Friends (2013) - Adams, Robert

“So you have returned, my son, to try once again to steal what cannot be yours.”

“No, old cat. Just to take what you can no longer hold.”

He spoke with such confidence that Iron Claw felt unfamiliar stirrings of fear. He roared his defiance and leaped down from the rock.

He’d hoped to land full on his opponent and bury his teeth in One Eye’s neck, but the larger cat moved with surprising speed. All Iron Claw felt was the scrape of his claws on the other’s rump.

One Eye glared, then jumped. Iron Claw lunged, and they met in a tangle of teeth and claws. Both were now on their hind legs, whirling and lunging. Iron Claw felt pain blossom where his right ear had been and roared satisfaction when teeth took out a mouthful of fur and skin from One Eye’s neck. He was maneuvering for his favorite trick of putting his right paw into the lower belly to gut his opponent when he felt pain tearing through his left hind leg.

Iron Claw fell clumsily, his leg burning. One Eye leaped on him, chewing fur and flesh from his shoulder and neck.

With a last desperate lunge, Iron Claw threw off the younger cat and ran.

His leg had been badly hamstrung, but he’d had enough hurt paws and legs over the years that he could run almost as fast on three legs as on four. His sudden retreat took a battered One Eye by surprise, and he was almost a score of body lengths ahead before One Eye took up the chase.

One Eye was faster, he knew, but if he could reach the stream he could climb one of the trees. For once, he was the lighter cat. He felt some sympathy for those few who’d used that trick to escape him in the past.

Then the unexpected—Silver Tip bursting out of the grass, to attack One Eye from behind. Iron Claw felt a surge of affection for his former mate, then mindspoke her a fond farewell, promising to return. He might not be able to keep that promise, but he had little fear for her. One Eye might give her a thrashing, but not kill the dominant female of a pride he hoped to rule.

Meanwhile, Iron Claw continued to cover ground as fast as his three good legs would carry him. It would be tempting fate to remain in this land before his leg was well and he could once again fight on equal terms. Well, healthy terms, at least. 1

Iron Claw ran toward the winter lands. There he could be sure that none of his enemies were lurking, either two-legged or four-legged.

Djoh woke up thrashing, to a pitcher of cold water thrown in his face. He could tell that it had been snowing again by the cramps in his lame leg. It was going to be another long day; not even a faint blush of sun showed through the scraped-ox-gut window.

“Up, lazy one. There’s work to be done. Get dressed and meet me in the kitchen,” ordered his father.

Djoh quickly dried his face with the bedclothes before the water froze, then hopped out of bed and began dressing. His room was in the eaves, with little between him and the shingles. It was almost as cold as outside. He only fell twice before he had his trousers on, then pulled on his homespun shirt and made his way down the ladder. If he didn’t reach the kitchen before his father had finished, there would be no breakfast this morning.

He managed to arrive in time. Nee, his older sister, was serving hot porridge. His younger sister, Lilia, hung on to his mother’s dress. She was only four years old, but even she had her chores; there were no idle hands in Peetuh the carpenter’s house.

His father cleared his throat. “Today I want the joists for the supports on Oskah’s bam done. I've already trimmed the logs and stacked the lumber.”

Djoh shook his head in wonder. No matter what else could be said about his father, he never asked more than he gave. This morning he must have used some of their precious oil for light to get so much done before dawn. Oskah was a wealthy farmer and an important man in the area; his goodwill was worth having. Clearly Peetuh meant to earn it.

Not that Djoh had any complaints about that. It would give him another few minutes with Oskah's daughter Marthuh. She was the beauty of Blue Springs, and Djoh’s mindspeak let him know that she thought well of him. His brief visits with her were moments of light in a life that was otherwise mostly dark routine and hard work.

After breakfast his father showed him what was to be done and left on horseback for Oskah’s farm. Djoh worked furiously all morning with a speed and deftness that might even have made his father smile. By not stopping for lunch, he managed to finish the first load by early afternoon. With some help from Nee he loaded it into the wagon and headed out.

Djoh reached Oskah’s farm by late afternoon. He was surprised to see how much it had grown. Unlike most local barns, Oskah’s new barn was built of stone, by the combined effort of all the stonemasons in the Blue Springs country. With the walls finished, Djoh saw that it was also three times as large as any other barn he’d seen. It could probably hold a good part of the town’s population under its roof. Surely it had to be the largest building to go up in these parts since the Wasting.

“I see you’re early,” said his father. He immediately set his two apprentices to helping Djoh unload the wagon.

When that job was done, Djoh expected more work. It was too bad that Marthuh hadn’t come into view while he was working, but you couldn’t expect good luck in everything.

“You’ve done a good job, lad,” said Peetuh. “Take the rest of the afternoon off.”

Djoh tried to thank his father without stammering or staring. His father had never done such a thing before. Had he just possibly guessed his son’s hopes of a match with Marthuh? With his father’s support, Djoh’s hopes wouldn’t be totally vain. Peetuh was Blue Springs’ only carpenter and a man widely respected for sobriety and hard work. His son and heir would be a fit match for any farmer’s daughter, even a farmer like Oskah.

Djoh walked to the big sycamore in the northwest field, the place where he and Marthuh had first talked last fall. Snow blanketed the field, and the tree was only a skeleton’s arm and hand stretching toward the gray sky. The sun’s hint of warmth was already fading, and his breath swirled white. By the time he reached the tree, he was beginning to wonder if he should have used the time working. It would have kept him warm, at least.

He nearly jumped out of his skin when a hand brushed his shoulder. “Just me,” said a familiar voice, teasingly.

“Hello, Marthuh. I was hoping you’d come.” And if he hadn’t been daydreaming, his mindspeak would probably have told’ him she was waiting. To hear another’s thoughts, Djoh had always needed to concentrate.

Marthuh’s blond hair and fair skin were almost as white as the fresh snow. She might have looked colorless, except for her sparkling green eyes, bright as gemstones. They made her the most alive and beautiful thing Djoh had ever seen—or ever would see, he suspected.

“The baking’s done, so I can stay awhile.”

“Me too,” he replied. Unconsciously he moved around to the rear of the sycamore, where no one might see them accidentally from the house. Marthuh followed. Djoh’s breath was becoming labored, and he no longer noticed the chill air.