Master of Fire - 4. War and Rumors of War

The table was set for 18, although it could have accommodated several more. Marty and Chandler were introduced to five men, two of the farmer’s brothers and three of his wife’s brothers. (Or was it three of his and two of hers? Marty never was quite sure.)

After dinner, Steve and Larry invited Marty and Chandler to play a game of cards. Score would be kept using a board with rows of holes drilled into it. After each game, players would advance a peg, about an inch long, depending on their score. One end of the peg fit into the holes; the other end was carved into figures so tiny that Marty had to squint to see them. He recognized a horse’s head, and that of a fish. One looked like a bear. Others were too fanciful for him to recognize. That’s a man, the boy thought, but he has horns. Could he be real? After all the talk of magic, Marty was afraid to ask.

While Steve shuffled the cards, Marty asked Larry about the five men who had been at supper.

Larry explained, “They’re our uncles. Our father was the eldest, so he inherited the farm, like Steve, who’s the eldest and will inherit from him. Father’s brothers, except for two who joined the Army and two who died, stayed here. Of course, when they became men, they moved into the men’s wing. Mother’s brothers, except for one who married and lives with his wife’s family on a farm north of Riverside, and three who live in the men’s house there, and three who joined the Army, came here with her. If I don’t join the Army, or Temple, or go adventuring, I might stay on and be a smith or carpenter or whatever. How many brothers do you have?”

“I don’t have any brothers or sisters; neither does Chandler. Most families aren’t nearly as large.” Marty paused, and then continued. “What about sisters? Where are they?”

“We have two sisters,” Larry replied. “And Mother has one. She married a Smith in Riverside.”

“Will you, also have so many more brothers than sisters?” Marty asked.

“I guess so,” Larry said. “I never really thought about it, but most families have three or four times as many boys as girls. Of course,” he brightened, “since only boys join the Army, and only a few girls ever join the Temple, it seems right, doesn’t it? I expect we’ll have some more brothers.”

Marty merely nodded, and elected not to pursue the subject further.

Steve explained the game. “Hearts, clubs, cups, and swords,” Chandler echoed Steve’s naming of the four suits in the deck of cards. “Which suit is highest?”

“Swords, then clubs, cups, then hearts,” Steve replied. “And, King trumps Prince, then Knight, Squire, Page. The Queen isn’t used.”

“Six honors cards?” Marty asked.

“Yeah,” Steve answered. “In this game. There’s one mother plays with her women friends that only uses four, and hearts are the highest.”

The game was far more complicated than Steve’s initial explanation. Steve’s peg (Is that a gargoyle? Marty wondered) and that of Larry, who had selected the horse, took an early lead over the fox and bear of Marty and Chandler. After several games, Chandler seemed to catch on, and his fox started moving rapidly. Before he could pull ahead, however, Larry and Steve’s mother began bustling through the room, putting out lamps and chivvying people off to bed.

In their room, Marty snuggled close to Chandler. Chandler, however, wanted to talk. “Marty, did you ever play War? You know, the card game?” Chandler asked.

“Uh, yeah. But not since I was, like, 10.”

“Did you play Battleship?”

“The one with the grid, and a screen between you and the other player? Yes.”

“How about chess?” Chandler continued.

“No,” Marty said. “I did role playing games. Where is this going?”

“That card game…I wondered why we played at the dinner table, but we sure needed all that room to lay the cards out. It was like chess; it was all about power and position. Take the cards you’re dealt, group them, and put the groups out face down. Those are your squads or platoons or companies. Turn something over when someone exposes a Page or Knave…they’re the spies. Count and either win or lose designated stacks. That’s the War part of this game. The whole game is all about war. My dad showed me stuff when he was teaching infantry tactics. As soon as I figured out how that was related, it was easy to win.”

“But the boys didn’t say anything about war!” Marty protested.

“No, they talked about strength and position instead of arms and tactics. I don’t think they realize it’s a game of war,” Chandler said.

“Okay, General, ask them, but tomorrow,” Marty said, snuggling up to Chandler again.

*****

The next morning at breakfast, their hostess politely insisted that the boys stay another day. “You’ve hardly had time to rest,” she said. “And you both need some more food in you.”

