Darkness Descending

He heard a crackling deep inside the tree, a crackling and a groan. He struck harder than ever, looking up toward the crown of the pine as he did so. The tree stood straight for another couple of strokes. Then it began to lean.

“She falls!” he shouted. Woodcutters near him scattered. He hadn’t known to let out a warning cry when he first joined the gang. The second tree he felled had almost driven Giurgiu into the ground like a sledge hitting a spike. He’d had trouble blaming the boss for cursing him then.

With a louder crackling, the pine went over. Cornelu stood on the balls of his feet, ready to leap out of the way if it looked like falling on him. He’d almost driven himself into the ground two or three times. Here, though, he put the trunk right where he wanted, a skill he’d acquired without quite knowing how. The pine thudded down into yellowing grass near the edge of the wood.

Giurgiu came over and examined it. He nodded. “I’ve seen worse jobs,” he rumbled at last--from him, high praise. “Now we turn it into stovewood. They’re going to get chilly down in the city before too long, and they have to cook even when they aren’t chilly. As long as the hills still have woods on them, the likes of us won’t go hungry.”

“Aye,” Cornelu said. He wondered how much longer the hills would have woods on them. In earlier times, forests had covered far more land than they did now. Before the days of iron ships that coursed the ley lines, great trees were essential for the timbers and masts of the merchantmen that had made Sibiu rich and the galleons that had made her strong. Great stretches of forest had been royal preserves then. Things were different nowadays. Cornelu doubted they were better--with the Algarvians occupying the kingdom, they couldn’t very well be.

Giurgiu brought over a big two-man saw. “Come on,” he said. “Act lively. We’ll cut the trunk into wheels, and then you can split the wheels into wedges. Don’t stand there gawping, curse it--it’s not like you’ve got a lot of time to waste.”

“Aye,” Cornelu repeated. But for his foul mouth, Giurgiu did think like a naval officer. Cornelu grasped the handle of the saw and lowered it to the tree trunk.

Round after round of wood leaped off the trunk. Manning a saw with Giurgiu was like manning it with a demon--he never seemed to tire. Cornelu tried his best to keep the boss woodcutter from doing too much more than his share of the work. Giurgiu noticed, too. “You’re not the handiest fellow I’ve ever seen,” he remarked when even he had to pause for a blow, “but you can pull your weight when you set your mind to it.” That left Comelu absurdly pleased.

A boy of about fourteen scooped up sawdust--and a little dry grass and dirt with it--and stuffed it into a leather sack. It got sold for kindling. So did pine needles, after they were dry.

“There!” Giurgiu said after a surprisingly short time. “You can deal with the wheels yourself, like I said before. And lop the branches into short lengths, mind. Don’t leave ‘em as long as you did that one time.” He didn’t wait for Cornelu’s agreement, but strode off to see how some of the other woodcutters were doing.

That one time had been weeks before. Giurgiu hadn’t forgotten, and made sure Cornelu didn’t forget, either. He was indeed very much like an officer in some ways.

By the time Cornelu finished turning the tree into wood, darkness was falling. This far south, days quickly got short as autumn wore on. Here in the woods, that made itself more obvious to Cornelu than it had back in Tirgoviste. There, light to hold night at bay had been easy to come by; Tirgoviste sat on a power point. Simple firelight couldn’t come close to matching it.

Cooking over a simple fire didn’t measure up, either, not to Cornelu. Meat came out burnt on the outside and raw in the middle when held over the flames on a stick. The porridge of beans and barley and peas would have been boring no matter how it was cooked. But appetite made a wonderful sauce.

And exhaustion made a wonderful sleeping draught. Cornelu had discovered that in the navy, and now was reminded of it again. Though the night was long, Giurgiu had to shake him awake at dawn. He was not the only one to be treated so, which spared him embarrassment. He gulped down more of the bland porridge.

Giurgiu said, “I’m going to send Barbu and Levaditi into town with the wagons today.” He eyed Cornelu as he spoke.

Sure enough, Cornelu jerked as if stung by a wasp. “What?” he yelped. “You told me I’d get to drive one of those wagons.”

“And now I’m telling you something different,” the boss woodcutter answered. “Barbu’s got a sister who’s sick down in Tirgoviste town, and Levaditi’s our best haggler unless I go myself. I didn’t much care for the price you brought back on that last load you took in.”