NaNo Second Week - part eight
While Sabine walked back to the Tower, Amaranth decided to look in on the children. Although, she thought, technically they were old enough to be men. Heh, nah. They were the boys and boys they will be to her always.
She wrapped her own shawl around her head and neck, put leggings on, put her own ragged jeans over that, another tshirt and long sleeved shirt a treadbare coat.
She didn’t need to see the boys. She actually shouldn’t go see the boys. But she wanted to and she was stubborn. A family trait, she mused.
She walked across the broken city. There were the omnipresent large metal drums filled with combustible material giving off flame and heat. Way to live the stereotype, thought Amaranth.
It was dark. Her eyes were accustomed to the dull outlines of the streets and buildings. People moved, even when standing still, so she could pick up on them.
All women moved, even when standing still. Amaranth remembered that boys were always moving. Always moving. She missed the boys running in the streets. The girls she saw were huddled with their mothers, going to a house or leaving another house. Never just in the street for no good reason.
But it was late at night and there was no reason to be out. Better to be at home, hovel sweet hovel, with your mother and sisters, reading threadbare books with broken spines and dog eared pages. Better to study from the technical books that were able to be kept and hidden, or found underneath rubble at the town’s libraries before they were cleansed for the good of the people.
Like you can get a determined child to not read, especially when all the other distractions of life were gone. Few computers, no televisions, only ancient vinyl records on more ancient record players, left over from the true music snobs who still insisted that vinyl was the only way to listen to music.
At least that meant that the Beatles survived, and the Beach Boys, Elvis, Eric Clapton and even some god awful musicals. But rock was safe.
Amaranth smiled, remembering listening to the snap crackle pop of her dad’s old novelty records.
No cell phones, either, as if you could even get a simple radio signal out into this mess of an atmosphere. The radiation didn’t help, either.
So, Amaranth walked.
A bare chested man swung a two meter staff violently at another man who was wearing a thin threadbare blue tank. The second man blocked the blow to the head with a staff of equal length.
“Damn it,” the first man complained.
“Deal,” the second man answered, swinging his staff behind his back and bringing it back to the first man’s head.
The first man blocked and replied, “You deal.”
A woman at the corner of the room spoke up “Okay, Rhys, that’s enough for now.”
The shirtless man dropped his staff to the ground. “Whatever!”
The man in the blue leaned on his staff, putting his hands on the tip. “Deal.”
“Shut up, Beren.”
Rhys grabbed a dirty towel and rubbed it over his face and chest. There was a welt across his pectoral muscles that he avoided with the towel.
Beren sniffed and walked to the wall to hang his staff on the wooden pegs placed there for that purpose. He stepped over to Rhys’ staff, bent over, picked it up and walked that to its pegs. He reached his hand to Rhys for the towel.
Rhys tossed it at Beren’s head, who caught it easily before it made contact. Beren tried to find a corner that was not as grubby as the rest, gave up, and wiped his face on the towel.
“I don’t know why you bother wearing a shirt,” started Rhys. “You just get it nasty and wear it out faster.”
Beren smirked. “Because it doesn’t sting as much when you get smacked with the quarterstaff.” He looked pointedly at Rhys chest for the win mark from one of the more exciting rounds of practice.
Rhys snorted and lightly felt his welt. “Yeah, well, a shirt would keep the salt from the sweat right there, and, oh hell.”
Beren opened his eyes wider and lowered his center of gravity slightly by spreading his standing legs. He horsely whispered, “What?”
Rhys smiled at his brother’s battle ready stance, “No, no, not that. It’s Marmar.”
“Oh.” Beren stood up straight. “Oh. Well then.” He looked around for a more covering and possibly cleaner shirt.
Rhys shook his head. ‘Like that matters? She brought us into the world…”
“and I can bring you out.” Finished a female voice at the door.
Rhys smiled, walked over. “Hiya Mar,” shortening both her name and her title to the boys.
Amaranth stepped inside the room but avoided Rhys’ embrace. She waved him off, saying, “Oh, you stink. Don’t get that “man” sweat on me!” She chuckled.
Rhys smiled and grabbed her anyway. “Then you get a bigger hug!” and bent down to rub his sweaty face and hair into her clean, white pony tail.
“Ew!” Amaranth swatted him off. “Where’s your brother?” she asked.
“He’s, what, where?” Rhys said, looking around the room.