“You’ve already been more than generous,” Marty said. “We should not impose on you.”

“There is no imposition,” Dorn, Larry and Steve’s father, said.

“How can we help with the chores?” Marty asked. “There’s a huge stack of cord wood next to a very small stack of split firewood near the bath house. Does that wood need to be split?” he asked.

Steve nodded, “I don’t want to scare you off, but that’s oak, and splitting it is about the hardest job on the farm.” Marty’s mouth was set firmly. Steve continued, “Yes, it does need to be split, but don’t hurt yourself!”

Marty took the ax and hefted it. The first time he swung it over his head, it nearly threw him off balance. He blushed and looked around, but no one had seen except Chandler.

“Here, let me try,” Chandler said. He hefted the ax and swung. The wood split cleanly into two pieces. Chandler set another log on its end and swung again. There was a rightness in what he did, and the second log split perfectly from end to end. Another, then another after another.

“The ax, and your arms…they sparkle when they move,” Marty said. “It’s the same color as the glow from boy magic, whatever that is. What are you doing? How are you doing that?”

“I don’t…know…” Chandler breathed easily as he hefted the ax and cleanly split another chunk of wood. “It just feels right; it feels like something is guiding the ax, and giving it an extra umph just before it hits the wood. It’s not weird; it feels…well, good.”

Well before noon, Steve and Larry returned from the fields. All the wood had been split and stacked. Chandler had split the wood, but Marty had worked hard as well, lugging cord wood to where Chandler was working, and toting the split wood back to the pile under the shed. They were both exhausted and filthy when Steve urged them toward the bathhouse. “I’ll do the clothes,” the boy said.

Chandler and Marty were a little less reluctant to undress, and followed Larry into the shower. Neither was surprised when Larry took some soap and began washing Chandler’s hair. Marty, a little nervously, stood behind Larry and began to wash that boy’s hair.

“Put some magic into it, Marty,” Larry said. “I got right dirty crawling under the hedgerow after that hen!”

Magic? Marty thought. Can I control it? He thought about light flowing from his toes through his body and to his fingers. Larry’s hair flew out from his head like a corona. Like he grabbed a static generator in the science lab!

“Whoa!” Larry said. “That was incredible! You’re going to have to control that, or you’ll run out too fast!”

“Sorry,” Marty mumbled, “I guess it was too much…”

By this time, Steve had finished washing the clothes and stepped into the shower. Pulling the chain, he deluged them all with warm water. “Hit the tub, you guys, I’ll wash myself.”

“You used a lot of magic just now. Would you like to share with me? I would like to have sex with you…if you’ve not already promised Chandler, again,” Larry asked, hopefully.

Marty hesitated, but Chandler stepped in the breach. “Marty and I have known who each other for nearly three years, but we never had sex until just a few days ago. We’re still…well, learning about each other. I don’t know…”

“I understand,” Larry said. “My father is a real stickler for tradition, and even among brothers he insists that before we share there must be an Asking and a Telling. Even between Steve and me, and we’ve had sex at least every day since he became a boy more than five decades ago. And if the Telling is no for any reason, there must not be resentment or jealousy or anger.” He paused. “We hope that you will stay with us for a while, and that we may ask, again.”

Chandler and Marty exchanged glances. “Yes, thank you.” “Please…”

*****

Marty discovered that if he looked hard enough, he could see a glow inside Chandler. It made fine lines all over his body, and reminded Marty of diagrams of the nervous system. Here and there were brighter spots, nodes. When he touched them lightly, they flared a little brighter. His fingers moved gently from one to another.

“Oh! I don’t know what you’re doing, but it’s really intense,” Chandler gasped as Marty bent down to take the older boy.

Chandler’s orgasm was the strongest ever, and Marty felt himself filling with the power of the older boy’s magic.

Chandler kissed the younger boy. “This gets better and better…”

*****

“What do you think about Steve and his brother having sex, and what did he mean about Steve becoming a boy 50 years ago, or did I hear that wrong?” Chandler asked.

