by A. C. Cobble
The man shrugged, his thick furs rising and falling with the movement. He didn’t answer. Breaking eye contact, Creegan shuffled forward in the calf-deep snow and slung a long rope off his shoulder.
Mumbling, the man explained, “The trunk is too thick for any of my saws so we’ll have to cut it down with the axe. To do this right, I need someone to climb up and tie the rope so I can direct the fall.” The woodsman waved around the area. “There are too many other trees and rocks nearby for us to get a clean fall otherwise.”
Ben surveyed the area and saw what the man was talking about. He’d cleared a narrow space of smaller trees and brush. If they tied ropes to the tree and directed the fall, it would land neatly in the open area without striking any obstacles. It was an abundance of caution, though. Typically, for a logger, a tree falling against another was of little concern.
Creegan tossed the rope to Ben. “Ready to start climbing?”
Ben grunted. For a week of food and shelter, the woodsman had asked Ben to help bring down the tree. Creegan claimed he had a bad leg and needed Ben to do the climbing. Ben would be expected to contribute his fair share of the chopping as well.
“Why this one?” asked Ben, peering at it. “Surely there are other trees in the forest that don’t need to be brought down so carefully. Maybe a tree that is closer to your cottage, for example.”
“This one is special,” grumbled Creegan, obviously reluctant to tell Ben more. “I have a buyer.”
Ben shrugged. The tree was beautiful, and unique. Maybe it was for some specialty wood worker. From his time in the City, Ben knew rare usually equaled expensive. The tree was certainly rare. In all of his travels, Ben had never seen its like.
Wrapping the rope around the base of the tree, he figured he may as well get it over with. He didn’t enjoy heights so he’d rarely been the climber back in Farview, but he’d seen it done and was familiar with the process.
He glanced down at the spiked boots the woodsman provided and hoped they would work. They were several sizes too large so he’d stuffed them full of rags. If they shifted while he was high in the tree, he could lose his footing and go plummeting to the hard ground.
He gripped tightly on the rope and set one foot against the base of the tree. Leaning back, he used the tension on the rope to support himself then moved another step up. The spikes dug into the hard bark. Resting his weight on the shoe spikes, he leaned in and quickly looped the rope higher on the trunk. He leaned back, letting the tension in the rope support his weight. He took another cautious step higher.
At this height, a fall would be embarrassing instead of dangerous, but once he got higher, and fatigue started to set in, a mistake could be fatal. Two man-heights up, he glanced at the back of Creegan. The fur-clad man was staring into the quiet forest, not even watching Ben’s slow progress.
Glaring at the man then shaking his head, Ben resumed climbing, another loop of the rope higher and another set of cautious steps. His arms were already aching from the strain of tightly gripping the rope. He looked up. Twenty paces to go. He would stop at a thick branch, about two-thirds of the way up. That would give them enough leverage to steer the tree when it fell.
His arms trembled from the tension of holding himself up with the rope. Ben slung one more loop and hoisted himself to the thick branch. He paused to catch his breath, closing his eyes tightly as a cold wind shook the top of the tree. So far up, the wind cut through his leathers and sent a shiver racing through his body. He wished he’d worn his cloak, but the bulky garment would have hampered his climb.
Gripping the branch tightly, Ben risked looking down. His world swirled and he felt like the tree was tilting alarmingly. Vertigo, as Farview’s resident baker and doctor called it. Logically, he knew he didn’t have to worry. This tree was as solid as they came.
He called down to Creegan, “I made it up!”
The woodsman glanced up and gave a quick thumbs up. The man went back to observing the forest around them. Ben grunted. The woodsman was giving them help they desperately needed, but his social skills could use a bit of work.
Shifting on the branch, Ben pulled up more rope and tied a sturdy knot around the trunk of the tree. It was easy since the rope was already looped around it. He now had two long ends dangling down the trunk. They would tie those to something secure on the ground. When the tree fell, it would drop right where they wanted.
