دانلود رمان انگلیسی “زیر درخت بلوط” – فصل 1 (داستان جانبی)

The deluge that poured through the night finally ceased at dawn. Blinking his dry eyes, Riftan washed his face with the rainwater he had collected in a trough. The shack had creaked and groaned in the relentless, blustering wind, and even the roof had begun to leak. It had all made for a horrendous night. The next morning, the sky was clear as if the storm had been but a dream. Riftan gazed up at it as he dried his face with his tattered sleeve. Despite his stepfather’s intermittent patch-ups of the shack since spring, the ramshackle structure was too old to be anything but a hellhole during the rainy season. It was likely that they would have to do additional repairs before Paxias [1] arrived. As he wondered how much it would cost to purchase all the wood they would need, a gruff voice came from behind. “Why’re you sitting on your backside, boy? The work ain’t going to do itself!” With a grimace, Riftan turned toward the hammering ringing out from the wide-open door of the smithy. The blacksmith, a man with a tanned, craggy face, stared at him from the entrance. Riftan knew that if he dallied any longer, the man would not hesitate to rush over and deal him a good blow to the head. Riftan hastily picked up the sack he had placed beside him. “I was just about to get up.” The sack weighed almost as much as he did. He hoisted it onto his shoulder and walked toward the blacksmith, who shot him a disapproving look. Just before following the blacksmith inside, Riftan glanced at the imposing castle that towered above the dense forest. He had been apprenticing at the Duke of Croyso’s smithy for months, yet he still felt a deep sense of dissatisfaction. Remaining at the stables shoveling horse manure might have been better. Although he had never had a moment’s rest there either, the amount of work at the smithy was incomparably greater. His day began at dawn chopping a mountain of firewood, lighting the charcoal kiln, and hammering iron ore until his shoulders burned. When that was done, he had to relentlessly work the bellows until the furnace blazed. The first couple of weeks had been difficult. His palms had blistered, and he had suffered several burns. There were times when he found himself overcome with rage at his stepfather for forcing him to take this post. Whenever he thought of the old man’s stoic face, however, his discontent would dissipate. Riftan flung the sack onto the floor as he thought of his stepfather trying to fill his empty stomach with cold, watery stew. The man’s words as he had dragged him to this place rang in his ears. Stay a peasant, and you’ll end up like me. Blacksmiths at least get some respect.