Buzzards, Hawks and Ravens

(Account of Six Friend’s Life in the “Dark” Age)

by

Ruwen Rouhs 

Chapter 2

The New Brother

Bastian decided to go to the outhouse, the outside-outhouse, the tree bog. The family had two outhouses, a two-holer at the postern, and a one-holer in the garden behind the barn. The big one had holes for two and despite this it was tied up nearly all day. Bastian preferred the tree bog in the garden behind the barn. This was a place where he could contemplate important questions, with hardly ever an interruption when someone tried to tear him away from his dreams due to having to take a crap.

His trousers at his ankles, his bare bum fondled by the soft, sweeping spring wind, he let his thoughts flow freely. Yesterday evening he had picked up a completely exhausted strange boy at the front door of his grand-aunt’s house; in the night he kept him warm in his bed, and now he had made him his brother; the brother he had longed for all this time…

Today a new brother had been born to him. They had to celebrate this birthday. Bastian liked to celebrate birthdays. His mother always prepared something special, like a fruit cake and a mug full of foaming honey milk and they all danced around the table singing: "God sent you ten years ago, to make us happy and proud"... or five year ago, or twelve years ago , just what ever the period was which had passed since the child's birth.

But now there was a serious problem. Bastian didn't know how old Ruwen was. He was shortish like a 6 year old and so lean; just skin and bones. Spooning him in bed Bastian had been able to count every single rib. Was he six, or eight, or already ten? It did not actually matter, since Ruwen was born to him today! But for the song, what number would they use? If he was just born, it would be zero. Could he just sing: "God send you nil years ago to make me happy and proud?" No he couldn't.

Finally, he opted for: "God sent you today, to make me happy and proud!"

The second problem was the birthday present. Mother surely wouldn't prepare cake and milk today and actually he wanted to give Ruwen a present of his own, a very personal present. He thought about all his treasures. He owned dozens of feathers, big ones from hawks and buzzards, small shiny ones from jays and white ones from geese. But he owned more precious treasures than those; like the piece of broken brown glass, very handy during the last solar eclipse, and two precious stones, a white one with the red veins and the dark grey one dotted all over with golden flakes. He was sure the flakes were pure gold. But his father just laughed at him calling it fool's gold. What a stupid father he had!

There also was that piece of parchment he found at the Christmas market last year. It had those funny drawings that his aunt called letters. Most of these letters were in black. Not so the first one. It was much bigger than the other. It was in red and blue and gold and it framed a small face. His grand-aunt called it a J and told him the writing started with the word Jesus!

His mother got really scared when he showed her the parchment and ordered him to throw it away immediately! But naturally he couldn't obey such a foolish order. Last, but not least, he had an antler from a young roebuck. It was very sharp, without any forks, and two fingers long. It could be a handy weapon.

Sitting in the tree bog, thinking of the antler, he got a stiffy. His little prick got hard, just like it had been when he entered the bog. Usually he would start to wank, to relief himself, but today it gave him an idea for another birthday present. He had to teach Ruwen how to wank; how to achieve this perfect and comforting feeling.

Bastian had been initiated into wanking by the twins, about one and half years ago. On a sunny afternoon, he had hurried into the big outhouse, because he was afraid that he was going to shit his trousers. Tearing open the door, he was greeted by a heavy spray of spunk. Geroldt and Bendrich had celebrated one of their wanking competitions: who was the first to come; who could shoot the greater distance; who could hit the knothole in the door!

Bastian became the involuntary victim of their sport and was covered by spunk. He screamed bloody murder and the faces of his brothers turned red like beetroots.

They hushed him. "Please do not to squeal to mother! Please!" They said in unison.

"No! I will tell mama and papa. You played with your wee-wee's! That's a sin! I’m going to tell!"

"Oh please, Bastian, please don't squeal to mother and father! Don't be a killjoy!" pleaded Geroldt.

And Bendrich proposed, "It's so much fun to do that! You will like it! We will teach you tonight! We promise! But you cannot say anything to mama or papa."

The twins were perfect teachers and more than successful! Bastian turned out to be an eager and very gifted student. Now the three boys often had fun together and Bastian discovered the source of the aroma wafting from his brothers’ bed in the mornings.

Bastian decided to save his wank lesson as the best of his presents for Ruwen. He fetched the parchment and the antler from his treasury and displayed both on the small chest in the boys’ bedroom. He waited, hidden behind the canopy bed, at first patiently, then impatiently, then, rising grudgingly, he started a search.