After checking his knot, Ben slid it down until it was resting on the branch. Swallowing a lump in his throat, he edged off his seat and started rappelling down. Back in Farview, when Ben watched the woodsman do this, they would drop down ten paces at a time. He took it slow and walked his way down. He made it to the bottom. Shaking out his arms and flexing his hands to restore feeling, Ben nodded to Creegan. The woodsman stomped into the forest and started securing the loose ends of the rope.
When Creegan returned to the tree, he hefted his wood axe. “Now the real work begins.”
Thunk!
The first blow against the dark bark of the tree landed. To Ben’s eye, it barely left a mark. Over and over, the gruff woodsman struck the trunk. After a quarter bell, he stepped back to catch his breath.
Ben was impressed at the man’s stamina. A quarter bell of steady chopping was a strenuous feat. Also, a quarter bell of steady chopping usually led to a tree toppling. Ben looked closer and blinked in surprise. Creegan’s efforts resulted in just half a hand’s worth of wood chips hacked out of the trunk. He bent down and poked a finger experimentally into the small gap. Creegan hadn’t managed to get through the hard bark and into the wood underneath.
“Your turn,” declared the woodsman.
“Are you serious!” exclaimed Ben. “What is this? At this rate, it will take us a week to chop the thing down.”
Creegan nodded. “It would take me two or three weeks to do it alone.”
Ben frowned at the man. “What kind of tree is this? I’ve never seen anything like it.”
“It’s special, like I said.”
“Special how?” pressed Ben.
The woodsman grumbled under his breath and finally offered, “I have a buyer, someone who pays enough to make it worthwhile. You’ve been complaining about finding a place to rest for your friend. Well, you help me with this, and you can stay until she’s healthy enough to travel. That’s not a bad deal.”
Ben shrugged. The man was right. It wasn’t a bad deal. In these desolate woods, they weren’t likely to get a better one.
“Give me the axe,” surrendered Ben.
He let the questions around the tree drop and went to work on it with the axe.
***
Later that evening, Ben groaned as he stripped his shirt off to change into a fresh one.
Amelie, sitting on the bed, eyed him askance. “Really?” she muttered.
“I was chopping that damn tree for bells. I’m sore from swinging the axe!” complained Ben.
“A large man hit me with an axe so hard it broke my collarbone. Right before that, his friend was pounding on my face with the hilts of her short swords. If I recall, I was a lot less dramatic about it than you are right now,” retorted Amelie. “I see why you went into brewing and not soldiering.”
Ben sighed quietly and resolved to express his discomfort a little more discretely next time.
Across the small room, Creegan was preparing a simple meal of salted pork, potatoes, and hard biscuits. They would eat the pork and biscuits cold, but he was warming up the potatoes. He was fiddling with them by the fire, trying to get them close to the coals but not so close as to burn them.
“So, who is this buyer that will pay so much for the wood?” Ben asked Creegan. “I’m surprised anyone travels out here. There’s forest for days in every direction. It seems like it’d be easier for them to get lumber closer to a market.”
Creegan looked back at Ben, obviously trying to decide how much to share. “It’s an old man named Jasper. You are right. Not many people come this way, but he comes
by a couple of times a year. I was suspicious at first, but it’s worked out well, and I’ve learned to trust him. He first found me about a decade ago. I was barely scratching out a living then. Trapping animals for fur, collecting whatever medicines I could during the spring and selling them, that kind of thing. Every time there was a hard winter, I worried I wouldn’t make it. He showed me how to find these special trees and told me he’d pay good coin for them. Apparently they grow around here more often than anywhere else he’s found in the world.”
Creegan, satisfied the potatoes were properly positioned, sat down.
“Since he’s been coming by, I’ve been doing better. I don’t have a lot of extra, but I’m not starving either. The coin he gives me for the wood is plenty to supplement what I can forage for.”
“What does he do with the wood?” asked Amelie curiously. “I’ve, ah, I’ve seen some high end pieces of art, but I don’t recall seeing any woodcarving that was worth much.”
