Bear?” Mattie’s eyes went wide. He held his hand out to the lady’s and shook it heartily. “Thank you, miss. You’ve been a great help. All the best now!”

Mattie took off like a shot down the road, his eyes set on the stars above him. Yes, he could see the bright north star shine down over him. He could see the faint constellation lines that paired it to the next and the next and the next. He could see, above him, in all of its glory, the great and fabled Star Bear.

He whooped as he saw it, punching his fists to the air, but then fell quickly silent. It was all very good finding it, but how on earth was he meant to capture it?

A very long ladder, perhaps? Two very long ladders, even. Failing that, a miracle might do the trick.

The point of his hat hung dejectedly over the brim as he wandered into the next village. It was a fishing village, and a remarkably small one at that. The air smelled deeply of salt and all the houses were dim with sleep. Mattie sighed. He would have no luck finding a room here.

He took shelter instead in an old boathouse down by the water. The sodden nets made a pitiful bed, but he could see, through a large gap in the rotten roof above, the stars, winking with all their mischief above him. Mattie held his hand up, covering the stars with his palm, and mimed grabbing them all in one fell swoop. He brought his fist to his face and opened it. He imagined tiny shards of starlight falling onto his cheeks, freckling him with the light—he imagined the Star Bear bursting out from between his fingers and roaring around the room. He imagined the old Wizard’s face, his hands on his hips, scratching at his head, and saying, “M’ boy, you’ve gone and done it!”

He fell asleep with a smile on his face.

He woke, however, with a terrible jolt—and a deep throbbing pain in his side. He had been jabbed, rather aggressively, by the damp end of an old oar. On the perpetrator’s end, a young girl, with a bright shock of blonde hair and the frown of a much older woman.

“Oi!” she cried and then swatted the oar through the air. “This isn’t a hotel!”

He sat up straighter, wary of the oar still swinging to-and-fro in a pendulum fashion and held up his hands. “I’m very sorry, miss. I was only looking for somewhere to sleep, was all.”

Her frown hardened. Her nose wrinkled. “You a wizard?”

Mattie opened his mouth to explain that well, technically—but he was quickly cut off.

“You will be, won’t you?’ she said, lowering her oar. “Otherwise you wouldn’t have the hat.”

Mattie’s hands went rather self-consciously to his hat, where the point sagged down onto his shoulders. He attempted to straighten it out, but it only sagged down the other side.

“My da says we need a wizard,” said the girl. Mattie blinked and said nothing. “Says only a wizard could get fish to start biting ‘round his boat again.”

He tried to remember if the old Wizard had ever spoken to him about the benefits of wizardly bait, but it was hard to remember anything the old Wizard had said to him that wasn’t, “Dear heavens, boy, put that thing down!”

“You are a wizard, aren’t you?” she said and took her oar up in arms again. “Else you’re a vagabond, sleeping ‘round here, like.”

Her oar was now grazing the tip of his nose. He wasn’t keen to become any more acquainted with it, and so he nodded, and said, very simply, and only a touch shakily, “Of course I’m a wizard, miss. Look at my hat!”

“Good,” she said. “Then you’ll help me.”

It was still early as they set off in the young girl’s father’s boat. The sun had not yet risen, but hinted, in violent burning shades, that it soon would. Mattie sat at the helm, his knees to his chest and the point of his hat flapping like a sail whilst the young girl rowed them along. Mattie had never been in a boat before and, if he were ever to have a say in it, he would prefer to never be in one again.

When land was a distant, shrunken thing, the young girl lifted her oars and dragged a net out from under her seat. She offered it out to Mattie who looked at it with something not dissimilar to terror.

“Will you enchant it?” she asked and dropped the net into his hands. It was heavy and wet and squirming with algae, and yet he wanted to drape it over himself and hide away in it. He was feeling rather out of his depth, both figuratively and literally. He wondered again what the old Wizard might do, and so he said, “Mattie, you fool,” and tossed the net overboard. It bloomed like a jellyfish and then began to sink into the dark.

“I thought you’d say something a little more mystic,” she said, leaning over the side of the boat with another frown. A necklace swung out from her shirt and glinted in the light. It was intricate and very beautiful. She caught him looking and smiled, tilting the design towards him. “It’s the north star,” she said. “All good sailors know where it is.”

“I know the north star,” he said, feeling proud that this, at least, he knew.

She looked down at the necklace, turning it between her hands. “My mother used to tell me that every morning the stars would fall, and that the sea would hold them safely until the night. They need each other, that’s what she said. Otherwise they both get lonely.”

Mattie knew a lot about loneliness. That was why he had wanted to become a wizard. Everyone always needed a wizard, and it would be nice, he felt, to be wanted like that.

He sat up suddenly. He felt the point of his hat straighten. “Is that true?”

“I don’t believe it,” she said, sounding smug that she was seemingly beyond such childish fancy. But Mattie knew, deep down, that if she didn’t believe it—she wanted to.

“Where’s the north star now?” he asked.

“It’s almost morning!”

“You said all good sailors know where it is.”

“But—”

He beamed. “C’mon. You’re a good sailor.”

Her face flickered. Her lips pinched. She looked down at her necklace and then up at the sky. Eventually, she pointed upwards. “There,” she said. “I’m almost certain.”

Mattie copied her hand and then moved slightly to the left—where the woman had shown him last night. He felt his fingers click into the right spot and knew he was right. He took up the young girl’s oars and began to chart them towards the star.

The young girl cried out as the boat began to move. “What are you doing?”