“Here, Marmar.” Beren stepped into the room from another door. He found a slightly cleaner and slightly less smelly button down shirt in another room.
Amaranth raised her arms and beckoned him over to her. “Come, come. No need to clean up on my account.”
Beren bent down even farther than his brother to embrace his Marmar. Amaranth leaned up and spoke to his ear. “How are you?” she asked.
Beren leaned over to Amaranth’s ear. “Same. You?”
“We’ll talk,”
“Now, boys,” she addressed both men. “Sit down and tell me what you two have been up to. Scratch that. Let’s sit down in another room and then you tell me what you two have been up to. And Rhys?”
“Yes, Marmar?”
“Put a shirt on, really. You don’t need to impress me with your fine pectorals, even when they have survived a blow from your brother.”
Beren let out a short bark of laughter. Rhys smirked and replied, “I’ll see what I can come up with, Mar.”
========
Beren and Rhys walked Amaranth into the next room, their school room, keeping the name from when they were children. There are a few more books now and an antique computer that Rhys somehow managed to get going again. Perhaps it was the duct tape and the metal hangers. The books were lined up on shelves against three walls and the computer desk and various cubby holes full of electronics filled the fourth wall. The chair at the desk had two shirts and an old faded pair of jeans. More clothes cluttered the faded and beat up couch.
Amaranth smiled. There were many good memories here, of teaching the boys and helping expand their little rambunctious minds. It helped that their learning ability and comprehension were enhanced by the circumstances of their birth. Manual dexterity and basic body strength helped, too. Once they understood that Marmar was not as strong or durable as themselves, it was a bit safer for her. It only takes one enthusiastic hug from one of them, even at age three, to break a rib or two. Amaranth’s side twinged with that particular memory.
Beren tossed clothes to the floor to make a clear seat for Amaranth on the couch. He simply sat on the pile of clothes on his end of the couch. Rhys grabbed a grubby white button down shirt from the floor and slipped it over his head. He then brought the desk chair over to Amaranth’s end of the couch, turned it backwards, and sat facing her with his chin on his arms draped over the chair’s back.
“So,” Rhys started. “What’s up?” he asked his Marmar.
Amaranth smiled. “Why does anything have to be up? I’m visiting my boys! Do I need a reason?”
“Pull the other leg, it’s got bells on.” Beren replied. “Yes, something has to be up, I’m glad you are visiting your boys, and you do need a reason.” He smirked at her.
“Yeah, well, you know. No real reason to visit. Not really. “ Amaranth admitted. “I wanted to see the two of you. There are events that are in motion.”
“The birth?” asked Rhys? “Is he here?”
“No, no, not yet. Sabine did the same thing I just did. She didn’t need to come to my lab to get herbs for Leda’s nausea, but she did anyway. We are coming together, for no good reasons, because shortly, at an unknown but soon time, we all have to take action. Again.”
“Yeah, we are just human that way, I guess.” Beren said. He looked down to his hands and picked at a hangnail.
Amaranth patted his hand to stop him, but hid the action in a gesture of comfort.
“I know, sweetie. I know.”
Rhys turned back and forth in his swivel chair. “I don’t even know why you even have an issue with this, Beren. What is the problem?” His tone was irritated from a long standing argument.
Beren continued to look down. “You know what my problem is. Not only have I told you what my problem is, you can Read what my problem is. So, what’s your problem?”
Rhys whorled himself completely around in his chair. “I have no problem. That’s the problem.”
“Oh, boys,” Amaranth complained. “You are making my head spin. Especially you, Rhysboy.”
Beren just looked at her with a pained expression.
Amaranth, “Do you want to talk about it, Bearboy?”
Beren sighed deeply and paused for a moment. Flinging himself off the couch, he turned to his brother and his Marmar and said, “No! Yes! No! Oh, Lord, he’s my father! “
Amaranth looked up at her boy and nodded.
Rhys snorted. “Yeah, some dad.”
Beren turned to face Rhys, “You weren’t raised by him for ten years! How can you know?”
“I just have to look around to see what he and his kind have done to the Earth. That’s enough for me. It should be enough for you. He’s my father, too, if you remember.”
Beren rubbed his face with both hands. “I know, I know. Yes, yes, of course. Forgive me that my feelings don’t match the situation. I’m, no, wait, they do match, damn it!”
