Old Green World

by Walter Basho

  “Our union wouldn’t do that, though.” Albert said. He felt cold. “Because I’m not an Administrator. The problem isn’t that we’re both boys. The problem is that I’m common.”

  Richard gave a furtive stare at him, said, “No, of course not, dear. You . . .” then stopped himself, locked his gaze to the teapot, and said: “Yes. Perhaps that will change someday. But, yes.”

  Richard poured into tiny cups. He placed one before Albert with his small, delicate hands. He closed Albert’s right hand around the teacup and gently touched a spot on it, the tender point where thumb and forefinger meet.

  Then he spoke. “There are the systems that organize us, and then there are our lives themselves. We have to respect the systems. Without them, there is no meaning. In my enthusiasm, though, I sometimes forget when God is in the details.”

  Albert, confused, looked at him helplessly.

  “I could say I’ve had to deal with far worse in my life. And I have: far, far worse. But that’s not the point. I’m sorry, Albert. Drink your tea, child.”

  Albert drank. It was perfect: full and the perfect temperature. It smelled like flowers. Albert had never tasted anything like it. “Thank you, sir.”

  Richard looked at him a moment and then put a hand to Albert’s face. It felt like a child’s hand. “Of course, son. This new world, with its big, sad boys.”

  + + +

  They built a beachhead. They found a decent source of water, and set up routines for fishing and hunting, and scheduled patrols and defenses. Albert had to think differently: organizations and dependencies, individuals working in concert, the orchestration of work and people. It was complex. He’d helped his parents with the farm for years, though, and knew complexity.

  The beachhead grew over the weeks, with troops arriving from the west of the White Island and from the Green Island, which lay beyond. The rocky cliffs in the north of the Green Island held immense power. Every Adept trained in the shadow of those cliffs. Every Adept was created there.

  Albert and Aengus went to the shore to greet the Green Island’s boats when they first arrived. The troops from the Green Island wore breastplates and gorgets made of beautiful black iron, the handiwork superior to anything the White Island could yet produce. They saw the tallest and meanest-looking of them and assumed he was Peter, the commander from the Green Island. Aengus gave the salute they had been taught in training. Peter started laughing, then kissed Aengus full on the mouth, then punched him in the shoulder, hard. “They taught the babies well,” he said. He looked at Albert. “What are you supposed to be?” he asked.

  “I command the White Island’s troops,” Albert said.

  “Do you, now?” Peter leaned in toward Albert. “They’re playing army games with you now? I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.” He sniffed at Albert, then cleared his throat and spat at his feet.

  Albert stood taller and put his hand on the hilt of his sword. Before he could do anything more, Peter shoved him hard, sending him back several feet.

  “Don’t do something that will get you killed,” Peter said. “Stay out of our fucking way. That goes for both you and your troops.” He walked away without another word.

  The camp and the exposed beach were a mere lip on the edge of the vast hills and forests of Baixa. They watched the woods intently, but nothing emerged from the Baixan forest onto the beach. Albert would sit with the camp guards sometimes. He talked most often with Henry, who was from the Western coast of the White Island, a place called the Horn. Henry had sailed to the Green Island before.

  “We went a few times. You lived by the water, too, didn’t you? You never got on a boat?”

  “I’ve been on a boat, sure. My father and I would sail up and down the channel,” Albert said. “We just never sailed that far. My parents had traveled for years. They didn’t want to go anywhere.”

  “We went a few times to pick up Adepts. That’s where they come from,” Henry said. “They don’t have to use a boat. They can open doors and go anywhere, is what my mother said. I don’t know why they took a boat. Maybe they wanted to be more like us.”

  “What was the Green Island like?” Albert asked.

  “It’s like magic, like you’re dreaming when you’re there,” Henry said. “The Green Island is madness. All you folk from the east, I don’t think you’d be able to handle it.”

  “We can barely handle being here,” Albert said.

