BOYDRAKE

backwoodsman

 

Yes, it contains sexual scenes. Yes, if that and love offend you don't read it. If you read it through and like it, let me know? backwoodsman@noipmail.com. I'll try and reply

 

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From Dogme et Rituel de la Haute Magie by Arthur Edward Waite. 1896:

The natural mandragore is a filamentous root which, more or less, presents as a whole either the figure of a man, or that of the virile members ...it is certain that man came out of the slime of the earth, and his first appearance must have been in the form of a rough sketch. The analogies of nature make this notion necessarily admissible ... The first men were, in this case, a family of gigantic, sensitive mandragores, animated by the sun, who rooted themselves up from the earth ...reproduction of a soil sufficiently fruitful and a sun sufficiently active to humanise the said root, and thus create men without the concurrence of the female...

 

Shakespeare: Hamlet; 1.5, 167-8

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,
Than are dreamt of in our philosophy.

 

 

Chapter 1

 

"Take your clothes off, boy. All of them."

I'd been born in the Village, the only village on the Island. My parents and brothers had moved back to Dad's family home there just two months after I was born. Dad had never really recovered from Mum's death during my birth, and I had only recently begun to realise what it was, that all unwittingly, I'd done. That I'd killed her. Without wanting to. Without knowing anything about it. There had been times when I'd half wished that it'd been me who'd died and not her. But the part of me with the sense said rightly that she'd probably have died anyway, that two deaths are worse than one, and that life was pretty good anyway. But there was still this ugly realisation in the back of my mind....

"Take your clothes off, boy. All of them." I looked stupidly at the man giving the order.

Dad had brought me up, as well as those of my brothers who were nearest to my age, in the best way he could with the help of my older brothers. Ours was a close family, but then so was everybody's in the Village. The settlement was small and remote, and everyone relied on everyone else to do `their bit' for the good of all. On the rare occasions we visited the outside world it was a culture shock. To see people ignoring each other, to see selfishness, greed, and above all ignorance of the well being of others. Well! I was glad I was a member of Our Village.

"Take your clothes off, boy. All of them." He couldn't be serious, I thought. There are another five of them with him too. I couldn't do what he asked!

Recently the village's fortunes had been waning. We seemed to have had so few good harvests that the produce we had to buy in from the outside world was starting to exceed what we could sell back to it. That much I'd learnt by asking at school and by attending one of the long, boring council meetings that anyone over nine years old could go to, it being argued that sometimes people as young as ten could give good advice. I hadn't, but I had a retentive memory, and had learnt a lot. It seemed they were very concerned, and were having to delve into the money they'd accumulated over the years. Some said they needed the old magic back, and that'd bring a spell of good luck.

"Come on, boy. Take your clothes off. All of them." He'd said it again! Surely they wouldn't ask a boy to strip in front of so many of them? It was bad enough doing it for the doctor when he visited the school. Then we had to strip to our pants in the classroom -- boys and girls -- and run to the dining hall where, one by one, we had to go behind a screen, drop our only remaining item of clothing, get prodded, held, investigated, poked, held again, told to cough, and finally allowed to put on our skimpy barriers against immodesty and go to the next screen where they did other tests.... But to strip, on my own, in front of six clothed men.....well! I mean, I was ten now, not a child any more, not really, and deserved my privacy.

"Take your clothes off, boy. All of them." I wondered suddenly if any of my six elder brothers had had to do this. Was it one of these coming of age things you had to do? Was it a test? What would happen if I failed? That brought more fears to me. I mean, was it a manhood thing? If I wasn't growing properly would they do something to me? Make me a girl, or something? Although I was ten and not a child any more I couldn't keep my bottom lip from trembling, just as I couldn't keep the pricking from behind my eyes.

"Come on, Aidan. We're not going to harm you. We just need to see. It's for the good of the Village. Take your clothes off, please, then we won't have to keep you here."

"But.....sir.....I can't....I mean....."

"It's all right. We won't be laughing at you. We won't harm you in any way. Just do it, please?"

I looked round the men. All of them were on the council -- I'd seen the m at the meeting. One of them, I knew, was the doctor. He at least had seen me stripped, at school. He had a dead-pan expression, as they all did.

Slowly I started to fumble at my belt, then undid the button, then pulled down the zip. Then I remembered my trousers wouldn't go over the long boots I was wearing despite the season. Instead I pulled them off first, then hauled off my socks. Then I thought better of the trousers, and took off the jumper and shirt.

Then once again I stood still, hesitantly, clad in nothing except a pair of old flannel shorts, which, unzipped as they were, were already obeying the laws of gravity. I grabbed at them automatically as they slid down over my underpants.

"Good boy. Take them off, and the underwear, and stand in front of us." I looked at the speaker. He was serious.

With eyes pricking again I bent and pulled down at the shorts, then stepped out of them. At the time I wore white Y-fronts, the sort of thing that nobody would be seen dead in now. Because we were a big family and I was the youngest, mine were about fourth generation underpants, and were showing the strain in the number of draughty holes they had. And areas of the skin of my flanks and bottom were already visible, as was a small section of belly just above the parts that mattered.

They were still looking at me, waiting. I gave a sort of sob, and swept the cloth down my legs, stepped free, and stood there, shivering, but not with cold. Twelve eyes bored into every part of me. Most of all they seemed to be boring into the bits at the top of my legs. Quickly I put my hands over the area to stop embarrassing them.

"No, take your hands away, please. Let them hang at your sides."

I complied, although my shaking grew worse. After they had examined me minutely I was told to go and stand in front of the doctor.

"I'm going to examine your penis and scrotum, Aidan. Do you know what they are?"

This was taking place at the end of the 1950's. Sex education was something you might learn at the age of about sixteen or seventeen from your parents, unless you found out about it in school from someone who'd heard about it from his elder brother's friend, or who had encountered another boy in some intimate way, or an adult who wanted you to be naked with them and try things out. And we were in a closed community on a small island. I shook my head.

"The penis is the thing you use to piddle, and the scrotum is the skin, the little bit of loose skin with the delicate things in it which is just below it."

I looked down at myself. I'd not really taken much notice of the skin below it, apart from knowing that it tickled if I touched it. But then so did my willy when it seemed to get a bit longer occasionally when I touched it gently.

Carefully he took hold of my penis and pulled back at the foreskin like Dad had told me to when I bathed. The sensitive, pinky red, delicate thing underneath gleamed at him. With the softest of touches he put a finger on it, and I jumped backwards with the shock of the unexpected contact. I looked at him.

"It's all right, Aidan. Come back, please."

Slowly I stepped toward him again. He lifted the penis and gently lifted up the looseness of skin underneath, squeezing slightly, then let it drop again. He traced a path from it either side of my willy, to a point half way up the belly, then pushed in and retraced the movement. Lastly he took his hands away and just looked at me there at close quarters. It was a bit like having the school medical again, but that was never in front of six men, and never for this long or this close an examination.

"Now stand with your legs apart, please." I separated my legs, and he put his hand up between them to push at the bit of me between scrotum and bum. Automatically I coughed; that seemed to be what they wanted you to do when they did that. He smiled.

"Very good, Aidan. I'm pleased to say you have a strong and healthy body. A body which, with the rest of your special attributes, you could use to serve your father, your brothers, and all the rest of your friends in this Village of ours. And think, just think, how proud your mother would have been to know that her youngest son had been chosen to give such a great service."

He paused, knowing that saying that would surely get me on his side. None of the rest of the men said anything.

"Nothing to say, young man? Not even a thank you to us for choosing you?" He smiled at me.

"The....thank you, sir," I said automatically. I was on autopilot. And at ten, in the face of authority, in the 1950's, you did exactly what you were told by your elders and betters. I was naked and powerless anyway.

"Good boy. Now, you must tell no one what we have chosen you for, nor must you tell anyone what has happened here today. If you do, we shall have to choose someone else. And that would be a shame, because it would bring a disgrace to your family."

I was naked, powerless, and now in shock. I would never do anything to make people think bad of my father and brothers, not to mention my dead mother whom I had unwittingly killed.

They let me stay like that, bare, thinking, as their eyes still scanned me. At last another of them stirred. "Very well, boy, you may put on your clothes. But never forget that we shall know if you tell anyone, even your father or brothers, even the priest. This is essential. Do you understand?"

I nodded.

"I didn't hear you, boy," he said in a suddenly loud, commanding voice.

"Yes, sir," I managed.

"That's better. In six months we will call for you again, and at that time you will learn more. Get dressed, please."

"Yes, sir." And, still with them watching me I bent for my underpants and hurriedly pulled them up, twisted. I got both feet into one trouser leg of my shorts, and had to hop around to keep my balance. I could feel my face getting hot. I pulled them down again, rearranged myself, hauled them up again and pulled up the zip, did up the button and fastened the belt, then realised I needed to undo them again to tuck in my shirt. Hurriedly I pulled it over my head, undid, tucked, and scrambled to do it all up again. Then the jumper. Then I picked up my socks and again hopped round the floor trying to get them on.

"Sit down on the floor and do it, Aidan," said the doctor. I looked thankfully at him and dropped down instantly. One. Two. Then the boots. One. Two. And then I was ready. I stood up.

"You may go, boy," said the one who had told me to strip in the first place.

"Thank you sir," said my automatic pilot, and I turned and fled from the room, nearly tripping over my feet as I went.

 

"You're late," said my eldest brother.

"Stopped to talk to someone."

He didn't ask anything else.

 

I lay awake in the bed I shared with Sean, the brother one up from me in age, for what seemed like hours that night, thinking, thinking. Why me? What was special about me? I was now officially healthy and strong, which was nice, but what a way to have to find out! Me, stripping myself naked in front of six men! But they'd wanted me. Me. Me! Why me?

And so on around in circles until I fell asleep.

The next morning I was dreading running into any of the people who had examined me. But I suppose it was inevitable that I should. I looked at the man as he passed me by, but apart from the usual "good morning Aidan" that I got from everybody in the village whom I knew, which meant everybody, there was no extra glimmer of recognition. No spark to show that he knew exactly what I looked like naked. No laugh, no comment, no recognition. I returned the greeting as I'd been taught. At school there was no mention of anything strange, as I'd half feared there might be. It was all right their swearing me to silence by the good name of my family, but I had no indication there would be silence on their part.

But there was silence. And gradually the memory faded, and became just one of the odd things that adults do now and again. And after five months I'd forgotten almost all about it.

 

A month after that he doctor caught me on my way home from school, as he had done the first time.

"Aidan, follow me to the village hall, please."

"Yes sir." I was ten and a half, and automatically did everything that I was told by someone in authority. I walked with him to the little building, and into the hall, and through it into the same little room that I had been in before. And once again there were five other men sitting there in a semicircle. As I saw them I stopped in something like panic as the memories of the first meeting came flooding back. But the doctor took his place, and we were back to square one.

"Take your clothes off, boy. All of them." I knew he was going to say it as soon as I had seen them all there. This time the surprise wasn't there, but I was still panicking about doing it. But common sense and my upbringing told me I must, and as I'd done it before it didn't matter. And after all, at home there was very little privacy in our all-male household with the constant pressures on bathroom and lavatory imposed by a father and seven sons.

My clothes came off with less hesitation this time, and I stood there once again naked, being scanned by the twelve eyes. And once again the doctor felt and prodded my most private areas, and nodded to the others Then I stood in front of them again. The village's chief elder, the only one apart from the doctor who ever seemed to speak, looked directly into my eyes, and that was quite a change compared with his close examination of the rest of my exposed body.

"Aidan, the last time we saw you we said we would be able to tell you more about what was going on, what you would be required to do for the future of your family and the village. Well, now we can." He paused. I stood there, wishing it was summer, and as warm as when I'd last stood naked in front of them. "You know that this Village, this Island, has a long, long history. In fact its history goes back thousands of years. You've learnt about it in school."

He seemed to want me to say something. "Yes, sir."

"And you may have been taught that before people started to believe in Christianity they had other gods." Again a pause. I thought back to history lessons.

"Yes, sir."

He looked at me and, for the first time, smiled. "Well, there was one particular god who was associated with our island. In fact he was hardly a god at all, more just a spirit of the earth and the sea. I suppose you could call it half god, half magic."

I said nothing. I was trying to take it in. Oh, and to stop myself shivering.

"Well, what you haven't been told in school is that a lot of people who went to church also believed in this old spirit. And they did so all through our history, until quite recently. They didn't worship the spirit or have him instead of normal religion, they just believed that he was there, and they had better show him some respect.

"During the last fifty years or so, fewer people thought about him. And gradually our crops have failed and things have happened with the weather, and.....well, you know how badly off we're getting. So some of our old people have decided that we should try and see if the old spirit can help us."

He paused again. I wondered what I should say. But it seemed as if he was almost waiting for me to laugh at him, because he was looking down at his feet just as I did in school when I expected to be told not to be silly.

"And that is where you come in, boy," he suddenly said, loudly and defiantly. "The books tell us about what we must do when there are problems. And it calls for a seventh son, a boy who was born on the island."

I looked up directly at him. Suddenly aware. Almost proud. This was me. Suddenly I didn't feel so powerless. For the first time I thought to speak.

"But what would I have to do, sir?"

"Eh? Eh? It's too early for that yet. You have two more years of growth first, or thereabouts. Then we can tell you what. But it involves the ability that any man has to bring life, but only you have that special ability to bring back the life, the fertility of the land. When you are ready, we shall know. And you will be told. But until then you will still keep this matter secret from everyone. It is not to be discussed unless all six of us are here with you, alone. Is that understood?"

"Yes sir."

"And never forget the shame that would come on your family if you speak of it anywhere else. You may dress now, and go."

I suited the actions to his words, and went home to get warm.

 

It was another night of thought before I slipped off to sleep. Thoughts of the pride that I might be able to help the village, that I was special, that I would eventually have to do.....what? What is it that any man could do? Work? I expected that -- four of my brothers were at work, and the fifth was due to leave school in a few months. That left just Sean -- who shared the bed with me -- and myself still at school. I hoped the village would last long enough for me to get old enough to do whatever it was I had to do.

 

And so it was that at eleven, in summer, I went through the same treatment. And at eleven and a half, during one of the coldest winters I could remember, I shivered my way through the proceedings, this time with a tinge of anger to me. Why should I have to strip naked in front of them like this? Why, if they had to do it, couldn't the doctor do it on his own as he did at school, and then report back to them? But I did what they said, as usual.

 

On my twelfth birthday I once again found myself being taken to be examined. This time it took very little time. The doctor nodded, the elder told me I was growing up good and strong, and told me to look after myself and not take risks.

"Yes, sir," I said, nodding my head wisely as my naked body shivered, summer or not. He told me to get dressed and go, and once again reminded me not to say anything about it. I was still unused to being naked in front of them. It was odd, worrying, different, but they expected -- demanded -- it, so it must be all right. And I'd started to notice that I was a lot taller and better able to think about how I felt when in front of them.

 

That summer there was a break in the almost persistent drought that seemed to visit us each and every year, scorching the crops before they were ready for harvest. I wondered if my special stature, and my eventual manly abilities, would no longer be needed if we were going to be all right now.

The next winter I got called into the meeting nevertheless.

As I straightened up from stripping off my underpants this time, I saw the doctor's face change subtly. They still left me to stand there, showing off my twelve and a half years of growth. When the doctor called me to him to take my penis in his hand I was aware of the others craning their necks round to look as well. His hand felt warm on me, and gentle, and to my horror I felt that increase in the weight of the end of it that had started to plague me and make me hate to change for gym sometimes, or even stand up in class without adjusting the way it lay in my pants first. As he held me, my penis rose away from his palm and nothing I could do would make it go down again.

"I...I'm.....I'm sorry, sir," I said, looking at the floor and biting my lower lip in shame and self-loathing.

He looked at me. "But that's what we've all been waiting for, Aidan. It shows that your body is waking up and is starting, just starting, to become that of a man. And look, underneath, haven't you noticed how your scrotum has grown outwards?"

Ah yes, scrotum. I'd forgotten the name. And I hadn't noticed. I mean, I must have caught sight of my body every day in the bathroom mirror, but the slow changes are the ones you don't notice. Haircuts and bruises and cuts you do, and when you feel that your willy suddenly gets heavier, and starts getting stiff and standing up on its own like it does more and more under your trousers in school and embarrasses you, you notice. But the slow growth of an unimportant, if tender and private, part of you passes without comment.

Until now.

Once again I was squeezed there, and once again his fingers traced over the sensitive skin as he brought them up beside my willy. Which was still stiffly beating in time with my heart, making it even harder to accept that the thing was now facing straight up to the ceiling, and being watched closely by all six men.

I swallowed hard. He looked up at me.

"It's good, Aidan. Very good. Before your thirteenth birthday, too. That's quite unusual -- quite early for your body to be this far advanced in its maturity...." Maturity! Another magic word! ".....So it should only be another few months before you'll be ready, I should say. We'll need to look at you each month from now on."

Oh, NO!!

He looked round at the others. "I suggest we give him until the first -- not of next month, but February, then look again."

The others nodded. The leader called the doctor over to him and whispered something to him. He nodded and came back to me.

"Now, Aidan, there is something else we have to warn you about. You know by now that the part of your body that has been growing is the part of you that is used for making the seed which can be planted into a girl to make a baby."

I didn't know. This was news to me. Nobody had told me how babies were made, although by now I knew where they came from. There had been too many of the village's young women who had become thick-waisted during my life and had later appeared with babies that I hadn't been able not to notice. Oh, that and the usual rude comments amongst my school friends.

I was so long taking this in that I forgot to nod or say anything. I was still very much on automatic pilot during these sessions.

"Aidan?"

"Sorry, sir."

"You do know, don't you?"

"Yes, sir." Why didn't I ask him for an explanation, a proper one? The boys at school would have hung onto every word. So would I, come to that.

"You may know, or would normally soon find out, that there are ways of making your body produce that seed artificially, without anyone else being there. It is important -- no, it is absolutely essential -- that you never do so. If you do, we shall know and you will have wasted our time and yours over all these years, and let down your family as well. In fact you would have let down the Village so badly that you would probably have to go and live somewhere else for the shame of it."

I looked at him wide eyed. I had no idea how to get my seed out. I didn't have the slightest idea who to ask about it either. It wasn't one of the things we talked about at home, not even Sean and me, although we were nearest in age. I nodded, shivering once again with the winter's cold and now with a stab of fear too. I couldn't even imagine letting everybody down, much less living anywhere else but at home.

"The same applies, Aidan, with getting together with a girl on your own. It must not happen until after your special duties are over. But since you are only twelve, I suppose that's hardly likely." He paused and smiled round at the others. I felt myself go red, something that stripping in front of them never made me do any more. He looked back at me. "Do you promise these things?"

"Yes, sir," I said without thinking.

I was dismissed until the first of February, and as swiftly as I could I got dressed again and went out into the open air.

 

Before Sean came to bed that night, and despite the cold of my unheated bedroom, I spent a long time looking down at my naked body. Tentatively I traced the new roundness of my scrotum, wondering why I'd never noticed its growth for myself. The sensation was so intense that my body instinctively jerked away from my own exploring fingers, but I made myself lie still while I felt again....and again...... And of course, my errant penis, still boy-short at two inches, rose to be three and a half again, and stood there, beating time once again, casting a shadow from the moon across my belly. I wondered what it was you did to get your seed out.

Then suddenly I knew I mustn't go on doing this because if I thought about it too much it might happen and then I'd be an outcast. In a panic I pulled the bedclothes over me and brought my arms outside so I wouldn't be tempted to tickle myself again......and that was the first time I realised that feeling myself was really pleasurable. The thoughts connected in my brain, and before I knew it my penis was pushing up at the heavy bedding again. I mustn't think like this, I mustn't. Think of the disgrace....think of living away from the family, unloved, unwelcome, an outcast..... What could I do to stop it? History, that was it. Recite the names and dates of the Kings and Queens of England.......

I was asleep before Sean came into the room.

 

I was examined again at the beginning of February, then March, then April. Each time the doctor smiled encouragingly. In March I asked him why there were dark hairs starting to grow over and at either side of my penis, and he told me it was meant to happen, that all men grew them. My scrotum had been getting even more pronounced, and two definite lumps had become noticeable either side of the centre line. I had been the first to discover them, during one of my guilty and hurried explorations in bed, before the fear of my seed coming had really kicked in and brought my hands above the covers.

When I went for May's examination the doctor wasn't there. Instead the village's blacksmith was sitting, his black eyes almost hidden under his craggy eyebrows, watching me like a hawk. I was rather nervous about someone new in the room, but was told that the doctor's part in this was over.

"Take your clothes off, boy. All of them."

I was expecting it, of course, and stripped now, if not readily or eagerly then without delay. I was getting quite proud of my growing body, despite the other worrying sensations I still felt about taking off my clothes in front of so many men.

"Hmm," said the blacksmith as I stood in front of them. The others were silent.

"And he's a seventh son, you say?"

"Yes," said the leader. "We've made sure there's no confusion there. And everything else is just right. He won't be thirteen until late June. And the doctor has said, as you know, that he's capable."

"Hmm...... And has he ever....you know?"

"Aidan, how many times a week do you make seed?"

"I....I....I haven't sown any seed since early spring, sir, since I helped Dad with the barley in the Easter holidays."

"I don't mean that sort of seed, boy. I mean your own seed, the seed that's inside you."

I blushed as I understood. "Sorry, sir, never, sir, because you told me not to."

"There's your answer, smith. He's a virgin."

What? Surely a virgin was a woman? I mean, Mary was. We sung about her in church all the time. Could a boy be a virgin too? And what was one, anyway? The words floated into my head: "...because she knew not a man." I supposed she hadn't done something, and if she hadn't neither had Joseph. Which must have made him a virgin too, but nobody ever sang about that. If only I knew what it was.

"That's all right, then," said the blacksmith. "So long as you're sure he can. His tonker doesn't look very big, to me."

"The doctor says it'll be fine," said the leader.

Now I'd never heard of a tonker before, but somehow I knew what it was. And what the blacksmith had said made me angry, and I suddenly disliked him.

I was told to go, but expect to be called back in about two weeks. I lay in bed that night hating the blacksmith and persuading myself that my tonker wasn't small -- it wasn't as small as usual, certainly -- and was trying to stretch. And it wasn't until I felt it a bit wetter than normal at the end that I told myself I'd got to stop, and hurriedly did so.

 

Years later I heard the young men's story, and since this is where it fits in to the tale, this is where I'll put it.

`My' six council members had been watching me to see who I was friendly with amongst the older lads of the village. One or two were quite nice to me, I suppose because they didn't see me as a threat of any sort, and having so many elder brothers I was quite at home with fifteen, sixteen, seventeen year olds.

One by one they were called in front of the six elders, and their part in the plan was explained to them. At first there was a loud, vehement refusal from each of them, and incredulity that anyone, village elder or not, should even think of such a thing. But a combination of the need to save the village, to try anything, the shame on their family if they didn't, and how their refusal might get them excluded from the village to live as outcasts, and in one or two cases the threat of blackmail, finally elicited a most reluctant agreement from them all.

Of all this I was blissfully unaware, conscious only that some of my older acquaintances seemed to seek out my company rather more than before. I put this down to my enhanced physical condition, and was happy about it.

 

And so we drifted thoughtlessly into another dry June, and towards my thirteenth birthday.


Chapter 2

 

The first full week of the month got us notice of a full village meeting. A full village meeting meant everybody, not just those over nine years as usual, but everybody from babes in arms to the most doddering ancient still alive. (His name was Luke, he was eighty, deaf and smelly.) A full meeting was about as common as dung from a rocking horse, as my father delicately put it. It was to happen the following Friday, at two in the afternoon.

Dutifully people left their work, their school, their homes, and converged on the village hall. I met up with my father and brothers and was about to go and sit with them, but the chief elder beckoned me aside.

"Not you," he said. "You will stay separate. Your time has come. We are going to tell them about your special abilities. You will not see your family again until tomorrow."

My father looked at me with his mouth open, hardly believing what he had heard. I imagined that he must have known about my being called to the meetings over all these years, but he seemed to have no idea of the reasons. Neither, by the look on their faces, did my brothers.

But the chief elder's word was law in the village, more or less. He certainly gave me no time to do more than say "'Bye. See you on Sunday," in as light a tone as I could, although my guts were knotting up inside as I wondered what I was going to have to do.

"Er.....yes.....er.....look after yourself...." I could hear my father still speaking as I was led away toward the room of my stripping and examination.... Instinctively my heart sank a bit. The man pushed me into the room.

"Make yourself comfortable," he told me. "This should take no longer than half an hour." He turned away, out of the room. The key turned in the lock. My mouth sagged open in surprise. I looked around at the room properly for the first time -- it's difficult to take in the details of somewhere when you've stripped yourself naked in front of a group of men, one of whom is prodding at the most private bits of you, and all are talking seriously to you. And afterwards all you want to do is get dressed and get out from in front of them as soon as you possibly can.

I wondered if I'd be able to hear what was going on in the hall next door, but the room was separated from it by the toilets and by two doors and a short corridor. I put my ear to the door, the panelling, to the other door (also locked) and could hear nothing except a distant murmur.

Half an hour came and went, so did the three-quarters and the hour. It wasn't until ten past three that I heard the door unlock again. To my surprise all the council elders were there, not just the elder, and with them was the blacksmith, smiling, I noticed.

The elder motioned me into a chair, one of the circle of them around the table. The rest of them joined me. And the explanations began.

It took a long time. The old religion was about the spirits of the land. Sometimes in the past, when men had taken more notice of its demands, it seemed that they needed a personification of the partnership that they said had to exist between the spirits and mankind. A seventh son was seen by them as an example of earthly fertility, and it seemed that only a seventh son could produce what the old gods needed.

There was a pause. All this seemed common sense to me. I had been schooled for it, hadn't I? But what was it that the spirits wanted.

"A daughter and seven sons." My eyes looked at the blacksmith without understanding. What had that to do with me?

"Aidan....." the chief elder had taken over again. "We have been waiting for the time when your body would be ready to make the seed that is in all men, the seed which starts new life. For this reason alone we have seen you in front of us, hoping against hope that your body would be ready to provide what the spirits need before your thirteenth birthday. For that, we are sure, is the age at which you become too earthly, too far from the spirit world, to be acceptable to the old gods. It is now less than a month before you are thirteen, and we have had to leave this until the last moment to make sure that your body is as ready as possible."

I still really had not much idea of what I was to do, except that I knew it involved my scrotum and penis, on the grounds that it was that area that had been the centre of interest to them and I had been told that I must make no effort to make my own seed come out. But what....how....?

"Aidan. At the west of the village is the old Grove, as you know. I'm sure that, despite being told that it's a secret place of evil, you've been there."

Well, yes, I had. Despite my father forbidding me to go, I had tagged along with others and we'd gone nervously to the long, low, tunnel in the bushes which led into the unknown. The area was the thickest wooded part of the island, despite being only a fairly short walk from the village edge. We had gone on, and further on down the long, dank tunnel of dark leaves and at the end there was this circular clearing, roofed by ancient trees, but with seven saplings in a group in the centre of it. Growing in the gloom, against all odds. And the silence. And the chill.

We had been struck silent ourselves by the oddness of it. And then slowly, insidiously, the chill and the unseasonal silence had got to us and we started wordlessly walking backwards to the entrance. At which we turned, almost jostling to be first, and walked fast, then ran, then panicked our way out into the warm sun-dappled woodland path. Where we stopped and looked at each other with embarrassment and guilt in our eyes.

I suppose every generation of the village's children must have done the same. Just the once. Never a second time.

I nodded at him, and a glint of amusement crossed his face.

"Did you ever go a second time? No, I thought not. What you don't know is that the spirits live there, somewhere. Being earth spirits they hate anything man-made, so everything that is done there has to be done with natural tools. And it has to be done without clothing. Unbeknown to you, one man has the right to go there when he needs. And he has to tend the grass and make sure the saplings are healthy and that nothing is amiss. He makes no secret of it, but neither does he boast of it. He works there, naked, and is accepted."

I looked round. Which of them had to do this strange job. The blacksmith was looking straight at me. Realisation dawned.

"You!"

"Any village's blacksmith has special powers, if he's any good at all," said the elder. "Ours is very good. And because he works with iron, which comes from the rocks, he is trusted by the old spirits and is our....emissary to them. He will help you in what you are to do.

"The legends tell us that a young boy whose body is that of a man can produce seed which, once it has fallen on the ground, will grow into what men call mandrakes. These grow quickly, quicker than human children, and from plants which have leaves shaped as hands, they become human bodies which have roots as trees. And then at last they become loose from the ground and are as naked infants. And one of these will be a girl, and the spirits will take her for their own."

I didn't know whether he was telling me a legend or whether they really believed this. My own mind, educated by now to question things, said it was myth. Yet the solemnity he told the story was -- well, convincing.

The blacksmith's voice rumbled into life. We boys were all scared of him, such a vast, rough, tough character did he appear. "Aidan. Your part in this is to provide the seed from which these mandrakes will spring. Legend says it must be your first seed, that you must be a virgin at the time of its giving. That is why we've been so anxious that you haven't given into the temptation to make it before now."

I nodded, my mind spinning. I would try and make sense of this later.

"But Aidan, although it is your seed which the ground needs, it is the future of the village which the mandrakes will secure. So it is not only your seed that your body must make, but the most virile seed that the village can make. For this reason you are to accept the seed of seven other youths, friends of yours, and their seed will enter you and be part of yours and so all the strongest, youngest in the village will make these things."

I listened without understanding. Well, I understood the reasons, but not the mechanics of it all. How was I to make seed? How was I to accept other boys' seed?

But the elder was finishing. "We are all going now, Aidan. You will be with Smith. Do as he says. Remember what he is requiring you to do is for the future of the entire village -- your future, yours and your family's and every other soul here. It will be strange to you, and perhaps disconcerting, but there is no other way. So you are under his command. Is that clear?"

Autopilot, the safest way. "Yes, sir."

"Good boy." And they filed out of the room.

Silence fell. We were looking at each other.

"Take your clothes off, boy. All of them."

What?! Him too? But wait....he was starting to undress as well. Puzzled, I started following suit.

"Aidan, you now know that the spirits, that their Grove, cannot abide man made things. I have to go there naked. I am not ashamed. My work has given me a strong body, and youth and family and upbringing and exercise have given you a strong, virile body, too. Yes, even at only twelve. You should be proud of it, unashamed, unworried if people see all of you as nature intended. Now you are to find out more about your body and how it works. And you are going to use it for a purpose that will, as you have been told, save our village. First you must get used to being together with someone else, and although at my age I'm hardly likely to be pretty in your eyes I am at least able to lead.

"Now, the first of those whose seed you are to accept has been told to be here at four. Before that you must get used to being close to someone else's nakedness."

We were both now without clothes. His body was wide, and tall, and muscular as I had expected it to be having used my imagination as he had started to strip. And it was hairy. Where mine was smooth and naked, he had black hair everywhere. Mine was restricted to the few straggly dark brown hairs around my `tonker', but at least they made me feel as if, one day, I'd be a man like this one. My emotions were suspended. I felt neither shame nor embarrassment, just that something was about to happen, something very male that I didn't understand.

"Make it stiff, boy," he said, watching me and using both his hands on his own scrotum and penis. I realised what he meant and, reddening, worked on myself as his own thick erection blossomed and stood upright from his pelt of fur. Mine reacted even quicker than his, and he smiled. "Ahh, the speed of the boy's erection. I wish mine was still as ever-ready as that. Come close to me."

Now many of you who read this are probably saying to themselves that there is absolutely no way on earth they would strip naked, at the age of nearly thirteen, in front of a grown man, particularly one they were in awe of, who they consequently hardly knew, and who they didn't really like all that much anyway, and who had just given himself an erection, something which you had never seen before -- and he really was a size. But consider: This was a small community, the 1960's had hardly dawned, we were all brought up to obey authority unquestioningly (as did almost every child of the time), I had been told I was special and that what I was doing would bring about a reversal of my community's fortunes.

It's all a question of your mind-set at the time.

I approached him, fascinated and horrified by his awesome figure and even more awesome erection. It wasn't knobbly or peculiar or anything like that, it was just.....big. The size wasn't surprising, I suppose, for such a big man, but its smoothness was. It was that which provided such a contrast to the rest of him, and which half fascinated me, rather than repelled me.

"Good boy," he said, almost gently. "Now, I want you to put your hand round it. Just hold it."

I looked at him in astonishment. He was serious. His face looking down at me appeared kind; for him it was almost soft. Very tentatively I reached down and was about to do what he said when I checked. I looked up at him. His face was still gentle, and he just nodded to me. I could still hardly believe what I was doing as I stretched out and wrapped my hand around his large shaft.

"Put your other hand under my balls, Aidan. Feel them well. One day yours will be something like that."

I looked up at him. "B..balls?" I asked.

"Underneath. The....scrotum?"

This was a word I knew. Still wondering, I did what I was told, feeling the vast (it seemed to me) egg shapes in their soft, hairy sac of skin. I found myself manipulating both parts of him....squeezing....fondling......

"All right, boy, that'll do. Do you enjoy that?"

I didn't know. It was different. It wasn't gross, somehow. Did I enjoy it? Was I meant to enjoy it? I looked up at him uncertainly. For some reason I wanted to put my hands back on him, to explore more....

I nodded.

"Good. Because the next time you do it, it will be on somebody younger, somebody better looking than me. But before that, there is something you need to know." He stopped, and looked at me, still with that gentle look on his face that I had never noticed before today during my brief visits to his forge.

"Aidan, you have heard a lot about making your seed. And you have been told that you mustn't ever do so. That is so, until after you have done your duty tonight. But if you have never done so, you won't know yet how to do it, will you?"

I shook my head, sensing that I was getting near to the real point of all this.

"You know that it involves the penis and balls. That is why we are both now naked and you have just seen and felt what a grown man is like there."

A pause again. I nodded dutifully, anticipating new knowledge.

"Then listen and watch, Aidan. Kneel on the floor in front of me and watch what I do, and then you will be able to take over and make sure that you will be able to do it for yourself later."

He sat on a chair, legs spread, and indicated to me that I should kneel between them, facing him. Once more he grasped his penis, put a hand under his scrotum, and slowly started to massage himself. I watched entranced. He looked down at me.

"Do you think you will be able to do that, Aidan?"

"Yes....sir."

"Good boy. Put your hand under my balls again to replace mine, and just fondle them like you did just now." I did as he asked. This time the soft, egg shapes had a life of their own as they tried to bob up and down in time with his hand. Some more moments of this, and he spoke again.

"Now put your hand on my penis and do what I was doing. Still use the other hand down there, though." He let me take over, and I was aware of a shift of power of some sort, an alteration to our relationship. I was in charge now, in a small way, and he was just lying there. I worked his skin up and down, up and down....and before long I noticed a wetness at the end of his penis, a wetness I tried my utmost not to touch. The furtive, guilty explorations I had made of my own body recently came to mind, and I remembered the wetness I had made when I had, I thought, gone nearly too far. Was that it? As my hand went on and more and more appeared it was impossible for me to avoid it, and with a shudder I felt my hand become slick. The sounds of my action were punctuated by little sounds of wetness as the stickiness percolated between my hand and his skin.

"Good boy, Aidan. That is a fluid the body makes naturally. It makes it slippery like oil, and makes it feel better. It isn't dirty. Don't worry about it." Did I have a choice?

At last he said, in a voice suddenly thick and quiet: "Good boy, Aidan, good boy. My body's nearly ready to make my seed. When it does it will leave my penis in a spurt. It's harmless, and it's clean, and it's the stuff that love can make and that can make a life. Don't be scared of it. Keep going...keep going like that....that's good.....I think....I think.....yes.....here....here....ah.... yes.....oh......" And suddenly his naked belly bore lines of a shiny white liquid which had erupted from the penis in my hand which had suddenly, I thought, got even harder and bigger as he had reached this moment. I kept going on him, for the simple reason that he never told me to stop, and the last two or three of his spasms just appeared at the top of his organ and slipped wetly, slowly down the side of it onto my hand.

I think if he hadn't told me that this was, effectively, the stuff of life, I'd have been disgusted by it. But all that was in my mind was that this was his seed, that it started life, that it was a part of him, that I had my own inside me, that I would be doing this for myself after I had done whatever it was I had to do. Then I remembered what the elder had said, that they spirits needed my seed, my seed, to make the mandrakes. Inside me, what I thought of as my own spirit was ambivalent: I was more worried than I cared to admit about having to do, for the first time, what he had just done, yet thrilled that it was to be me who would be responsible for creating whatever it was that would be the salvation of my community, my home, my family.

And what would happen if I couldn't? If it didn't work for me? If my body had gone wrong somehow?

I blinked and looked up at him as he gripped my hand, breathing heavily, and removed it from him.

"Wait a minute," he said, still in that thick voice.

We stayed there, in that sort of frozen tableau, for about thirty seconds, while his breathing settled down again. At last he looked back down at me and gave the most open, friendly, relaxed smile that anybody, I was sure, had ever seen from him. I knew that I had done it right, and that he was pleased, and it was that smile that made me switch from disliking him to almost liking him. It must have been the contrast with his normal mood.

"Phew," he said, and wiped his brow, and renewed his smile for me. "You wait until it's your turn. What you have just seen, Aidan, is an orgasm. It's the moment at which your body pushes out its seed, and it's a very, very intense feeling. There is genuinely nothing else you can do that's like it. And you still have your first one ahead of you. Lucky boy." He paused again, and seemed to be reminiscing to himself, but soon shook his head impatiently.

"Now then. You have been told that you must take in the seed of others. Now you know how it happens, it will be obvious what you need to do. When one of the boys comes in, he will be told to strip. He already knows what he has to do, and he will come to you when he has stripped and he will sit on the chair in front of you. You must do for him what you have just done for me. Understood?"

I was suddenly nervous again. I mean, he was an adult, and he had told me what to do. But these were to be people near my own age, people I knew, boys who had got to know me, particularly over the last weeks. I had visions of disgust, of ridicule, of tales all over the village about how I had tried to...to....make them make their seed.

"Aidan? Come on, boy. You've done the difficult bit. These are friends of yours. They're expecting you to do it. They have their part to play in this, just as you do. Yours is the major part, but theirs is just as important."

I nodded. I had no choice, really. I mean, if it was now, with all that there has been in between about what goes on in society and what doesn't, no way would I have been so compliant. Would I?

"And when he has told you that he is about to make his seed appear, you must put your mouth to him and take it in. It will taste strange to you, a little like vinegar, but salty too. You must take it in and swallow it all. Do you understand?"

"I...er....do I....do I put my mouth to his....er...." I trailed off.

"Penis? Yes, you do. He will expect you to. That way you will waste none of his seed."

"But what happens if he....er....goes to the toilet in my mouth?"

"He won't be able to. It is physically impossible to make water and seed at the same time. In fact, as you start to massage him, he will make a fluid just like I did. As well as lubricating him that gets rid of any tiny drops of wee in his penis from when he last went. By the time your mouth gets to him anything like that will have well and truly gone, so don't be scared of it."

By this time it felt as if my throat had almost closed up, so nervous was I at what I had to do. My own penis, erect in sympathy all the time I was massaging him, had now reduced to the size it did after I had been sea-swimming in April. I looked away.

"Do you want to put your mouth round mine, so you can get used to what it feels like?"

The question jolted me even further toward panic. Did I? Should I? I could see that it would be like trying to learn something useful, but he was so big, so hairy, and at the moment still so wet with his seed that I hated the thought of taking his monstrous penis into my mouth was almost sickening. I wavered, my indecisive, twelve year old mind unable to resolve the two sides into action.

"Come on, Aidan," came his soft voice. "It's not dirty -- you know that. And it'll be easier to do it for the others if you do it to mine."

The trouble was, it made sense. I knew that. I looked across at him again. He was by now completely flaccid, something that intrigued me. I had been wondering if, once you had made seed, you stayed big. But it seemed not. Something dragged me near him again, and I knelt down at his side again. His face was encouraging. He nodded.

My hand grasped him again, and lifted up. As my head approached him I thought I felt a stirring in my hands. My mouth went down....I was sure the penis was lifting up....my mouth opened.....and I carefully encircled the immense organ with it.

"Push it further in, Aidan," came the voice. "Make sure it all goes right to your throat."

I slid my head further down until the end suddenly touched the soft part of my mouth at the back of the palette. Instinctively this made my throat close and I hurriedly pulled away as my instincts tried to expel him from my mouth in the only way it knew how. I looked up at him, guilty.

"It's all right. Just do it again, and this time remember what will happen. Try to go slowly, so that your mouth has time to get used to it."

By now he was entirely stiff again, and I really had to stretch my mouth to get round him. Slowly I pushed down, and just managed to stop short of where it had been before. Then slowly: push...pause, push...pause, and soon it was at the back of my throat and could go no further.

"Swallow, Aidan." The voice came to me, yet all I could see were his black, curly, bristly hairs just in front of me. Obediently I swallowed, and once again the instinct attacked me and I had to withdraw from him hurriedly.

I looked at him again. His face looked....well, disappointed, I suppose. But he still had that soft, half smile that seemed so unfamiliar on him of all people.

"Good boy," he said. "you even made it feel really nice. I suppose one day a girl will do that for you, and then you'll find out just how good it feels."

The thought had never struck me before. I supposed I would.

He told me to sit down, and we each looked at magazines for a while. It seemed almost as odd as everything else that had gone on that afternoon to be sitting, naked, with the village blacksmith, also naked, in a room in the village hall.....reading magazines. Every now and again I caught a movement from where he was, and could almost feel his eyes on me. As for myself, I was shivering, again, not with the cold, because I wasn't, but with the growing anticipation of what I was going to have to do. Time dragged. But at last there was a knock at the door, and I jumped, and felt my skin go cold and clammy.

"Answer it , Aidan."

"But....but I'm bare, sir."

"That doesn't matter. So am I. So will he be very soon. Answer it."

I looked at him, still more than uncertain., but padded over to the door anyway. It seemed only right to check that it was only one person, and that he would be expecting..... it.

"Who is it?"

"It's Mark," came a rather strange voice, it sounded almost scared, as if it was coming from a throat as constricted as mine had become as soon as I heard the knock. Mark was one of the older friends of my brothers, one who had become more friendly than usual with me of late. Usually he spoke with a loud, confident ring in his voice, not this almost strangulated whisper. I wondered if he was as worried about all this as I was.

I looked towards the blacksmith. He nodded. Slowly I opened the door, hiding my body behind it, and looked round. It was Mark: only Mark, to my relief. He looked at me, a strained look, and took in the fact that I was partly hiding from him.

"Oh....er....I see. Er....shall I come in?"

"Yes," I said, simply, and opened the door wider, stubbing my toe as I did so. "Ow...!"

"Are you Ok?" He sounded concerned as he walked in, and then took in my nudity. "Oh."

I looked uncomfortable. I felt uncomfortable. But at least he wasn't laughing at me. He looked, if anything, just as ill at ease as I was.

"Come in, Mark," said the blacksmith. Mark froze, apart from his eyes, which swivelled round to see the man, then widened almost comically as he took in the giant, nude frame, sitting calmly at a table, magazine still in hand.

"Whaa....." And the mouth gaped.

"It's all right, boy. I have to be here to make sure it all goes right. And I need not to wear anything because otherwise it wouldn't be fair on you, now would it?"

"But.....er.....I mean....."

"Come on, Mark. You've had it explained to you why your help is needed. You also know what will happen to the village if just one of you doesn't go through with it. All the others have their minds made up, you know. Don't let everyone down, yourself, your family, every person in the village."

He looked uncomfortable. Poor boy. I had had years of being prepared for this -- or something like it. He'd only had a few weeks.

"Ok."

"Good boy. Now, take all your clothes off, then come and sit on this chair."

He seemed to sag as he realised that the inevitable was now with him. I watched as the muscular, sixteen year old shoulders appeared from their covering. He threw the shirt onto a nearby chair. Sitting, the shoes came off, and the socks. I hoped he'd had a bath recently.

He shot me a look which I couldn't fathom, then fumbled with his belt. Then his clasp. Then his buttons. And the trousers slid down, exposing slim, hairless thighs, and a pair of white underpants such as we all wore back then. But his had a difference. Mine covered me, and lay flat most of the time. His came from under his legs and bulged quite distinctly outwards before flattening in toward his belly and the waistline.

I looked further down and saw that his muscular calves were covered in a sprinkling of dark hairs.

He looked strong. But then he was. I'd seen him at work. He stepped out of the trousers, and looked nervously at the blacksmith and me. At me! Him, nervous of me! Why?

And then he hooked his hands inside his pants and pushed: pushed over that bulge, and bent, pushing further down, until he was doubled up, pants round his ankles. And once more he looked up to where we were both watching. And this time he looked even more unhappy.

"Good lad, Mark," said the blacksmith. Lad now, was he? Not a boy any more. Well, looking at him I supposed that was only right. He swiftly straightened, walked over to the chair and sat. We both looked at the blacksmith.

"You need to tell him, Mark, what he has to do. He knows, as do I, but he needs to hear it from you."

I looked at him, then at Mark, who gulped. "Er....you have to....you have to....wank me, and take my spunk in your mouth." I looked at Mark, then at the blacksmith, questions forming in my mind.

"He's used the slang terms, Aidan. You have to make his seed appear, and swallow it."

"Yes...er....yes. That's it," said Mark nervously.

I nodded. Nothing happened. I sat looking at Mark, who avoided my eyes and looked at the floor.

"Go on, Aidan."

The words I'd been dreading. Somehow I made myself walk over to Mark's chair and kneel in front of it. He gave me a swift glance, then looked away again. I looked at his penis. It was lots longer than mine, fatter too, but smooth and, I supposed, quite pleasant if you liked that sort of thing. It was surrounded by a bushy growth of black hair, like the smith's, but neater, younger....why did I think that? And underneath the scrotum was large, and deep hanging, and the two halves swung with a life of their own.

I couldn't just grab at him and start. I had to say something to him.

"Mark?" At last he looked me in the eyes, unhappily. "Mark....I'm sorry....I've got to do this. Really."

He nodded, and said wretchedly: "I know."

And with that I started massaging his penis as the blacksmith had shown me. The other hand went to his scrotum, again as I'd been shown. As Mark felt me touch him there he looked at me, surprised. But in my other hand I felt the penis stir, and knew that despite all his mental resistance to the process, nature had started to take over, just as it had with the blacksmith. My own penis started to stir too, and with youth on our side we were soon each fully erect. Mark had closed his eyes.

I massaged him for a long time, being gentle, and looking always for some sign that he was going to make his seed for me to swallow. It took a long time, but the first thing I saw was the clear fluid that the smith had told me about. I knew by now it wasn't that that I was after, but it was apparently a good sign.

Still gently but persistently I continued. Mark's eyes remained firmly closed. More fluid appeared and coated my fingers and his foreskin. And then, almost as I was wondering whether he was ever going to make it for me, there was a quiet, high, almost child-like moan. The next thing the eyes had flickered open, and the mouth was saying: "Aidan....now.....take it.....quick.....I....oh....." The last word was as my mouth closed round his penis, and I took him as far towards the back of my throat as I dared.

"Keep massaging, Aidan, or he won't be able to do it properly," came a growl behind me. I'd forgotten about the blacksmith in my concentration on Mark. I used my hand on the part of Mark's penis that was outside my mouth, and he suddenly gave a shout, and I could feel a hot stream hit the back of my throat. I nearly gagged on it, but forced myself to swallow. To keep the intruding member there. Five more times with diminishing force it came, and I swallowed desperately each time. At last the jerking of his body stilled, and I stopped, but kept my mouth on his penis which seemed now not to be so hard. I made sure a licked it round to get the last drops of his fluid, and that was almost the first time I'd really tasted it.

It was salty, and a bit vinegary, and it had a little of the characteristic of sloes in that it dried my mouth out a bit. But it wasn't as disgusting as I'd feared. And now Mark was wriggling. I hurriedly removed my tongue from where it was still trying to make sure he was clean, took my head away and looked up at him.

He had the same peaceful expression as the smith had had earlier. The eyes were half closed, the good looking face was at peace, he was breathing deeply, and was still now that I had stopped working on him. For some reason the little nipples on his chest were a brighter red than before, and were sticking out, too.

I rocked back onto my feet. He looked up, and smiled at me, trapping his bottom lip in his teeth, and heaved a sigh.

"That's never been done to me before," he said in a quiet voice.

"Good lad," said the blacksmith, standing up. His massive erection looked odd now that it was all over and he was just being....what? Himself? Hardly! I looked down at myself. Yes, I had one too.

"That was well done, Aidan. Now you know what to expect. Thank you, Mark. Please will you go through the door there and into the room opposite. Take your clothes, get dressed, and wait."

He looked surprised. "I thought I'd be going back to work, sir."

"And talk about what's happened to everybody? No. You'll wait there and others will join you, and you'll all wait until we're all finished. But no more wanking in there between you, understood?"

Mark looked shocked. "I've never done that with anyone else in my life," he said hotly.

"Well, you have now. Go." Mark looked at the smith, went red as he suddenly realised what the man meant and, without another word, with acute embarrassment in his eyes again, he gathered his clothes and went.

"Go to the door, boy, and get the next one in."

How did he know, I wondered. "May I have a drink, sir?" I asked. The after taste of Mark's seed was still lingering on my palette, and drying out my mouth.

"No. Not until you've finished. Get the next one."

I went to the door, opened it a crack and stuck my head out. Another of the village's young bloods was waiting there, again looking worried. His eyes lit on me, but his smile of recognition was replaced by a look of embarrassment as he realised why only my face appeared round the door.

"Aidan...you're not....er...naked, are you?"

I saw no reason to lie. He was going to see me soon enough. I nodded.

"Oh. Er...do I take my clothes off here or in there?"

That was new. He had some thought for me, perhaps.

"Inside, Carl, please."

"Ok."

He too was taken unawares by the presence of the naked smith. But started taking off his own clothes without any fuss. Once they were all off and we stood looking at each other, I noticed that his penis, more or less a carbon copy of Mark's, was already starting to react. As, inevitably, was mine. He dropped his clothes on a chair.

"What happens now?"

"You know what you must do, Carl. You need to ask him to do it for you. Sit in that chair and he will come to you."

He said nothing, but with a look of resignation went and sat on the chair. He looked at me. "Are you happy with this, Aidan?" he asked suddenly.

Before the blacksmith could say anything to reprove him, I answered. It was the answer I'd practised so many times to justify it all to myself.

"It's the only way of saving the village. We've got to do it."

"If you're sure, then I suppose so." A pause. Did he gulp? "Aidan, please will you make my seed flow and take it into yourself for the gods?"

It was the quiet way he said it that made me look up at him and smile. It was the oddest possible start to a friendship, something unusual between a twelve and a seventeen year old, but it's lasted to this day when, of course, the five year gap is meaningless. And have I been glad of his friendship over those years? Particularly the early years. But that's part of this story. All I knew of him then was that his parents had been killed in a fire which swept through their home two years previously, and that he had only survived because he was small enough to escape through a window. Since then he had been taken in by an elderly couple, had left school and now worked on the land along with the other adults.

Encouraged by his quiet acceptance, and the still-blooming stiffness of his penis, I cradled his testicles in my hand and gently squeezed and fondled them, and then looked up. He was watching, a slightly surprised smile on his face that I hadn't just started pumping at him. I took it to mean approval.

What was it that made me think about my body when I was in bed? What was it made me stiff? Ah yes....And I did the same to him, tracing a finger up his thigh towards the brown hair crowned scrotum. And to my surprise an appreciative "Mmmmm" came from his closed mouth.

I really hadn't intended to offer pleasure to any of them. Indeed, I didn't know how to. But that spurred me on, with him, to try and make it as pleasant as possible -- I don't know why. Something just clicked between us. And I wanted to take his mind off the blacksmith's presence.

Of course, by the time I started work on his penis, which was after a good deal of the sort of tickling that I would give myself in bed, and which resulted in my body becoming wet and scaring me that I was going to make seed (that worry was the greatest erection deflator I ever came across), he was well on the way. After having worked quite hard on Mark, to have his successor gasp "Quick!" after such a short time was quite a relief. I covered his penis with my mouth and pushed, exercising him all the time as I now knew how, and was only just in time to catch the jets of his donation as they tickled at the far reaches of my throat. Hastily I swallowed -- he seemed to be filling my mouth -- and found I had to take down far more than Mark had made. And all the time, by now instinct, my left hand was fondling his sensitive scrotum which, as he passed the fluids from his body to mine, I felt tighten in towards his body.

Once again, I licked him clean, and put back the mushroom head of his penis into its protective sheath of foreskin. And once again, I looked up, and was surprised by the look of tenderness on his face. He seemed unable to get up. I made to do so, but he put a hand on my shoulder to stop me.

"Stay a minute. Got to recover."

Obediently I knelt there until he stirred and swayed to his feet. I stepped back, but he stepped after me and swiftly put an arm round my shoulder.

"You must love...the village, Aidan. I respect you." And he turned abruptly away and found his clothes. I watched him go, wishing that he could really be my friend. I don't know why, but whereas working on Mark had been -- well, something that I'd been told to do, with Carl it was different. I just...liked him. And there wasn't this feeling at the back of my mind that both of us should be disgusted by the process.

"Nice lad, isn't he?" rumbled the blacksmith after Carl had dressed and left to join Mark in the other room. I nodded, feeling warm inside still. Funny that, thinking back to it it's only just occurred to me what I did feel at the time. "You'll like the next one, too, I should think. Go and get him, will you?"

I padded off to the door again.

Of all the youth of our village, there was one boy I'd never liked. He was part bully, part.....well, the sort of person you knew instinctively you couldn't trust, who made you feel sort of creepy inside.

It was him. The first thing I noticed was that instead of being embarrassed by my opening the door to him with everything I owned in full view, he looked me up and down for what seemed like ages, and then gave me what I could only describe as a leer. It made what was left of my erection after Carl shrivel away completely. I was glad he was going to have to have one, and not me. This was not going to be enjoyable. But the odd thing was that he wasn't surprised to see the blacksmith naked, and wasn't at all phased at seeing his massive body.

As he took off his clothes he kept glancing over to the smith and giving a sort of smile, and as he finally stripped off his underwear he was obviously already turned on. He was equipped on the same lines as the smith, except were the man was immense and smooth, the lad was immense and obscenely knobbly. His pubic hair was not the thin patch of fairly recent puberty, but a thick dark forest which started almost at his navel -- difficult to tell, because he also had a lot of hair on his chest -- and broadened out almost hiding his genitals. Except that the penis was definitely unhidden in its semi-erect state. I shivered with distaste.

He discarded a vast pair of questionable underpants and looked at me, then at the smith. "Is he going to be able to do it? He's not very big, is he?"

If my eyes had been daggers, he would have been blinded.

"He's all right, Steve. He's just not as old as you, that's all."

"I can tell. It's tiny!"

I stepped back away from him and looked at the blacksmith. To give him credit he appeared ashamed.

"Steve, that'll do. It's been decided. He's perfectly capable and he's perfectly old enough, and for thirteen he's just the right size. Most people are. You may have gone through childhood with six inches tucked up under yourself, but you're one of the few. Now no more chat, just sit on the chair and confirm to him what you want him to do.

He sat. I just stood and looked at him.

"Come here, boy. You can't do it from that distance."

I was still smarting, and my anger gave me a voice for a change. "The other two were nice about it. You're being rude."

"Well, the whole thing's hardly tea party stuff, is it? Now come on. I want to get out of here."

But I just stood and looked at his face. After a few moments of inactivity he spoke again. "All right, I'm sorry. Come here, wank me and swallow my spunk."

I reluctantly crossed to him and knelt between his legs. I really didn't want to touch him at all, and didn't see why I should try and make it nicer for him. So I just grabbed his obscene looking penis -- quite hard, and was glad when he jumped and said `Ow!' -- and started pumping.

"Scrotum, Aidan," came the blacksmith's voice, "or we'll be here all day."

I began to think that we were. I went on, and on, and on......and still nothing happened, despite my reluctant kneading of his testicles. But at long last his hoarse, unpleasant voice said something like: "all right. Here I go....take me down, little sucker....." and the worst part of it came when I put my mouth -- or rather stretched my mouth -- round his penis as it swelled even more, so I could caught his offering in my mouth.

At first I thought I'd missed. With the other two there had been a definite jet. With him, well, just the inside of my lips grew warm. I swallowed -- or rather made myself swallow -- anyway. Not that it would have made much difference to what the blacksmith and I were trying to achieve. The effect on him seemed to be the same as the other two, though. It was a few minutes until he had recovered.

"Whew!" he said. "He's not as good as you, but he's quite good. You'd better teach him the rest of it."

"Shut up, boy. Get dressed and get out into the other room."

It wasn't so much what was said, but the embarrassment in the man's voice that struck me. Then the full weight of the words clonked into my brain.

He didn't, did he? And why with someone so gross? And so incompetent when it came to quantity? And why do it when you didn't have to, anyway? I watched the tubby bum of the departing Steve with interest and relief, wondering what the attraction was.

When next I hid my body behind the door and stuck my head round it to see who was waiting, I got a surprise. Ben was two years older than me, and was one of the few boys who would as a matter of course choose to come and play and talk to we younger ones when school was at break. I liked him. He was good fun, and cared about any problems we had, and tried to help. It was good to have him around, we all agreed. And he was big for his age, and that helped too.

But to find him there, looking as though he was about to be executed, was a shock. He wasn't surprised to see me, only to see that I was naked when he'd entered the room. That actually made him come to a standstill, and just look at me -- not at my nakedness, but unhappily, at my face.

"Oh, Aidan.....poor Aidan," he almost whispered. The blacksmith didn't hear him, and I didn't understand. Ben lifted his arm as if to touch mine, then dropped it and shrugged. "What do I do?" he asked me.

Now, of all the people who had seen me naked, none had disturbed me as much as him. The council were all adults; they could look at me and I had got used to it. The blacksmith was an adult, and was naked as soon as I was anyway, so I could accept that too with a bit of an effort. The first two young bucks were on the same footing as me -- embarrassed, naked, forced to be intimate -- and the third was such a waste of time that he no longer figured in my scheme of things. But Ben....Ben was a friend who counted as being my own age. The embarrassment was immense, and I thought to cover my genitals up before I realised how futile that would be now.

"Er....you have to strip, then sit on that chair over there. Sorry, Ben."

"It's all right. So long as it's not too bad for you. And at least we're....oh." He had at last noticed the blacksmith, sitting there, also naked, trying to hear what was going on.

Poor Ben. That really floored him.

"It's all right, boy. I have to make sure it all happens. Just ignore me -- I've seen it three times so far, so nothing is new to me."

"I....er....I....oh....." And Ben just froze there, seemingly unable to move.

"It's all right, Ben, really." I was trying to console him, to make him understand it had to be done, that it was for the good, but all that my brain could offer was that it was `all right'. He looked at me strangely.

"Are you together in this?" There was quite a sharp edge to his voice.

"No," said the blacksmith. "All I'm here for is to make sure it happens right. He's not `with me' in the sense that you probably mean." Ben had shot his question at me, but I was glad the man answered. Had I heard the exchange before Steve and the smith had exchanged comments I'd not have realised what was meant, but following the obvious disclosure that those two were together in some way, I understood what Ben's concerns were.

Ben seemed to sag. He looked at the smith. "What do I do?" he asked. I noticed that the usual `sir' we were taught to use to the village's Blacksmith had disappeared from his mind, something that had happened to me too, although I hadn't realised it until then.

