Olan Thorensen - Cast Under an Alien Sun

Now what do I do? Say something? Go to sleep? Thank her for the quick roll and retire back to the supposedly crowded guest room?

The answer came half an hour later when she explored his groin. Though her hands were rough, other parts of her were soft. This time, it took longer. His basic urge slaked, Yozef held himself back until she came with a series of gasping cries and a four-limbed attempt to compress his torso. The aftermath of this second round came quickly. When he was released and rolled off her, she grunted, he thought in satisfaction, turned on her side, and was asleep within moments. He reciprocated.

The next morning, he awoke to an empty bed and the day’s light just coming in the bedroom window. He lay wondering, again, about his next move. No answer appearing to him, he rose, dressed, and went to the kitchen from which emanated bakery aromas. Linton held an iron pan full of biscuits above the wood stove, holding the handle with a heavy cloth. She saw him . . . and smiled.

“Sit down, Ser Kolsko. A day’s work is waiting for me and travel for you.”

He took a seat at the sturdy table, on which sat a jar of butter, plates, knives, and a bowl of pilla fruit, tangerines, and apples.

He wondered where the tangerines came from, Shouldn’t they be ripening at a different time of year? And why tangerines here, but not oranges?

Linton plopped the plate of hot biscuits onto the table, along with two large mugs of kava, and his overnight tryst partner sat opposite him and dug in. He followed suit in short order.

“Are you sure you need to return to Abersford today, Ser Kolsko, or might you stay another day and night so we can plan more . . . fertilizer tests?”

“I think . . . Bronwyn . . . that after last night we can use our first names.”

“Thank you . . . Yozef. I didn’t want to appear too forward.”

Christ! Too forward! After last night? If that wasn’t being forward, I’m in dire danger if she ever does.

“I think my shops and workers can get along without me for another day,” he assured her.

His curiosity about what he’d be doing this additional day was answered as soon as they finished the biscuits and most of the fruit. This was a work day, and for Bronwyn that meant work . They spent time on more planning of the test plots, and, together with one of her workmen, they laid out the final plots with stakes. By noon, everything was ready for the fertilizer. He continued taking copious notes and diagrams and impressed on her the absolute requirement to follow every step of the planting, the fertilizer regime, and the records for all plots, if the results were to be valid. She listened carefully and didn’t comment on his redundant entreaties, but he ended confident she would adhere to the instructions.

They ate a lunch of dry sausage, cheese, and bread, a standard Caedellium midday meal, with the other workers. The rest of the day Yozef learned more than he needed to know about repairing barn stalls, plowing, and catching, killing, and plucking a goose. She didn’t direct him to do these tasks; it was what she was doing, and he followed along, helping as he could. This was a working farm without a husband. He suspected it flourished both because of the good location and soil, and because of her work habits. It was near dusk when the workday ended, and they returned to the house. Yozef’s back ached, and he had several new blisters. He was in better shape than ever in his life, but this day he’d used different muscles and in different motions than usual, and they let him know their disapproval. He wouldn’t have minded eating and going straight to sleep, though he rightly suspected Bronwyn had other plans.

Once gutted and plucked, the goose had been put in a version of a deep-pit, brick-lined roaster set-up near the house. When Bronwyn had done this, he had no idea, because the woman from the night before hadn’t appeared this day.

The grease-laden bird was delicious, and the two of them finished it, along with a fresh loaf of bread, a bowl of dark olives, and another flagon of the sweetish wine. The post-meal proceedings followed, similar to the previous night, with the difference that they engaged in only one round before sleep, compensated for when they both awoke the next morning.

Morning meal was her version of the Caedellium porridge—this one a combination of wheat and something like amaranth, laced with nut bits and what looked and tasted like raisins.

“Yozef, Godsday is two days from now. I can plan on being in Abersford to attend the abbey services . . . if you have no other plans.” Bronwyn looked at him expectantly.

“No, Bronwyn. No other plans. I look forward to your company at the service and hospitality at my house.” And the bedroom later.

She appeared at the abbey complex just before the Godsday service began. Yozef had attended many services, but he wasn’t a regular. It had been left open whether he would accompany her to the service or meet later. By default, he met her in front of the cathedral when she rode up on a bay mare. He had seen side-saddles here for women, but Bronwyn rode astride with a pantaloons-style skirt encasing her legs. Once she dismounted, a curtain of cloth held behind her while riding was wrapped around her legs to appear as a skirt, the pantaloons hidden beneath.

They entered the cathedral together and sat together in the middle of the pew rows. Yozef felt every eye following them, even if they weren’t. However, some were, and among the raised eyebrows included those of Cadwulf and Filtin, followed by a friendly smile from the former and a leer from the latter, which drew a sharp elbow from Filtin’s wife.

Yozef often worked part of every Godsday, but he and Bronwyn spent the day in his cottage, mainly in the bedroom. He told the Faughns he wouldn’t need Elian to prepare meals that day, a task Bronwyn took on.

The low afternoon sun shone through a window onto Bronwyn sleeping from their last coupling. It was the first time he’d seen her unclothed in full light. When he first arrived on Caedellium, women’s armpit and leg hair was disconcerting, but by now it seemed normal, and it was the idea of shaving that seemed odd. Bronwyn’s hair was only a shade darker than her parts tanned by the sun, the hairs on her calves becoming sparse above the knees. Not that the hair mattered. Yozef found other of her parts to keep his attention.

They followed the same pattern the next four sixdays—Yozef arriving at Bronwyn’s farm in time for evening meal, staying two nights, and returning to Abersford the second morning— Bronwyn coming to his house the evening before Godsday and returning the morning after Godsday.

Neither spoke of commitment. He liked Bronwyn. She was honest, hard-working, and level-headed, all traits he would expect of a single woman running a large farm. He wasn’t sure of her view of him, but she clearly respected him as a prominent Abersford figure. They satisfied a mutual need, his part being hard to fake and her enthusiasm unquestioned. However, they had little else in common, except for one possible complication.

What if she gets pregnant? Contraception certainly wasn’t on my mind that first night, but as far as I know, there’s no such thing here. It might even be forbidden to try to prevent pregnancy, what with the way they emphasize caring for children. Well, shit. What should I do?

The time spent with Bronwyn impacted Yozef’s various enterprises. Several projects languished by his diversion a good part of each sixday, and workers were becoming impatient for decisions and directions.

As sixdays passed, the advantages and doubts about their relationship weighed more and more on Yozef. Did Bronwyn think this was leading to a long-term commitment, even marriage? What would be her response when she realized it wouldn’t happen? At times, he felt he was taking advantage of her, but he knew that was a holdover from how he might have viewed things back on Earth. Customs were different on Caedellium, and she’d started the affair, with his acquiescence. These uncertainties led him to seek out someone who had previously offered advice, Filtin.