Cast Under an Alien Sun (Destiny's Crucible)

by Olan Thorensen

  Joe smiled tentatively and nodded, patting one of the man’s massive legs. “Thank you.”

  The man inclined his head, rose, and flipped his hand.

  He wants me to follow him?

  Rising unsteadily, Joe walked beside the man. Joe wasn’t short, but he barely reached over the man’s broad shoulders. They walked slowly, side by side, through the garden and into the rear of the dining hall, where staff members prepared for the evening meal.

  Joe stood in the entrance, confused. What was the man up to?

  The giant approached a middle-aged woman with flour smudges on her arms and spoke in a deep, rumbling voice. She glared at him and shook her head, barking something at him.

  He took it calmly and again spoke quietly.

  Still frowning, she glanced at Joe and back at the giant. She nodded, wiped her hands on an expansive apron, and strode away.

  Turning, the giant walked back to Joe and took his arm, leading him to a table outside. He sat and waved at an opposite bench.

  Overhanging vines festooned with red flowers brushed Joe’s head as he sat, then studied the man.

  The woman reappeared and slapped down two large metal steins, spilling liquid on the rough wooden table. Joe jerked his arms away from the spill. Foam covered the contents of the stein, and a strong aroma of hops hit his nose.

  Beer?

  She clomped away, and his fingers curled around the stein. It was icy cold. How did they keep it so cold? Even a cellar would only keep it cool at best. He took a sample sip, and then a long draft and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It was beer, strong and good. He smiled at the giant and lifted his stein.

  “To you, whoever you are. I needed this.”

  Setting down his half-finished beer, the man-mountain pointed at himself. “Carnigan.” He tapped his own chest. “Carnigan. Carnigan.”

  Carnigan poked Joe’s chest with a large forefinger and said something.

  “Joe, Joseph. I’m Joseph.”

  Carnigan’s lips formed over the name. “Yohhzzeefff. Yohzeff.” Then quicker. “Yozef!”

  “Close enough.” Joe grinned. It was the same with the hospital staff. They didn’t seem to have the “j” sound, and they turned the middle “s” of Joseph into a “z.” “Yozef” was as close as they could pronounce. Looks like he was Yozef now.

  Carnigan pointed to himself again. “Carnigan Puvey.”

  “Joe, Joseph, ah . . . ” He bit his lip. “Yozef.” Might as well get used to my new name. “Yozef Colsco.”

  “Yozef Kolzko, Yozef Kolzko,” Carnigan echoed with a broad smile.

  They quaffed the steins in amicable silence. Whether it was the alcohol, the catharsis of weeping, or the personal contact, Yozef didn’t know, but he felt . . . different. The loneliness remained, as did nagging thoughts about what he was supposed to do next. He relaxed, however, at least for the moment. The woman from the kitchen reappeared, checked the status of the steins, took them away, and returned minutes later with two more and a plate of bread and cheese.

  Yozef and Carnigan spent the rest of the afternoon at the table talking, neither having any idea what the other said, but it didn’t seem to matter. Their occasional laughter drew puzzled attention from staff members. Finally, the light faded as the workday ended, and other staff members headed into the dining hall. Carnigan rose and motioned for Yozef to come. They walked in and sat together, eating in silence. Yozef didn’t think he was hungry after the beers, bread, and cheeses, but he ate the meal without hesitation. He tried to ignore questioning stares and the conversation buzz aimed at the two of them.

  Yozef yawned and rose. He could have slept where he sat, head on the table.

  Carnigan also stood and walked with him to his room.

  “Thank you, Carnigan.” Yozef held out an open hand. “I know you don’t understand anything I’m saying, but thank you.” Then it occurred to him that an offered hand could be an insult in this culture. Thankfully, Carnigan understood the gesture. Yozef’s hand disappeared in Carnigan’s massive paw. He had a brief scare that local customs might mandate a firm handshake, which, when delivered by Carnigan, might require last rites for his hand. Fortunately, the grip was just firm.