"Strip off, boy. Sit on that chair, and ask Aidan to do what you know he has to."

Reluctantly Ben revealed a smooth, nearly hairless body, something like mine, but for him the extra years between us had provided another inch or so to his penis, which for him lay quite neatly between the two plum-shaped halves of his scrotum. Over the top was a quite definite, sharply demarcated, patch of dark hair. The effect was neat, tidy, and somehow....appealing. I wondered at my mind for thinking it, but he seemed to ooze roundness and fullness, the sort of effect that before I'd only really attached to a woman's breasts. He watched me watching him as he sat on the chair, and squirmed a little in his embarrassment.

"It's all right, Ben, really." I do my best to calm him.

"I know," he said. "It's just that....if we were alone.....I could....I could.....I mean...." He trailed off. I looked at him unhelpfully. "...I mean I could...do it easier...you know. It'd just be us, and we're friends. And we might even enjoy it..." He looked at me carefully, guiltily, as he finished. I looked into his eyes. He was almost pleading, like a dog who wants so much to have the food in your hand, but knew that he wasn't really allowed to.

I liked him. He was a friend. A stronger older boy who would help against the occasional bully like Steve. When I was younger I'd looked to him as a bit of a hero.

I did for him what I had for Carl, but still more carefully and gently. I knew somehow that he would be completely unused to this -- I never even knew whether he had done it for himself, let alone have anyone else do it for him. As his arousal grew with my soft touches and strokes around the area I could see the surprise in his eyes as he experienced it. Our eyes met occasionally, and he would just smile gently at me, and once his hands left the side of the chair and hovered towards me. But he dropped them back again, only to bring them up, hesitantly, as the time progressed and that aura of sensation, of pleasure, came and held him. Unbidden, he laid his hand on my shoulders, and I looked up at him again, in surprise. His eyes were nearly closed, but he was aware of my glance, and smiled back with such a look of acceptance on his face that I suddenly felt -- no, knew -- that for him this was right. I had forgotten the smith, forgotten the reason for our being there, forgotten everything except that I was involved with him, helping him, liking him more and more as he just accepted my ministrations, liking the feel of his hands on my shoulders as if I were special to him, liking -- yes, liking -- the sight of his perfect body in front of me, mine to touch and manipulate and use as I wanted. At the time I remember being surprised at my feeling, and put it down to think about later when I was alone.

And as I worked on him, I felt a change in his thighs where my left hand rested, fondling him. A tensing, and the testicles in their protective sac seemed to be pulling away from my cradling moving hand, And there came this high voice.....

"Oh Aidan...Aidan...please...I love you....don't stop...ahhhhh..." and the breathing became panting, and the panting became quicker, and I knew I must lower my mouth to take in this friend of mine who seemed to be more than a friend, or wanted to be. Love? What? But why? Had they all felt that as they reached crisis point? None of the others had said so. But now my mind was intent on the shots of his life fluid that were hitting the back of my throat in quick, urgent bursts....so much more than ugly Steve had produced, despite Ben being only two years older than me, and one year younger than him. As I kept swallowing I remember being impressed.

And then it was all over. He jerked a few more times into my mouth, dry jerks so far as I could tell, but his breathing kept going fast, and shallow, and suddenly his whole weight slowly toppled over me, knocking me back so my mouth was dislodged from his erection, and I ended up doubled on the floor, uncomfortably compressed by his body on top of me. His weight rolled him off me and onto the floor, which his head hit with a thump. Thank goodness for wooden floorboards! The blacksmith was over in a moment, and at first I wondered what he was going to do as his massive erection was bobbing stiffly before him. But I needn't have worried.

"He's fainted, that's all," he said. "He'll be back in a minute. I hope his head didn't hit the floor too hard."

I explained that it hadn't. But despite my discomfort at suddenly having the boy's weight on me, I wanted to be near him, to look after him as he recovered. "I'll hold...on to him," I said, quite positively for me. The man looked at me.

"Fond of him, are you?"

"Yes. S'pose so. He's a friend."

"Good friend, by the sound of it." I nodded, not knowing how his mind was working.

It took only a minute or two for him to stir, and mutter, and then his eyes opened. Wide. Looked straight at my face. And then softened, and his recovering brain made his breath sigh, and a smile appear on his lips.

"Aidan," he whispered, "Oh, Aidan..." It was so quiet that the blacksmith couldn't hear. I just looked at him, puzzled. I know they had all enjoyed what I had made them do, even the pig-like Steve. But it sounded as if, for Ben, there had been somehow more. When he'd been unconscious he'd seemed so unusually frail looking....or was it just that his frailty had communicated itself to my mind without my needing to look? Even now he'd come round he seemed different from his usual, tower of strength sort of character. Not weak, just...vulnerable. Vulnerable as some of we younger ones were when faced by bullies; the bullies that he'd helped us against.

So I looked back at him, anxiously, and smiled when he did, more to encourage him back to his usual protective self than to sympathise with him. At last he sat up and carefully hoisted himself to his feet. He still appeared less than his usual self, though. But as he stood, swaying slightly, looking at me, always at me, he smiled again, and the spark reappeared in his eyes. He stretched out an arm, I thought to shake my hand. But it went round my to my bare back and just gently stroked my shoulder blade as his smiling, recovering eyes looked straight into my astonished ones.

Then he turned and left the room without a word.

I was suddenly aware that I was trembling. My throat was dry and slightly vinegary, but that wasn't what was affecting me. I hadn't wanted Ben to leave the room. I wanted him to be there and make sure nothing odd....well, odder...happened to me. And I wished he'd been the last, so I could go with him...somewhere.

My memory of the last two of my `donors' has rather faded for me. Some of it had to do with Ben, but mostly it was down to what happened afterwards. I remember who they were, of course, Hamish and Peter, two friends of my elder brothers. And each of them was a man, and embarrassed, and worried about the blacksmith having to be there. But, with the knowledge of the consequences of their not going through with it, as I got to work on them they became engrossed in what I was doing and managed to provide what was needed, and in some quantity, too. Each of them looked at me rather strangely as he left, but I had no idea what was in their minds.

After Peter had left, the Blacksmith swiftly donned his clothes despite the erection which had once again blossomed as he watched me manipulate Peter. I was never aware of being watched -- my attention had always been completely on my subject, whoever he was. But each time as my eyes travelled to him I could see that he had been aroused. Naturally I was aroused by what I was doing, except with Steve, and even then... Well, I hardly had any choice in what to look at, and I challenge anybody not to be affected by someone else's erection being stroked all the way to orgasm. My clothes were near where he had been sitting to watch, and I crossed to them.

"No," he said -- well, barked, really -- "you stay as you are."

Why? I thought. There's no reason now, is there? I had no more to `do'. No one else was coming in who could be embarrassed by my being clothed.

I stayed naked. He went into the adjoining room where the older boys were, and I heard nothing for a few minutes, then raised voices, and finally the blacksmith's shout, which silenced them. A few rumbles more, and he returned to the main committee room and me.

"We have about twenty minutes," he said. I looked at him, puzzled.

"Before we go to the Grove," he said. I still looked puzzled.

"Where you spread your own seed for the gods," he said. And my puzzlement left me. I had all but forgotten, with all the unaccustomed lessons I'd been learning about the male body, what the purpose of this all was. I was to go to the Grove, and use once again the motions that that were now second nature to me. But this time, for the first time, on myself. Me. A virgin. I was to experience this magic that I had been creating for seven boys all afternoon. The magic that had left one of them faint. Ben. Why such a feeling? And this was for me. For myself. Me. And I was to be a sort of father, at the age of twelve, nearly thirteen. A father of mandrakes, then of real children, but grown in the ground. I started to get excited. None of the likely details of all this could I see, at twelve.

"So make yourself comfortable. Read something. I'm going to," he said, and sat down where he'd been all afternoon. I crossed to the table, picked up a magazine at random, and crossed to the chair where seven naked boys had sat during the previous few hours, as if it was perfectly normal to be reading, in the nude, with a clothed man I hardly knew in attendance.


Chapter 3

 

It was hardly surprising that I can't tell you what the magazine was or what I was reading about. My eyes may have scanned the print, but nothing entered my brain. After a while, although it was summer, I started to get cold.

"Sir, can I put something on, please? I'm getting cold." I asked.

"No, boy. That won't do. You have to get to the Grove yet."

I looked at him, once again puzzled. But somewhere at the back of my mind a thought started to form, a thought so scaring that I knew it couldn't come true. But a thought which, nevertheless, made my throat feel as if I'd just finish a 200 yard sprint, but without the heavy breathing to go with it; a thought which laid hold of my stomach and seemed to hold it still while I asked the next question.

"But I'm not going like this, am I sir?" My voice rose to an almost childish whine, half in anticipation, half in pleading, though despite what my body was doing to me I never thought that the answer would be `yes'.

"Yes. I told you that everything done at the Grove must be done entirely naturally. It's the more important for you, as the Village's hope, to be seen to be entirely natural from the taking in of the seed of the Village's youth to the casting of yours onto the sacred ground."

I gaped at him. My mind stopped working, except to scream silently at itself: "Nooooooo......." At long last I found my voice, except that it wasn't mine but a throttled, rasping, shrill me.

"But I can't do that......"

"Of course you can, boy. You have a man's body now, one you can be proud of. It's still a bit small, but bigger than I was at twelve. And you have the most important part of your duty to the Village to perform, one that will put you in people's debt to the rest of your life. As you walk along, people will be able to see just what a man you have become, and rejoice with you at it and marvel at the way you are facing your task."

That was the gist of it, but I took in only every other word. Things like `people' and `see' and `your body' stayed very fresh in my brain, and `duty' and `rejoice' and `marvel' hardly made any impact. Had I not been sitting, I think I would have done at that point, and with a bump.

And as it all sank in, without any prompting on my behalf, my sight grew misty, and the corners of my eyes and then my cheeks grew wet. Nothing else happened for what seemed like ages, then my whole frame heaved with a soundless, gut-wrenching sob as the situation proved too big for me to handle.

He came to me, and talked to me, and what he said I don't know, but something in his voice managed to calm me as if I'd been a horse he was shoeing for the first time, or a wild animal he was freeing from a trap. And by the time I was partly composed again, if not dry-eyed and certainly no less fearful and horrified at what was about to happen, he looked at his watch and declared it was time to leave.

I was still sitting. He crossed to the door the boys had gone through and threw it open.

"Come out now." His voice was imperious, and brooked no denial.

They were by now clothed. As they saw me, still naked, there was a rumble of comment, and Ben walked purposefully toward me. The smith stopped him with a look.

"You will all walk behind him. When we get to the outskirts of the village you will all strip. When we reach the fringes of the woods I will strip. We will then go to the Grove and do our duty."

At least I would have to walk only half way naked on my own. Perhaps there would be no one about.

Still shakily I stood. The smith turned and crossed to the other door, the one that led to the public meeting room. He unlocked it, turned, and motioned us onwards. My feet felt like lead. It was only the presence of the fourteen eyes which were, I thought, boring into my naked bottom as I walked in front of them, that kept me close to the smith. But unbeknown to me Ben and Carl had managed to work their way to the front of the group, and, independently of each other, they each called out to me.

"It's all right, Aidan, I'm on your side, and no harm will come to you." That was Carl.

"Aidan...I promise you that I'm your friend, and I'll do whatever you need to help you," from Ben.

It made it slightly less unbearable, but not much.

At the front door the blacksmith paused. This was it, I thought. This is where everyone in the Village gets their chance to laugh at me, to ridicule me. How will I be at school? I'll have to go somewhere else. Private lessons, that was it. Then I needn't see any of my past friends ever again for them to laugh at the knowledge that they'd seen me naked in front of them.

If there were any of them out today.

The blacksmith hauled open the door.

Two columns of all the people I knew, all the inhabitants of the Village, stretched away from the hall. All facing inwards so as to get the best view of the path we must all take to get to the Grove. The path I must take to get to the Grove. Naked. In front of all the people I knew. All my school friends. All the young bucks of the village, friends of my brothers. All the girls of my school. My dad.

In the cheap books you read things like "Horror welled up inside him." Well, it does. The state of panic that gripped me so that my feet just seized up was, I think, the greatest emotion I'd ever experienced. I remember shouting.

"No......NO......I can't....NO!" Stung into motion I tried to run back down the body of the hall. But there were bodies there, hands there that caught me, and held me, and a face came down to me.

"You must," it said. "We've all gone through a lot. Your part is the greatest. I see that now. You must go out and do your duty. They are all with you. They are on your side. They aren't going to laugh at you. You have a good and capable body. There's nothing to laugh at about it."

Dimly I realised the speaker was Carl. Did he really think that? But someone else spoke.

"Aidan, I'll take my clothes off too, if you like, then we'll both be naked." It was Ben. His and Carl's words and voices calmed me a bit. Ben was already undoing his clothes.

"No."

The blacksmith had turned and had heard. His look seemed to go straight through Ben as though he wasn't there, yet it was Ben he was addressing. The boy stopped releasing his trousers. The man continued in a louder voice, for the benefit of all the `contributors', and for those of the crowd who could hear.

"The only one to be unclothed here is Aidan. He must be seen as the saviour of the village, and he must be entirely natural in his appearance. You are right about his body though. It is absolutely normal and healthy and capable, despite his being less than thirteen. And he must be seen as such. All the people watching will know that he will make his seed to grow our future, and they will not mock him, or make any comments that would hurt. For he is their saviour in this hour, and from him our future will stem.

The murmuring of those nearest the door, noticeable as soon as we had appeared, stopped completely at this. For me, although I still felt as though my gut was being gripped from inside me, I felt for some reason as if it was all meant, that it would be all right, that I wouldn't get ridiculed when I went back to school on Monday. But still the thought of walking naked through those two columns of people was mind-blowing. But the blacksmith set off, and I could hear movement from behind me, and I had no option at all but to drag my feet, one at a time as if it was an effort, over the threshold until I was in the full gaze of the silent people.

I remember glancing down at myself. Had there been any doubt of my effectiveness at what I was about to do, my body was doing nothing to reassure people. The shock and the horror of what I was about to do -- what I was doing -- had reduced any pride in my endowment, as it were, to nothing. I looked like the scared boy that I was. Small. Ineffective.

Then there was a voice from the crowd.

"Good for you, Aidan. I'm proud of you."

I didn't recognise the voice. But it started others shouting too, shouting all sorts of things meant to encourage me. And as my shrunken, exposed body made its way between them, I knew that my stoop became less, that the knowledge percolated through to me that maybe, just maybe, what the smith had said might just be true.

But my guts still felt as though they were tied in knots.

They say that if you do something out of character for long enough it becomes natural. Well, I wouldn't go that far, but by the time we were reaching the outskirts of the Village I was walking normally, nearly bringing myself to acknowledge the people we passed, and almost, not quite, but almost, anxious when the lines of people thinned, lest there were some who hadn't seen me. But by the time we were free of them all I was relieved, more relieved than I can remember being ever before. Or since, bar once. But we'll come to that. Mind you, I was still naked, walking in front of a group of clothed boys or young men. And now the pressure of having crowds watching my approach had eased, I imagined having seven pairs of eyes watching every movement of my bottom as I walked. I tried clenching the muscles in it so as to make it less wobbly, but that made walking uncomfortable, so I decided there was nothing else I could do but relax and walk.

At the end of the village's playing fields the track bent. As soon as we were completely out of sight of any of the village children who might come to play after the evening's excitement the smith stopped and turned round.

"Your turn now, boys. Strip. Everything. Leave your clothes by that bush."

To my surprise there was no rebellion, no comment, no refusal. I imagine by that time they were all in the state of mind where nothing they were told to do would have surprised them, and my own nakedness had made them feel almost eager to join me. Without any hesitation except on the part of the fat Steve and the friendly Ben, they all unlaced, unbuckled, unbuttoned, pulled up, pulled down, and finally stood there rather self-consciously, naked as me, a bundle of clothes in their arms.

"Put them in piles over there," came the instruction, and the bottoms receded behind the line of scrub at the side of the track.

We walked on, the blacksmith behind us now, toward the green brown line of the thick woods that were our destination. As we neared it, one or two of my naked companions seemed to be lagging behind -- not Ben or Carl, who were keeping up with me as if their life depended on it. But the others all seemed to want to be at the back. The smith drove them on with some sharp words.

At the hedge that surrounded the woodland we stopped and watched whilst our shepherd calmly stripped off his own clothes. One or two of the others was wearing a chain with a cross on it, and was curtly ordered to remove it.

"Continue. I'll tell you where to go." The man's voice was grating, as if he was under some sort of inner tension. I wondered why. "No...Carl first, as he's furthest away, then the rest of you, then Aidan, then me."

Once again there was milling around, as if some were anxious to be at the back. But at last the group was ready and we started off again. Walking over the fallen branches and sharp twigs was at times painful, and there were places where stones stabbed at our feet. But the path was generally clear, a good thing as the tree cover grew thicker, rendering the light subtly less and less the further we travelled. The air seemed to be hot, stifling, and a nameless foreboding came over me; one that was caused by the atmosphere, not by the anticipation of what I was to do. Indeed, the memory of that had all but vanished from my mind, so otherworldly had the wood become. The smith's muttered directions were the only words: they were very nearly the only sound apart from quiet, muffled footfalls and the occasional indrawn breath as a bare foot stepped on a stone or twig and received a sudden reminder that this was no dream. We walked, driven by the smith's presence, for ages. Or so it seemed: the only time I had been there before -- illicitly -- it had been nearly as mysterious but had taken a lot less time. Particularly on the way out...

In what seemed like the gloom of a murky evening in late autumn we arrived finally at the dark, leafy tunnel that led to the forbidden glen. In reality it was a roomy way between thick, mature hedges of boxwood, but our mood was heightened by the strange darkness whose influence permeated our very bones. The tunnel seemed like the start of a journey to a different, frightening world.

And for me, looking back, of course it was just that. I see now that it was at the moment we turned into that unknown, leafy burrow that I entered adulthood.

For the next few minutes as we walked -- did we? Or did we float? -- down into the darkness, away from the last vestiges of the world that we knew, away from my twin worlds of the Village and of Childhood. We could see little: there was little to see. There was no sound, no distinction between beginning and end. We passed through it as through a dream, forgetting afterwards just what it was like; just as so many pass through adolescence and forget about the confusions, the shattered confidences, the dawning realisation that we are not to be looked after for the rest of our lives, but have to make our own chances and live with them.

The sight of the edge of the clouds of a thunderstorm and the blue, still skies beyond them lift the soul to almost spiritual heights. So it was as we emerged from the darkness to find the glen. The same glen that had appeared so daunting to my companions and me as a child now appeared light, airy, full of life and hope, of birdsong and pure, plain, fresh air; its seven central saplings standing as a token of life, continuing life and fruitfulness. I remember giving a laugh of delight as I looked round; not a laugh just of relief from the oppression of the journey here, but of the sudden realisation that I was at one with all around me. The Grove was natural and laid bare in the sun and air. And so was I natural and laid bare as a son and an heir -- but an heir to what? To a father and six brothers? The real heir would be my elder brother. But I knew without being told that I was to become an heir to something even greater than my own family, if such a thing were possible. I was to become heir to the traditions and wild knowledge of the centuries, a knowledge without beginning whose roots lay in the anonymous earth of my land. No, not my land. Our land. The land that had been my forbears' for generations, and enabled by a spirit for whom I was about to provide my seed.

And with that my mood became solemn again, or as solemn as the lightness of the air caressing my body would allow. For I had forgotten all the others, assuming that they would be as affected by this wonderful place as I.

From my heightened spiritual plane, as it were, I looked around. The blacksmith was quietly ordering where the seven should stand. The seven village lads looked.....what? Scared? Unhappy? But how could anyone be unhappy here? In this light, airy, good place? The man came last to me, and as if from a distance I heard his voice.

"Stand as near to the middle as you can, Aidan, inside the ring of saplings. Face which way you like. The rest of us will face away as we each give our own seed. But you need to be in the centre. You know what to do and how to do it, and no one will watch you until you have called out that you are through. But I shall need to look at you afterwards, to make sure you have really made your seed for the earth. Take as much time as you need."

His voice was low and reverent, intended to be calm. But to my sensibilities it grated falsely, juddering like an old, worn, un-oiled gate.

I shuddered, glad he had walked away to the entrance with its dark shadows. Looking round again I saw only the trees and the light, and the gentle airs washed the memory of him from me. I could see the others, but almost faintly: only two stood out in my sight as having real substance, Ben and Carl, and of these even Carl was a bit fuzzy.

Dimly again I heard the guttural creak of the smith's voice, and as he came to the end I saw Ben's hand curve round to his front and start to manipulate..... I lifted my own hands to my front too, and took hold of my grown penis and scrotum as I had done so many times under the bedclothes at night before the message forbidding me to continue became strong in my mind and stopped me. This time there was to be no stopping. This time my desire to enjoy the fruits of my own body could be realised. This time nothing mattered: no censure or disgrace would ensue. I could make my seed, enjoy the feeling to the point where I had always stopped, and then go on..... And would I be affected as Ben had? Would I really fall senseless to the ground as my body did its work for the first time?

My thoughts had caused the first part of the exercise effective in that my penis was at its longest and hardest. Having seen it in his stage only in the bath -- never in bed as it was hidden under the covers in case my brother came up early -- I was quite impressed. But it was still not as big as the others'. But then, I was the youngest.

Idly I fondled and stroked, and as the resolve took me, my right hand started to work properly, certainly more positively than I had dared do in bed. It was a shadow of the way I had dealt with the seven, but I had lots of experiments to try when it came to myself, even in this situation. I wanted to do it properly, and I had only learnt what to do that afternoon. I thought of Ben, and his gentle ways, and the excitement in his eyes as they met mine as I worked on him. And I thought of his words as the feeling overtook him: "Oh Aidan...I love you..." Had he really said that? I looked at him again now, noticing perhaps for the first time how rounded and muscular was his bottom. And my heart sang, and I had no idea why, but knew it was to do with this friend of mine. And so as my hand continued its work, so did my brain, delighting now not just in the clean air and the lightness and in my own euphoric mood, but in the spirit of the friend I knew I had, and with whom I already knew I needed to share this place.

The tingling of my mind receded not at all. The plateau of pleasure came up to me rather than bearing me up as I know would have happened elsewhere. And as I came, all unaware, to the end of the plateau and to the steep hill that leads to orgasm, my mind knew its purity and knew that my body was about to join it in man's ultimate delight. From deep inside my loins the feeling started, and took me over completely, now displacing even the spirit of magic there was about the glen. From inside me it rushed, to my formative testicles, massaged as they had been, and from there to my penis which was now exposing its glans fully to the gentle air. And suddenly I shouted, and from my body rushed, spurted, audibly, my first ever semen, sperm of my body for the god and the good of the village. Time and time again it happened, and all I could do was ride with it, and the small part of me that was unaffected by everything came back to life and marvelled at what I had been feeling, and now felt, and how everyone was right, and how I was potent and able to fulfil my Village's needs.

As the flow of my gift to the gods diminished I remember my knees buckling, and the euphoria of my mind grew, and I was only just aware of a jolt as my body crumpled slowly to the floor. Of the glen, and the presence of the man and the seven, and of their own efforts of appeasing the old spirits of the place, I was unaware. I remained there, prone, facing the way I had been all along; yet my mind cleared gradually and I became aware.

In front of me, where I would have looked had I been in the mundane world of clothes and common sense, the surrounding trees were younger, thinner, sparser. Through the scant barrier they presented I saw another, smaller clearing, sun dappled, at peace, warm: and in it stood a stag. A king stag, magnificent, with antlers in his glory showing as many points as any pictures painted of poorer animals in the Highlands where humans went to shoot them. To shoot this creature, I knew, would be the death both of me and the Village. He was aware of me. His large, brown, liquid eyes held mine. I was being tested. At length he shook his proud head as if in assertion and pawed the ground. As if this were a signal, from the thicket by his side appeared another stag, barely showing any sign of antler, just what I knew would be just a soft, velvety lump by each ear. Yet strangely the two were not at combat with each other. The young one, slim legged and elegant, crossed to the king and rubbed along his side. And the king responded, then, to my surprise, rubbed the side of his head against the stripling's, and turned, and silently left the clearing.

The youngster now had his turn to hold my eyes. And unlike the testing sensation my brain had registered with the king's gaze, this time there was a gentle friendliness, and an acceptance. Had he smiled I would not have thought it strange. We communicated in this manner, for some moments, a fire of goodwill and friendship kindling between us.

There was a movement behind me and, startled I turned over. And opened my eyes.

Blearlily I looked out from my skull and saw the eight grouped around me, anxiety in their eyes. Swiftly I turned back to will the young stag away from danger.

Before me, the mature trees lined the glen, close, impenetrable. No light showed behind them. No second clearing could possibly exist in that closeness.

"Wha.....?" I sought explanations. All my companions were concerned about was me, and the fact that I had collapsed after my first ever orgasm, and was still unconscious some five minutes later. It seems that most of them had heard my shout as the moment had taken me, and this had sped their own finality. Even the smith, who was older than us all and whom I had brought to orgasm only a few hours earlier, had managed a second, and had crossed to me once he had seen my plight, and had brought the others around me too.

Now, as he saw I was recovering, he rolled me over on my back, and, despite a twinge away by me, held my softened penis between thumb and forefinger. Carefully he pulled at the foreskin and squeezed. A drop of white fluid appeared at the tip, and he carefully lifted it off with another finger which he put to his mouth.

Having come down to earth with a bump, literally as well as spiritually, I was once again totally embarrassed by his attention despite all of us being still naked. This was my body he was examining again, in front of others, and he had taken my semen from it in front of them too. I squirmed. But he continued, and at the base of the penis, where it joined my belly, he found more of the cloudy, white fluid.

"Look, boys," he said in a quiet, wondering voice which seemed no longer to grate as my ears had told me it was earlier. "Look. Like each of you, he has made his seed. And this is the first his body has given. And he has given it to the spirits."

Their mutter of approval made me feel better, yet my mind turned to the king stag and his young companion. Were they the spirits everyone had talked of?

"Can you stand?" His question jolted me back to something approaching reality. I nodded.

"Come, then. You will follow us now, when you will. Today's actions have made this place as much yours to visit as mine, for you, too, are a chosen one."

I just looked at him. What he said made an impact of sorts on me, but my brain was still too addled to appreciate just what he meant. But the young ones turned away, and the smith made sure I could both stand and walk before he followed them from the glen into the low, forbidding tunnel.

I walked after him. But at the edge I remembered his words: "Follow us now, when you will." I had a choice, then. I paused in the light of the glen, its airiness diminished slightly now, and looked back. And despite the change of its atmosphere, and despite the saplings almost barring my sight, I saw the clearing. The other clearing. The clearing behind the ring of trees. Yet I knew it could not be there. And yet it was. But as I peered from my standpoint the air became darker, and sadder, and I could no longer make it out.

There seemed no point in staying there then, and letting the place scare me as it had when I'd been a child. I wanted to remember it as a place of lightness, of wholesomeness, the place where IT happened for me for the first time, the place where I lay down my virginity. I scurried after the blacksmith's broad back, through the dank tunnel and into the outside world.

The blacksmith put on his clothes.

It hit me then. I was going to have to walk back naked to the hall. This time it would be worse, because everyone I met would know what I'd just done. I'd made my own seed, in public. I stopped, appalled, the gorge rising to take hold of my throat again.

"S...sir?" I faltered, hoping against hope. He stopped.

"Yes, Aidan?"

"Have I got to walk through the village with no clothes on again?"

"You'll have to wait and see."

"But sir....."

"Enough. I've given you an answer."

And that was that. With my nerves on red alert I followed his now clothed back. That he was clad made me feel worse, although peering past him I saw the naked bottoms of the others waggling as they walked in front of him. Even over my worries I was surprised at how dark the wood had become. When we set out it had been the almost inevitable warm sun, the continuation of the drought which had led to this whole performance. Now, although warm, it was like dusk, though I thought it could hardly be that late.

The first few drops found their way down through the trees and each of us flinched as our naked skin was hit by them. The rain grew heavier as the woods thinned, and by the time we reached the edge of it, we were in a downpour. A warm downpour. Rain that left us who were without clothes glad of the fact. Rain that soaked everything the smith was wearing so that his clothes stuck soggily to him. I smiled for the first time for ages.

When we reached where the others' clothes had been left the seven stopped and looked at the uncomfortably wet smith.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" he asked.

"Is it worth it? And should we wear anything if Aidan can't?" said Ben suddenly, asking the question of nobody in particular.

"Please yourself," the man replied. "We've done what we came to do. Aidan has no clothes because he had to come here naked. You had to leave your clothes somewhere, and now it's up to you. If it wasn't raining they'd be lining the street to see us return, but nobody wants to be out in this."

They stayed for a moment, considering, silent. Then the obnoxious Steve shook the rain from his face and dived behind the scrub to fetch his clothes. He lifted the bundle.

"They're soaking wet," he cried angrily. "I can't wear these!"

One by one the others retrieved their few pieces of clothing from the small stream that had formed just where they had lain. It was the blacksmith's turn to smile.

"Perhaps it's the old spirits' way of making you at one with the person who shares your seed."

There was an uncomfortable silence. Then Ben spoke up again, despite being the youngest, but because he was a genuine friend to me.

"I said I'd take my clothes off to help Aidan face his journey to the Grove. I'm going back naked to help him return. Who's with me?"

I like to think that their reluctance was due to the idea of being naked in public, not the idea of supporting me. Only Steve decided he'd put on his soaking trousers, which in his case I was glad of, because they hid his rather unpleasant body. I shuddered at the thought that I'd had to bring my lips down on that ugly organ.

Disregarding any possibility that the lit windows of the village might be framing spectators, we walked back in nude companionship, moods lightening as we neared the hall. The partially clothed Steve was being more or less ignored by the rest of them, something I learnt later was quite usual. To have the warm rain coursing over us was refreshing, and added a strange, attractive sheen to the healthy young skin we younger ones each were blessed with.

When we were safe inside, we found the fire lit in one of the rooms, making it hot as an oven. Clothes were strung up there, and almost immediately it was impossible to see from one end to the other, so full of steam was it. I was the only one whose clothing was dry as everything had all been a long way from me during the rain, and although I longed to get dressed I just felt it wouldn't be right after the others had all supported me on the way home. Cynically I wondered if they'd have done the same so readily if their clothes and the weather had been dry.


Chapter 4

 

It was by then quite dark. As a rural community, involved heavily in farming, almost everybody went to bed early and woke early. Particularly at the age of twelve, my bed time was at the incredibly early time (by today's standards) of half past eight. Adults usually went at about half past nine or ten. As it was we stayed, naked, drinking tea and cocoa until about nine, by which time I had started yawning. Others joined me: it had been an emotionally tiring day. All of us were unused to sexual activity, to walking naked in the cool air, to getting wet with bare skin, and to so many non-routine activities happening in a few short hours. Hamish made a move to get his clothes, to prepare to leave.

"No," said the blacksmith. The young man stopped, turning. "You sleep here tonight. We all do. It is to cement our relationship."

"What relationship?"

"Don't be silly, boy. The relationship with each other and with the earth and the spirits."

"My parents expect me home."

"No they don't. They were told that you wouldn't see them until tomorrow."

"But you can't....."

"I am an elder," he thundered suddenly. I noticed that everyone gave a start as he spoke. Mind you, so did I. "I'll do what is necessary for the good of this Village, and under my direction so will you. Now return. In that cupboard you will find mats; get them out. Blankets are in the other one. You and Mark set them out, in pairs, one pair per couple, and one set of blankets per couple. Lay them out tidily."

Per COUPLE? What was he talking about? I didn't sleep with anyone else apart from my brother! Murmurs from the others said the same about them.

But there was no escaping the blacksmith's gimlet eye and insistent tones. Mats and blankets were laid down, and it looked as though we were all going to be made to lie with someone else whether we liked it or not. I was looking on, aghast, when I felt a presence at my side.

Ben.

Ben who had said that thing to me when I was making his seed. Ben who was so...understanding when I was at school. Ben who was so honest about what we had been made to do, who had been on my side, and who had fainted at the moment of orgasm.

Ben.

I was suddenly glad he was there, and knew that, if I had to sleep alongside anyone, it would have to be Ben. Turning, I smiled at him tiredly, nervously. He gave a comforting smile back.

But the man had other ideas. "Aidan and I will share. On one side of us Steve will lie, and on the other Aidan may choose. Who will it be, Aidan?"

"Ben," I said promptly. And then courage came to me, sent perhaps by the events of the day and by tiredness. "I want Ben by my side and under the same blanket. You and Steve could sleep together....." and I added in a small voice for his ears only "......again."

He looked at me sharply. Well? I was another of those who the spirits welcomed in the Grove now, wasn't I? I too had something over him, and a partial authority to choose. Today's events had given me both. But still I had said it as a challenge I thought would be rebuffed, and almost expected a swipe from his powerful arm, or a verbal swipe from his powerful voice.

But to my surprise he just looked at me, and I'm sure there was disappointment in his eyes. He looked down, and in a quieter voice said: "Very well. Let it be that way. The rest of you can sleep with whoever you wish."

Amidst all the pulling and pushing of the heavy mats there were comments about which of the village girls they'd prefer to be sharing with, but I smiled to myself and knew that, at least for the moment, I'd be happy with Ben's company for the night. Perhaps when I was older, like them....

We were still naked, and for many of the older ones that caused problems. Steve had just got into his part of the bed, such as it was, and was facing the side where the smith would lay when he had ensured the rest of us had bedded down. Most of the others were lying as far as they could get from their neighbour. I didn't see what the problem was -- I mean, if you have to sleep with someone you just get comfortable and shut your eyes, surely? Ben was warm beside me, just beside me, quite close, and that was nice because he was a good friend. But why were all these others, all of whom were friends, so anxious?

At last they'd settled down and the smith turned off the light and with his big frame out of the way the air seemed clearer. I relaxed more, and with the breathing of so many around me in one ear, and with Ben's deep breaths sweeping across the other, I drifted off to sleep.

I awoke with the moon in my eyes. Ben's head was toward me, a silhouette. I turned, and must have moved myself nearer to him so my bottom touched his hand. It moved onto my hip. "You okay?" he whispered.

"Yeah.... Moon in my eyes."

"Comfortable?"

"Mmm. Fairly."

"Warm?"

"Fairly."

"Want me to be a hot water bottle?"

I was mostly asleep. But it sounded comfortable.

"Mmmm."

He moved himself towards me, and I moved back slightly, so his warmth was in contact with me all the way down my back, round my bottom, and even down my thighs. I relaxed again, and drifted comfortably away again.

Later I was aware of a mistiness in front of my eyes. As my mind cleared I realised I was in the Grove again, emerging from the tunnel which for some reason I could feel was warm. In front of me was the mist; a cool mist over the entirety of the Grove itself. The central trees stood like wraiths, only half visible. Why was I back here? Being beckoned, it was now clear, by some power I didn't understand. As I tried to grip reality I felt another presence behind me, a friendly spirit. I turned. Ben. Naked like me. My friend, who had told me he loved me. It seemed natural now, and I could see it and approve. Our hands joined in mutual comfort and we answered the beckoning of the power, walking straight through the central trees, over the ground that my seed had supposedly fertilised just that evening, and towards where I had been watching during the getting of it and up to the moment of my first triumphant moment of sexual experience.

It didn't surprise me at all that once again I could see into the other clearing. Naturally I would be able to. And I walked purposefully toward the entrance. Ben hung back. I could feel the question forming in his mind, and somehow overrode it with my own. I turned to him, and saw for the first time the love and the trust that shone in his eyes, unhidden now and naked to my eyes, as we both were naked to the strength of the spirit. And as I looked deep into his soul he registered astonishment, and the reluctance of the hand in mine to follow me diminished, and together we walked through the thin barrier of undergrowth into...

I awoke. Ben was shushing me. I could feel that I had said something out loud. Ben's hand was in mine, across my thigh, and I was pulling, pulling...

And I knew then that I had to go back there. In reality, not in dream. And now. And with my friend. I felt awake, suddenly awake, an unknown occurrence for me if I awoke in the middle of the night. I turned to him and looked into the eyes that looked at me, care and concern in them as always.

"Come with me?" I whispered.

"Where? We're not allowed to."

"It's important. It's to do with yesterday."

"Why?"

I was desperate. "Please Ben, just come?"

He looked at me searchingly for a few moments, then just started to get up.

"What about clothes?"

"No," I said emphatically. "Just as we were earlier."

He looked at me quizzically, but continued to shake off the blankets. We had to tiptoe over the sleeping bodies around us, and I just hoped that the door was unlocked and that it didn't squeak.

As the toilets were outside, it was unlocked, and as it was a well used door, it made no sound. Outside it was decidedly chilly, and the breeze, although gentle, blew the cool night air over our naked bodies, making us even colder. Once we were away from the hall I thought I'd better tell him my reasons. I was about to start when I realised that he'd probably just tell me it was only a dream and want to turn back. So I thought I'd play safe.

"Thanks, Ben. It's just something I know I have to do."

"What?"

"You'll see." In reality I had no idea what it was that I had to do. But I knew I was being called, called back to the Grove. To avoid any more questions I started jogging along, confident that he'd keep up with me. It was a good way of getting warm, anyway.

As we came to the edge of the village and headed toward the now-familiar woods he realised where we were going.

"Why there?" he puffed.

"I have to go back."

"Why?"

"I'll tell you when we get there. Not wearing anything, are you?" It was a silly question, and I wondered why I asked it.

"No," he said with surprise. "You know I'm not."

"Okay."

At the edge of the woods I paused. It was warmer there, as the trees sheltered us from the breeze. From the darkness inside came just the normal small sounds of a wood at night, yet deep in my mind I knew I had to go in, to find the tunnel, to enter the Grove, and once there I had to enter the secret part of it.....

"Come on!" I was impatient to be off. Ben was more cautious.

"If he gets to know that we've been here, he'll go mad." He was thinking of the blacksmith. But I knew better.

"But after yesterday I am meant to come here too, and that's why we're here, because I want you with me."

He looked at me, undecided. "But..."

"Come on, Ben. Please? I don't want to do it without you." I still had no idea what it was I was going to do. But he reluctantly followed me as I took the first steps into the shadows, and was soon at my side as I felt my way along the path, visible only by what minute traces of moonlight filtered down through the thick branch cover.

At last I felt that we were near the Grove, and started trying to cast about for the entrance to its tunnel. As I cast around, there was one point where a glimmer of cold light filtered its way almost through the bushes. I walked towards it, Ben now close beside me, and the tunnel enveloped us, dank and oppressive as always, yet now with this beckoning light at the end. A light which became clearer and more welcoming as we progressed. Ben was now once again at my side.

And as the tunnel gave way to the Grove itself we both stopped and gasped. Moonlight poured into it, filling it with that cold, pure light as if it were a rare glass container for some intoxicating draught; a glass into which we were about to walk. Yet it had none of the strangeness of dim moonlight, nor its eeriness. This was full-blown light, cold yet welcoming, shadowy yet wholesome. As if at the edge of an unknown sea we each, without words, tested it with a cautious foot to see if it were real. And as we took our first steps the purity of the air once again took my spirit, and with the welcome and the joy of it I felt as though I had returned home; but, impossibly, that I had returned for the first time.

As in my earlier dream we walked through the central saplings, and I wondered at how carelessly my feet trod on the ground which was meant to have accepted my seed. My hand was indeed in Ben's by this time, though how it got there and who instigated it I knew not. I was leading him onwards, across the centre, toward the encircling hedge; though for me, of course, there was only a thin outcropping of shrub at the normal edge to the circle, no barrier at all. Yet just as in my sleep I felt Ben hesitate, and pulled him urgently after me until I was about to take my first step over the boundary. And there I froze.

A voice rang out, and echoed in my head. ARE YOU INDEED THE ONE?

Startled beyond belief, I managed to stammer an answer. "Er....yes...I have been told so."

HAVE YOU THE WILL OF THE PEOPLE BEHIND YOU?

That was more difficult. My brain worked as fast as it could. They had all been there at that terrible moment when I had had to step naked from the village hall with everybody watching and able to see every inch of my skin. And they had given me encouragement. "Yes...er...yes...I believe I have."

AND IS THIS YOUR CHOSEN FRIEND?

"Yes," I replied with absolute certainty. "He is."

THEN ENTER AND SERVE.

Ben had gone rigid as he had heard the voice, and had he been a small child he would probably have endured a biological accident. But as he heard the welcome in the last phrase, although we were both uncertain about the `serve' bit, he had relaxed a little, and as I heard him gasp I looked round. His eyes were focussed beyond the line of the encircling trees and I realised that he had seen the secret of the Grove.

As he relaxed further -- whether because of amazement or because of the warmth of the welcome that was subtly apparent to us, I did not know at the time. But, still hand in hand, like two little boys who were part of some spell, we crossed the low scrub and entered the small clearing I alone had been shown before. It was empty. But it was warm, and even more comforting than the main Grove. The air cocooned us like soft, luxurious bedclothes, yet the air was somehow still fresh and pure.

We stood in the centre of the clearing, on soft, cushioned grass, and wondered. The peace of the place entered my soul, and I knew that nothing bad would be allowed to happen here. We waited, and still there was just us, and quiet, and nothing.

At last I turned to him. His gaze was still wandering around the magic place, and his face was absolutely at peace. Its expression was just as I would have expected to see if he was in deep sleep; young even to my eyes, vulnerable, sweet, kind, relaxed. If this was the real Ben then I knew at that moment that he was more than just a good friend, if such a thing were possible. He was to be my near-constant companion, and I felt an emotion come over me that I had never experienced before.

As I gazed at his wondering face his eyes came to rest on mine, and stayed locked into them, wordlessly, at one each with the other. For what seemed ages we communicated like this. There were no words, just the wonder and the gradual acceptance of our being together, secretless. Tentatively my right hand lifted to touch his right shoulder, and as one we shifted so as to face each other squarely, and his hand came up to lay on my shoulders. Still with eyes locked, the gap between us closed, until with a shock I realised that we would be touching each other. Everywhere.

My eyes must have given me away. Then there was a look of hurt in his, and I wondered at it. I looked back, still troubled, and I saw -- somehow -- a pleading, an acceptance, in them. And for the first time in that place I heard again the words he had said to me in the village hall.

"But I love you, Aidan."

Once again our eyes met and explored each other. And gradually, seeing no harm or guile in his, I let the space between us diminish. At last my stomach and chest became warmer, and I knew he was again about to contact my body, and I knew that this time I was ready, was welcoming him.

At the same time I knew that my body was excited, and was about to give me away, but was sure that the part of me that had only today been taught of its real purpose would not trouble him if it touched, even if it touched him first as seemed likely. The lift of it, and the unusual coolness at its tip gave it away to me. And then, gently, that part of me touched....another....rounded....warm...throbbing with life, and a thrill shook me as I realised that he was in the same state. Gently, gently, our chests and our bellies touched, and the excitement of each of us was trapped between us, pressing in, pressing in, and his face was as close to mine as it could get, and I knew that our lips would touch.

And I wondered what to do. To kiss? Boys don't. But then boys didn't expose their skin to each other, didn't get so close to each other, didn't touch each other with their body, either. But he solved the problem by pressing forward and putting his lips to mine and holding them there.

At this range my arms on his shoulders were uncomfortable, and I decided to put them round his back to hold them. He moved one of his down to the small of my back, whilst the other found the back of my head. Both served to hold me closely to him. As if I were going anywhere!

The closeness of his eyes, still looking deeply into mine, and of his lips, touching mine, not to mention the rest of his naked body against mine and the joint acceptance of the hardness of our arousals being gently massaged by the minute movements of our bodies....all of this was sensory overload to me. Hugs in our family were infrequent: we were all male and too old. Demonstrative acts and behaviour were, whilst not frowned on, just not part of our routine. So to be so close to another human, to me, was wonderful beyond words: disturbing but wonderful, emotionally draining and frightening and wonderful. And that he had instigated it -- unless the Spirit had -- and was now accepting it and finding it as wonderful as I, was another reason for my emotions to be on my lifetime's high.

Our hands, without either of us realising, had started to stroke each other's skin. Wherever they had landed they were just caressing, without hurry, just discovering the skin tones and the subtle shapes of the other. His hands were on my back and now between my shoulder blades. Mine were between his shoulder blades, and, to my astonishment, on one of the cheeks of his bottom. Circling gently. Feeling. Knowing that warm, soft roundness with the hint of muscles deep below, and expecting any minute that he would shy away despite my stroking there for many minutes before I realised what I was doing. And he accepted it. And moved his hand to mine.

I had no idea what was happening to me, why I was doing this to him, or him to me. But I felt complete and part of him and excited and at peace.

I have no idea how long we had been standing there before he asked me. "Can we lie next to each other?"

I made no answer, but sank to the soft grass, his body keeping pace with mine. And there we started again; the long wondering exchange of gaze, the tentative hands on the other's body.....and this time on the chest. I thrilled as he fingered those little nubs high on my chest beneath which, had I been a girl, breasts would lie. No one had touched me there before, not in that way, not even myself, and it was electric. I did the same for him, and he sighed.

We explored from there, stroking the flat stomach and the top of the barely rising belly, and it was not until my hand touched the edge of the still whispy hair that marked the boundary that I stopped and rested my hand on the naked skin above. He looked at me, a lost puppy look, and reached down to take my hand, as I thought, away from this most private area. But instead he lifted it to replace it directly on top of the throbbing shaft of his manhood, arranging my fingers so they extended down to the soft, delicate, encased egg shapes below. In turn his own palm and fingers came to hold me, and to make my feelings of attachment and excitement and delight even greater. I had to compare it with the efforts of the rest of the day. When I had massaged him to make his seed it had been done as I had instinctively known it should, but it was devoid, then, of the deep love -- love? Was it that that I was feeling? Well, if so, so be it. Anyway...the deep love I felt now. And when in the Grove I had massaged myself to finality for that first ever time there was no love there, just the need to release and to do what was required of me.

But now! Now I -- we -- were both totally involved with each other, and I was starting to feel that I wanted him with me always, to do this, to help me, to protect me, and so I could do the same for him. It was a bigger load of emotions than my twelve year old brain was anywhere near used to carrying, and as I gasped at the sensations which flowed through every part of my mind and body I was conscious of the tears running unchecked down my face. Tears of joy and happiness they were, tears of acceptance, tears of happiness at being so close to, so needed by, another human being.

At last we were each once again rubbing the other in that special way, lying on our sides, facing each other, scarcely a gap between us. And when I knew there was no going back, somehow I could sense that the same was true for him. As we each reached that magical climax I pulled myself to him and kissed him, hard, on the lips, and he did to me, too. As our bodies spasmed and the hot seed escaped from each of us in what felt like great gouts we kissed and I swore inside myself that I would never leave this boy, this my closest ever friend, this man who loved me, this other human who I loved, as long as I lived.

We lay back, resting, recovering, chests and stomachs separate now to allow air around us, arms round each other. And from our chests and bellies where it had landed the semen followed gravity's pull and fell onto the grass between us...

I awoke with a start. For a moment, although what had happened between Ben and me seemed real enough, I thought I was still asleep and dreaming as I had been the first time, when I had felt the call to return to the Grove. But no: the grass was below me, and my body knew it was less soft than the mat I had been sleeping on, and Ben's arms were still around me. And I was cold, and my face was wet. And then the thing that woke me happened again. A long, warm, wet, rough tongue swept over my face.

Startled beyond belief I gave a shout, which woke Ben. He gained his senses quicker than I could at that point, as I couldn't trust myself to move. I saw shock and astonishment cross his face, then to my own surprise and relief he smiled. I looked round.

And two immense, brown, liquid eyes stared back at me. I lay back and took in the full appearance of the young stag I had first seen that afternoon. It was he who had woken me, and he now looked at me with curiosity. There was a sound behind Ben, and I saw another, the same age, standing behind him. I wondered where the king stag was, and whether we were safe from his antlers and hooves.

We each looked back into the eyes of the young stag nearest us and I felt, rather than heard, a voice. As I became aware of it the stag's eyes narrowed and became more human in shape, losing their depth but gaining in their intelligence and awareness.

"THE LOVE BETWEEN YOU HAS SEEDED THE EARTH MOTHER. FROM YOUR UNION WILL COME THE SALVATION OF YOUR PEOPLE AND THEIR SPIRIT. COME WHEN YOU WILL AND HELP TEND YOUR CHILDREN. THEY WILL TELL YOU WHEN IT IS THE TIME."

I lay there in shock. Was it somehow the stag who was speaking? As I watched his eyes they changed once again into the brown, silent pools that befits an animal, and I could not be sure. Then, as quickly as they had woken us, they wheeled away and ran from the clearing.

I looked at Ben. He was -- inevitably -- looking at me. I think we were both then aware that dawn was approaching, that we were cold and tired, and that if we didn't get back soon we would once again have to walk thorough the village naked, this time with no darkness to hide us and no ceremony to give us reason. Silently we rose and left the clearing, through the centre, and paused to look back only when we gained the tunnel's mouth.

Of the entrance to the special clearing where we had found the love between us and in some manner, apparently, jointly fathered a family, there was no sign.


Chapter 5

 

We regained the village in the grey light of pre-dawn, with no unwelcome shouts of challenge to embarrass us. The door to the hall once again yielded without sound, and swiftly, for we were cold, we found our bed and unashamedly entwined each other in our arms, shivering as we did so. The human body is a wonderful thing. Alone it can be cold and uncomfortable, whilst given the same outside temperature two together can swiftly become warm. That is how we encouraged sleep to overtake us.

All too soon, it seemed, the stirring of the others woke. We heard the blacksmith's voice boom out.

"No one is to leave until all are ready. They had a long and cold day yesterday and need their sleep." How he thought we should ever sleep through his instructions I have no idea. We stirred, remembered we were still hugging each other for warmth, and instinctively separated swiftly. Looking around rather anxiously I noticed that Steve was eyeing us with a smirk, and I immediately felt myself blushing.

It was obvious that everybody wanted to leave, and were waiting only for us. Many of them were in various states of dressing, and suddenly the one thing I wanted to do was to avoid being naked in front of them again.

"Where are my clothes, please?" I asked the blacksmith.

"All in good time, boy. You are to be the last to leave. Your friends have to leave first and go to their homes. Come here and stand by me."

He was himself dressed. I was once again shrinking into myself, knowing that I had to watch as everyone dressed and see me, alone, the only one naked. Ben turned to me. "I'll wait for you outside." I just nodded dismally, once again shaking, and his hand touched and squeezed mine under the covers. Well, he was leaving the bed naked, so I might as well use his company in that state while I still could. I went obediently and stood by the smith, hands held strategically in front of me.

At last they were all dressed, had folded and put away the bedding and were waiting. This was the worst moment. I was one side of the room, everyone else was the other. I was the obvious thing to look at. I may have been standing still, but inside I was still squirming.

"Very well, all of you. You have achieved what we set out to do, although what we have done is only the first part. We now need the spirits on our side so that what we have done will produce the Village's future. You may go."

Silently they filed out. The only ones who looked back at me were Carl and Ben. The door closed. The smith turned to me, and once again looked at me searchingly.

"You know, don't you, that you now have as much right as I to go to the Grove?"

More than you think. I know more about it than you do. "Yes sir."

"And you should go there regularly -- once a week, I suggest."

"Yes sir."

"You do not have to take anyone, but you may take a friend."

"Yes, sir." So he knew that, did he?

"I would like to be that friend, if you will accept me as such."

This was awkward. Here was a figure, feared since my infancy, of great influence in the Village, whose word was law, who was noisy, authoritative, overbearing, wanting to be my friend? And by appearances his `friend' was actually Steve, if friend he was. And if that was the case he was welcome to him. I remembered with disgust having my face over his genitals, massaging him and having to take his penis......

"Sir...sorry.....but the Spirit has told me that my friend must be my own age, someone I really like."

I hadn't intended the last four words and regretted them as soon as they had left my mouth. His eyes bored into me, anger igniting in them as I watched, anxiously.

"Your age? Someone you like? After all I have done for you? And who do you think you are to say what the Spirit has told you? How dare you?" He paused, gathering breath.

"Sir....." I said desperately, "do you think a friend of mine would talk to me like that?"

As if it were stuck by lockjaw his mouth gaped open at me, and for the first time I knew that I had dared to argue with an adult and had won. My clothes were on the chair behind him. I walked to them purposefully and he moved out of my way, seeming to diminish in my sight as he did so. Without looking at him again I dressed, and only when I had the odd, comforting sensation of wearing clothes for the first time in over twelve hours did I turn to him.

"Sorry....." I said it directly to him. "Sorry I can't. But I will visit the Grove with a friend, if he'll come. But I think it would be best if it were the two of us, don't you?"

His jaw dropped again, and emboldened by my apparent double victory, I left the village hall.

Outside, as promised, was an anxious Ben. I assured him that I was all right, and when we had put some distance between us and the hall I explained. So busy were we in exchanging stories and what we had and hadn't seen we ignored the few passers by who looked curiously at us....well, at me, really. It never occurred to me until later that they were seeing me as the boy who had walked naked through the midst of a crowd, on my way to coax the semen from my body for the first time for the good of them all. To me, although the subject of our conversation was about what had happened, the reaction of those around us was of no consequence.

We came to the conclusion that as he had seen what I had seen, heard what I had heard, he must be a chosen one as well. That cheered me, because I knew that he would be the companion of my choice when we went again, just as he would be the companion of my choice whenever we could be with each other.

As my home came into sight the reality of other people kicked in to my tired brain. I began to worry about how my family would view me now. I asked Ben if he would come with me and introduce himself as another of the Chosen, so that I would have some support with the rest of the family.

My father saw me coming and came out to meet me. "Aidan.....and Ben. Ben, thank you so much for bringing him home. I think I need to talk to him, don't you?"

"Er.....yes.....er...."

"Dad, can Ben come as well, please? We went through it together, you know."

"Yes....yes....but I need to talk to you alone first. You're my son, after all."

He had a point. Ben looked disappointed, but turned away obediently. "I wont be long," I called after him.

I followed dad indoors, into the deserted living room, and we stood awkwardly, facing each other.

"Oh Aidan...please, just sit here, will you?" He pointed to the sofa where he had already started to sit. I didn't know what was about to happen. Would I be punished for what I'd done, even though it was for the Village? Sometimes, at home or at school, I'd been punished for things which weren't my fault, or that I couldn't avoid. Adults! There were times I despaired of ever understanding them. They lived in a world of their own.....

I sat down beside him and was immediately aware of his eyes boring into mine. I looked away, hurriedly, wondering what I could say to avoid the oncoming punishment. And then his arms went round my shoulders, the face softened, and he pulled me toward him in a hug. And this was my father, who never had done anything like this for me since I was seven and had stopped crying at every small pain or nuisance. I looked straight forward, still avoiding his eyes.

"Aidan," he said at last, in a voice that sounded vaguely choked. "If I could have avoided that happening by doing anything myself I would have done it. I'm so sorry. Sorry that it had to be done, sorry it had to be you. Sorry you were treated like that. Sorry you had to learn that way, do all that, just for something that's probably a superstition. But If you hadn't, we'd have had to leave the Village, and the island, and we'd have lost everything we have here. It's not just a question of selling up, else I'd have done it. But we'd have lost all we own, and been destitute. The family would have been split up, I'd have been unable to support any of you, and it would have meant living in a city. I had no option but to let them go through with it and say nothing to you." He paused for breath.

This brought a new dimension to it, for me. If he'd said nothing, just regarded it in his usual `well-it's-happened-don't-worry-about-it' sort of way and carried on as if nothing bad or out of the ordinary had happened, I'd have just accepted it and carried on myself. But to hear him say that we could have avoided it, and he was sorry, as if it was something evil....well! It confused me.

"But Dad....I mean....it's for the Village. I mean....it wasn't particularly nice, especially walking through all those people...." I couldn't somehow bring myself to say the word `naked', as if not saying it would make it not to have happened.

He looked at me strangely. "It's not that that worried me. It's the way you had to learn about...about...." He tailed off. Odd. Looking back, perhaps he was as worried about saying the word `sex' as I was about the word `naked', and for the same reasons. But at the time, I just waited for him to finish, probably embarrassing him the more in the process.

"But Dad, that was all right," I said unthinkingly.

"No it isn't!" He had some of his old authority back. "There's only one place for sex and that's when you're married."

I just looked at him. This was different from what had been required from me a few hours previously. But what I'd done wasn't sex. I'd just made my seed. To be sex and dirty it would have had to be with a woman. And I knew that was wrong. And I wouldn't want to go with a woman. The only person I knew who was good looking was our English teacher, and she was at least as old as thirty, and although she was nice I wouldn't want to be close to her, or take her to bed.

But what I'd had to do with the other boys and men it was just.....well, duty in most cases, but really nice with Ben. He and I understood each other. And needed the same things. And he said he loved me, and I thought I loved him, as if we were boyfriend and girlfriend....no, that can't be right....just two friends who enjoyed being with each other. There was nothing wrong with having friends who were boys too, it was just when you went around with a girl people started talking and shaking their heads.

"Yes, Dad," I said.

"So don't go getting any ideas about girls, you're too young. And I don't want any of that playing with yourself here, you understand?"

It was all right for me to do it with boys, then, and somewhere else. Fine. "Yes, Dad."

"You're sure, now?"

"Yes, Dad. I thought you were sorry for me having to do it at all."

"I am, Aidan, I am...." A change of tone from the harder one that had crept back. "....but it's not to happen again. Understand?"

"Not even if the Elders and the blacksmith tell me?"

A long pause.

"That's different."

"Er.....why, Dad?"

"Don't be silly, you know perfectly well why."

"But why is it different if I do it for them when you said just now it's not all right, but if I do it for myself when it must then be all right, it's still wrong?"

There was a silence as we both tried to work out what I'd just said.

"Look," he said at last, "If they tell you to do it then you've got to do it. Right?"

"Yes, Dad. It'd be for the Village. But when you started, you said that it wasn't right."

"No, it isn't."

"But then it must be all right if I do it on my own when I want to."

"No!" He almost shouted. "Sex is wrong unless you're married. Haven't you learnt that in Church?"

"Yes, when they talk about adultery. But that's a man and a woman, not a boy and.....well.....you know. And I don't want to do it with a woman."

"WHAT?!"

"The only women in the village are old and most are ug.......I mean, they don't appeal to me. I don't want to er....you know....with them."

"Don't be silly, Aidan. I'm talking about a girl of your age."

Well, if he'd set out to confuse me, he'd succeeded. I no longer was certain whether I was allowed to do it with a boy, a man, a girl or a woman. No, not a woman, he'd said that. And that was fine. It seemed that so long as I didn't do it at home, either on my own or with anyone, it'd be all right. And as I shared a bed with my brother in a room with most of the rest of my brothers it was a bit unlikely I'd want to do it there either.

"Yes, Dad."

 

I rejoined Ben outside and told him what Dad had said. He was quiet for a long time, and we walked aimlessly for what seemed like ages before he spoke. I didn't feel like saying anything in the meantime either. I was still trying to make sense of what Dad had said.

"Last night...." He blurted out suddenly. I looked at him, startled. "Last night...I know you had some sort of call to go, and I know what we saw when we were there, and what we did. But did you.....I mean were you.....What did you....Oh hell."

We had all been told not to swear by hell as it was nearly blasphemy. If he said it, it must be important. He stopped and looked at me; well, past me, really, then at the ground at my feet. He swallowed, and in a rather quavery voice he continued.

"I mean, did you enjoy what we did?"

