Date: Sun, 16 Dec 2007 09:16:48 -0800 (PST) From: Matthew Templar Subject: One Gift to Give - Chapter 1 My gift, the following tale, to those that have shown their appreciation for my other story, is certainly a work of fiction. Even if the manuscripts (unearthed long ago, translated and sent to me by a great uncle) from which this story could have been taken, were true, it would still be impossible to believe. As a gift to you, it is yours to do as you please. But, let me know if you enjoy it. My very good friend, and who is high on my list of those to whom this is a gift, Dwight Wilson, has shown me up again by his quality of editing. I am blessed, and the story is better because of him. Please check out two fine works of art by him. Read 'New Horizon's' in 'Authority' (though it is about the saving of those young one's oppressed by authority) and Brad's Idol', in 'Adult/Youth'; the life and love of a boy learning . . . well, you see. Dedicated to those who, having enjoyed the story they just read here in Nifty, responded by telling the author. We all appreciate the feedback. Thank you! Matthew Templar * * * * * * * * * * One Gift to Give The river gave the boy little hope of comfort. The river was that which protected his people from the tyrants on the other side; the strange, dark people the stories about whom frightened the boy; frightened all the children. The river provided them with their water, for their life and that of their food supply. The river was everything to his people. Now, it just passed him by without so much as a gentle sound to reassure him. It seemed strange that he could be so cold in a land that was usually so hot. The tattered shawl about his thin shoulders did little to shelter his weakening frame from the wind. Perhaps it would be better to lie there and close his eyes one last time. One bush was his friend as it tried to shade his small, barely 10 year old body from the constant wind. His eyes searched either horizon for welcome relief in the form of a caravan or some other traveling party. As he pulled the old, threadbare fabric around his small body without much success, he thought back to a time when even his present predicament was better, oh, much better than where he had been a few short weeks before. He forced his mind to relive it one last time... * * * * The First Chapter - His Fate Was Bleak His father, step-father really, entered their house in a huff. It was not unusual lately, given that his work had been cut back by the king. Every man in the small village was affected by the prince coming home. Their faithful ruler cared little for his subject's livelihood if it meant taking even a minute away from his preparing for his beloved son's arrival. And while the ban would affect many workers, the poor planning and saving on the part of the boy's step-father would make this time especially hard on his sisters and his mother, for whom the boy's love was endless. Only because of his mother's resourcefulness did they continue to eat the few foods that she was able to bring back from her work at the palace. "I suppose my dinner will be late again, woman," he barked as he sat in his chair at the table in the middle of their hovel. The boy and his two sisters, step-sisters really, since his own father had died when he was a mere child, stayed behind the curtain that divided the one room space into living and sleeping areas. Their goal was to avoid the man's growing wrath against all things breathing, it seemed. A condition that had worsened from his usual mean demeanor since the king had stopped all building in the land two weeks before, and therefore, all thought of income to supply his drinking habit, some gambling and, oh yes, food for his family. The children looked back between them to the game of stones that they had been playing before he entered the house. Both of the younger girls looked up to the boy with eyes that reflected the fear that they knew must be within him as they waited for their father's next words. "Where is that no good dung heap of a boy?" he demanded to know. The voice that they had come to dread sent shivers down their young spines. The older of his two sisters began to straighten up as if to be ready to pull back the thick drape and face the man bellowing his insults, knowing it would do little to protect her beloved step-brother. But the boy knew it would only delay the inevitable and would likely cause only needless pain on his selfless sibling. He stopped her with a hand on her shoulder and a glowing smile of appreciation on his face as he stood straight and proud to prepare himself for the daily ritual that he had come to despise, almost as much as the man that called for him. The last two weeks had become even worse than his previous years had been. He would never feel comfortable with this man that hated him almost as much as the boy hated this lecherous sub-human. "Leave the boy be, Mustafa," he heard his mother shout to the man's back. "You smell of drink and filth and have no right to plague my son so, daily. And your dinner is not ready because it is much too early. Have you found no work?" "Enough woman! Let him know that if he is not within my reach this very instant he will witness my wrath on his no good, disrespectful mother." The boy cringed, for his stepfather had yet to strike his mother that he knew of. Until now there was only the lively discourse of strong language thrown at each other. They couldn't afford to throw anything else, lest it break. So the child pulled back the drape that divided him and his siblings from their tyrannical parent and stepped into the eating area. "Just as I thought, you no good insolent ass, hiding from me when you know you are to be here when