Meanwhile, the twins had been given Ruwen a tour throughout the entire farm. Wrenching him loose, Bastian towed his hesitant new brother to his birthday display; started ring-a-ring-a-roses, and singing at the top of his voice, "God sent you today to make me happy and proud! Ruwen my brother, I love you!"

Ruwen was overwhelmed! His eyes watered and he started to cry joyously.

*.*.*

Bastian woke up from the cold. He missed Ruwen’s warm body. Was his new brother gone? Surely not, because the small indentation in the mattress in front of him was still warmish from his small friend's body. He scanned the dimly lit room. Over there was the twins’ bed, where both were breathing lightly. Then, to the left, he saw a small frame sobbing desperately.

Crouching at the head of the bed was a shivering Ruwen, arms tightly folded around his pulled up knees; with open eyes staring nowhere. Bastian crawled towards him, pulling the blanket along, and tried to wrap the shivering boy into it.

The slight touch of Bastian's hands evoked a dramatic response. Ruwen started to scream full blast. Bastian tried to hush him, but he couldn't stop the screaming. The dreadful shrieks aroused the twins first, then the other family members. Muriel, Bastian's mother, came rushing up the steep staircase. All gathered around Ruwen, talking soothingly to the shaking boy, trying to calm him down. The screaming persisted till everybody was trembling in the cold night air.

Suddenly the horrible shrieking subsided. Ruwen's panic attack ceased and Bastian was able to cover the trembling boy with the blanket. With chattering teeth everyone went to sleep again.

Early the next morning the twins took up their daily chores bleary-eyed. The smaller boys slept late to recover from the night-time terror attack. Bastian tried to question Ruwen about the attack, but he couldn’t remember anything. All family members felt sympathy for Ruwen and treated him kindly, with only Klas' face being sulky. The provost was still not convinced he had made the right decision in adopting Ruwen.

The panic attack recurred next night, even more intensely. Ruwen crouched trembling at the headboard again, unapproachable, lost in another world.

Unseen by anyone but himself, his hooded eyes were seeing blazing houses; his ears were hearing the scrunches of collapsing churches, houses and barns; his lungs were aching from the acrid smoke and his nose plugged with the reek of burning flesh.

The assault of the small city had already lasted for more than half a year. This night though, the assaulter's flooded into the finally defeated city and started raiding churches, monasteries and houses. Only the small castle on the hilltop was still not taken by the assault. The first morning light revealed clouds of smoke hovering over the city. Ruwen observed soldiers in strange uniforms spread out in front of the pub on the other side of the small square. He crossed his fingers, he wanted them dead, but they were just drunk.

Then all blood trained out of his head. A bleeding body was nailed spread-eagle on the gate of the inn; the corpse of the inn-keeper; his father's friend. Ruwen was terrified, and he trembled. He didn't dare leave his parents’ house to find out if he could help the man.

At noon a squad of raiding soldiers broke through the well-bolted door of their house, one of the most aristocratic houses surrounding the square. The cursing raiders invaded all the rooms, searching the kitchen, the basement, the stables. Ruwen was terrified. He crouched in a corner behind his bed, trembling. His little sister, Eileen, clung to the legs of their pale mother, crying. The old grey-haired maid trembled ferociously, clutching to her deaf husband. No strong hand was there to defend Ruwen, Eileen, their mother and the old servants. Ruwen wished his father was present; his strong father. He was a lieutenant in the small army of defenders. He supposed his father was still alive, defending the besieged castle. He couldn't imagine his hero in captivity, or even worse, dead.

Greedy young soldiers all about twenty years old, stormed through the rooms and broke every chest, every cabinet, turning over tables, chairs and beds. Ruwen tried to escape, but they caught him at the backdoor and smashed his head against the wall.

He and the others had to line up in the parlor, face against the wall, threatened with swords and daggers. They were grilled about hidden treasures.

Then one of the soldiers found the dress uniform belonging to Ruwen's father, tucked away in a chest. With his knife point he demanded to be taken immediately to the lieutenant’s hiding place.

"He is not here. He left days ago. We don’t know where he is now; maybe in the castle, or chained in custody; maybe he is dead!" Ruwen's mother trembled; little Eileen cried.

The assailants got angry. "Where is the money…where is the gold…where are the pearls? Get us our prize immediately or we will torture you; slaughter you like pigs!"