If he hadn't already proved to me that he really liked me, that he was more than just a mate or school friend I know that I would have hedged around the answer, been non-committal in any way I could to avoid showing my feelings. As it was, I trusted him completely. I hardly had to think about the answer. "Yes. It was.....wonderful. I liked being close to you, and being really...close to you, and being able to make you.....happy, and have you doing it to me too."

"Did you....? Did you REALLY?" He ended in almost a shout, and now his face was looking at mine, his eyes boring straight into mine, his face shining and amazed, happy, incredulous. I laughed at him.

"Didn't you know? I thought we said it to each other!"

"Well, we did, but at the time we were...I mean...you know..."

I felt a pressure on my penis, and knew what was happening to me. If it happened at school, in class, when I had to stand up and answer a question, it was embarrassing. Even though the only person who was looking at my front was the teacher, who was probably old and wouldn't notice, I would feel hot and started getting confused. But here, with Ben, it felt as though it was right; it was readying itself for something unknown, and was in itself an answer to his question. I thought the only thing I could really do was put an arm round his shoulders, so I did. He looked at me, questioningly, then relaxed.

Our feet took us through the village, and by now one or two people were about. I think we were both quite tired, not having had much sleep, so it never occurred to either of us that people were looking our way. Until, that is, we met up with one of the officials from the Village's church. She looked at me, her eyes blazing through me with such dislike that I almost took a step back.

"I'm surprised you have the nerve to show your face around here, boy." The word `boy' was said in the sort of tone that wouldn't have disgraced `dog's mess I've just stepped in'. I looked at her, open mouthed.

"I'm sorry?" I quavered, wondering if she, alone of the Village, had no idea what it had all been for.

"Showing yourself off like that, in public. You should be ashamed of yourself."

I looked at her, still in astonishment. But there was no trace of the embarrassment I thought I would feel when the first person talked to me about it all. At last I found my voice. And, for the second time in my life I found a strength to argue with an adult, one who I'd always been taught to obey without question.

"But Miss Flude, you know why it was necessary. The village elders told me I had to."

"But you didn't have to. Nobody can insist you show off your nakedness in that ungodly way."

"But I've always been taught that I must obey my elders and betters."

"But not when they are misguided enough to tell you to prance around with nothing on."

"But Miss Flude, are you telling me that if I think an order is wrong, then I shouldn't obey it?"

"Don't be cheeky, boy. Of course I'm not."

"But what should I have done when I was first told what I had to do?"

"Refuse, and tell someone in authority, of course."

"Like a Village Elder, you mean?"

"Yes."

"But it was the Elders who told me to do it. The only other person I could have gone to was my father, and he had no choice either 'cos we'd have had to leave the Village if I hadn't done it."

"Nonsense. No one can make you leave. Anyway, leaving would have been better than doing what you did. I never saw the like..."

"But I can only believe what the Elders and my father tells me. I can't be responsible for reducing my family to poverty. I'd rather go naked than do that."

"And what about your religion?"

"There was probably more nakedness at the time of the Bible than there is now. And anyway, what's wrong with it?"

"It's wrong."

"Where's it say that?"

"Don't be cheeky, boy."

"I'm not, Miss Flude. If you can tell me where, in the Bible, it says that nakedness is a sin, I'll come and apologise. But in the meantime, all I know is that I was naked when I was born, and that was no sin. Good bye."

And I dragged a dumbfounded, aghast Ben off down the road, leaving the old lady to glower after us.

When we were out of sight and earshot Ben turned to me, his face shining. "That's the only time I've ever heard anyone get the better of Miss Flude. I didn't think anyone would dare!"

"She's just talking rubbish, that's all. Either that or she's not been listening to what was said in the meeting."

"What was said in the meeting?"

"Weren't you there?"

"No. I was kept outside. With the others. We knew what we had to do. I don't know why they didn't want us to hear what everybody was being told."

"Nor do I. Perhaps they were all told something different. Although Dad knew."

"Perhaps they told him separately."

"Yeah...Could be."

For some reason our steps were taking us back, yet again, out of the village and on the way to the wood. It wasn't until we reached the spot where Ben had left his clothes with everybody else's the previous evening that we realised. We were too busy with our own thoughts.

I laughed.

"What?" he asked.

"D'you know where we're going?"

"What?...er...oh, I see what you mean."

"Want to?"

"Want to...oh...yeah...yeah. Nice."

For some reason our hands reached for and grasped each other's, and like two lovers we walked toward the wood. At its outskirts we stopped.

"Where do we strip?" he asked, his voice hoarse.

"Dunno," I quavered, my own emotions jangling. "P'raps we should leave it until we get to the tunnel."

"'Kay."

And, still hand in hand, not really intending to be, but finding it more comforting that way, we walked through the dreary wood until something told me the tunnel entrance was nearby. We paused, and looked at each other. I was aware of a pressure being exerted by my underpants on my penis, and I wondered if his was the same. It looked as though the front of his trousers were...well....full. We looked warily at each other in the gloom of the surrounding trees for a while, neither of us wanting to make the first move, to be the first to expose his nakedness first. After a moment my brain made a connection. I'd been naked with Ben all the previous evening. He knew what I looked like. He'd even had my little -- well, not so little any more, perhaps -- penis in his hand, as I'd had his. And he'd done the most private thing with me that two boys could do for each other (or so I thought at the time). And I'd done the same for him. I tore off my T-shirt impatiently.

As soon as I had started, so did he. We undressed quickly, and who was first to be totally exposed to the air and to the sidelong glances of the other one, I don't know now. What I do know is that I was right about his being affected -- he was as erect as I. We hid our clothes in the nearby undergrowth; I ducked down into the tunnel and was glad to hear him come after me. Knowing that he was watching my bottom made me nervous, although why it should I don't know. I just felt more naked like that.

That and the beckoning of the light on the Grove made me hurry, and I was glad to enter its warm, welcoming stillness and warmth. As usual we crossed straight through the centre, through the little saplings, and made our way to where we knew our special place would be waiting. It was. There were no welcoming stags there, though.

As before we slowed down and sat there, looking around and at each other, to see if any special changes were evident to either of us. Apart from our erections having subsided, nothing was. I yawned, which set Ben off. I laughed at him, and he grinned back. He worked himself round to sit beside me, and simultaneously we laid back, aware only of the peacefulness of the place, the warmth, the gentle air, the comfort. And of each other. Increasingly as minutes ticked away I knew that he was aware of me, of my thoughts, of the way my mind was wandering, and that it was wandering to him.

To know the thoughts going through the mind of another person is a privilege. To know their mind is aware of your own thoughts is astonishing. To be able to see and take part in the circle of awareness between the two people is a gift given to few, and rarely. It is the ultimate in mental intercourse. And all through our mutual exploration of each other's thought processes we were aware that when we wanted to start it, there was a world of physical pleasure to be explored, and that we had all the time in the world.......

I have no idea how long we laid there. We were not tired of doing so; we were not cold. But we were aware of movements near us. Or were we? Nothing seemed changed, yet we knew another mind was nearing where we were. It was not until the sound of a grunt was heard, and stumbling footsteps, that we were certain that our peace was about to be disturbed. And I knew the owner of the grunt, and as soon as I recognised it, Ben knew, and we looked at each other in distaste.

The blacksmith unbent from his journey through the low tunnel. Although hidden by the central saplings, we knew he was there. We knew he was naked, because he was wary. I was glad we had hidden our clothes well. But all the time we lay there. I had been told by the smith that I was entitled to be there and Ben had been told the same by the Spirit.

"Aidan?" came the commanding voice. "Aidan? Are you here?"

I was about to call back, although reluctant to break what was left of the spell. My hesitation communicated itself to Ben, and his to me, so neither of us spoke. And then there came another voice, a Command of gentleness which nevertheless could not be disobeyed.

YOU SHOULD NOT ANSWER HIM.

We needed no second telling, and just laid back again. But our hands sought and held each other's.

The man appeared, walking carefully round the saplings, looking at every inch of the Grove and its surrounding foliage. Any minute now, I thought, he'll see us. He's getting closer, walking nearer, seeking any gap we could have crawled through; he's looking at the bush next to the entrance to our dell, he's...

...missed seeing us, has looked further. He's walking right past the entrance as though it wasn't there. He can't see the Dell at all.

I remembered from last night, our first time there, how we looked back from the tunnel mouth and saw nothing of where our love had been sealed. It was sealed from him, too. Why?

BECAUSE HE IS NO LONGER TRUE.

The answer landed in our heads. But what sort of answer was it? Quaveringly I asked the question.

"Please, help us to understand."

But there was no answer.

We waited for something else to happen, but apart from a muttering from the blacksmith and his stumbling departure into the tunnel, nothing did. We laid back, heaving a joint sigh of relief at the inflow of that air of privacy that is so necessary for real love to blossom. And we were still holding hands.

We turned towards each other, and our clasp rode naturally toward that area between our legs. And once there the hands separated and tentatively touched the soft skin, the hardening organ, the beating, increasing excitement of the other's secret body. There was none of the anxious speed I have heard senior boys talk of as being the norm for their first inexperienced fondlings in semi-private with a girl. We had been forced into that, me with him, the first time we had been naked together. And we knew it to be no way to induce anything but a mechanical pleasure into the other one. So our hands were gentle, and slow, and massaged and toyed and stroked and carefully kneaded, and explored..... And what I experienced was not a mountain of pleasure that one climbs up, only to fall down the other side, but rather the slow ascent to a high plateau, a long, carefree, wondrous plateau of delight brought to me by my constant companion. One that continued on, and on...

At some point I knew I wanted to be more intimate with him, to do for him as he had been made to do for me that first time. But my inner self knew that when our seed flowed again it needed to be once more for the impregnation of the Earth Mother. I knew instinctively that what there was between Ben and Aidan was pleasure and love, but its product were for the good of the Spirit and of the Village.

So it was, as our journey along the plateau started to rise towards its summit, that our free arms would round shoulders, our lips met and opened, and tongues met and tasted and felt and explored, and saliva flowed with the love that passed between us. We each climbed the final rise to the peak of emotion and reached the top nearly simultaneously, the shout as the orgasm hit each of us as we still kissed were soundless. And from us burst the precious white seed, dropping to the belly and chest of the other one, and running down to be drawn into the soft, fertile Earth.

Even as our bodies recovered, and despite the need to fill our lungs repeatedly, our lips were still together and our eyes never left each other's face. It was not for some time that we disengaged, and just looked at each other, smiling weakly, each still aware of the thoughts going through the other's head, and very happy to know the depth of love in the other's heart. At last we knew that it actually was love, this feeling. We each knew we had never experienced before anything so deep, so imperative as the attachment we now felt. We knew that whatever the world -- the Village -- threw at either one of us, the other would know and would come to the rescue, and that as we grew older and more sure of ourselves and more able to grasp our independence we would become invincible as two together.

YOU NEED TO RETURN HOME... The voice echoed round us. We started back from each other, wide eyed.

FEAR NOT. NO HARM WILL BEFALL YOU HERE. EVER. YOU ARE WELCOME, YOU WHO ARE SIRES, WHERE NO OTHER PERSON IS WELCOME.

I once again plucked up the courage to ask. "Please...who are you? What do you want from us?"

WE ARE THE WILD, THE UNTAMED. WE ARE THE TREES, THE STAG, THE GRASS BELOW YOUR FEET. WE ARE ALSO YOU, FOR YOU TOO ARE PART WILD. THE REST IS AS YOU HAVE BEEN TOLD.

"So will we really have started a....mandrake?"

Silence. But a peaceful silence that said that we had learnt all we were going to for the moment. We raised ourselves from the ground, and silently left the Dell and the Grove.

Once clothed we made our way in silence back to the Village. In silence, yes, but we still spoke between us. There was no need of words.

This time, our passage through the Village drew some looks. Some were pitying, some were curious. It was starting to become annoying. All thoughts of shame, of embarrassment had been banished from our minds by the events of the night and the morning.

I had thought that parting from Ben so we could each go to our homes was going to be awful. In fact we just said matter-of-factly, and out loud for a change, "see you later." And even as we separated he was talking in my head, saying how odd it was to listen to my voice with ears again. Increasing distance made communication harder, until the only way I could find him was to `shout' with my mind, and really concentrate on the `answer'.

At home I found the blacksmith deep in conversation with my father, who I could tell was less than happy to be his host. Unsummoned by either of them, I went to my room. Our room. And tried to think. After a period during which nothing whatsoever came into my brain I heard footsteps on the stairs. My hand moved away from my trousers where I was suddenly aware it had been lying.

"Aidan?"

"Yes Dad?"

"Were you in the Grove today?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

I thought. "Well, the smith told me I could go there when I wanted. I'm one of the chosen ones now."

"So he said, although I'm not keen on the idea. But why today?"

"I just wanted to see what it was like in the light."

"Did you hear him when he called you?"

"Did he? I thought he was talking to you."

"Not just now, when you were in the Grove."

"Oh. Well, sort of, but at the time...." My mind worked furiously. How could I think of something to explain what had happened. Dad wouldn't understand what the spirit said or wanted. "... I was some way away from the Grove, and although I heard a voice, I didn't know who it was, and when I got back there was nobody there." Well, it was nearly true.

"I see. Are you sure? The man's quite sure you were in there somewhere."

"There's nowhere to hide in there, nowhere obvious anyway."

"All right. Come down and tell him, then."

"Is he still here?"

"Yes. He wanted to come up and ask you himself but I wouldn't let him. I said you were resting, that you got wet last night and I thought you might have a cold coming."

"I'm all right. But...thanks, Dad."

"Don't you like him?"

"Not much. None of us do."

"Hmmm. You're not alone in that, but don't tell him I said so."

I looked at him. Would he understand? Then I remembered about what he'd said about sex and making my seed, and knew that he wouldn't. Well, he might understand some of it but not the important bits. I followed him downstairs, to find the smith walking up and down the room like a caged lion.

"Well?" he snapped as soon as I appeared. "Where were you?"

"Just a minute," my father said before I could stammer out an answer. "You're in my house. You may be a village elder but none of the others that I know would speak to me like that and in front of my own son too. And Aidan says that he was nowhere near the Grove when you called him."

"Nonsense. I could feel him."

"I beg your pardon?"

"I said I could sense his presence."

"He said he was in another part of the wood, that he could hear you, but that when he got to the Grove you had gone."

"I don't believe him."

My father drew himself up to his full height. Although a lot slimmer than the smith he was just as tall, and could look imposing too. Imposing in a different way. Where the smith's power lay in fear, in scaring the kids of the village with his temper and volume, and occasional cuffs of the hand to your ear, my father had a sort of presence about him when he wanted. When he had been telling me about not playing with myself in the house earlier he had shown some of it, but now when he had been so insulted by the smith that his temper was nearly at and end, he exuded a kind of power of his own, one I couldn't fathom. But it was wholesome and good, and better still it was on my side.

"Aidan has been taught my me, by his brothers, at school and at church not to tell lies. I believe him. That is enough for you, for what he says is the truth. He has nothing to gain from lying except a punishment from me if I discover it. You have outstayed your welcome in this house, elder or no elder, and we wish you to leave."

The man stared at him in anger, but knew that he was away from his own territory and must do as he was asked. I could not meet his eyes. I didn't know what he would do or say the next time I saw him, yet see him I must. He would expect to go to the Grove with me at some point to look at the fruits of my labours.

He left. I breathed a sigh of relief. Dad looked at me strangely.

"What has he done to you?"

"Nothing."

"Well, don't let him. I'm not happy about you seeing him, but I suppose you have to so as to carry on with what's been started. Just spend as little time with him as you can. All right? And if you go near his forge it might be as well if you weren't alone. Why not spend a bit more time with that Ben? He seems a nice lad who won't get into mischief."

"Yes dad. I like him."

"Good. That's settled, then. And he's welcome here any time he wants, if he's going to help you keep out of that man's clutches."

"Thanks, dad."

Was the spirit working for us?


Chapter 6

 

I was so tired again that night that I went straight up to bed when told and straight to sleep. Well, almost. Just before I finally nodded off I felt a faint voice in my head: Aidan, it's me. Goodnight. Remember, I'm with you.

And I knew it was Ben. And with all my strength I thought in my mind how I wished he was part of our family so he could be here with me instead of my brother, and that dad had said he could come any time. And I heard an answering contentment -- no words, just the emotion -- and then I said goodnight with a mental kiss. I wondered how he would get that, but as he wasn't there and the whole thing now seemed so unreal I didn't care. Being nearly asleep had a lot to do with it as well.

So it wasn't until the next morning that the world seemed to crash about me again. My waking thoughts were something like:

it's Monday

that means school

I haven't seen anyone since last Friday, except Ben

but they've seen me, all of them

naked

for a long time

in public

I panicked, and the gorge rose in me so I wondered if I was going to be sick. I thought about telling dad I wasn't well and couldn't go in, but knew he'd never stand for that unless I'd actually been sick. And doing that would mean the doctor, the man who had said I was old enough to spill my seed, which meant being naked in front of my school friends and their parents...... And it'd only be putting it off, anyway. I couldn't plead sickness from now on in.

My occasional shivers at breakfast time seemed to go unnoticed by the rest of the family. But I wasn't eating much, and the nearer it came to leaving time the more shaky I got. After my brothers had either left for work or had gone upstairs again at last my father noticed.

"What's the matter? You look awful."

I nearly gave way to the tears that were welling up inside me, but narrowly managed not to. But I couldn't trust my voice, so just shook my head. He paused.

"It's school after last Friday, isn't it?" I nodded.

"I know it's difficult, but...." He seemed to be searching round for something to say. But there was a knock at the door which saved him.

Ben.

Ben come to keep me company, to keep me from the stares and comments I was so scared of. Ben who loved me. Ben who was saying in my head: Don't worry. Your body's fine. No one will laugh at it. And if they do, it'll prove they're no friends of ours.

"Hallo, Mr McKee," said his voice at the door. "It occurred to me that we could use some moral support from each other this morning."

"You're a good boy, Ben," said my father. "I'm glad Aidan's got a friend like you. Thank you for coming. And yes, he's a bit anxious about it."

A bit anxious! How would he feel......? Ben came through to me, in my head. I'm in this too, you know. And he's right, I need your help as much as you probably need mine. In fact I know you do, 'cos you never answered my good morning call.

Despite myself I smiled as he came through the door, and had to stop myself from rushing to hug him, my natural inclination.

"Hallo, Ben," was all I said, feeling less choky than before he had knocked.

"Hallo Aidan. Ready?"

"No. But I suppose we'd better go."

"Good luck," said my father as he hurried from the room. I looked at my saviour.

"Luck!" I said bitterly. "He thinks we need luck."

"Well, perhaps we need a bit more than that. Perhaps we need the spirit to help us."

I hadn't thought of that.

As we neared the school my mood of anxiety increased again, almost to sickness point again. If Ben hadn't been there I'm sure I'd have turned tail and fled, back home, back to the Grove, back even to the smith. But Ben was with me, and although we were silent, even mentally, I knew he was as apprehensive as me.

The first of our school friends we met was Alice. She smiled nicely at us and walked on without a word. Nothing unusual there, she wasn't the most talkative of people. But then there were a knot of them. Boys my own age. Boys in my class.

Help, someone, please!

"Hi Aidan, Hi Ben! Enjoy Friday?"

"No." Thankful it wasn't anything worse.

"Yours isn't as long as my brother's."

His brother was sixteen.

"Bet it's longer than yours, squirt!" This was Ben. There was laughter, but it was directed at the other boy, not me.

"Didn't you feel cold?"

"That was the last thing on my mind at the time!" I said. "If you knew what it was like to have to step out of that door in front of the whole village.... well, it was awful, that's all."

"Glad it wasn't me," said someone else.

There was silence at this. I think it was going through their minds what would they have done in the same circumstances. Gradually conversation returned, and I faded into obscurity again -- at least with that particular group of people. I felt a bit let down, in a way. Nothing had been said; none of the taunts, none of the laughter I'd been dreading.

And then I felt a touch on my shoulder. Jane. Jane the school bike. Jane who was after anything in trousers, who'd been tossed in the hay by half the school's older boys (so they said). Jane who was permanently in disgrace. Jane.

"You look really gooood with nothing on. Really." And she'd said `good' as if it actually did have four o's. "I'd love it if you'd come to my house and show me closer."

She wasn't known for beating about the bush.

"Er....er....." I could feel myself blushing furiously. This was both worse and better than being laughed at. I gulped. "Er....well....it's not something I do normally," I said, not wanting to pass up the chance of doing something really grown-up and really naughty: breaking new ground, so to speak. But Jane.....no.....surely not? Was she going to be the only one who'd offer? And would I have the nerve to do it anyway? How could I just take everything off and stand, on my own, in front of her? Or did she want something more?

And the thought of that undefined something, on top of not wanting to take everything off in front of her, no matter how much I could brag about it afterwards, mingled with the fact it was Jane, and decided me. All this sped through my mind at the speed of thought -- hardly surprisingly -- and ended up with my poor confused body contracting into me in my embarrassment.

"No. No thanks. I'll not be doing that," I said.

"Pity," she said. "It'd be no big deal, really, after what you did on Friday. After all, there's only one of me, and I'd really have liked to see you close, and have you to myself."

I have no idea what to say. It's just as well she swept away, possibly aware she'd gone too far. But then, if all that I'd heard about was true, she wouldn't know where `too far' was.

Ben had been talking to someone else, and only just then rejoined me. "What did she want?" he asked.

I wondered whether to tell him, and was about to when I remembered how good he's been to me all through the weekend and what we had shared. And all my feelings just went out to him. I knew if he'd asked me I'd have thrown off all my clothes in front of him, for him to inspect me, and I'd have enjoyed it.

"Jane wanted me to strip in front of her, so she could look at me closely." I said flatly.

The expected laughter and whoop never came. I didn't know whether to look at him to see if he was holding his sides or just to walk on. I walked on.

"When d'you go?" asked a tight, thin voice beside me that I only just recognised as Ben's.

This time I did look at him. "I don't. I'm not going. Surely you don't think I'd do that for Jane?"

A pause. "Who would you do it for?"

I stopped and looked at him properly, wondering what was going through his mind. Which of the girls would I do it for, anyway?

"I don't know of any of them. The only person I'd be happy doing it for is you." The words just came out. I knew what I meant by them; that I could think of nobody I'd be happy stripping in front of except him on the grounds that over the weekend I'd done so, many times. But as I heard myself say it I realised what it might mean to someone who didn't understand. But before I had a chance to stammer out an amendment he spoke. Softly.

"Please let it be only me." And an arm came briefly round my shoulders, and then the next wave of our school friends caught up with us and he hurriedly tore himself away. At the time it meant little, because I was caught up in chat. But later I thought more and more of it.

And of him.

There were one or two snide remarks made, but all in all people either ignored what had happened or sympathised. Some, though, seemed to have radically altered their attitude toward me. To some of those who used to ignore me I'd become a person of courage, someone to welcome into different, more exalted circles in the school. Others who I'd not really liked before just openly sneered at me, and it was only because of the support of those with better attitudes that I stopped myself feeling put down. Break time found me encircled by a complete mixture of attitudes, including more of both sexes who told me to take everything off then and there, in the middle of the school playground, to prove I could do it. But Ben was there, and in his quiet, good-natured way, told them to remind me how it was done, by doing it first themselves; then telling them not to be stupid. In fact he told one sneering, bullying sixteen year old that I'd probably do it if he did first, if only to demonstrate that I was better equipped than him.

Gradually they all faded away, and we were alone again.

"Thanks."

"You all right?"

"Yeah. Dunno if I could have got rid of them on my own, though."

"Just tell them to do it first if anyone else asks you."

"Does that include Jane?"

A short pause. I looked at him, at his expressionless face, surprised he was actually using his voice to me. I spoke back, since he was.

"Depends if you want to, I s'pose."

And he walked off. I wondered what he meant. He'd sounded hurt.

"Ben?" I asked tentatively. "Ben? What d'you mean?"

"If you want to strip in front of Jane then it's your business. Just don't come to me when it all goes wrong, that's all."

What was he talking about?

"What d'you mean, if I want to strip in front of Jane? You know what she's like." Well, at least he'd stopped walking off.

"I thought that's what you wanted."

"Don't be bloody silly. She just asked me to, this morning. I told her I didn't want to -- you know that."

"Thought you might have changed your mind."

I just looked at him. We walked to my home together.

The next day had settled down to be normal again. No one mentioned it; teasing went on as usual, and it was only brought up as a sort of side joke. You know -- two boys bragged about how long theirs were and mine was suddenly the yardstick. Though when I say yard -- well, I was sure no one's was that long. The incident was one of those which were so excessively out of the ordinary that, with nothing tangible to show for them, they slipped out of the villagers' short term memory like a dream. Only later do people recollect them, by which time they are well on the way to being folk tales.

Even my father said nothing. My brothers were all supportive towards me, something I found oddly disquieting after having been all but ignored -- in a nice way -- for so many years. Sean was suddenly much nicer to me, and a lot less careless about getting undressed with me around. It wasn't a big deal or anything, he's my brother; it's nice to feel that we, the closest in years, were a bit closer in trust as well.

Every night, before I lay down to sleep, either Ben called to me -- he knew the time I was always sent to bed -- or I called out to him if he'd lost track of it. Few distinct words passed. It was just the knowledge that we were each saying good night to the other.

But on the Friday night I woke up. It was pitch black. I was sweating, although the night wasn't hot. And then I.....what: heard? felt?....his mind, screaming at me. I came fully awake quickly; at my side Sean slept on like a baby. I shouted out to Ben in my mind, over and over again until at last, to my immense relief, I felt he had `heard' me.

What's the matter, Ben? For God's sake tell me what I can do!

A pause. I began to think he'd not heard me and was just getting my strength up to `shout' again.

Oh.....ugh.....it's all right, Aidan. It was just a nightmare.

Are you sure? It felt dreadful here.

You really felt what I was dreaming?

Not exactly. I knew you were in some sort of trouble though.

And you woke me from it. Thank you...thank you, my....friend.

It was the first time he'd actually called me a friend, although he'd been one for ages. Yes, he'd said that he loved me, but somehow friendship was more easily understood, more earthy, more... I'm trying not to use the word `normal'. Somehow it felt like another piece of the jigsaw puzzle of life's events had been found and laid in place.

Are you feeling better now?

Yes...yes. With you there, talking to me and wanting to help, I'm fine.

What was it about?

I can't tell you like this. It's too difficult. Funny, for me it was as easy as talking face to face now I'd got used to it. Perhaps it was because I was the `chosen one'. I'll have to tell you when I see you next.

Ok, I answered cheerfully. Where shall we meet?

I'll come to your place.

All right. I'll see you in ten minutes.

A pause, then: I didn't mean tonight!

Why not? It'd be better now.

Why?

Because it's now you've just had the nightmare.

Another pause. All right. I just hope I don't get found out.

Something came into my mind from `outside' both of us.

You won't.

I stopped shouting at him, and as softly as I could I got out of bed. Sean stirred with the movement of the mattress, but never woke. I took a few clothes, then tiptoed naked downstairs. In the dimness of the strangely comforting familiarity of our front room I put them on.

The door was awkward. In the normal run of things the fact that it stuck and made a noise never mattered. In fact it was a cheerful announcement that a member of the family was coming in (or going out!). But trying to silence it now took ages, and its muted protest, I was sure, would wake the house. But at last I was outside, and waiting in the shadows for Ben. After a bit he `shouted' in my head as if we were still in our respective homes.

Where are you?

Shhh! Everyone will hear you!

A pause. Then a more normal `voice' in my head.

Don't be damn silly. I'm not talking to you!

If my thoughts couldn't be heard, then the laugh I gave at this strangest of exchanges certainly could.

Shhh. You laughed out loud.

I couldn't help it. Where are you?

Just coming round the corner to your front door..... "Ah, there you are." The last was in a whisper, but I was no longer listening to him with either mind or ears. I was just gaping, stupidly.

He was naked. True, he was carrying his clothes in a bag, but I had expected him to be wearing them.

Aidan? What's the matter? You seen me like this before.

"I know," I whispered back, confused about which method of communication we were using at the moment. "But I'm not, and I just wasn't expecting you to be..... oh well." And I started taking off my own few clothes.

Can we put them in your bag?

Yes, of course.

We've got to go through the village like this, you know.

I know.

For the first time since his silent screaming had woken me it occurred to me that we were going to the Grove.

We're going to the Grove, aren't we?

Yes. I could hear the surprise in his voice. Isn't that obvious?

It is now, but I never thought about it until then.

But that's what came into my mind as soon as you told me to meet you here.

Not to me. But then....oh well, I suppose we should. It's a week ago, after all.

We were now well away from the house, and near no others.

"I suppose it was," he whispered back.

Together we crept, naked, but holding the bag with our clothes as insurance, through the sleeping village. I had no idea of the time -- neither had he -- but there was nobody around, no one awake, no lights on. Even the baker's shop was in darkness, and he was the first to start work in the morning long before anyone else even thought about waking. The wood, when we got to it, was dark and quiet, but no longer held any terrors for us, who had been there so frequently the previous weekend. We left our clothes by a recognisable tree and again, unconsciously hand in hand, we entered the wood's dark embrace. The Grove we found because, for the first time, the shimmer of its spirit light was visible to us through the entrance tunnel.

Once in the Glade we became warm again, and knew we were welcome. Our special area, which I was starting to think of as our bed, was open to us, and we cast around for a sign of anything growing.

Nothing.

We looked at each other, a bit dismayed. Surely something would be showing by now.

Perhaps they grow like trees, I heard in my head.

But they'll be still young when we're old men!

Not if they're like pines.

THEY WILL BE AS BOYS.

We started, then settled back, reassured. We knew what this was.

How do we care for them? I asked

YOU WILL BE SHOWN. FOR NOW IT IS ENOUGH THAT YOU ARE HERE, AND THAT YOU CARE FOR THEM AND FOR EACH OTHER.

When will we be shown? I asked.

No reply.

Had we been in school I'm sure I'd have come back with some comment about not having received an answer to a genuine question. But this was not the time to be smart. Instinct told me that. But instinct prompted me to ask a different question.

Please, do they need love? And how do we give it to them?

A pause, then the Voice came back, so gently I could almost feel it caress me.

THAT WAS NOT EXPECTED. THAT YOU ASKED THE QUESTION SHOWS THE DIFFERENCE BETWEEN HUMANS AND OTHER LIVING, GROWING THINGS.

Another pause. We waited.

FOR NOW, IT IS ENOUGH TO SHOW YOUR LOVE FOR EACH OTHER. THAT LOVE SPIRIT WILL NURTURE THEIR GROWTH.

And that was all. We looked at each other, aware of a strengthening of the warmth, the companionship between us, if it were possible to strengthen it. Almost shyly, I thought, he put out his hand to touch my face. Why shyly, after all we had been through, after knowing the feeling there was between us? Was it just that it was all so out of the usual that each of us was still worried that the other one might suddenly resist an approach? His hand found my cheek, and gently stroked it. My eyes sought his and held them. They stayed locked until his stroking moved too far away from my face for him to be able to watch me, and it was then that I moved closer to him and cradled that most delicate part of him in the same way as he was fondling me.

It was inevitable that his body, the sensation of feeling it, was as much a part of my feeling for him as the closeness of our minds and the respect and the friendship and the will to protect. It was no longer anything to do with the Spirit, but everything to do with the spirit of attraction between us. What was to start with just a smooth, muscular nearly adult body, with the previously forbidden parts that were so intriguing particularly in what pleasure they could give, was now electric, exciting, and, even better, mine to do with as I wished. But that gift was not one that I wanted to exploit selfishly, because that way would lie betrayal and rejection. To explore, enjoy and to give pleasure was all I wanted.

And all he wanted for me, too. That much I knew, for although we were silent with our mouths and had no intention of using this thought transference (if that's what it was), his openness, his care, his love, all flooded into my mind. I knew that there were no other thoughts, no hidden agenda in his desires. I knew his mind absolutely, and he knew mine absolutely: there were no secrets at all possible between us.

When at last -- and it was no short lapse of time -- we had once again shown our absolute love for each other and our bodies had recovered, we were sitting on the soft grass by the area to which we had a week ago given our seed. And there seemed to be a sigh, but it didn't come from us.

Then from our new angle of vision we each noticed something simultaneously.

Where we had each given of ourselves, seven days previously, there were eight low hummocks, so low that, when we had been standing we could not have noticed them at all. Yet there they were. And all of a sudden their significance was obvious to both of us. A feeling of wild pride, of elation, of wonder swept over me, and tears came to my eyes as my brain tried to accept that it was more than the love between Ben and myself that was real.

It seemed that we had, in reality, sired a family.

And the feelings in Ben's mind were similar to mine: no words passed, but I knew, of course. Wordlessly we rose, knowing inside ourselves that it was time to leave. And as we did so something made us bow towards the site of the tiny mounds, to grasp hands again, and to walk from the Grove with heads held high in pride. As if we were floating on air we passed unheedingly through the wood, and it was only the chill of the lightening morning air past its borders that brought us down to earth.

"How long can we have been there?" were the first words past my lips for what seemed hours. Somehow it seemed wrong to start talking about what we had seen last, as if talking about it would lessen its wonder.

"I don't know, but it was the middle of the night when I woke."

"It's near dawn now."

"I know. And I've never told you what it was woke me."

Nor he had. That was the reason we were both here. Well, it wasn't really, but it was the cause.

His dream had him once again naked, with me, but there were fewer people on their way to the Grove this time. Just the smith, fewer of the elders, and we two. Oh, and seven small, naked boys. Once there, everything had started to go wrong; things got vague in his mind, but he knew that there was danger, mortal danger, to all of us and to all the Village. But try as he might in his dream he could do nothing but shout silently in his mind, louder and louder...

Until I had woken up and heard him.

He shivered. So did I. But mine was a practical shivering, not one born of distaste for a nightmare. And then I realised that we had nearly reached the outskirts of the Village, that at least the baker must be up and doing, and that we were still naked. We had forgotten our clothes.

When at last we reached my house -- clothed by now -- we didn't want to part. Outside, we just stayed, looking at each other, communicating about anything that came into our heads, but silently, in our special way. He kept saying to me: I want to come in and be with you.

I know, I kept answering. I want you to be there too, but I share with my brother.

And that would stop him, until in his exhausted state he would ask again, forgetting. At last I sent him stumbling home with the promise that when I'd slept enough I'd call at his home. As he left me I felt wretched, although we could still `talk', but his `speech' grew rapidly weaker with the distance. I stumbled upstairs and fell into bed, uncaring for a change of his progress, just knowing that I had to switch my brain off for a while.

A few hours later, my brother got up and left me sleeping. I didn't go down to breakfast, and Dad said that if I couldn't be bothered to appear he couldn't be bothered to wake me. Apparently Sean came up later and I was still dead to the world. He assumed I was ill, and left me. Dad came up to investigate his comments and shook me awake. I was very groggy. It was nearly half past eight.

"Are you all right, Aidan?"

"Nah...tired."

"You should get up if you're not ill."

"Nah...too tired."

"Why? You're not usually like this."

"Ahhhh.....Dad.....leave me alone, please."

I think it was the `please' that persuaded him that I might be contracting flu or something, and he left me alone after that. The next thing I knew it was eleven in the morning. I felt awful, and really ashamed of myself for sleeping so late and missing so much time. The feeling of `awful' resolved itself in my mind as a persistent call from Ben, who was anxious that I wasn't reacting. It seemed that, with practice, this `calling' business over distance was getting a bit easier. But not when we were both exhausted. He sounded fine, awake, anxious. I was still confused, groggy, turgid. But I managed to say `hi' and tell him I'd just woken.

By the time I'd dragged myself through a wash and snatched a bowl of cereal he was there. There was no one else around. We were about to go to the shops or somewhere, or even help in our fields with whatever needed doing, when there was a knock at the door. And before I could open it, the smith entered noisily, uninvited, and was surprised when he saw we two together.

"Aha. The two chosen ones I see. And both together, too. Very pally."

He is not genuine, I heard. He is using his voice. If he was real he'd be able to understand us.

Ok, ok. We'd been told not to trust him.

Armoured by our shared knowledge and the fact that I'd outwitted him once, I asked him how we could help him.

"I suppose you've been up to the Grove and have checked on progress there, have you? And how many babies are growing there, can you tell me?"

I thought fast. "But surely. You as the chosen one must know the answer to that better than we do."

"How do you know if you've not been there?"

"But we have. We can see nothing, but you with your experience must be able to."

I hoped my face was as guileless as my voice.

"So you've been there, have you? When?"

"Earlier this morning."

"I didn't see you."

"We took good care not to let anyone know we were around. I mean, it's a bit more personal for me, isn't it...sir, and I didn't want anyone apart from Ben there, and he was only for moral support."

Sorry, Ben. You know I don't mean that.

"Hmmm. Well, let me know when you see something."

He was about to march out again.

"And will you do the same...sir, please?"

He glared at me and left.

The more I see him, the more I hate him, said Ben.

I never have liked him. He once used to look at me...in...well...some way. And it made my flesh crawl.

I never meant to think it out loud, but the memory just came to me of how he had made me take him in to me, before I took in the other boys on that fateful Friday. Ben's dislike of the man had communicated itself to me, strengthening my own dislike, and my mind rebelled at what I had had to do. Ben looked at me in horror.

He made you do that?

I nodded.

Oh...come here.....you poor, poor boy....

And I was still in his arms, my tears dried by that time, when my father and brothers appeared on the doorstep ready for lunch. They never saw us, though.


Chapter 7

 

I must be getting older, I thought. Our schoolteachers had organised a rare trip to the Mainland for those of us who were old enough. It was put forward as a Remote Study trip, whatever that means, but to us it was a chance of a lifetime to see what really happened in the rest of the country. After all, many of us, including myself, had never been off the Island in our lives -- indeed, some had never even been more than a few miles from the Village. In school they had had to teach us about how people live their lives in the big cities; how people treated each other so badly there, how they stole from each other, sometimes fought and maimed and killed each other. And how it was all probably due to the fact that people had to travel long distances to get to natural surroundings and peace; the sort of thing we took for granted.

At least, that's what we were told. I only half believed it. I mean, what would be the point of actually killing someone who was one of your own Village? And as to natural surroundings, well....they were a bit too natural for me at times. I wouldn't mind living in a place which was more exciting, when you could keep dry, and where you didn't always come in during winter with your boots heavy with mud. No, it sounded exiting to me, and I was really beside myself when I was told that our class and the two above us would be going. The government had agreed to pay the bulk of the cost in the interests of education -- a necessity in view of the Island's current poverty.

I broke our -- Ben's and my -- agreement that we wouldn't `shout' to each other in school. When we had done so at the beginning it had caused all sorts of problems because we couldn't `talk' to each other and listen to the teachers at the same time.

We're all going on a Remote Study trip!

Shhh! I've got to concentrate.

But we're going to the mainland! Are your class going? Are you coming too?

Shhh.....oh....

And that was all. He told me afterwards I'd interrupted as the teacher was actually talking to him, and he made a complete mess of the answer. It had happened before. Hence the agreement.

But later in the day we were all writing essays, and suddenly there he was, in my mind.

Aidan....we're going too! All the way for two weeks! Yeahhhh......!

I was so happy I could have hugged him then and there. In fact I did later, but not until we were well out of school and out of sight. Why did I always feel so safe, so secure and happy when our arms went around each other?

And yes, of course we had kept checking on our children. Every week, in fact, and sometimes during the week as well, although we never stayed long there then. It was too difficult to get up for school if we did. And the progress? Well, the mounds seemed to be getting more pronounced, but we weren't sure because it was always a bit dark despite the spirit light that kept us company while we were there. We looked keenly for any sign of anything else, like sprouting foliage or something, but there was nothing. We were more or less satisfied with the answers we had been given about our `offspring' and asked no more. And no other signs had appeared to us; we had not seen the stags again.

But we knew that there, of all places, we could be alone with each other, and our love seemed strongest there, and all the week's unspoken experiences were shared there. I was always worried that Ben might start treating the whole thing as a game, and go cold on me, but he caught the drift of my mind and was really quite indignant, upset that I could even think of such a thing. So I was reassured, and apologetic, and loved him the more. And we showed our love to each other, yet again, with the special parts of our bodies, and our mouths, and everywhere else that we wanted.

We never, ever tired of each other.

The week before the trip we discussed how best to reassure the Spirits that we had not abandoned our children. Funny, isn't it, how even then, as a thirteen year old and a fifteen year old, that we quite happily called them that, and accepted that they would be just that. We went up to the Grove in the dead of night, as usual, stripped happily at the end of the wood and dropped our clothes, and were talking quietly -- using voices -- as we walked onwards, hand in hand as usual. So engrossed were we that had anyone been following us we would have been unaware of them.

That fact became obvious later.

We were just ducking down to enter the tunnel when we checked: There was no light from the Grove at all. This worried us as we had never wanted for light there or within ever before. But then there came a whistle, the sort that young men make after young women. We froze.

Who is it?

Don't know. Have they seen us?

Don't know. Keep still.

But they had. The beams of two torches shone at us, showing off our nakedness to the intruders.

As they came up to us, and I cursed myself for not being more wary, we could hear by the comments about us that it was the blacksmith and Steve. I felt sick. Steve was the one who was making the comments about our bodies and our holding hands. Hastily we parted. What did they want?

"A nice night for a romantic walk, boys?" continued the lout. The smith said nothing. I felt I could happily hit him.

"We'll follow you into the Grove, lads," said the smith. "Go on. We'll be just behind you."

"We weren't going in," Ben said, as positively as he could, naked and facing two clothed people.

"You were. And even if you weren't, you are now."

"You'll have to make us." Where I got the courage to say that, I don't know. But I wished I hadn't when Steve's arms reached out to Ben and held them in a full nelson up behind his back. Ben shouted, although his mind said that it was more in shock than pain. Although it was hurting.

But it was when Steve's free hand felt down Ben's back, over his bottom and made to go underneath that I suddenly shouted out. "All right, all right...we'll go in. Just leave him alone...NOW!"

I'm sure the last word wasn't in my voice. But I couldn't bear the thought of someone else tainting my friend by touching him there. It would somehow spoil....well: it wasn't logical to me, either.

The tone of my voice stilled him, and almost as if he was fighting against his own muscles he let Ben go. Rather than face him again, Ben ducked and vanished under the tunnel, something that surprised me since I thought he'd have waited to make sure I was all right. But I needn't have worried.

Come after me, Aidan. HE's waiting for us and is going to sort them out.

Who?

Need you ask?

Oh.

To bend down and duck under the branches that formed the tunnel, naked, with two people behind me who I hated for their attitude, and who I thought had unhealthy designs on me, was almost more difficult than stepping out of the Village Hall naked to face the Villagers. Someone staring at your naked bum like that when you can't weave out of the way, or even stand upright to hide its innermost secrets makes you feel totally exposed. But I made myself do it. I went through that tunnel quicker than I ever had before. Ben was some way ahead of me, and was standing waiting as I straightened up beside him.

Now what happens? They're going to see... oh!

The two stags were standing opposite us, hidden from the tunnel exit as we were. If young male deer can look fierce and uncompromising, that's what they were. I was awed. I just hoped the two who were following us would be too. As in slow motion I heard the smith's approach, and as he entered the clearing he tripped and fell heavily. Steve was immediately behind him and couldn't stop in time, and tripped over the man's feet to land on top of him.

Although the fall was heavy, it wasn't likely to have injured either of them. The ground was soft. But there they stayed, completely immobile. There was something odd....yes -- One of Steve's legs was still in the air. It hadn't fallen naturally as it would had he completed the fall. Realisation started to dawn and I looked at the two stags with a grin starting on my face. As my face cleared, the light we had welcomed on all our other visits swelled out, and at last we could see the Grove properly, and the two stags.

THEY WILL RECOVER. THEY WILL NOT BOTHER YOU. THEY WILL NOT REMEMBER WHY THEY CAME HERE.

I don't know why I used my voice. I knew whatever it was could understand my every thought, probably better than Ben.

"Thank you for doing that."

THEY ARE NO LONGER WANTED HERE. THEY ARE UNTRUSTWORTHY.

"They are not nice people." This was Ben.

THEY WILL NOT TROUBLE YOU WHEN YOU ARE HERE.

A pause. I was digesting what was meant, and realising the power behind the words. I thought I would leave that there.

"We are being sent away for two weeks and will not be able to visit our...er...them."

IT IS KNOWN. IT IS FOR YOUR BENEFIT IN YOUR FUTURE. AND NECESSARY FOR THE BENEFIT OF YOUR CHILDREN. AND YES, IT IS GOOD THAT YOU REGARD THEM THUS.

"Oh...er....good."

THEY WILL BE LOOKED AFTER. THEY WILL WANT FOR NOTHING. BUT GIVE YOUR LOVE TO THEM NOW. AND AS SOON AS YOU RETURN FROM YOUR ABSENCE, VISIT THEM AGAIN AND DO THE SAME.

What did he mean? Why were the stags disappearing? Why was I once again alone with Ben? Dear Ben...my friend through everything, whom I loved....loved....Is that what he meant? But the smith and Steve were there. I took Ben over the centre of the Grove and as soon as the seven saplings hid us the knowledge of the two intruders vanished from my mind.

And there, by the rounding hummocks that had something to do with our children, we lay again. And became close, and showed each other our love and trust yet again. And this time we must have been so aware of each other's likes and needs that hands darted everywhere, on thighs, on stomachs, on faces, on the little nipples that are so sensitive and which seemed to have grown on each of us along with our penises.....and on the delicate testicles in their sac of skin, and on the wonderful smooth thing that is the penis.

Deeper than ever, this time, was the welling for our seed, and so intense the feeling of pleasure and love and release that I think we both passed out for a time. Certainly I remember waking, and remembering that we had to get back, that there were two others who, despite the Spirit, might waken at any time. Reluctantly I roused Ben, who was still lying by my side, all but touching, with his beautiful, peaceful, young, sleeping expression. The eyes opened languidly, and I was rewarded by his delightful, guileless smile; the expression that says above all else: `Ah good, it's you. I hoped it would be because I love you'.

My heart was full as we once again paid our respect to our sleeping, unborn family and crossed the Grove, stepped over the still-recumbent forms of our unwelcome visitors, and left. We were quieter, more aware, on the way out, wondering if they would be allowed to wake and pursue us before we reached safety. But there were no signs of anything. We donned our clothes, despite it being still the dead of night, and he saw me home. I vowed to myself that I would see him home one day, but tonight I was just too tired.

Fortunately my brother kicked me in the morning.

Fortunately, because I had to get up to join the Island's only coach which was to take the three classes to the tiny settlement on the coast which we laughingly called the international seaport. All that was there was a quay, some houses and a pub, but a sense of humour is a wondrous thing. Ben was on the coach first, and despite jeers about having kids as friends had kept the seat next to him free for me. I could `hear' him calling anxiously as I struggled up to the old vehicle with the family's only suitcase filled with all that my father, brothers and I thought I'd need for a fortnight away. I sank thankfully into the space beside him.

Are you all right?

Couldn't get up. Tired.

We should have arranged it so you slept at mine last night. I'm nearer the school.

Yeah. But we didn't.

Dunno why I didn't think of it. I've got a bed to myself, after all.

I couldn't help thinking about sharing his room, maybe even his bed.....that would have been nearly as good as lying with him in the magic of the Grove. Beneath my regulation school shorts (yes still, at thirteen), I could feel my body reacting, and unbidden I looked down at his long trousers, to where the usual interesting swelling was now a very obvious bulge. I didn't dare do what I wanted -- people might be watching. I could feel confusion coming through to me. But then something occurred to me.

Where are we sleeping?

Eh....on the boat at this rate. I `m so tired I could sleep anywhere.

No, I mean when we're in the City.

Hostel, I think. Or on a floor.

Oh. Damn. I wondered if we'd be in a hotel, so I could share with him. But he'd `heard' me. The head swivelled, and the look he gave me....

I wish we could, too. More than you know. But we'll be together.

I do know, because it's what I want to, too. And yes, we will.

"I thought you two were meant to be friends?"

I jolted into the world. The world of audible speech and classmates.

"What?"

"You two. You've not said a thing to each other since you sat down. You argued?"

"No....." I searched round for something suitably crushing to say to the form's busybody. "We just don't rabbit as much as you, that's all. Listen to it! You can't hear yourself think above this, let alone have a chat."

The excitement had produced all the noise. Nobody else was as tired as we two, but we had the best of reasons.

"Anyway," Ben's deeper voice chimed in, "we're saving conversation for the things that really matter."

"Oooh," she said. "Listen to him! And what might that be?"

"When's the next food arriving?" he joked. She laughed and walked away.

We'd better be careful, he said.

The journey was uneventful as journeys go, except that to us it was an event in itself being the first time we'd travelled overseas. Well....made the 90 minute crossing to the mainland, anyway. There at the vast port, so different from the quay we had embarked from, were cranes and buildings and noise, all on such a vast scale -- to us -- that even the noisiest of us was silenced. It wasn't fear. Not really. It was just....overwhelming. And you couldn't stop it. It was the noise which got to me most. That and the fact that none of the workers or onlookers paid any notice to us at all, nor returned our smiles or normal greetings. In fact some looked at us as if we were mad. We were ushered to an incredibly smart looking coach whose driver took our cases and stowed them for us. And we set off to the City.

Some found their voices, and shouts of amazement and astonishment and near-disbelief rang round the coach. We moved so fast that it was impossible to take it all in. I wished we could have stopped every few yards to take in the sights and to get used to buildings so high and so big.

Even mentally Ben and I were silent. But occasionally one of us would draw the other's attention to something.

We stopped outside a vast, old building with a sign that said `University Entrance'. And then I knew I was becoming a man. Me...at University!

Only for two weeks, Ben debunked me.

That's good enough.

"Right, children...." (That brought me back down to earth). "We take our cases inside. Because there are still some University students here we are having to double up on rooms. You will find in each room a bed, together with an extra mattress on the floor. Now, in your year groups, pair up, and you'll be given a room.

In our year groups! My heart skipped a beat. Somehow I had to share with him. We staggered into the foyer, and I stood slightly behind Ben as we had `thought' to each other. But of course I was spotted.

"I said `in your year groups, Aidan. Not two years above them."

"But Miss, we're friends. We want to share."

"You may want to, but I'm not going to run the risk --"

I wondered what on earth she was going to say.

" -- of the older ones keeping the young ones awake until late."

I bristled. If only she knew.

"It's all right, Miss. I go to sleep early anyway."

"No, Ben. I can't allow it. Go to the end of the line and don't be difficult."

"It's really all right miss. HE'LL BE BETTER OFF WITH ME."

I looked at him astonished. What....?

Ben?

I....I...don't know. Shhh, she's turning back. Oh damn. Now I'm for it.

"On second thoughts, Ben, you two are good friends. He'll be better off with you."

He looked at her, open mouthed. So did I. He recovered first.

"Thanks, Miss. I'll look after him."

I dodged behind him, confused, and ready for one of the biggest belly laughs of my life. Fortunately the confusion got to me first, and I made no noise.

How did you do that?

I didn't. He must have done, but used my voice.

Blimey.

My heart rose again, to singing proportions. We were to be together. To sleep. In the same room. Not in the same bed, but in the same room. To my horror I felt my body starting to react to the idea. Now, sitting down in class, with a desk in front of you, where the folds in your shorts ride up and disguise matters, to go stiff is just about Ok. But when you're standing up, your shorts are old and a bit too small for you, any increase in size shows immediately.

Quick. My suitcase. I reached down to grab for it so that at least I had an excuse to turn my back on the rest of them. I might even be able to hold it in front of me for long enough to hide it. As I bent down, so did Ben. He wanted his suitcase too. Was he suffering the same reaction? No, surely not at the thought of me. But as we each bent our heads coincided, hard, and like a comedy routine at the village hall we each staggered back, clutching our temples.

There was laughter all round, to my embarrassment. "Ben, I said he'd be better off with you. That's hardly a good start in impressing me accordingly, is it?" More laughter.

"Sorry, Miss," we said together.

All this had made my body behave itself again, but I took up station behind Ben, just in case.

At last she was happy we were all allocated, and gave us room numbers. We were on the third floor, in a corner of the building, as we found when we looked out of the window. Our house on the Island had two floors, and apart from climbing the trees on the Island I'd never been up so high. That was another novelty. We looked at the room, at the bed and the mattress, then at each other. He sighed.

I never thought we'd actually be alone together.

Nor did I, especially after that performance downstairs. I still don't know how you managed it.

I told you, it was nothing to do with me. Well, apart from using my voice.

Well. it was effective.

There was a pause.

"How are we going to do this?"

I think he realised that my change into normal voice was an indication that I was embarrassed.

Despite all that we'd gone through, the love we'd shown each other, the times we'd been naked in each other's arms and given each other the ultimate pleasure the human body can enjoy, I still realised that I was thirteen, in a hotel room, along with a boy of fifteen. It was all official, and for once I was the junior partner.

He looked at me, surprised, then his face softened. "You're not going off me, are you?"

"No....no. Don't be silly."

"Then what I hope will happen is that we'll go to bed in the bed. Together. Just as if we were lying by our children in the Grove."

And at that I knew I had to throw my arms round him. And like they do in the romantic books I'd read once or twice in the dentist's waiting room, we sank slowly onto the bed, looking deep into the mirrors of the soul that are the eyes.

But we had little time for rest, or anything else. There was a knock at the door. "Come on, Ben, er....."

"Aidan." I heard whispered.

"...and Aidan. We're all going down to this meal. You'll be late."

"Thanks, Ruaridh. I think we've more or less unpacked now."

Quick. Dump all your clothes in that cupboard. Go on -- doesn't matter how. You can sort it out later.

I did as he said, just upending my open suitcase on the bottom of the cupboard. He did the same. The cases went on the top of the wardrobe as we'd been told, and we rushed for the door and the meal.

Afterwards we were given a coach tour round the city. The wonder of the buildings wore off only a little, but at least now we were used to how strange everything was, and normal conversation returned. Except when a police car overtook us, siren blaring, and we thought we should all follow it in case we could help. It took our guide some time to persuade us that it was quite normal here, and no one batted an eyelid. By contrast, if anyone needed help in the Village, everyone was there immediately.

We were shown some of the places we'd be taken to over the next two weeks, and told how to make the best of our time. I was intrigued by the idea that some of the buildings housed nothing but books, and longed to lose myself in one of them. With Ben, of course.

At last we returned to the hotel and a short while after that we -- the youngest class -- were sent to bed. Ben told me he'd wait a few minutes until the rest of them were chatting, and then follow. It was only ten minutes later that the bedroom door opened and he stood there, looking at me as I lay on top of the bed covers.

I've been looking forward to this all day, he said. The fact that this time he hadn't used speech made his words and his presence that much more special, more of the Spirit, so that I started to feel the lift of my mood as I would as we entered the Grove. He came to sit by me on the bed, and still just looked at me.

"You know, this is the first time we've been indoors and on our own, ever."

I looked at him. It was true, but did it matter?

"Every other time, there's been someone else around, or someone expected back. We've never been totally free of other people."

"But here there are people all round us."

"But they're not in here, and nobody's going to come in, are they."

At last I could see what he meant. We were private. I smiled. "And we're going to be private every night for two weeks!"

He smiled back, and put his hand on my head. I reached out and tried to pull his shirt out from his trousers.

And that's how it started. First the shirt, then the shoes and socks, and then, as he lay back, content, I loosened the belt and, trembling, laid my hand on the top of his zip....

I'd never seen him in just underwear before apart from at the village hall that first time, and then I was in no state to notice anything. But now, he looked so....well....potent, dressed in nothing but a pair of bulging white briefs, that I almost wondered if this was the same boy. The muscles across his chest and stomach were very visible, made strong by the gym classes at school and holiday and weekend work on the farm. His thighs were long, and slim, seeming strong without being obscenely muscle clad, and the calves followed the same pattern: healthy, capable, shapely.

For as long as I wanted, he let me lie by his side, looking at him, at every part of him. From the face that I knew and loved, knowing so well the mind that had shaped it, the chest and stomach that undulated with the muscles underneath, the flat belly and the bulge below that I knew could give us each so much physical and mental pleasure, the legs, the feet that could run rings round me.....I looked at him, discovering the little things I'd missed, learning better the things I thought I knew.....

What did this young god see in me, a whispy, weak, boring thirteen year old?

Courage, sense, more courage, intelligence, a beautiful face, a beautiful nature and character, and a love for me that at the moment seems so strong I can hardly believe it.

Damn. Was I really `talking' so loudly?

Yes, you are, and I love you for it. I don't know what there is about me that makes you love me, but I'm glad of it, whatever it is.

I couldn't let him just talk to me without doing anything, so I twisted my body so that my arm could go over him and my face could approach his on a level. We kissed unashamedly, knowing that our love was real and this was the natural way of both showing and enjoying it. And after a time, when we had rolled on the narrow bed to explore all the positions possible to embrace each other, he started taking off my clothes too, and I lay there and let him. It felt foreign, wrong somehow, to be stripped of my clothing as if I were once again a tired small boy of seven. But love and common sense told me that it was also a matter of trusting him absolutely, that I had done it to him, and that we loved each other so he could do anything he wanted.

He, too, stopped when my pants were all I had left, and he, too, just looked at me. It felt so...what? I hesitate to use the word `foreign' again, but I can think of no other. `Unusual' or `out of the ordinary' are too weak. `Wrong', as a word, was itself wrong. Nothing that had happened felt wrong, although my upbringing was telling me it was against all that we had had drummed into us as kids, by families and by our church. It was so much the complete opposite of what living the years between eight and now had prepared me for that I shivered in apprehension. But how could anything that still felt so right, so fulfilling, after all the mental layers had been peeled away along with most of our clothes, be wrong? I was still worried about was to happen next, though it was obviously nothing like the same level of worry I had felt that day when I had to step naked out of the village hall....

Or was it delight that made me shiver? Delight that he actually wanted to look at me just as I had looked at him? As he scanned me, my body decided it was just that, and I stirred inside my scant clothing. Unlike his adult briefs, my loose pants were a bit like shorts with a slit in the front for relieving myself. They were things of childhood, about as attractive or as appealing as a wet weekend. But still he looked at me.

Eventually, of course, our last barriers were removed, his by me and mine by him, and we lay side by side, propped up on elbows, just looking. And I couldn't believe my fortune in finding someone who was such a friend in all the accepted ways, and was so wonderfully good looking too.

Our heavy sighs of contentment and continuing astonishment that all this was really happening were simultaneous, and we both laughed. "I am so lucky...." we each started, and then laughed again. Sounds corny, doesn't it? But that's what happened. And then our looks got more serious again, in a loving sort of way, and our hands started the ancient dance of pleasure on each other's bodies.

When it was almost too late, I realised that when a boy releases his seed, the results can go anywhere. We were on a bed where we would have to sleep not just tonight but for the fortnight, at the end of which someone would have to look at the sheets, remove them, and wash them.

And probably complain.

As the start of our friendship had required me to catch his seed in my mouth, I interrupted my actions -- much to his consternation -- to shift so I could do so again. That left him in a position to do the same, and if it was the first time he had done that then I was glad. In fact it was. He would now have some of my body in him, just as I had some of his.