“Depending on how long it takes your shoulder to heal, you might find out,” responded the woodsman. “It’s a terrible time of year to travel, but that’s how Jasper likes it. He never shows up on a sunny spring day. It’s always during the bleak winter, a terrible summer storm, or some such. He’s an odd bird, Jasper.”
Ben studied the woodsman. The man wasn’t telling them everything, but the little bit he shared that evening was more than he was saying the day before. He might be warming up to them. If that was the case, then sitting back and letting him get comfortable would be the best way to learn more information.
Amelie met Ben’s eyes and he nodded. She understood as well and didn’t ask any more questions about the strange tree.
The next day was much the same. Early in the morning, Ben and Creegan trudged out of the cottage and hiked half a bell to the tree. They spent all morning taking turns hacking it. Their progress was slow and depressing. They’d managed to chop out another hand’s worth of bark, but they still hadn’t made it to the wood in the center of the tree. Ben marveled that any tree had so much bark. It was unlike anything he’d seen before.
Near midday, Ben finished his turn and stepped back, exhausted. He leaned against the axe and struggled to catch his breath. In the bitter cold of the forest, he was tiring quickly.
“Take a rest and eat something?” suggested Creegan.
Ben nodded without speaking. He handed the axe to the woodsman and pulled out the small sack they’d packed for lunch. Creegan dug a whetstone out of his furs and squatted down, running the stone over the axe blade with a steady, practiced hand.
“If we keep this up we’re going to wear that axe head to a nub,” opined Ben.
“I know,” replied Creegan with a grin. “I buy ‘em half a dozen at a time. Storage shed’s got a stack of ‘em. We’ll probably go through three or four before this tree comes down.”
Ben grunted. It occurred to him that Creegan might be crazy.
Darkness fell early during winter in the north. Ben and Creegan packed up and hiked back to the cottage before the sun completely set. When they entered it, they found Amelie sitting in the chair and huddled over the strange wooden oval they’d found in the Wilds. She quickly swept the artifact out of sight, though Creegan didn’t seem to be paying it any attention.
“There’s not much to do around here while you two are out on your adventure,” she explained.
Ben rolled his eyes.
Creegan mumbled something about getting food from the shed and walked out.
“Figure it out?” asked Ben.
Amelie shrugged her good shoulder. “Maybe. Back in the Wilds, I thought the two devices were linked somehow. I think they transmit sound.”
Ben’s eyes widened. “You think we might be able to talk to the other one, to Corinne?”
“It’s possible. I’ve been trying to send with it, to see if they could hear me. I haven’t heard anything back. I’ll try again tomorrow. The other thing I intended to study, that book Towaal slipped us before we fled Northport, is written in some sort of code or ancient writing. I can’t make sense of it. I’m not sure what she intended me to do with it.”
“Maybe she was worried Eldred would defeat her and take it,” suggested Ben.
“If she was thinking about it moments before battling the woman, then surely it is important. Right?” worried Amelie.
Ben shrugged.
***
Two more days of monotonous chopping and sitting around the cottage and Ben and Amelie were starting to get stir crazy. There wasn’t much they could do for Amelie. Despite her desire to get out, she realized that staying inside and resting was the best for her. She gritted her teeth and told Ben she’d tough it out. She kept fiddling with the wooden oval to see if she could learn more. She also worked on exerting her will. With Creegan gone all day, she had the cottage to herself. She could practice creating tiny disturbances around the room. It was about all she could do in the little cabin without straining her shoulder. They kept her arm in a sling and Ben tended to it every evening.
Creegan must have picked up on the strain. Evidently, even he had enough social acumen to understand that two young people were getting bored. He had a proposal the next morning.
“We’re doing well, much faster than I can do alone,” remarked the woodsman. “My arms could use a break and I think we could all use some fresh meat. Let’s go hunting today. We can get the axe back out tomorrow.”
Ben nodded in relief. His arms, shoulders, and back were constantly knotted in pain from the continuous swinging of the heavy axe. A day hiking through the woods and getting fresh game sounded much better than going back to that.
