The next morning when Kalus woke, he felt, through the pain and loss, a
resurgence (and need) of life and hope. The cold had crept beneath his
fur while he slept, and all around him hung a chill moist air that
called for action. He still cared for the girl, there were other lives
linked to his own, and he knew he must continue. Skither had told him
he must.
So he rose and walked out onto the parapet. Sylviana was there ahead of
him, her eyes tearing from the cold and lack of sleep, wrapped in the
same fur that now seemed more a refuge than a friend. And though he was
sorry he couldn't, he did not touch her. She turned to him a face
that understood, but hurt the more because of it. He pretended not to
notice.
'Has the mantis come out yet?'
'No. Akar tried to go to him. I think he hurt his shoulder again.
You can see him---' She pointed just inside the larger entrance, to
the place where the wolf waited on its haunches.
'Yes, but it was not done foolishly. We must move there anyway, and
secure it for ourselves as soon as possible. We will have to work very
hard, and you will have to help me.' Again his emotions had become an
unreadable maze. Sylviana lowered her head and sighed, and the breath
the wind blew back through her disheveled hair was clearly visible.
>From this, as well as other tokens, Kalus knew that the first real
storms of winter were not far off, and tried to gird himself for the
arduous labor to come. He was ready to break his back and his heart to
construct the shelter Sylviana had described, but all pleasure had gone
out of the thought.
It was still morning when the young mantis emerged, looking little
better than it had the day before. From the long ripple in the underside
of its abdomen, both Kalus (who had descended) and the wolf could see it
had not eaten. But when Akar, as best he could, asked if he would not
stay a day longer and partake of the food that Skither had left him, he
was curt to the point of menace.
'I will not dishonor his memory in that way.'
'But surely---'
'I will not dishonor his memory!'
And so, without formality or warning cry, without perhaps the proper
preparation, the creature opened its wings, raised itself into the air,
and left them forever. Its form grew small and disappeared into the
west like a drowning branch carried past by a river. And the river
flowed on, unchanging.
Then Sylviana climbed down and stood beside them, trying to be a part
of, or at least to understand, what had happened.
'What did he say to you?'
'That he would not eat, or remain another hour. He seems determined
to prove that he needs nothing and no one.'
Trying to think in the vernacular of that world, she put in timidly.
'He will be very strong someday.'
'If he lives.' She said nothing more.
*
As if in imitation, Kalus determined to begin the work at once. Using
one of the poles from the neglected frame, he carved a handle for the
rusty ax-head the girl had found. He sharpened its cutting edge as best
he could, and with the sun at its height, set out to begin felling
trees.
Sylviana went with him, along with Kamela, for warning and added
protection. He cut and pieced an entire tree before he would let
himself rest. Then together he and the girl carried a twelve-foot
section back to the cave, he bearing most of the weight on his shoulder,
asking only that the girl come behind and steady him.
And so the long toil began.
Sylviana's plan, which he modified only slightly, was to build a
three-sided barrier of interlocking logs, like an open letter C. Its
ends would rest just inside the arch, gradually narrowing as they rose,
nearly flush, against the inner walls of the entrance. It was to be
reinforced from within by stout beams, and by the strength of these, as
well as by its own girth and weight, to form an impenetrable barrier
against both the elements, and the fiercest predators. A single,
windowless door would pierce the forward wall, and the entire structure
be sealed inside and out with mortar, and at the edges, with bricks of
stone. Sylviana had read a book as a child in which a family of
pioneers had built a log cabin, using only the materials provided by
Nature. And now the memory of it served her well.
So Kalus cut, and they both carried, till she thought her back would
break and Kalus die, where he stood, of exertion. She could not know
that what pained him far more than the ceaseless labor (he had worked as
hard before) was the fact that he was using all his spiritual, as well
as physical reserves.
Because a man can work as hard and diligently as he must, to the extreme
limits that mind and body will endure, so long as he has a reason, and a
need to do so. And when it is done to provide food and shelter for the
lives entrusted to his care, he can work harder and more selflessly
still. But take away his reason, his hope for some kind of betterment,
however distant, and the strongest, most determined man becomes rootless
and lethargic. Tasks and dangers he thought little of before, become as
tedious and harrowing as a literal fight for life. Kalus continued
because he knew, as every animal does, that he must continue. But as
the work sapped his strength and the emotional wound caused by the death
of Skither bled unchecked, he became first weary, then angry, then
through the ceaseless, hopeless repetition, empty and indifferent.
Sometimes when he felt weakest he would look at the girl, and remember
the beautiful thing they had shared. And for a time these memories of
warmth and desire would sustain him. But soon all fantasies of a
peaceful and prosperous future became nothing more to him than a carrot
dangling at the end of a stick, though he possessed no such metaphor to
help him understand. And he had no psychologist to tell him that by
submerging his grief and distancing himself from the girl he was hurting
himself, and stifling the healing forces of time and close
companionship. He cut, and carried, and shaped and fitted, sometimes in
blinding snow, stopping during daylight hours only to hunt, or to look
over what had been done. Because he had no choice.
And slowly the shelter went up. Pine and birch and gnarled oak, he laid
them down and made a refuge of their bones, as dark thoughts tormented
him.
But the shelter went up. And the night the frame was completed, and all
work done save the filling in of cracks, the heaviest storm of the
season moved in and piled three feet of snow outside it, blocking them
in with drifts up to twice that high. Without warning or ceremony,
their new home had been christened.
The next morning Kalus had not the strength to force open the frozen
door, and sat alone by the fire for hours, speaking to no one, feeling
nothing but weak and shivery exhaustion. The Cold World, which he had
said he loved, was upon them.