The trouble was that I was ready first. I could feel the familiar sensations quickly building up inside me, and I couldn't even warn him before it happened. His mouth was eager, though, and gentle as he helped me to my release. His was mounting as mine had all but spent itself, and to continue for him took all the self-control I could muster. Not only did I have to make my body react to his physical movements, but I had to make my mind accept what my orgasm had suddenly made foreign to me to accept. You know how it is: nature says to a man `you've done your job, now rest, and to make sure you do it you won't be interested in anything to do with sex for the next few moments/minutes/hour.' But, with some distaste that I regretted, knowing the love we shared and realising he'd just done the same for me, I continued until he had his turn to reach the sudden peak of arousal. The wet warmth in my throat suddenly restored my desire for it all to happen, and my momentary lapse of interest was cured.

We slept well, and warmly, and together. And in the morning, waking up with each other was as natural to us as if we had been doing so all our lives. His smile to me was the welcome any day needed, the more so since we were on unfamiliar territory, and I know from his mind that my smile to him was as important. We moved closer and lay for what seemed a short time together, embracing, our bodies touching everywhere we could contrive. We could have stayed there all morning but for the pressure on us to relieve ourselves and a sudden knock on the door and the shout that we were to be late for breakfast. It was a night and a morning that were to be repeated each day of the two weeks we were away, and as the stay progressed we grew ever more despondent that there was no way we could continue to live together like this. On the Island the only times we could be together in that way would be at the Grove.

Days were full, and interesting. As he was older we were sometimes parted since his curriculum was different from mine. But generally we were inseparable, and one or two comments started to be made. We countered them by pointing to others who chose to go around together.

"Yes," said one commentator, "but they don't sleep together!"

My blood ran cold, and I thought I must have been going red. But Ben put him in his place.

"Were you involved in the Grove? Did you ever have to do what we had to do? No? Nor were any of the others. Those that did are in some ways set apart by having to do it. So we look out for each other. And because what we did was for the Village, we're looking out for you, too."

There were no further incidents.

Toward the end of our stay our group, the younger boys, were let loose on the City's reference library. I had some looking up to do for projects we had been set, but because it was all quite simple and we weren't allowed outside until later anyway, I decided to do some exploring on my own. I wondered if there was anything in the `Folklore' section about what had been happening to us, and to the Island. After the usual dead ends, all of which were non-committal to the extent of making me wonder if there was something the author wasn't saying, I found the name of a book in a bibliography. When I looked for it on the shelf there was no sign of it. Cursing my luck, I looked round to see could possibly be using it . There were very few people in the library anyway. The direct approach seemed the best solution, so I asked the librarian.

"It's in reserve stock," she said. "I'll have to get it for you."

When it came, it was large, dusty and daunting. I settled myself with it in a remote corner of the library and flicked through to see if I could find anything of interest, but it all seemed so wordy that I was about to give up. But I tried the index, and there was our Island mentioned. Eagerly I turned to the page.

`.....has a much gentler tradition. The spirit observed by the inhabiting peasants is purely that of the savage woods, so say the people, although after other legends we had heard it was scarce to be believed. But the rough blacksmith, the keeper of the so-called mystery, appeared to have an almost Christian honesty about him; there was little guile in him that was evident to our enquirers. He was abetted in his endeavours by a young boy, scarce fifteen, who treated him with some reverence, rather as if the artisan were actually the senior religious figure in the notion of the spirit world.

Their belief is similar to that which pertains elsewhere. At need, the spirits must have contact with homo sapiens, without whose presence they are prevented from offering young of themselves, in which case the villagers believe that the island will become sterile, be incapable of sustaining life, and they would be cast away from it. So strong is the belief that the blacksmith became quite agitated when the suggestion was made that the observation of Christianity would be the more effective way of ensuring the same end.

The contact that the sprit is held to demand from the peasants is similar to others that we found on nearby islands. The young boys of the village are examined to ensure that one is suitable, by being inviolate, and the product of a family extended to some seven or more siblings, and he is then required to make public of himself with others but only a few years his senior, as best as he can at so early an age, and to proceed with these others in a similar state to the appropriate place, and once there he is forced to inseminate the ground of himself and one other close companion whilst others watch and perform a like action nearby. Again, once this is completed the place is left, but in ensuing days and weeks he and his companion are made to return there to ensure that the insemination has been successful. We were told by the artisan that it always was, and that it was in no small measure the result of the selection process which requires the candidate to be intimately examined for some years before he is ready, to ensure that he is both physically capable and intactus.

Once the success of the operation is held to be assured, doubtless by the planting of suitable weeds by the blacksmith, the boy and his chosen companion are compelled to live together as `man' and `wife', despite their being of the same sex, and eventually a family of some six male babies is delivered to them, and it becomes their duty to succour them until they are ripe for disposal into the community. We were unable to discover what arrangements were made for the provision of the infants since an insistence was maintained that they grew from the ground which had been inseminated, presumably as a mandrake might be found. No one would furnish us with further details, and an almost surly countenance met our insistence that we be told in order to provide scientific information. Neither were we able to uncover further details, nor find any past `progeny', nor discover what the purpose of such progeny was held to be in detail, nor where the place was from whence they `sprang'; and although we hinted publicly that we were well used to histories of the subsequent violent disposal of such miraculous children in other such lawless locations, such suggestions were ignored by all the community.

The Island of Fechan, on the other hand......'

 

I stopped, fascinated and horrified by the suggestion that the children might be `disposed of' in some way, even on a different Island. How could anyone go to all that trouble, go through all that -- and yes, of course I recognised what I'd been made to go through in the old fashioned wordiness of the Victorian author. And how typical it seemed to me, as an Islander, that an outsider should refuse to believe what he'd been told. I thought for a bit about what the book hinted at, and then decided to read on.

`The Island of Fechan, on the other hand, the horrors of human sacrifice....'

This really became too much to me, and my mind rebelled.

Ben.....BEN!!!....For God's sake.....BEN!"

I must have been "shouting" loudly. The response was quick, but irritated; one of the few times I had heard him so.

Aidan...I can't concentrate on you now.....you are so distant, and we're in a lecture....what is it? You sound upset...

They're going to kill our babies.

What?

They're.... Look, you've got to come over here.

I can't..... Oh......it's no good.....

And abruptly, as if a door had closed, he had gone. I tried again, but could hear him no more. After some agonising I read on. And after a few dark hints, a description of the ceremony of seeding the ground similar to ours, the growth and `harvesting' of the babies and their early development with the inseminating couple, the book continued.

`.......and when the children are not yet five years, before they are fully aware of the proceedings that surround them, and before they are of an age when normal society regards them as full people in their own right, they are returned to the land from which, it is said by the village elders, they came. The circumstances of the ceremony are so appalling, even given that those who suffer it are not just prepubescent but, as has been indicated, not valid members of society, that anyone of a remotely delicate disposition is advised to read no further and to concentrate instead upon page 448.

`From the young man and the boy whose imposed duty it has been to nurture these apparently earth-born infants, the entire brood is taken. Naturally the two, in spite of their gender and youth, are concerned at the separation, and inevitably form a part of the procession as it moves from the village into the forest. At the start of the trees the order is given that the infants should be stripped of their clothing, something that causes but a little concern to them, being young and tender. But the two accompanying youths are also obliged to expose themselves, and if they refuse are physically restrained from following the procession further. Apparently the village elder also removes his clothing, but this appears unlikely in our estimation..

`Inevitably the youths comply, just as any natural father would in order to ensure the welfare of his family. They remove their entire clothing in public, to their undoubted humiliation, and follow their charges through the wood.

`At the so-called religious site altars have been set up. Each of the infants, unaware of what is to happen, but inured by soft words of comfort and descriptions of ceremony from the elder, is placed, face upwards on one such. What occurs to the mind of the two youths during this procedure can only be imagined. Perhaps as they are themselves under humiliation they restrain themselves at the back of the site. It may be that other elders forcibly restrain them.

`Behind each of the altars one of the elders stations himself. The words (we could neither find nor obtain details of what these chants contain, even after considerable threats and bribery.) are spoken. At the end of the verbalisation there is a silence, and slowly, above each altar, a knife is brought from the robes of the accompanying elder. Before any of the victims or, presumably, the appointed guardians youths, have an opportunity to register the sight, the knife is.....'

I was caught up completely in what I was reading. My mind, always affected by books and writings to the extent that I was always disorientated when I surfaced from reading, was now standing, bodiless, appalled, powerless, in that small clearing that was ours, where our sons were growing. Despite myself I could feel my gorge rising, as if to vomit, to expel from myself the very presence of the awful thing that was to be visited on the earth-sons of the island. My mind rebelled. My eyes seemed to be rolling up into the back of my head. Darkness seemed to grow around me. A corner of my mind registered that our babies were in danger, that they were going to be sacrificed on an altar.

I passed out.

It was fortunate that I had chosen such a quiet corner where I was out of sight of the librarian and of the others in the library who, I'd noticed, were more interested in reading newspapers than books. When I regained my senses, groggy and with a headache, nobody had noticed me. There was no crowd of anxious people around me. I was still alone with the book. Could I bring myself to take it up where I had left off? I raised myself carefully to a sitting position again. The book had gone. I blinked, feeling sick again. I had to know.....

And then I realised what had happened. As I had slid forward on the desk I had pushed the book ahead of me. It had fallen to the floor. I bent down -- carefully -- to look at it.

Oh dear.

It was just about intact, but the spine had come away from the cover at one end; hardly surprising as it was heavy and old and weak. The pages that were open were creased, but fortunately not torn. As carefully as I could I picked it up, closing it as I did, and massaged it a bit as if that would cure it. The damage to the spine was still there, but the creased pages were out of sight.

Well, I had to continue with the history, appalling or not. By this time my mind had registered that the writer was talking about Fechan, wherever that was, and not my home, so I felt able to continue. I'd forgotten the page number, so had to look up the name of our island again.

I skipped through the reports of the ceremonies on our own home island and turned the page to find the section about the barbarities on Fechan.

It wasn't there.

At first I thought that a page had come out when the book fell, and searched the floor around for the missing piece of paper. Nothing. Then I looked at the page numbers in puzzlement.

There was no break.

But the flowery, Victorian prose had flowed on continuously, speaking of our Island, then Fechan. A paragraph separated them, certainly, but no more. I skipped back to the account of my home, and read through it again. At its end was a totally different article, about some village on the mainland. Of Fechan, nothing.

I looked frantically for Fechan in the index. I sought "sacrifice" in the index.

Nothing.

I pinched myself, but was obviously still awake, sitting with a headache in a dim, dusty mainland reference library with a puzzled frown on my face.

"Five minutes to closing time please. Five minutes please!" What? What was the time? I was late! In a panic I looked back at the book. Something in my mind shouted out "page 448" to me. Why? Ah yes; that was where those of `a delicate nature' were told to refer in order to avoid the horrors of Fechan. I hurried to page 448. "Inverness" started the heading. I skipped back a page. No. Witchcraft in Braemar. I scanned the pages hurriedly.

"Closing time please. Closing time please!"

Damn......damn.....I couldn't leave it. But the librarian was approaching determinedly, and I remembered the damage to the spine. Damn again. How could I disguise it? I rose hurriedly, closing the book as I did so.

"Sorry," I said before she could speak. "I was so -- er -- interested, that I didn't hear the time. Shall I put it back on your desk for you?"

"Yes please, but be very careful. It's old and very valuable."

I hoped my face wasn't as red as it felt.


Chapter 8

 

The first thing Ben said to me when I got within range was: You nearly got me into trouble!

Why? I'd forgotten about interrupting his lecture.

I was being told to answer a question when you crashed into my mind. Are you all right?

I am now. But I wish you could have kept with me. It was important.

What?

What I was reading about.

And at that moment I saw him getting off the coach by our hotel.

Quick. To our room.

Too late. We're straight into a meal.

We were. And the cloud of talk rendered our private speech dangerous to use, especially in view of the subject matter. Impatiently I waited. We didn't even dare to go to our room early, since despite Ben's rebuttal of our intimacy some days earlier we didn't want to raise any more eyebrows. I just waited and seethed inside, trying to play the silly pastimes in the hotel to while the time away.

At last we were alone. I explained everything to Ben. He was aghast as I did so. But when I came to the part where I'd passed out he hugged me, and kissed my lips, and said how sorry he was that he was nowhere near.

"How did you wake up?" he asked.

I explained how ill I felt, and got another hug, and how the book had fallen onto the floor. Then I paused. "Er....it's what happened next I don't understand." He looked at me quizzically.

I explained about the damage to the book, and how I'd closed it to pick it up. Then I paused again, and haltingly admitted that I couldn't find the passage about Fechan any more.

"You must have missed it. You said it was immediately after the bit about home, didn't you?"

"Yes. I looked there, but it just went on to some mainland village. It was different completely."

"How could it have been? Was it the same book? Or were there two bits about home?"

"No. I looked for the page in the index again. That's how I found it in the first place. The part I read about us was exactly the same. Except that the bit that followed wasn't about Fechan."

"It must have been a different book, then."

"Don't be silly -- it was on the floor, open, where it had fallen. It was the same book -- must have been. I didn't swap it for another one -- I was unconscious. If anyone else had come and switched it they'd have tried to wake me up, surely."

"Well.....I suppose so. But how could it have happened, then?"

"I don't know. I thought I was going mad, or it was something to do with fainting. But if I fainted because of what I'd read, that means that it must have been in the book to start with, doesn't it?"

There was a pause while he followed my logic. I could see that he saw my point. At least he believed me. I had half expected him to tell me the passage hadn't existed.

"Ben, you'll just have to go to the library and get the book out again and look for it yourself."

"Why don't you go back?"

"They'll recognise me. I broke the back of a valuable book. Do you think they're going to lend it to me again?"

"Hmmm..."

Despite his holding me and our exploring each other as we'd done every night, and bringing each other to that peak of delight and satisfaction that only true love can really provide, I didn't sleep well. I kept seeing seven altars in our Glade, each with a small naked boy on the top of it. And for some reason neither Ben nor I had the physical power to speak, let alone shout...

His group had been give some time off the following day, and he went alone to the library. After persuading the librarian that he'd be extra careful with the book which apparently `some wretched vandal boy had ripped apart yesterday', he settled himself in a corner -- the same corner as I'd used, it seemed -- and read. But after the passage about our own home that (nearly) described our own experiences so far, he too found only the entry I'd described, for the mainland village. He did just what I'd done, researching the obvious words and names, as well as others which hadn't occurred to me, but found nothing. Not even a mention of human sacrifice anywhere in the parts of the country the book covered.

He even asked the librarian if she had heard any rumours, or if there were any books, about such things going on anywhere in Scotland or the Islands, but got such a torrent of questions about his motives for wanting to know that he quickly had to invent a project that would need some basic knowledge. But she knew of neither rumour nor book. He gave up, and joined the rest of his group in a field where they were playing football. I wasn't there. I was stuck in a museum, being educated.

That night he told me about his lack of success, and for the first time I detected a tint of disbelief behind his thoughts.

I did read it. I know I did.

He was startled by my sudden use of the spirit's communication methods. We had been talking.

"I know...." I know, he continued. I just can't help wondering if, like this, it was an outside communication.

What?

The spirits trying to warn us. I mean, what better place or time to do it? Somewhere you'd go to find out facts, and on a school trip away from home. Perhaps that was it.

It could have been done at home.

But not so forcibly. Nobody believes dreams, not seriously. If you read it in a book, though, that's different.

I had no answer to that. It was an explanation, but I still didn't see how I could have been fooled like that. But then I thought of something.

Ben, you know that nightmare you had?

What nightmare?

When you woke me up. When it had all just started.

Wha..... Oh, you mean when WE had just started. I thought you meant this trip.

No. You'd had a nightmare and then we went up to the Grove, and the day after you told me about it.

Yes...... That was to do with the boys too, wasn't it?

Don't you remember?

It's very difficult to remember dreams.

You told me that the boys were young and in danger. And so were we, and so was the Village.

Now you say it, I do remember. Just. But it was only a dream, wasn't it?

Was it? And was my reading that book a dream too?

We made love to each other, and went to sleep. I could feel his arms around me as I drifted off quickly, and this time my sleep was uninterrupted.

 

In two more, too short days the trip was over. It amazed us how quickly the time had passed. I know now that a holiday where a love is made, or a love is consummated, or even just a holiday where a relationship is strengthened to love, defeats the human mind's laws of time. And in some respects our love, Ben's and mine, had been consummated during the fortnight. Beforehand our times alone had been enforced or snatched; but on the trip we had been together at our own will and in our own time, at our own behest. And as a result the bond between us, which had been initiated by the village elders, necessitated by the Island's advancing poverty, directed -- benignly -- by the Spirits, had finally been sealed by just we two. And it was now so strong that we were both despairing about having to live apart again once we were home. The last night of the holiday we spent ages just looking at each other, and after the inevitable, beautiful, love making we were each surprised to see tears in the other's eyes.

I felt sick on the homeward journey.

It was good to be leaving the immense, noisy, impersonal city; and the idea of resuming ordinary life on an island where people cared about each other was attractive. But it was the idea of being unable any more to live the love between us that was sickening me. Ben was very quiet too, vocally and mentally. All I could detect were the same unmarshalled thoughts of despair that I was suffering too.

At last the final leg of the journey was over. The boat docked, the coach to our Village had delivered us, and forty or so children and young people rushed from it as fast as heavy suitcases would allow. Parents were waiting, embraces were endured, greetings were said.....for all except Ben and me. Neither his parents nor my father were there.

Where are they?

Dunno. Hope they're OK.

That worried me. Why shouldn't they be?

Dunno.

We were both very tired. Neither of had started his night's sleep very early the previous night, and our state of mind had forbidden sleep on the journey. We weren't thinking straight.

And then the blacksmith appeared. I stiffened.

"Hallo, boys. How are you? Did you have a good time?"

We both just looked at him and nodded, knowing that this was why there were no parents to greet us.

What's going on?

I think we're about to find out. It was probably just as well he couldn't `hear' us. Despite his long connection with the Spirit world we couldn't `hear' him either.

"I've got a bit of a surprise for you two. Come with me." It wasn't a request, it was an order. I looked at him with dislike. And with not a little mistrust.

"Where are our parents, please?" I asked quite shortly, knowing that the last word was very much an afterthought.

"All in good time, young Aidan....." yuchh! ..... "They're waiting for you."

What the hell....? Well, at least if only Ben could hear me, I could use 1950's adult-forbidden words without fear of a clout round the ear.

It seemed we walked for miles. All through the village, past the village hall, the scene of my worst embarrassment, past the Church, the school.....I thought he was taking us past Miss Flude's house and into the woods to the Grove. We were still carrying our heavy cases, and mine was starting to drag on the ground I was so tired. But before we came to her cottage the smith turned off towards a quite large cottage that had once been home to a family who had come from the mainland, had lasted five years in the Village without ever really becoming part of it, and who had just left again. The place had been in bad condition since their departure; there is no vandalism on the Island apart from what the winter weather causes, but that had taken its toll.

But now the building was gleaming, alive and welcoming, it seemed. The door stood open, and as we took in the scope of the transformation with eyes wide and mouths open, people seemed to pour out of the door. My Dad. His Mum and Dad. My brothers. What was going on?

What's happening? The voice in my head was incredulous. Why are both our families here? Have they moved in together?

For a moment my heart jumped into my throat. If only they had..... That would mean that he and I would be living with each other, and the heartache that had come with me from the school trip would have been in vain. But I knew that things like that only happened in fairy tales, and so ended up as puzzled as he.

Yes, it was a lovely thought, wasn't it? But I agree: this is life, not Hans Christian Andersen. There's no reason for them to have agreed to share a place. Besides, it isn't big enough for us all.

No, I `said'. It isn't. It's a wonderful idea though. Perhaps one day......?

Mental agreement.

And then we reached them. There were hugs for us now too, and not just from Ben's parents to him, but from them to me, too. Even my reserved father hugged me, and I was amazed when he did the same for Ben.

He never does that. You must be favoured.

I got no reply, not even a wordless one. He was looking over my father's shoulder, suddenly tense.

The blacksmith had emerged from the house. A silence fell.

His voice filled it.

"The village has decreed that you two, being the sires of the beings who will save our Village, should bring your charges to live separate from your own families. You will therefore live here, and they will join you in due course when it is possible for them to do so. Carl will help you with the domestic arrangements. The Village will feed you and them until they are of an age when they can fend for themselves or no longer need it. By that time you will be old enough to fend for yourselves as well. This is a gift. Use it well."

My feelings....how do I describe how I felt at that moment? Incredulous, certainly; tongue-tied, yes. But deep within me were three emotions. Firstly was the uncertainty of the future of `our babies' at the hand of the Elders. Secondly was a deep regret that this cottage was so much better than the home I had known since my Father had moved his large family back from the mainland, and I wanted them all to share it. But thirdly, the emotion that spoke -- no, shouted -- the other two down was that our wishes, our dreams had been answered.

Ben and I would be together. Officially. Living together. Sleeping together. In love together.

And I felt a similar turmoil in his mind come to the same conclusion, and without our reasoning about it our arms found each other waists, and we walked towards the door as if in a dream. But Ben's self-awareness was stronger than mine, and he turned me just between the door and the blacksmith. Silently we looked round at the similarly voiceless crowd.

"Thank you," I heard his whisper. "Thank you all, more than I can say. Er......I'm not sure....." He trailed off. What was he trying to say?

Say something....for God's sake. I knew words had failed my quiet companion. But what could I say? That we two were in love, and thanks for giving us a house where we could make love to each other? And by the way, I don't trust what you might do to our babies, which you haven't seen yet anyway?

Hardly.

"Er..." I echoed Ben. "Er.... This means a lot to both of us. Er..... the start of all this was not easy, as all of you know. In fact, had I been told I'd be given a lovely house at the end of it all, I still wouldn't have volunteered if there had been a choice. Er...."

There was a little laughter at this, from one of the Village's younger girls. Her father turned to her and said something. She blushed.

"Er..... I'm....er.....not sure we're happy about leaving our families. I mean...well....but of course they wouldn't be far away, and can almost live with us. And anyone else is very welcome at any time. I mean, the house is the Village's, anyway."

But the blacksmith chimed in. "No, Aidan, it is yours; yours and Ben's. You may invite who you wish to it, but your new family's needs are to come first. If you fail to attend to them they will be taken away from you, as will the cottage, and it would be as well for you then if you were gone from the Island, your families with you."

Absolute silence.

"Well....." Ben was trying to override the smith's attitude and words. "I think anyone who fails to look after children properly should be treated the same. When they er...arrive...we're going to make sure they're the best looked after children on the Island, aren't we Aidan? After all, Aidan was Chosen for this, and I was Chosen by him."

"Er.....yeah....that's it. We know we've got a lot to learn about children and their care, but we both have families to help, and...er...Dad; please will you?"

I'd not really spoken to my own Father since I returned from my first ever long absence from him. It occurred to me that I had no idea how he viewed all of this. I looked for him in the group, and to my relief I found him, near the front.

"Dad..." Despite the solemnity of the occasion, and the presence of my new life's partner, I knew I had to go to him. At that moment even if Ben had shouted with his mind until he deafened me I would still have run over to my Father and embraced him. Even if embracing wasn't something we usually did, as I've said before. But I felt his arms go round me as mine went around him.

When I'd calmed down a bit I looked up at him and found his face to be unusually soft...loving even. "Yes, Aidan, I'll help you. God knows I've had enough practice."

I thought of the times when, as a child, he'd had to do for me all the things that I supposed a mother would do for her baby or small boy. I couldn't put the thought into words then, even for myself. I just knew that I had so much to thank him for, to thank God for, to thank the Gods for. I hugged him again.

When I looked round, Ben's parents were in a similar situation with him. And to think that he needed the same welcome and blessing, as it were, on the next step of his life, even if he was so much older than me -- well, by two years. It made me feel better about displaying my own emotions, my own need for a hug from my Father. I felt that my credibility in front of the onlookers had been restored.

To interrupt Ben would have been as unfair as if he had interrupted me. I waited, then, while he was hugged by both parents and then looked round at me. I still had an arm round my Father's waist, and I think that made him feel better too. I had a sudden pang of regret that I had no mother to hug me too, but I was used to those sudden moments of bereavement and it passed.

Shall we invite them in? I was suddenly so proud of being able to do so.

I could sense a laugh. He had caught the pride, as well as the thought. Yes. Why not. But just the parents? If we invite them all the Smith will come too. Can't we tell them it's a Family moment?

Yes. I don't want the Smith in our house -- I could see the sudden smile at the `our' -- although I suppose he'll have to come at some time. Let's get them in.

Simultaneously we cleared our throats and started to talk.

"Er....ladies and gentlemen...."

"Er....excuse me but...."

And we both stopped, waiting for the other one to continue. Neither did. We burst out laughing.

After you!

No, after you!

Oh, for goodness sake! "Ladies and gentlemen, as Aidan has said, thank you so much for doing this for us. We promise we'll do our duty for you all...for us all....and hope that what we do will somehow make things better for us. But now, well, we've had a long journey and this wonderful surprise, and we're very tired, and need a little time just with our families, please. But any time we're at home you'll be more than welcome here, of course."

To my surprise there was a ripple of applause at that, and they drifted away with wishes of good luck called to us. I shepherded the three parents towards the door, dragged Ben in before the blacksmith could turn and demand to be included, and shut the door. It felt odd, being led into the main room of the house I knew was ours, but not knowing the way. As we entered the room a voice I thought I knew said "Ah good. Tea's just ready."

I looked at Ben just as he turned to me. The question mark seemed to hang in the air between us; then it dawned. Carl.

"Carl....what on earth....?"

"Hallo, Aidan, hallo Ben. Didn't he tell you?"

"Tell us what?"

"I've been sent to help you."

"Help us? Help us do what?"

"Look after the house and the....babies."

"Yes, but we thought he meant when they came."

"No. The smith thought you'd need someone else from the start as you're both out all day at school."

"Sounds like a good idea to me," said my Father. "Very practical man, that blacksmith."

But we were going to be alone here. I almost shouted it to Ben.

I know, but he doesn't have to live with us, does he? I mean, he's a good friend, but he lives with Mr & Mrs Wood, and helps them.

Yeah....well, OK then. He was good to me when I had to...er....when we all....

I know what you mean. I'm glad someone else was too.

Who else was?

Me.

Oh...yes.

There was a pause. Carl started to look uncomfortable. "Don't you want me?" he asked. And there was such a note of sadness, of resignation in his voice that even I was aware of it.

"Has something happened?" asked Ben. This time it was Carl's turn to be silent.

Something inside me made me speak, and voice a thought that wasn't really mine. "Yes, Carl, of course we do. It just that it's another shock. Today's been a bit full of them."

"Yeah," said Ben, to my relief, though I knew he was probing my mind to find what had changed it. Carl looked a bit happier.

"It's just that -- well, the Woods are getting older, and they keep expecting me to be in at the time they go to bed, and not make a noise, and I can't bring friends in, and I have to do so much of their housework for them. I mean, they're kind, and treat me like a son, but I'm not a kid any longer. And I just need...well, you know."

I didn't, but I made the right noises. So he'd be living with us after all. Damn.

Yes, damn. No privacy. But surely we can still share a room?

Try and stop me, I thought back at him.

"Carl, did you say that there was tea in that pot?" asked my father.

Most of the talking as we ate was done by the adults. Even my brothers said little. Ben and I were tired, and our minds were whirling with the day's happenings and with the way the future might be turning out. But at long (for us) last the parents made moves to go. "It's only fair," said Ben's Mum. "We'd like to stay, but you three have a lot of sorting out to do."

They said their farewells. At last we were alone. Apart from Carl. When we got back to the main room he was nowhere to be seen, but the tray with the tea things on it had vanished. Without a thought, we turned to each other and hugged, the first embrace we'd had since we left the mainland. Our mouths found each other, and it was only when Carl was on his way out with the teapot that we realised he'd seen us. Like that. In each other's arms. Kissing.

"Oh god," I whispered. "What do we do now?"

"I don't know." Ben was worried as much as me; so much so that we were speaking, rather than just thinking.

"Is he coming back?"

We looked round, then saw there was a plate still there. Shall we take it out to him? I had got my thoughts back.

Perhaps we'd better.

That walk to the kitchen was almost as nerve-racking as that first walk from the village hall....no; what am I saying? Nothing could have been worse than that. We got to the kitchen and found him bent over the sink. But his hands weren't moving. He was just standing, looking down at the bowl. In my heightened mental state I could feel the unhappiness coming from him. He'd never even looked round when we opened the door.

"Carl?" Ben asked uncertainly, in a voice so flat that it hardly sounded like him.

There was a silence. Then, quietly: "I wish you'd told me."

"Told you what?" Ben's question, I thought, was silly. Wasn't it obvious what he hadn't known?

"About you two."

"What about us two?" What's he trying to do? Make him spell it out?

Shut up, Aidan. It's difficult enough with one difficult conversation.

Blast.

"About you being...you know...er..."

"In love, you mean? Like two parents should be?"

"What? No....I mean yes....but parents are, you know, man and woman."

"And we're both boys, and we're about to be fathers to a family."

"Yes...but..."

"Look, neither Aidan nor I can help it if we like each other so much that we want to be together like that. And if you find you can't cope with that then, I'm sorry but you'd better go back to the Woods."

"But I can't..." he said in a strange voice. "The smith told me that if I didn't live here and help you I'd better leave the Island."

"He has no right to say that!" I spoke for the first time. "That's horrible."

"But that's what he said. You've no idea how powerful he is."

"I damn well have," I said hotly. "He got me to strip off in front of the whole village, remember? Oh, and he got me to swallow stuff from you and Ben and all the others."

He was looking back at the sink again. He'll have to go, I thought.

But a strange, half strangled voice came from him.

"I know; that's the trouble."

I suppose I nearly took his meaning the wrong way. The words said that he'd been so disgusted at that, that he'd been sickened by it ever since. But the trouble, the emotion in his voice... well? What did it mean?

"Ever since that day I've thought about you all the time." It was said in a rush, and followed up with a lightning glance over his shoulder from where he stood at the sink. Another pause. Neither Ben nor I spoke. We knew there was more to come.

"You're the only person who's ever seen me...naked, and certainly the only person who's done that to me. As soon as it was over I knew I wanted to be with you, to protect you, but then you were never around when I could be. And even if you were, Ben was nearby." Absolute silence now. I knew that I was flattered, and was warming to him, but I also knew that Ben was the one I was going to spend the rest of my life with. What I didn't know was what I should say to him. Ben was silent too, but I could feel the turmoil in his mind and, yes, the relief at having `heard' that he was still mine for ever.

"I'm sorry, Aidan, Ben, but that's how it is. I've spent the last months being so unhappy that it's hardly surprising that the Woods thought I'd be better on my own. And then when the Smith told me I was to help you two, that you were setting up house together, I didn't know what to do. If I refused I'd be sent to the mainland and never see you, and if I agreed I'd see you all the time. But it started to look as if Ben might be...er...but it wasn't until just now that I knew he was."

Another pause.

"It seems you're an easy boy to love, Aidan."

I looked at Ben in surprise, then something occurred to me. "That doesn't mean that the other five are going to come and join us too, does it?"

They both had to grin at that, though Carl's was a bit shaky. "Does that mean I can stay?" he asked.

What about it, Ben? Do we take the chance? Or do you think he'll rape me?

Don't even think about it. Yes. I think we have to. I just hope he's not too far gone on you, that's all.

What d'you mean, too far gone?

Too much in love!

I smiled at that and hoped Carl thought I was just being friendly. I answered his question. "Yes, Carl, I think it does. But you know now that Ben and I belong to each other, and that I can't er..."

"Yes. I know. I promise I'll not do anything you wouldn't want. Is it all right, Ben?"

"Yes. It is. But as you said, he and I are in love, and that's how it's going to stay. There's no room for a third."

"I know, I know. I'll just have to make do with just living with two friends. And that's more than many can do."

At last we closed the distance between us. Ben shook his hand and gripped his shoulder, looking into his eyes. He started shaking my hand, then before I could do anything he took me in a hug, and I could feel a kiss on the top of my head.

"I may do that again, Aidan, out of sheer delight at being here. But I promise it will only be when Ben's in the room too. Is it a deal?"

I was thirteen. I had two older boys to look after me, both of whom I trusted, both of whom loved me; one I loved, and love still; and the other was a good friend, and is still. I was in second heaven.

"Yes," said Ben and I together.


Chapter 9

 

It was later in the evening when we two decided, despite the tiredness brought on by the journey, the shock of having been given a house, and a sort of lovelorn male housemaid, that we'd better go and see to our `family'. Carl had gone to bed, after many thanks and reassurances, and we were alone. We needed no words, but crept quietly from the house -- and yes, I knew it was ours and we had no need for caution, but we needed to be alone and weren't sure if Carl would take it into his head to follow us.

Once past the old lady's cottage we looked at each other.

We don't need clothes now.

No. We didn't really need them at all, the house is so near the wood.

Better to wear them past Miss Flude's. Don't want to give her a stroke!

If I hadn't recently heard the joke about the two old ladies and the naked man (one had a heart attack and the other had a stroke. You know the one?) it would have been all right. But I had heard it, and gave a shout of laughter which was quite unintentional. Quicker than seemed possible a light appeared in the old lady's house and I could see the curtains quivering.

Better not strip off here, after all.

Twit! Why did you shout out?

I reminded him about the joke. I suppose I shouldn't have found it funny under the circumstances, but then I was very tired, and my mind was off guard.

We waited until the light went out again, then crept past in the shadows.

It was cold in the woods, particularly with the breeze against our bare flesh. By the time we reached the Glade we were shivering and certainly it was in my mind that we should have waited for this until the warmth of the following day. But as usual there was a surprise waiting for us. At the end of the approach tunnel we could see light, and cautiously emerged into the open space fearing an intruder with a torch. But no.

The air there was warm, and dry; a total contrast with the damp chill of the wood. There was again silvery light around us as if the moon was favouring that one clearing, yet it was a warmer light than the moon, the shadows were diffuse, not sharp as with moonlight. And there was a welcoming that we could feel there, yet not identify. And that joyousness was present too, that we had felt so many times before. Our eyes met, and we embraced, and to experience his body against mine again in that place brought it home to me that this was home. This was where we belonged. This somehow was where our love was strongest. And although our intention was to reunite with our offspring, the cocooning magic -- I can explain it no better -- of the place pressed us together until once again our bodies had reacted and we were conscious only of each other and our physical need to give and receive each other's physical love. For ages we lay there, every movement of his body against mine a delight. And the intimacy of our touches with hands, with lips, with our excited bodies sent thrill after thrill through me once again

When at last we awoke, our strength recovered and our private kisses made, we made our way to the place we were both starting to regard as the Nursery. The little hummocks were there, still, and only a little bigger in height. But to me they looked more solid somehow. I looked closer. And at the top I saw it.

You know how some plants go through a growth phase where they seem to have grown hair? The hair's there, I was taught, to be caught by the wind and so get the seed that's attached to it to land eventually somewhere else. But here, the hair seemed coarser than the gossamer on a plant, yet not spiky like the beard on a head of barley.

It was hair.

Eagerly we looked at them all. All were alike; some brown, some a ruddy red, and one almost blond. Carefully we stroked them, one by one, not knowing why, but feeling within that some troubled spirit was stilled as we did so. Strange, because we had felt no disquiet to start with. But at the end, there was still this feeling of even deeper peace.

Are we meant to do more?

I don't think so. They feel at peace now.

You heard them?

No, but it feels...quieter.

Ah, yes, I know what you mean.

I wish the Spirit would tell us what to do.

He will, in good time.

How do you know?

Pardon?

How do you know that he will?

I don't.

Why did you say it, then?

I didn't say anything.

Well, thought it then.

It never occurred to me.

But you.......ah.....I wonder if he used your thoughts?

What!?

When I said that I wished the Spirit would tell us what to do I felt you answer that he would in good time. But if the thought didn't come from you it must have come from him.

I thought. 'Spose it must, then. 'Spose he will.

On our way out we once again bowed toward the `Nursery' to show .... What? Love? Goodwill? We never thought at the time what it might be; it just felt as if it was something we should do. And then, exhausted after one of the fullest days of our lives, we stumbled our way to our new cottage.

Quietly we let ourselves in. The stairs were opposite the door. Automatically we climbed up, and then realised we had never been above the ground floor.

Where do we sleep?

I haven't the faintest idea. Where's the bathroom?

Dunno that either.

I need a piss.

You had all the woods to piss in, and you had no clothes on, and you waited 'til you got home?

Didn't seem right.

I knew what he meant.

Quietly we listened at each of the five doors. No sound.

Where's Carl sleep?

Dunno.

Mentally cursing my lack of forethought I opened the leftmost door. Good: bathroom and toilet. Ben disappeared inside with a mental Yeah! Which left me to try the other doors. The first was a cupboard. The second and third had four beds in each, and suddenly I realised that this was for real.

Yes, I know, I know. With all that we'd been through I knew what was due to happen. But to see a room with cots in it just brings home the flesh and blood angle. The beings that were coming to us were real children, with children's needs. Not some airy beings from the mythology we had become caught up in, and which was no longer mythology so far as we were concerned. These would cry at night, wet the bed, cause mischief, need to be taught...oh, everything.

Suddenly I felt awfully young and incompetent.

The toilet flushed.

I know, he said when he joined me. It's some undertaking.

Can we cope?

Do we have a choice?

The answer was obvious. We tried the other doors, and found one with a double bed in it.

I don't know where they MEAN us to sleep, but I know where we ARE going to sleep, he said.

Swiftly, without ceremony, we flung off our clothes and climbed into the first full-sized double bed either of us had ever been in. and there we slept in each other's arms until a disgustingly late hour. Carl never woke us. It was the sunlight that did that. But once we realised what the time was we hurriedly rose, with no thought to savour the time in bed waking up properly as we had on the mainland. Although there was now nothing to stop us getting up late, having been expected to be active early in the morning for so long, it felt wrong to laze around.

The previous night we had automatically gone into that room because it was what we wanted. It wasn't bad, a bit old fashioned, but it was comfortable. We wondered if that's where we should have been. Dressed, we quietly let ourselves out and went downstairs. On the table was a pot of tea, hot and fresh, and through the open door we could hear noises from the kitchen.

Is Carl meant to be cooking for us?

No....well, I hope not. It's wrong. We're all in this together.

So we went into the kitchen. He was in the middle of cooking bacon.

"What are you doing, Carl?" asked Ben.

"Breakfast."

"But why?"

"'Cos that's what I'm here for."

"You're not!" I said, hotly. "I mean, it's nice of you, and we'll all enjoy it, but this is a team effort....." a phrase of my father's "...and we all do everything."

"But I thought I was just here to help you."

"Yes," said Ben. "To help, please, but not to act as a sort of maid."

Carl grinned. In the frying pan the bacon sizzled.

"But I'm meant to be a sort of nanny, the smith said."

Ben and I looked at each other. "Sounds to me as if the smith says too much," I said. "Yes, with so many babies we're going to have our work cut out, but it's a three way split, not a one-and-two. That's the way it's always worked in the Village, and that's how it's going to work here."

"But mothers look after the family..."

"You're not a mother. Had you noticed? And this won't be an ordinary family. It's a team."

"What he means, Carl, is that we'll all three eat together, cook together if that's what's wanted, and look after the babies together." But not sleep together he added to me.

I grinned. "That's right. So what d'you want us to do for the breakfast?"

He grinned back. "Lay the table?"

The Carl who joined us at the table was a very different Carl from the uncertain seventeen year old of the previous day.

When we had cleared away and shared the washing up, Carl showed us what the smith had planned for the layout of the bedrooms. The first of them was meant to be our room, Ben's and mine, and in it were two single beds. We just looked at each other.

Huh.

Yeah, huh. Carl said nothing about it having been unslept in.

The next two rooms, as we had discovered, were for the babies. The bathroom we knew about. "And this," said Carl, "was specially furnished for visiting parents. When he told me I said nothing, but I more or less knew that you'd be using it." The face was impassive, the eyes down to the carpet, but I could still hear the pain in his voice. Poor guy.

I know. I'm sorry too. For him, not for us. I wonder if there's anything we can do?

Like what? I like Carl, but I don't...er...I mean I'm not in love with him.

No, I know, and nor am I. And I don't know how we can help.

Is there someone else he could have here?

Who?

Dunno.

Nor me. It's got to be up to him, anyway. He'll have to get used to the idea.

A pause. What had he said? Oh yes.

"Yeah, well...." I started.

"It's all right," he said. "I don't mind, really."

Odd, hearing words that said one thing and a tone of voice that said the opposite.

"Where d'you sleep?" I asked him.

He looked at me longingly, unable to hide the emotion from his eyes or voice. "There's a stairway up from the kitchen that leads to the attic. There's a room there, and another bathroom. That's where the smith said I should sleep."

I bristled. Why should the man tell people what to do in our house?

"No," I said firmly.

Both the others looked at me in surprise. For the first time I hadn't consulted with Ben before making a decision.

"You're not living up there on your own as if you were a servant, like he wanted. You'll have the room in the main part of the house, then we can all care for the babies. Any visitors can have the attic. Nothing wrong with that -- at home I slept in the attic with my brother. What's good enough for us is good enough for them."

Is that a good idea?

Dunno. But he's not going to be treated like a servant here, and certainly not if the smith told him he was.

I agree with the servant bit, but don't you think that makes him too close to you?

He's a friend. He's not like you, you're my - what?

I'm not a friend? He was mocking. I rather hoped I was!

Stop it! You know what I mean.

So long as you're sure.

Yes.

Carl was looking at us. "Are you sure? Won't the smith mind?"

"He's the one who said it was our house. In our house, we do as we want. We certainly do what's best for the babies and each other. Far as I'm concerned, having you living near the babies is better for them, and certainly better for you."

A pause. Then "Ben, I'm sorry about this..." And he put his arms round me and once again kissed the top of my head. I could tell Ben didn't know whether to smile or be concerned. It's all right. He's safe.

How d'you know?

He wouldn't do anything to get himself thrown out.

Another pause.

You're probably right.

It was that evening that the world nearly fell in on us. Ben and I had been up to the Glade as usual, and the usual things had happened. I could tell Ben was not just pleased, but relieved as well. He was really worried that Carl's constant presence might have started to sway me. It made no difference how many times I told him, by voice or thought, that so far as love went I was only interested in him. But the depths of feeling between us, and the depths of our minds that we showed in the Glade, proved that he really had no need to worry.

We had been back about fifteen minutes when there was a knock at the door. More of a bang, really. I was just going to open it when the smith barged in.

"Right." He said as if we were still in the Village Hall that first time. "I want to know why you haven't been to the Glade yet."

Ben and I looked at each other like naughty schoolboys. Carl was in the kitchen.

"We've only just got back," said Ben.

"You've been back a day."

"I meant we'd just got back from the Glade. What -- about a quarter of an hour. Aidan?"

"About that."

"Don't lie to me!" the man shouted. "Do you think I haven't been watching? You must think I'm stupid. The whole future of the Village is resting on you, and you're too lazy to visit the most holy place on the Island?"

"Smith," I said, my eyes blazing at him. "We went last night, in the dark. We went this afternoon, and have just got back. If you don't believe me, ask Miss Flude. She will have heard us last night, and must have seen us this afternoon."

A pause. "I don't talk to Miss Flude, and anyway, I was near the Glade, watching. Nobody has been there."

"Well, we were there. And if you don't talk to someone in your own Village, then that is no problem of ours."

As soon as I'd said the words I regretted it. Although I was absolutely right, no one ever spoke to the smith like that. Certainly not a thirteen year old. His eyes narrowed, and bored into me like hot coals.

In a quiet voice now, and full of menace, he hissed: "Not only do you tell me lies, you are deliberately rude to me, and after I've arranged this house for you, given you a friend and a servant to help you. You are an ungrateful little urchin, and were it not for the beings which I can only hope are now starting to grow up in the woods you would be out of here and off the Island too, if I had my way." The eyes continued to bore into me, and it was only Carl's voice at the door which broke the mood.

"Tea, you two? Oh...sorry, didn't know you had er..." He had seen something was wrong.

"Carl," growled the man, "Did these two go to the woods this afternoon?"

"Er....well, yes....or at least I think so. They've only just got back, and their shoes are muddy."

He looked at the two pairs of shoes we had left drying in the hearth -- out of habit, for there was no fire.

"How d'you know they went to the woods?"

"Well, I don't, not really, but then they would, wouldn't they? To look at the babies."

Shut up, Carl. He doesn't know about them yet, and we don't trust him!

I thought it, as if I were `talking' to Ben. And as soon as I'd done so I realised it was pointless. Carl wouldn't be able to `hear' me.

But....his face was going red, the mouth opened, the eyes looked at me. A pause. Then he looked straight back at the smith. Almost in time, he said: "...or rather, to look at where the babies should be growing." Then the look came back, wonderingly, to me. I was confused, and worried, both by my sudden apparent ability to make him hear and by what the smith was now thinking.

"I was there, and they came nowhere near." He was very short about it, and very sure. I had an idea. If I could get Carl to tell the smith that we'd been there the previous night, without being heard to prompt him, then perhaps....

"And, of course, they went up there last night, too...." What was this? I hadn't `said' anything to him yet. Nor had Ben -- had he?

No, I've said nothing. It seems he can `hear' you though.

".....I heard them go and followed them. It wasn't difficult once they'd left the Village. I didn't go into the Glade, of course; that would have been intruding. I stayed outside and....." he swallowed "....found myself going to sleep. When I woke, the place was pitch black and there was no sound. I thought they may have come to some harm, so I went in through the tunnel, and it was light in the clearing, but they'd gone. So I came back."

Carl....weren't you scared?

He looked strangely at me. And for the first time, haltingly, I `heard' him. Yes...very. But inside you were, and careful I had to be for you. I mean I had to be sure you were all right...and Ben.

"You see?" I said triumphantly to the smith. "He knows we were there."

"I'm not sure you haven't cooked this up between you. How do I know you're telling the truth?"

"Ask Miss Flude." Ben was becoming impatient. "She will tell you because I saw her curtains move as we went past this afternoon."

"I was outside the Glade and you never showed up."

"Is it possible the Spirit sent you to sleep like Carl last night?"

Silence. Then that hissing, menacing voice again: "If I find that you're lying to me, it'll be the worse for you. You WILL go up to the Glade every day. You WILL tell me when you've been. And you WILL tell me what is happening in that clearing. IS THAT UNDERSTOOD?"

"Excuse me," asked Ben, "Are you going to be checking up on the babies in this way when they are born, too?"

Silence again.

"I may not do so."

"Pardon?"

"I am prevented from doing so." The voice was subdued, yet angry: I could tell that the anger was no longer directed at us.

"But if that's the case," said Ben, capitalising on it, "won't they stop you somehow from seeing what else is happening in the meantime? I mean, I'm sorry, but well, if the Spirit doesn't want......" He trailed off.

"Just make sure you do what I say," the man growled. He turned on his heel and went out, slamming the front door so hard that the glass rattled. There was a silence.

"That'll be a `no' for the third tea then, will it?" said Carl, breaking the tension. We laughed,

"Carl, how did you -- well, know what I was thinking?" I just had to know. It was logical -- if there was any logic at all to a gift that before all this started I would have regarded as magical -- that Ben could hear me. He was in it deep as I was, and besides, we were...together. But Carl?

"I just heard you. The thought came into my head, and somehow it was your voice, and I was...well.... surprised. I couldn't help look at you, but you looked no different. I thought for a moment I was going to give the whole thing away to the smith, but he didn't seem to notice. But could you hear me?"

"Er...yes. But then...." I looked at Ben.

You may as well tell him. He'll probably find out some time. I nodded. He noticed.

"You mean....you and Ben can hear and talk like that all the time?"

"Yes. Ever since we came back from the Glade after that first night."

"First night?"

"Yes. I had a dream that we were up there and had to do something important. So I woke Ben, and we both went. We went up again the next day too, and while we were there I began to be able to listen to his thoughts. Him mine, too."

"But that's amazing...and I can hear you too, and you can hear me. Can you hear me, Ben?"

"I heard you when you were talking to Aidan just now. But can you hear either of us when we're not actually `talking' to you?"

He looked surprised. "Er...no. I only heard Aidan when he talked to me."

"So if we two talk to each other, you can't hear us?"

"No." He blinked. I didn't know whether that was because he wanted to or whether he was glad he couldn't. In his position it would have been awful to hear Ben and me making love...poor Carl.

Good. I'm glad he can't hear us all the time, otherwise we'd have no privacy.

We probably can't hear him unless he's actually trying to say something to us.

That's all right then. I mean, I'm happy sitting inside your head with you and looking round. It's nice.

Hmm....there are bits of yours which could do with a bit of cleaning.

We both managed not to laugh.

"When are the babies going to be born?" Carl was bringing us back to earth with a bump.

"We don't know. All we know is that they'll tell us when it's time."

"Who will?"

"The spirits."

"Oh." I knew it wasn't an answer, but somehow I needed to think before I gave too much of the details out, even to Carl.

After a bit of experimenting we found that Carl could `hear' us only when we `spoke' to him. We could hear him only if we were close, and then he had to be directing his thoughts to us. It seemed very satisfactory, and useful.

"I mean, if we have to do the same if he's here again, at least I shall know what to say." Put like that by Carl it was logical. "But why isn't he meant to know about the babies?"

"We don't know," I told him, "at least, not exactly. But the spirits have said that he's not to be trusted. So we don't."

A pause. Then wistfully: "They must be very powerful, these spirits, if you disobey the smith because of what they say."

"They are. Powerful but good. And the more we listen to them, and then listen to the smith, the less we trust him." I thought back to what I had read in the library on the mainland. Was it really only a few days previously? It seemed another lifetime, but the doubts and fears planted in that silent room in that other life were still fresh in my mind. Our minds, Ben reminded me.

 

Over the next few days, every time we made to visit the Grove it seemed the smith was watching. We went there once when he was watching us, just to see what would happen, and weren't at all surprised when his obnoxious, naked frame forced its way in behind us once we had been there a few minutes. The Glade itself, with its secrets, was hidden from us as well as from him, and that was part of the reason we knew we were not alone.

"Is anything growing?" came the growled question.

"Doesn't look like it.....sir. How long should it take?"

"How do I know? It's not been done in my lifetime."

This was news, or rather confirmation of what we had expected.

"We'll go, then. Come on." It was an instruction.

"Er...we're going to stay a while. It's so peaceful in here."

"It's not a rest home for boys. You come home with me."

"But...er.....sir....we have to do what we think the Spirit is telling us."

"You mean it's telling you to stay? Then why isn't it telling me?"

"I don't know....sir. Don't you feel it too?" This was a good game.

"No, and I think you're just making it up so you can be alone with each other again and have another go. Don't forget it was me who told you how to do it."

Perhaps it wasn't such a good game.

Then Ben chimed in. "But if we hear the Spirit telling us we must, and that we must be alone, then surely we must obey. Sir." The honorific was such a long way from the sentence that it must have sounded like the insult it was intended to be, even to as thick-skinned a person as the smith. He shot a malevolent glance at Ben, but pushed his way back up the tunnel without another word. The big, ugly bum disappearing into the darkness was not pleasant, except that it marked his going.

It's going to stop working one day, Ben. And then what'll we do?

Then, my friend, the Spirit will take over!

Without either of us being aware, we crossed the clearing hand in hand again, and looked at where the Glade should be.

No sign. Just impenetrable thorn bushes like the first time.

We looked at each other, suddenly worried.

Perhaps it needs time for him to get away.

S'pose so. Hope so. What d'we do, wait?

What else?

We sat, hand in hand still, watching the bushes like anxious lepidopterists. But the sound, when it did come, was behind us. As one, our heads swivelled.

Carl. Naked. Just like that first time that... Unbeknown to me, my body stirred, something it hadn't been doing with just Ben there. I was horrified, and hoped Ben wouldn't notice.

Ben and I had been communicating mind to mind. So it was hardly surprising that in our surprise we carried on doing so, but to Carl.

But...why are you here? You know it's not allowed.

Know that, I do. But smith...following you was. I mean, the smith was following....and to warn you I followed him. When to strip he stopped, I thought he would discover, but he never saw, and I knew to strip would be me...I mean, I knew I had to strip as well. He paused. Obviously he was having to struggle with the idea of putting thoughts together so `loudly' for him that the thoughts were coming to only strangely to our minds.

And in the darkness the way I lost, and thought to be here for ever. But then the smith in the other direction passed me, so I came to here from whence he came.

When we had translated that I knew there was something that didn't add up, but I was so affected by the sight of him and the surprise of seeing him that I didn't know what it was. Nor, obviously, did Ben. Carl seemed to think that it was necessary to talk in this way on the Grove.

Why wait you here?

This was a difficulty. But it seemed to me that partial honesty was best.

We're waiting to see if the Spirit has anything to say. The trouble is that it never happens unless we're alone... oh.

From the corner of my eye I could see a movement. Our heads swivelled round to the front again, and saw that the bushes were thinning, melting, whisping away as ghosts....and there laid out in its glory, was the Glade. Its light was waxing; its warmth was beckoning us. But what of Carl? Should he be seeing this? I looked back at him.

But there was only a young stag, standing there. But there was a light was in his eyes that I recognised.

Carl? I breathed.

NOT HERE. HERE I AM NOT CARL. JUST AS AT YOUR HOME I AM NOT FULLY SPIRIT. HERE YOU MAY TREAT ME AS YOU ALWAYS HAVE, BUT OUT THERE WHERE I AM ALMOST WHOLLY HUMAN YOU MUST TREAT ME AS YOU ALWAYS HAVE TREATED CARL. IT IS CREDIT TO YOU BOTH THAT WE BOTH ARE TREATED BY YOU WITH RESPECT.

But how can we, now that we know? Ben was right. There was no way I'd ever be able to view my friend Carl in the same light, to treat him as...well, a friend only.

BUT YOU WILL. WE SHALL MAKE IT POSSIBLE.

Doubt showed in both our faces. But a force made us turn to the Glade again. And our babies were there, all that was visible of them.

But were these babies? When we had been on the mainland we had been taken to a fair, and once we had acclimatised to the noise that was even greater than the noise of the city, and to the puzzlement of having such a big, tented village within the city solely given over to pleasure, we had explored every corner of it. And one of the booths was a thing which naturally suited every one of we island boys. A coconut shy. Throwing to improve our accuracy was one of the things of recreation that every one of us did at home, partly for fun and partly to show off.

Eventually the stall owner had to close. We each won so many of his prizes that we must have nearly bankrupted him.

They wouldn't let us take them back home with us, though. Not enough space in the luggage, they said.

But now....our babies looked exactly like coconuts. Half-buried, hairy coconuts, true. And three were red-haired, four brown and one had straw colour hair. But the `head' underneath each was earth-brown, rough and looked wooden. We looked at each other. He knew what I was thinking at the same time as I did. Had I been alone, I may well have backed away and tried to ignore what I was thinking, but Ben was with me. I couldn't let him down. And as the thoughts passed through my mind I knew he was thinking just the same. Neither of us could admit being repulsed.

I made myself approach, and stroke the hair as I had done on the previous visit. It still felt silky, and human, and I felt better. As I laid my hand on the dome of the first `head', though, I got the real shock.

It was warm. What's more, I could feel life pulsing through it. I pulled my hand away as emotions swept through me. After the shock, the knowledge that here was real life, life sprung from my body, mine and Ben's, and it was a part of me. My responsibility. Our responsibility. Mine, Ben's and Carl's. Ben was experiencing the same revelations further up the line of....heads. No longer were they unpleasant looking growths, or coconuts: they were potential children. Our children. And they were alive.

Whilst the revelations had been dawning on us, subconsciously I could feel apprehension around me. A feeling of strain, of stress. Or was it distress? But when, after the short gap, we were both mentally euphoric about what was below our fingers the air cleared, and once more that complete, still peace flooded the Grove. Or was it just in our minds? I looked round to ask Carl, but he had vanished; yet I never heard him leave, either as a stag or a man. But he had gone, and I know that in our heightened state of mind we would have "felt" that he was there.

Our family was at peace for the night. We were alone. As naturally as night follows day we embraced, and traced the old patterns on each other back, our bodies -- one hairless and the other mature -- pressed together. Sensations of exploration to the back, and the warm, growing contact on the front.....heaven was here. And as we sank to the soft earth to find each other fully we seemed to be cushioned, cocooned on it and in it. Stones had no place in this tilth, nor weeds, nor anything that humans find objectionable. Rather, it was a bed. A giant, king-size bed, there just for us, but also a part of the Earth that is there for all humanity and all life to care for in its own way.

And in our bed, yes of course we showed our love for each other. Yet again. And every time we did so it was as fresh as the first time. The only difference was the depth of our feelings for each other. And that increased, time after time.

When I awoke, it was darker. I looked at Ben. So strong, he looked. So vital. And yet so vulnerable like this. Asleep, his face looked to be that of a boy my own age. For ages I watched him, the chest rising and falling gently, eyelids fluttering as he flew through the skies of some dream. It seemed a shame to wake him. And once more I heard a sound from the Grove. It was Carl. I knew there was something at the back of my mind about him but I couldn't think what, and certainly he shouldn't have been there anyway.

"Carl.... but...why are you here? You know it's not allowed."

"I know...but the blacksmith's fuming round the village, and your Dad's at the house, worried. I thought I'd better come and get you."

"Oh.....why is he worried?"

"I don't know -- something the smith said to him, I think."

"He was up here."

"Who?"

"The smith."

"Oh."

At which point Ben woke, stretching languorously and yawning loudly, eyes closed. As he opened them and saw Carl they opened wide, and he tried to hid his nakedness with his hands before he realised that it was doubly pointless. Not only had they seen each other naked before, with me, in the Village Hall and in this very Grove, but also Carl was himself naked.

"What the.....?"

"It's OK, Ben. The smith was hanging around and Carl came to warn us...oh, and my Dad's at the house, worried."

Why are you talking?

So Carl can hear us.

But he could hear us when we're talking like this.

No -- only when we talk directly to him.

You sure?

Yes! We found it out when the smith came to the house. Remember?

Vaguely. Must be still half asleep.

Dormouse, you.

Huh.

"We'd better get back then," he continued. "See what the problem is."

It was a silent trio that made its way back to the house. There was something troubling me, something about Carl, and I couldn't work out what it was. Had he only just reached the Grove when I heard him? Had he been there for some time? If so, why? It was lucky I had woken then, anyway, or he'd have seen.....

The Glade. Our babies. We'd been lying there, by them, asleep. He HAD seen them.

My sudden stop made both the others look round. I asked hesitantly: "Carl....when you came to find us, what did you see?"

He looked puzzled. "Well...you two, lying....close together..." he trailed off, then cleared his throat and continued in a firmer tone. "Why? What else should I have seen?"

"I mean -- well, what about...er....the shape of the Grove?"

"The same as before, I suppose, except the bit where you two were."

"You saw that?"

"Yes, of course. You were lying in it. When did you cut back the bushes?"

It was my turn to stop and think. Should we be honest with him? He'd need know about the babies sooner or later. But did we trust him enough at this stage? What could he do?

I say no, we don't tell him. What he doesn't know he can't repeat, even if someone tries to force him.

That hadn't occurred to me. Ben was right. If the smith got him on his own one night... I shuddered.

"You OK, Aidan?"

Carl was anxious for me. "Yeah, just a bit cold, that's all."

We hurried on. His question had been stemmed by my shiver, it seemed, and no other words passed between us until we arrived at the house. Dad was waiting outside, and from the corner of my eye I saw a movement at the end of the lane as I turned to greet him. It was blacksmith shaped.

"Thank God you've come back," said Dad. Watch out -- the smith's watching. Ben was warning me of what I'd already seen.

"What's the matter, Dad?" I asked as we ushered him into the house, carefully securing the door behind us.