  With a final smile and nod, Carnigan walked away, and Yozef entered his room, lay on the bed, and feel asleep without undressing.

  Carnigan’s Debriefing

  Though Sistian and Diera Beynom could have lived in generous quarters in the abbey complex, they preferred a house a few hundred yards from the outer abbey grounds. The distance allowed them time and space away from responsibilities and provided a normal family life for them and two children still living at home.

  As they walked home that evening, their shoes disturbed dust on the wide path, her skirt and his pants brushing against bordering grass. Diera linked her arm in Sistian’s. “Brother Fitham called me to witness a rather strange thing today involving Yozef.”

  Sistian glanced at her. “Yozef? What did he do?”

  She chuckled. “It isn’t what he did. Brother Fitham took me to the area behind the kitchen where I saw an amazing sight. Yozef and Carnigan were drinking beer while talking and laughing.”

  Sistian’s eyebrows rose. “Carnigan! Laughing?”

  “Yes! Laughing, although I can’t imagine at what, since he wouldn’t understand Yozef. According to Brother Fitham, Yozef was weeping in the main garden. Fitham was about to go to him when Carnigan stopped working and sat next to Yozef. Soon they were acting like old friends. Sister Mollywin was taken aback when Carnigan showed up at the dining hall and spoke to her. I think it flustered her so much, she didn’t even argue the way she usually does about a break in routine, at least not too much.”

  Sistian shook his head. “Carnigan and Yozef? Who would have thought?”

  “Maybe it’s simply a matter of two lost souls finding each other at a chance moment.” Diera pressed a finger to her lips. “Almost like God put them together to help them both.”

  “Whatever it was, it’s good for them.” The abbot stroked his beard, then glanced at his wife. “I think I’d like to hear Carnigan’s view about what happened. Let’s bring him in tomorrow morning.”

  Diera shook her head. “You’re assuming we can get more than two words out of him.”

  The rising sun touched peaks of the western hills the next morning when the two Beynoms arrived at the abbey and went directly to the abbot’s office. Sistian spoke to an aide, who then hurried off.

  “Brother Elbern will ask Carnigan to join us.” Sistian walked to his chair and sat. Diera moved beside him and laid a hand on his shoulder.

  She looked down and smiled. “And am I correct that from Brother Elbern’s face, he was hesitant?”

  Sistian sighed. “Carnigan intimidates everyone. I’ve counseled him to be friendlier, but he looks at me like I’m speaking Narthani.”

  “I think it’s also that he’s had little experience with people being friendly to him.” Diera smoothed her dress’s folds. “He’s certainly calmer than when he first came, but it’s as if he’s always sad. Like he’s accepted the status of being apart from others, or perhaps resigned might be a better word.”

  A few minutes later there was a knock. Brother Elbern opened the door and stepped in. “Abbess, Abbot, Brother Carnigan is here.”

  “Thank you, Elbern,” Diera said. “Please ask him to come in.”

  Elbern stepped away, and Carnigan filled the doorway. It wasn’t a small doorway, but only narrow gaps separated the man and the door jams.

  Diera stared, folding her arms, tucking her hands into her sleeves. There was the rumor that Carnigan had once killed a steer with a single blow. She’d always assumed it was one of those snide comments people made about someone different who made them uneasy. It was probably just a silly rumor. Probably.

  Carnigan stood motionless, his face stoic. If he was surprised at being asked to come to the abbot’s office so early in the morning, he didn’t show it. He and the abbot u
sually spoke once or twice a month; the abbot would inquire how Carnigan was doing and offer advice. Such counseling was not an option for Carnigan, as it was for other staff, but it would be more effective if it involved two-way conversations, which were seldom forthcoming.

  Carnigan’s summons to the abbot’s office was the second unusual event he’d experienced in two days. As he followed Brother Elbern, Carnigan reasoned the two events were connected.