I return from my labor." And with that, he reached out and grabbed the boy by the arm and dragged him over between his hairy legs. His hand released the arm to snake around the thin back of the shivering small child and grabbed the other arm to hold him close to the dirty, smelly man that the boy hated. "Labor!" the women taunted, "How can you return from something you do not do? I am the bread provider AND maker, for that matter. You are the drinker and philanderer." "Woman . . .," The boy noticed the dark lines in the man's forehead starting to bulge and the beads of sweat that were on his head already, due to the day's heat, began to increase until they flowed into the ugliest face imaginable. He had never seen the brute look so angry. Had he been a vessel over the fire he could not have felt hotter or wetter to the boy. But this time he also smelled of strong drink and a foul body odor that made the boy hold his breath. He noticed a diabolical look in those eyes that had never been there before this moment. His mother also knew. She stopped what she was doing and turned toward the man who she called her husband. Love had never been a factor in their arrangement. She had needed the security and social respect of being a wife and he needed someone that he thought he could intimidate enough to leave him to his indulgences like drinking, gambling, and . . . and her young son! She loved all of her children. Whether the boy, whose beauty reflected the love that came from his real father, a man of great strength, dignity, respect and good looks, and from his mother, whose beauty could not be hidden by her attempts to make herself look plain in the eyes of the ogre that growled next to her, or her two sweet girls that shivered from fear in the other room. She was not about to let this sub-human invade any part of her offspring while she could still breathe. It was true that almost everyday, when the man came home, he would take the boy and grope him without regard for her presence, until she was ready to serve him his meal. Her greatest challenge was to be prepared so that he had only a few minutes to feel over the youth before she laid out his supper. But today was different. He had no job and nowhere to go but here. Whatever coins he had this time, from something he sold or bartered to buy strong drink, had evidently run out. He had returned before she had even started the night's meal. She had little doubt about what would happen, how far he would go with the child, given more time than usual. For this reason she made every effort she could to make him leave the boy and come at her instead. So far, it was not working. The man's hands began their usual exploration on the outside of the long shirt that was the custom for boys in this weather. Most of the boys in his area were too poor for an undergarment but the heat would have made it unbearable anyway. Many of the youth, only a year or two under his age of almost 10 years, wore nothing in their house and usually didn't bother when they went outside to play or fetch water close by. The boy was so small in stature that he easily passed for the age of their freedom from clothes, though he would never be without around that man. So the mid thigh length, almost gauze-like tattered shell that surrounded the boy was little hindrance to the man's exploring, callused hands. With his eyes tightly closed, the boy endured rough fingers as they slid back and forth and traced every indentation and mound that they came to. This was not an adoration of the finest, most beautiful man-child that this village had known. This was as close to rape and invasion as possible. Until now, however, his loving mother had seen to it that this pawing had never reached the next level of invasion. Just then, the hands of this mad man began to find their way to that place between the boy's legs; a place that had been avoided until now. As one hand pushed the flimsy garment up to his neck, the other continued to rasp its way to its lecherous goal. The boy gasped in terror, not really understanding what it would mean to be groped there and certainly not knowing where it would lead. One hand was wrenching its way between the tightly clenched legs to find that warm place that would provide relief for the man's growing manhood. The boy knew full well what was poking into his hip; he had felt it almost nightly since this ritual started many seasons before. He knew he was fortunate that it had never gone this far before but he was uncertain if his good fortune had come to an end that night. He had no way of knowing what would happen. He could only guess and started to sob quietly. Meanwhile, the woman tried one more time to distract her drunken husband from his incestuous attack. "Your soup will be ready in minutes," she spit at the man, busy with his lustful interrogation of the small child's form. "Hmpff, idiot woman," he drooled at her, never taking his eyes from his toy, "no one eats soup in this weather. I want meat! And I'll have what I want when I want it!" His voice grew louder and his anger brought his hand from its task and slammed onto the table top. "You'll get what you want when you get off your lazy ass and work for it. You can't expect..." She never finished her insult. He pushed the boy from his grasp, sending him into the wall. He rose so quickly from his chair that it flew backward and broke against the table. Then he swung out his fat arm and slapped his wife across the face, knocking her down to the floor in front of her cooking fire. He literally bellowed with a rage that had been pent up in him since he was dismissed from the king's workers. Everyone for miles must have heard the noise coming from the small hovel. This