To reinforce the threats, one of them started to rip out Ruwen's mother’s beautiful hair and a dark raider stabbed the old deaf servant merciless with his sharp dagger. Blood trickled from the man's neck. He was shaking like a leaf. With gestures he tried to explain to the soldiers that there were no hidden goods, nor gold, nor an army officer in the house.

Ruwen attacked the dark raider. Lacking a weapon, he kicked him. The raider turned around, shook him violently, "You little bastard, do you want me to split your brain. Stop this you fool. If you want an early grave come with us, become a soldier."

Then he turned back to the servant to threaten him again. The old man soiled himself and fainted. His wife threw herself over him and began to scream uncontrollably.

At that moment another party of soldiers stormed into the house led by a young lieutenant. "Get out of here, you bastards. This house is confiscated. No marauding here! It's the king's property! Fuck off, now!"

This confiscation saved the life of the deaf servant.

"Clean up this mess." the lieutenant ordered Ruwen's mother in a harsh voice, "Get the bleeding man out off here along with this insane hag!" pointing to the wailing old maid. Turning suddenly soft, he seized my little sister, patted her on her hair and smiled. "Don't you cry, baby. I’ve got a lovely small sister and a younger brother, just like you two!"

For the next several days Eileen, Ruwen and his mother were safe, but they had to be content with living in a small servant’s room. To Ruwen's surprise, the young lieutenant took a special liking to him. In the evening, after service, he invited Ruwen to his room, feed him cookies, and let him try sweet wine and tried to talk to him. At first Ruwen remained reluctant and anxious.

The lieutenant took to tickling the boy to ease the situation. He tickled Ruwen all over, especially his bum and belly, "Hey boy, you like it! You are giggling! I knew you would like it, from my small brother. Did your father tickle you at these spots too?" Ruwen didn't answer but he relaxed and began to trust the foreign soldier.

They became friends and to his great pleasure the lieutenant allowed Ruwen to ride his precious stallion named Blacky. One evening he even asked Ruwen to spend the night with him. "You don't have to spend the night in a crowed room. You can stay in my room. My bed is big enough for both of us and I will tickle you till you fall asleep."

Ruwen was proud to have a big friend and would have loved to be with him all day long, even at night. But when he asked his mother for permission she declined with a frown upon her face, to his big disappointment.

Two days later Ruwen found his mother crying hysterically. He tried to calm her; in vain. He tried to question her; no answer. He shook her, he begged her to tell him the reason. "Please mother, tell me what’s wrong. Has something happened to Eileen? Is she missing?"

Finally his mother answered, "Your father is dead, killed, slaughtered by these pitiless enemies! They captured him and his troops during an attempt to break the siege of the castle. They butchered him; they chopped his head off and displayed it to the beleaguered as a last warning."

Ruwen was in shock. He trembled and cried. He was in despair. When his big friend, the lieutenant, came back from patrol he attacked him desperately and beat him with fists. "Why did you kill my father? You are bad! I hate you!"

Ruwen's family, or what was left of it, was expelled from their home straight away. They had to leave with nothing more than the clothes on their backs. They were thrown into an overcrowded, heavily guarded camp outside the city walls set up for the victims of the great fight.

Ruwen felt terrible. He felt hopeless. He was not used to living in dirt and filth, not used to getting only a weak cup of soup each day, nor to foul water for drinking and only one stinking latrine for all the victims of the war.

The days were grim and the nights a terror. Small gangs of raiders entered the camp at nightfall to collect their toll of sex. Not only young women, even old one were carried off and raped pitilessly by whole gangs.

The women tried to hide from the soldiers by covering themselves with filthy blankets and by holing up under small children or grey haired, wrinkled women. During one of those terrible nights marauders broke into the shed where Ruwen's mother was living with both children. The soldiers knew the tricks and snatched Ruwen's mother out of the hideaway. Ruwen started pleading with the raiders. But they just kicked him out of the way. He got desperate, he got furious, but he couldn't help his mother. He had to take care of his screaming sister.

After a seemingly endless time, his mother came back in despair; her clothes torn, her abdomen covered with blood, broken-hearted. Trembling she slumped onto the bed and fainted.

Ruwen's decided they had to leave the prison camp without any delay. He had to find a means of transport at all costs. He needed a cart, a carriage, a horse, anything at all. His heart told him to steal Blacky, the young lieutenant’s fierce stallion. At first he hesitated, since he didn't want to steal from a friend, but his friend had betrayed him. He had not prevented the murdering of his father, their deportation to the camp, nor the raping of his mother. Ruwen knew that Blacky trusted him, and that the stallion was fast and strong. It could easily carry his mother and his little sister to a safer place.