“Somehow, I don’t think incest is a taboo, here, at least between brothers,” Marty answered. “And it makes sense, really. The main reason for the incest taboo is the concern of having a child with someone too closely related to you…to reinforce, bad recessive genes…so it shouldn’t apply to boy sex.

“There’s another reason for the incest taboo than recessive genetics. On Earth, primitive people married outside their clan to strengthen bonds, protection and food sharing, with other clans. I’m not sure if that’s as important here as it was then, on Earth, but I bet Larry and Steve share with boys on other farms…

“But the part about their father insisting that they ask and tell each time…and that it’s a tradition that must be followed even among brothers…does that mean their father knows, and approves, and they do it with other boys and he knows about that, too?” Marty said. “And, yeah, I heard the part about 50 years ago, too. This is getting weirder and weirder…” His voice drifted off, and the two boys drifted into sleep.

Marty and Chandler woke when they heard Larry and Steve moving around in the next room. It took them only moments to dress, and they met the boys in the hallway.

“Larry…we’re wondering if we shouldn’t leave, today. You know what they say, guests and fish smell after three days,” Marty began.

Larry and Steve looked at one another, puzzled, and then Larry started laughing. “Guests and fish smell after three days! That’s funny!” He paused. “Fish won’t smell…unless you forget a preservation spell. Anyway, you? No. Mother said you were to stay as long as you wanted…and any guest who works as hard as you two did yesterday would always be welcome. Come on, let’s have breakfast.”

Preservation spell? Marty and Chandler wondered, glancing at one another.

“May we help you with your chores, today?” Chandler asked on behalf of himself and Marty.

“We’re going to plant a new hedgerow,” Steve said. “After we cut the starter branches, it’ll be a lot of bending. Are you sure?”

Marty and Chandler shrugged. “Yes, please.” “We’d like to learn.”

The boys cut armloads of young, healthy branches, about a foot long, from the bushes of one existing hedgerow. “Each one has to have the outer layer stripped off for about two inches on one end, then that end is split a couple of times. That end will go in the ground, and the splits will form roots.” Larry explained.

“How long before it becomes a new hedgerow?” Chandler asked.

“Probably twenty years before it becomes thick enough to keep rabbits out; another twenty before it grows high enough to keep deer out. We’ll use the field for pasture the first few years; the sheep are too stupid to wander away,” Steve answered.

“How come you don’t know that?” Larry asked. “I thought you said you were from a farm.”

“No,” Steve said. “Remember? They said they were on a farm outside of the town where they lived.”

“Oh, yeah,” Larry said. “What did you do in town? What guild are your parents in?”

Marty and Chandler looked at one another. Seeing the helpless look on Chandler’s face, Marty took the lead. “My mother’s a…a…uh…healer. She works in the…the…well, in a hospice…My father’s dead.”

“My father’s a…uh, well, he was in the Army. Now he’s a c…c… he works with soldiers. Helps with logistics…supplies and stuff. My mother…uh…” Chandler struggled, and finally blurted, “…manages property for people.”

Marty started to add that both boys had been in school, but realized that would likely raise more questions than he wanted to answer. Fortunately, it seemed that Larry and Steve had forgotten that part of the question.

Larry started the planting, poking a sharp wooden stick into the ground, sticking the split end of one of the branches in the hole thus formed, and pressing the earth back around the stick with his foot. “Steve and I’ll go side by side down the row. It would help if you would hand us the sticks, one at a time. After a while, we can trade off,” Larry said.

“You’re using magic when you plant, aren’t you? I can see the glow,” Marty said.

“Yes, I use just a little boy magic to encourage the roots to reach for water. I imagine the split branch growing roots and reaching down into the soil. It’s something farm boys learn when they’re little. But…you can see magic?” Larry said.

“Um, yeah. I see a glow…when you put the branch in the ground, when Robbie was hurt, when you washed the clothes, when Chandler was splitting the wood, um…when Chandler and I have sex…” Marty said.

“You’re going to be a very powerful magic user,” Larry said, “if you can already see magic. That’s supposed to be the hardest part. And you’re still a boy!”

“Um, hmm,” Marty said.

“And you can already see magic, and heal. Think of what you will be able to do in another hundred years or so,” Larry said.