was not the usual barking back and forth but a real shout of pure rage. No one would have been surprised to see fire issue forth from the doorway, just like the dragons breath in the stories of which the storytellers told at the market. He stomped twice on the dirt floor sending a dish to the floor with a crash. Then he reached to his side, without so much as a look, and grabbed the dazed boy by the collar. He pulled him so hard that the thin boy flew from the floor into the man's side where the mad man grabbed around his small waist and held him like a sack of grain. He actually let out a, "humph!" as if to indicate his superiority in his domain. "Such a brave man," thought the woman as her hand found the place where she was struck. Some blood, but it was nothing compared to protecting her son. "Leave the boy and go wash at the creek. It's a hot day and you reek of the hard life you live. Then take this coin and buy yourself a drink of your favorite amber. A man like you..." "Stop woman!" he barked. "I'll take that coin, and the rest!" And he grabbed for the small purse that she kept on her person, ripping her dress and scattering the three coins to the floor. As the man bent down to grab for the coins, the boy, held next to the man's hip with one arm, could almost touch the ground. He began to struggle to get loose and in doing so his knee hit the man's groin with some force. "A-R-R-G-H!" screamed the man. He slapped out at the boy and hit him in the jaw. The boy went limp. "Awe! You've killed my precious boy, you pig's turd!" The woman sprang to her knees to get to her dead son. But as she got close the tyrant swung his club-like arm again to strike her back down to the floor. "He's not dead...yet!" he bellowed. "But he may be before I am through with his retched body this day." Having said that, he walked out of the house and into the bright sun that baked the small desert village. When the woman came around she felt soft hands rubbing her exposed shoulders. Her eyes opened a bit to see the long hair of her two young girls as they kneeled over her form and administered their love to her. "He's taken our brother to kill him!" the oldest cried. The youngest girl could only cry and finally fell over her mother in a heap of tears and fear, to mix with the emotions of the other two as they too began to cry in absolute certainty that they would never again see their beloved boy. Sadness would live in this small hole and slowly take the place of their hearts. They lay crying until darkness was their invitation to sleep where they lie. The two young girls would remember the loving smile on their brother's angelic face, as their lasting memory of his love for them. ***** It felt as though he were being broken in half, not bending in front or back but, bending over his side. He felt a constant thump, thump, thump as he was shaken to consciousness to find himself still in his stepfather's hold. Only now they were outside in the stifling heat and walking toward the small village's market. Not the food market in the center of the village, but to the other market on the farthest edge of the town, the body market! The boy had never been allowed to go that way but that did not keep him from getting as close as possible when his friends had taunted him to go with them. This town was known for this market and had been a gathering place for the kind of man that could afford a live body to do his bidding. This lust for a living, breathing creature brought this type of man from far away and it also brought the type of man that was low enough to make his drinking money by selling whatever living form was demanded, from dog to donkey to... The boy gasped out loud! He realized that his captor was just such a man who would think nothing of selling whatever he got his hands on for some strong, thick amber drink. The boy also realized that such a commodity was him. "Stop your squirming you virgin ingrate," the man demanded, even though the boy could little afford to move for the pain it caused his side. He didn't realize that the man's shouting was the start of his marketing strategy to get as much for this worthless sponge of wasted food as he could. Being rid of him would put twenty or thirty coins in his pocket and leave more for him on the table at meal time. And while he would no longer enjoy the closeness he felt for the boy when he returned from his unappreciated labors each day, he would find another boy who already knew what to do for a piece of meat or a drink or two from his pitcher of amber. The man began to dream about the wealth that was coming his way in a few short minutes as he approached the area that was used for bidding. Just outside of the town's back gate was built a platform of rough wood, big enough for a holder and an animal to stand on. Behind it, a dirt ramp led the way up to this platform. On top of the platform was a larger post that was several hands higher than the tallest of men. A huge, heavy ring near the top, and one at the mid point, allowed the sale item to be tethered until released to its new owner. The king had always looked down on this sort of business dealings, not animals of course and not men who were sentenced to this life, but the boys and girls who were sold beside the cattle and asses, whose task it would be to satisfy their new master in whatever way that master deemed fitting for the moment. Oh, the king had no problem with human slavery, but he also knew that the lack of scruples on the part of the buyers and the sellers led to the hasty use, misuse and, finally, disposal, of a young treasure as though it were a succulent fruit that went bad in the sun and was thrown out. Of course, the one his mother called Mustafa fit