"It's that man. He's really...intense about all this. I know there's a lot hanging on it, but...well...if it's going to happen it'll happen in its own time. Won't it? I mean -- well -- er... babies take nine months."

He stopped. Embarrassed about mentioning something that had been whispered about in his day, but was common knowledge in ours even if it was sniggered at.

"Well, yes, but who's to say it'll take nine months?"

"Do you know something, Aidan? Because if you do, please tell the smith and get him off your back. And off mine."

"It's not that easy, Dad. The smith is...er..."

"Not to be trusted," Ben chimed in. "We were specifically told that by the Spirits."

The look on my father's face was a picture. Disbelief. Astonishment. Words had left him.

"Oh yes," I said. "We get talked to. Advice. Information, that sort of thing."

"But..." Dad was trying to make sense of it. "...you mean there's really something happening?"

"Well yes. Of course there is. I mean, it'd all have been a waste of time and...er...well, time, if nothing was going to happen."

"But that's -- I mean... I don't know what I mean."

"You mean you never thought it would because I'm not old enough?"

"No. No. I mean whether you're old enough or not doesn't matter. I mean...oh, sorry -- I didn't mean that." He took a breath. "Whether or not you're old enough, I'm just surprised that...something's happening up there, that's all. But does that man know it is, that's the point."

"No. And he mustn't. He's not trustworthy."

"But how do you know that?"

"We don't know. Perhaps they think he might somehow damage the babies."

"Babies?"

"Yeah....don't tell anyone, dad. Please. And the smith mustn't know, or something might happen."

"But babies..."

Poor old Dad. This was getting too much for him.

"Dad, you know that all this was about making life better for us."

"Yes."

"Well, the way the Spirit is going to do it, I don't know. But it involves babies."

"So we were all told at the meeting. The one where I should have called a halt to everything and taken the consequences."

"We'd have had to leave the Island if you had."

"I don't believe they could have made us. But go on. Are there really babies up there?"

"They're growing."

"But they should be here! Indoors! You can't look after babies in the wild. I mean, they're getting pneumonia as we speak! Don't you know babies can't regulate their own temperatures? And what are you feeding them with? How are you occupying them... Oh."

He'd suddenly realised both Ben and I were just smiling gently at him, unconcerned about his concerns.

"There's something else you've not told me, isn't there?"

So we told him about the little hummocks, the growth of hair, the brown domes and the life below. He sat down with a bump, looking dazed. Speechless.

No further words were said until Carl arrived with the tea. Poor old Dad. He really couldn't take in any more.


Chapter 10

 

As the days wore into weeks, we established a routine. The trouble was that the need to make surreptitious visits to the Grove -- and we were making two a day -- and to make more obvious visits for the smith's sake, to attend school and make sure we got enough sleep -- well, it needed more hours in the day than there actually were. At weekends we would go to the Grove late at night to make sure that all was well. Without fail the comfort we found there would make us come together and take the ancient delight in each other that I had only recently learnt and that Ben was only a little more experienced with -- not that he had ever taken a lover to bed before me, either male or female. And after our pinnacle of love for each other had been expressed we would sleep where we were until the early morning. Then we would return home, silent and depressed at having had our sleep interrupted, only to sleep late into the remainder of the morning. Carl had to turn people away frequently, and we became notorious for being lazy, for sleeping late as all elder boys and young men are wont to do. On the Island it was not allowed by any parent. You cannot run farms properly without rising with the sun.

During the weekends, too, we frequently found ourselves there having slept a good while, even if our visit was a morning one.

Mondays were a problem. We were often at the Grove until the early hours still, having used the weekend to make up for lost sleep from the week before -- just about. But the early return home and the divided night's sleep meant we were nearly zombies again the time we should be getting up on Monday mornings. And it was on those days that we used to hate and admire Carl for his insistence that we get to school on time.

Amongst all this battling against our biological clocks the brown domes under the trees on the hillside grew more pronounced, more head-like. Still there was no sign of any other distinguishing feature: no face, and certainly no body. We seemed unable to scrape any of the earth away from them to try and expose more. The thought crossed our minds, but it would have seemed.......wrong. The smith, happy with his sightings of our regular visits, left us alone. I have no idea why he never asked us again for signs of progress.

The end of school for the summer -- our area continued school well into late July for some reason -- was a blessed relief. We could sleep as long as we needed and we could `entertain' friends at the house. And revel in how grown up that sounded. We tried giving them tea at first, but that wasn't popular and we ended up doing what any group of boys does best -- playing football outside, and drinking ginger beer (Coke in those days had hardly been heard of on the Island and we couldn't have afforded it anyway.) But we never once missed going up at least twice a day to check on our growing family. And growing they were -- well, so far as we could tell. The brown domes seemed to be getting larger, and paler, although that might have been a trick of the light. We often showed each other our love there, but it was not every time as it had been at first. We were still attached to each other as we always had been, but increasingly there seemed to be a need to hurry back for some social reason. And, as our time was otherwise our own, we had no need for night visits. The long holidays continued until mid September, when temperatures were no longer what they had been and we, attuned to the seasons, could sniff the air and know that autumn was just around the corner of the next weekend.

And it was on that weekend that it happened.

A group of friends had been with us doing the usual things, ending up with general teasing and messing around. We'd given them something to eat and drink -- and I mean we. Carl was one of us now: there was no difference in who did what for whom. And then they'd left, quite late. We'd said our goodnights -- Carl had given his usual wistful look at me -- and we'd separated, him to his room and we two to ours. Whereupon, of course, we'd kissed and fondled and slowly stripped, and held and aroused and finally lain next to each other in sleep.

I was dreaming.

I was in a room. Alone. That meant something was wrong, because apart from in the lavatory and on a very few occasions I was never alone. There was always Ben, school friends or family around. But this time there was no one there at all. Worse than that, I couldn't move. There were no restraints binding me, but I just couldn't move more than an inch or two in any direction, thrash around though I might. Something from outside where I was -- was it a room? Was it the Grove? -- was calling me. Insistently. Urgently. A note of panic in its voice. Louder...louder....louder....

I woke up, sweating. Ben was holding me, shaking me. I felt another presence there and looked past him, and there was Carl, too. But there was something about him.... And why was he there, in our room? What was Ben saying?

"Aidan....Aidan....oh, thank God, he's awake. Can't you feel it? Can't you hear it? They've been calling ages! They're ready. They want to be born. Tonight. Now! We've got to go. Hurry. Get UP! Please! Aidan!"

At last I knew, even muzzily, what was happening. But why was Carl..... But Ben was dragging me, dragging me.....

"All right, all right. I'm coming. Let me get dressed."

No time.

But that was Carl's `voice'. What.....?

We've all got to go now. As we are.

Why was Carl giving the orders? All right -- he was as naked as we were. But these were our babies.

But somehow he rushed us out of the house into the chill of the night. I had no idea what time it was. All I knew is that it was totally dark, cold on my bed-warm skin, and I was for the second time in my life going through the Village totally naked, but this time with only two naked friends.

We disturbed no one, mercifully. Even the ever vigilant Miss Flude must have been asleep. We half walked, half ran up to the woods, stared stupidly at the point where we would usually stop to get stripped and hide our clothes, ran past it and into the woods. This time it was not so dark there. It was actually lighter than it had been outside, and as we ran on the brightness seemed to increase still further. It seemed the aura of the Spirit world had spilt over into the wider wood. By the time we reached the tunnel it was bright as day. But there was no tunnel. The enclosing bushes had sprung back, untangling. They were leaning away from the path into the Grove instead of over it. Astonished, we almost stopped, but Carl -- it was always Carl -- urged us on. Onward into the Grove. Over the place where the seven saplings had been.....

Had been?

The symbol of the Grove, gone?

Not gone, but dead. Withered away like grass. Lifeless they lay, uprooted and fallen away from the centre, to moulder in the long grass.

This time we did stop, aghast. Was this the work of the smith? An angry sound came from behind us, where Carl had been. Half of him still was -- the top half. The bottom part was somehow shrouded in mist as if it no longer wanted to be seen. But the mist was not just around his legs, it extended from his waist backwards, and then down to the ground. I heard a hoof striking against a stone.

The memory of his appearance here all that time ago, when I had recognised the look in the eye of the young stag, came flooding back. Why had I never said anything to him..... But there was no time to wonder or be scared now.

YOU MUST ATTEND THEM. ALL WILL BE PLAIN SOMETIME. GO. HELP THEM. LOVE THEM.

It was Carl's voice still, urgent, commanding. And that took all the worry from us. This was why we were here.

The moment of birth.

We rushed to the glade, whose hiding bushes seemed almost to be straining away from the clearing. In the space the light, although still bright, seemed somehow gentler. We looked in.

A baby was crying.

But no...this was no baby's cry. This was the agonised, heart wrenching cry of a small boy terrified. I had heard it last when some of the older sons of some visitors from the mainland -- we discouraged them whenever possible -- had got hold of one of the local young boys and was threatening him for some reason. In a gentle, busy community like ours that sort of thing never happened, and the boy thought he was bound to be murdered. His cries, when a group of us finally heard them, had been just like this......

Near one end of the line of domes -- and they all, suddenly, seemed to have become skin coloured under the hair -- was one who ..... who had shaken his head so much that some of the earth covering his face had fallen away. I gazed stupidly. The face was crumpled, but not in a vegetable way. This was the crumpled, agonised face of a terrified, crying child. And that hardened my resolve again. Questions could wait until afterwards.

I rushed to him, Ben just behind me. I think I must have said something stupid like "There, there.." But Ben had greater presence of mind. I felt him, in a voice more confident than I had ever heard him use before: It's all right, little Aidan. We're here now. It'll be all right in a minute.

And then it hit me. This wall of panic. This incredible, mind-numbing agony of claustrophobia. This acute distress. This loneliness. And all expressed in this high, piping mental wail that is impossible to describe or to imagine unless you'd been unfortunate enough to experience it. Why I had been `deaf' to it for so long I don't know.

Ben had made sure he appeared in front of the head....no, in front of the young Aidan....and there was a check to the crying, and as deep a breath as the boy could make. It was plain the earth, in which he had grown, was now threatening to constrict him, to stop the human life in him as soon as it had started. Feverishly, Ben and I scrabbled at the earth around him. As he had grown in it, it had compressed, and it was very hard on our fingers and hands. We also had to make sure we didn't throw the earth over any of the others who, mercifully, were still motionless.

Deeper and deeper we dug, and gradually the neck, the shoulders, the small nipples appeared, the boyish chest below... and the breathing deepened, the cries became less, and as we dug deeper still they descended into whimpering. As we dug, he threatened to flop over onto his front, so I carefully put my hands under his arms, trembling as I did so, and held him gently upright. Immediately the whimpers stopped and he leant back to rest his head on my bare chest.

If this was how a mother felt when she first held her new-born baby, then suddenly I understood an awful lot about motherhood...... and again the knowledge of the death of my own mother stabbed at me. At once the being in my arms turned -- as best he could -- and looked up at me. He may have had the body of a five-year-old boy, yet the look of compassion in his eyes was as old and as positive as the hills, and went straight to my heart, along with the love I had for this small, strangely-born waif.

At his waist, Ben was still scraping at the earth. Slowly he revealed the belly, devoid, of course, of a navel: what would any child formed in the earth need of one? Then at the back, where one of my arms still encircled him, I dug away to reveal the top of his buttocks, and at the front Ben was slowly, delicately clearing the earth from his little penis. I watched, entranced. Even when, at last, his slim thighs were free, he still couldn't move, and it wasn't until a sweating Ben reached the middle of the calves that he began to struggle and help. But at last there was that moment when both feet came free of the soil and I could lift him, turn him to face me, and support him properly so we were face to face. Ben came to join me.

Hallo....Aidan, I said. Aidan smiled. For some reason I kissed him on the forehead, and immediately his arms were around me and he was snuggling into my shoulder. The next thing I knew his head drooped, and he was asleep.

Well, Aidan, if your brothers and sister need the same amount of work before they're safe, we're in for a long night. Ben was right, and I felt guilty about having left him to do most of the work. He was tired, sweaty and muddy, and we only had the one boy free. There were seven others! Don't worry, he continued. Perhaps Carl will help us with the next one? Carl? "Carl? Will you help us with some of them?"

The only reply was a pawing noise, and we looked round. All that was there was the stag, pawing at the earth. But again there was that look in his eye that was familiar. I had no idea how this could be. If it was Carl, why had I not realised it at home? How could I have been so familiar with someone I knew as a friend and now as a helper, when all the time he was a Spirit?

YES. I WILL HELP YOU. BUT YOU HAVE TO TAKE THE LEAD. IT WOULD BE WRONG FOR ME TO DO IT ALL. THEY ARE YOUR CHILDREN: ALL EXCEPT ONE. AND YOUR HANDS ARE BETTER FOR THIS WORK THAN MY HOOVES.

Why do you not change back and help?

BECAUSE WHOLLY SPIRIT HERE I AM. THE HUMAN INFLUENCE HAS LEFT. BUT HELP I SHALL.

There was a silence after this, a silence which was broken only by a scrabbling sound from the other end of the line of mounds. Swiftly we moved towards it.

A head was trying to move from side to side. It was trying to shake the soil from it. As the sea swells and breaks over the rocks I felt the panic well up and break into the agony of imprisonment. As the mouth became free it opened to emit the first shriek of terror, but then we were with him. This time I was at the front. It's all right. We are with you, and we'll soon have you free. Here.... And I started to dig frantically at his neck and shoulders. From nowhere it came to my mind.....

My name is Benjamin.

Well of course it is. Your brother is Aidan, so you must be Ben. Well, Ben, it may be uncomfortable now, but soon we shall have you free, and then you can join Aidan.

I can't breathe.

Any minute now, you'll be able to breathe properly.... I hoped I was right. The earth was tightly packed and I wasn't digging very fast. I tried to think of what would help. Ah yes.... Breathe out fully, then take small breaths until we can release the earth.

Carl, I could hear my Ben calling him. Help us, please!

The stag came round to where I was frantically digging and planted his hoof about six inches away from the boy. I wondered how he was going to dig., but he soon showed me. The powerful front hoof kicked against the packed earth, denting it. The next blow loosened it, and more and more kicks really started to achieve a good hole. Again and again he kicked, and the soil loosened, and at last I could pull the earth from in front of the young Ben much more easily. At last the boy's breathing became easier, as his brother's had, and the level of panic in his thoughts diminished.

It took me ages, it seems, to reach the base of his chest and the delicate organs that waited below. By this time Ben was supporting him, holding him, cuddling him to keep him calm. Down and down we dug, the stag and I, and gradually Mother Earth released her second newborn. When finally he was free, as his brother had, he smiled in relief , drooped his head against Ben's chest, and slept. Ben carefully laid him down next to Aidan, asleep in the long grass, and as we watched the elder boy snuggled up close to his brother and stretched an arm over him, all without waking. We were entranced.

Are they all right? Surely we should be keeping them warm somehow? The ever-considerate Ben was worried. I hadn't the faintest idea what we should do for them, or how, with no clothes of our own anywhere near and eight children to care for, we could keep them warm.

THE SPIRITS WILL CARE UNTIL THEY LEAVE.

This was not Carl's voice. This was less earthy, more of the spirit. We had heard it before, right at the beginning when we were first about to distribute our seed. We looked round, startled, but there was nothing else in sight, only the stag, also gazing around, alert. He too was sweating after all his efforts to give freedom to Ben's namesake.

And we still had six more births to attend to.

 

******

 

As children and young men, we had all three helped on the land. We had done all manner of jobs. Some, when we were racing against the weather, trying to bring in the harvest and working every possible daylight hour in the hot sun, had exhausted us, we thought, well beyond normal tiredness. But all that exertion on the farms was as nothing compared with the events of that night when we were parents, midwives and surgeons to our own offspring. We had nothing to use by way of implements save our own four hands and two hooves. The mental strain as each of our children awoke, found they couldn't breathe, and had given their first screams, had worn our nerves to a frazzle. The subsequent physical effort for them, knowing that if we failed or took too long the child would die a slow, lingering death as Mother Earth prevented her sons and daughter from breathing, rendered us exhausted beyond belief. It was adrenaline, pure and simple, that kept the frenzy of digging going, as first one of us and then the other, helped by the stag's Herculean efforts, dug to give the freedom of birth to our children. By the time it was over, all we could do was collapse where we had lain the lastborn to sleep.

There came a point when we awoke, but there was no indication how long we had been at rest. The Grove was dim, although as the births had taken place it was as light as a spring morning. It was still, and above all warm and dry. There was none of the discomfort we had experienced on our naked journey to the Grove that night in early autumn.

Every muscle I possessed was aching. My head was aching. My stomach was aching. I was filthy with the soil that I had frantically dug away; away from my child, away from his unborn siblings, away to anywhere but nearby. I felt greasy and stiff jointed. All I wanted to do was to crawl back under the bedcovers and sleep for a week.

But there were no bedcovers. There was a family to care for. I had no chance to rest. Half of me wanted to let them all take care of themselves until I had slept my sleep out, and the other half knew that I couldn't and that we all had to feed them, bathe them, care for them. Were any awake? It seemed not. But then I saw the glint of an eye.

I had known each of these five year old babies ......and that stopped me in my tracks too. There had been no time during the births to wonder of the manner of these children. Five years old at birth, and developed to that point in just three months! How.......why.....? I had known each of them for the thirty minutes or so it had taken to release him. But during that short period of communication I had learnt who was whom. Each except one had told us his name as he was first comforted and was enabled to breathe, and had been promised his full freedom. Aidan had come first -- I felt an irrational pride in that -- and then Benjamin -- and I was honoured by that too. Then Hamish and Ruaridh in quick, exhausting succession. Then the blond haired girl had appeared, and she had been the only one not to volunteer a name, to our surprise and consternation. A short pause and we had been startled by the shrill cry of Patrick. Efan was next, and lastly Ifor.

It was the brown eyes of Ruaridh that were open, and as I looked blearily at him he gave the most mischievous grin I have ever seen. I loved him immediately; something, I suppose, that must have communicated itself to him in my look at him because he carefully raised himself to his hands and knees and shuffled uncertainly along to me.

He was, of course, filthy. Mud was caked on him. Much of it we had tried to get off as they came free of the ground, but what was left had partly dried. He must have been as uncomfortable as I had been when, at a similar age, I had been caught playing in the mud by someone's farm pump, much to my Father's disgust.

He reached me and let himself fall at my side. His piping voice came through into my head.

Hallo Aidan.

Hallo, Ruaridh. Are you all right?

He looked surprised.

Yes. It wasn't nice when we were in the earth but it's all right now.

Good. Are you still tired?

This was more in hope than anything else.

I don't know.

Hmmm ..... puzzling answer. But if he was uncertain, there was no time to ask more or to answer anything else -- not that I knew what to say -- for Ben was starting to stir, groaning as he did so.

"Ohhh...... ahhhhhh ...... I feel awful."

"So do I. If you look as awful as I feel....."

"You look dreadful. Do I look like that?

"Worse."

There was a noise by me. Ruaridh's eyes were big. Scared.

You're making noises!

"We're...." Of course -- he's never heard talk before. We're talking, Ruaridh. It's the way most people .....er.... tell each other things.

Why?

Because not everyone can hear thoughts.

Is that what we're doing now?

Yes.

How do I talk?

This was difficult. You....er....just open and shut your mouth and make sounds.

What did come out of his mouth, of course, would have interested a psychiatrist. On reflection it didn't surprise me. But it was certainly disconcerting, and meant we would have to teach all of them how to make all the sounds people make to be able to talk. I started practising in my own mind...

You sound funny!

Huh! I've got to teach you how to talk! Wait 'til you start!

Is it difficult?

No, 'cos you can think. When you're a baby you can't do that very well.

Oh. Why?

Because babies can't.

But why?

Because....because they're not as old as you.

But I'm not old.

You're older than a baby.

Why?

Because you spent a long time in the ground, growing. Growing bigger than...human...than babies do.

Aren't I human, then?

Yes. Don't you look it?

A pause. A blessed pause in the questions. Perhaps that was the answer -- instead of responding to the question you asked another.

Yes.

Good. I think you do, too.

Ben was grinning at me, tiredness seemingly gone. I still felt dreadful, but all around us seven small boys and a small girl were staring to open their eyes, to move, to ask questions. More questions than any of us could answer. But as each one piped up we did our best to respond with his name, with something, and gradually the looks we gave them made them smile happily at us and to press close to us, anxious for that first touch, that first individual hug from a parent that forms the bond. But the questions never stopped.

But from one they never started.

The girl, the beautiful little blond girl, watched all her brothers with amusement in her eyes, now and again even laughing at their unsteadiness as they crawled nearer to us. Time after time one of us would try to get her to get nearer so we could hug her and include her in the family group, but she never moved. I started to worry, for I could hear nothing from her, nor could I gauge whether she could hear Ben and me, or her brothers, although God knows they were easy enough to hear. I was about to stagger to my feet to go and sit by her to find out what the problem was when there was a sudden silence from the noisy crowd around me. All their faces pointed behind me, and the eyes went round as saucers again. Anxiously I looked round, as did Ben.

An ancient stag stood there, splendid in his spread of antlers, yet with a coat that somehow showed an achievement of years that was far greater than could normally be seen in any member of the deer family. More, his air of authority, his charisma was such that had he appeared at the forefront of any of the sport-hunts that were a feature of life on the island, he would have stilled even the dogs that had tracked him to his lair.

It was a matter of the spirit, solely, that I try to describe next. I have no words to use that can portray the impetus on the spirit -- itself a difficult part of the human condition to quantify -- that can really identify for someone who was not there how natural the whole thing was. Even the written device of using thick italic capital letters, such as I have used to try and show the unquestionable authority of the Spirits when they had `spoken' to us before is inadequate. The force of will -- no, even that is wrong. There was no force. It came to us as entirely inevitable, natural, normal, beautiful, accepted; the proper course of events. But nevertheless, it was as inevitable and as good as when spring takes over from winter, that the beautiful, nameless girl, the only girl of our offspring, should become a child directly of the Spirit world. We would not take her to the Village. We would not have a shadow of responsibility for her well-being, her education, her development. We would see her rarely, and even then she would appear as a Spirit only, and then only here in the depths of the woodlands.

The word `ambivalent' had only recently come into my vocabulary, and that with only a scant understanding. As my human brain, which was trying to cope with losing a child, vied with my spirit, which understood perfectly the reasons for her destiny, the part of me that I have always made to stand aside from my life to observe myself suddenly knew the precise meaning of the word. One part of me wanted her as part of my family: the other part of me was ecstatic that she was to be a pure being of the spirit world.

The physical result of my ambivalence was that I knew I was both crying for a loss and smiling in approval. I could scarcely come to terms with my own emotions. And it was not until Ben's arm came under my shoulders that I realised he must be similarly affected and I needed to support him, just as he was supporting me.

Our emotions held us still. Our muscles gave us no opportunity to move as our beautiful, blond little daughter rose to her feet, far steadier than her brothers, and smilingly crossed to the ancient stag. When she reached him she turned, and her eyes lit on Ben and me in turn. And we knew that she was undismayed: far from that, she was complete, at ease, full of love both for us and for.... For what?

There was a rustle in the bushes behind her, and in an almost comical contrast to the aged, formidable, charismatic stag, there appeared a fawn. The dappling on his short coat was muted, and it seemed only when he moved that he was visible, so wonderfully did he blend with the flora around him. The spring in his step, and the playfulness of his graceful movements, showed us that he was the complete equivalent in age to his equally beautiful human spirit counterpart. As with any young animal I was immediately entranced, and suddenly I realised that this was the real playmate of our only daughter. It was only right that the two of them should be together, to play, to learn, to take their place in the woodlands and in the Spirit world, and perhaps, eventually, to produce young, who would .... What? Did it matter? They were so young, and it seemed wrong to think of mating and of offspring. And between a girl and a stag?!!! My mind, even then, rebelled.

In fact, my mind was exhausted from the shifts of emotion it had undergone in such a short time. I saw the girl, now smiling at the little fawn's approach to her, as through a mist, my eyes needed to seek the light of the sky, and roll backwards in their sockets, and a moment later my knees began to buckle... I crumpled to the ground, but was aware that Ben was fainting beside me. My last thoughts were for the boys: I could not see if they were all right, and even through my stupor a part of my mind shrieked at me.

 

The roaring sound seemed completely out of place. The dim light came from somewhere outside my world. I couldn't stop its approach as it brightened, then faded to a dark red as the roaring grew less. And at last I remembered that I had eyes, eyes that could open. With care and foreboding I willed the eyelids apart. The brightness and the cold struck at me, and I winced. As the irises closed, vision, normal human vision, returned. And at the edge of the Glade there were two desperately young, desperately attractive fawns, one male, one female, standing by each other, occasionally rubbing their necks together in contentment. As they saw my eyes open and focus, the female bowed her head and pawed at the ground. I moved not a muscle, but the memory of our daughter and the knowledge of her destiny returned to my mind. Gently they crossed to where we lay, and I could feel that Ben was now conscious too, thank goodness. They stood over us. The girl - what was I thinking: the little doe - lowered her head to mine, and softly rubbed her muzzle against my cheek. My arm reached out, and for the first and last time I stroked her neck -- the neck from which, only a few hours before, I had feverishly cleared the life-threatening soil at her birth, the thanks for which were at that moment being implanted in my head from nowhere. She passed to Ben, and repeated the caress.

The sight of this communion between our daughter and my life's partner is cast into my memory as if in stone. It is a memory which returns to me in times of stress, and sometimes when we are together at night and I am watching him. It says to me, stronger than anything else, that the feelings between us were pure, are pure; that they can be shared with creatures of tender years safely, since they are as natural and as normal and as delightful as the warmth of a summer's day. And that, as pure emotions, they are as far from equating same-sex love with dirt, or even sex with dirt, as it is possible to get. Yet many people close their minds to any other possibility than that sex is dirt: I feel sorry for them, for their bigotry and unhappiness must be staggering, if they could but see it.

And then the couple stood back a few feet so we could see them both.

My name is Angharad. He says it is the nearest name in human sounds to the old language words `fy nghariad' which means `my heart'. His name is Gwaed, which is Blood in the new language. I am of you, and he is of the Stags, and you are of us. We shall live nearby and we shall be there at need. But at other times we shall live with the herd, guided by the Spirits, and shun humans. But farewell for this time. Come here at times with my brothers, and know both that we are near, and that we love our birth parents and our human family too.

`Birth Parents'..... Even had there been time I could not have said anything further for the constriction in my throat that those two words caused. Thirteen, and a parent. To a daughter and seven sons as well! But the pride evaporated as suddenly as it had come, as I knew it was not just my own doing. And the rest of her words -- even then it crossed my mind that she was only the equivalent of five years old. And if she was, how did she manage to speak as if she was an old, regal woman? But we hardly had time to answer in our minds with our wishes for their safety, their health, their happiness, when they backed away further, wheeled around, and disappeared into the foliage with hardly a rustle.

Once again Ben's arm was around me, and mine around him. And gradually all our little boys started to wake again, the questioning in their minds increasing as the water at the rise of the tide. We had our responsibilities, and our own questions and need to be quiet together would have to wait.

So we adopted smiles -- to start with no easy task after what we had just witnessed. But as our lively little band became ever livelier they started to have that effect on us that only children can have, and that just by being there. We found our spirits lifted by their constant presence in our minds that soon the grins on our faces were absolutely genuine. But I knew we could stay here no longer. The temperature, which had been warm and constant all during their birth and our recovery, was now noticeably dropping, and it was probably this which was making them all jump about. Ben was looking at me, tenderly, and I knew the same thing was in his mind.

"Come on," I said. "We must go home."

They were stunned into silence, having communicated only by mind since their birth. As one their eyes turned to Ben beseechingly. But he knew what I was trying to do.

With both voice and mind he said "I know you -- we -- have no need of voice...of noise...when we talk. But we're all humans, and all other humans can only talk by using their voice. You need to learn that. So, starting now, we will get you used to making noise to talk, so you can learn easier."

I don't want to. This was Ruaridh, It's scary.

"It doesn't need to be. Just get used to it."

Can't.

"You can. Just listen, like you do to..." To what? Ah yes: a constant in all those weeks of growing as a drake must have been "... to the wind."

The wind always tells if there's going to be water to drink from the sky, or if it's going to be warm and time to spread out.

"Well, now it's a different kind of wind. A wind that'll tell you all about everything else too."

How will we know it?

"When you hear us talk with noise. And when other people talk too."

Are there other people?

"Yes. Lots. And they'll want to tell you things about themselves that you don't know."

Why can't they talk like we've been talking?

"Because they weren't born like you."

Why?

"Because all of you, and Angharad, are special people; very special. But we don't tell anyone else that."

I was expecting another `why', but all he did was shiver.

"Come on," I called again, and this time they all got up. Who was going first? Ben or me? But he was helping Ifor, who was still rather weak on his legs, to get up. It had to be me. But would they follow?

I walked purposefully towards the entrance, across where the saplings had been when they were alive .... and I felt a stab of regret at their passing: they had been beautiful trees, yes, only trees, but we as a Village were taught to respect trees everywhere as being a natural resource. They provided us with shelter from the winter's ravages, they grew berries or nuts, their dead branches were fuel. Yes, trees were friends. These particular friends had been a part of the Grove for as long as we had been coming there, and now we missed them. The tunnel, I was glad to see, had relaxed into its normal musty, womb-like darkness. The need for it to help us on our way in to ease our children's panic had passed. I ducked into it, and looked round. Ruaridh was behind me, and I could see another of the boys after him. That was good enough. On I went.

I found Carl standing at the end of it, where it joined the main path through the wood. It was dark there, and the cold light of the moon penetrated the autumn branches only a little.

"Have I got a surprise for you?" I asked.

"What?"

"Look."

But as little Ruaridh appeared from the tunnel it wasn't surprise on Carl's face, just a welcoming smile that was as quickly returned by the boy. As each of them appeared, Carl gave him a quick hug, a hug that was returned, just as if the elder boy was already known.

I felt disappointed. It should have been Ben and me they were hugging, not Carl. And why were none of them surprised? It seemed almost as if they already knew him, and he them. Something was at the back of my mind....but I couldn't retrieve it.

But at last the young Ben came into the open, and he came straight to me before hugging Carl. He looked straight up into my face, and smiled; the sort of smile that says "Dad..." without you even remembering what it felt like when you'd done it yourself. That made me feel better. A lot better. At least my love's namesake had his priorities right.

When we were all there, I turned once again to lead them down to the Village, and home. One by one on that journey they tired, and we had to carry them on our shoulders. Easy it was not. We were still tired, and although young they were not light. And I was only thirteen. But to carry your own children to their home, naked, on your own bare shoulders, is a wonderful thing to do, and brought each of them closer to us. What a way to start fatherhood.

It wasn't until we had nearly left the shelter of the trees that I realised it was dark. The dark of night still, not nearly morning as I had expected. The part of my brain that measures time was totally confused, for surely we had entered the woods in panic after well nightfall? After bed-time? But why.....? But then, did it matter? It was better this way. There would be no Miss Flude, no blacksmith, no Dad, even, to scorn and be outraged.

The boys seemed to know that we must keep quiet as no noise was made -- even from mind to mind -- as we walked through the sleeping Village towards our home. Little Ben was close to me, and Ifor was on my shoulders. I looked down, and Ben's face was alight with amazement at seeing the houses and the tracks that we called roads, and the lack of trees. He saw Miss Flude's well kept garden and smiled happily, and a chord of contentment at the flourishing of living things in it floated into my mind from his.

And at last our home came into view. Ben pulled at my hand as he stopped short, and from the others I could feel the request to stop being repeated. We complied, and all ten of us stood in a straight line, facing the house.

Notes of uncertainty there were from some of them. Somehow they knew that this was to be the place where they were to live from now on. But two, at least, were happy, and `told' the others why.

This is the gift of their family and friends. This is where love is. This is where they live. This is where the Sprit is too. The Spirit who will help them help us.

I had no idea, of course, what the last bit meant, but assumed it was something to do with all three of us, Ben, Carl and me. It seemed to have the desired effect, because they all gave off waves of relief and acceptance, and by a stirring of five year old legs I could tell they wanted to see more. I put Ben onto the ground and he marched straight up to the house, planting his feet in the soft earth outside the front door.

I'll stand here tonight. Then I can see who's coming and going.

There was a note of uncertainty in his voice, and I could feel the tiredness at the back of it that partly balked at the idea of standing in the cold all night. Before any of the others could find their spot to plant themselves to go to sleep I intervened.

You don't need to do that now. Now we all sleep in beds, and the door looks after itself. Nobody can get past it.

There was a pause.

But the door's dead.

It took me a moment to work that one out.

The tree has given its wood to make the door, yes. And it's not a tree any more. But we have a thing on it that stops it being opened.

Another pause.

Oh.

I overtook Ben, whose feet and toes were now muddy again, and we went inside. As soon as we were in and the door shut it seemed very crowded and uncertain, and I at last knew that the work was over and my family was safely delivered. Tiredness crept -- well no, leapt would be a better word -- over me and my mind seemed to go numb. I heard Ben say something about a bath, and couldn't have cared less. And Carl agreed with him, and as my legs nearly crumpled beneath me I could feel strong arms go round my shoulders and lower me gently to the floor.

Poor Aidan. He's had enough for tonight. I keep forgetting he's five years younger than me, and two younger than you. Let's bathe him with the boys, and put them all to bed.

My brain rebelled at that, and I made an effort to get up, but nothing seemed to work properly. I made myself keep awake as best I could, helped by the chill of the night on my naked body. But eventually I could feel my brain shutting down completely, although the last bit of consciousness took some time to follow. Later I was dimly aware of being held up by Carl as Ben soaped me in rather tepid, dirty water, but the soft sweeps of the flannel in his hands lulled me back to sleep again. I just recollect being oh-so-gently rubbed and patted dry, and wondered if my body would react as it usually did to such a near-tickling sensation. I registered that it didn't, that time. At last, dry, I was put between smooth sheets, and then even my subconscious mind seemed to close down. A little later, I suppose, I was aware of a warmth next to me: the subconscious registered that it was Ben, and therefore good, and I fell deeply back into an even more contented sleep.


Chapter 11

 

I wished someone would stop hammering.

Why is there a noise of kids shouting?

Can't they keep the kids in the junior class quiet?

Is a teacher sick? They sound as if they're running wild.

How can I sleep with the juniors making so much noise?

The paradox of sleeping in school, while not completely unknown for me, certainly hadn't ever before included lying down, and in a bed at that. Faced with such a puzzle to sort out my brain dragged itself into something approaching wakedness. The sounds of children continued, but I could distinguish no words. What was.....

Interesting, isn't it, at what point in waking up the logic of normal life floods back? It took me, I suppose, some ten seconds that morning, before I realised that the children making the noise were....

Mine? Ben's and Mine?

I blinked stupidly, until the memories of the previous night came flooding back. And with them came the question again: why were they making such a noise? And...hang on...they'd never made a noise at all yet! They'd had no need to.

Before I was really awake I shot out of bed, fearing the worst. What had happened? Were they running wild? Had someone come into the house? Where was Ben, anyway? Surely he should be there beside me? What...?

I ran to the door, opened it, and the noise hit me. But it was a happy noise. There sounded to be no danger here. What was going on? I stumbled down the stairs and into the front room, hardly noticing the smell of bacon cooking, and there....

There were seven small boys, naked, tumbling on the floor, being grabbed and tickled as they came within reach of an arm, by.....

My father.

My father?

My father. I just stood there, mouth open, stupidly. And one at a time they noticed I was there, and rushed up to me, and clustered round, making noises, one or two of which were spoken words. And over it all my brain registered: You're up! Hallo, Dad! We've been playing with Grandad! Are you all right? (This was the young Ben) What's that smell? Is this what being human is? And one by one they hugged me, as far up my thirteen year old body as a five year old could reach, and looked into my eyes with unreserved smiles. And surely, I hugged them back, and looked them in the eyes too, and saw how happy they were. Then I looked at my Father.

When two people know that they have shared an experience that is deep beyond the depth of everyday life, there is a bond. And there is sometimes an unspoken recognition of that bond. Words are unnecessary because each knows exactly what the other has experienced. Such a bond is fatherhood. And I suppose any father and son who are also good friends, presented with the first son of that son, form an incredibly intense bond of shared pride and shared experience that is a purely male thing. It is immeasurable in its depth. The closeness of the two increases further; the love increases, the respect increases from father to son -- or rather, from grandfather to father -- to the surprise, I suppose of both. Certainly to the surprise of the son/father. And if that son/father is himself only just thirteen.....well....there should be another word in the dictionary to describe it. Certainly the overworked `love', meaningful as it is, is entirely inadequate.

I carefully, gently, disentangled myself from my beautiful sudden family, and without taking my eyes from my father's walked over to where he lay on the floor, propped up on one elbow, still breathing quite heavily from his exertions with his grandsons. I sank to my knees, naked from my bed as I was, and yet unembarrassed, and still musty from sleep, and hugged him as if he had been an eighth son. But for longer, and with the full weight of my tousled head on his shoulder.

For a while, we were alone, but then the boys came clustering around us, quiet now, and with thoughts of love of their own washing through my mind. Dad looked up at them and smiled, rather mistily, I thought.

He cleared his throat. In a voice that was unlike his own, as different as I had ever heard, he wavered rather than spoke: "I'm sorry I didn't believe....I still don't know how.....but they're wonderful, and they're so obviously yours -- and Ben's -- that....well, they're Family."

He paused, trying, I suspect, to get his equilibrium. Then, almost sharply: "I'm proud of you."

 

It turned out that the boys had been having to learn how to say the words that they knew in their head quite quickly so as to play with Dad, and I stored that knowledge in my head for later. It was all very well the three of us trying to teach them to talk out loud .....no, no: the two of us. Carl couldn't -- could he? No. Of course not. But once again something nagged at my mind. If Ben and I tried to teach them it would be all too easy for us to make up for the exasperation of their not wanting to use their voice by going back to what they could do. But id Dad were to spend time with them, they would have to learn: they would want to learn.

But the smell of bacon being brought in by a happy looking Carl soon brought back the present to my mind, as I watched six of the boys still tormenting Dad who was loving every minute of it. The last one, my namesake, just sat there, looking at him adoringly.

For once in my life I knew what he meant.

"Breakfast!" called Carl, cutting through my thoughts. At last the present caught up with me: I was the only adult in the room, (me! Adult!) who was naked, and up to that point I'd thought nothing of it. But now.....

"Excuse me," I muttered, and swiftly got up and went upstairs, my mind in a whirl with emotions, pride, puzzlement, confusion and that slightly out-of-control feeling that dealing with a group of young boys brings. But I knew that I was hungry and that the smell of that bacon was getting to me, and it was that alone that stopped me from lying on the bed again to get my bearings in this new life of mine. I found some clothes and flung them on, then went down again where I met a wave of thought.

"Come on!" "This smells too good to wait for!" "What is it?" "Why did you put clothes on?" "Yeah -- we haven't." "I'm hungry."

"So am I," I said out loud. Dad looked at me, puzzled.

"He said he was hungry," I told him.

He shrugged. "Well, after being used as a sack by my grandsons, so am I." The way he was looking at me caught me completely unawares. It was the expression I'd seen so many times at childhood bedtimes and at moments of my personal stress whilst growing. A look of love, of care and of pride. But there was something tempering -- no, augmenting -- it. I caught a glimpse of his emotion, and now equal with the love in him was the pride he felt for me. It was different from the old relationship at home with my brothers. There, because of his attitude and care for us I knew of the love, but here, I could feel he was talking to an equal, someone who he loved just as much, but who he knew he was at ease with in a different way. It's difficult to explain, even now, so long after the event. At the time, at thirteen, I could no more put it into words than fly to the moon. But now I suppose I know how it feels to have another life started, life that is of you yet not yours; life that you are responsible for yet have no responsibility for; life which you love, yet did nothing directly to start; life that loves you because you have been given a magic name, and have done nothing to prove yourself unworthy of it.

Grandad.

 

That breakfast was amazing. Mind-boggling, even, to Ben and me, to my Father and Carl. We four adults -- well, one adult and three boys of varying ages -- were dressed, hungry, and sitting around a table. Seven five-year-old boys sat between us, naked, hungry, and fidgeting. The smell of grilled bacon was having the effect it always has on the hungry male and as a result eleven stomachs were rumbling and eleven mouths watering. Four of those present couldn't wait to tuck in: seven of those present had cottoned on to the fact that this was cooked pig and were totally confused because of its origins and because of the nature of their birth.

They had no particular love for members of the pig family, but the idea of consuming the flesh of an animal was something that beings that had developed, let's face it, as plants, couldn't cope with. They weren't disgusted, they were just puzzled. I think they might had learnt quicker if we hadn't thought in our minds what bacon was -- if that had been possible -- but it was also Carl's fault for telling them that fried tomatoes grew from the earth.....

After a circular and involved lesson in human and plant biology, where they came into the growing process, what humans had to do to keep alive and not just fade away in pain with no energy at all, and why it was not possible any longer for them to tap their roots down further and drink nutrition from the soil, we got them to think about taking the first mouthful. It was Ruaridh who picked up a piece of bacon and brought his teeth down on it, cautiously, his mouth watering visibly as he did so. And as his saliva worked its magic and the taste buds received their first messages, such a mental shout of wonder rang out that I was amazed my Father never heard it. I could see by his face, though, that he had felt the sudden release of tension, and almost immediately all seven pairs of jaws were working furiously as if to make up for lost time.

That first meal was a messy business.

And the bacon was by now cold.

We all three sighed, and I knew we all had a lot to learn. They had to learn details of the most basic of human social behaviour, and we had to learn what they needed to do to make up for the lost years of learning between birth and five. It would be a long haul.

Carl vanished, having seen that some of them were looking hopefully at the serving dish as if there should have been more, and before long we could smell that other wonderful morning smell.

Toast.

I kept my mind firmly on flour but off wheat growing in the fields, and majored heavily on water and salt and yeast. Thinking of yeast made them scornful, and I got visions of a white bloom on skin, and an itch that never stopped until the next rain. I explained how humans had found a way of getting their own back and making yeast do something useful. The result was that they attacked the toast, and butter -- no, I never thought of its origins either, and nor did anybody else, it seemed -- with relish. And then they lounged back in their chairs, hands over bellies which were suddenly feeling full for the first time ever.

I smiled.

I had to. How many times had I done just that on a Sunday morning, the only time we had a full cooked breakfast as a family? It was always a wonderful meal, a team effort between my Father and my elder brothers in its production, and one of the things that made Sundays worth while. After that it was always quietness and then Church, and then not much else at all. Very boring for a young boy. But as I'd got older it started to improve as things got a bit freer. And now here were my own boys doing just the same, and looking contented, just as I had always done. And just then I felt contented, too.

I was Ifor who first belched.

The look on his face was astonishing. He hadn't the first idea what had happened. Dad was about to voice his automatic disapproval, but I cleared my throat and stood up, looking at him.

"I know it's the first time, Ifor, and you're not to know, but we don't do that."

Why? I couldn't help it.

"I know. But I...you need to know for the future."

Dad looked at me.

"How did you know what he said?"

"Pardon?"

"You answered him, but he hadn't said anything."

"I....er.....hadn't he?"

"No. And now I think of it, it's not the first time it's happened."

"I....er......"

Ben broke in, in his quiet, sensible voice. "Mr McKee..."

"And that's another thing. Ben, please...I know you're in this as much as Aidan. I can't have you calling me Mr McKee. And I'm not your father, either, so it can't be "Dad". So it'd better be Hamish."

"But I can't ..... I mean .....I don't think ......er.....well..... Can't it be Dad, like Aidan?"

"Well..." I could see Dad was surprised. "Well, yes. Of course. I'd... I'd be proud."

Was this really my father talking?

They had all finished eating. None of them had experience of living as a human. None of them had any idea how a human body worked. One by one they all started squirming on their chairs, and it took us a long time to work out what the looks of concentration on their faces really meant. Not until Hamish started crying did we even really cotton on to the fact that something was wrong. I went to look at him, and found that he was holding his willy with one hand, and had the other sort of pinching his bum together.

He had no idea what was happening.

Very quickly we had to take them to the two (fortunately) toilets in the house, and even double up with the bath, basins and shower. Explanations surprised, worried, disgusted, and finally relieved them when they found how easy it was to feel better. Dad took them back downstairs after we had all cleaned them up, and we all set to without pleasure to clear up the results from all the makeshift receptacles we had had to use.

"We're not having that again," I said firmly to the other two. Oddly enough, they agreed.

Lavatorial instructions are not the nicest topic for visitors to walk in on, but when the door was flung open I saw no reason to stop as soon as I saw who it was who was intruding on us without invitation.

The blacksmith.

I expected him to interrupt in his usual bullying manner, but when he saw the seven small boys there, all looking up at him with wide eyes, he was struck completely dumb. The wideness of their eyes was due partly to the apparent complications of the bodily functions that humans have to observe, and only partly due to the physical size of the visitor. And his ugliness, I thought. Ben chuckled.

The silence continued for a comically long time. At last, Aidan, my namesake, piped up in a real voice.

"Dad...."

"It's all right, Aidan, all of you. He's the village blacksmith. He's harmless." As soon as the words were out I knew it was the wrong thing to say. It broke the spell, and he shot me a malevolent glare.

He doesn't like you.

Perspicacious boy, that Aidan.

I know. I don't like him either, but we've got to be nice to him.

Why?

Because he's .... Er... in charge.

Aren't you?

Yes, but he ....er....started things off. I'll tell you later. He likes you, anyway.

I was surprised to find that the man's face was softening again. But I suppose seven good looking boys sitting, naked, staring at you, is not an everyday occurrence.

At last he rumbled into speech. "It's...good...to meet you at last."

That was it. Nothing more. It got a faint smile from some of them. The others maintained their stare.

"Can I have a word, Aidan?" No please, no apology for bothering us when we were in the first stages of getting used to each other. I made for the door. He backed away through it. I felt someone else following me, looked round and saw Ben.

"I only asked for Aidan."

Bloody nerve.

"What you say to Aidan affects me too. And Carl, come to that."

"Carl is not significant." This grated on me, far more than I thought it should, and I wondered why.

"Carl is a wonderful help to us all," I started indignantly. "If it wasn't for him, some of them would be dead."

"What?"

"We were woken last night," I started, but then couldn't recall what it was that woke us. "Anyway, we knew somehow that they were being born. And that they were panicking."

"Why?"

"Because they couldn't get out of the earth. We had to rush up there and dig them out."

"Nonsense."

Ben chimed in. "You can't know. You weren't there. If we had arrived any later one at least would have suffocated in the earth. We had to clear all the soil from their faces, then round their chests, otherwise they couldn't have breathed."

"You should have called me."

"There wasn't time. By the time we'd got to you, the first one would have been dead."

"It was more important to call me."

Ben and I just looked at each other.

At last Ben took the reins and pulled. "If...you...think...that the life of one of our boys is worth less than your presence at the birth of the rest, then I have nothing but contempt for you."

The silence seemed...well, as if one of the teachers at school was winding the handle on a machine which would release a giant spark of static electricity. Breathing stopped as we waited for the bang as the discharge jumped to earth...

...but nothing happened. The smith had drawn himself up to his imposing, frightening full height, his face was red, but there was silence. I gawped at him. As the seconds ticked away I was aware that even the boys were silent. Hastily I looked round to reassure myself. Each one of them was staring at the man still, but their expression had subtly changed. From each of them the look was blank: no fear, no revulsion, no anger, no inquisitiveness. Just blankness. I looked at Ben, who was also looking round, then at Carl. And on his face was the same blank expression as the boys'. I looked back to Ben.

What's happening?

I have no idea at all.

As if this was a trigger, Carl's face relaxed, then broke into a smile.

"Aren't you even going to invite me in?" asked the blacksmith gently, his face echoing Carl's smile.

 

The next week none of us went to school. We were up from dawn to dusk being teachers ourselves. Our sons had to get used to eating and defecating, sleeping and waking, bathing and dressing..... oh, dressing! The thoughts of utter contempt that anyone would want to cover themselves up! The disbelief that we, their parents, would want them to cover themselves up. It took ages of circular argument to persuade them that we'd love it if they were unclothed all the time, but that firstly the rest of the people around would scream if they were seen with nothing on in public, and that in winter they would need to keep warm. In fact we were almost always naked in the house, all of us: it was easier that way. Certainly bedtimes were easier, since it's far less uncomfortable to bath a reluctant boy if you're naked as well. The wallpaper in the bathroom was the only thing to suffer.

The only problem to this lifestyle was when visitors called unexpectedly. Even my father was taken aback on his frequent visits if there was a delay before he was let in, only to find a half-clad son or friend answer the door, who then expressed mild irritation when we realised it was `only him'. Eventually we told him to knock in a certain way so we'd know, and after that he was admitted by one of us completely naked. We had lost all worries about his seeing our bodies, something which even two months previously would have been a major incident. It took him a month to become used to it, but he lost his embarrassment eventually. And it wasn't even as if we'd asked him to strip too.

The smith visited once more, and had returned to his usual unease-making self. I don't know what it was about him apart from his size and the way he filled a room, no matter how big, just by being there, but I was always on edge when he was with us. So was Ben. It might have been the memory of the Spirit telling us that he was untrustworthy. Certainly we had no intention of letting the boys alone with him as he suggested one night on the pretext that we needed a night away from the house. True, we did. All we were getting to do was to nanny, eat, sleep, nanny, teach, eat...

The weekend after they were born -- I have to use the word -- we finally thought we were winning. It wasn't so much that we were getting them to do what we wanted, it was that they were finally realising that we weren't the only people in the world, that they had to be what others expected them to be, that the sudden appearance of seven boys of exactly the same age in a small community was going to be surprise enough for others without their suddenly stripping off their clothes and finding a soft patch of earth to defecate on or widdle in.

Audible speech was getting better: I'd say that it was equivalent to about a four-year-old's. Their actual thought processes which Ben and I, and apparently sometimes Carl, could `hear' was well in advance of that, particularly in terms of wild, growing things. It seemed logical that it should be so. On the Sunday, when they were all in bed and we three were getting about the only daily respite we could, Carl calmly announced that he thought he could cope with them on his own if we wanted to get back to school.

We looked at him, astonished. "But they're always on the go! They're always asking questions! They're not really ready to use the toilet all the time yet!" Ben had had a trying day with Efan, who seemed at times to let excitement at discovering something new get the better of him. He was so crestfallen when it happened that it was all we could do to stop ourselves laughing at him, but it had taken the sting out the situation and forgiveness was unnecessary.

"I think they have. Efan's was just an accident -- I'm sure it won't happen again. And besides, I think they're at the stage when they need the first taste of what school is like."

That silenced us completely. Our boys. School. It wasn't a connection we'd made.

"You mean, you think they should start at the Infants'?" Carl was the oldest of us, and although Ben and I were the parents we relied on his knowledge to steer us through the difficulties of life.

"No, not yet. But at the moment we've been teaching them things when the need was there. They make a mess eating, we tell them how to do it nicely. They put their shorts on back to front, we show them how to do it properly. Sometimes they're not even all watching when we do it, so we have to show them two or three times.

"If we sat them all down and taught them like they were at school it'd save time, get their brains working better, and get them ready for school classes. And..." he paused. I wondered what was coming next. "And perhaps we could get some of the other kids to come up and play with them.

As soon as he'd said it I knew we should do just that. Only by introducing them to non-critical company could we gently get them used to the presence of other kids. And you can't get much less critical than a five-year-old in the company of his peers. And girls too... I wondered what they'd make of them. And then I remembered Angharad.

We'd never been to see her. She'd been alive a week and we'd forgotten all about her! Our only daughter. My sudden shock and my sick feeling of having let her down must have made itself felt even to Carl. I could feel both him and Ben in my mind.... To see her you should go. Needs to know you care, she does. How does he know? I thought.

Oh God, I'd forgotten with all the work we've been doing. We must go, and now -- we ought never to have forgotten...

I know. I feel awful. I hope she's all right.

To get them used to wearing clothes we had by that time taken to being clothed ourselves most of the time, except at bath or shower times, so we didn't have to brave the Village's feelings as we hurried out of the house, Ben and me, past the glowering windows of Miss Flude's cottage, up the path and into the wood. My mind kept flashing back to the other times he and I had passed the same way; often we had been hand in hand, not because we were scared of the dark, of course, but... well, because it was more companionable. And we had been fired with the burning need to be alone, to hold each other, to explore each other; and for each to wonder how on earth there could be someone else who loved him as much as he loved them. Now, we were filled only with the sense of having somehow neglected our duty, that we were in disgrace, that we were not worthy parents.

At the start of the tunnel we hastily stripped, almost ripping the clothes off in our impatience. He was ready first, and without a glance at me ducked his muscular back and struggled through into the Glade. Furiously, I tore off my underpants and bent to follow him. Once inside I straightened up and cautiously looked around. And became aware.....

Every other time we had been there, the Glade had welcomed us. It seemed, to us alone, that there was light there. And our own special area was open to us from the moment we entered, if we were alone. But this night it was as cold and as dark as the outside wood, cold and cheerless. Ben was standing puzzled and disappointed, right in front of me. My annoyance at his rush into the tunnel without me evaporated, and as I slipped my hand in his I knew that this time, this time it was indeed for mutual comfort.

I'm sorry. Why was he apologising?

For not waiting for you.

Oh. That's all right.

A pause. What do we do now?

Go over to the Grove? See if it'll open?

Ok. So, still hand in hand, and by now close together, we crossed where the saplings had been, and walked up to the opposite side, still expecting it to open as if it were the Red Sea and we the Israelites. It remained obstinately impenetrable. We turned and looked at each other.

Why?

Don't know. You cold?

Yes.

An arm went round my shoulders. Mine went round his chest. We stood, and watched, and waited.

Still cold.

So'm I. Shall we warm each other?

Mmmmm.

Every day between the births and now had seen us both collapse into bed and fall almost instantly asleep. The constant care, the constant questions, the cooking and washing up, the bathing, the questions..... Each one of us was worn down at the end of the day. We had had no time to ourselves, none at all, neither at the end of the day nor at the end of the night. It was always a sound from a bedroom that awoke us, and that was the sign for all of them to start the daily round of wash, question, eat, question, teach, question, clear up.......

So now, tired thought we were, as we moved to bring each other's body into full contact, the feeling of excitement came on us suddenly, fresh as if it were for the first time again. And with it the love which had been slumbering, drugged by the need for urgent, practical things, awoke, and we looked into each other's eyes with no need for urgent communication. And there was the awoken love, real and fresh and exciting and yearning, nearly incredible. Despite the inhospitable temperature and the lack of welcome, we sank to our knees and kissed, and watched the other's face, and kissed..... and all the time our bodies lifeblood was changing its course so as to bring the manhood of each of us to the ready. It was only as we swayed down to lie on the grass that I realised the temperature had increased along with the light. I stared over Ben's shoulder and made a sound.

The Grove was open. Open in all its warm, soft, gently lit glory. And there....there was Angharad, watching, smiling.

Your love has returned. That is good. The Grove stays closed if there is no love.

So was that it? Comfort comes only to those whose love was expressed?

She seemed well; clean, tidy -- why is it that girls seem always to stay tidier than boys? Our boys had all the benefits of baths, basins, toilets and paper in them; all she had was the rain, grass, leaves..... oh well, did it matter?

Gwaed licks me clean, she said happily.

Are you well? It seemed such a mundane thing to ask, especially as she so obviously was.

I am. I am loved here by all. I learn the way of the woods, of the wild growing things, of how man has changed them, and I play... I play with the dew, with sticks and stones, and Gwaed is with me. And if it rains and I want to keep dry he has a warm coat and we lie together. And at night we are in a nest of grasses and feathers, and his sister is at my back.

It seemed that her talk flowed as rapidly as the boys', and she was happy with her life. But something seemed to be worrying her. She was more able to put her thoughts into words than her brothers were despite being the same age. My thoughts must have given me away for she looked directly at me.

Where are my brothers?

They are asleep. Ben was ready for the question. They are at home, in bed, tired out.

She digested that. Then: Is it true that humans have things over their heads at night?

I was puzzled. What did she mean?

I mean, do they sleep with something over them? Something high?

In a bed, with covers, in a house, with a roof. Ben was more alive than me.

But that is how all the humans live!

It is, Ben said, and because your brothers are human they do too. Do you want to come and see?

A scared look crossed her face. I dare not. If they saw me, they'd do something horrible.

What? I asked.

Who? Ben asked.

The other humans. They wouldn't understand, and they'd keep me there somehow.

I couldn't argue. If a strange, small, naked girl was wandering around a night time village, and someone saw her they'd surely lock her in a bedroom, and ask questions in the morning. But then again, if Ben and I took her, she could stay and see them the next day and no one would be any the wiser. But my thoughts betrayed me.....

No....I couldn't do that. I couldn't be somewhere with -- a what? a roof? -- over me. Please can't you bring them here?

Yes, but not tonight because they're sleeping.

Are they happy? Are they all growing?

Yes. They are very lively, very happy, just as happy as we are with them. They have met my father and love him as much as they love us.

She looked pleased. I really want to see them.

We'll bring them here tomorrow.

Promise?

Promise.

Without warning she ran over to me and hugged me. The tears started in my eyes, though God knows why. She was happy, loved.....it was just that her existence was so different from ours and from what the boys' life was becoming that I wished I could take her back with me. But at the thought she broke away, and looked at me warily.

No. I must be here. I cannot live...under something, like the boys do.

It's all right. I know. We know. We know there is a need for you here. We just want you to be as happy and safe as they are.

I will be. I am.

She hugged Ben too, and he looked into her eyes trying to read her happiness. She smiled as she backed away from him.

Really. I could not live inside. And what would Gwaed do?

She crossed to the encircling undergrowth and paused.

Tomorrow?

We promise, we both said. She waved her hand and slipped into the bushes with hardly a sound. The Grove was silent, and seemed devoid of life without her there, and for the first time we felt as though it wouldn't be right to stay there. A look between us was enough: we crossed into the main clearing and found our way to the tunnel, feeling the cold night air on our bare skin as we did so. Putting clothes on after a visit there was odd, but the night was cold, especially after the warmth of the Grove. Hand in hand once again we walked home, and this time we were able to talk -- quietly -- about Angharad's fate. To that time, we had been so taken up with the boys, and more recently with getting to the Grove to see her, that we had not discussed her at all. As it was, we discovered we were in no position to do anything about it. She was, in appearance, totally human, yet in her attitude to everything around her she was indeed as wary as a fawn, and as nervous. We agreed the main thing was that she was safe, and happy: we were both of the mind that if we tried to take her away she would not be able to adapt to `normal' life as the boys were (generally) doing.

There was still no light from Miss Flude's cottage. This puzzled us rather, as the awkward old lady was known for her late evenings, when she would be happy to be at her window so as to criticise everything that went on around her. As we looked for signs of life, a small shadow was seen to leave the shadows at the side of the house and run down the lane, right at the bottom, and disappeared from view. It happened so quickly that we were both still gaping as it vanished, for instinctively we knew that the shadow was none other than one of the boys.

Who was it?

I couldn't tell, not at this distance. What's more important is why?

We ran. At the front door we found a small, naked boy fighting with the metal of the lock, mewing small sounds of frustration as he did so. At the sound of our approach he stopped -- and I mean stopped; he stood as still as any stone, so that if we had not known he was there we would have missed him in the dappling of shadows that covered the door.

Who is it? I was wondering to myself.