“I think we should be freaking out and hesitant and whatever, “ he continued. “We are only talking about killing a Wizard.”
She wrapped her own shawl around her head and neck, put leggings on, put her own ragged jeans over that, another tshirt and long sleeved shirt a treadbare coat.
She didn’t need to see the boys. She actually shouldn’t go see the boys. But she wanted to and she was stubborn. A family trait, she mused.
She walked across the broken city. There were the omnipresent large metal drums filled with combustible material giving off flame and heat. Way to live the stereotype, thought Amaranth.
It was dark. Her eyes were accustomed to the dull outlines of the streets and buildings. People moved, even when standing still, so she could pick up on them.
All women moved, even when standing still. Amaranth remembered that boys were always moving. Always moving. She missed the boys running in the streets. The girls she saw were huddled with their mothers, going to a house or leaving another house. Never just in the street for no good reason.
But it was late at night and there was no reason to be out. Better to be at home, hovel sweet hovel, with your mother and sisters, reading threadbare books with broken spines and dog eared pages. Better to study from the technical books that were able to be kept and hidden, or found underneath rubble at the town’s libraries before they were cleansed for the good of the people.
Like you can get a determined child to not read, especially when all the other distractions of life were gone. Few computers, no televisions, only ancient vinyl records on more ancient record players, left over from the true music snobs who still insisted that vinyl was the only way to listen to music.
At least that meant that the Beatles survived, and the Beach Boys, Elvis, Eric Clapton and even some god awful musicals. But rock was safe.
Amaranth smiled, remembering listening to the snap crackle pop of her dad’s old novelty records.
No cell phones, either, as if you could even get a simple radio signal out into this mess of an atmosphere. The radiation didn’t help, either.
So, Amaranth walked.
A bare chested man swung a two meter staff violently at another man who was wearing a thin threadbare blue tank. The second man blocked the blow to the head with a staff of equal length.
“Damn it,” the first man complained.
“Deal,” the second man answered, swinging his staff behind his back and bringing it back to the first man’s head.
The first man blocked and replied, “You deal.”
A woman at the corner of the room spoke up “Okay, Rhys, that’s enough for now.”
The shirtless man dropped his staff to the ground. “Whatever!”
The man in the blue leaned on his staff, putting his hands on the tip. “Deal.”
“Shut up, Beren.”
Rhys grabbed a dirty towel and rubbed it over his face and chest. There was a welt across his pectoral muscles that he avoided with the towel.
Beren sniffed and walked to the wall to hang his staff on the wooden pegs placed there for that purpose. He stepped over to Rhys’ staff, bent over, picked it up and walked that to its pegs. He reached his hand to Rhys for the towel.
Rhys tossed it at Beren’s head, who caught it easily before it made contact. Beren tried to find a corner that was not as grubby as the rest, gave up, and wiped his face on the towel.
“I don’t know why you bother wearing a shirt,” started Rhys. “You just get it nasty and wear it out faster.”
Beren smirked. “Because it doesn’t sting as much when you get smacked with the quarterstaff.” He looked pointedly at Rhys chest for the win mark from one of the more exciting rounds of practice.
Rhys snorted and lightly felt his welt. “Yeah, well, a shirt would keep the salt from the sweat right there, and, oh hell.”
Beren opened his eyes wider and lowered his center of gravity slightly by spreading his standing legs. He horsely whispered, “What?”
Rhys smiled at his brother’s battle ready stance, “No, no, not that. It’s Marmar.”
“Oh.” Beren stood up straight. “Oh. Well then.” He looked around for a more covering and possibly cleaner shirt.
Rhys shook his head. ‘Like that matters? She brought us into the world…”
“and I can bring you out.” Finished a female voice at the door.
Rhys smiled, walked over. “Hiya Mar,” shortening both her name and her title to the boys.
Amaranth stepped inside the room but avoided Rhys’ embrace. She waved him off, saying, “Oh, you stink. Don’t get that “man” sweat on me!” She chuckled.
Rhys smiled and grabbed her anyway. “Then you get a bigger hug!” and bent down to rub his sweaty face and hair into her clean, white pony tail.
“Ew!” Amaranth swatted him off. “Where’s your brother?” she asked.
“He’s, what, where?” Rhys said, looking around the room.
“Here, Marmar.” Beren stepped into the room from another door. He found a slightly cleaner and slightly less smelly button down shirt in another room.