in all too well with this group. But the boy soon found out that the covering around the tyrannical ogre that the boy knew, would soon be ripped away to expose a shell of a worthless, spineless goat. As they drew near to the platform the man let the boy down to his feet and took hold of his arm just under his shoulder. The grip bit into the boy's arm so he raised his shoulder to try to ease the pulling. This caused his leg to barely meet the ground as they walked and soon the other men saw the boy limping and laughed at Mustafa. Mustafa could little know what caused this display of humor among these men. He stopped to look at the boy and, of course, when he did so the boy stopped limping and stood straighter. There was dust and dirt caked on the boy's face, covered by his dirty hair, but the man was too self-absorbed to realize that one of the best qualities of his goods was his remarkable, sweet, youthful countenance. Mustafa could only count on his marketing scheme to drive up the price of his merchandise. "What is it? Have you never seen a lush, virgin boy before?' His voice was sure and confident. Today he would make a killing, if not at this auction, then surely the boy's life. Several low mutterings passed through the crowd enticing Mustafa into believing that he was already rich. Then, as they started to walk again, the mutterings turned to tittering until the pair stopped in front of the auctioneer's table. "Not good bringing your son to these proceedings, Mustafa. Send him home so we can begin the day's work." Obviously, the man at the table heard none of the taunting that went on before Mustafa reached the auction table. "But he is my lot. He will go to the highest bidder and I will be rid of this boil on my life and be rich at the same time." And then his voice got louder, "My only regret is that I did not spoil his virginity by plunging into his bottom." "Very crude, Mustafa. Take this number and stand over there until he is sold. Then return here and you will get your share." The man didn't even look up as he spoke the orders to Mustafa and wrote the numbers in his book. "Yes sir," whined Mustafa, his voice quickly sounding more like a woman that was weak and frightened. He began to move with the boy when a hand held his shoulder. "Leave the boy with me," came the order from a place at least two or even three heads or more higher than the weakling that was Mustafa. As Mustafa turned, he looked into the navel of a giant that took the boy by the neck and led him away. Through all this the small boy went numb. Realization made him grow up very fast as he was guided to the rear of the platform by the man whose hand reached around his neck until his fingers touched, and still left enough room so that there was no pressure on his thin neck. Behind the platform was a series of pens, maybe three or four. It became obvious to the youngster that one was for cloven animals and another was for another kind, though there were only cloven there now. He began to look for a line to stand in to wait until his doom when he was guided to yet another pen and led into it through a gate. This pen was like the others in that it was formed of clay brick with more holes than brick. But the holes were smaller so a man could not get away before he was sold. There were no others; in fact, there were very few items to be dealt with that day. As he stood there he heard a commotion from another pen. Two men were arguing over the ownership of a goat up for auction. They sounded like they were starting to fight when he saw a huge shadow take the sun away as the giant passed by his pen and entered the other. "What are you doing?" He heard the screaming of the men and soon the goat began to join their chorus as they all complained about what the giant was doing. Just as the noise was getting unbearable, he heard a Snap! And there was silence. "My gods! What have you done? You've ruined me," said the distraught owner of the goat. Then there was a whoosh and the boy was hit with something wet and sticky, knocking him to the ground on his back and covering him with the most awful smelling mess. The liquid that covered him ran into his eyes and stung. He panicked as he pushed off his assailant to find the front half of a goat lying across his legs. He kicked and fought his foe until he could rush to his feet and then stagger backward in awed disbelief until his back smacked into the gate. He used the tattered hem of his garb, lifting it up in front, to wipe his eyes of the stinging crimson blood. It became obvious that the giant's solution to the problem was to rip the goat in half and toss each half to one of the men. One of them didn't seem to want theirs so they threw it, giving the penned child a scare and a bath in the goat's blood. "Serves you right to sell what was only given you a day's length before." This boasting came from the man that had also, though wrongfully, claimed the goat for his own. He sounded prideful to the child, for the pain he had caused the other man. "OW! What do you do? Why do you grip me so, you devil's tree?" The voice was that of the deceitful man. The tree, or rather giant, must have grabbed him as punishment for his lie. Soon he was pushed into the pen with the boy. He fell on his knees at the force and grabbed the boy about the waist to keep from falling to his face. This only served to knock the small boy down, leaving the man's face in his cellmate's flat, smooth stomach but covered in the dead goat's blood. "If you harm this lad, you will join the goat in the same way that he left this earthly land. Do not test me again. It will cause more pain than the sale of your cheating bones this day." The huge man only spoke his threat, but there