There was a small movement as he `heard' me, the movement of relaxing muscles. He looked round, white faced in the moonlight, and inarticulate feelings of relief and anxiety radiated from him. I couldn't be angry that he was out of bed so late, when he should have been asleep for hours; he was just so..... well, there's no other word for it ....sweet, standing there, his emotions broadcasting to us his anxiety. Ben was with him before I could.

It's Efan. What's the matter, old chap?

It's the woman in that cottage. She's sick, like her leaves are wilting.

How do you know? I was, I suppose, a bit jealous that Ben had got there first and was the one to be hugging him. Efan looked at me as if I was brain-dead. Can't you feel her?

I stood in the cool air and listened, although I had no idea what he meant.

What? I was confused. It was late, and although he was sweet he really needed to be indoors, asleep. How can you know there's something wrong with her?

I can feel it..... can't you?

No....and I really don't believe that you do either. Sorry, Efan, but she's human, and you don't know much about people yet.

He looked defiantly at me. Daddy, she is ill. She needs a simple thing from the earth. I know that mint has it in it.

We were both now looking stupidly at him. Up to that point we were both, I suppose, thinking he'd had a bad dream or something and was sleepwalking. But now....

How do you know?

I just do.

But.... We stood and looked at her. What to do? If we took him seriously and there was nothing wrong goodness knows shat Miss Flude would say. If we didn't. and she was really ill.....

Can't it wait until morning? We could call the doctor.

What's a doctor?

Oh no..... not at this time of night!

Someone who knows how to make people better when they're ill.

But I know how to.

But how?

I just do.

A fifteen year old and a thirteen year old had been brought to an impasse by a five year old. Now what?

As we stood there, looking one to the other, I was aware of a change in his thoughts. All of a sudden, as if he had been mentally drawing breath, a `shout' nearly overcame me. I looked angrily at him.

"Efan! That was horrible. It was like being deafened."

He looked at me, puzzled. What's deafened?

"Like being too close to a loud noise."

That was better. I could tell he understood that.

What was it for?

I have to get the others.

"No, no.... they're all asleep. Let them be. Look, we'll call a doctor in the morning -- or at least we'll call on Miss Flude and make sure she's all right."

But we must help her now! The anxiety was strengthening, I could hear. But there was a noise at the door, and an adult voice said "No -- let me..... Oh, Ruaridh, do get out of the way, there's a good...... Oh, it's you." Carl was at the door, and all round him were the other six. Ruaridh was looking anxiously at Efan.

"What's going on?" asked Carl

"We were just coming back when Efan ran out from behind Miss Flude's cottage. He says she's ill, or something."

She is Ill. I told you.

"Don't be rude, Efan," I said automatically.

"But how do you know, Efan?" Carl was more patient.

"..... I just do...... Please?" It was still quite a job to get words out of them, especially when they weren't in what I called `learning mode'.

"What d'you think we should do, Carl?"

"I think we should all go over there now, and see what's needed."

This was not the answer I was hoping for from the sensible Carl. It seemed too drastic a measure for just a small boy's say so, even if the boy was rather special.... And then, of course, I got to thinking. Perhaps, because they were special, they could really see and hear things that we couldn't.

It seemed to be a foregone conclusion that we should go the old lady's cottage, although what we would do once there I had no idea. I dreaded going into the place, especially with one or other of the boys. She was so much against us, against being naked, against anything unusual in the Village, that if she saw three teenagers (I was proud to be able to call myself that) and seven small boys who she probably regarded as the work of the Devil -- and they naked, too! -- she would probably have a heart attack. Idly as we hurried along I wondered if Efan knew a cure for one.

The house was dark. I looked at Efan to see his reaction, and found that he was white faced, eyes wide open, with the suspicion of tears starting. Concerned, I hurried to him, all worries about our probable reception gone in the instant of wanting to care for him. He accepted my hug and looked me in the eyes.

We must find some mint.....there must be some in her garden. Pick it carefully. Don't bruise it. Leave the roots so it can grow again. Hmmm, I thought, even in that moment. If only he knew the difficulty we had keeping mint from growing and spreading everywhere..... But I left him, and scurried obediently around the back of the house where I thought the vegetable garden would be sure to be.

My panicky shout brought them all running, away from the front door where they had been trying to find a way in. They clustered around me and the recumbent form of Miss Flude lying on the path, doubled up, still fighting for breath. Three teenagers and six small, naked boys gaped, worried but powerless. The seventh small, naked boy pushed his way through, a small bunch of green stems and leaves in his hand. The scent of mint came to me as he passed, and I sniffed appreciatively. I always had loved the smell, whether from bruised leaves pressed between my young fingers, or in cooking, but somehow it seemed stronger, more potent now. I wondered why. Something to do with the night air, perhaps?

Efan sank to his knees beside the woman's face, and bent over. Her eyes flicked open for a moment, then closed again in pain and panic at her inability to breathe properly. And, probably, in shock too. The boy took a sprig of the herb, looked carefully at it, then stripped off the leaves. Throwing the stalk aside, he dug a hand in the soft earth of the well-tended bed by the side of the path and looked at the leaves in his hand. Before we could stop him or ask what he was doing, he had put them all in his mouth and was slowly chewing them. I shuddered. Raw mint! And why? But what was this? He had bent to the woman's mouth and seemed to be breathing over her, blowing his breath in her face, time and time again. When the breath had washed around the woman's gaunt face, it rose in the clear air to the rest of us standing around...

What I had always thought of as the smell of mint was as nothing, nothing, to this. This was not mint essence such as you might buy in the chemist, or anything similar to it. This was a live smell, a smell of what mint would be, so to speak, if it had been able to have its own way in the world. The potent smell lifted the senses. It brought well being. It made breathing light, and easy, and banished tiredness. It was a cup of tea at the end of the day, but magnified a hundredfold in its resuscitative powers.

As one, we all sighed with contentment. At the sound, Efan looked up and smiled at us, then went back to his patient. Yes, patient. No longer was she the dreadful old woman to be scared of and worried about, but a patient. Of a five year old boy.

He stripped another stalk of its leaves and repeated the performance. As his breath came to her nose, the eyes opened again and looked at him. By this time my senses were in overdrive, and I knew that the expressions which passed over Miss Flude's face went swiftly from relief to surprise, surprise to horror, and slowly from horror to relief again. And then -- and I knew there was no mistake -- the expression went from relief to..... love? Her? Love? How.........?

By this time she was breathing normally, and the eyes had closed again, but this time into sleep. Once more Efan took mint leaves to his mouth and, now very gently, breathed on the woman's face. The expression changed again, subtly. The look of peace that came softened those habitually angry features, and I suddenly thought, even at the age of thirteen, that here was a striking woman who once must have been a local beauty. What had happened.....?

She is asleep. She will be all right now.

Efan.....I.....

But our little lad was swaying, the face still white, but with drooping eyelids. Was this use of - what? Power? -- physically or mentally draining? I caught him as he fell, and held him, prone, in my arms.

"Here, let me take him," said Carl.

"No, I'll put him back to bed. You'd be better taking Miss Flude into her cottage and making sure she's OK."

He saw the sense in that. I took Efan, still sleeping in my arms, out onto the track. At the gate I looked back. Carl and Ben, assisted by six elves, it seemed, were carrying the old lady into the cottage. I smiled, despite the mint-scented dead weight in my arms, and returned home. A his head touched the pillow his eyes opened, saw me, and he smiled faintly. She'll be all right.

You know, I think she will. I kissed him, covered him, and immediately he was asleep again.

When the others returned they were buzzing with what had happened, but I'm sorry to say I stopped them all short. "Efan's exhausted, I'm tired, and so should you be. There'll be plenty of time in the morning to talk about it, but now you are none of you to make any more noise to wake him. Off to bed with you, and quietly." There was something in my tone that sounded different even to me, and they all looked slightly astonished, but turned, quiet now, and said their goodnights.

No boy of five ever shuts doors, so after I'd done so I turned to the other two. "That goes for all of us. I'm ready for bed, and I think we all should get some rest after tonight. They'll all be up early enough, except Efan, and we need to be in a fit state to deal with them. Coming?"

To my surprise they both nodded, and the door was opened again. We made sure all the others were in bed, kissed each and every one of them, then went to our own rooms. Ben was about to say something, but I tiredly shushed him.

I was only going to say I love you. He sounded hurt, so I grinned at him and put my arms round him.


Chapter 12

 

We were still in a hug the next morning. I don't think either of us had moved all night, so deeply had we slept. It didn't feel as if we had; my muscles ached, and I felt as if I was about 30. I looked into my sleeping friend's eyes and wondered why I was awake while he was patently still fast asleep. I didn't have the heart to move, since that meant waking him, and wondered how I could possibly get comfortable like this. I was still wondering when I opened my eyes again and found him looking gently into them. All thoughts of aching muscles vanished, and I only knew a mental peace that was so much more important.

Carl was, inevitably, up and doing, as were all the boys. We got a silent clamour of comments about the previous night, and it was almost worse when we held up our hands to stop the flow of mental activity that was overwhelming us. For that started them all onto using their voices as well, and the noise was far too much to stand, that early in the morning. At last someone pointed out of the window.

"Look, there's a man going into Miss Flude's house!"

Well, there was. It was the doctor. He went in. That's all there was to see.

She's all right.

I looked at Efan.

"How do you know?"

"I....just do."

"You did well last night, Efan. It obviously worked, that mint."

"I knew. That's why I did it."

I could ask him how he knew, but the answer would have been the same: He just did. It was a gift he'd been given. I wondered how far it would go, what he's be able to cure. But the age of five wasn't the time to find out.

We had breakfast, and were clearing away while the boys were grumbling their way upstairs to get their clothes on, when there was a knock at the door.

Miss Flude.

Miss Flude, still looking rather white, but also looking very much alive and, somehow, softer round the edges than usual. I was so surprised at seeing her there that all I could think of for a while was how glad I was that I'd dressed before breakfast, for a change, although the real reason was that I wanted to persuade the boys that it was a good idea. Ben and Carl had done the same, thank goodness.

Once I had overcome my surprise, I stammeringly asked her to come inside, and the next thing I knew I was sitting with her at the table drinking a cup of tea that Carl had conjured up. We had said little until then, and there was a silence that was starting be uncomfortable. The way she broke it took my breath away.

"The Doctor says I should have died last night."

I had no idea what to say. As usual, I said the wrong thing. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"Sorry I'm still alive?"

"No...I..."

She chuckled.

I mean, a lot of people chuckle, or laugh, or even just grin. But to see Miss Flude do it was rather like being charged by a raging tiger only to have it stop and recite a nursery rhyme at you. I blinked.

"It may come as a surprise, but I've discovered I quite like being alive. Especially when I heard what the Doctor said."

"Oh?" I was giving nothing away.

"Yes. He told me that I'd been suffering from whatever it was he called it for a long time, but he didn't want to tell me and worry me. I only called him this morning to get him to check my nose -- I kept on smelling mint, although there's none in the house. He smelt it too, and quite exceptionally strong mint it was. Although none of us could find any, apart from what was growing in the garden. Until, that is, we found lots of footsteps, really small footsteps and other bigger ones and some medium sized ones, and two mint stalks, and a big dent in the earth where I'd been lying."

"Er....."

"It's all right. I don't know what happened but I think I have to thank you and those boys for saving me. The funny thing is...." She tailed off. "The funny thing is, the doctor's said that this whatever-it-is is much better, and I need more of whatever it is you gave me."

"Er...."

Right on cue there was a thundering on the stairs, the door flew open, and seven small boys did a comic domino effect as the first one realised we had a visitor and stopped suddenly. With their ability to read thoughts I wondered how they failed to realise it when Miss Flude came to the door, but the look of apprehension on their faces denied any pre-knowledge. Except on the face of one. One of the dominoes picked himself up and crossed to the old lady without hesitation and held her hand, and looked her deep in the eyes.

Efan. Bright as a button, quite fearless, come to check on his patient. She, normally so barbed, softening noticeably as this small angelic medic held her gaze.

"You're better." he said. It was a statement of fact, not a question.

"Yes. Thanks to all of you."

"'S'all right."

"It was actually Efan who....." What did I say? Cured you? Looked after you? Saved your life?

She looked at me, surprised, as if she'd read my mind. Not someone else, I hoped.

"You mean, he...but...he's only, what, five?"

"I knew what to do."

He was so emphatic that there was no denying him. I could see her fingers tighten slightly on his as what he said sank in. The way he was looking at her would have melted a glacier, let alone a grateful elderly lady.

There was a silence, but a smile was growing on Efan's face, and, miracle on miracle, Miss Flude's was reflecting it. At last she gave a laugh -- a real laugh -- and her `doctor' smiled his widest.

"It seems I owe you my life....er....and I don't even know your name."

"I'm Efan. But everyone helped."

She looked up at me, then at the encircling boys, and at Ben and Carl who had come back into the room, then back at me.

"For once, young man, I'm lost for words. Except to say thank you, and I'm glad you're all here. But..." She stopped, and her smile faded. She turned to me. "May I talk to you, Aidan? Alone?"

I wondered if she was going to change back to her usual self again. I she was, I didn't want to talk to her.

"I'd like Ben and Carl to be there as well, please."

I was no longer in awe of her. After all, one of my sons had saved her life.

"Very well. But I'd like to see you all again when we've done, please." This was to the boys. They smiled politely and backed away, then went outside to play.

Once they were out of hearing, she turned to me "I am a churchgoer, and like everyone in the Village except a few, have always been one. I disapprove of you going up to...to....that place and...er...well...whatever it was you did. I disapprove of your agreeing to go through the Village, in front of everyone, naked, even as young as you are."

I was about to join the argument, but she held up her hand; a return of the hectoring ways of the past. "But...wherever these children came from, one of them saved my life. I can't pretend to know what's going on, because obviously that obnoxious smith is telling lies, but I'm just grateful that you are all here."

There was a silence. I wondered what to tell her. Do I try to say that what the smith had told her was probably the truth? Do I say that these five-year-olds are actually only a few weeks old? But Carl piped up in my stead.

"Thank you for your understanding, Miss Flude. Aidan had to go through a lot because of the smith and the Council, and none of us envies him that. But we and the boys are here, and if we can help you again, we will."

She looked at him, surprised, as if only just seeing him for the first time. "Aren't you Carl? The Woods' boy?"

"Yes...well, no. I mean, I lived with them for some time, yes, but they aren't my parents."

She looked puzzled. Then her face cleared, and she looked, once again, almost gentle. "Ah yes. The fire. My friends. Carl, I'm sorry. I should have remembered."

"You knew them?"

"Yes. And once, a long time ago, your father and I...well, before he met your mother, he and I were walking out together. He was...it was a great loss to me when they were killed."

There was a silence. Carl's eyes were riveted to her face, and at last she looked up and caught his expression, and smiled ruefully. "And now, all these years on, you've a family of your own to help look after. Guard them well, and keep them safe. I can't know what's happening, but I'll give you support if I can. But please...no more naked parades through the Village?"

"I don't want to do that again, ever," I said with feeling. At the back of my mind, though, were the times we visited the glade at night. Would she see us?

"Would Efan come and help me again, do you think?" she asked. "And what was it that he did that saved my life?"

"He breathed mint at you," I said.

She looked astonished.

Some time later, Efan and I returned to her cottage alongside her. Efan asked her to sit on a chair that he'd got me to drag into the garden, near a flower bed, and relax. It was, of course, a wooden chair. Without warning he pulled off his shoes and socks, and struggled out of his T-shirt -- struggled because it had been only quite recently they had all learnt how to undress themselves. I knew what was coming next -- or more accurately what was about to vanish from his body, and wondered how the old lady would react to it after her near-apology to us. Sure enough, right in front of her, the elasticated waist eased past his small bottom, and the underwear followed, all as swiftly and unceremoniously as if he was in his bedroom at home.

She gasped, but said nothing. He retreated to the same mint patch he had used the night before, and pulled two roots from the ground. Once again, the leaves were stripped from them, the bare stalks laid back on the earth, and he crossed back to us. Carefully he dug his hand into the soil of the flower bed, then put the leaves into his mouth and chewed on them, a look of intense concentration on his face.

After a while his face cleared, and he stood, gripped the chair and looked straight at Miss Flude's face. Very slowly, he breathed out, and she had no option but to catch the full strength of the live, enhanced, pure zest of the herb that his breath bore to her. The look of puzzlement and disapproval at his nakedness left her, and her own breathing became deep, as if a weight had been lifted from her chest. Her eyes closed, and it was as if she slept.

We waited, he having removed the wad of used mint leaves from his mouth in the approved small-boy manner.

At last her eyes opened and she smiled. Even when she saw him still naked, the smile remained.

It was to be the first of many such visits.

At last we were free to walk home, and did so in companionable silence. But the nearer we reached the only corner between Miss Flude's cottage and our house the more we were aware of a noise; a noise of loud, excited, childish voices. I looked at Efan, who seemed unconcerned, but I was wondering what on earth was happening to our family and started walking faster, forgetting he was unable to keep up. There was a hurt whimper from behind me, and a feeling of pained disappointment in my mind, so I stopped and waited.

Sorry. I just want to see what's happening at home.

Nothing. It's just the others have come to play.

I blinked. What others?

Boys and girls from the Village.

Oh. And that was meant to be all right? As we rounded the corner the noise hit us. There were about twenty children, all ages from four to eight, kicking a football from one side of the street to the other, using our fence on one side and a tree, by the look of it, at the other, as goals. And, naturally since our lot were without doubt the ringleaders, none of them was wearing a stitch of clothing.

"Wait!" I heard from behind me. I turned. Efan was hopping along, having undone one of his shoes, trying to undo the other. At last it became loose and fell to the ground, to be followed by a trail of clothes left behind by his struggling, half-running figure as it ridded itself of the restricting clothing; the underpants dropping from his frantically hopping, comically staggering, naked body as it reached the outside of the melee.

Having picked up his clothes, just like any parent after bed-time, I joined Ben and Carl at the gate and we watched the action. It was obvious that our seven only had the slightest idea about football, but they were nothing if not fast learners. Soon they were giving quite a good account of themselves even against the more experienced eight year olds. It was odd to see the girls playing with them all as equals, especially as there were so few distinguishing factors between them at that age. Most of the younger Village girls wore their hair short, since it was easier to keep clean, and most were as nimble on their feet as the boys. The only real difference was the obvious one.

As they began to tire, there were little accidents, a few tears. And we began to notice that each time one of them was hurt and started to come to us, either the young Ben or the young Aidan -- or sometimes both -- would go to them and comfort them before ever we needed to get involved. And if there was an argument, it was always Hamish, with one of the other two, who would sort it out and get an agreement between the aggrieved parties. I wondered how this could be, having from time to time watched the delightful chaos that was the playground of the Village's nursery school, where each of the tiny children was unaware of the problems of any other apart from himself. But then, ours were special children. As it was, one of the Village children had cut himself, and I was about to go and comfort him, and still his crying, and then try and find some sort of dressing in the house. But before I could get there, my namesake had reached him, rescued him from the melee, and sat him down. And Efan was already returning from the nearby undergrowth with what looked like a dock leaf. But the time I had reached them, the leaf was over the wound, the boy had stopped crying, and Efan was grinning at me as if to say "I know what to do!"

At last a piercing whistle sounded from the house, and Carl appeared with a tray of drinks. Football was forgotten in a moment, and they clustered round, reaching eagerly. He looked at us, and his face was radiant.

"They've been doing this for the last hour, give or take. It's the best thing I've ever seen. It's like they were wild, but human, all at the same time. I've laughed so much, I'm exhausted; and..." He seemed to look at us with hesitation in his mind. "... I've even, er, cried..." A pause. We waited. "It's just so...sweet".

He looked defiantly at us, as if daring us to laugh. But we had watched, too, and he was right. It was sweet.

I know what you mean exactly, I told him, as quietly as one can from mind to mind. And we both agree with you -- exactly. He looked relieved at that, but had to get up because there were cries of "More....more..." from our well mannered children (!) and hopeful looks on the faces of the others. And more there was. But the football was over because they were tired, and they sat around talking excitedly between swigs of the drinks and bites of biscuit and cake that Carl had apparently also conjured up from the house.

As the first of the anxious parents came round the corner and saw the twenty or so children it was comical to see their faces. The realisation of the lack of clothing and the fact that both sexes were involved was taxing to them, it was obvious. At the time it was as natural to we three bystanding `parents' as it was to the youngsters involved, but looking back, from a different viewpoint, it could have been risky in the extreme. Nowadays, when we have succeeded in swamping the innocence of childhood with our adult fears and worries, we would be criticised and pilloried for allowing them to play naturally in innocence, but then, particularly on the Island, although it was surprising for parents it was not alarming. And neither, of course, was there any need for it to be so.

After we had eaten, I remembered our promise to Angharad to bring her brothers to see her at the Glade. Although they were tired they were really happy at the thought of going.

"We go quietly," Ben told them, "and when we are in the wood we all take off our clothes, so no running ahead." I could feel the agreement to this -- it was the right thing to do, they seemed to be saying. We stopped inside the wood as soon as we were suitably out of sight of anyone from the Village, and stripped off in the now time-honoured way. The wood itself was as dark and gloomy as usual -- no bad thing, really, as it kept out most of the village's explorers -- apart from the younger ones who plucked up the courage to explore anywhere in the way that both Ben and I had done all those years before.

The glade this time was as welcoming as any house. Angharad was there, of course, and once she and her brothers had stood and looked at each other there was a swift movement, and before we could realise they were all playing tag, quite soundlessly but with great concentration. At last their energy petered out and one by one they sat, just looking at each other. When all was quiet, I heard a movement in the bushes: the slender neck of a young fawn peered anxiously out, his wide eyes like brown pools reflecting the moonlight. Angharad rose, crossed to him, and embraced him, encouraging him into the circle. The boys were quiet, still, and I could feel the delight they were feeling at meeting him.

No words passed. None were necessary.

They were very tired that night. It wasn't until the morning that the questions started. Dramatically.

"Why can't we go to school like the others?"

"Please can we do all the things that the others do?

"You and Ben go to school. Please can we?"

"I want to see my friends again. Can't I go?"

And so on. Eventually I looked at Ben, suddenly realising that they'd all been talking with their voices, even though there was no one else outside the family there.

Well?

They'll need to go sometime.

But so soon?

They seem ready!

I know, but......

I was almost `deafened' by the mental cheer that followed, before either of us had a chance to talk further.

When can we start? Asked my namesake.

"We need to talk to the teachers first. It may be they have no room."

I could detect a sort of mental snort coming from them.

"And when they say you can start, you can. But...." I paused for effect, and for once I had their complete attention. "But...what you must realise is that the others are used to being there. They know how to be polite to teachers. You'll have to learn that."

"What's `polite' mean?"

"It means that because they're older than you, they know more. And you have to listen to them, and do what they say. Sometimes it's strange doing that if you don't know the reasons, but you should always do it and not ask questions, because they have twenty-five others to see to, apart from you, and it's difficult."

Hmmm....I could remember times in my earlier life when I wished I'd followed my own advice. Funny how things go a full circle. But that was nearly enough for them, and besides, Ben and I had to go to school.....it'd be funny, being a pupil and knowing you were also a parent....what would happen at those meetings that Dad always had to go to to discuss my progress? How would Ben and I be treated? That'd be a challenge. It'd also confuse the teachers a lot. Hmmm....perhaps I was going to enjoy this after all. And would Ben and I be asked to help out with those little outings the young ones went on? As parents? And would we get their school reports? Memories of my father forbidding me absolutely to open my own report flooded into my memory, along with the paper knife and the glue I used to open it and seal it up again afterwards. Would they be like me? What would their reports say?

I laughed, and as we walked toward the old school house I explained my thoughts to Ben whose mind had been firmly on matters academic and firmly closed to my musings. By the time we arrived, we were both having trouble breathing because of the shared laughter. There were a few odd looks from some of our friends, but then we were used to that. We were the only two teenaged fathers in the Island's history, so far as I knew.

We had agreed to meet outside the Headmaster's door during break. After the inevitable discussions with the Secretary we were allowed in, not without some impatience on the woman's part as we had refused to state our business to her.

"The equivalent of five years old, you say," he said after we had introduced the problem. "I very much doubt that, very much indeed, since they've apparently only just been born. I realise the Smith has said that these are no ordinary children, but to expect them to be schoolchildren so early is a bit much to swallow."

"Sir, we realise that it's not an easy thing to accept....." (I was proud of Ben for putting it like that) ".....but neither of us is exaggerating. Perhaps if you saw them?"

"I'm a busy man, Ben. I don't visit every pupil we take on. It I did I'd get no time at all for all the other work I have to do."

"Perhaps we should bring them to you, sir."

He looked at Ben impatiently. "Ben, what I am trying to say is that it'd be a waste of time, no matter how special they are, to expect them to keep up with the others. At that age, they're not even anywhere near potty trained, let alone able to walk and run. Their speech can be no more than baby talk. I know you're very proud of them, but it'll be years before they're ready for school."

"Sir," I started. "We....."

"No, that's enough, Aidan. Ben hasn't been able to produce anything to persuade me, so you stand no chance whatsoever. It's out of the question. That's all I have to say."

"But sir...."

"No, Ben. I have nothing else to say. Leave, please."

"Sir....."

"LEAVE!"

We really had no option, but went outside and seethed. I said a few words that I shouldn't have done. Ben agreed with me.

Tomorrow, I thought, We'll bring them down anyway so he and the teachers can see them and talk to them. Then they'll see!

You're probably right. Surely they can't go against what they see with their own eyes?

They're teachers, remember? They're probably used to doing just that.

Mine aren't that bad!

Mine are.

But you have most of the same people as I do!

I thought about that, and it was true. The teachers I thought were incapable of understanding me were the same as those who Ben liked because they talked sense. I sighed inwardly. How could I ever understand these people? I was thirteen, for god's sake! Surely they should be treating me as sensible by now, especially as I was a father.....

We went gloomily back to lessons. So much of what was laid before me to learn that morning seemed so trivial, at least compared with the family I knew needed to be here and to start learning about the ways of human existence. I wondered if they would be able to accept the apparently senseless school rules we had to live with and observe. No running in the corridors ...... keep to the left on the stairs ...... present the stub of your old pencil before you could be given a new one ...... I smiled, and got a steely glare from the teacher.

"What was I saying, Aidan?"

Damn. Here we go....

"Er....about reproduction in plants, Sir."

"What about reproduction in plants?"

"Er.... the pollen is carried from the semen of one flower to fertilise another, Sir."

There was a chuckle from around me, then as the others realised what I'd said, and who had said it, an uproar.

"Silence!" There nearly was. He looked exasperated. I was told to look it up in the book after school and come to see him afterwards.

I found Ben waiting for me, late leaving though I was. When I explained what had happened, he laughed.

People must think you have semen on the brain!

I thought a moment. The nearest I get to that is having yours in my mouth.

He looked at me, surprised. Then, gentler than the boy-to-boy banter of before: You don't....do that and...hate it do you?

It was my turn to be surprised. What would make him think such a thing? I looked down at his trousers, and imagined..... and knew him ....and wanted him so badly, there: then.

No. I said it at softly as I could. I love you .... And I love every minute we spend together like that. I'd like it to be here. Now.

He smiled down at me from his fifteen year-old height. I could just take you to the nearest patch of undergrowth, and we could show our love.

We were in the middle of the Village..... It would be a very bad idea -- unless we could make sure we were invisible.

But the talking had had an effect on each of us, the effect that thoughts of physical exploration always have on boys. I watched entranced as the cloth of his trousers pushed outwards, and even wobbled slightly as he walked. And I could feel my own body being painfully restrained by the combination of underpants and trousers. Walking was difficult

Think of Miss Flude, he said after a silence.

I did. It worked.

We were still so -- well, I hate to use the word about something so natural and wonderful, but -- randy that night that I'm ashamed to say we left Carl alone with the boys and returned to the Glade. This time was different from before when we'd gone there, it was that randy feeling that had got to both of us, and made us want to take risks. Although it was still dusk, we were still in sight of the Village as we stopped to strip, and we mentally dared each other to do so at a distance of only about 500 yards from the nearest house, facing it as we did so. The sensation of delightful naughtiness filled us, and we laughed at each other as we each exposed our anxious, blood-engorged manhood to be enjoyed or exclaimed over by anyone wanting to watch. Not that we expected there to be anyone. Most would be safely indoors mending, reading, or working by the scant light of lanterns.

At last we calmed down, and set off into the gloom to the Glade, and the delight in each other we knew would be waiting there.

Carl was waiting for us when we returned.

"What about school, then?"

My mind switched tracks abruptly, as did Ben's.

"We couldn't get them to agree," he said. "The Head thinks they're little babies and won't be ready for school for years."

"I hope you told him what they're really like."

We looked rather shamefacedly at each other. "It wasn't that easy. He wouldn't listen. He just told us to get out."

"That's ridiculous! Why didn't you ask him to see them?"

"We did," I explained patiently. "He said he was too busy."

"Well in that case we must take them to see him. I'll bring them down tomorrow."

"That's what we thought would be best. He'll have to see them then, especially if you take them in to see him."

"I take them in? It should be you!"

"Well, we'll take them in, then."

The best laid plans ..... There was still something in the air between Ben and me that night, and we were playing in the bedroom for ages. There are some times when the human mind becomes insatiable, becomes fixed on a certain subject. For us, that night, it was each other. I couldn't say what time it was we eventually slept, but it must have been in the early hours. The next morning we could hardly drag ourselves out of bed, not only because of tiredness but because of the physical attitude in which we had finally finished our lovemaking, totally spent.

Breakfast was cold, the boys were puzzled, and we were late for school. We thought it best not to take the boys with us as we were so late.

Dragged in front of the Head at break, this time at his demand rather than ours, we were told off in no uncertain tones about timekeeping. He must have been in a mood, because he was more angry sounding than usual. I think he may have been just about finishing his lecture -- I wasn't really listening -- when a particularly loud series of screams came from the juniors in the playground which was unfortunately just outside his window. He turned, further annoyed, to see what was disturbing his peace. We craned our necks to see, too.

Two teachers were trying their best to act as sheepdogs. They were attempting to separate a small group of young children from the remainder, who were meant to be getting back into class. As we watched, one or two of them -- the school's children -- would double back again to start playing with the intruders. Unlike their friends who were intent on continuing to play, the intruding group of boys, as fast as they were parted, would double back and join onto -- and dodge -- the queue, trying to get in with the class. Each time they all had to be brought out, separated, and the whole charade started again.

It was inevitable that the small group consisted of seven boys. Our boys.

I swear that at least one of the real schoolchildren started to undo his trousers on the assumption that, if they were playing with these children, they would always do so naked. I hoped that sense would return quickly, otherwise Ben and I would have to do some serious explaining. I sighed. Immediately the Head's attention switched to me.

"I hope you're not giggling, Aidan McKee. I see nothing funny in unruly behaviour."

"No Sir," I lied. "It's just that.....they're our boys."

"Nonsense. You said they'd only just been born."

"That's right, Sir, they have. But they were born as five-year-olds, as we said."

He looked at me, then Ben, then at the melee outside. "But....."

There was a pause while he took in the situation and its probable consequences. Presumably he had bowed to the inevitable, as they say. Finally he looked back into the room at both of us.

"They'll have to come to school," he said. "But will they obey you if you tell them to stop playing around now?"

"Of course, Sir," said Ben. "They're our sons, after all. And they're the ones who are trying to get into class."

When we broke the news to them that night they were ecstatic, as was Carl. It took us a long time to quieten them down and get them to bed, and then, tired though we were, we felt we had to go to the Grove to report progress. Though it was warm there, and welcoming, there was no one to welcome our love or to respond to it as before. Because of the rain that had fallen, quietly, but as if it had really meant it, between our getting home and the boys' bedtime, the ground was wet, something we thought odd since it had never seemed to be so before during all the times we had made love there. We were dimly conscious of our bodies getting rather stickier than usual, and wetter, though not cold; but it was a good feeling rather than an unpleasant one, and we became as passionate as the previous night. At last our needs were spent, it was time to go, and we stumbled from the peace and warmth of the place into the outside world. And at once we were cold, and uncomfortable, and when we reached the edge of the trees we could see each other properly.

As we were so muddy, to put our clothes back on would be a waste of time, and since all the Village lights were off we picked them up instead and flitted back home from shadow to shadow like muddy, naked ghosts. Fortunately Miss Flude's lights were off too, although since we had tamed her I wondered if she would be offended any more. I still had no wish to find out the hard way, having her discover me naked.

We woke at a reasonable time the next day, mainly because there had been an excited buzz of 5-year-old voices in the house from about six o'clock onwards. I came from the room first, forgetting that Ben and I had been enjoying an early morning cuddle, and that my body was still aroused. Yes, I know that now, as an adult, it's not something you can fail to realise, but at thirteen your penis is lighter, shorter and when erect is tighter against your abdomen. It doesn't get in the way when you're naked. And, of course, erections happen on their own then anyway, for no apparent reason. You get used to them. So when the noisy ones saw me, they stopped, aware something was different, and fourteen eyes bored into the middle of my body.

WHY?

It wasn't just one, it was all of them asking in unison.

I'll tell you later: tonight. Remind me. For once I was almost embarrassed.

Is there a special toilet you use for when it's like that?

It took me a few moments to realise what he meant, then my mind automatically started trying to design one.

Our reception at school was confusing. The teachers of the five-year-olds had known Ben and me since we were that age ourselves and would normally speak to us as older pupils on a regular, friendly basis but still as teachers. Today, things were subtly different. We were being asked questions about our boys in an almost respectful way, as if our opinions and wants mattered. We explained that there might be a few areas where basic knowledge was wanting, but that to balance it there were a lot of things they knew automatically that the others wouldn't. We tried to explain that they had grown as plants, as drakes, for the equivalent of the first five years of their lives, but by the faint, polite smiles we got in return for this information we knew they couldn't grasp it. It was outside their experience, therefore it couldn't exist.

So at last we told them to be good, and to do what they were told, and we would see them at break time. They all hugged us, all seven of them. If any of our own classmates had been there, watching, I think I'd have been highly embarrassed. As it was, only the other 5-year-olds, their parents, and of course the teachers were there to see. All the parents were doing the same, so it was no big deal.

It just took us longer.

Some of the parents looked at us a bit strangely, but we were well aware by now of our special status in the Village and ignored their looks as we walked -- not away, but toward the part of the school where the older students went. Our part. The sudden change from parent to student was a definite line, and challenging to cross effectively. Exactly where it happened on the short journey I can't say, but we both experienced it, as we discovered afterwards. Strange indeed.

They all seemed so happy at the morning's break that it took some time for them to realise we were both there watching their antics. All at once games of football, skipping, tag, and what looked like hopscotch were forgotten as they clustered around us, deafening us with their tales. We listened, exclaimed, wondered.....and then they were called back by the bell. It was short, but exhausting. We felt as if we'd had no break at all.

They were due to finish at lunch time, and Carl was coming down to get them. I guessed he'd have non-stop talk all the afternoon. Half of me envied him that whilst the other half was glad to have the comparative peace of my own lessons. When lunchtime came Ben, Carl and I met by the juniors' part of the school and waited, just like all the other parents, for our charges to spill out into the playground. Standing and looking at that special space that is a playground, the place where I had played as a junior in my distant past, it seemed to me to be a long time ago, a different life. And now, despite my memories, I felt the delightful responsibilities of parenthood starting to creep back, and wondered at myself.

At last they were surging towards us, and yes, the talk started at once as they verbally leapt over each other to tell us what they'd done all morning. The same scene was being played out on a smaller scale all round us, though with less excessive enthusiasm. It was our boys' first day, after all. They almost persuaded me that there was something in going to school after all, a thought that was often foreign to me. We waved them off as they followed Carl like a small flock of sheep. As they turned the corner and went out of sight it was as if a cloud had obscured the sun.

Reluctantly we returned to our own lunch break, and then back to the afternoon's lessons.

Will they cone and meet us? I asked Ben as we met at the senior playground entrance.

Probably too busy at home.

They won't have homework, surely?

No, but they're bound to have a lot of their class there playing football or something.

And so it was. As we came within earshot of the house I could hear the inevitable shouting, and the noise of a football. I wondered why the spirits hadn't insisted on eleven sons, then we could have had a one-family football team. They were playing with school friends, as Ben had guessed, and inevitably none of them was clothed or worried about the fact. And once again we watched as that peculiar magic took over when there were arguments, or one of the visiting children got hurt, or there was a problem with the ball. Not once did any of them come to us, the adults, for help. The problem was always solved by one of our boys.

They were so tired, so early that night that they forgot to ask me what my erection of the morning was meant for.

 

***

 

That day set the pattern for many months. It didn't take long for the school to realise that these were no ordinary children, for not only did they have voracious appetites for knowledge, they encouraged all those around them to ask questions and to learn fast too. At length it was decided that the junior class should be divided into two, with a new teacher brought in from the mainland since we had no one on the island who was either qualified or, to be honest, interested in teaching children that young. We were told -- as involved parents -- about this, and asked not to be surprised when strange faces started to appear at the school as they would be teachers on trial.

"I wonder how they'll cope with someone else." Ben mused, as we three were sitting alone after bedtime for the boys one night.

"The same as we always used to," said Carl. "Give them half a lesson and they'll have decided whether they like them or not. No matter what they do after that, unless it's really bad, that's how they'll be branded."

I knew what he meant. We'd seen very few new teachers over the years, but it had taken us a very short time to judge them. It had nothing to do with their abilities, it was just whether they were `nice' and could be trusted, or not.

Watching the new teachers going through their paces in the junior playground was an interesting experience for Ben and me. We were at once parents, interested in making sure that the right person was being considered, whilst also students judging the person from the traditional pupils' point of view. I think the pupils' method was the best. It was quicker, and in our estimation more accurate. One or two of the candidates made us laugh, and not for the right reasons. I suppose it was inevitable that we instinctively discounted most of the young women, although I wasn't aware of exactly why at the time. It just seemed to me that the best person was going to be a man.

It was during one of the lunch breaks that we were watching. Our boys had somehow persuaded all their classmates to stay on and play at school before -- usually -- heading home with a smaller group to throw off their clothes and play there. We were watching this day, as one of the more promising young teachers was being put through his paces. He thought, no doubt, that it was the school authorities he had to convince: we and the kids playing knew that, in fact, it was we who were actually the judges. He appeared to be enjoying himself, surrounded by the shouting melee, but also seemed to have that aura of control that says safety here! to any child. As we watched, Carl came to join us as usual.

"Hallo, Ben, Aidan. Who've they got for us to watch tod.........?"

The sentence was never finished. As one we turned to look at the usually communicative Carl. His mouth was hanging open, his eyes riveted on the teacher as he seemed to swirl around with the crowd of children, always with them, never being too strong, just being there.

"What's the matter, Carl? D'you know him?"

No answer.

"Carl? Carl? What's the matter? Carl?"

He seemed to jump. With his eyes never leaving the figure in the playground he said softly: "What?"

"CARL!"

It was a shout, I know, but his behaviour was so uncharacteristic that I was getting worried. The teacher turned toward my voice, but instead of my eyes he met Carl's.

When we'd been on the mainland our teachers had introduced us, for the first time, to the cinema. Obviously it had been for educational reasons to start with, but towards the end of the stay we had been taken to watch a mainstream film. Inevitably there was a love scene. We could hardly believe it when these two pairs of eyes, one male, one female, met across the dance floor and couldn't tear apart. We thought it was just too silly for words, and one or two of us sniggered our way through the rest of the film, to the disgust of the teachers. The reaction between Carl and the candidate teacher in the playground reminded me exactly of that moment, and I was suddenly aware that what had been on the screen, and what was happening in front of my eyes, was exactly what had happened between Ben and me. It was just working quicker, and under less trying circumstances.

As it was, the figure before us had ceased all movement, and the surrounding children looked up at him with some alarm. All I could "hear" from our seven were sort of mental question marks. I'm sure if there had been danger threatening they would have been aware of it before anyone else.

In my mind I felt a noise as if an elastic band had broken, or a balloon had burst. What it was I didn't know, but the contact between the two pairs of eyes seemed to rip apart. A sense of deep hurt wafted through my emotions, though I knew that it didn't directly affect me. What was going on? The activities before us had been interrupted for about five seconds only, yet it seemed like forever. It continued now, though I was sure it was a changed teacher in front of us.

"Do you know him, Carl?"

At last he turned to Ben. "No. I've never met him. But he's good with them, isn't he?"

He seemed to be back to normal, but there was something amiss...

"Do you like him?" It was a stab of a question, I know, but I had to ask because of the memories of that film. He looked at me, and his eyes were troubled. He said not a word, but the smile came and eased some of the trouble from him. That was answer enough.

At last the break was over. Usually that meant that the boys would rush over to us and mob us before being taken home with a crowd of others by Carl. Today they came over, but with the teacher in tow.

"This is Carl, he looks after us while Aidan and Ben are at school. He's nice. You like him." That was the unravelling of the shouts that they gave, mostly simultaneously. And it wasn't "you'll like him", it was definitely "you like him". They knew.

"When are you going to come and visit us? We're at home all afternoon. We play football with our friends. We don't wear anything 'cos it's nicer. Nor do they. Come on! Come with us now!"

He smiled at them, then looked at us. As his eyes met Carl's the smile faded and the look was more concentrated, it seemed. But he regained his composure and did his best to talk to all three of us.

"I'm Mr McKendrick. You'll be their brothers, I suppose. It's good to meet you. I'd like to come back and play football with you, boys, but I have to stay and talk to the Headmaster, to see if they want to give me the job. Then I have to get back to the mainland."

They looked disappointed. "Do you live far away?" asked Carl in a voice I hardly recognised.

Again that deep look. "In Edinburgh, I'm afraid. I have a long way to travel."

"You could stay here tonight." Hang on, I thought despite myself, it's our house!

Wistfully.... "The only way I can get back to Edinburgh is to take the coach in the morning from the mainland. The first ferry's too late for me to get back there in time tomorrow, and I have to be back the next day because I have another interview to go to."

"Oh you don't need to go to that," said Hamish, "they're going to give you the job here."

Most adults would have laughed. He didn't. He just looked at Hamish and smiled. "I hope you're right. I really do. Living here would be my idea of heaven." And if his eyes had shifted back to Carl as he said the words, I, for one, knew exactly why.


Chapter 13

 

Carl was jumpy that night. He didn't lose his even temper with the boys or with us, but we could tell his mind was elsewhere. It was as he poured our three cups of tea that matters came to a head. The teapot hovered successfully over two mugs, but when he stationed it over the sugar bowl and started pouring Ben and I looked at each other.

He's gone!

I know. I've been watching him. I'm surprised he's not tried to put one of the boys in the sink and wash him with the plates from lunch!

That was too much for me. I burst out laughing. Carl's eyes swivelled to me.

"Rather a sweet tooth you've developed, Carl."

He looked blank. I pointed to the sugar bowl. He looked confused, then horrified, then his eyes met mine again and, I hope, saw that I understood. I certainly had no intention of laughing at him, after all, my own attachment to Ben was still very fresh in my mind. How could it not be.

"Sorry," he said. "I'll have another go."

"Don't...." said Ben, softly. Carl looked at him, surprised.

"You've been off beam ever since lunch. I can tell. And we both know why, and we both just hope it'll come right for you."

He looked, startled, into each of our eyes in turn. "How do you know?"

"Because we too had a quite sudden attraction to each other. Because we too are in love. Because we saw what happened this afternoon between you and Mr McKendrick."

"Jim. His name's Jim."

I looked at Carl, confused, my memory seeking the moment when the man had introduced his Christian name into the conversation.

"How do you know his Christian name?"

He looked confused, then worried. "I don't know. I just do."

"He seems a nice bloke," I said after a pause.

"He is," he said positively, as if he'd known him for years. "I hope to heaven that he gets the job."

"Hamish said he would," I told him.

"I know. But are they always right?"

"About things they understand they seem to be, yes. You know they are. And they seem to have learnt how humans work very quickly, quicker than I ever did."

"But how can they know what decisions other people make and how they think when they don't really know the people?"

I shrugged. "I don't have a clue. But we've all seen that they can. Hamish particularly." I thought for a moment. "You know, if Efan's always the one who does the first aid, perhaps he's going to be a doctor when he's older. And Ben and Aidan always seem to be looking after people so perhaps they'll be vicars or something. Not that we need more than one. And Hamish knows what people are going to decide, and what they're thinking. What does that make him?"

"Useful!"

"A policeman!"

"That wasn't what I meant....and the day we have to have policemen on the island, I'll leave! I want us to carry on sorting ourselves out as we do at the moment. He'd not be very busy if that's what he's going to be."

"I don't care so long as they're happy and safe," said Carl, "and so long as Hamish is right about Jim McKendrick."

"I hope so too," I told him, "for your sake."

Once Carl knew we realised what was in his mind he seemed more `present', if that's the right term. There were no more sugar-bowl type episodes, anyway.

The next day brought no news about Jim or the job, nor did the day after. Carl was beside himself with apprehension and could only be pacified by Hamish who kept repeating that Jim would most certainly get the job, and please would he talk about something else? Carl just looked at him.

"But why don't you get his room ready?" asked Hamish. Ben and I heard.

"We don't know if he'd want to live here," we told him. "He may be offered a room somewhere else."

"But he'd be with Carl if he was here," said the unquenched, shameless Hamish. "They both want that."

"How can you be so certain he likes me that much, Hamish?"

"Didn't you feel the thing between them when they saw each other? It's like seeing a bee spotting the pollen in a flower for the first time. They just have to be together."

I suppose that for a human who was born from the earth that's not a bad comparison. And although I think there's probably less mental tension from the bee, and the plant -- so far as I knew -- doesn't have a lot to say in the matter, the attraction's certainly as strong.

Later that evening there was a knock at the door, just as we were thinking about bedtime for the boys. It was the smith. He looked round at them as they watched him, rather warily, looked pleased, and invited himself in as usual.

"You've got enough room to let someone stay here for a while, haven't you." It was a statement, rather than a question.

"Yes, I suppose so," I said, "but we'd want to know who it was first. You know -- make sure he was all right with the boys, and that we could get on with them."

"Don't forget, Aidan, this is the village's house, not your property. And it's only one person, and then only until we can find a home for them, or build one."

He certainly had a way with words.

"And you wouldn't want someone here who harmed the boys, would you?" I retorted. He looked daggers at me.

"Don't be cheeky, boy. We haven't just invited anyone to be the new teacher, you know. It took a lot of discussion and a careful decision." I felt the tension heighten, and stopped myself turning to look at Carl.

"Who is it, then?" I asked as casually as I could.

"It's a man called McKendrick..."

And I felt the tension vanish into thin air, and the warm glow of exultation and excitement replace it.

"...who you may have seen when he came to the school to look around. The Headmaster and the Elders thought he was the best for the job here, and as he lives such a long way away he'll have to live here. We need somewhere for him, as I said. So that's settled. He starts in a fortnight. Make sure you're ready for him."

Wonderful. Just like that. So tactful.

When we'd finally waded through the bathing sessions and had got them to bed and quiet we discussed what to do.

"W..w..would he share with me?" said Carl, doubtfully, wistfully.

I thought. I was sure Hamish would say that he most certainly would do so, and that he'd jump at the chance. But, thirteen I may have been, but I was sure it wouldn't be right for him to come to a strange place and be immediately told he'd immediately be sharing a bed with someone he'd barely spoken to.

"How about putting him up in the guest bedroom, where the smith wanted Carl to sleep?" suggested Ben. A look of disappointment crossed Carl's face.

"Ideal," I said, ignoring it. "If he wants to get together with Carl he can -- after all, we're not going to stop him, and probably Carl won't!" He looked at me, straight-faced, but said nothing.

Our next visit to the Glade found Angharad and Gwaed both happy, playing together, and already knowing how the boys were and that the new teacher was to be living with us. How did they know? How did we know that Gwaed knew? Oh yes, Angharad told us, but it was obvious that he was happy about it long before she told us that he knew. You must look after him well, she said. People in the Village might be surprised that he should live in the same house as some of the children he teaches, and other children might get jealous. And Carl...

Yes? And Carl...?

...and Carl needs someone too, you know. Although more boys love girls, some boys love other boys, and just as much. You two do, and Carl needs someone now he can't have you, Aidan.

How did she know? I'd not told her, not even in thought. Ben wouldn't have done, or I'd have known. I supposed it must be a thing of the spirit, and left it at that.

We watched the two of them some more, playing like... well, like kids. Or like young animals play. Chasing. Stopping to rest and nuzzle at each other. Chasing. A pause for silent communion. Chasing. Playing.

Enchanting.

At last we wished them good night and went our way, naked as ever. And half way through the wood Ben stopped.

Why should they be the only ones?

What?

Tag! You're It!

And he was running off down the hill as I looked after him for a split second, surprised. But as the rush of the spirit of the game hit me I too was running, running as I hadn't except at school sports, and excited to be playing and carefree after all those months of almost constantly looking after our boys.

It couldn't be that I was catching him up?

He turned and faced me, only to dodge, laughing, as I reached out to tag him. But I had played before, as we all have, and since the last time I had become stronger, more supple, more cunning. I could now plan ahead and turn on the spot, especially without shoes, and he was much nearer me than he had planned. My own dodge brought my hand to within a few inches of his naked bottom.

He ran on, round the bend, and I could hear as I rounded it that the sound of running had stopped. Think, Aidan... He's taken cover, and was waiting for me to run past; I just knew it. But which side of the track? I parted the bushes and as quietly as I knew how indianed my way through them until I could see the space where he would be waiting for me. But as I had taken some little time with my manoeuvres he had become anxious (I could "hear" him) and was standing in the middle of the track. The breeze was causing the tops of the trees to rustle, otherwise he would have heard me. As it was I was trying to think quietly, if you understand me.

At last, inch by inch, I pulled myself to the edge of the track, and was gathering myself to pounce like a cat, when the anticipation of imminent surprise got the better of my thoughts and he "heard" me indeed. There was a laugh, and he turned to face...the opposite side of the track! With no more thought I did my cat leap and launched myself at his back. We both fell, fortunately, not onto anything sharp or hard, and proceeded to indulge in one of those wonderful, boyish, happy, tickle fights.

Who got the better of it I can't remember, but it was probably Ben as he was the stronger. When we last separated and rolled away from immediate contact we were both laughing so hard it hurt.

I haven't done anything like that for ages! I told him.

I know. We neither of us have. And seeing those two playing made me think we should. It's only right, after all. You're thirteen and I'm only two years older.

I thought about it. He was right. I was so busy helping the others to live and learn that I'd not had time to play.

When we reached the house we found everyone asleep, although I was fairly sure that Carl would be wakeful.

Although for nine of us the fortnight that followed was as normal as it can be with seven lively boys to look after, for Carl it was as difficult a time as he could remember since his parents were killed. He was frequently mentally absent, and we had to endure some rather interesting cooking, some of which was either burnt or nearly still alive. I asked him if either Ben or I should take over in the kitchen for the sake of our digestions -- though I didn't actually say that -- but he would have none of it. Matters improved a little. It was the following Monday that the smith appeared, just as we were arriving home from school. He was, as usual, curt and to the point.

"McKendrick arrives on Thursday. Is everything ready for him?"

"The room hasn't been used since we got here," I retorted. "We can clean it if it needs it."

"That'll be a job for Carl," we were told. I knew he would want to, but didn't see why the man had to make himself so unpleasant as to tell him to do things. But Carl, naturally enough, needed no second bidding, and went almost immediately to start work with a will, as if the cleaning would hasten Jim McKendrick's arrival. His absence meant that Ben and I washed up, and for the first time the boys helped. Well, hindered, really. Hindered and damaged. It was after the third plate had hit the floor and smashed that Carl came to see what was happening and was immediately mortified that he was neglecting a job that was usually his. We told him not to be silly.

Thursday arrived, and a rather haggard looking Carl greeted us at the breakfast table.

"What's the matter?" I asked him when we were, for once, alone.

"I didn't sleep last night," he admitted. "I was so worried about....everything." The finish of the sentence was rather lame, but I knew the real subject.

"It'll be fine," I told him.

"But what....what if...." He swallowed. I tried to think past his words, to listen to his mind as we'd been able to at times before, but to no effect.

"What if he doesn't like me? What if he's gone off the idea of me? What if he's not even....what if he's got a girlfriend?"

I thought for a while, trying to find words that would convince him. I remembered that sudden stop to the conversation -- to the very fabric of life, almost -- that had happened when the two first became aware of each other. I reminded him about it. "Perhaps he's thinking exactly the same thoughts as you," I finished.

He just looked at me, at once hopeful and apprehensive.

It was after school that the ferry was due to dock, we knew. We also knew that Carl had been refused permission -- by the smith; who else? -- to go to the "port" on the coach which went to pick up any passengers. Like us, he was having to wait until it lumbered into sight and stopped at the Village pub. I've never seen anyone so ill at ease, so nervous. I could "hear" his thoughts after a manner, but only as a buzz of anticipation, worry, dread, excitement, hope, and near-panic. We and the boys were excited, hopeful, and eagerly anticipating the arrival of our guest. Our guest who would probably become more than that -- more of a resident. We were outside the pub, an unusual event in itself, since it was forbidden territory to anyone under eighteen.

The cloud of dust announced the old vehicle's imminent arrival, and as he saw it I felt Carl's mind become suddenly still. Pleased but worried, I looked round to see his face become white, his eyes roll upwards, his knees buckle... I was just able to stop his head hitting the ground, but the rest of him subsided in a heap next to me.

In the excitement of helping him to come round we quite forgot the coach's arrival, and it was just as his eyes were opening that a pleasant, light Mainland voice chimed in.

"Is he all right?"

I looked up at Jim. His anxious eyes were glued to the still-groggy Carl, who was still only just aware of his surroundings.

"I...er...think so. He must be a bit ill, or something. Welcome, by the way. You're staying with us."

"Yes, I know, and thanks so much for inviting me. I was looking forward to meeting...you all." There had been that slightest of pauses, and I just knew that he had been going to say `him'.

Carl sat up, groggily, and tried to get to his feet. Jim put out a hand to stop him. "No, stay there if you've just passed out. It's nature's way of saying you're doing too much, or are too tired, or have had a shock of some sort." The look he got in return was so intense that it made Jim smile. "It's all right. It's no problem. Let's just get you home, shall we? Will the coach take us all there?"

This last was to me, and I had no idea of the answer. Jim turned back to the vehicle's driver, whom we all regarded as being of as dubious an age as his vehicle. He told the man the problem, and asked the question.

So it was that we missed the smith completely. The coach, carrying seven boys, two teenagers and two young men, passed him as he was hurrying down toward the pub. Ben and I grinned.

By the time we reached the house Carl was better, though embarrassed beyond measure. Jim took charge, ordered him to bed and the boys outside to play, and insisted in helping him up to his room with Ben. I put the kettle on.

When they reappeared Jim was a bit straight-faced. "He's really done in," he said. "I don't know what you've been doing to him but he's tired out. He doesn't even look as if he's been eating properly. It's about time you started doing a few of the jobs around here. Your brothers are too young, but two great boys like you ought to be pulling your weight and helping him. Is he your older brother? Or is he someone who's just helping until your parents get back?"

Ben and I looked at each other, astonished. It had never struck us that anyone coming to live on the Island would fail to have been told about us.

"Carl looks after us all," I told him. "My Dad and Ben's parents visit when they can, but we and Carl look after the boys. They are our sons, after all."

He just looked at me. "Aidan, don't be silly. You're too old to be romancing."

"It's the truth, Jim," said Ben. "And I'm surprised the smith hasn't told you the full story. It's a difficult one to grasp, I suppose, for an outsider; but not as difficult as it was for us to go through."

He still looked at us, face set. "I don't know what sort of game it is you're playing, but you are, of course, talking rubbish. Perhaps you want to try to lead me up the garden path because I'm a teacher, and at your school - why, I don't know. You were all right with me when I first meet you all." Did his face soften a little at the end of that? Had he just remembered Carl again?

"Jim, ask the blacksmith. Ask My Dad. Ask Ben's Mum and Dad. Ask anyone in the Village. They will tell you what we went through, and that we are to look after a family, our family, that were born out of the earth."

Another pause. Did I see doubt beginning to gather on his face? No?

"Nonsense. That would be a fairy tale."

"It was a damn embarrassing fairytale," Ben exploded. "Look, I'm not going to fill you in with the details. Carl could. Our parents can. The smith can, just as Aidan says. Please, just go and ask them."

Again a pause, while it all sank in. It was interrupted by a footfall at the door, and a bout of sniffing and a keening that said that a boy was in pain and scared, but didn't want to admit it. And, of course, was by now naked. Jim's eyes opened wide, followed a split second later by his mouth.

I cut my hand. Ruaridh was doing his best not to break down, but the blood leaking from a gash in his left hand was certainly enough to shock someone much older.

"We'd better get a doctor..." Jim was saying, just as Efan followed his brother into the house. I was glad to see that the man had his priorities right, even if he was being faced by the unusual.

It's all right, I know what to do. Efan was there, of course, as he always would be when someone was hurt.

"It's all right, Jim. Efan will see to it. And when he's finished he'll have made sure there's not even a scar."

"He can't do that! That's a bad cut. It'll need a visit to the doctor, and probably stitches in hospital. A six year old can't just take it on, and nor could you, or even I."

"He saved Miss Flude's life. He's done more healing in school too, before even the Matron has had a look."

"I can't allow a potentially dangerous cut to be dealt with by a six year old."

Ben and I looked at him, exasperated. None of us had seen that Ruaridh and Efan had both slipped out again. The argument began again. "Jim, you don't know these boys, and how special they are. Efan can heal, using power from the earth. He knows living things. He was born as a...a..." Ben paused, realising just how ineffective it would be to describe their origins as plants. Jim looked at him, waiting. "...as a mandrake. There. Now you have it. They are mandrakes or, I suppose, still boydrakes at the moment." He stopped, hoping that would persuade the man.

"You're talking about fairy tales and legends, Ben, and I find it insulting that you're trying to joke with me in this way when I've only just arrived. And when one of your brothers is in danger too, with a bad cut. I can't fathom out why you should want to, because you're not likely to confuse me enough to make me leave again, if that's what you're trying to do."

Efan reappeared, Ruaridh's hand in one of his, and a bunch of leaves in the other. He crossed to the passageway to the kitchen.

"Where are you going, young man?" asked Jim.

"To the tap, to get some water." And he wasted no time and disappeared. Jim started after him, and we just as naturally followed.

Efan was at the flowing tap, a look of concentration on his face. He held the leaves under the tap, then put some in his mouth, and chewed, although with a look of disgust on his face. When it was softened to his satisfaction, he spat out the wad and smoothed it onto his brother's still bleeding cut. We all watched silently, Jim with his mouth hanging slightly open. Efan held the wad on the damaged skin, then reached for the remainder of the leaves which he added as an outer dressing to the poultice.

"There. Now you can put something round it to keep it there for a bit."

"That's fine," said Jim, "but it's not good enough."

"Why?"

"Because the leaves aren't clean, because they'll only stop it bleeding for a bit, and because it needs stitching."

"What's stitching?"

"When you sew the two sides of the cut together so it heals," I told him bluntly. He looked shocked, then thoughtful.

"It might be a good idea if the insides are spilling out," he said just as bluntly, "but if that plant will clean it, bring the edges of the cut together and make them join so they don't leave a mark, why do you want to stitch them?"

"You know that they're not just going to do that on their own," said Jim.

"Yes they will, if I do it right. And I know how to. And I have. I'll show you in a bit."

"I'm sorry, but I want him taken to a doctor."