  One day, Albert found Aengus comforting a soldier in their tent. He stepped back out to give them some privacy.

  “I want to go home,” he could hear the soldier sniffling from within the tent. “I just want to go home.”

  “I know, I know. We all do,” Aengus said. “It’s going to be all right. We’re doing a good thing. We’ll tell our children about these days. They’ll be proud of us.”

  They talked for a while and grew more quiet. Finally, the two of them emerged from the tent. The soldier looked at Albert sheepishly. Albert tried to smile at her. His smile didn’t feel comforting.

  “They’re all homesick,” Aengus said later. “It’s not just me.”

  “Of course not,” Albert replied. “It’s all right to be homesick. We’ve all been taken away from our homes, after all.”

  “I feel better not to be alone. Is it bad that I feel that?”

  Albert smiled. “No, not at all.”

  “Maybe I’ll talk to more people. We could use some cheer around this place. It’s Midsummer’s Night tonight—did you even know?”

  Albert let out a short laugh. “I hadn’t realized, but it is, isn’t it?”

  “No one realized! I guess it’s my job to tell everyone,” Aengus said. He stood, stretched out, scratched at his chest, smiled. He started to head out of the tent, but then stopped and looked at Albert. “Is that all right? Did you need me to do anything?”

  Albert wanted him to stay. He could see a glimmer of the old Aengus, and he wanted that all for himself. But now he was the problem. Most of the soldiers on the beach arrived after Albert took command. They didn’t know that he had been just another soldier. They treated him with deference and distance. He was a commander now. He could feel himself drifting away. He wanted Aengus back, but he couldn’t be Albert for him anymore.

  “Go meet people. Help them out. I’m glad you’re feeling better.”

  + + +

  Albert spent a lot of time alone. He pored over maps and read a physics book Richard had made him. Richard had chosen a book for people who weren’t very smart at physics, though he had put it much more politely. Albert was glad it was a simple book, though. It told a story of the smallest parts of the universe and how they work. The story said that the smallest things, seen up close, were completely unpredictable and chaotic. Somehow, though, all that chaos resolved by the time everything got bigger, so that our world could be predictable, with things like gravity and velocity and physical matter. It made little sense to Albert, even said simply. He decided to just take it at face value.

  He wrote Thomas letters, as well. Richard promised to see them delivered.

  “I don’t want to ruin his wedding or anything,” he said to Richard.

  “I know you don’t, dear. It’s good for you both to stay in touch.”

  “You keep saying that, and Lady Newton said it, too. We can’t be together, but we should stay in touch, and we’ll always be ‘great friends.’ As if that means something.”

  “This war won’t last forever,” Richard said. “It may not last more than a few months. You’ll go back to the Islands and tend to your farm. It’s natural that you and Thomas will see each other. As long as it’s a private affair, and doesn’t interfere with his marriage, it seems like that’s in everyone’s best interest.

  “Civilization isn’t just about laws, Albert. It’s about the mutual happiness of the civilized. You and Thomas will do what you need to feel happy, and that’s fine.”

  Albert had come to believe that Richard never intended to make him feel common or
unworthy. That made these moments worse.

  + + +

  Dear Thomas,

  Everything is fine here, and we are safe right now. We are still on the beach of Terra Baixa. I saw you at the Abyss before we left. You looked like you were already mayor. I was proud of you. Did you meet Richard, the Old Person? He and I are friends. He has given me a physics book, and I am learning about quantum physics.

  I am tired of this already, and I want to be a good citizen and farmer when I get home. I hope we come home soon. I miss you.

  Albert

  He went to bed early. Aengus came in several hours later, unsteady on his feet. He stripped down, spooned Albert, and began to nuzzle against him. Albert pretended to sleep.

  + + +

  Albert met Richard for another briefing the next morning. They were now talking daily, planning the impending march and the fortifications between the coast and the forest. They would soon go inland and battle the Baixans.

