Shorn: Chapter 21
The next morning, they started early for town. Rascal came out of the house as Shorn was harnessing Patience. His hair stood up at the sight of the huge animal, and he fled back inside. A moment later, he peered around the corner.
“Don’t be afraid, Rascal,” Lysa said. “It’s just Buttercup.”
“Don’t confuse him,” Kit said. “Her name is Lightning.”
“Midnight,” Pol said.
Shorn paused in his work. “Her name is Patience.”
“Patience?” Kit asked. “That’s so boring.”
“I like it,” Melda said. “It fits her. She’s the calmest horse I’ve ever been around.”
Pol scratched Patience behind her ears. “I bet she’s lots happier with us than living with those bandits.”
“She probably hated it there,” Kit agreed.
Lysa carried Rascal over to meet Patience. Patience sniffed Rascal. Rascal sniffed Patience. Rascal, not one to explore without using his paws, felt all over Patience’s nose. When Patience sneezed, Rascal fell back and Lysa nearly dropped him. He scurried up Lysa’s arm and hid in her hair.
“It’s okay, it’s okay,” she said. “It’s only a sneeze.”
“Load up,” Melda said. “Let’s go.”
Shorn picked up Ren and tried to put her on the seat, but Ren complained until he put her in the back. Then the other children wanted to be lifted in too. Kit wanted to be held upside down.
Melda got in. Shorn was last. He sat gingerly on the seat as if expecting it to break. The wagon creaked and shifted noticeably to one side, but it held up.
“Do you want to drive the wagon, Shorn?”
“Yes. I would like to learn.”
“Here. Take the reins. Now release the brake. Switch the reins a little.”
Shorn did and they were soon moving down the road.
Rascal came out of hiding right away. He crawled all over the wagon bed, sniffing the bags filled with squash. They proved to be uninteresting.
He crawled up onto the seat between Shorn and Melda and sat up on his haunches. He trilled.
“Your first wagon ride?” Melda gave him a friendly scratch. He chittered in agreement.
After a time, that wasn’t good enough either. Rascal wanted to be higher. He started crawling up Shorn’s tunic. Shorn gave him a sideways look.
Rascal climbed up onto Shorn’s shoulder. He stood on his hind legs, gripping Shorn’s ear and looking around. A happy sound came from him.
“I think he likes the wagon,” Lysa said.
They rolled up to Sweetwater. The gate was open. Inside, in the plaza where the party had been held, about a dozen farmers were selling produce out of the backs of their wagons. Residents of Sweetwater, mostly women, moved among the wagons, carrying baskets, examining the offerings. Melda showed Shorn how to back up the wagon and soon they had taken their place with the others.
Melda greeted the woman in the wagon next to them. “Hi, Tris. It’s been a long time.”
Tris was an older woman with two grown sons. The hair spilling from under her bonnet was gray. “Since last fall.” She came over and took Melda’s hands in her own. “I heard about Lorn. I’m so sorry.”
“It was a hard winter. I don’t know what we would have done if Shorn didn’t show up.”
Tris eyed Shorn, who was pulling out a sack of squash. “So this is the mighty Shorn. People said you were big, but my goodness, you’re huge.”
“Don’t stare, Mom,” one of her sons said. “You always tell us not to.”
“I’m not staring.” She was definitely staring at Shorn.
Shorn nodded to her. “Nice to meet you.”
“Oh, yes. Nice to meet you too. I’m Tris, and these are my sons, Darl and Plethin.”
Her sons were trying to act like it was an ordinary thing meeting this giant, copper-skinned alien, but not doing too well at it. They couldn’t stop sneaking peeks at him when he wasn’t looking.
“Can I go find Emma?” Lysa asked. Rascal was on her shoulder, partially hidden in her hair, staring wide-eyed at all the people. “I want her to meet Rascal.”
“I want to go meet my friends too,” Pol said.
Kit looked disappointed. “I miss the tables with all the food.”
The older two took off at a run as soon as they got permission from their mother. Kit stuck his hands in his pockets and said he’d just wander around for a while and look at stuff.
“Stay out of trouble,” Melda told him.
Ren, still in the back of the wagon, decided to help with the squash. Each time someone came up to the wagon, she’d hold up a squash and say, “This one.” Usually, the customer took it.
“Look how good you are at selling,” Melda told her. Ren beamed.
Late in the morning, Jesup showed up carrying a very large axe. He held it out to Shorn.
“I heard you were in town, so I thought I’d bring you something. Here’s the axe you ordered. I had some nice pieces of ash lying around so I went ahead and affixed a handle to it. How does it feel?”