"No," I said.

"No," said a voice from the door. "It's not necessary." We swivelled round. Carl seemed to have recovered, and was looking straight at Jim. "Efan is right, Jim. He has powers that you don't know and none of us can understand. All the boys have. It's because of their origins."

"Oh no, not you too!" Jim exploded. "I've just telling these two not to try fairy tales on me, and now you're doing it. And I thought that you..." He stopped, as if for breath. "...at least would be on my side." Ben and I both knew that was not the original ending of the sentence, and from the mental chortle from Efan and the recovering Ruaridh I knew they were aware too.

Carl looked straight at him. "Jim, these boys, and Ben, Aidan and I, have all been hoping against hope that it was you who got the teacher's job here, because it was obvious that you were the best for it, and...and all the kids you taught when you were here liked you a lot." His face clouded over. "I just hope we and they weren't wrong." He turned and left the kitchen. Jim looked nonplussed.

"But why, then, if you do want me to have the job, are you feeding me so much nonsense about these boys? And anyway, why are they naked? All right, they're young enough for it not to matter, but it's hardly the done thing to let them play outside with nothing on. And I still want this boy's injury seen to properly."

How do I persuade him that we're telling the truth? And why, my mind rebelled, was he telling me what to do in by own home? I thought, and was aware that Ben was on the same mission. I felt his mind grasp a possible solution, one I couldn't see.

"Jim, look at their waists. What do you see?"

"What?"

"Look at their waists. Really look,"

He did as he was bidden. A pause.

"What happened to them? Was it an operation?"

"No. They were born without a navel. They were born out of the earth. They had no need of a navel or an umbilical cord. When it was time, their roots withered away and we had to dig them out before the earth suffocated them by stopping their lungs from working for the first time."

Another pause.

"But that can't be! It's the stuff of legends, as I said. And why..."

"I know," I said, "but that is how it was. And this is no fairy tale or old legend, this is actual, and real, and happened two months ago."

"But they're six years old!"

"Five. And that is how they were dug out. In the last two months they may have aged a year, I don't know."

"But..." Another pause, and he shook his head as if to clear it.

"Do you want a cup of tea?" The Briton's answer to everything, a cup of tea. If in doubt, brew up.

"I think I need one. I still can't understand why you're trying to get me to believe all this."

"You must ask our parents, or the smith," Ben told him. "They'll fill in the details that we don't want to."

I think by that last look he gave me he really was starting to believe in us, or at least that it was no use arguing any more.

We found Carl in the main room, his head in his hands, surrounded by the other five boys, naked still but strangely silent. As we appeared they started.

What's happened to him?

Why's he crying?

How can he be so unhappy when his new best friend's just arrived?

I quietened them as best I could. He didn't sleep well last night. We've been telling Jim...er...Mr McKendrick about you and how you were born, and it's a bit difficult for him to accept. And he thinks Ruaridh should go to the doctor to get his hand made better.

But Efan's better than a doctor!

We know that, but Jim doesn't, yet.

Jim stopped at the door, seeing that this wasn't where the joke of which he had thought himself to be the butt was going to finish. He took in the situation. "Carl," he said softly. "Carl, look. I'm sorry, I didn't want to cause an upset to you. But I can't just accept what they're saying to me, or that you're backing them up.

Carl looked up. "I hoped you'd just take me on trust."

"Believe me, if the situation had been less unusual I would have done -- I'd have been able to. I mean, you came across as being an immediately sensible and...er...likeable guy when I was at the school. But to an -- well -- outsider, as you put it, you have to admit that it's not something I can swallow."

"No one on the Island would tell lies like that to get around someone."

"Maybe not, but I'm not an islander yet, so I don't know these things. It sounds as if there's a lot I don't know. And if a proportion of what they -- and you -- are saying is true, then there is an awful lot I have to learn."

"Well," I started, "there's a good deal more to our story, but I'd want you to start to hear it from others, not Ben or Carl or me. We can fill in the gaps later, where we can."

The atmosphere had improved quite a lot by the time we had chatted about more mundane things over a cup of tea for us and squash for the boys. Carl was still rather quiet. I think he had expected some sort of immediate whirlwind to happen between the two of them, and it hadn't happened. Jim was as `ordinary' towards him as he was to us.

A knock on the door introduced the smith in his usual tactful fashion, though as usual the sight of the boys' nakedness stopped him for a moment and I suspect softened his attitude rather, for he was almost civil as he complained of Jim's avoidance of him as he arrived.

Oddly, in the ensuing conversation, during which the boys went outside again to play, it was the smith who cemented into place a bit more of Jim's belief of the manner of the boys' birth. He just referred to it in a matter of fact way, and apart from a look of perpetual astonishment on the teacher's face I could tell that he was perhaps starting to accept it.

"It's a lot to take in," he said suddenly, when we were talking about something else.

"What?" asked the smith.

"All this about the boys, and special powers, and so on. And...I'd forgotten about Ruaridh's cut hand! We must see that it's all right, or make arrangements for him to see a doctor."

"Cut? What cut? Why wasn't I told?"

"Efan saw to it. It'll be fine by now."

"Nonsense. Anything like that must be properly seen to. Get him in here."

"You can have a look if you like, but it'll be fine," I said.

"Don't argue, boy. Get him in here and I'll take him to the doctor."

"If he needs the doctor, we shall take him ourselves."

The voice was Carl's, but, suddenly, the tone was one of Authority. I recalled at the time that the other occasions when he had done something similar were all quickly forgotten, and wondered why. What was odder was that the only time it occurred to me that he had such an ability would be just after he had used it. At other times he was just Carl.

"Of course," said the smith, meekly. Jim looked at him, confused. I wondered why. By then the event was forgotten even if the smith's reaction was still current.

Carl hadn't said anything special, had he?

Ruaridh was called in, and Efan came too, of course. "Will it be cured now?" I asked Efan.

Yes. "Er..yes," he repeated. "Shall I take the poultice off?"

"Yes please." I hoped he was right.

Carl's knots had to be cut, and several turns of gauze strip later we could see the remnants of the leaves. But here were live, green leaves no longer. Those on the outside were brown, as wet and as dead as autumn's forest floor. Those they protected were now nothing but mud, such as could be seen at the bottom of any autumn ditch; a clean mud nevertheless, which washed off to show nothing but a slight red discoloration of the flesh. Of the jagged, bleeding, dangerous cut there was no other sign. Jim gasped. The smith snorted.

"It's a bruise, that's all. You're worrying me about a bad cut, and there's just a bruise. Don't you know the difference?"

"I can assure you, Mr ...er... Smith, that when he came in that cut was as bad as any I've ever seen. Indeed, I was insisting that the boy be taken to a doctor, or to hospital. It needed stitches. That's when they started to tell me about the boys and their beginnings, and how they had helped with other people who were hurt or ill."

"What do you mean?"

So Ben and I had to tell in detail all about the stories of the other children Efan had helped, and about how we first discovered his abilities. When we mentioned Miss Flude the smith snorted. "It'd have been an advantage if that old cailleach had been allowed to die naturally."

We just looked at him in silence until he squirmed, and when seven small naked boys and three others are all staring at you in disgust it is inclined to mean something even if you are a Village Elder and a Special Person in the eyes of the Spirits. Yes, Jim was disgusted too. It was the first time he had joined with us in support of the boys or their efforts.

There was no spoken retort to the comment; none was needed. Someone broke the silence, and soon afterwards the man left, much to our relief.

"He is not a pleasant person," said Jim, and who were we to disagree?

He insisted on having a close look at Ruaridh's cut which, if anything, had faded even more over the ten or so minutes since being exposed to the air. At last he looked up at Efan, then at Ben and me. "Well," he said quietly, "I still really can't believe it. By rights this hand should now be red, swollen, painful and still bleeding. Instead it looks as though it had been...what? Knocked lightly by a branch? A bruise that's so nearly gone it's been forgotten? I don't know. But one thing is certain, Efan, you have an incredible ability, and one that will benefit everyone who calls on your help."

Efan smiled. "It's easy. I just know what to do."

Bed time came soon, and after some typical five year old reluctance there was a general movement upstairs with Ben, Carl and me in attendance as normal. As normal we each removed our clothes so as to avoid getting them wet in a bathroom full of small, clumsy boys. We had no idea just how noisy and rumbustious they were, for to us it was all normal -- an activity that had become part of life. Because of the din we failed to hear the bathroom door. It was only a cool draft than on my naked bottom that told me it had opened. I looked round, and Jim was standing there, his mouth open, and staring at...

...Carl. Carl who, blissfully unaware, was sitting at the side of the bath, naturally also naked, but partially covered by Padraig, himself almost completely covered by the towel. He was sitting a little way down Carl's thighs to allow his back to be dried. A fold of the towel moving over him was lying at the base of Carl's belly, and it first hid, then revealed, the dark hairs that started in a sudden line there. At times the towel moved further to show, nearly, what lay beneath. As Carl satisfied himself that Padraig's back was dry the towel dropped away completely. There was a half gasp, half whimper from the door, and Jim was there no more.

Only then did Carl look round. "Ok?" he asked.

I never blinked. "Fine," I replied.

At last they were all in bed and we were able to dry ourselves and put our clothes back on. I wondered what reaction there would be from Jim. He was nowhere to be seen; but when Carl went into the kitchen to make a drink for us all he appeared.

"I was a bit surprised that you bathe them in the nude." It was a bald statement, but sounded rather like an attack. I was surprised that anyone should think there was another way.

"Who?" asked Ben. "Them or us?"

"What?"

"You. You shouldn't show yourselves off in front of small children.." He was obviously uncomfortable with it.

"Why ever not?" Ben exclaimed. "There's nothing wrong with it."

"Lots of people think it's wrong -- that it's indecent. That children that young wouldn't understand."

"Understand what?"

"That older boys' bodies...er....undergo changes."

"Well, of course they do," I said impatiently. "Efan will have told them." Efan the doctor, I should have added.

"But it's not right. They're too innocent for that."

"Innocent? What do you mean, innocent? They've done nothing wrong, if that's what you mean."

"You don't understand. Perhaps you're too young too. I mean that they have no knowledge of what happens with their bodies."

"Well, they're pretty good at using them," Ben grinned, losing his exasperation for a moment. "They do all sorts of things with them, just like any other kids."

"Yes, but nothing to do with...er...you know."

"No?"

"With...er...sex."

"Well, neither were we when we were showering them."

"You know what I mean."

"No, I don't. Look, the human body is a work of art. A work of God, or of the gods, whichever you prefer. I don't hide my face or my feet from them in case they're offended, so why should I worry if they see any other parts of me?" Ben was really getting into his stride. He was welcome to carry the argument. It had been a long day, and I was tired.

"It's just indecent."

"Why?"

"It just is. Young kids like that shouldn't know about that part of the human body until they're much older. Until theirs looks like that too."

"Why not," said Ben again, now exasperated.

I suddenly thought of something. "When you were at school, did your teachers ever take you swimming?"

"Well, yes," Jim was puzzled. "Of course they did."

"And where did they change afterwards?"

"In a cubicle, same as us."

"And you never tried to catch one of them in the nude? Look over the door, or under it, or make a noise so they had to come out and tell you off?"

There was a pause.

"That's not the same."

"But you were interested, and had to behave badly before you could see what you wanted. Isn't it better to let them grow up with information so it doesn't seem dirty to them?" I was really proud of myself.

"Well, I think it's wrong."

"Why?" said Ben.

"I've told you."

"No, not really," said Ben. "All you've done is to say that you think it's wrong, but not why -- at least, not the facts, just your own feelings about it."

"What's the matter?" said Carl's from the door, where he was carrying a tray laden with mugs of tea.

"Jim doesn't think it's right that we strip off to bathe the kids," I said.

"I'd like to see him have a go without getting drenched!" said Carl, cheerfully. He was still in the usual good mood that bath-time always installed in him.

"But it's wrong," said Jim again.

"Nonsense," said Carl. "You tell me the logic behind your view, and I'll tell you the logic behind ours, then we can discuss it until we reach a conclusion. But whatever that is, it'll not mean we change, because it's the best way of doing it without having to change clothes afterwards."

"Well, I disagree with it. And..."

"But you're our guest," said Carl quietly, all the bounce of his mood now gone. "And on this Island, when a guest disagrees with his host he agrees to differ, He doesn't try to change his host's ways without good reason."

Another pause. I knew that Carl was once again dismayed by Jim's attitude. This was the man he'd suddenly been attracted to, and whose arrival he had awaited so long and so impatiently.

Silence again. I hated awkward situations. Carl handed the mugs around, and we sat looking at the floor.

"Does anyone else do it here?" asked Jim suddenly.

"What?"

"Bathe their children whilst in the nude."

"I don't think we'd know, do you?" I answered.

"Suppose not."

And that, really, was the end of the conversation.

Carl was very quiet -- upset, even. It is unkind, when your hopes are raised so high, to have them dashed by the emergence of a contrary character. He could see his chances of being accepted as more than a friend vanishing as the evening drew to a close.

Nearly in silence, we went to bed.

Jim wasn't due to start until the following Monday. He would be alone all the day with Carl while the boys, Ben and I went to school. I hoped they would be all right together, that there would be no blazing rows, that Jim wouldn't storm out. Because despite all his arguments the fact remained that he was the choice not just of our boys but of all the others in their class. And, of course, originally, of Carl. So it was with some alarm that I saw him in the playground over the lunch break. Quite happily he was playing with the kids, whilst the regular teachers stood around smiling, for a change with teacups in their hands, at ease. He, on the other hand, was being teased unmercifully and being treated as a roundabout, an mock-punchbag, a tree to hide behind.... and both he and the youngsters were loving it, even ours who had seen something of a different side to him. At last the bell sounded, but none of the little ones heard it, they were so intent on this new plaything, this person who understood them who was at one with what they needed. So it was with a shock that they reacted when a voice rang out: "OK! Enough! Time's up! Stop NOW!"

The look he got at this sudden voice of authority was comical, from all of the other kids, and from all but one of our boys. It had the effect he needed, and although it shocked them it was obvious from later experience that they still loved him, could treat him as a plaything, a playmate, but up to a point. The point at which, through reasons of time or necessity, the play had to stop or was too rumbustious.

The exception to the reaction he got? Hamish. Hamish the quiet, who liked rules, if established, observed for the good of all. If you play football, he once "said", everyone plays by the rules, and anyone who doesn't stops playing. Why should anything else be any different? At thirteen and fifteen neither Ben nor I were into grey areas, so we just had to agree with him. And now, Hamish just smiled slightly, and was seen to talk quietly to one of the more ebullient boys who seemed unaffected even by Jim's commands. I hoped that Jim would notice.

Once they had obediently trooped back inside, we crossed to him. "Congratulations!" said Ben, heartily. "That was good to watch. Quite some spectacle."

He laughed. "It's not exactly something I was taught at Teacher Training, more an instinctive thing. Perhaps I was lucky with my own teachers, because I think that's where I learned it."

"Well," I said, "it certainly works."

He smiled. "What makes it more effective is if you have one or two of them on your wavelength. Hamish, ever since I started play, was both playing with the others and talking in a corner to one or two of the others who were going a bit too far. He was almost policing them."

He noticed, I thought. I "heard" Ben agree. "He's a good kid," I said.

At that moment our bell rang, and we had to go back ourselves. But we did so with lighter hearts than the night before.

We arrived home tired, as each of us had been involved in football matches. The boys, as usual, were playing outside, and their clothes -- and those of their friends -- were strewn around the area where they were playing. We smiled as we made our way indoors. An empty indoors: of neither Carl nor Jim was there any sign.

We were puzzled: we were worried. Puzzled because Carl at least should have been there to look after the boys -- although increasingly it was becoming obvious that between then they could look after themselves and anyone else who had a problem. What Efan couldn't do with a handful of freshly picked leaves or freshly dug roots was not worth doing when it came to injuries. And with the young Ben and the young Aidan to comfort, and Hamish to sort out the squabbles, we knew they could come to no harm that arose amongst them. But still... he should have been there. Jim, of course, was a free agent. We hoped they hadn't had some sort of violent argument; after all, Jim was still unwilling to come to terms with the boys' powers, even less with their origins.

We went to the kitchen to see what we could do about cooking a meal for us all, when there was a sudden hush to the mental background clamour that was the boys and their friends playing. We stopped too, wondering, hoping this was not an injury or something we'd need to deal with. But to our relief we "heard" Carl.

It's all right. He's just had a bit of a shock, that's all. He'll be fine in a minute.

You took him up to the Glen. This from Padraig, the boy who we'd noticed to be most interested in the Island's folklore, part of which was their own birth.

Yes. He had to see for himself what the truth is. Without it he could be against us in an emergency.

I had no idea what he was talking about, and neither had Ben. But it suddenly occurred to me that Carl was talking to the boys in their minds, just as we did. But he...

Aidan and Ben are home.

Oh...

It was suddenly obvious to us that we should go out to see what the sudden silence was about. We knew it had to do with Carl and Jim, but everything else about it had cleared from our minds.

Jim looked as if he had seen a ghost, and was still suffering from shock. White faced, tousle haired, stumbling feet, he shambled past the statue-like children and into the house. We helped him into a chair. Carl bought in a cup of tea. Gradually the noise outside resumed.

It took him all that evening to regain his speech and anything like normality. From the chair where he seemed to have taken root as firmly as an mandrake, he watched the boys and Carl and us as we went about our business of feeding them, bathing them and putting them to bed. Finally we sat down beside him.

"Now do you understand?" said Carl, kneeling in front of him and looking into his eyes. For a fleeting moment I wondered why he bothered with his voice, but then remembered that Carl couldn't communicate as well as we could, and Jim was from the mainland. The teacher nodded, though rather feebly.

"Do you see now that what we have are seven living legends at the start of their life?"

I'd never looked on them that way before, and it gave me a glow of pride. Jim nodded again.

"Had I better get you to bed?" Again a nod. Carl looked at us and raised his eyebrows for our agreement.

"Need a hand?"

"No, I'm probably better on my own. It's a narrow staircase."

"Ok," I said. And then did a double take. "Are you -- well -- coming back down again?"

He stopped and turned.

"I... think so."

He looked a bit wretched.

"He needs me at the moment. It'll be all right. Nothing will happen -- unless he wants it to."

It was a good thing we all knew each other so well. Ben and I knew exactly what he meant. We went to bed with some apprehension, nevertheless.

And in the morning it was as if nothing had ever happened. Carl and Jim were up early, and both were smiling and laughing. Jim looked at the boys with a new respect, a respect that became less obvious as breakfast continued and they proved that they were, indeed, just ordinary kids.

Most of the time.


Chapter 14

 

 

Like all kids before them, the boys learnt how important weaving was to the Village, and to each family. We have had -- we still have -- a traditional design for the plaid the inhabitants make, one that was patented for us many years ago in Victorian times. It meant that no other island or mainland community could use our techniques or pattern. Our cloth was sought after in some circles, especially as very few stockists could get it apart from those in the mainland ports nearest to us. To most of the kids in the school, weaving was a fact of life, done by almost all the women and a few of the men, in order to bring in mainland money.

I just liked the feel of the rough plaid trousers I had -- along with all the other boys on the Island -- if I had no underwear on. I'd never dared to wear it like that before my preparation for fatherhood (I still shudder when I think of that day), but even now I was with Ben it was fun sometimes just to enjoy the sensations.

One day a stranger arrived with the ferry. He had with him a son of about twelve.

Visitors were unusual on the Island. We were regarded with some suspicion by the locals on the mainland -- if someone who lived that far away could be regarded as local to us. As a result very few tourists visited for longer than overnight -- that is, between ferries. Unless, of course, the wind got up... The pub did rooms, and were glad of the occasional break in the monotony.

These two told the publican that they'd be staying a week, possibly two. This news alone was enough to circulate the Village, but when it became known that the man was interested in cloth, and in proper plaid particularly, people made special journeys to spread the news rather than just leave it to the usual network of pub, shop, church and elders' meetings. Rumour grew as rumour does; he wanted to pirate our designs; he wanted to move onto the Island; he wanted a bulk supply of cloth; he wanted to brag about how much better his stuff was than ours...

Small wonder he was regarded with suspicion. So was his son, to start with. Then he bumped into the boys one day when he was walking alone toward the school as it was home time for the younger ones -- including them. They were playing the inevitable game of football as they slowly made their way home.

They'd not met with anyone unknown since they'd got to know all the Village. A stranger was something to halt their chatter, their thoughts, their very movement.

For his part, he had never seen such a vivacious group of boys suddenly become still and serious, or look at him as if to transfix him with their gaze. He felt no fear or embarrassment, just a kind of keen wonder; perhaps an instinctive knowledge that they were something not altogether of the known world.

He smiled.

And that, of course, set off young Ben and Aidan, those who particularly cared about the feelings of other people. What happened, in what order, they forgot, but soon Andrew was playing football with all the others as if he'd lived on the Island all his life. Though older, he was a kindly boy who completely omitted to make his greater physical strength count, but metered his muscles to match theirs. This endeared him to them, so before long the whole tribe found itself at our front door. Carl was expecting them, of course, and although surprised to see the older boy amongst them, he accepted him and gave him the same squash and biscuits the boys had.

After a very few moments talking about school and where he lived and why he was here and who his father was and what did he do and what did his father do. They moved outside for more football. As our front door had become the gathering place for the young of the Village, it seemed, there were probably enough for three full-size football teams waiting nearby. As our seven appeared, there was a general stripping off of clothes, something which left poor Andrew with his mouth open.

"Come on," piped Padraig happily. "It's good this way, and natural."

Given that he was only a few months younger than I had been when I was made to parade through the Village on my way to start a family (I shudder again... it sounds now even worse than it was), he was more than reluctant. The presence of another boy, a friend of theirs of about eleven, about his height, may have helped him decide, or it may have been that Ben's and my namesake just stood and looked at him in a certain way. But slowly he started to remove shoes, socks, shirt... and finally his grey shorts, and white underwear.

Padraig scooped up his discarded clothing and put it behind the fence near our gate. As he turned, Ben and I came round the corner. I promptly skidded to a halt. Ben bumped into me.

I saw a quite tall boy, pleasing features, a happy grin on his face, and a slim but capable looking body. He was distinctive because of the copper colour hair which exploded from his head. Oh, and he was distinctive because he was wearing nothing at all despite being the possessor of a very fine body with a scrotum that swung lower than his still-boyish penis. Apart from my own penis being a bit bigger by now, with some more hair around it which had grown over the last few months, he could almost have been my age. My heart skipped a beat.

Good looking, isn't he? Damn! Ben was aware of me.

Yes. The least I could do was to be honest. Lying wasn't exactly an option anyway, not when he could listen in to everything I was thinking.

I suppose I'll have to watch out.

What? What was he saying?

How do you mean?

You might start to prefer him to me. It had started out a light-hearted exchange, but he sounded a bit grim now. I looked round at him.

I don't even know him! It's you that I love.

Ah, but will you, still, once you have met him?

I just looked at him.

We played with them all for a bit -- clothed -- much to our boys' delight, though with some scorn at not removing our clothes, and then went in. Every now and again one of them would come in, disappear upstairs, and relieve him- or herself of the effects of the drinks that Carl had as usual given them. It was the standard arrangement we had come to. Firstly it avoided our having to say "yes" every few minutes, and second it gave the shrubs and bushes along the road outside a chance to survive the biological onslaught. It wasn't long before the doorway darkened a little more than usual and the visitor entered, led by Efan. Seeing us there, he almost turned and ran, but Efan had his hand and he had no choice but to walk past us, his face reddening. I had to turn and watch, until stopped short by a snort from Ben.

I'm allowed to look, aren't I?

He just tossed his head.

When Andrew came down, we stopped him.

"It's all right, you really have no need to be embarrassed. We'd be out there too, also without clothes, if we hadn't just got back from school."

He finally turned and spoke to us, in a low pitched but still unbroken voice with an English accent.

"It's odd, but good. Thank you. Er..."

"I'm Aidan, and this is Ben."

"They called one of you `Dad'"

"Both of us. It's a long story."

His eyes widened and almost disappeared into the mop of hair. He grinned. "It must be. Thank you for letting me use the lavatory."

"Any time," said Ben.

At last, they started getting tired and drifting away. It was also the boys' meal time, so we went to break things up, to remind them all to dress before going home, and bring ours in. As I turned back I saw a movement in the bushes at the other side of the junction near the house. Fox?

The last of them said their goodbyes, and the boys followed us in. Soon Jim returned, having had a lot of marking and preparation to do at the school, much to Carl's disgust. The meal, the rest, the little bits of homework we were starting the boys on and the bathtime, all followed as normal. They were just about to go to bed when there was a knock at the door.

Damn, I said. I'll go, shall I? Hurriedly putting on some clothes, I went downstairs.

It was the publican from the village inn, and with him was a smart man I didn't know, and he looked worried. Somehow I could sense trouble.

"I'm sorry to call so late," started the innkeeper, "but Mr Burton's son seems to have gone missing. According to some of the men in the pub, their sons say he was up with your lot this afternoon after school. Is he still here?"

I blinked stupidly, my mind still full of small boys and baths and bed. No, of course he wasn't. I said so.

"But he was here?" asked the stranger. His voice was quiet, English and sounded friendly in a worried sort of way. His dark copper hair, now tamed but starting to show signs of unruliness, reminded me of his son.

"Er... yes... sir. But he went when the others did, when our boys' dinner was ready."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I though he went back with some of the younger ones."

"They're all at home, or so their fathers say. He's not anywhere nearer the Village, staying with one of them. We've checked."

Footsteps sounded behind me. I hoped Carl and Ben had remembered to put something on. They had. Swiftly I explained what had happened. They asked more or less the same questions as me. The conversation turned full circle. At last, in a lull, I `heard': Steve was near when he went.

Without thinking, I said "I wonder if it could have been that Steve?"

"What?" asked the innkeeper. Mr Burton looked me straight in the eye.

"Er.... I... I think Steve was nearby when they all went," I said, wishing I'd spoken to Hamish before blurting out his news.

"I didn't see him," said Ben. "Where was he?"

"I.. I think he was... er... over there." I gestured vaguely toward the road to the village.

He was hiding behind the bush.

This time I was not so hasty. "Just a minute, I'll see if one of the boys saw him. Wait there."

In Hamish's room I found them all wide awake, alert, and Hamish had big saucer eyes.

He was in the bush by where the roads join, he said. I didn't see him, but I knew he was there. After they'd all gone he faded away.

Faded away? I asked, puzzled.

Yes. His thoughts got muddled, and weaker. Like he was going away, and thinking about something important I didn't understand.

He wasn't alone in that. I only just about understood what he was trying to say. You're sure you didn't see him?

No. He was behind the bush.

The memory of the "fox" I had imagined, and the movement I had seen, returned to me.

I thanked Hamish and went downstairs again. But how could I explain to Mr Burton that Hamish knew Steve had been there when he hadn't seen him?

"I saw a bush moving," I started hesitantly, "and Hamish knows he was behind it."

"Who was behind it?" asked the innkeeper.

"Steve."

"You mean that this Steve, whoever he is, is behind Andrew's disappearance?" asked Mr Burton, indignantly.

"No. I mean he was behind the bush."

"How do you know?" The man, kind or not, was getting worked up.

"One of the boys told me."

"How does he know?"

"I... I don't know."

He looked exasperated. From upstairs: Look for footprints!

Of course. I repeated the suggestion to the two men. We found torches and were just about to turn from the house when there was a scampering behind me. Hamish.

"I'll come too," he announced.

The innkeeper looked amazed, but Mr Burton's eyes softened, even in his anxiety, as he took in the sight of the determined five-year-old, now naked as the day he was born -- or rather, the day he was freed from Mother Earth.

"It's all right, old son. I think we can manage, but thank you." Mr Burton was obviously touched, and sincere. Hamish came to stand in front of him, reached for his hands and looked him in the eyes. There was a pause.

"I like you," said Hamish at last, "and Andrew loves you. But he wishes you'd spend more time with him."

I looked at him in surprise, now anxious myself. It was not the right thing to say to anyone; I knew that. But especially it was not right to say it when someone was so troubled, so worried. But there was a simplicity, an honesty, about Hamish's quiet statement that held the man. The boys all had the knack of doing that, young though they might be. People took notice of them more than they did me, or even Ben or Carl. It was a knack they had.

"It's cold out," said Mr Burton. "Put something on." I knew Hamish had won; indeed, even if he hadn't the boy would have followed us anyway. He sped upstairs.

Join us when you're ready, I told him.

We went cautiously over to the bushes, the four of us, although what we hoped to see by then, with only a torch, I had no clue. We carefully looked, and yes, there were footprints. We were about to start following them when Hamish reappeared.

"He was watching from here." It was a quiet, positive voice. "He has brought some of the earth from near his house with him. It's different."

Mr Burton blinked. The Innkeeper looked up sharply.

"How can you tell?"

"By the smell. And... look, here on this ridge. There's a sandy earth there."

We'd just recognised them as footprints. He was seeing the details we never even thought to look for.

"So what do we do now?" Jim was nonplussed.

"We follow them," said the quiet voice before anyone older could speak. "We need my brothers, too."

"We can't just keep you all from your beds, Hamish, when there's no guarantee you'll be able to find him." Like all parents I knew they had to get their sleep or they would be useless at school tomorrow.

"Oh, we'll find them. But we need to do it tonight if we can."

It was my turn to blink. What the Innkeeper and Mr Burton thought I had no idea.

"We'll carry on looking," I said, knowing from experience that whatever I said the boys should not do, in an emergency they would always follow their instincts even if it was against my own instincts as a father.

"No," said Hamish, "anything we do alone could damage the trail."

I suppose he had a point, though once again I could feel resentment being registered by the two adults.

"Hang on a minute," said Mr Burton. "If we think we know it was this boy who went off with him, why don't we just call at his house and ask him?"

"Good idea," said the Innkeeper, "except that he lives with the Smith."

I understood his reluctance, even if Andrew's father didn't. "So what?" he asked. "If we can call on the fathers of the youngsters Andrew was playing with I see no reason not to call on the father of the main suspect -- if that's what he is."

"I can show you where he lives," said the Innkeeper doubtfully, "but I'm not going to hang about while he comes to the door."

Mr Burton looked at him, exasperated. "For goodness sake, man. He's a blacksmith, not an ogre. Come on. We'll leave you to follow the trail, if you can, but if he's been taken by this boy -- Steve, did you say his name was? -- then I'll make the Smith look for him too."

"You shouldn't do that, Sir."

Mr Burton looked at Hamish. In the distance I could hear his brothers running toward us.

"Sorry, Hamish, but Andrew is my priority. I don't care much for a father's bad temper when my son's well-being is at stake."

"Yes, Sir, but you might frighten Steve off."

"I doubt it, but if I do, you can track him." And with that, he and the Inkeeper were off.

Which way would he have taken him?

Don't know yet. Ruaridh, Ifor, you go each way round in a circle, smell the earth. You're looking for a sandy soil or anything that smells out of place.

The two that Hamish had nominated set off to start their circle, and it became obvious to Jim that this was a practised move.

"How do they know what to do?" he asked.

"Because Hamish told them," I said without thinking.

"He never said anything!" I cursed myself for forgetting that he had no ideas of our private means of communication. I was about to start the long explanation when there was a shout from Ifor -- fortunately using his voice.

"Over here! There's a difference!"

We all clustered round him, much to Hamish's fury. "No, NO! Now they'll have to do it again to find where he came from. You've put more smell on top of it."

"It's ok," said Ifor. I can smell where it goes."

We cautiously followed as he turned, head toward the ground like a bloodhound and started walking... in a straight line toward our house. He reached it, then looked up, confused.

"It ends here. This is us and our friends this afternoon. But we were here afterwards."

"I know, I know!" exclaimed Ruaridh. "He was round here first, then went behind the bushes to watch us, and never left until they went. Then he went too. There'll be another trail going somewhere else."

Get everyone to stay here, Dad, can you? Hamish wasn't going to be foiled by too many interfering adults again.

"If we stay here, Jim, Carl, they'll have a clear run at it and stand a better chance." I hoped that would do the trick.

Ifor crossed to the bushes again, Ruaridh hovering between us and him. Like a bloodhound again, he circled the bush, wider and wider, and then gave a "shout": Got it! As Ruaridh started off, so did Ben and I. Jim and Carl just looked.

"He asked us to stay here..." started Jim.

"He's found a trail," I said over my shoulder. "Didn't you hear?"

"Hear what?" he asked, hurrying after me. I checked and once again cursed my carelessness.

"He speaks very quietly," I said hurriedly.

Down through the village we went, at times almost running, at others hanging back as Ifor cast around for the invisible trail. At last he reached a road where the houses were fewer, and his progress became more certain.

"We're heading for the Smith's," I gasped. And sure enough, we were. Some way off I saw the man's door open, and in the light saw a figure step forward. Mr Burton.

Ifor, I called, stop now. The Smith is there. He'll see you.

Reluctantly the boy came to a halt, leaning slightly forward like a retriever who had just picked up the scent of his quarry. It goes there, he said simply.

We must wait, I warned him.

"What's the hold-up?" Jim was getting anxious.

"The Smith's talking to Mr Burton," I told him. "We don't want him to see us at the house too."

"Why? We might be able to help."

"If we go there, Smith will worry. If we wait, he'll think Mr Burton was just taking a chance." This was Hamish, who seemed to have worked it all out. "When he's gone, we can wait a bit, then Ifor can go and try to smell if Steve or Andrew are inside."

The logic was inescapable. We waited in the shadows. At last the door closed, and Mr Burton was hurrying back down the road. He seemed about to pass us by until I called out to him. Startled, he turned off the road and came to where we were waiting.

"So you followed me, did you?"

"No," said Ben. "Ifor followed the trail and it came straight here. We saw you talk to the Smith. What did he say?"

"He was very helpful. He said that Steve had gone out at about the right time to see all the young ones leave school, as he usually does. He'd not seen him since, and asked if we found him, could we send him back as he's worried. He's not seen Andrew at all."

"Do you believe him?"

There was a hesitation. "Yes. Yes, I do. He seemed genuinely concerned."

"But not concerned enough to help look for him," said Jim. It was a thought that had been nagging at my mind. On the Island, if there's any trouble, so many people usually try to help that it's almost embarrassing at times. You could understand all the parents not being able to, as their young ones were home and it had been only an enquiry when Mr Burton first visited them, but I knew that if we returned now we could raise a search party in about ten minutes flat.

Then the Smith's door opened again. The bulky man came out, and without a word -- not even from Jim -- we all retreated into the shadows. As he approached I could feel the tension mounting.

He will not see us.

The tension faded. I saw Carl's hand cover Jim's. Odd: it had sounded like Carl's "voice".

The Smith looked neither to right nor left, but walked straight past. As he disappeared we all breathed a sigh of relief.

"Ruaridh, Ben, Padraig: Go and follow him. Take Jim and Carl with you. The rest of us will go and see if either of them is anywhere in there." Hamish had it all worked out. Usually one of the quietest of the boys (everything is relative!) this emergency brought out a quality in him his character had only hinted at before.

"All right," said Ben (the older one), "but make sure we all meet back here in half an hour, whatever happens."

Losing half the family, even temporarily, brought it home to me that this was no game. The safety of a boy was in danger, and if it had been one of ours... I shuddered.

I know, said Ben, it doesn't bear thinking about.

It's that Steve, too, I thought. I never did like him.

If it is him.

Innocent until proof of guilt is provided. I knew that. But what if...?

We were moving, our bloodhound Ifor leading the way. The track took him straight for the Smith's front door. Just before it, he stopped and looked round at us unhappily.

It ends here, but it's very faint now.

Do you think he's there? I asked, rather nervously, thankful that now Jim had gone we could all talk silently.

Dunno yet. Let me try round the side.

We followed at a suitable distance as he followed the rather scruffy fence into the gloom. Silence reigned, until a sudden bleating and a squeak announced the presence of a puzzled sheep and an alarmed Ifor. It was the breaking of the tension that made us all start grinning; then someone gave a stifled laugh and before long we were all getting on for helpless.

It's not funny, said Ifor as he reappeared. I was scared.

I just held out my arms, the laughter gone. Slowly he came to me, eyes still unhappy. I gave him a hug.

Sorry, Ifor. It was just that we were all so worried, and then you and the sheep both shouted at the same time...

The others were calming down by now, rather embarrassed.

Andrew's still missing, Ifor reminded us. The remainder of the laughter stopped abruptly.

Should we go and look around the house? I asked.

No use. He's not there. The trail's too faint. Ifor was as sure as he could be.

Damn, said Ben the elder. Where could he have taken him? Ifor thought a moment.

We followed it from the bush to our home, and from the bush to here. He must have gone from here to the bush, somewhere else. I'll have to follow it again.

You can't tonight. It's too late. I really couldn't face being up much longer, and more to the point they had to be up for school the next morning.

Andrew's in trouble. We could be in time to make it all right for him.

With his thoughts a picture came into his mind. A picture of a boy as lost as I had been that time I was on the mainland with the school trip. Not lost as in unable to find the rest of the party, but lost amongst people who thought differently, who cared less, who lived different lives. People who I couldn't fathom. But within that city, if I had been lost, or in trouble, I would have been doubly lost, and desperate for help.

Come on, then, I said.

We trooped back to the main pathways, Ifor ahead, the rest of us hanging back. Tiredly we waited while he tested the earth, stopped, moved on, stopped again, moved on... I was so tired I hardly knew where we were when he calmly announced that he'd found another trail, one separated from the "scent" we'd followed earlier by the footsteps of others.

It led to a part of the village that had been all but abandoned. This was where Carl had lived, where his house had burned, taking the lives of his mother and father along with three other houses from which, fortunately, the inhabitants had escaped. None of them had the will to return to them, to live at the scene of one of the Island's greatest tragedies.

The four houses had had smallholdings attached, as was the usual pattern on the Island. There was a scattering of sheds and other outbuildings still remaining at a great enough distance from the dismal shells of the burnt out homes not to have been damaged by the blaze. Ifor once again stopped, a look of horror on his face.

The people were hurting, here. Badly.

All I could do was to nod to him, glad that Carl wasn't with us.

He continued searching around, hampered by the long grass. We hung back. He stopped. With a gesture of impatience, before Ben or I could stop him he almost tore off his shirt and jumper, then lay down in the grass. I started toward him.

No! cried one of the others -- I forget who -- he must do that to get as close as possible.

Moments later he was on his feet, and this time the shoes and socks were flung aside, and...surely not...yes... And he was standing in the wet grass, in the cold, naked. No: he was lying in the wet grass, naked, testing, feeling the earth, the grass...

... and then beckoning us over to him. He's in there, he said, pointing toward one of the old sheds. Oddly, it looked to be in better condition than most of the others, and certainly there was a new padlock on the door now we came to shine our torches on it.

Is Steve in there? Ben asked.

No. He's gone on further. I don't know where yet. We can get Andrew out.

Could we? If he was in there, with the door locked, how? We went in a group around the hut, then met up with the door and its padlock again.

"Andrew?" Ifor's voice was quiet, but somehow penetrating. A pause. Nothing. "Andrew!" Louder this time, but still no reply.

"He's in there."

I heard nothing, said Ben.

"He's in there. Isn't he?" A chorus of his brothers' four voices agreed.

"Do we break the padlock?" I asked Ben.

"We'll have to. There's no other way."

Yes there is, said Ifor, speaking silently in his excitement. These stones aren't stuck together like most are.

"It might be drystone walling, but how does that help?"

"There's where a window used to be at the back. We can get the stones out."

"Don't be silly! There aren't enough of us."

Ifor looked at me scornfully. Come on, he ordered, and four small boys led off round the back, discarding pieces of clothing as they did so. Obediently we followed, though why we didn't just call a halt to the whole thing and go for help I can't now say.

Ifor was standing on the old window ledge, stretching up to the top course of random-shaped stones that the old craftsmen had wedged between it and the lintel to block up the small window.

His hand found its top edge. Hold me, Aidan, Ben. No, not you, Dad. My brothers. If we do it together...

Each of them held his ankles. Once again he found the top of the stone and spread his fingers. His brow furrowed, as if he was concentrating. His two supporters did the same.

Noiselessly, apart from the sound of sand hitting the ledge and the ground, the stone seemed to evaporate. Not for the first time in the life of these boys, my jaw dropped. All right, it was a sandstone block, but not even the Smith would have the strength to do that. I was almost scared of the sheer power that these boys seemed to possess. As if sensing my worry, Ifor looked round and smiled.

It takes most trees many years to do that. We're better.

They could really speed up the action of tree roots and do that? To solid rock? Well, yes, they could. We'd just seen it. Ifor was already busy on the next one.

It took them about five minutes before two things happened. Ifor swayed and would have fallen if Ben hadn't rushed forward to support him and lift him off the shelf. He lay him on the ground and rather sharply told the others to get his clothes. The other thing was that I could hear voices.

It's the others, said Aidan. Good. They can take over. Get Carl -- he can do it if we help.

Carl? Why Carl?

The others rushed up. Carl looked dreadful, as well he might. He always avoided this part of the Village, the scene of his upbringing in happiness and his parents' death in agony. He was shivering when he came to us, his face white. But when he heard what had happened he nodded, and thought.

Why don't you do the same to the hinges on the door?

They all looked at each other, then at him. Too new, the tin.

Hinges are rusty.

Jim looked at them, exasperated at the silence. "We must go for help," he said.

"Come round the front," ordered Carl. "Jim, go and keep guard for a minute, would you? We'll get the hinges loose."

Obediently, and despite his exasperation, Jim went and stood on the road where he could see anyone approaching. Immediately he was out of sight, Carl flung off his clothes. Ben and I goggled at him.

Come with me.

The Voice of Authority. From Carl. How? Why?

Ok, he was going to do something. Our minds were reeling. It was as if he really shouldn't be using the Voice, but as we thought, now, we knew that he did and that he had done so before. Obediently we followed him round to the front, Ben and I being the only ones clothed by this time. Carl was standing by the hinges, which were old and rusty in contrast to the shiny new hasp, staple and padlock that secured the door. He covered the bottom one with his hand, then switched to its sides.

Who's not exhausted yet? Padraig? Hamish? Come on then. Toes into the ground... now, together...

Their fingers seemed to increase the rust on the old hinge. It grew almost furry with the redness. The edges rounghened.

That's enough, panted Carl. Now the top one... ready?

Once again the old metal seemed to age in a matter of moments. Again Carl called a halt.

"Jim!" he called. "Can you come here, please?"

His friend appeared, only to stop short as he saw Carl standing, naked, in a circle of naked boys.

"Wha...?"

"Never mind that. Come here. We need your strength to pull this door off its hinges. Ben, Aidan, can you help too?"

With a will we found gaps at top and bottom, and heaved against the now-weakened metal securing the door to its posts. Slowly they gave, and bent, and then with a rush the bottom one, where the boys and I were pulling, gave way and we fell backwards. Soon after, the top one bent and snapped, and Carl was able to pull back the door.

What a good thing the hinges were weak enough so he could bend them like that, I thought. It must have been hard work -- he's taken off his clothes. Or had it just been to keep the boys company?

He stooped into the low doorway, followed by the boys and Jim. We were about to follow when Jim turned round and came out again looking white.

"Don't go in," he ordered.

"It's our problem too, said Ben the elder curtly. "We can help." The man looked dazed, and horrified. We followed the others.

Andrew was lying across a table, face down. His slim bottom bent over the long edge of it. Each of his wrists and ankles were tied to one of the legs, spread out to a cruel angle. He was naked. Blood had dribbled down his legs. Red weals showed across his back. He was absolutely still.

There came a gap in time. It was filled by our mounting horror, disbelief, and finally our compassion. We sprung into motion and people worked at the knots around his limbs, then very carefully supported him to lift him off the table and take him outside. We lay him on the ground, face up, wondering what we would find.

He was gagged, his eyes were closed, but he was breathing. There were dirty marks on his chest and legs. His penis appeared red, and its foreskin was pushed back, leaving the purple of its delicate contents to stare angrily into the night. But he was breathing.

And then the young Ben said, aloud: "he's coming."

He wasn't referring to Andrew's return from unconsciousness, nor to Mr Burton. I could feel the anger in the boys and Carl well up to a level that I knew I could never quell, even if I was the father-figure to them, and the friend of Carl who was here to help us with them. This was a wild emotion, as unstoppable as the winter gale that rushes unchecked over the moorland, uprooting trees, damaging buildings, capsizing ships. For the first time with my family, I was scared. Scared that a power was about to be unleashed which would change us all, and our relationship to each other.

Six boys and one young man seemed about to explode in some way. The seventh small boy stood with them, calmly, and with all the force he could muster said:

NO!

As if a door had been shut against a storm, a calm fell.

No, repeated Padraig. If we kill him we are no better ourselves. He is capable of destroying himself if that is his will. We must show him what he has done, and how it feels inside. But he must live. But he must not live here.

A silence fell. I could feel the emotions dissipate, leaving just a deep disgust, and something like normal calm returned. Steve appeared round the corner of the building, looking at the ground, and was almost on us when he realised he was not alone and looked up, and around at us all. His face drained of colour, his eyes stared wildly as he took in the broken door, the naked boys and Carl, Jim, and the damaged body of the boy over whom Efan was bending. Slowly he started to back away.

NO. Padraig said it quietly, yet the word rang like a bell. Steve stopped. Frozen.

Bring him here, and lie him down by the side of Andrew.

"What's going on?" asked Jim as the inert youth was half led, half dragged, to Andrew's side. "What are they doing? How do they all know what to do? And what are they going to do anyway?"

"They are going to show Steve what it's like to be raped," replied Carl. "But they're going to do it without touching him. Probably the best thing for you to do is to go and get Mr Burton and the Smith, please, and some of the Village elders."

Again, it wasn't so much what he said, but the way he said it. Jim turned meekly and walked off toward the main part of the Village. I didn't envy him his task; people would have been in bed for almost two hours by now and a visitor would not be welcome.

Steve's eyes were wildly sweeping us, trying to find what was happening, frantic that he could move nothing apart from them, his pallor going from deathly white to a sort of green, and then back again. He was unable even to turn and look at his victim who, mercifully, was still unconscious. Efan, anxious to start work on his patient, looked pleadingly at Padraig, who seemed to have assumed the leadership.

No, said his brother. If you start now it will seem that Andrew is the bad one and Steve his victim.

I could see the logic. How could a five year-old understand other people better than me, at thirteen?

Because they're special, answered Ben the elder. There was a further calming of the atmosphere, and those of our boys who weren't involved with victim and criminal smiled. A force, one that I could feel but didn't understand, wavered, and Steve's voice cut through with a scream. Having found all of a sudden that his voice worked, the words tumbled out.

"Iiieeeeeee...warra ya doin t'me?..."

The force resumed, snapped shut like a fish's mouth over a fly, and he said no more. But his eyes resumed their rolling.

The boys were starting to shiver, and to yawn, and I realised with a shock that they had been naked in the cold of the night for ages. As had Carl, for some reason I had forgotten. Quietly, remembering the effect a wavering of their attention had had on Steve, I told them to get dressed, having first trawled for their clothes in the large area around the back of the hut. I gave Carl his, too, and almost in a daze he wordlessly took them and put them on. It was just as well, for only a few minutes afterwards Ifor announced the arrival of Mr Burton and the Smith. The former appeared out of his mind with worry tinged with relief; the latter looked angry, disbelieving, and anxious. As they saw the two figures lying there they checked. Mr Burton gave a cy, and ran to his son, kneeling at his side.

"What has he done to you? What... ? He's unconscious!" He looked up at Efan, who was naturally the nearest. "What have you done? What has he done? Why is he here?"

Efan said not a word, but looked troubled. Padraig looked at Carl. Will you talk for me?

In what Carl said, Padraig's eyes never left him.

"Mr Burton, Andrew has been raped by this boy, Steve..." The man started, and would have spoken, but Carl's tone stopped him. "Two things you should know. We have no police here. The nearest are on the mainland. If we took Steve and locked him up, we could not keep him there until the next boat."

No, I thought. The Smith would see to that.

"If we send Andrew to the Mainland, he would be very distressed, very humiliated, and would suffer even more than he already has, mentally and physically. It would take him months, years, a lifetime, to recover. Or..."

An almost theatrical pause. Even Steve's eyes were fixed on Carl.

"...Or, we can rely on the fact that here, unguessed, on this Island, are seven people who are more special than you will ever know. People who know the human mind and body and spirit so well that, at need, they can cause pain to stop, wounds to heal. Not only the wounds of the body, but of the mind and spirit too. They can take away Andrew's hurts and leave them where they belong.

"On his attacker."

Despite the power of the force that bound him silent and still, a hoarse croak came from Steve's mouth.

Mr Burton looked at him. The anger and contempt that was in his eyes speared into the guilty youth's eyes like pokers. But his concern was over his son. The change in his expression, from the deepest loathing to the tenderest love as it crossed his face, was heartwarming, powerful, amazing. Here was a Father worthy of the name, I thought, just as mine was in his undemonstrative way. I knew Dad would have looked for me the same way.

"I don't know..." he said. "Can you be sure? Can you know these people will do this, that they will be effective? Would they do it for a stranger? And how long will it take them to get here?"

"They will, they can. And they are all around you."

Mr Burton started, then looked round. "Where?"

"US!" chorused the boys. "And I need to start this now," added Efan. "He's going to start waking up soon. It'd be better if he knew nothing about it, not the pain, or being damaged, or even being naked." Come on, he added. I'm going to start now anyway. Strip him. And if Andrew's dad interferes, just stop him.

Carl, Ben and I knew what he'd said, but Jim, Mr Burton and the Smith didn't. So when two of the boys started to remove Steve's shoes and socks, and two more started on his jacket, they started to object. Carl looked at them.

No.

That was all. How he did it I don't know. But I had a dim remembrance of his having used the Power before, recently, but it was only Carl. He couldn't. Could he? But the adults didn't object any more as Steve's clothes were removed, finally exposing his penis to the world, to the assembled men and boys.

Normally I like seeing the male body. But Steve's... Well, it may have been the knowledge of what he'd done or it may have been the memory of our first real encounter, or even just the knowledge that he was -- had been until now -- the Smith's "boy", but I found him repulsive. I could feel Ben agreeing.

Bring him closer. Why? Why should Efan want the objectionable youth closer to him? Evan was standing up and, once again, taking off his clothes. He stood between the naked, slim and good looking Andrew, and the naked, flabby and unpleasing Steve like the little angel that he usually is.

I need dockleaves. Lots. And nettles -- a few.

Even his brothers looked surprised at this. The stinging nettle was one of the plants they always hated. Not only was it useless for anything except making wine, it caused Efan so much work in soothing the little ones -- and some of the bigger ones too -- when they got stung at school and when playing near our home.

Once again he made a poultice of the docks by simply chewing them and applying them to the bruises and rednesses of Andrew's body. There was a strong, pure, earthy smell; less pungent than the mint he had used on Miss Flude that time, but still invigorating and clean. After a wait, he carefully removed them, to reveal pure skin. The boy's penis he covered in his saliva and protected again with its foreskin before applying the poultice over its discomfort. The used, chewed, spent leaves he put onto Steve's body, causing him to stiffen and his eyes to grow round with horror. I wondered what was happening to him. As he removed the wad from Andrew's penis he was careful to put it over Steve's, and once again a grunt escaped his lips as if it was the nearest he could get to a scream.

At last Efan was satisfied with the front of Andrew's body. With help from Ruaridh he turned him over to reveal again the damage to his back, as well as the blood trickles hinting at damage deeper in.

Turn Steve over. It was an order, not a request. Four of his brothers went to do so, and the older boy's eyes nearly disappeared into the back of his skull as he turned, his face toward Andrew and Efan. The used poultices stuck to him, and turned over with him.

The weals on Andrew's back were swiftly dealt with in the same way, then Efan turned to the young Ben and Aidan. Stand at my back. Give him some privacy. Obediently they did so, blocking the sight from all of us except Steve who, if it was possible, looked even more agonised than before. As the wad first of leaves was removed from the injured area and held toward him Steve flinched, and would have squirmed away if he'd been able. Five year-olds don't sneer, yet Efan managed it. Very carefully he picked up one of the nettle leaves and held it with the used poultice on top.

"Take this in your hand, and put it in you. The same place as it just came from."

Partially released from the restrictive power to enable him to do so, Steve used his arms to move himself away. The power snapped back, and he froze. Swiftly, four of them were pushing him back nearer Andrew and Efan.

"You have no choice," said Hamish, taking over, picking up another nettle leaf. "More of these will be used until you do. You enjoy forcing things into others. It's time you did it to yourself. Do what I say."

All the colour had by now drained from the youth's face. He could not move except by permission from this insignificant looking five year old, and obviously couldn't understand why that should be. He doubtless realised just what he had done, and knew he had to pay for it somehow, but could bring himself no more to face the pain of stinging nettles inserted into his rectum than cut his own wrists, especially as he would have to do it himself.

It was a tableau, held for what seemed like an hour. Finally Hamish lost patience, and grabbed Carl's hand. Why Carl? Together their eyes bored into Steve as he did his best to wriggle away in his shame, his nakedness, his horror at what he knew his punishment was to be. Against his will, it appeared, his hand moved to take the poultice. That it was not willed by him was obvious by the fixed looked of astonishment along with the dread as he watched his own arm moving, moving toward the means of his expected agony. Unwillingly, yet without his voluntary involvement, his fingers clasped the used, potent wad, and as the first of the minute darts of poison from the nettles attacked his fingers a moan of terror escaped from him.

We all watched, Ben, and Jim, and I, and Mr Burton; all with horror in our eyes at what had happened, but almost more at what was about to happen through the medium of Ben's and my sons. I knew that Steve had to be taught a lesson, and would have to leave the Island, but to torture him as he had tortured his victim? Was that right? The crime had been carried out because of frustration, because of a lack of appreciation, because of a mental problem of a sort I didn't understand. But this punishment... was it right?

Steve's arm moved slowly backwards towards the cleft of his bottom. As far as his eyes could swivel he watched it, and his arm continued beyond that point his face turned to the front, his eyes closed, and a further sound came from him. His arm snapped back and before we realised it the nettles were on the soft skin of his bottom and were still being pushed between, when three things happened.

A real scream came from his mouth, free at last from the force of the will of others. Two voices, one adult, one a child's, called STOP! A third voice shouted "NO!" His hand stopped, and withdrew itself, and the wad vanished into the bushes. Hamish and Carl looked at each other, then at Mr Burton, who was standing looking green and horrified.

"I don't know how you made him do that, but that's not justice. Not that. That's going back to the principles of torture and we're over that, thank God. He's done wrong: God knows he's done wrong, and he's wronged my son and therefore me as well. But I can't see him tortured for the sake of punishment. No one could..."

He stopped, catching his breath. Hamish and Carl looked at each other again, and then at him. "We both know that, Mr Burton," said Carl. "That's why, once we were sure he really knew what was about to happen and had been touched with a tiny fraction of Andrew's pain to make him feel he was going to face the same, or something similar, we stopped him. We stopped him just as you shouted `No', and I was more pleased to hear you say so than you realise."

The man looked nonplussed. "Are you sure it was like that? I though you stopped when I shouted."

Carl laughed grimly. "We did. At exactly that moment."

Mr Burton thought. "Exactly that moment. Yes. And if you were doing as I asked it would have been a second afterwards -- or more. Well..." There was a silence, broken eventually by a moan from Steve.

"He fainted, or something like it," said Efan. "He's coming round now."

"I think he should he marched through the Village to the pound and secured there until the morning, said Hamish. "We'll give him a blanket, but it needs to be taken from him at first light so he can face the people. We'll put a sign outside to explain what he's done."

"What about Andrew?" I asked, curious at the sudden adultness of this boy I knew as a five year old son.

"He'll recover," Efan interrupted. "He'll come round soon and still be weak, so he needs to be helped home. He'll sleep late into the morning, and by that time this one will have been sent to the mainland. Andrew will remember nothing."

"Until he's told by one of the others in the Village, or hears it in gossip," I said. Hamish looked at me. "I hadn't thought of that," he said simply. "I need to look further ahead." He looked crestfallen, so I crossed to him and gave him a hug, and once more he was my son, and Ben's, and five years old again.

"Perhaps the pound isn't the best idea," said Ben.

"The pound is a good idea," stated Hamish. "The notice is what would be wrong. We need for him to be out of there before people are up in the morning, I know -- the Smith. He'll go and rescue him, won't he? We need to tell him very early. But I don't know who will do that."

"You will have no need."
Chapter 15

 

 

"You will have no need."

Other than the two on the ground, we all spun round as one. How long the Smith had been there I don't know, but standing there he was. Why the boys never heard or sensed his approach is also a mystery, although I suppose they were too busy concentrating their powers on the victim and his assailant. The man looked at us, his face as ghastly white as the youth's, the boy who, we now knew, he had been bedding since childhood.

"You will not need to look after him any more. He will come with me. I will clothe him and give him money enough to start on the mainland. What he does then is his decision. I know that he must never return here, and so does he... " The man's voice choked up, and I knew in that moment that despite his awfulness, his overbearing appearance and attitude, and his cruelty, there was an emotional side to him too. He had a love for this boy, and had done for many, many years. Whether Steve had any for him I have no idea to this day. Although now I know more of people, and of love, I think that he had been bullied into the man's bed whilst still a child, and love in return had never blossomed. Rather it must have been a resentful acceptance, one that affected his idea of love and made it into a matter of domination rather than mutual respect; a quality that he chose to inflict on the first unattached, good looking boy he saw. Unattached to the Village, that is. That's Ben's and my opinion, anyway.

Morning saw seven small sons still asleep in their beds. It saw their parents asleep in theirs too. Carl woke when Jim dragged himself awake and went to teach, then he returned to sleep like the rest. We never witnessed Smith's farewell to Steve, but knew later that it happened, that Steve would be no longer in the Village. Andrew woke even after we did, felt weak and thought that he was starting flu. His father never told him any different.

Gradually life returned to normal. Two weeks later, to their absolute delight, the boys reported that Andrew had started at the Village school. This was news to us, as we hadn't seen Mr Burton since we had left him that night. We all felt that any move was best made first by him, if for no other reason than Andrew's well being. But this seemed to mean something else; why would Andrew join the school unless he and his father were planning on staying?

That week, news came through that there was to be a village meeting, the first since the fateful one that launched me into fatherhood. I didn't want to go. Memories of my own previous appearance in front of the whole Village were still too raw and I was horrified at the thought of facing all those people. It even occurred to me that it would somehow involve me again, and that, six months on.

The Smith came to call on the day of the meeting.

"The meeting starts at 6.30 sharp," he said with no introduction whatsoever. "You'll be there."

"What's it about?" I asked.

"You'll find out there."

He turned round to go. Remembering Steve, I was bolder than usual. "Is it about me?"

"Why should it be?"

"I remember last time," I responded grimly.

He looked at me and gave a short laugh. "No. We shan't have the delights of seeing you take off your clothes again, unfortunately. "This is something different."

I sighed with relief as he walked off.

Anywhere we went, the boys had to go. It was even more important that they were there; they were more the Village's future than most of the local five-year-olds. We told Jim he should go too, but he said he wasn't enough a part of the Village yet, and hated meetings. Carl wanted to stay with him at home, but knew he had to attend.

