by Hondo Jinx
The cattle had warmed to Braddock and his people. Even Elizabeth could feed them by hand now, and though they grazed widely, they spent part of each day within sight of the enclosure.
Philia had divined several strong springs on the meadow. In spring, when Doal returned, they would dig a pond near their home and put up a shed for the cattle.
Braddock liked having the herd close. It was a bulwark against starvation and provided plenty of dung that, once dried, made excellent fuel for Elizabeth’s boiler stove.
Speaking of stoves, he wanted to get inside.
By the time he got the buckskin into the stable and cared for him and hung up the quartered meat, the wind and snow were strengthening, and Braddock could no longer make out the surrounding mountains.
As he staggered through the snow, aching and exhausted, it dawned on him how close a thing this had been. He had pushed himself to the edge of even his new endurance.
The fur folks’ new burrow, which they were digging beneath a boulder forty-five yards from the enclosure, looked like a mound of snow that had slid off a pitched roof, save for the wavering heat that rose from the fur folks’ little chimney pipe.
Apparently, the burrow would be huge, because the kiln ran night and day, and they were amassing a monstrous pile of flooring tiles currently indistinguishable from, thanks to heavy snow, the boulder beside which they were stacked.
Philia, having sensed Braddock’s return, met him at the gate with a steaming mug of sweetroot. The chicory-like coffee substitute was growing on him, which was good, since their supply coffee wouldn’t last forever.
Philia’s green eyes swelled, gawking Braddock’s torn and bloody clothing. “Husband, are you all right?”
“More or less. Come on, darlin. Let’s get inside. I’m half frozen and need to sit for a spell.”
Within the cabin, the girls and Chundra mobbed him.
Braddock fended them off for a bit. It’s always jarring to return home full of people after a long and solitary hunt, especially a hard hunt in the cold.
The warmth, the good smells of food cooking, the noise, the expressiveness of the women… it’s almost shocking after the comparative silence and subtleties of the natural world.
And when your loved ones surge around you, faces twisted with concern and voices raised, everyone talking over each other, pummeling you with kisses and questions, it feels downright foolish.
But as Braddock sat there, something in him relaxed, something he hadn’t even known was at work within him, and suddenly, he slumped heavily in the chair, and pain gained a foothold in his legs and side.
“Step away,” Philia said sternly, her voice so full of command that everyone stopped their fussing and gave Braddock some breathing room. “Tilly, a healing potion, now.”
Without so much as a yes, Meadow Mother, the blond mistress zipped away. A second later, she returned carrying an elixir like the one that had just saved his life.
Philia tore it open and poured it into Braddock’s mouth, and the next thing he knew, the pain vanished, and he was sitting up straight again, once more coursing with energy.
“Thanks, darlin.”
The questions started up again, but Braddock lifted a hand, and everyone fell silent.
Spinner carefully removed his sheepskin coat, shook off the snow, and marveled at the bloodstains and damage. The jacket was badly torn across the abdomen and had no doubt saved his life, probably more than once during the fight.
Stitching had popped around the now misshapen sleeve and collar from where the bird woman’s strong beak had grabbed and twisted, breaking his arm and nearly snapping his neck.
The bird woman’s talons had reduced his thick shotgun chaps to a skirt of leather tassels. They, too, had likely saved his life.
It had been a close thing.
“Tell us what happened!” Elizabeth blurted. Her big blue eyes bulged within her pale face.
So Braddock told them, taking his time and ignoring questions until he reached the end.
The sprites, looking horrified, shouted in unison, “Shrike!”
Even Chundra shuddered at the word.
Philia gave him a quick embrace, and he realized she was trembling. “The bird woman you described was a shrike, husband. I’ve never heard of anyone or anything surviving a shrike attack.”
That made sense. Despite his heavy clothes, rough and tumble life, and the fact that she had attacked when he already had his Bowie in hand, Braddock had barely survived himself.
“So she was a monster girl?” he asked.
They nodded.
Remembering the crucial moment when the shrike hesitated, he said, “She had me dead to rights, but then she paused, and her voice came in my head again. It said, You are man? That little hesitation allowed me to throw my Bowie, which ended things.”
“She must not have known you were a man until that point,” Philia said.
“That must have been a shocking turn of events for her,” Lala said.
“Yeah, especially the part when the knife hit her,” Braddock said.
“Thank the loam and rain,” Tilly said. “It sounds like her surprise saved your life.”
That among other things, Braddock thought. It sure wasn’t just fighting hard. The coat, the chaps, the snowshoes, the shrike’s distraction, and a somewhat lucky throw had all factored into his survival. As had packing a healing potion in his coat. Yes, he was lucky to be alive.
Elizabeth looked even paler than she had. “Are shrikes common?”
The girls, who had gathered around Braddock, touching his legs and chest and shoulders as if verifying he really had survived, shook their heads.
“Luckily, no,” Philia said. “Shrikes are rare and deadly creatures. This is the first shrike I’ve heard of entering our region. Usually, they haunt only the loneliest wastelands.”