Ruwen slipped out of the camp. This was easy at night, as the guards were mostly drunk or hunting for women. Sneaking through the remains of burned down houses and deserted gardens he made it to his former home and broke the lock of the stable. Blacky was sleeping. Some batting and whispering aroused the horse. It recognized Ruwen's scent, shook his head and started nibbling his ear. The dark horse whined muted and followed him down the main road to the camp.

Ruwen was lucky. The gate was still unguarded. At the shed he helped his mother mount the horse. He tied Eileen to her back and they left the camp well before the break of dawn. Totally exhausted, tired out and without any food they took off through the Dark Wood for what would turn out to be more than five days, till they finally reached the small village.

Ruwen opened his eyes. His eyes focused on the rising sun. He didn’t know if the terrible memories had only crossed his mind, or if he had told all of the nightmarish incidents to Bastian, the twins and his new mother. However, they seemed to know everything now. He could guess this by Bastian’s reactions. His new brother held him tight, rocked him like a baby and patted his shoulders. The twins, those big lads, kept blowing their noses and were trying to hide their tears. His new mother was sobbing.

Bastian’s warm embrace relaxed Ruwen. The boys curled together under the blanket and drifted off into a long and quiet sleep. Ruwen’s healing sleep was interrupted that evening by Aliah with a refreshing potion. The Wise Woman had prepared a soothing brew out of flowers and sweet herbs.

Later on Eileen arrived, a beaming and happy Eileen, between two big blond boys holding her hands. The older one of the Miller boys carried a sweet cake of white flour and yellow honey, the smaller some apples. The three took a seat on the bed and the five children started a resurrection party. Later the twins joined in.

Ruwen commenced his healing sleep that night. At dawn Bastian sported a morning stiffy, as usual. He remembered that he had that third birthday present for Ruwen. He decided to be very careful, because he wanted to make it a really great present for Ruwen, and not a bad experience. His new brother was still asleep. Cautiously, he started to feel him up. Oh gosh, did his little brother have a nice pecker. It was hard like wood and pointing straight up to the navel. He started to stroke it gently, up and down; up and down his little hand moved.

The birthday boy opened his eyes in surprise and full of curiosity. He started to giggle. "What are you doing? That's mine not yours!"

"Do you like my third birthday present? It's something special. It's just for you! Please, you can do me also, if you want! It's a great pleasure."

Bastian took Ruwen's small hand and placed it on his pecker. Ruwen got the point immediately and after a short time of busy stroking both boys started breathing deeply. Afterwards, they relaxed for a short time, and then started their first days in their live as a truly inseparable pair of brothers.

*.*.*

Bastian took Ruwen for a tour through the village. They started at the church, visited Eileen at her new home, toured the black smith’s, the cooper’s shop and that of the wainwright and finally went to see Bastian's great-aunt Aliah.

The white haired, bent old lady with her cane frightened Ruwen at first. As a child the maid had told him stories of fairy godmothers, of evil fairies and of cruel witches. Aliah looked like a godmother. But was she a good one or an evil one? She had rescued him from going to a monastery therefore he reckoned she was a good one. But he had to be careful! At first he hid behind his new big brother, but soon the way Bastian behaved towards his old aunt made him feel comfortable.

Aliah was curious too. Was this really the boy she had dreamed of? Would this skinny, dark haired, shy boy be gifted and determined enough to be come a physician and healer?

Both checked each other carefully. Then she made her move. She took Ruwen’s hand and guided him into her "holy cabinet", a small room in which she kept all the items essential for her vocation as a wise woman and midwife. In contrast to Bastian, who always became meek and quiet in this room, Ruwen got excited and opened up. He beamed; he stepped forward and marveled the items on the shelves and in the drawer. He sniffled at the herbs, checked the bottles with potions and inspected the medical tools, the mortars, the jars.

He rushed over to the heavy, leather bound volume on the drawer. He didn't touch it at first. He looked back to Aliah asking excitedly, "Can I open the book, Aunty? Can I study it?"

The midwife was glad. She was sure her dream was coming true, the dream of a new healer.

In the morning Ruwen had received his third birthday present. The second birthday present, the antler, he took along for the tour through the village. For Ruwen, this antler was dagger, a dangerous dagger, a deadly weapon to keep all enemies at bay. He gave it a try by threatening a big yellow cat, a mangy dog and a big, hairy boar. He was fully satisfied by its deterrent effect.