was no doubt in the mind of anyone within hearing that this would come to pass if tested. The man in the youth's lap sprang to his feet yelling, "Sale? Sale? I am not for sale. There is a mistake. I came here to buy, not sell. Then I saw my cousin try to sell the gift I gave him only yesterday. He is the good-for not-..." "Be careful, very, very careful, foolish one. Your fate will be judged by how soon your tongue stops flapping." Again, an almost gentle voice that commanded the crowd's respect and the man's loins to release their pent up fluid onto the ground and over his shivering feet. His mouth immediately closed and his body became as stiff as the brick wall of the pen that held him. It was all that the boy could do to keep from laughing at the sight before him. He was taught by his mother to respect his elders but she also told him that there would be times when they would have to earn that respect. The man was not doing well in that area. The boy forgot for a moment about the hopelessness of his situation and thought about what horror must be going through this man's head. But the thoughts quickly left his mind when he felt a huge hand wrap itself over his shoulder until its fingertips covered one of his small nipples and its thumb seemed to reach half way down his back. With a soft squeeze the hand's owner said, "Come with me, small one. Your time for being sold is not upon you this day." He had no idea what this meant, but when he turned to face the huge, hairy tower that was an arm, he heard that same gentle voice ask, "Would you please step into my hand and we'll end your problems for this day?" Several minutes before, this would have stirred in him a fear as large as the river that lay toward the sunrise. But, without reason, he felt a peace enfold him as he stepped into the hand and held onto the thick, warm arm and was lifted over the brick wall. He was met eye to eye with the great man whose very face was smiling at the child. The other huge arm came around to make a seat for the boy and off they went, away from the gathering masses, one of which who would have claimed him for their pleasure. The man moved with ease to the rear of the platform and around the gated opening to the outside of the wall that served to protect the small town. The light load tucked in his arm was barely noticeable except for the bouncing caused by the big legs taking big steps over the rough ground near the wall. The other thing the giant noticed was that this movement in his arms was causing the flimsy garment that was between the arm and it's load to begin to slide up the boy's legs and finally, fall free of it's entrapment between the two warm bodies. The boy let out a gasp when he realized that his bare bottom was in total contact with this hairy arm that held him close to his captor. He looked up into those huge eyes and saw joy and laughter like he saw in his little sisters' eyes when they were able to play without fear. He also saw a deep warmth that he barely remembered seeing in his mother's face just after they lost his real father. It was the look of devotion, of true caring, of kindred love. A short chortle from the giant and a quick, jerking lift shocked the boy for the briefest instant, forcing him to wrap his arms around the neck of the man and then made him smile at the man with a smile as big as a slice of melon. He knew that the arm and the heart that held him close were those of the kindest man he had ever known. And he knew that he would be a part of this man's world from then on. He had to reach up and feel the big man's cheek. He smiled again. The man gasped too as he took in the depth of the small one's smile, so incredible was its force on him. So, as this huge man walked with his light charge he would occasionally jump, or play trip, or twirl one way or twirl the other just to see the face of this small, perfect angel smile his huge smile over and over. It also made the young one cling for dear life when the rush of movement came, not knowing when it would end. But soon he just kept his tight hold around the neck of his new protector and friend and buried his head under his huge chin, feeling his warmth and the beating of his heart. This was what joy was all about, thought the loving man as he drew in his powerful breath to savor the scent that belonged to his newest loved one. This was what love was all about, thought the small one, clinging with his arms as well as with his smile and his happy heart. Just as it seemed to the boy that they would soon approach the same gate through which they had left, having walked that far, the giant turned away from the wall, and continued toward nothing at all. The small one soon realized that the ground on either side of them was growing magically...oh, wait, it was that they were dipping down into a crevasse, so slight that most people would probably go right by it. When their heads were well below the ground level, the path began to twist then divide, twist some more and divide countless times. It didn't seem possible that someone could remember such a path and he was sure that they were completely lost. Long before had the space over their heads closed to form a great ceiling, leaving only small openings between each turn to light their wanderings. He didn't think his small heart could bear one more turn ... but alas, it could. When they seemed to make the biggest turn of all, the boy heard something that he had not heard since the king's decree that prevented the men from working. It was a sound that caused chills in a prickly way up and down his slim form. This ends the First Chapter of One Gift To Give I hope you enjoyed it so far To be continued with The Second Chapter - His Hope Grew Strong