  “We’ll march south,” Richard said. “We may hit some enemies on the way, but the worst will happen when we get to the stronghold here,” he tapped the map, “in the ruins of one of the largest Old Cities.”

  “That’s where they keep the bulk of their troops?”

  “I believe so, yes.” Richard smoothed out his robe again. Albert could tell he was holding back, but he let it go.

  “So, we fight them there. I guess we will beat them. After that, we occupy their city, and Terra Baixa, and make it civilized,” Albert said.

  “Have we ever had a conversation about occupation?” Richard said. Albert couldn’t tell if he was being skeptical or forgetful.

  “You teach us history in your schools, and you say a lot of things in these meetings about civilization,” Albert said. “It’s not hard to piece it together.”

  Richard smiled. “Yes, the Old City will be the seat of a civilized Baixan nation. From there, we will bring civilization across Baixa, and to Viru. Eventually we will cover the world. This will be a good start.”

  “When do we begin the march?”

  “The day after tomorrow.”

  Aengus shook when Albert told him they were heading out. “I knew we would head out soon. It’s just sooner than I thought. We just got settled.” Aengus scratched where his neck met his shoulder. He stared at the spot where the canvas of the tent met the scaffolding, where some light came through. Albert knew by now that this was his comfort spot.

  “Don’t worry. We’ll be marching for months. It’ll be well into summer before we get to their Old City. All these troops will take a while to get through the forest.” Albert held him, with one hand at Aengus’s neck and one in the small of his back. That was what settled Aengus best. “We’re here to do this. You’ll feel better when you’re moving around, when we’re all on the march,” Albert said, with as much enthusiasm as he could.

  “I’m trying to just look at what I feel, like Sister Alice would always tell us,” Aengus said. “But when I do, it’s shaking all through me, and bells ringing, and burning all over. It’s too big for me. I’m too scared, Al.”

  Albert held him a little tighter. “I got some ale, and some bacon that we can cook tonight. It can just be you and me.” They stood there together quietly for a second. “Don’t be scared. I’ll do my best, all right?”

  + + +

  The mass of troops and Adepts and equipment of warfare marched into Terra Baixa slowly, slowly. Someone, something had once dug rough trails through the forest, but nothing dependable. An advance group inched its way into the forest with saws, machetes, torches, and an Adept carrying a box to handle the thick stuff.

  On a good day, the Adept would push herself and get four or five miles in. Most days were not good, though. Most days saw as little as a mile or two of progress, and a lot of sitting and waiting. Most days they stirred up something big, some inhabitant of the forest.

  The second day from the beach, they kicked up a giant bear-dog, eighteen feet long and easily a ton in weight. It dove on one of the soldiers helping to clear the way and took his whole head in one bite. It mauled a second as the crew fled.

  Albert got to the scene before anyone else from camp. He saw the bodies splayed before him, and the bear-dog slowly stalking the Adept, who had stayed behind. He recognized his teacher, Sister Clare. He knew Clare had joined them, but he had only seen her from a distance. She looked so young to him now. It had just begun to rain, a sudden downpour.

  “Can you cast it away, ma’am? Can you throw it into the trees?”

  “That’s more energy than I have right now, unfortunately. I’m trying to calm it,” she said. She said it evenly, with composure; she said it like they were at school. “It’s challenging.”

  “At the count of three, can you give it your best shot? Put all the sleep into him that you can.”

  “Yes. I can do that.”

  Albert counted to three, and Clare focused and allowed her eyes to close. The bear-dog’s breathing slowed, and its eyelids fluttered. Albert jumped at it and put his sword between its ribs. He had seen some bear-dogs before, but not many, and never one this big. He gave his best guess as to where the heart was.

  He got it right. When the bear-dog died, it was quieter and easier than he had expected. Sister Clare had done a good job with the sedation. It fell away from Albert in a large but muffled thump.