Marty and Chandler looked at one another, but said nothing.

The boys had put out more than twice as much hedgerow as they’d expected when they quit just before noon. “That went very fast,” Steve said. “You guys are fun to work with.”

In the bathhouse, Marty quickly stripped and dipped his blue jeans in the wash bucket. As he shook them gently over the bucket, he willed a little of the light…the glow he’d gotten from Chandler the night before…to flow from his fingers and through the cloth, taking dirt and water with it. He fingered the cloth before folding the jeans…dry, clean…I could see the dirty water squeezing out. This is fan-bleeping-tastic! “I’ll do the cleaning, today,” he said.

The afternoon was rainy. Steve suggested the card game, and Chandler won for a while, until Larry began to take the game seriously. “You’re about the quickest to learn the game, ever,” Larry said as he moved his peg past the finish line.

“But it’s just a battle,” Chandler said. “My father showed me a lot of infantry tactics, how to position troops, how to draw enemy fire to assess his strengths and weaknesses. As soon as I realized…What’s wrong?”

Steve was smiling. Larry was nearly laughing as he said, “Fish and guests smell, and now saying that Canasta is about war! You two are funny!”

“Canasta? You didn’t say that was the name of the game,” Chandler said.

“Uh, yeah. Everyone knows it…” Steve said.

*****

Once an idea has been allowed to escape, it cannot be recalled.
—attributed to Myron of Elvenhold

“Marty, I couldn’t say what my mother did! She was an agent for…for…” Chandler stuttered. “The words aren’t there! Do you know what she did?”

Marty nodded, in his mind he saw a sign that he could no longer read. Cottage Grove Realty. He knew what Chandler’s mother did, but the words weren’t in his new vocabulary.

“I do,” Marty said. “But the words aren’t there.”

“Me too,” Chandler admitted. “What’s happening? Marty, I’m scared.”

“Something messed with our minds,” Marty said. “I read that language shapes thoughts, and even limits what we can think about. I mean, we don’t have a word for what your mother does. Not in this language, anyway. Does that mean that no one here does what she does there?”

“I guess…remember what the boys said about inheriting the farm. Maybe land is never bought and sold,” Chandler said. “Now why can I say that but I can’t say what mother does?”

“When we first got here…I remember that you stuttered a couple of times when you were talking. I did, too. I didn’t think about it then…I was too worried about other things. But...what was in your wallet besides money?”

“Huh?” Chandler asked. “Money and my…oh! It’s not there any more. The word, I mean. We rode through the gate on my…m…m… oh! I know, but I can’t say it!”

“Battleship,” Marty said. “You said battleship. And infantry tactics. About the card game.”

“Yeah,” Chandler said, “squad, platoon, company, battalion, brigade, regiment, cavalry, enfilade, phalanx, counter-attack, strategic withdrawal, skirmish, caltrop, …” The boy’s voice grew softer and softer as he recited a litany of words associated with war.

When Chandler finished, Marty began, drawing on hours of role-playing games. “Cross-bow, sword, dagger, poniard, mace, pike, battle-ax, lance, halberd, quarterstaff, spear, shield, chain mail, vambrace, barding…” After weapons and armor, he moved on to castles and fortresses, defense and attack. “Bailey, barbican, bastion, rampart, crenel, merlon, moat and bailey, siege, donjon, keep, dungeon, drawbridge and portcullis, sally port, postern, battering ram, catapult, onager, testudo…” And the players, “Knight, squire, yeoman, centurion, legionnaire, maniple…” Marty’s voice drifted to silence, and the two boys looked at each other.

“So many words for war,” Marty said. “Oh, Chandler, what have we gotten ourselves into?”

“What we couldn’t say is probably as important as what we said. None of the weapons or defenses was much past the middle ages…”

“That’s not what I mean! The language, the games, they’re all about war! It doesn’t matter if you’re killed by a g…g…gu… you know, or a sword. You’re just as dead! Chandler, I’m scared!”

Chandler pulled Marty close and held him as the boy fought not to cry. When he felt Marty had calmed, Chandler whispered. “I will protect you, Marty. I promise.”