by Hondo Jinx
And Braddock sweated mightily with the work, though he wore no coat and his breath was a white cloud in the cold, morning air.
Once the limbs were pruned away, he paced the log, marking lengths as he went.
Braddock had chosen a stand of trees indiscernible from the spruces of Earth and had taken his time scouting the individual trees, selecting each for height and straightness and diameter.
Neighboring trees were also taken into consideration. It wouldn’t do to simply hack down half a grove. Each tree he felled left room for a neighboring timber to grow straight and tall.
In Braddock’s heart, this meadow was already home. He couldn’t connect with it the way Philia did, but he could sense the land, faintly, the way you can sense another person close to you, and he loved the fertile hilltop plateau like he had never loved a plot of ground.
Braddock wasn’t bent upon conquering the surrounding wilderness. He wanted to live with it. So he gave thought to everything he did, planning not only for tomorrow but for a long future.
Next, he sawed the lengths. Chundra perched on his shoulder for a time, then rooted for grubs, and finally scaled Doal, who appeared to be sleeping again.
The trees were beautifully uniform. Each provided two sixteen-foot logs with no taper to speak of: one twelve inches in diameter, another ten inches in thickness.
The twelve-inchers would become sill logs and form the base of the cabin walls. Braddock would construct the upper walls using the narrower logs, creating a square cabin, sixteen foot to each side, with nine-foot walls that tapered uniformly to ten inches at the roofline.
Thankfully, Elizabeth’s father had been a lover of good tools, and they had salvaged many from the wagon, each worth more to Braddock than even the fattest, shiniest gems he had taken from the subterranean chamber.
“Wake up, Doal,” he called, and the bargle snorted to life.
Chundra gave a little cheer, and they climbed onto the buckskin as Doal gathered the remains of three trees and trudged out of the forest looking like a burly man carrying an armload of firewood.
Philia, too, worked with an eye toward the future. The sprite’s heart full of tough hope.
Braddock passed her at the center of the meadow.
Philia sat cross-legged upon the ground, smiling slightly with her eyes closed. To a casual observer, his wife would’ve looked like she was loafing in the sun.
But she was hard at work communing with the meadow. Rootlike tendrils had risen from the soil and coiled around her limbs and torso. As Meadow Mother, the more closely she aligned herself with this lush acreage, the more likely she would be to attract sprites.
Gathering seven handmaidens was crucial to their survival, as crucial as gathering food and fuel against the approaching winter. If Philia asserted herself as a true Meadow Mother before summer court, Hortensia might recognize her sovereignty.
Otherwise, Philia reminded Braddock daily, Hortensia would break his wife, enslave him as milking stock, and sell Elizabeth to the centaurs.
Of course, if Hortensia tried to do those things, Braddock would do his best to put a bullet through her brains.
He’d have to figure out how, exactly, to do that, though, since his first clash with sprites hadn’t gone particularly well.
But these were the concerns of another season. For now, other creatures posed greater threats.
They had seen no additional centaurs. Philia said they had likely moved south with the changing of the leaves. Also, there was talk of a powerful centaur warlord rallying a horde to the west, but she knew few details. Either way, Braddock was happy to encounter no more horse-men.
Twice while hunting and exploring the land, he had crossed the small boot tracks of goblins.
It was goblins Braddock had killed when saving Elizabeth. Philia explained that goblins were short and muscular and lacked both industry and honor. They built nothing and lived in caves or the homes of those they killed. They never attacked without advantage and rarely then without cover and routes of escape.
Hearing this, a proud man who had done his fighting in a schoolyard or boxing ring might have written off the goblins as cowards; but having survived his share of scrapes with wily Indians, Braddock understood the goblins’ traits made them extremely dangerous adversaries.
Spotting their tracks near the meadow was disconcerting, and Braddock kept constant watch for sign of them or anything that might do them harm. He wore the saber at all times, kept his firearms handy, and lent one revolver to Elizabeth whenever he left camp.
Even more concerning than the goblins or centaurs were the giant bear in the canyon and the source of the horrible caterwauling that rose out of the north woods most nights.
Philia said it was a woolly dragon, which she explained was not a true dragon but was nonetheless incredibly dangerous.
Apparently, woolly dragons were huge creatures with patches of thick fur sprouting from between the armor of their thick plates. They had wings and could coast short distances but unlike real dragons, lacked true flight.
Woolly dragons also lacked the high intelligence, longevity, breath weapons, and spellcasting abilities of real dragons. But for most of Tardoon’s inhabitants, this made little difference, because the woolly dragons’ size, armor, extreme brutality, and huge fangs and claws were so deadly.
Philia doubted the woolly dragon they heard caterwauling in the night would venture this far south.
Braddock hoped she was right. But he remained vigilant against the possibility.
Presently, honking drew Braddock’s attention skyward, and he saw a wedge of birds heading south, reminding him of migratory geese of his former world.
That’s how Braddock thought of Earth now. Not as the place to which he desperately wanted to return but as his former home.
If only Elizabeth saw things that way.
Her attitude was up and down. From time to time, she mentioned rescue; but mostly, they avoided the topic.