  He didn’t know why he had gone to the stranger he had heard other staff members talking about. He’d seen the man walking the grounds and sitting on benches, as many staff, visitors, and Carnigan himself had similarly done.

  He had been on his hands and knees, weeding a flowerbed, taking care his bulk didn’t disturb the flowers. Halfway through the bed, he heard weeping on the other side of the bushes. He stopped weeding, rose to his knees, and listened. The sounds were of bone-deep emotional pain. He stood and walked around the parallel path to a junction and to the sounds. It was the stranger, elbows on his thighs, body shaking, head bowed in his hands, tears running between his fingers. Carnigan had stood for several moments, first simply observing, inclined to return to weeding; then he felt he should do something. He sat next to the man, moved closer, put an arm over the man’s back, and gripped a shoulder, saying nothing but sensing the man needed someone there at the moment.

  “Thank you for coming, Carnigan,” Diera said. “Please sit.” She motioned to the sturdier of two empty chairs. Diera could see her husband hold his breath as the man eased himself down. The chair survived, although its strained joints audibly complained.

  She studied Carnigan’s expressionless face. Whatever went on inside the big man’s mind stayed there. As far as Diera and Sistian knew, there was no one Carnigan spoke with regularly on anything other than work assignments. Neither did he socialize with anyone at the abbey or in Abersford. Several nights a week, Carnigan would walk to a pub in the village. No matter how busy the evening, he sat in a corner table alone, sipping steins of beer. He attended Godsday morning service every week. As far as she knew, that was the sum of Carnigan’s life in his two years at the abbey.

  Sistian steepled his fingers. “I understand you met Yozef yesterday.”

  Carnigan grunted and gave a brief nod.

  “He was troubled, and you sat with him.”

  Another grunt.

  “Perhaps you could tell us a little about what happened,” Diera said gently, as she sat in the other seat.

  “He was just lost for the moment,” Carnigan said in his deep, emotionless voice.

  “Carnigan,” Diera said, shifting forward in her seat, hands folded on her lap, “we’ve worried about Yozef since he recovered from whatever happened to him. We can’t communicate with him, and we’re concerned about how to help him.”

  “He’s fine.”

  So much for in-depth diagnoses. Diera pressed on. “This could be important for Yozef, Carnigan. He was crying, then later he seemed in a better mood.”

  “As I said,” Carnigan rumbled, “he was lost for the moment. Once he stopped crying, he was fine.”

  Sistian rubbed his cheek. “I think the beers may have helped there.”

  “Maybe,” Diera said, “but it might have been just what it seemed. It’s not unusual for someone who suffered a bad experience to get relief by crying. There has even been speculation in medicant circles that crying is God’s gift to help us overcome what might otherwise seem overwhelming.”

  Sistian’s expression was one she recognized to signify his doubt, but she knew he would defer to her on this. While she might study people’s behavior with more of a medical slant than his theological one, they both served those in need.

  Diera sat back and smoothed her tunic. “Would it be acceptable if we asked you to keep an eye on Yozef for the next few sixdays? Don’t press him if he wants to be alone, but be available for whatever contact he wants.”

  “Of course, Abbess,” Carnigan said in a flat tone.

  “And try not to let him drink too much, Carnigan,” Diera added, “if for no other reason than he’s still recovering. Remember, his capacity won’t be the same as yours, even when he’s fully recovered.”

  Carnigan frowned. It was the first expression Diera saw on his face, as if he was offended at the suggestion he might consume an inordinate amount of alcohol.

  “I’ll see he doesn’t drink too much,” Carnigan grated, then rose and left without a by-your-leave or dismissal.

  Diera held her laughter until Carnigan left. “Oh, Sistian, even those few words are more than I’ve heard from Carnigan the whole time he’s been here.”

  “Loquacious he’s not, though I’m encouraged by even this little of what passes for a conversation with Carnigan. I think you’re right. Maybe he and Yozef can somehow touch each other in ways the rest of us don’t understand. I’ll give extra prayers today for the two of them.”