Back home, the last present had yet to be examined. Bastian unrolled the parchment.

"Look at this nice drawing. What a beautiful portrait of a boy and the colours, gold and red and blue and green! How they are sparkling! Do you see the black character surrounding the drawing and the small black type? My mother thinks it's a spell; it may be bewitched. She ordered me to destroy it."

"No, you can't! The big character is a J and the small ones are e and s and u and s again; that's JESUS. That's sure not a cantrip; it may be part of a gospel!"

"Can you really read? I can't, nor my father, or my mother. Only Aliah and the parish priest are able to decipher characters. Please read it to me Ruwen!"

Now Ruwen beamed with pride. He did know something that not one of his new brothers did; he could read.

Well, at the age of 8 he was not fluent, but he tried and he did better than ever before. He started reading very slowly:

"Jesus was horsing around with his cousin Zenon on top of a two story house. Zenon fell off the roof and died. Zenon's parents cried and accused Jesus "You threw him down!" Jesus answered "I didn't knock him over the edge" But they didn't stop menacing Jesus. Hence Jesus jumped from the roof. "Zenon" he called, "rise and tell me, did I throw you down from the roof?" And Zenon rose immediately, "No, Master, you did not throw me down, you revived me."

Bastian was beaming. Now he had a brother who wasn't only cute and brave, but also a scholar and he, Bastian, was right to have kept the parchment!

The evening came with a spring thunderstorm. A short but heavy rain washed away the dust from the leaves and the reek from the muckheaps. The air smelled of flowers. Village guards were about to block the gates in the ring wall with piles of thorns. Just at the last moment two tired mercenaries arrived on horseback, identified by their yellow-red emblems as messengers of the Prince-Bishop of Trescrossing.

Bastian's father was happy; the long awaited answer was at hand. About a year ago Klas had petitioned his Eminence Patric Micheal of Xantia to grant a market day to Cumberville. this market to be held for three consecutive days in late September to celebrate Michael's day.

Full of expectation, nearly all the villagers gathered at the big linden tree, while the messengers were welcomed and entertained to a hefty meal at Klas's home. The provost took the rolled up parchment with its heavy seals out of its wrapping and showed it to the crowd.

"Hey provost, what does the document read? Did the Prince-Bishop grant us all our requests? Can we carry out the big market? Read the document to us!"

Klas got nervous, as he couldn't read; nobody could read, with exception of the parish priest and Aliah, and both were away. Klas' face turned red. He raised the document over his head again.

"Look! It's a great document; a beautiful parchment. The Prince-Bishop surely must have granted all the privileges we wanted!"

He waved the document; but he felt downcast and really low. He was not able to read the words to his subjects.

Somebody picked at his trousers. He looked down, "Back off! That's not the day for you little idiots! Get you gone, Bastian, both of you!"

"But father, Ruwen can read the parchment! He reads better than the parish priest! Give it to him, quick!"

Klas hesitated, and reluctantly bending down to Ruwen, asked, "Really?"

His new son nodded proudly. He took the parchment and started to read, at first slow-going, and with a stammer, but after he got used to the characters, in a loud and clear voice.

"I, Patric Micheal of Xantia, Prince-Bishop of Trescrossing, and only responsible to God the Almighty and our Emperor Henryk, grant, in the name of the Lord, to Cumberville, the privilege of a three day market in Septem……."

Ruwen’s voice was drowned by the cheers of the people. He tried to read on, but in vain. His voice was just not strong enough.

Klas picked up Ruwen, placed him on his shoulders, smiling proudly, "I didn't anticipate getting such a bright and brave son when I adopted you, scrawny bird, three days ago!"

After the big celebration, cuddling together under the warm blanket, Bastian asked Ruwen, "Will you teach me how to read these black scribbles?"

"Sure. You are teaching me how to use my stiffy, and I’ll teach you how to read and use a pen! Good night, my new brother."

*.*.* 

AUTHOR NOTE

I would like to express a special thank to Anthony and Paul for doing a great job by correcting all the wrong expressions and especially to B. who revised the language of a non native English writer.

Comments, reviews, questions and complaints are welcomed. Please send them to ruwenrouhs@hotmail.de or use the feedback form. And I would like to add, thanks for reading.

Copyright Notice - Copyright © April 2007

The author copyrights this story and retains all rights. This work may not be duplicated in any form – physical, electronic, audio, or otherwise – without the author's expressed permission. All applicable copyright laws apply.

Ruwen Rouhs