But Mattie paid her no mind. His arms burned with the effort required to row the boat. He was panting and red in the face by the time he stopped. The water glittered and winked around them. Each catch of the rising sun on the sea’s crests was a star. He leaned over the side of the boat and waited. The young girl took position beside him.

“What are you looking for?” she asked.

“I don’t know yet,” he admitted. “But I think I’ll know when I see it.”

The two of them sat in silence for a long time. The water clicked against starboard, whilst the net suckled and slapped against port. He felt bad that he had lied to the girl, felt worse that the net would remain empty, and that he could not help her.

The young girl laughed suddenly. “It’s strange,” she said, “but I swear the water just winked at me.”

Mattie was about to reply when he was stopped. He had seen it, too! The water had most certainly winked at him. He leaned closer, his belly pressing against the hard edge of the gunwale, closer and closer, until his feet lifted and his nose was chilled by the near lap of the ocean. Then the water growled, a deep and terrible growl, and the edge of the boat gave way.

The cold was a lashing whip as it embraced him. Terrified bubbles ran and popped from his mouth. The brim of his hat lifted from his brow and he grabbed at it, clamping it firmly down. He could feel himself sinking deeper and deeper into the water. Then he felt a voice, low and deeper than the depths he was sinking towards, “Open your eyes, little wizard.”

He had expected darkness but the world around him was a bright and brilliantly alive thing. He could see the heave and sigh of the ocean, the turning ripples, the ebb and flow of the tide. He could see the waves, crashing, rolling, returning. Overhead, the fading morning moon shone down through the water. His cloak billowed around him as he turned. The Star Bear floated beyond him, the lines of his constellation wriggling in the distorted light. Mattie stayed very still. The Star Bear began to circle him, slowly at first, and then quickening, running in ripples around him, and then, very suddenly, the Star Bear stopped, opened his mouth, and swallowed the young wizard whole.

In a stomach full of stars, Mattie drifted without fear. He could hear the Star Bear’s thoughts and they were full of stories. Stories about the fishes and the sky; about basking sharks, about buckies and the auld gibbies. Stories about stars and the creatures that crawled beneath the sand. The land, the sea. The gairfish, the bawgie, the badoch and the bouger. The thoughts were each constellations, bright in the dark stomach Mattie had settled in.

There was a sudden lurch as the Star Bear raced towards the water’s surface. A flock of gannets burst past them as they broke through into the air, their forms turning needle-like as they threaded themselves through the waves. Mattie could see all of it. He could see, too, the young girl and her boat, and the expression of awe splashed across her face. He waved at her from inside the Star Bear. She waved back.

The Star Bear dived then, gliding downwards, drifting lazily through the eye of a shoal. The gannets faded out of sight. The fish flashed silver. Soon, they were gone, too.

They continued down, down, down into the dark. Down, down, down, where the moon and sun could not reach. Down, down, down, where up and down were tangled, where left was no different from right, and right no different from left. The Star Bear reached into his throat and pulled young Mattie out. They drifted beside one another, faces close, wizard and beast.

“How will you capture me, little wizard?” asked the Star Bear. “Will you put me in a bottle, I wonder. Or will you tie a rope around my neck? Will you cut me into pieces so you can fit me into your bag? Will you boil me and reduce me down? What will it be, little wizard? Tell me and I will ready myself.”

Mattie could not speak. He felt the thick wedge of tears in his throat. “Where will you go,” he asked, “if I capture you?”

“I will go with you,” said the Star Bear. “I will go with you and the sky will be emptier tonight. But the sun is rising, and I will have to leave soon. You must decide now.”

And so Mattie made his choice.

As Mattie climbed out onto the beach, he heard a cry from the water. He turned and saw the young girl, dragging her father’s boat through the shallows.

“Oi!” she shouted, holding up two large tuna fish. “Your spell worked! Look at our haul!”

And Mattie could see, in the net behind her, a hundred flapping fishy bodies, and though his hat was sodden and dripping, the point stood tall.

Mattie knocked at the door of the old Wizard of Dunhair’s tower. He heard the usual crash of an explosion from up high, a few choice curses, and the sound of a bicycle horn, and then the door opened.

“Mattie!” cried the wizard, surprised.

“I found the Star Bear,” said Mattie quickly.

The old Wizard blinked. “Mattie, m’ boy, that is—”

“But I failed,” he said. “I couldn’t capture it, sir. I just couldn’t.”

“Why ever not?”

Tears began to flow from his young eyes. “I couldn’t bear it, sir. You were right. I’m not cut out for this wizarding malarky. I’m not cut out for it at all.”

Strangely, the old Wizard smiled. “Oh, I’m afraid you are quite mistaken, m’ boy.”

“But how, sir. I failed.”

“Had you returned here with the beast in tow, perhaps,” he said. “But one of the tenets of this trial is the test a wizard’s compassion. One should never pair their power with apathy, m’ boy. You have done something few wizards ever have—you found the Star Bear!” After a small pause, he added, “I certainly never completed the trial.”

Mattie’s head lifted. “But you said, sir!”

“I’m afraid I lied.” His smile turned sheepish. “I had to prove myself in other ways. As do all wizards. As did you, dear Mattie. Now,” he said, and opened the door wider, “shall we continue?”

And Mattie stepped inside.-

Eilis Adair is a Scottish fiction writer based in Glasgow. They are currently working towards their MA in Creative Writing through the Open University. They were recently published in the Indie Lit Lounge, and in the upcoming issue of The Hopper.