“Why?” Braddock asked. He wanted to know everything he could learn about these fearsome creatures. There was no telling which shred of information might save his life down the line. “If they’re the top of the food chain, why not follow the game wherever it goes?”
“Perhaps it is just their nature, Master,” Tilly suggested.
Spinner nodded. “They are cursed.”
“All monster girls are cursed,” Esper said and trotted off to stir her stew before it burned.
“That is true, sweet sister,” Tilly called after the orange-haired kitchen sprite, “but Spinner is right. The shrikes’ curse runs deep. They are shunned even by exiles. And shrikes would have it no other way.”
Lala said, “I can’t imagine being so deeply loathed.”
The girls laughed.
“You have nothing to worry about, sweet child,” Philia said.
Finger-combing her long, plum-colored hair, Lala said, “No, I suppose I don’t, but still… it must be awful. And that could answer the Meadow Master’s question. All beings fear and despise shrikes and will band together to destroy them.”
“That is true,” Philia said. “And we fear them with good reason. Shrikes are much, much stronger than they look. They typically hit victims from behind and seize the neck with their powerful beaks.”
Braddock rubbed the back of his neck, believing every word.
“If that initial strike doesn’t kill the victim,” Philia continued, “the shrike jerks her prey into the air and whirls around with supernatural speed, snapping the neck.”
“They even kill bears and bull elk that way,” Esper said, wiping her hands on her apron as she returned to the group.
“Hold on. These shrikes are my size, and they can lift a bear into the air?” Elizabeth said, sounding terrified.
Esper nodded. “And spin them around.”
“That strength is part of their magic,” Tilly added. “That and their beak.”
“What about their beak?” Braddock asked.
“They only have beaks when hunting or fighting,” Philia explained. “They emerge like cats’ claws when it’s time to
kill.”
Lala nodded, looking almost excited. “At other times, they are said to be hauntingly beautiful.”
Braddock shrugged. “The one that jumped me sure didn’t look beautiful.”
“Did she at least have nice breasts?” Lala asked, eyes glowing with interest. “Were they perfectly formed? Shrikes are supposed to have perfect breasts.”
Braddock laughed. “Darlin, I have no idea. I was a touch busy trying not to die to check out her goods. Tell you what, though, if I find her lying dead out there, you can have a look yourself.”
The sprites shuddered.
“Another thing they’re known for is impaling their victims,” Spinner said, jabbing the air with a sewing needle. “They skewer them, living or dead, on branches and broken trees.”
The sprites agreed this was true and most horrible.
“Are you sure you killed her, husband?”
“Sure? No. But I think it’s likely. She bled a lot. I don’t even know how many times I got her with the knife. It was a crazy tussle. But at the end, she had the Bowie sunk to the hilt in her gut.” He touched his stomach a couple of inches below the solar plexus to show them where he had hit her. “I can’t imagine it did her much good.”
Tilly shivered and looked at the door. “I hope you killed her, Master.”
“Me, too, darlin.”
“If you didn’t kill her,” Lala said, “maybe the storm will. It’s a wonder anything can survive in weather like this. Just thinking about it chills me to the bone.”
Outside, the wind howled like a banshee. Which here on Tardoon could mean an actual banshee at the door.
But to those stuck in the storm, it was far deadlier than a banshee.
Lala’s comment had hauled Braddock’s thoughts back to an unfortunate line of conjecture he’d considered on the long, slow trip home.
Spinner was fussing with Braddock’s jacket. He went over and took it from her and was surprised to see she had already fixed half of the damage. “Thank you kindly, darlin. I need that for a minute.”
Then he went back out into the storm. The temperature had dropped, and the wind was whipping harder, driving a heavy payload of gritty snow that stung the skin like shards of glass.
The storm had escalated into a fearful thing that he had seen before on the plains: a full-blown blizzard.
And even though Braddock couldn’t see ten feet, his eyes shifted to the southeast.
He frowned, knowing what he had to do, even if the thought chilled him to his core.
He went back in the cabin and told everyone what he was fixing to do.
“No!” the sprites responded as one.
“I’ll come with you,” Elizabeth said.
Braddock smiled at her. “Thanks, darlin, but that’s not a good idea. You don’t have the right gear or experience. Besides, this is a one-man job.”
“No one is going,” Philia said, attempting but not quite succeeding to find her voice of command. “I forbid it!”
Braddock smiled at his wife. They had become very close, and yet, they still had much to learn about one another, and she was about to learn something about him.
“I’m going. I have to.”
“You’ll die, Master,” Tilly said, seizing his hand.
“No, I won’t. But those folks will if I don’t help them. Some will die anyway. I can’t let them all perish.”
Philia grabbed his hand. “No, husband, please. You can’t risk yourself for strangers.”
“I most certainly will. Those people are played out.”
“They’re not people,” Lala objected. “They are rat folk.”
Braddock shrugged. “That doesn’t matter to me. Those folks are hurt and hungry and lost. They need us.”
“Let them eat their horses,” Lala suggested.
He frowned at her. “They don’t have any horses.”
“Master is right,” Tilly said. “They have no stock whatsoever.”
He pulled his hand from Philia’s and started stuffing his pockets full of the jerky and nuts and dried fruit.