After breakfast, Ben followed Creegan to the storage shed where the woodsman kept his supplies. Peeking in, Ben saw a row of hams hanging from the ceiling and several unlabeled containers which could be oats, grains, salt, or other items that wouldn’t suffer in the cold. The woodsman pulled out a sturdy-looking bow and a broad-bladed spear.
“Choose your weapon,” he offered.
Ben took the spear. He was next to worthless with a bow, and while he wasn’t practiced with the spear, he’d become fairly adept with a staff back in Farview. Adding a point to it couldn’t be much more difficult.
Creegan strung his bow and they started off into the woods.
“There’s a stream about a half bell from here,” explained the woodsman. “It comes from a natural spring and moves pretty fast. Even in this cold, it won’t be completely frozen. It’s one of the few options of water for the animals. It’s our best bet this time of year.”
Ben shrugged. He knew nothing about this forest so he’d trust the woodsman’s judgment.
“If we spot something,” continued Creegan, “I’ll take down any deer or elk with the bow. You take any boar with the spear. You know how to do that, right?”
Ben grimaced. He did know. Boar hunting with a spear was usually done with the help of dogs. The dogs would harry the pig until it was worn down. Then the hunters could step in with the spears. A hog could be twice the size of a man, incredibly strong, and had sharp tusks which could gore the hunter if it got too close. It was best to wait until the animal was too tired to raise its head.
They didn’t have dogs, though.
Creegan, seeing Ben’s look, advised, “Avoid the chest. The chest bone can foul the spear, and remember, they have thick skin around the neck and heart. If it starts running up your spear, twist it so the thing can’t get to you.”
“Climbing trees, spearing boars, I thought we were supposed to be resting,” grumbled Ben.
“Your friend is resting.” Creegan grinned through his bushy beard. “You are working to earn your keep.”
Ben sighed and followed the woodsman. They hiked through the forest, shuffling along between the trees until they reached a half-frozen stream. Ice lined the creek bank, but the center was free flowing water.
Creegan glanced around, getting his bearings. “The source is about one hundred paces upstream
. It gets a little rocky that way and it’s more difficult for the critters to reach. We’ll head downstream and see what we can find.”
Ben shifted his grip on the spear and gestured for Creegan to lead on. It wasn’t quite as cold as the Wilds, but up there, he had proper attire. At least when they’d been chopping the tree, he was active, and that kept him warm.
For a bell, they stalked along the creek bank, looking for signs of game. In a few places, they spotted tracks where something had come to drink, but none of them looked fresh. When they saw it, Creegan would kneel down and check for scat. If it wasn’t warm, then whatever left it was bells away.
Ben’s breath came out in a mist and he constantly swung his arms back and forth to keep warm and stay loose. He had the boar spear and his sword, but Creegan had only the bow and a hunting knife. Ben wanted to be ready for anything they saw.
Then Creegan held up a fist, signaling for Ben to stop and stay quiet. The woodsman nocked an arrow and drew it back to his ear. Ben stared ahead, unable to see what the man was aiming at.
Creegan’s bowstring sung and his arrow shot through the woods. Ben heard a solid thunk as it impacted a tree. A heartbeat later, a doe burst through the undergrowth. In a few quick bounds, it disappeared into the forest.
“Damn,” muttered the woodsman. He stomped ahead to retrieve his arrow.
Ben followed, glad he wasn’t the one who so badly missed the shot. As he was walking, he heard a crack in the distance, like a breaking tree branch.
“Creegan!” he hissed, trying to get the attention of the woodsman. Ben gestured behind them where he thought he heard the noise.
The woodsman nocked another arrow and pointed for Ben to investigate.
Ben stalked through the snow, raising and lowering each booted foot carefully to minimize the noise he’d make. Twenty paces further, he saw a path trampled in the snow, broken branches, turned-up snow, and dirt. It was a hog’s trail. The animal would brush along the ground with its snout, digging for nuts. It looked fresh.
Creegan came silently behind him. They shared a look and Ben set off again, following the trail in the direction of the sound.
