Olan Thorensen - Cast Under an Alien Sun

He estimated well over a thousand people stood listening, and even more busied themselves elsewhere on the grounds—several times more people than the entire population of Abersford and the abbey. He wondered how many miles away some of them had come from?

With the festival officially open, Yozef dispersed with the others to sample the offerings of the tents and the stands set up across acres in all directions. Much of the festival resembled a rural fair in the United States or a 4H gathering, showing off prize animals, holding competitions for sizes of vegetables and animals, and displaying pumpkin-like gourds, leather, metal, and wood crafts. The festival featured tradesman stands, gambling, foot races, and other activities Yozef never identified.

The sounds of the festival beat on his eardrums: people talking, animals vocalizing, and everywhere music from all quarters and a myriad combination of instruments and voices, individuals and groups, all lively. Yozef wandered among the crowd, stopping at a craft table here, a food judging there, and lingering near music that caught his ear. Some performances seemed planned and others spontaneous, with performers claiming an open space to sing or play. It was Yozef’s first exposure to the full range of Caedellium instruments: drums and stringed instruments of all sizes and sounds, wind and brass horns, and instruments of whose categorization he was uncertain. The bagpipe-like performances he moved past quickly, then stopped in wonderment before what resembled a kazoo quintet. The five small, bulbous instruments were each of slightly different shape, with sounds reminiscent of oboes and flutes.

Yozef turned away from the kazoo performance and spied Cadwulf waving to him through the human stream.

“Yozef, I wondered if I’d find you here somewhere. How are you enjoying all this?”

“Quite an impressive assortment of displays. Is the festival always this large?”

“This is normal. It’s tame right now and best for families. After sundown, it gets rowdier when the women and the children go home, and the men drink more. It used to be worse, but when I was about six years old, Hetman Keelan ordered that no alcohol be served at festivals until sundown. Since then, more people attend and stay longer. At the time it wasn’t the most popular ruling from the hetman, though now most see it worked for the best.”

“Is there any recommended order to what I should try to see?”

“No. I’ll walk with you awhile and answer any questions.”

The two of them started down a row of leather-goods displays, when they became three after finding Filtin Fuller examining a leather vest and haggling with the maker. When Cadwulf called out, Filtin dropped the vest back on the table, said something to the disappointed tradesman, and wove his way to where they waited.

“Where’s the family, Filtin?” asked Cadwulf.

“Nerlin and the children are off looking at coneys, colts, and the food preserve exhibits and contests. I have leave to do anything else and meet back with them in two bells.”

Cadwulf gave Filtin a sardonic grin. “So your wife decides what you can do?”

“My wife is a wise woman. She knows how bored I am with those parts of festivals she finds most interesting, so she doesn’t drag me to them. She also knows I’ll be in a better mood for later when the children get tired.”

“A wise woman indeed,” laughed Yozef. By now, Filtin was close to being an indispensable worker and was also a friend. Besides being Yozef’s chief equipment designer and craftsman, Filtin was a sometimes drinking companion and someone around whom Yozef’s mood always seemed to lift, possibly because Filtin’s bright complexion, short red beard, and round face, when combined with a habitually optimistic disposition, reminded Yozef of a Christmas ornament.

“Filtin, Cadwulf is educating me on Caedellium harvest festivals. How about joining us to add to my enlightenment?”

“Glad to . . . until I’m summoned back by the wife.”

In the next hour, Yozef learned to distinguish the three breeds of milk cows, how to estimate the weight of an ox, how a roasted merkon (mussel-like) tasted (bad), and that the muddleton berry jam prepared by Filtin’s wife was the best in the district (Yozef couldn’t tell the difference, so he lied). Cadwulf seemed to have little interest in the fair itself, but his two compatriots noticed his roving eye whenever they passed young women.

Yozef elbowed Filtin. “I don’t know why Cadwulf even pretends to do anything else besides fishing for girls.”

“Fishing for girls? Hah! I’ll remember that one.” Then, addressing the younger man, he asked, “Any bites today?”

Cadwulf smiled good-naturedly, “A few nibbles. A good fisherman knows how to be patient.”

“What about you, Yozef?” queried Filtin. “You’re of marriageable age, becoming a wealthy man, and person of note in Abersford. Any women catching your eye? Or should I ask if you’ve already been fishing, and there are catches you haven’t told us about?”

The question hovered around Yozef’s consciousness for several steps, then coalesced, and he froze. The other two men continued several steps, oblivious to their diminished number before missing him, then stopped and looked back.

Women. Sex . He’d been here nine months, a full Anyar year, and he hardly remembered thinking about sex. How could that be? Had the Watchers done something to him during the “repair job”? A chill trickled down his arms and back, not only at the thought of a life without sex, but of what else they might have done to him.

“Yozef?” asked Cadwulf. “Are you all right?”

He stared at the others. “I just realized I haven’t thought about women that way the whole time I’ve been on Caedellium,” he said in a tone both wondering and worrying. “That doesn’t seem natural.”

“It’s not!” said a concerned Filtin, as he and Cadwulf stepped back to where Yozef still stood. “A grown man has his normal needs. Uh . . . you say you haven’t thought about women that way, but . . . uh . . . surely, you must have noticed being ‘aroused.’ Maybe when asleep or daydreaming?”

“Aroused? What—? Oh, you mean an erection. Not that I remember.”

“Not at all?” blurted Cadwulf. “I guess the shock of being washed up here and knowing you’d never see your homeland again might have something to do with it. Maybe you should see the medicants about it?”

“Somehow I don’t see myself discussing my sex life with Brother Dyllis or Sister Diera.”

“Doesn’t have to be those two. Brother Alber would be understanding, and no one thinks he’d tell of your confidence,” offered Cadwulf.

“Why go to the medicants when you’ve two perfectly good advisors right next to you?” chortled Filtin.

“Practical advice we might give,” said Cadwulf dryly, “but if there are medical problems, he needs to see the medicants.”

“He can always do that later, after seeing if our advice helps. Right here and now is the perfect opportunity to survey the women of Abersford and see if any gives Yozef a ‘rise’ in interest.”

Both Filtin and Cadwulf laughed. Yozef was less amused.

“Now, now, Filtin,” said Cadwulf, “it’s important to let Yozef know which women might be available. We don’t want our mysterious friend and employer to get into trouble with the magistrates or irate husbands and family members.”

For the next half hour, they alternated between experiencing exhibits and a running commentary on the names, attributes, and availability of Abersford women. At first, Yozef cringed at the degree of detail, although it was all done with good humor, and the ribald nature of the comments paired with an unmistakable undertone tone of respect.