A man who refuses to look after his own is no better citizen than a barnyard cat.
But no good world can be built by men who think only of themselves nor even those who think only of their people. To build a good world, a man must never play at tempering right and wrong with personal concerns.
Right and wrong are simple… and often inconvenient. The man who does what’s right no matter the cost is a man who might, should he survive, go on to build great things.
Jedediah Braddock was such a man, and that truth was about to cost him.
“What are you doing, Master?” Esper asked, watching her stores dwindle.
“If those refugees are half so worn out as I suspect, they’ll need a bit of nourishment just to make it back here. I should’ve helped them earlier, but I kept thinking they might move on.”
“Master,” Esper said, speaking up again with a trembling voice. “We don’t have the supplies to feed them.”
“She’s right, husband. These aren’t fur folk. These are rat folk. They’re nearly as large as humans, and they’re on the brink of starvation.”
“My point exactly,” Braddock said.
“And mine, Master, if you will pardon my saying so,” Esper said. “They will devour our stores.”
“I will just need to hunt more.”
“But husband, you yourself were already lamenting over the scarcity of game. Certainly, game won’t become more populous simply because we need meat.”
“You’re missing the point,” Braddock said, heat rising in his chest as combativeness came to life within him. “We will do what we have to do. I’m not going to let a group of men, women, and children freeze to death in this storm.”
“Master,” Spinner said, “we don’t even have the space for them.”
“Again,” Braddock said, “we will do what we have to do.”
He glimpsed toward Elizabeth, wondering if the notion of her cabin being overrun again would change her mind about his intentions.
Apparently, it hadn’t, because she just stood there listening with a determined look on her face.
“When the weather breaks,” Braddock continued, “we can see about adding more space or housing some of them in the fruit cellar.”
“But they would eat everything we stocked away. They’ll eat us into the grave,” Esper cried.
“If we have food, I won’t let them starve,” he said.
“Even if it means hastening your own toward starvation?” Lala asked.
Braddock fixed her with a hard stare. The beautiful show sprite fidgeted uncomfortably. “Darlin, I will not let you starve. You have my word. I suspect we will face some lean times, but we will make it through, and come spring, we’ll plant crops and build up a big cache for next winter. For now, I need you all to stay calm and help me save these people.”
“But husband, surely—”
“No,” Braddock said, his voice full of steel. “I am going. And every second you stand here failing to convince me otherwise, more snow is piling up. Tilly and Spinner, can you fix my snowshoes?”
The two sprites studied the ruined snowshoes with dubious expressions.
“They won’t be perfect,” Tilly said.
“They don’t need to be perfect. They just need to get me where I’m going.”
“We’ll do our best,” Spinner said with a forced smile.
“Husband,” Philia said, holding her chin high.
Braddock was ready to defend his ground again, but his wife said, “The fur folk have amazing powers of navigation. Please take Chundra with you. Otherwise, I fear you might be lost in the blizzard.”
“Great idea, darlin,” he said, hauling her into a hug. Then he turned to Chundra. “You willing to ride along, my friend?”
After Philia translated, Chundra nodded enthusiastically. “Braddock friend!”
Braddock’s wives fussed with him as he prepared to leave. Then he said a
quick goodbye and went back out into the storm. Chundra rode inside his jacket, the top of his furry head brushing against Braddock’s beard.
As Braddock strapped on the hastily repaired snowshoes, the door opened behind him.
Elizabeth stood in the doorway, wincing at the cold and wind. “Mr. Braddock!”
“Yes?” he said, walking over to her.
“I just wanted to say…”
A blast of wind cut her off and lifted her long hair in a red nimbus around her face.
He reached out and helped pull the hair from her face.
“Thank you.” Elizabeth fixed him with a brave smile, purpose shining in her eyes. “I just wanted to say good luck, Mr. Braddock.”
“Thank you, darlin. Now get back in there before you freeze to death.” He knew she wouldn’t actually freeze to death, but he also knew others downhill would if he stood here talking much longer.
He started in their direction.
“Mr. Braddock?” Elizabeth called again.
He turned halfway around and squinted at her. “What is it, darlin?”
She seemed to summon her courage, and she straightened her back and raised her chin before speaking. “It’s a brave thing you are doing, Mr. Braddock. A decent, admirable thing. In the past, I’ve said some things that—”
He raised a hand and cut her off. “Thanks, Elizabeth. I’d best be going.”
“Yes, of course. But know this, Mr. Braddock. If I ever have a son… I hope that he becomes a man like you.”
33
The wind whipped and moaned, blasting Braddock with gritty snow as he trudged atop the drifts. The storm blocked the sun, and the light of day had faded to gray.
The cold was intense. It stole his breath and sliced through any attempt at savoring Elizabeth’s parting words. They were nonetheless the right words offered at the right time, and they strengthened Braddock and called upon his best nature, as she had no doubt known they would.
There was more to those words than their fortifying influence, however. There was something on Elizabeth’s end of things. A shift in attitude.
But it was too cold to try to sort out any deeper meaning. What she had said and what she might be feeling were things to ponder beside a warm hearth.