Nights, Elizabeth grew quiet most and turned in early. Sometimes, she went hours without uttering a word. Other times, she grew sullen and angry and made Braddock miserable with her pouting.
But mostly, she endured without complaint, and she was a worker, so Braddock accepted her moods with as much compassion as he could muster.
Elizabeth had proven a quick study and spent hours each day gathering food from the wilderness. Philia had identified edible plants, berries, and mushrooms, and shown Elizabeth where to gather each, along with various nuts, seeds, and roots.
Chundra brought them fresh-killed rabbits and squirrels, and Braddock had managed to spear a stringer full of the fat fish he thought of as salmon.
Elizabeth impressed them all with her cooking skills and wasn’t above washing clothes, gathering fuel, or lugging buckets of water to wherever they worked.
“Look what I found by the river,” Elizabeth said with a proud smile when Braddock rode up. She pointed to the heaping pile of muddy tubers she was scrubbing in the grass outside the stone structure.
He loved seeing Elizabeth like this, a proud and confident woman hard at work and loving it. During these moments, it was easy to imagine Elizabeth overcoming her moodiness and homesickness and blossoming into a contented and durable frontier woman.
“Nice work,” he said. “Anything moving down there?”
Elizabeth shook her head and stood and dried her hands. “Hi, Chundra. Hi, Doal.”
Chundra squeaked hello.
Doal groaned and smiled and set the logs alongside the others atop the boulders he’d arranged earlier.
Sitting atop the stones, the logs were easy for Braddock to work, and he set straight to it, picking up the draw knife as Chundra waddled over to inspect the tubers, cooing with excitement.
Doal lumbered off to watch over Philia.
Elizabeth returned to her tubers, which she would roast for their lunch. She tossed one to Chundra, who bowed deeply, jabbering his thanks, then plopped onto his rump and started eat
ing. The little bear-man loved his potatoes.
Braddock set to work with the draw knife, peeling away the bark with long, smooth pushes of the wide blade, filling his nostrils with the good smell of spruce shavings in the process.
Once he had stripped the visible bark, he turned the log with the peavey and sliced away the rest.
Next, he used the hewing ax to flatten one side. Then he spiked the log in place, straddled it, and smoothed the flat side with short pulls of the draw knife.
This done, he measured and marked the ends of the log, sawed the limits of each notch, and went to work with the adze, chisel, and mallet, carefully carving grooves that would, along with the flattened sides and uniform diameter of the logs, create tight walls without need of chinking.
Finally, he drilled peg holes and turned his attention to the next log.
It was pleasant, methodical work, but he was pleased that this load was the last they needed to build the main body of the cabin.
“You do careful work, Mr. Braddock,” Elizabeth said, handing him a cup of cold water.
“Thank you.” He downed the water in a single gulp and handed the cup back to her.
Elizabeth accepted it with a smile. “Is this the last of the wood you’ll need for your cabin?”
“For the base,” he said, and swept a forearm across his brow, mopping perspiration. “Two dozen trees split into forty-eight logs. Later, we’ll need more timber for crossbeams and gables.”
“For the loft,” Elizabeth said, and glanced past Chundra, who was dozing off beside the tubers. She blinked at the stone structure as if she could see the finished cabin standing there.
That was one thing Braddock had learned about Elizabeth. The woman had vision. Perhaps too much, in fact.
As a result, like many women, Elizabeth did not lack for ambitious notions of the work others should do.
Had she herself been slothful or had her ideas been frivolous, Braddock would have simply refused her requests, but the woman was hardworking and intelligent.
Elizabeth had drawn up plans for several systems and structures: a comfortable stable, corral, and hayloft for the mustang; a squat springhouse that would cover the pool and attach to the cabin, providing access to water without compromising living space; the smokehouse Braddock hoped soon to build; and her most inventive project, the privy at the edge of the western hillside.
She had convinced Doal to dig the outhouse pit into the hillside. Then she told him how to stack the sturdy ramp of boulders that now retained the hillside, supported rear of the privy, and walled off the pit in such a way that sewage drained from gaps at the base, washing away much of the filth and stink.
The project had seemed an exasperating luxury to Braddock, but Elizabeth won over Doal, Philia, and Chundra, so Braddock eventually conceded to her request and nailed together a rough privy of untrimmed lumber. They didn’t have the time to make things pretty.
The roughness rankled Elizabeth, who believed anything worth doing was worth doing right, but the crudeness of the privy didn’t keep her or any of them from using simple structure that now stood at the edge of their meadow.
Truth be told, the outhouse had been a good idea, just like her other notions.
But Braddock had spent too much time on her side projects. He needed to finish their home, build a chimney for the stove, and get serious about splitting and stacking firewood and hunting larger game.
They also needed to choose, fell, and elevate superior timber to dry over the winter. And ever since spotting the second set of goblin prints, he had been wondering if they needed a defensive palisade.
So he was not in a receptive mood when Elizabeth asked, “When will you start my cabin?”
“Your cabin? You get the loft.”