  They took some time to catch their breath in the moment afterward. They looked at one another. Albert looked up to the rain and let it wash his face off. He felt that moment of comfort he often felt with Adepts. He knew his thoughts were open to them, and that made things simpler. Sometimes he felt that he knew theirs.

  Clare spoke for the both of them. “This is its home, and we’re tearing into it. It was scared and angry. There’s some shame in what we do here.”

  They buried the lost crew. They also dragged the bear-dog into the woods and rested it in a quiet spot.

  Albert usually patrolled with the forest watch, since the alternative was boredom. The Adept did most of the work and was rotated regularly. Often, at first to Albert’s surprise, it was Richard. The other troops were as unfamiliar with Old People as Albert and followed him closely, attentively, like parents with a child, until he earned some distance by throwing a wild boar across the forest with his mind.

  After they had walked for a while, Albert found it easier to talk to Richard. One day, they took a break together after working through the morning. Richard shared some wheat cakes and a bottle of tea.

  “Where do you come from?” Albert asked. “Where do the Old People live?”

  “Our home is across the sea, on the Green Island. I spend most of my time in the Old City, though. London.” Albert had learned that Richard used the sacred name pretty liberally.

  “You were born on the Green Island?”

  “Sort of. Not really,” Richard said, then noticed Albert’s confusion. “I apologize, that was glib. I was born in London. A London.”

  Albert paused for a minute. He could feel something on the edges of Richard. “You were there, weren’t you? You, the Old People . . . you were at the apocalypse.”

  Richard showed some surprise. He was quiet for a long time. “Yes.”

  “And you escaped and you came here. How did you do it?”

  “It’s a bit complex. There’s physics to it.”

  “You can try me,” Albert said. “I know a little physics now, from the book you lent me.”

  Richard didn’t speak.

  Albert pushed a little. “Say it simply. It was thousands of years ago, right? How can you still be here and alive? How did you escape?”

  “There are ways to step out of time and space as you know it. We did that. I don’t know if I would call it escape.”

  A question came to Albert. He wasn’t sure whether to ask, but Richard was quiet, and his mouth and shoulders seemed to say that he wanted to be asked. “Did you cause it? The apocalypse?”

  Richard sighed. “I don’t know. We may have. I don�
��t know.” He paused. “Does that make you hate me? To hear that?”

  Albert shrugged. “The apocalypse is a story. It never did anything to me. If I had to swear whether it happened or not, I couldn’t. I’m just here, where people point at things and call them apocalypse.”

  Richard smiled thinly and wiped a tear from his face. “It felt good to tell someone that. Albert . . . we don’t tell people that part. Will you keep it secret for me?”

  “Sure, no problem.” Albert thought for a minute. “You said a London.” It felt dangerous and exciting to him just to say London. “Just because it was older? Isn’t it the London?”

  “Do you know when you are in the forest, deeply in? It’s all trees, and you know all the trees, because you’ve seen these trees before. But when you’re lost, are you sure they are the same trees? They’re familiar, but you don’t know if they are right or not. That’s part of what it means to be lost, isn’t it?”

  “So you know London, but you don’t know if it’s the right London?”

  “Right,” Richard said.

  Albert smiled. “You might not even know if it was the right apocalypse.”

  Richard looked at him. “You never cease to amaze me.”

  Albert then said, half seriously: “Did you make the Abyss, the holes to hell? Is that what made the apocalypse?”

  Richard laughed. “Don’t be silly, boy. It’s a tunnel. It’s a road.”

  “It goes into a rock in front of the sea. Where the hell is the road supposed to go?”

  “Enough!” Richard said, laughing freely and still crying as well. “I can’t explain modern engineering to a ten-foot-tall giant-boy. Just trust me on this.”

  “Giant-boy? I’m normal-sized. It’s you that’s wee. And I don’t think you know what ‘modern’ means.”

  Richard wiped the tears from his face. He rested his head on Albert’s arm for a moment. “I like you, Albert Todorov. Thank you.”