In a nutshell, Mr Burton wanted to establish a small weaving business with us. He insisted it was going to be on a small scale, would pay well, and would be run and staffed by local people. He believed that the plaid it made -- and that was all it would make -- could be sold at a handsome profit on the mainland, giving the Village the chance to improve its living standard by ensuring a fund against drought or flood years. Questioned, he said that he felt a large scale business was out of keeping with the Village, that making too much would somehow make the plaid less sought after and would devalue it. Asked why he wanted to do this when it was plain he had many other, bigger, business interests he gave a simple reply: "People here have welcomed me, treated me like a normal person again. They have given me hope that not everyone is a cynical grabber, and that there are genuinely nice people in the world. You have also helped me in a time of great personal ...er... difficulty. Part of this, I suppose, is to say thank you. Some of you know that my son now goes to school here, and I want your permission to build a house here, if I may."

That's good, I said to Ben.

Why? Because Andrew will be around?

I looked at him sharply. There was an amused look in his eyes. I smiled back.

Well, he is good looking...

He poked my thigh. I looked at him, and past him, and met with a row of seven grinning five-year-old faces. Damn. I'd forgotten they could "hear" what we said to each other.

But they agreed with us that it was good news.

The meeting dragged on. There were those who wanted nothing to change in the Village. There were those who could see that, more and more, we had to rely on goods and help for some of the more modern things from the mainland. And so it went on. At last the fidgeting beside us grew to a peak -- then as suddenly stopped. I looked at them, anxiously.

The speaker of the moment was one of the Village's most died-in-the-wool old women, except it was a man. He had come to the end of a sentence and now just stood there, open mouthed.

Saying nothing.

Apparently just about to speak, but silent.

I looked sharply back at the boys. Yes, their eyes were fixed on him, boring into him. I cleared my throat in their direction, and one by one they turned to look at me, a look of pure innocence. In fact, just the sort of innocence I used to use at home when I'd done something wrong.

They grinned. And the man started speaking again:

"Of course, I could be wrong about it, and this could be just the thing for the Village, as others have said."

My eyebrows lifted in resignation. It was obvious what the boys thought.

Mr Burton got the go-ahead to build both a mill and a house for himself and his family. Odd: I'd ever thought about there being a mother. There were conditions, of course, to ensure it was built with Village labour, of local materials and to a suitable design so it was in keeping with the other houses in the Village. Similarly with the house.

The most suitable place seemed to be on the site of the houses which had burnt down, where Carl had lived. He was asked for his view on that, and after some thought said it was about time the ghosts were exorcised. The meeting was about to continue when his hand went up again.

"Could there be ... would it be possible..." He gulped, as if afraid to go on. "Could there be some sort of memorial to my parents left there?"

A silence. Then from Mr Burton: "If you would allow it, I would like there to be a garden there, maintained by money from the weaving, and worked on by you when you wanted to. And yes, it would be for quiet relaxation, and for children to play in, There would be a memorial which we could talk about too. Would you allow that?"

And Carl nodded, and I knew there were tears in his eyes.

 

The start of building work on the mill and the house came at just the right time, when the harvest was in and there was less work in the fields. Good progress was made. The weather seemed kind. Ben, the boys and I knew why that was: we had given the news to an ecstatic Angharad and a silently approving Gwaed when we went to visit them in the Glade the weekend after the meeting.

It was interesting seeing the gradual growth of the new mill from the dereliction of the burnt out houses which up to that point no one had had the heart -- or the stomach -- to demolish or to renew. Carl was both upset and pleased by the whole thing. Upset because the reminders of both happiness and horror were being removed; pleased, though, because it was being removed and would no longer cause him pain to visit or even to pass it, and was going to be used for a good purpose. And, of course, there would be a place there which, whilst open to all, would be his alone to visit, to spend time in, and to deal with as he pleased.

Everyone was busy building, watching, learning, teaching, farming, weaving that autumn. It seemed no time at all before the boys' first Christmas, and Ben and my first Christmas together. It seemed to me that, with the last of September and the beginning of October, the boys had grown a little taller, more so than I'd expect, but I put it down to my imagination.

"It'll be Christmas soon," I remember musing one day.

"What's a Christmas?" said Padraig. "Do we all get one?"

Twelve more ears pricked up.

"Christmas is a special time of year," I said, remembering that their "religion" was not actually religion; it was fact. "Christmas celebrates Christ's birthday."

"You mean Jesus who started the church?"

"Yes."

"Oh. Why?"

"Because he's special."

"Because he's another one who was the son of The Spirit. But people got it wrong about him for ages." That wasn't me speaking, but Padraig. I looked at him.

"We learnt about it at school. Remember? People did horrible things to him although all he wanted to do was make things better. Then they killed him and some of his friends. Then there was a lot of trouble about what it all meant and it ended up with people killing other people in his name, and getting killed or tortured themselves. And all the time everyone was forgetting that he wanted to make people's lives better, not worse or shorter."

"Did he make the trouble, then?" asked Hamish.

"No. He told people the truth about themselves and what they were doing to each other. Some got better, and others ignored him and went on being bad. And it went on like that for years."

I didn't know what to say. Everything he'd said was true. Simple, but true. And people were still confused. And the church just talked about the mystery of faith when really it was so simple.

"He must have been good if people still remember him," said Aidan, my namesake.

"Shall we have a Christmas, then?" asked Ruadridh.

"Christmas is wonderful!" I said. "Yes, we'll all share one, and all my brothers and my Dad will come, And Ben's, and it'll be great."

My mind felt a sudden pain, a Carl type pain, and I looked at him hurriedly. He was, well, if not stony faced then less than happy looking.

What's up with Carl?

I think it's just that his parents can't come.

I crossed to Carl and hugged him, much to his and Jim's surprise. I'd forgotten. Christmases must have been like birthdays, not just tinged with sadness but full of unfulfillable might-have-beens. Christmas could actually be something he hated. But now we had the boys...

"I'm sorry, Carl. I never thought. What do you want us to do?"

He shook his head. "I don't know, that's the trouble. Perhaps we could ask the Woods. After all, they looked after me for years, until I got too big for them to cope with. And they've got nobody. In fact..." He swallowed. "...I've never even been to see them since the boys arrived."

I looked surprised. "You'd better go and make peace with them, then, and invite them too."

"Can I?"

I looked at Ben. "The more the merrier."

It was a memorable Christmas, the first of many. With Ben and his parents, Carl and the Woods, my father and six brothers, the seven boys and Jim, who had decided to stay with us and take Carl to see his parents for the new year celebrations, there were no fewer than twenty-one of us. Cooking was a logistical nightmare, and we were delighted when Carl's parents, the Woods and Jim decided to take over in the kitchen and released the rest of us to play silly games. The chaos caused by sixteen boys between the ages of five and twenty-two had to be seen to be believed. And yes, I include the two of my brothers who were over twenty at the time. The term `boy' was appropriate for each of them because that's how they behaved. Normally they were quite quiet and sensible, but the presence of so many, some of whom were uninhibited five-year-olds, made normal behaviour impossible. Until the Christmas meal was ready, of course. At the start of it we were all told by my father in no uncertain terms to clear up, act like adults, and go and wash our hands. He said it with a twinkle in his eye, though, and my brothers and I could tell he was trying not to laugh. Such is the power of the five-year-old; we older ones would hardly have got away with it for so long. At the end of the meal we were all so replete that the only thing to do was to sit down and talk, or to go to sleep.

And during the tiredness of full stomachs we talked, and there came words which showed that the older ones there still cared for, and cared deeply about, those for whom they had once been responsible.

At last, Ben and I excused ourselves, and took the boys with us, saying that we should return in a few hours. He and I had felt a pressing need to visit the Dell on this of all days, despite the cold of winter. There was a quiet understanding from Ben's and my family, though puzzlement from the Woods.

We kept clothed until we reached the entrance to the tunnel. At least there we were sheltered from the wind, and the chill seemed to be less. As we made our way, shivering, through into the grove, the air calmed and grew warmer. Through to the Dell we went, and found it welcoming as always. We sat on the soft grass which, despite winter, was still whole and clean, free of dirt.

The boys knew that this could be a place of play, or a place of quiet, or a place of love, although it was early for them to understand the physical needs and delights that Ben and I enjoyed. For that reason we two never allowed full reign to our feelings when they were there, not because we thought it was wrong, but because we didn't want fourteen eyes and seven voices penetrating our emotions. Tonight was a time of quiet, with the boys and us sitting in a circle, and thinking. And of course, with neither play nor lovemaking taking place, Angharad and Gwaed visited us. She looked radiant and young and loveable, and so in fact did he. They each looked healthy and happy, and had become bigger than the passage of time would have you think. They said nothing, but room was made for them in the circle so the girl could sit and the fawn could stand quietly. Our minds were filled with the beauty of the birth of things and of their growing, and of the natural imperatives that govern the world: the need to eat, to make love, to seek peace, to have leisure, to feed the spirit... and the need for each of us to look to the needs of the others.

It was the gift of the Sprit. Simply. It was also the message of Christmas. In that short spell it seemed that everything we felt and experienced could dovetail with everything else in our minds that so that we became aware of there being a great truth near to us, a great and obvious truth whose presence we could feel but whose fashion we could not see.

At last the spell passed, yet a measure of its magic remains with us.

Angharad and Gwaed hugged or nuzzled each of us in turn and then silently vanished. We stretched, stood, bowed toward the trees where they had disappeared and turned for the tunnel, for our clothes, and for our home and our other family.

 

* *

It was the first of many happy Christmases. Seasons where bonds were renewed between parents and children, carers and cared, brothers and sister, physical and spiritual. A combination of our youth, youth which sees magic in that season over all others, and the meaning of Christmas to the Christian community in the Village which, of course involved us too, has always been particularly strong with us. Easter, and birthdays -- especially the boys' -- mean a lot too, but it was only at Christmas, at that age, time and place, that a special magic filled us all.

The boys developed at a more sensible rate over the next seven years. The frenzy of their making up for five years of mental development to suit their five year old bodies was now over. Maturity seeped into them as gradually and as reluctantly as it does us all. One thing we all noticed after a while, though. They seemed to do most of their growing in late April and May, then at a slower pace through the heat of the summer. Bu the start of September they usually gained no height at all and just as we were beginning to get worried they'd put on half an inch. When we first started, as new parents, to measure such things we did get worried, especially when their height remained stationary from October to the next Spring. And it was that word, of course, that brought home to us once again that these were drakes: children of ours and of our seed sown in love they may be, but they were also children of the earth. As all fruits of the earth have a time to grow and a time to mature, so did they, in sympathy with the Spirit of natural things.

In only one thing did they refuse to grow old. The love of playing, in the summer, in hot weather and not so hot, unclothed. Toward the end of that period, as they passed eleven and headed for twelve years of age we noticed that most of the girls they would play with, and some of the boys, stayed away from their games. I learnt later that some had grown too mentally old and were embarrassed, whilst others were influenced by parents who thought it unacceptable that older girls should mix with older boys, or who thought that mischief could result.

But still there were about two teams worth who could play five-a-side football happily naked. And Carl. Ben and I would sit and watch to ensure that the larger bodies now hurtling around didn't get so boisterous that they could harm each other. Jim... poor old Jim was torn, because he felt that as the teacher -- or past teacher, as he stuck to the real juniors still -- should have no part in it; yet he wanted so much to be with Carl. The two had mended all differences over the months and years, particularly over Christmases, and were now as much of an item as Ben and me. Ben and me! I look at his body now I'm twenty and wonder what would I have thought of bringing to an orgasm the twenty-two year old Ben all those years ago in the office at the back of the village hall. He's taller, and a lot broader, and has more hair... but then not too much on his chest and so on, so he doesn't appear to be the bear that some older men are. The smith, for example. Ugh!... yet he had become more mellow since the boy Steve had been banished. Me? My thirteen year old self seemed to have got taller suddenly, so that at fifteen I had probably looked like a beanpole with extra bulges here and there. And of course it was those bulges that Ben used to love, and which more and more I loved him to play with. Used to? What am I saying? We are still very much in love and that's the way it will stay. He still says that because I'm so thin it makes it look bigger than it really is. I do hit him occasionally.

The new mill was doing well. Neil Burton had impressed us with his humanity and the way he was operating the business. He'd appointed a manager, though it was understood that when that man reached retirement Andrew would take over. But what impressed us was that he resisted all attempts to increase the output over a certain amount. "No," he would say, "I'm not going to make it grow. At the moment it's a good, friendly place to work where people look after each other in so many ways, it's happy, it's effective, and it's profitable for the Village and..." a pause and an honest grin "... for me." Another, longer pause, and a wider grin. "And not having more of the Island's cloth on a market that's crying out for it keeps it in fashion and the price nice and high. And that's good for us all."

We could see the logic. Both Ben and I had done a bit of economics at school. Besides, there was never any shortage of plaid for Village inhabitants. Many houses still wove their own, and there was always some available at what both Neil and the mill manager described as cost price. We had started to get onto the tourist track too, and some of the old shops in the Village started to open at odd times to cater for them. Not too many came as far as our cottage, though, which was probably as well if they were liable to be put off by ten or so naked twelve year olds playing football. It was only when he was about fifteen that Andrew stopped coming up to the games regularly. He was concerned what his girlfriend might think, and wasn't too keen on the prospect of her and her friends seeing him naked in public. But we had watched him play with them in summer, unashamed, from the age of twelve when we first knew him. It was at that age that I had been deemed ready to start our Family, and although his body was behind mine in the growth of the bits that made it possible for me to be a father, there were times particularly after play when it was very obvious that manhood was flowing in his veins and that he would soon be catching me up. Through the magic ages of thirteen and fourteen we had been privileged to watch him grow, and he me from time to time when I too threw caution to the winds and joined in. I had few of his worries. My love knew what I looked like -- but then, so did most of the Village. It worried me more as I got older, but common sense overcame the worries. So what? Nobody was criticising or laughing at me. And I'd got bigger since then, too.

Over the years the newly mellowed smith became more approachable, less gruff, more accepting that we were doing a good job as parents. At first his smile was greeted with cynicism and suspicion, but he never was again the insulting, domineering bully that the whole Village had secretly hated. We had no idea what it was about Steve that had made him like that, but the latter's departure was always cited as the man's turning point. Once again, when the boys were physically twelve, at Christmas when we had returned from the Grove, he appeared. He'd visited on a few occasions before, but had never given cause for concern, and this one seemed to be no different.

"I won't stop," he started by saying. "It's just that I've -- well -- come to a decision." I had answered the door, and Ben appeared behind me. We were still not absolutely sure of him, so didn't automatically invite him in. "I'm getting old, Aidan. It's plain to me that because of what's happened in the past...". A shadow passed across his face, but he continued a little grimly, I thought. "...I'm not a part of the Spirit world any more. My times at the Glade have passed. It must be you now, you and Ben, who do what is needed, and after you, the boys." He paused, and smiled; even now a quite rare event in itself.

"We've got the Village going again," he went on, "and you are the natural heirs to the duty I did for so many years. I'm sad to let go, but feel it's the right thing to do." He stopped, and was obviously waiting for something to be said.

"We will..." I started. "But won't you come in? It's cold out there."

He smiled again. "No, thank you. I'm not good in large crowds, and you have a good gathering in there. Just promise me you'll do what is needed, and that if you need help or advice you'll come and see me."

"I can promise you that," I said, feeling elated for us and also sad for him to be giving up something that was so important to all of us and which had been part of his life for so long. And after some more pleasantries, that was that. He went on his way, and left us happier than we had been for some time, but slightly bemused about why he'd chosen that particular point to tell us the decision.

 

The spring of that year seemed to burst around us. Usually, spring creeps in so slowly that it's only when it's well under way that people start noticing -- unless, of course, they work on the land in some way on a daily basis. That year it was almost as if one day it was winter, and the next the grass was growing greener, the trees were in bud and birds were returning in flocks from their winter migration. The effect on everyone was electric. People, too, seemed to cast off their winter quietness and worries like blankets on a hot night. To meet someone was to experience happiness, their happiness at the obvious change in the season and the growing and the warmth which had all so suddenly happened. Even those whose opinion of our special family was still a little uncertain -- and after all that time there were some -- welcomed the sight of us in the street. The smith even asked us all if we would join him in his garden, just for the sake of it, and not without some misgivings we agreed. It was well that we did, because he was in as good a mood as we'd almost come to expect in these later days, and he reflected the general euphoria of the Island's inhabitants. We talked about the early days of his stewardship of the Glade, and the quiet magic that he, too, had found there, though in retrospect I doubted it was as deep a communion with the earth Spirits that we were enjoying. He had, after all, never sired the Island's future hopes as we had. We were tactful, so was he. The two separate and potentially unpleasant subjects of Steve and of the events following my years of examination by the Elders never came up.

The boys were settling into a strange state so far as relationships with the Village were copncerned. Increasingly we had been encountering visitors to the house at times when people thought they would be there, and at times when if the visitor had thought at all it would have been obvious that they weren't. They were at school. Most frequently it was someone who was anxious about their own or someone else's health, someone asking to see Efan.

The first few times he helped them or the affected person without thinking, and always with a positive outcome. But there came a terrible day, when he was still mentally and physically just twelve, when he found that nothing he could do for his bedridden, gasping patient would save him, that all he could do was lift the burden of pain so that the death was quiet and serene. Along with the man's family he was in tears when he felt the death, the sudden absence in the room of a Being. Having never experienced death before he was at a loss to understand why, why it had to happen, why nothing he could do brought the man back to health again. Before the family could say or do anything he had slipped from the room, naked as he was, and, naked, ran back to his home, sobbing and distraught. We -- Ben, Carl and I, had to explain that sometimes a part of the body was so badly damaged by injury, by disease, even just by old age, that nothing could repair it. We drew parallels with the plants and trees that he understood best, and asked if he would be able to save a tree on which ivy had been flourishing for so long that it had strangled growth to the branches for years. Sadly he shook his head.

"It's like that with humans," explained Carl. "Perhaps if whatever is wrong is found in time you can help. But if not, the part itself withers and the body can't do without it. And you can't build another part."

He understood, at least a little, and became calmer though no less sad. The family understood his sudden departure when we explained it all to them when on the visit to retrieve his clothes.

After that we discovered he had seen the doctor -- the same one who had examined my physical progress all those years previously -- and had told him what he was able to do and had been doing. Unsurprisingly, the man knew. He had heard too many tales from his patients. He tried to discover Efan's methods, but all the boy could tell him was that `I know what to do.'

After several such talks, Efan started talking to the doctor about different people who had come to him, and before long the talks became regular case conferences. The two started working together, something almost unbelievable when one of the participants is formally untrained, being twelve, and the other fully experienced and fifty. For anyone who called him who didn't object to their `doctor' being young and naked when treating them, he was the answer to their prayers.

The other person who was called on was, in a way, even more unlikely. Hamish. The boy who had started off by solving playground disputes had been asked by his peers to get involved in some of the occasional disputes that arose between neighbours. Previously they had always been taken to Village meetings, usually at the Smith's insistence. But the quiet boy, listening to arguments from one side or the other, always seemed to ask questions in a way that made the protagonists stop and think. He seemed able to pour oil onto trouble waters in such a way that the two sides would not only talk and shake hands on a solution, but would bear no grudge. Indeed, they usually believed it had been their own political efforts that had brokered the agreement. Hamish's part in it was forgotten -- but not by the onlookers.

For his part, Ifor, who had proved that he could work with stone and metal -- albeit destructively to start with -- was often called to the new mill because he could understand the machines and `see' what was wearing or had broken. And he found he could similarly `see' the cause of breakdowns in other machinery. Even the Village's increasingly ancient bus, by the time he had worked with the mechanic, had got that man's astonished respect and the bus itself sounding healthier than it had for years.

The others have their own specialities too, and are known, liked and respected increasingly. The one thing they have in common is that they tell the truth even when it hurts, yet at need are gentle and kind and mature beyond their years.

 

The boys were now, both mentally and physically, approaching thirteen. Never identical in looks or character -- or spiritual speciality -- their bodies were nevertheless developing apace. When playing football in summer I could see that, were they to be called on to do as I had done all those years ago, they would have the potency to be successful. Oh, they were still as slim and as hairless as children, yet the semen was very obviously being stored in each low-hanging, delicate scrotum. At times their antics at football that required them to dodge their bodies with such abandon and grace worried me unless it went wrong, when those areas particularly could so easily be damaged. The same antics must surely have resulted in discomfort to the gradually thickening, lengthening penises that at times in the game appeared to be twirling around like so many pieces of string. Or rather, and increasingly, rope. It was spring, and their growth spurt was on them.

And they, of course, had no Elders or Father to tell them that they must never bring themselves to an orgasm in their night time explorations. It was fortunate that we were blessed with a good supply of bedlinen and capacious washing lines.

 

Every year as the anniversary of the first sowing of our seed in the Glade drew near I wondered if we should somehow celebrate it. Apart from taking the boys up there to the scene of their painful and dangerous births, we had done nothing. This year, though, seemed special. They had reached the same age as we had been when we had sired them, discounting the first six years of growth that had happened in so few months. Once again I felt hot at the humiliation I had endured, for although it had turned out not to have been wasted it had still been mighty embarrassing.

On one of our family wanders we encountered the Smith, still happy, still placid, and full of bonhomie that would have been unheard of only a few years previously. He stopped us, as he always did.

"You'll know, of course, that it's their birthday soon?"

I admitted that there was little else on our mind.

"I realise you'll want to celebrate as a family and in your own way, but I'd really like it if you could come and have a meal with me. All of you, that is. I've worked it out that I have just enough room for the seven and you two, and me. I feel I owe you an apology for the way I started off, and along with the rest of the Village I owe you respect for what you've done and are continuing to do, and really something else for the way it all started."

Well, that last was certainly true. As to the rest, well, it was nice to have his recognition. I felt that we should go. The Smith's attitude had improved beyond recognition over the last years since Steve had been banished that it would have been wrong to have refused him. Ben silently agreed. Carl and Jim could not come because, as the man apologetically pointed out, there would not have been enough room for them. So the date was set.

 

It turned out to be a lively affair. The boys had all but forgotten their mistrust of the man. His change from a surly bully into a quite pleasant, even rather shy seeming man had been gradual but seemed genuine. As soon as we had drunk our first, the natural family teasing and laughter had started and even eventually even involved the Smith. Bonhomie went from good to better. The laughter was frequent and genuine. The food was simple yet well prepared and plentiful and we ate our fill. At last we were invited to sit comfortably and relax. Conversation continued, all subjects were explored. A feeling of well-being and warmth surrounded us and we were as relaxed as we ever had been, something of a miracle when you remember who we were with. At last conversation flagged and I could tell that, special or not, the boys had hit the tiredness barrier. Regretfully, I made to look at my watch.

And found that I couldn't move.

Nothing had happened. I was not being restrained by an physical thing. Nevertheless all I found I could do was breathe and move my eyes. Talk was beyond my ability. I found it impossible to make the words to say I was unwell or even call for help. I could hear, but there was nothing to hear apart from the Smith's voice. But even that was making no sense. Of Ben and the boys there was no sound. Bu swivveling my eyes to the right I could just see three of them. None was moving. Their eyes seemed wide and horrified.

I felt my own eyes widen as they looked up -- not that their doing so was the result of my effort or will. My mind felt like lead and I knew that I would be unconscious in a few moments. Just as the darkness took me I heard the Smith call: "All right, Steve. Bring them in. We can start."


Chapter 16

 

It was cold. The smell in my nostrils was rank. My addled mind put it down to bad breath.

Bad breath? Whose? My eyes tried to focus. A face from the past seemed to materialise as out of a mist, a face of dislike, of unpleasant memory, of fear. Yet its expression was exultant. The mist in my head thickened again, leaving what was left of my consciousness looking into a psychological coal-cellar.

A light in the coal-cellar materialised and grew brighter. Thought returned, after a manner. I was jogged by the realisation of the identity of the face I had seen.

Steve.

Steve, the Smith's boy. Steve the bully. Steve whose semen I had been forced to take, one of the seven. Steve the rapist who had been banished from the Island community.

Why? Why was he back? Why...

The Smith had called him. Called him into the room. The Smith must be involved. The Smith must therefore be untrustworthy. The Smith must be responsible for my being unable to move, to speak, to make a noise. I remembered the three boys I had seen before fainting, if that's what it was. They seemed to have been affected as I was.

What was happening to us?

Now I could feel grass below me. Below my back, below my bottom, below my heels. Now I could feel a tightness around my wrists, around my ankles, around my waist. Cool air was blowing over my body. All of it.

"Take your clothes off, boy. All of them." The words resonated around my subconscious, but only from memory. The sensation I had felt then was similar to this, but without the bonds.

Something grabbed, none to gently, at my penis. A voice rang out, a real voice:"No!"

A different voice, from between my legs: "he won't feel anything."

"Wait until dawn, until it has been done. Then you can do as you will, if you must."

"It won't be any fun then..." The voice trailed off, sourly.

Steve and the Smith. I knew them by their voices. But what was happening at dawn, and why would it be no fun then?

My mind returned to a library in the City, a library in which I had found some pages in a book which had then denied their own existence both to me and to Ben. And for the first time since then the words returned from the depths of my mind:

`...and when the children are not yet five years, before they are fully aware of the proceedings that surround them, and before they are of an age when normal society regards them as full people in their own right, they are returned to the land...'

The other appalling details of the ceremony returned to me and, despite my near-unconscious state I felt sick. And even more nauseous was I as the reason for the imporatnce of the coming of dawn became clear when joined with the other comments.

To interfere with my body after then would indeed be no fun for the hideous young man who had touched my body. I should be dead. Along with all the boys and my life's partner.

Nauseous or not I made a huge effort at forcing my conscious mind to the present. It took every ounce of mental strength I possessed, but gradually, so gradually, light appeared outside my eyelids, then faded. I willed my eyes open, my eyes to look from my still immobile head, to look around.

I had been placed, pinned out, on my back, on the grass. Trees were all around. But between me and them were seven wooden platforms, altars, on each of which was tethered a boy. The scene was illuminated by a fire somewhere behind me, for at that moment I felt its heat on my face and the light dazzled my sensitive just-woken eyes.

When dawn would be I had no idea, but the remainder of the horrible script, though altered in its detail, deemed to be about to come to pass.

"He's awake!" I heard Steve exclaim from behind me. It must have been him who had shielded the fire from me.

"He shouldn't be," said the Smith, surprised. "Not yet. He should come round just before dawn. We need him to be watching."

At this I nearly fainted again. Watch my own children murdered? What kind of mind was it that could possibly orchestrate such a thing?"

"You'd best gag him," came another voice, strange to me, sneering, evil. "He might just be able to yell and get someone here who's walking in the woods."

"No one walks here," said the Smith indignantly. "They're warned off this part because of the old religion."

"Good. Gag him anyway. His voice might wake the others if you've miscalculated the dose with them as well. We don't want all the kids screaming. It must be clean and silent."

There was a mumble of assent to this. I tried to decide how many voices there were, but couldn't. My exposure to this evil, my frustration at being powerless against it, my anger at having been taken in, stripped, tethered and the horror welling in my mind at having to watch my beautiful boys being murdered in front of me -- us -- before presumably being murdered ourselves, was bringing on an anger and a panic so deep as to leave me once again immobile of brain and eye.

Someone came behind me and A cloth was forced into my mouth. I tried to spit it out but was still incapable. A cloth was put round my head to hold it there, and my head left to drop back to the ground with a jolt.

It was that shock that tipped the scales in my brain. Panic went flew into the air as the weight of anger gravitated to the base of my mind. I knew that I had to summon help, but how was I to do it? How could I ever have done it, being here, like this?

I thought of Ben. I thought of his dependability. Could I talk to him now I had recovered slightly? Was he anywhere near, was he awake? I thought to call quietly... Quietly? These people could hardly hear our `talking'!

BEN! BEN! BEN!

I felt no answering awareness. That meant the boys were unable to communicate as well. I felt nothing, no Being. Oh.... I thought of all the Beings that I could call. My eyes opened once again as I realised that there was indeed a Power, a Power that was the reason for us all being here.

GWAED! ANGHARAD! CARL" I cried their names three times. Why did I add Carl?

Silence.

Then: "The dawn's coming, I think. Isn't it a bit lighter over there?"

The Smith: "You could be right. This is it. They should be coming round very soon. Everyone ready? Remember, it's not murder. It's harvesting plants. It's for the good of the Village, the Island."

There were sounds of movement and in my limited field of vision I saw a figure go to each of the altars, each with its immobile, naked, helpless Boy on it.

"When the rays of the rising sun first strike the King Stone, the knife goes in. No sound, no command from me, just watch. It will be a few moments yet, I think..."

I `heard' Ben for the first time. What's going on?

They're going to kill the boys.

Silence.

WHAT?!

It's been a trick. They're going to kill the boys. Then us.

I `heard' panic.

Then: HELP!!!

I've been calling for Gwaed and Angharad. And Carl. But nothing.

It seemed to be getting lighter. A warmth sprang from between my legs and covered my thighs, cooling uncomfortably in the dawn breeze. Calmly I wondered if Ben was affected the same way.

A shaky `voice' from near me. I still was unable to turn my head to see him, something I badly needed to do: GWAED! ANGHARAD! CARL!

Together, I told him.

GWAED! ANGHARAD! CARL!

"It's nearly there. Ready?"

Even I could see the lightness approaching from the east. There was a movement near me. I looked down. A shaft of light was shining on a tree trunk. It slowly descended as the sun rose, its rays delving deeper into the clearing. Now it hit the tree roots and started its journey towarrd the stone in the centre of the circle. It was half way across. Any moment it would hit the top of the King Stone, as the Smith had titled it. It was there. A movement by an altar, the brightness of a knife shifting in a hand....

 

* * * *

 

 

... A presence by my head; a Power. I could not see it but I could feel its potency. But the potency was diminishing. At length a voice just `said':

 

STONE

 

My view was of the figures behind each of the boys opposite where I lay. Each had a knife raised, ready for the sun to strike the stone. But there was no movement. Each knife, each arm, each figure, was frozen. Yet all around the leaves still fluttered in the breeze, and the sun's rays touched the top of the king stone.

As if a tree had just shaken free of the grip of a neighbour's branch I felt the danger vanish. The air, which in my panic and horror I had hardly noticed to be oppressive, seemed to clear. I sensed that a fulcrum had shifted, a fulcrum on which good and evil had balanced for a time. And now evil had been weighed, and had been found wanting.

There was a rustle in the bushes by my side and at last I found my head would move. Angharad: naked, of course apart from the patch of body hair that indicates fecundity, and deathly white.

CARL? CARL? ARE YOU DEAD?

This made no sense to me. Why should Carl be here, and why should he be dead?

What is happening? I asked no one in particular.

There was a touch at my head and at once I felt aware. Life coursed back into my muscles. I felt used, and stiff of movement. Swiftly she did something at head, feet and waist and I could move again, albeit with difficulty.

HURRY came the command

As quickly as my stiff muscles would allow I stood, and stared, and SAW...

Seven altars in a horse-shoe bore the now wriggling naked bodies of seven just thirteen year old Boys, all gagged, all wide-eyed, all alive. By the side of each was a statue of a naked man, facing inwards, hands raised in the air and clasped together around a knife. The statues seemed to be of a grey stone which resembled the granite that most of the Island was composed of. The face of each statue was unique, as if carefully and with tremendous skill and effort it had been carved from the living rock. Yet who would choose granite as a medium for sculptures of that detail?

Two of the faces I recognised: the Smith and Steve. Each bore a look of both malevolence and satisfaction. The other faces I did not recognise.

All this I took in swiftly as I waited for my muscles to move as those of a young adult, not as if they had lived for another half century in addition.

CARL. HURRY came Angharad's `voice' again.

I turned, wincing, just as Ben was looking round the clearing, his face a daze. Carl was at the corner of the ring of stones, just outside it, pale as if frozen, in a heap on the ground.

What's he doing here?

HE ANSWERED YOUR CALL. Angharad seemed to be in control. I wondered what had happened to Gwaed and to the Power we had encountered at the Glade before. And why should Carl answer my plea for help? Why was he here? What made him collapse like this? Had he been killed?

HE HAS OVERSTRETCHED EVEN HIMSELF. HE HAD TO USE THE POWER OF THE EARTH WITHOUT ENGAGING HIMSELF IN IT PROPERLY FIRST. THE POWER WAS NOT REALLY ENOUGH AND HE HAD TO USE HIS OWN HUMAN STRENGTH AS WELL.

This made little sense. How could Carl use the power of the earth? Or had Angharad given him the power, or what? But why...

There was a groan at my feet. Swiftly as I could I knelt at Carl's side, looking into anguished eyes.

Awake you are. Alive. Not too late then, was I?

It occurred to me that I had heard him speak in odd phrases like that before, and my brow furrowed.

Still anguished he pleaded again: The Boys, safe they are? Please to tell?

Yes, Carl, they are safe. You -- well, I think it must have been you, though I don't know how -- saved them all.

Nearly too late I was. To believe that anyone could be so evil -- I could not. At the last moment that they would really do it was obvious. One way of stopping them there was, and all the power of my own it took .

But now my work here is done : diminish I can. For now safe are you and can in time the Power assume, and after you, the Boys, and after the Boys, their boys...

"But Carl," I said aloud, "you've not finished here. There are boys here who love you, and a man who loves you more than you know in the same way that Ben and I love each other. You must recover and at least let us all thank you and show our love." I wondered where I had the thoughts from, since what my brain was trying to say was `I have no idea what you're on about, but get strong quickly and we'll try to understand and sort it out'.

There was the sound of running footsteps. The bushes parted and Jim, muddy, breathless and looking agonised, stood there. He took in the scene, the nakedness, and the silence, gasped and looked down at Carl. The look that was returned was unfathomable. Swiftly he dropped to his knees and covered the young man's brow with his palm. He looked up. "Someone DO something, please!"

"I think you are the person who can do most now," I said weakly.

Angharad and Ben had been circling the altars, releasing the boys. They looked scared and, for once, were silent both in thought and voice.

Evan, I said, can you help Carl? He believes he has given all he can in life and I'm scared he might...wither and die.

The boy looked at me, wide eyed and walked to Carl. He too knelt and put a hand on his head. The man's eyes were closed; the boy's eyes closed in pain.

Everyone...come here. Quick. We need POWER.

There was a rush The other six boys and Angharad looked down, then without a word each held the hand of another in one hand, whilst the feet scrabbled in the earth, digging itself in until covered. A look was shared between the eight. Sixteen eyes closed.

A groan came from Carl. Silence reigned for a full minute. Our sons' and dughter's eyes opened again, showing alarm.

Gwaed, I `heard', help us, please? With all your influence we could save him. He used the power in him, not the power from the earth, but now we need the power of the earth, of the Village, of the Island, to help him.

There was another rustle in the bushes, and a pair of softly liquid eyes joined us. Gwaed was now a powerful, potent young buck with his first growth of antlers, yet still the eyes were those of a fawn with the guileless expression that the boys wore. He stood in the circle surrounding Carl and looked. Had tears fallen from his eyes I would not have been surprised. But his head went up to the air and he gave as good a roar as a young buck can give, a roar as if about to fight for a doe.

But instead of a doe, we were aware that the old stag, now ancient in his looks and walking stiffly, was also with us. Like the Smith of old, his authority was undeniable. But the aura that was its source, detectable only to the subconscious, was as benign as the Smith's had been evil. He joined the circle too.

IN US LIES THE POWER OF THE ISLAND. The voice in our heads was old, even creaky, yet filled with sonority and authority as no other I had ever heard, before or since.

THOSE WHO ARE HERE BREATHE LIFE, EITHER BY THE POWER THEY ARE GIVEN OR BY THE LOVE THEY GIVE AND SHARE, AND FOR ALL OF US IT IS THE LOVE FOR THE ISLAND THAT MUST BE PARAMOUNT.

 

He continued, explaining that Carl had been found, as a baby by his parents, who had adopted him. He had been born of the union of two of the deer population, but somehow was a changeling. A changeling who was in human form and with only human abilities. It had been Carl's flight to the woods and, despite his horror of it, to the Glade, on the night he had been orphaned that had first brought him in contact with the spirits and the power.

He had endured watching the loss of his parents in a fire, heard their agony as the flames consumed them. Yet it had been his mental distress that had enabled him to soak up the strength and some of the Being of the Island spirits. It had produced a potency that even he did not fully realise at first. It had been he who had lived a double life as both physical and spiritual protector of the Boys and us, but whose spiritual side had been manifest only at great need, such as the Boys' birth.

 

HIS LIFE SHOULD HAVE BEEN FORFEIT IN THE FIRE. LOVE EXTENDED IT. IT SHOULD NOW BE OVER, AFTER THIS HIS EFFORT. ARE YOU ASKING FOR IT TO BE EXTENDED YET AGAIN?

We all said "YES", mentally and vocally, and for the first time I detected Jim's thoughts in the answer. I looked at him: he was startled; tearful and amazed in equal amounts.

IT WILL MEAN THAT THIS PLACE WILL BE BARREN FOR EVERMORE, THIS GLADE. THERE WILL HAVE TO BE A NEW ONE PREPARED. CONCENTRATE NOW...

We did. By the spirits how we did. At first little seemed to happen barring a tingling at our fingers where hands were clasped with the next Boy, youth, man or Deer.

Something as happening beneath my feet. The grass was yellowing, curling, dying. One by one the false altars crumbled, the wood they were made of rotting as with ten winters' passage. The new-formed statues cracked, splinters falling off them, destroying the perfection of their detail.

A groan passed Carl's lips again, but his colour changed from its grey tinge to white-blue, then to white, then to a healthier creamy-pink. Jim it was who broke the circle to gather Carl into his arms, tears streaming from his eyes to land on the face, the closed eyes. The tears of love. "Jim..." we heard, and knew Carl was saved.

I felt exhausted. The boys fell where they knelt, eyes closing, Angharad too. Gwaed swayed on his feet. The old stag crashed to the ground.

What have we done? Ben asked.

YOU...WILL...ALL...RECOVER...

The Stag's voice in our heads was fading, fading. But we could do nothing but sleep.


Chapter 17

 

We awoke when it was dark. A sickly moon shone into the clearing. I felt cold, but somehow refreshed. There were signs of movement near me. Ben. He moved to my side and I was relieved to look into his eyes.

Are you ok?

And instead of a single reply there were ten. Yes.

Good... just a minute, that sounds a lot! I looked up, to find the moon shining into the Grove, but a Grove that was old, tired, no longer the place of peace that it had been. Dead foliage rustled under my arms as I pushed myself to a sitting position.

You're the last to wake, Aidan, apart from the old stag. He will never wake again.

With a shock I looked to where the Old One's body lay at the edge of the clearing, illuminated by the moon's rays, peaceful and still powerful even in death. I looked at Carl, horrified. But he was looking at the stag.

He saved my life. I owe him mine. I owe every one of you my life. I will work hard for you, for the Village, for the Island.

NO.

The word was from my own lips, but it came unbidden.

You have already given all you need to us, to the Village, to the Island. We all saved your life, and the stag gave his, just a month sooner than he would have lost it, for love. Love for you, love of Jim's love for you, respect for what you have already done. You owe no one anything.

I was surprised to hear myself speaking with such Authority, and pleased that our Boys and Ben murmured their approval.

A new voice surprised us, speaking haltingly: Forget, you do. Many lives here today you saved. Much misery you avoided. The future you secured for all.

Jim? Was it Jim? We looked at him.

"I... I can't have been a part of today without being altered in some way." Understand you, I can; to speak is difficult.

There was a verbal cheer at this from everyone else apart from Carl, who just reached up to pull Jim down to his level and kissed him.

Angharad was still there, and Gwaed. For the first time Gwaed `spoke': It is the start of a new age, yet the old continues. Weeded out from here today is much evil, not just from this Island but from others. You will discover more on your studies on the mainland.

The old stag has passed. The evil that was the Smith has passed. For many seasons he and the Old One shared nothing for reasons you will now know.

He paused and looked at me, the eyes softening even further.

Now it is left to you and I and Angharad to ensure the health of this Island. And its future. And in time it will be the turn of one the children of one of these, to fertilise the land. It must be done as the end of his virginity; no other burden is laid on him.

But before anything can happen, rest. Think. Prepare a new Grove; we shall show you where. Continue what you -- and most of all the other Young of the land - have started. Work with the other humans. Leave the animals in peace apart from those who give themselves for sustenance.

But go now. Go from here. This place will no longer be sacred after the Old Stag has been buried.

 

He wheeled and turned from the defaced glade. Angharad retreated, turned, bowed to us and was about to follow when she paused, smiled and ran back to us. In turn she embraced and kissed Aidan, Ben, Ruaridh, Padraig, Efan and Ifor; then stood before Ben and me, smiling shyly. I held out my arms. She came and kissed me, holding me in an embrace which, had we not been father and daughter, could have appeared sensuous. We separated, and she did the same with Ben before running lightly to where Gwaed had vanished and disappeared into the foliage with hardly a rustle.

 

We looked at each other, and took in the sight of the now unrecognisable pillars that had once been seven men, at the crumbled altar in front of each and with reverence at the body of the old stag.

We must take him away from here, and bury him with honour. And... and plant seven saplings above him. As soon as I had `said' the words I wondered where the idea had come from. On reflection I was pretty sure I knew.

Haltingly we left the Glade, that oasis of peace, warmth and light that had seen so much love and love-making between Ben and myself. It was a long procession. Jim supported Carl, with help from Ben and me. It occurred to me suddenly that Jim was the only clothed one there: where had our clothes been hidden? We did not want to return to the glade now that it was sanctified only by the stag's body, but I guessed that they would turn up somewhere.

We were out of the tunnel now and onto the path through the wood that led to the village. It was just a short distance further that Carl's legs froze, almost bringing Jim and Ben to the ground.

It's here.

We looked at him, anxious, questioning.

Where you get to the new Glade. It's here.

We looked around in the dappled sunlight of the new day. Some of the gloom that had been part of the wood's defence against villagers and particularly children -- I smiled at the recollection -- had lifted. Despite that, through the trees on the opposite side from the original tunnel we could see that there was a brighter area.

Is that where we should prepare a new Glade? I asked. Carl nodded. He eased himself from the arms of his supporters, turned to Jim and said: "You should strip, so you are as the rest of us."

The teacher's eyes grew wide. But to give him his due he raised no objection; it had been he alone who was the odd one out, dressed where we were naked. The appearance of the more personal parts of his body had an effect on us all, though we said not a word. It was as if another peeling back of normal life had taken place; that a teacher at a school we had been to and the boys were still at should be seen naked, unashamed.

Carl put an arm to each of the trees nearest him and they seemed to lean apart. He continued into the undergrowth and was joined by seven smaller figures. They helped persuade the smaller bushes and undergrowth to give a path. For that is what it was, not a slashing with machetes and billhooks, just a persuasion that plants would be more comfortable growing at a different angle, even in a slightly different place.

The pool of light, when we reached it, was wholesome, grass grown. Carl turned to Jim.

We need to rest here. To sleep a while, perhaps. To show that we love and are potent. To prove that we are the rightful wardens.

To him, to Ben and to me, who had been through so much, it was a natural thing to do and we passed to a point away from the entrance and faced each other. To the boys, naturally at one with the earth, it was equally natural to lie on the grass, some together, some separate. Only Jim stood, now embarrassed.

"I can't just... in public."

You are here only with us, with friends and lovers. With your lover. Be at peace. For a space, ignore everyone except me and they will ignore you and give you assured privacy.

He turned to Carl and looked at him wistfully. I watched the rising of his manhood to reach Carl's, itself throbbing its way into the air. And they closed the gap between them. I turned back to Ben who had also been watching. Our bodies were similarly affected.

And the boys? They watched us, being unbound by embarrassment. There was some wriggling around and when I stole a glance across I could see seven just-thirteen year old bodies, each with a matching, still quite small, penis and a scrotum which was quite deep-set and potent looking. They had arranged themselves head to midriff, like a puffin arranges a catch of fish in its mouth. Despite our need to be with each other Ben caught what was in my mind's eye and looked too. We both saw the near simultaneous, swift erections blossom and the lips reach over to engulf each one. Turning back to each other we left them to their first ever explorations. And began ours.

Knowing that near you, unseen and unseeing, nine people are also engaging in an activity as old as man, as old as nature itself, is uplifting. It augmented our loving, our giving and receiving of sensations and, at last, the peaking of our desires. Together we gave to the earth, life. The start, if it wanted it, of the life of more drakes. Boydrakes.

Together we recovered, rested, without shame. The semen that had not dropped to the ground glistened on bellies. We let it lie. Four boys came to join us -- Aidan and Ben, of course, and Padraig and Hamish; Efan, Ifor and Ruaridh crossed to Carl and Jim. Although we had washed slightly marked sheets often enough it was somehow wonderful to see the evidence of their orgasms, small pools that it may still have been, and the still half-closed eyes that spoke of fulfilment. With a boy lying at each arm, we slept.

 

The return home was a problem. Only one of us had clothes. Jim was deputised to fetch something from the house that would allow three more adults to be seen in public, since the days were gone when we could wander at will from wood to house. The boys had no such qualms, even at thirteen when they were technically much too old to wander about naked. We had to remember that they still played football in that state, and knew that parents collecting team members had to accept it or refuse to allow their sons and daughters to take part.

We'll run all the way from the wood, said Hamish when I'd reminded him that there were still drying pools of semen on his belly. No one will notice it then!

When we four adults -- I'm assuming I was being regarded as an adult by the age of twenty, especially in view of what I'd gone through during my childhood and adolescence -- reached home we found the boys, still naked, telling my Father what had gone on. He was looking angry. In fact he was looking furious.

"Right," he said to me as if we'd just returned from a visit to the Village shop. "WE need to get some people together and sort this smith out once and for all. Will you... What?"

It was then we explained what had happened to the smith, Steve and the other five strangers who had been prepared to end the boys' lives in cold blood in the name of the island's fortunes.

 

The next day we revisited the new Glade to find that turf had already been removed from the centre of it. We dug there, all of us, with hands -- oh, and hooves as Gwaed was there too and Carl had, without our noticing it, half morphed from man to stag, much to Jim's alarm. Butthe stars of the show were the boys who, at thirteen, found that they could stand on solid earth, somehow wriggle their toes and break up the compacted ground without effort. Soon the grave was big enough. All eleven of us returned to the sadness that was the old grove, and supported the Old Stag's body back to the path. As we left the tunnel for the last time the trees sighed.

Reverently we laid the body into the grave and filled in the earth, making a mound at the top to show the site. In a circle around it we stood hand in hand, eyes earthwards, until we felt that honour had been done.

In a month from today my sons should find the means to plant a tree there of his choice, I said. It seemed fitting.

 

A meeting was called the following day, once again interrupting school, business and domestic life. Carl, as the person most used to standing in front of others, was deputised to tell the whole Village what had happened. There were cries of incredulity and anger. But there were also cries of disbelief. Loud cries.

"Have you seen the smith in the Village in the last few days? Have any strangers come onto the Island and not gone home?" I asked.

There were mutterings starting but the innkeeper stood up. "I had five men arrive late last week and they never paid, and their stuff was still in the rooms. I only cleared it out today. Rough lot; didn't like them. But trade's trade."

"I suggest you check their stuff for identity and get mainland police to check them out. They'll probably visit us once they've found they're missing. They won't find them, but we can show you where they were last."

"Where's that?"

"In the woods. They're now stone pillars, like I said. There's seven of them and the last two are the smith and Steve. We must try to trace his family, too."

"Never had one," chipped in the doctor. "He came to live with the smith because his parents on the mainland chucked him out for interfering with a boy."

I looked at him. "For interfering... and you made him one of the boys who I had to... who were involved with what I had to do?"

The doctor looked uncomfortable. "I didn't know until Steve left the island and I tried to make sure he was all right. It all came out then."

One of the doubters interrupted. "We need more proof than you've given us so far. You take us to this place in the woods where they were last seen. Then we'll have proof."

I looked at Ben and Carl with a question mark in my eyes. They nodded slightly.

"Very well, we will. But it is a small place and only those who need to go for proof should do so."

I wondered what would happen. Most of those who went would have been those who had ventured into the woods as youngsters and been frightened off by the atmosphere, never to return. Now, they were led by us and accompanied by the boys who refused to be left at home despite their age. To give them credit, none chickened out. We led them in, and I smiled quietly when we passed the places where, in the old days, we would have stopped to strip off all our clothing. It was hard not to do so as we first passed the tunnel to the new Glade, which was then completely anonymous, thick with foliage. It was even harder, because of habit, not to do so at the old tunnel. But I resisted the temptation and hoped the others would too, particularly the boys who were not as circumspect in that respect as we were.

The tunnel seemed more oppressive than when we were last there, and the old glade was dark, dank and somehow smelled of death. The seven pillars and the centre stone were of course still there. The onlookers crowded round us.

"Well?" said the man who had complained loudest. "Are these old standing stones what you mean? They've been there ages -- look at the state of them."

"The have been there three days. Of that you can be certain. You know the old religion still exists on this island, and you know what I had to go through because the smith and the elders got it wrong what was needed. Oh, they were partly right, but they had no need to put we boys through those experiences.

"But out of it came good. We have seven sons. Love abounds. The Island is happier and healthier and wealthier than it's been for years as a result. But the other thing the smith got wrong was that there needed to be death and a return to the earth in order to make sure this continued. It was only because the spirits intervened that it was possible for the murder to be stopped. The murderers were turned to stone, as I said. There they are."

"They're standing stones. Simple."

I looked at him, at a loss to know how to prove it all. But a smaller figure pushed to the fore, turned and looked at him too. Hamish.

"What would persuade you that this actually happened, that this stone" -- he pointed to the substantial, nearly man-shaped stone that had been the Smith -- "is actually the man himself, turned to stone by the Spirits to stop him murdering us?" The boy was calm, collected; it seemed that he genuinely wanted to know.

The man sneered at him. "I don't know what a small boy can do to prove it. But then you're one of the so-called `special ones', aren't you?"

"If you mean was I borne of the earth, of the Spirit, of my Father, then yes. I am. As are these other six. But I repeat, what will persuade you?"

"If I see that the stone has the Smith's face, not just the same bulky figure as him, then I might believe this cock-and-bull story."

We need to try and reverse it a bit, said Hamish to his brothers. Can we, do you think?

There was a deal of pushing and excusing as his brothers joined him at the front of the spectators. All seven of them stood looking at the statue.

Aidan sighed. "I really didn't want to touch him again, or be naked in front of him again. But at least now he can't see us. And nothing we can do will give him life again. Come on, then!"

The group of doubters watched, amazed and concerned as the seven of them hauled off their clothes. Once again my own experiences as a near-thirteen year old came to mind. As a father I was horrified that sons of mine would strip naked, an act that people generally regard as dirty, or odd, or disturbing. But I was also proud that they could happily do so without worry. I was also aware that they would avoid doing so except at need -- or when it was more comfortable to play -- or to swim -- like that.

Ah yes, the swimming. Near the port, at the beach. They saw absolutely no need for the modesty of the other, nearby islanders and would strip off and play in the water like so many seals. And something they did would cause other youngsters -- even some older than them -- also to strip off in full view of parents, passers-by and, of course, us. And finally even we would join them.

This time it was obviously serious. They had a point to prove. In a ring around the ugly grey monolith that had once been the Smith they stood. Hands were held, feet shuffled in the way Ben and I knew was their way of taking shallow root again, to draw whatever influence there was left in this brown, almost dead soil that had been sucked of almost all its goodness by the herculean efforts of Carl. One of the onlookers, the man who had been loudest in insisting on proof, was keenly watching the movements -- not of their feet, I noticed, but of the budding organs between their legs. I watched him more carefully. His interest seemed to have switched, and I suddenly recognised his face from seven years before.

He was one of the elders, one of the few still alive who had watched as, time after time, I had myself stripped in front of the panel so they could judge my oncoming manhood. I recollect how his gaze had never switched from my middle from the time my shorts hit the floor to the time they were back anchored firmly round me.

A man to avoid? A man to understand?

The boys were still now, eyes closed. A silence descended, muting even the mutterers.

A piece of stone flew up from the ground and fixed itself to the rock. Then another, and another.

We watched, dumbstruck, as the grey, apparently weathered, rock was covered with splinters; splinters that fixed themselves to it without a seam or gap.

And the features that made the Smith recognisable as the overbearing, murderous bully that he had finally proved himself to have been all along reassembled themselves in front of us.

Finally it was complete. Part of the spell broke and there was a gasp as the onlookers recognised the statue in front of them, a statue holding a cruel looking knife in arms that bulged with muscles, in the act of plunging it downwards.

"That'll do for me," said a voice. "Sorry I doubted you, but I've known that man all my life." It wasn't the main complainer, but someone who was a friend of his; who had also been a friend of the Smith. The man I had been watching was still staring at the boys, entranced.

Dad! Dad! Help!

My mind snapped back to the circle round the Smith.

Dad! When we stop he's going to fall to bits again. We're too close. We need you and Ben to come into the circle, make it bigger. Then we won't get crushed by the bigger bits.

Ben and I were instantly galvanised into action. OUR kids were in danger. We rushed to join the circle.

You'll have to be naked, Dad. A reproach from Hamish.

Oh God.

History repeating itself.

"GOI! Everyone. Just GO! It's going to fall back to bits and we've got to join the circle to make it bigger so they don't get crushed! GO!"

Some did stumble away along the tunnel. Most stayed, but moved back a little. One who did not move at all was the man I had been watching. I had to do it. So did Ben. We looked at each other, horrified as when we had no option but to do this all those years before. He shrugged, and with that we started flinging off our own clothes. There was another mutter from our `audience'.

Carefully, without breaking their contact, we inserted ourselves into the circle. But as we did so the power field, or whatever it was, weakened as it became known that we were not wholly of the land in the same way the boys are. Stones started to fall. We spread out. More stones fell, harmlessly now, and at length Aidan spoke.

On a count of three, separate and run! One...two...THREE...

This was more than a falling of stones. This was three hundred years of weathering in an instant. The whole monolith crumbled, and split, and great boulders fell and rolled where young feet had been a moment or two before.

And with the comprehensive destruction came a return of voices; voices raised in incredulity, in anger -- at the Smith and his friends -- and in concern about the boys. There was not a person there who was unconcerned about the threat to their thirteen year old frailty in front of such malignance and, more recently, in front of such danger from falling rock. So busy were the boys, Ben and myself that we hardly realised we were talking to people whilst still naked. Well, I suppose we must have, but there was no opportunity to do anything but talk when it's so urgent and immediate, and your clothes are behind other people.

So finally they started drifting away. We were left with just one. The loud one. He was no longer loud. He was still gaping at the crumbled rock that had been his friend, the Smith. He looked grey.

Speaking slowly, as if it was an effort: "Their blood would have saved the Island."

Instantly there was no movement, no sound.

"What?" I asked, venom in my voice.

"Their blood would have saved the Island. It is written."

The book in the library seemed to float to the surface of my mind. "It was written in the tradition of another island. Not ours. And we have been told how our fortune may be continued, and it is with love and an amalgamation of the Spirit and the Human worlds, not in falsehoods and forced actions and death. You know nothing of it. Either the Smith lied to you or you lied to the Smith. And because of your joint actions so much evil has had to come to pass, big evil and small evils, that you are not welcome here."

I'm not sure where the certainty of his involvement came from, but I was sure of it. The boys were listening gravely and I could feel their support.

Padraig said: Strip him.

I looked at him, astonished. The quietest of the boys, almost the odd one out, he rarely spoke of serious matters except when absolutely necessary.

Strip him. He will not resist.

This was a job for the boys, not for naked twenty plus year olds. And the man did not resist as hands came to remove his shirt, his trousers, his...

There were no shoes.

There was a shadow around his ankles that had said `shoes' to the eyes, but as soon as the final items of cloth were removed from him we saw that at the end of the legs there was nothing but cloven hooves. We backed away. Still there was no movement.

Was this a stag? Was this a creature such as Carl, but bent and made ugly by some outside influence? I tried with my mind, almost shouting: WHAT ARE YOU?

There was no reply. But the skin seemed to grow greyer, more wrinkled. And then a flake chipped off and fell to the ground.

I `shouted' to the others to run, and we didn't stop until we were at the other end of the tunnel. From behind us we could hear cracks and falling rubble, and a creak as some poor tree was hit, or worse. When there was no more sound we cautiously found our way through the tunnel again.

What had been our dell, our Glade, was now a scene of desolation. The Smith's six accomplices were still monoliths, the Smith was a series of boulders and shards. But the latest addition was nothing, Nothing except small, evilly sharp flints covering the area, with some of them embedding themselves into trees. In one corner, near what remained of the Smith, were just visible part of a pair of grey shorts. None of the rest of our clothes were visible.

Flint is not a rock that is found naturally on our Island.

We left, appalled. Naked still we found our way up the tunnel again, me at the back, and as soon as I was out we stopped and looked back. There was a Sound. Foliage was repositioning itself, bending, even moving in the earth, to close the entry of the tunnel, disguising it, even binding it shut. We were not unhappy about it.

It seemed only right that we should make sure that the new Glade was still untouched by the events. Its tunnel welcomed us, its light and warmth beckoned us. To our astonishment we found Carl and Jim in there, together, embracing. We found Angharad and Gwaed there, watching with gentleness and love in their eyes. Our arrival was the only time we ever caused a guilty stop to two people in love, and I mentally calmed them and reminded them -- well, Jim, really -- that real love is blameless.

We knew there was another evil on the Island, said Angharad. Neither Gwaed nor I could find it. When you had brought it to the open we knew that we had no power to help you. It was made from rock that is not of these Islands, inhabited by a spirit of evil. We have no influence on that. We cannot understand it. The boys could, just, as they are part human. Only your words and the destruction of its creature, the Smith, could touch it.

And now it is destroyed. The way to where it was is barred. Now we may rejoice and love.

With that they were gone. But we looked at each other, Ben and I, and knew we should obey her last word. As before arms entwined and the slow dance of hands on bodies started once more. The boys, this time, were being more adventurous, not just lying down and offering stimulation but copying our movements and finding that the slow climb up to the plateau of pleasure is a contribution to the final, eventual moment of the outpouring of seed.

We slept, it seems as if it was for many hours, for when we awoke the evening had passed, and much of the night. The first signs of dawn were in the sky. Quietly, without shame in the semi-darkness, we went home, still naked, bathed in pairs -- and one trio -- and spent a few hours sleeping in beds.

 

The Village meeting was resumed the next day. There was general, if puzzled, acceptance of the absence of the Smith and his friend -- and we had explained it thoroughly -- and relief that it was now all over.

 

We had a Family meeting, too.

 

The boys wanted to know if they should father another family, to which my instant reply was yes, if you take complete responsibility for their birth, potty training, language training, common sense training, human being training; whilst going to school full time as well.

There was a silence.

That'll be a `no', then, said Hamish.

 

***

 

Roll on another ten years. The house is still full. Fuller, in fact, as the boys are almost all attracting girls to visit. Almost? Padraig has told us that, like his Dad, he feels more at home with a boy, one of the dwellers at the laughingly termed `International Ferry Terminal'; in fact the small docks on the coast. And he's a lovely, quiet lad is Ted, shy and even at eighteen still coming to terms with his preference for his own gender and at having that preference accepted as normal by two older male couples and his love's brothers -- and their girls.

The girls are...well, girls. I've never been an expert. But they are pretty, and they seem intelligent and sensitive and accepting, and they cause those brown eyes of our sons to go almost deer-like from time to time.

And now we have just heard that Cathrionna, the girl that little Ifor is tremblingly crazy about, is to give birth in nine months. Who told us? None other than Angharad who, unseen, witnessed the consummation and the conception and knew.

Knew also that the child would be the first son of the seventh son of a seventh son.