Amaranth raised her arms and beckoned him over to her. “Come, come. No need to clean up on my account.”
Beren bent down even farther than his brother to embrace his Marmar. Amaranth leaned up and spoke to his ear. “How are you?” she asked.
Beren leaned over to Amaranth’s ear. “Same. You?”
“We’ll talk,”
“Now, boys,” she addressed both men. “Sit down and tell me what you two have been up to. Scratch that. Let’s sit down in another room and then you tell me what you two have been up to. And Rhys?”
“Yes, Marmar?”
“Put a shirt on, really. You don’t need to impress me with your fine pectorals, even when they have survived a blow from your brother.”
Beren let out a short bark of laughter. Rhys smirked and replied, “I’ll see what I can come up with, Mar.”
========
Beren and Rhys walked Amaranth into the next room, their school room, keeping the name from when they were children. There are a few more books now and an antique computer that Rhys somehow managed to get going again. Perhaps it was the duct tape and the metal hangers. The books were lined up on shelves against three walls and the computer desk and various cubby holes full of electronics filled the fourth wall. The chair at the desk had two shirts and an old faded pair of jeans. More clothes cluttered the faded and beat up couch.
Amaranth smiled. There were many good memories here, of teaching the boys and helping expand their little rambunctious minds. It helped that their learning ability and comprehension were enhanced by the circumstances of their birth. Manual dexterity and basic body strength helped, too. Once they understood that Marmar was not as strong or durable as themselves, it was a bit safer for her. It only takes one enthusiastic hug from one of them, even at age three, to break a rib or two. Amaranth’s side twinged with that particular memory.
Beren tossed clothes to the floor to make a clear seat for Amaranth on the couch. He simply sat on the pile of clothes on his end of the couch. Rhys grabbed a grubby white button down shirt from the floor and slipped it over his head. He then brought the desk chair over to Amaranth’s end of the couch, turned it backwards, and sat facing her with his chin on his arms draped over the chair’s back.
“So,” Rhys started. “What’s up?” he asked his Marmar.
Amaranth smiled. “Why does anything have to be up? I’m visiting my boys! Do I need a reason?”
“Pull the other leg, it’s got bells on.” Beren replied. “Yes, something has to be up, I’m glad you are visiting your boys, and you do need a reason.” He smirked at her.
“Yeah, well, you know. No real reason to visit. Not really. “ Amaranth admitted. “I wanted to see the two of you. There are events that are in motion.”
“The birth?” asked Rhys? “Is he here?”
“No, no, not yet. Sabine did the same thing I just did. She didn’t need to come to my lab to get herbs for Leda’s nausea, but she did anyway. We are coming together, for no good reasons, because shortly, at an unknown but soon time, we all have to take action. Again.”
“Yeah, we are just human that way, I guess.” Beren said. He looked down to his hands and picked at a hangnail.
Amaranth patted his hand to stop him, but hid the action in a gesture of comfort.
“I know, sweetie. I know.”
Rhys turned back and forth in his swivel chair. “I don’t even know why you even have an issue with this, Beren. What is the problem?” His tone was irritated from a long standing argument.
Beren continued to look down. “You know what my problem is. Not only have I told you what my problem is, you can Read what my problem is. So, what’s your problem?”
Rhys whorled himself completely around in his chair. “I have no problem. That’s the problem.”
“Oh, boys,” Amaranth complained. “You are making my head spin. Especially you, Rhysboy.”
Beren just looked at her with a pained expression.
Amaranth, “Do you want to talk about it, Bearboy?”
Beren sighed deeply and paused for a moment. Flinging himself off the couch, he turned to his brother and his Marmar and said, “No! Yes! No! Oh, Lord, he’s my father! “
Amaranth looked up at her boy and nodded.
Rhys snorted. “Yeah, some dad.”
Beren turned to face Rhys, “You weren’t raised by him for ten years! How can you know?”
“I just have to look around to see what he and his kind have done to the Earth. That’s enough for me. It should be enough for you. He’s my father, too, if you remember.”
Beren rubbed his face with both hands. “I know, I know. Yes, yes, of course. Forgive me that my feelings don’t match the situation. I’m, no, wait, they do match, damn it!”
“I think we should be freaking out and hesitant and whatever, “ he continued. “We are only talking about killing a Wizard.”