  Diera tapped a finger against her cheek. “That Yozef and Carnigan talked so long without knowing what each was saying makes me think Yozef is ready to start learning to speak Caedelli. I wouldn’t rush him quite yet, but as soon as he’s ready, we should encourage it. We’ll never know more of who he is and how he got there until that happens. Whatever his story is, it’s bound to be fascinating.”

  Chapter 7: Caedellium Life

  Adjusting

  Yozef awoke with sunlight flooding his bed through a window. He stretched his limbs and noticed he . . . felt good. A warm lassitude faded, as his surroundings jolted him fully awake, but he still felt more alive since waking on this planet. How many hours had he slept? Ten, twelve hours? Hours? However they measured time here, the day was well along.

  His bladder’s urgent signals interrupted his wondering about time. He pulled on clothes and hustled to the outhouse. He would later learn it was called a voiding house. The building was more formal than the classic shed with the crescent moon on the wooden door on Earth. This one was the size of a house, with common areas for washing, and two classes of closable compartments, one for showers and sponge-baths and another for the activities that gave the building its name. The facility was unisex, with the compartments providing privacy. He was consternated the first time he defecated by himself and intuited the purpose of baskets of moss-like material next to the hole in the floor. Then, surprise and momentary embarrassment resulted when he exited his compartment at the same moment a woman entered a neighboring one.

  This morning, his bladder satisfied, his stomach announced food as the next priority. He had missed the morning meal.

  “So, what are the rules here?” he spoke aloud to himself. If you missed the mealtime, were you shit out of luck until the next one? Only one way to find out—go over to the dining hall and look hungry.

  As he walked the gravel paths, he noticed he “hustled,” as he had on the way to the voiding house. That he could hustle was notable. Not running or even what anyone would call quick, but with movements faster than days before.

  He lifted the latch on the dining hall main door, leaned in to open the door, and walked in. As expected, no one sat and ate at the tables. He stood for perhaps a minute, wondering what to do next, when a girl carrying a box came out of the kitchen area, saw him, and started jabbering.

  He assumed she said something notable, like, “Dining Hall is closed until mid-day meal,” or “You missed breakfast, dumb-ass,” or some such. Of course, she could be reciting local poetry or asking him to come by her room this evening, and he wouldn’t know the difference.

  After more vocalizations, the woman either recognized him as the strange man or got tired of getting no response. She huffed, set the box on one table, pulled out a chair at another, and motioned for him to sit. He did, and she went into the kitchen area, returning with a bowl, a large slice of the standard heavy, dark bread, and a steaming mug of something.

  He gave her his best smile. “Thank you. Sorry I’m late.”

  She scowled and stomped away.

  The bowl
held a porridge resembling dark oatmeal, supplemented with small chunks that appeared to be nuts and berries. The bread was split down the middle with a hunk of yellowish cheese stuck in the crevice. The contents of the mug looked like coffee but smelled like moist earth. He had drunk the brownish liquid before, though didn’t recall the taste. He sipped gingerly, blowing to cool off the surface.

  It definitely wasn’t coffee and had a faint root beer flavor to go along with the pungent aroma. Probably some kind of extract from a local plant root. After another sip, his head cleared of sleep’s residues, and he eyed the mug with respect. Maybe not from a bean like coffee, but wherever it came from it must have similar alkaloids to caffeine, by the way it hit him.

  The mug’s contents, the bowl’s, and the bread and cheese disappeared, while he mused over the botanical origin of the drink. He took the empty dishes and the spoon to the kitchen door, called out, “Hello,” and the same young woman appeared. She took the dishes from him, he thanked her, and she jabbered back.

  He expected she said, “Okay, get out of here and stop bothering us.” He somehow doubted it was, “You’re more than welcome and come in anytime for anything you want to eat.” Also probably not, “My room, 8 o’clock, be there.”

  He smiled, chuckled, and bustled out the main door.

  Yozef Learns Caedelli