Shorn took the axe and hefted it. “It is made well and has a fine balance to it.”
“Did you just smile?”
Shorn looked at him with his normally inscrutable expression. “I do not think so.”
Jesup was grinning. “I think you did. It wasn’t much, but it was there. I’m going to tell Dale about this.”
“How much do I owe you?”
Jesup put up his hands. “Nothing. That one is on me.”
“Really?”
“Without you, I’d have lost everything to Bloodmane and his men. It’s the least I can do.”
Melda, who had been talking to a customer, came over. “Hey, you got your new axe, Shorn. What do we owe you, Jesup?”
“Nothing. As I was just telling Shorn, without his help I’d have lost everything. It’s a gift.”
Melda put her hand on his arm. “That’s very kind of you. Thank you.”
“Yes, thank you,” Shorn added. “Chopping will be much easier now.”
“You know, Shorn,” Melda said, “now that you have a proper axe, maybe we can start on building you your own room.”
Shorn frowned. “I do not think there is time. I am behind on the farm work.”
“Then we’ll make time,” she said firmly. “You’ve lived in the barn long enough. I won’t have it.”
“Shorn lives in the barn?” Jesup asked.
“I do not fit in the house,” Shorn said.
“You’re not spending the winter out there, that’s for sure,” Melda said.
Jesup nodded. “She’s right. Winters here are too hard for that.”
“Let us speak of it later,” Shorn said.
“We will,” Melda assured him, turning away to help another customer.
Jesup chuckled. “I think you’re gonna lose that argument, my friend.”
Shorn put the axe in the back of the wagon. It was a quality tool and would serve him well for many years. He was looking forward to using it. It occurred to him that a well-made tool was much like a well-made weapon in that it felt right in the grip. But with this he would build, rather than destroy. He liked the idea of that.
“I pity the trees in your neighborhood,” Jesup said. “They don’t know what’s coming.”
Jesup didn’t leave as Shorn expected him to. Instead, he leaned up against the wagon. “It’s quite a day, isn’t it? You couldn’t ask for better.”
Shorn couldn’t think of anything to say in response. Should he also say it was a nice day? Should he speak of other nice days he remembered? Conversation was still something that was difficult for him. He settled for saying, “Yes.”
“Dale says his knee is acting up. He says that means rain tomorrow. We can use a good rain.”
Again, Shorn didn’t know what to say. He settled for, “Yes. Rain is good.”
Jesup smiled at him. “Not much for small talk, are you?”
“I do not know what it is. I do not understand it. We do not talk small where I am from.”
Jesup got a thoughtful expression on his face. “What do they talk about where you come from?”
“Mostly war. Fighting. Killing.”
Jesup was taken aback. “What? Seriously?”
“Yes. I was a warrior. What else is there for a warrior to speak of?”
“I don’t know. Love?”
Shorn snorted. “You would be laughed at. Themorians do not partner for love, but for strength. The purpose is strong sons, not love.”
“That seems sad.”
Shorn thought on this. “When I lived there, it did not seem sad. It seemed only the way things were. Now I think I may have been mistaken.”
“What about children? Do your warriors love their children?”
Again, Shorn thought before responding. “We do not often see our children. The females raise them. Our sons leave for the academy when they are quite young. They come home only once a year.”
“Geez, that’s bleak. Don’t be offended, but I’m glad I don’t live there. I think I’d hate that place.”
Shorn didn’t have to think about this response. “I am also glad I do not live there.”
Jesup’s next question rocked Shorn. “Do you love Melda and the children?”
Shorn had no idea what to say.
“I’m sorry,” Jesup said. “I always do that. Too personal. Forget I asked.”
In a low voice, Shorn said, “I do not know.”
“You don’t know?”
“I am not sure. It is not something I have ever thought of.” Indeed, human love had always seemed foolish to him. Why choose a mate because of some feeling? Far better to choose a mate who was strong, who could bear strong children and make one’s family line stronger.
He remembered his brief time with his daughter, J’nest. How he felt when she smiled at him.
How he felt when she died.
“Again, you don’t have to answer, Shorn.”
Shorn looked over at the wagon. Melda was talking to a woman. Ren was struggling to pick up an extra large squash.
“It is important to me that they are safe.” That wasn’t right. It wasn’t enough. “I would rather harm come to me than any of them.” He looked Jesup in the eye. “Is that what you speak of?”
“Yeah. I’d call that love.”
“Then I do love them.”
(If you're interested in reading more of Shorn's story from the time before this current one, go check out Wreckers Gate. It's book one of Immortality and Chaos, the series where we first meet Shorn. I will warn you that he doesn't appear until book 2, though!)
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