She just looked at him with those big blue eyes for a moment, blinking serenely. “Surely you jest, Mr. Braddock. I must have my own home.”
“Surely I don’t jest. Winter is coming. I don’t have time to build you a house.”
“Philia says winter won’t arrive for weeks.”
“What if she’s wrong?”
Elizabeth shook her head. “She won’t be wrong about the seasons. She’s a sprite, isn’t she?”
“Even if she’s right, we have no time to spare. Once winter hits, food and fuel will be scarce.”
“We will manage, I am sure. But you will build me a home.”
He snorted and turned back to his work. “Thanks for the water, darlin.”
Elizabeth grabbed his arm. “I refuse to share your home.”
“Then go ahead and build one yourself.”
“I wish I could! Anything to escape the revolting sounds of your beastly rutting.”
Braddock and Philia made love every night, but they moved stealthily and muffled their moans out of respect to Elizabeth.
Apparently, they hadn’t been quite as stealthy as Braddock had assumed.
Elizabeth’s complaint knocked him off-balance. He cleared his throat. “I apologize. I didn’t—”
“I don’t want an apology. I want a home.”
“That isn’t practical.”
“You will manage, I’m sure, Mr. Braddock. You are a very capable man.”
“We don’t have time. The herds are already moving south. Once snow falls, the remaining game will hole up.”
“I will spear fish as you build my cabin,” she said.
“Thanks for the offer, but—”
“And if we’re so far behind, Philia can start helping.”
“She is helping. She’s communing with the meadow.”
Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “She’s sitting in the grass. Meanwhile, Chundra is napping. Doal probably is, too. And I’m working my fingers to the bone. You’re fine with all of that, but we don’t have time to build me a home.”
“No, we don’t.”
She narrowed her eyes. “I know what you’re doing.”
“I’ll tell you what I’m doing. I’m trying to talk sense into you so I can get back to work.”
“No, you’re punishing me.”
“Punishing you?” he laughed. “For what?”
She lifted her chin. “You’re punishing me for not breeding with you.”
He snorted. “That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it? I might be innocent in the ways of love, but I am not blind. I see the way you look at me, the way you’ve always looked at me.”
He shrugged. “You’re a fine-looking woman. Of course, I look at you. But I never meant anything by it.”
“You’re angry because I rejected your advances.”
“Advances? What advances?”
“Every day, your sprite asks me to join you.”
He showed her his palms. “That’s on Philia, not me.”
“And anything she does is fine by you, because she lets you use her body.”
“Quit being so dramatic. You make me sound like an animal.”
“You are an animal! A grunting, moaning, gasping beast. I hear your flesh slapping and can’t roll over without glimpsing your shadows humping away.” Elizabeth shut her eyes and shook her head, as if trying to block out the painful memories.
“If you hate it so much, close your eyes and go to sleep.”
“I can’t! I’m too disgusted and frightened!”
“Frightened?”
“Yes, frightened. If you must know, I live in constant fear of you forcing yourself on me.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Easy for a big, strong man to say. But imagine being me. Imagine knowing a leering giant might strip you naked at any moment and defile your body, and you could do nothing to stop him.”
“I would never do that. You have my word.”
“I don’t want your word! I want a cabin!”
“No.”
“At least now, I can hide on the other side of the circle. Inside a cabin, there would be no escape.”
“You’ll have the loft.”
“The loft? My cage, you
mean. I would be trapped above you, forced to lie awake all night listening to your barbaric nocturnal activities with Philia. No, that won’t do. You must build me my own cabin.”
“The answer’s no. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do.”
“With whose tools?”
He looked at her.
“They are all my tools,” Elizabeth said, taking the draw knife from where he had set it down, “and if you refuse to build me a cabin, I want them back. Now. I will live in the privy with my stove and tools. Good luck building your cabin with guns and a coffeepot, Mr. Braddock!”
She had him dead to rights.
“You drive a hard bargain, woman.” He reached out and took the draw knife from her. “One that might just get us killed.”
A green blur zipped up, and Philia appeared between them, smiling happily. “Husband, sweet sister, what is the excitement?”
“Mr. Braddock was just offering to build me a cabin,” Elizabeth said.
“Oh, that’s a wonderful idea,” Philia said. “Elizabeth will be much more comfortable, and we will have our own little home, husband, a place to live as man and wife and explore our passions without restraint. Of course, whenever you are ready to join us, sweet sister, you will be welcome.”
“Thank you, sweet sister,” Elizabeth said, giving Philia a little curtsey—and Braddock a triumphant grin. “The faster I have my own space, the faster I will be able to consider your propositions with a quiet mind.”
Braddock growled.
Philia called after him, “Where are you going, my love?”
Braddock marched back to logs with the draw knife. “Back to work.”
14
North of the meadow, Braddock scaled a stony ridge and surveyed the land.
His meadow sprawled in the distance, a green dream, the grass there still holding its vigor while the surrounding world lost its color. That was part of Philia’s meadow magic.
The grass would remain green all winter, but anticipating heavy snowfall, they had cut, dried, and put up a good deal of hay. More was drying in windrows near the pole corral and makeshift stable.