The Den Wars of ‘14

Tall and terrible, two years my senior, and the presumed Guildmaster of Grass Den was of my own blood: Lord Jack of the House of Six stood before me and the House of Four , its respective branches of Yellow and Blue huddled. His gaze ripped along the able bodies willing to work for his favour and standing just beyond the walls of the den.

I asked, near shy, “Brother, might we join your cause?”

His eyes, ashen and green as the ground beneath, narrowed, “Nay. Go away.” As if Jack decreed something sacred and was not turning away a huddling group of nine-year-olds, he returned to barking his orders to those of his House, without sparing me another glance.

Relentless, I asked once more, “please? We are of wit and honed skill. Your enemies gather, brother, and you are in need of extra arms and defence.”

Jack’s eyes did not soften, but something changed, he nodded once, and the sentries of Six let us through. At once, we were put to work and roles were assigned. Most were deemed knights of the Yellow or Blue Order. Jack brought me to the side, flanked by the Guardmaster whose hair was a shock of red. He held his spear steady, eyes locked on mine as Jack spoke, “I understand your skill, sister. I would make you Four’s Buildmaster; raise our walls. Do not disappoint, for the enemy raises their banners.”

Days passed as the House of Four settled within the Grass Den. I had my people haul sticks and rocks, the Buildmaster of Six pointing to where the links were weakest. Rough and calloused, my hands built the thickest of the wall. Often, I looked to Jack, yearning for approval. He never so much as spared a second glance, for he was a leader of men –eleven-year-old men– and cared not for kindness. When the Gods granted us leave to our leisure, the Houses of Mesne Lea would each rush to the dens; fortifications raised, spears sharpened, gazes locked onto the opposite end of the field where the House of Five raised the Tree Den in their own glory.

There were occasions where the House of Four slacked greatly; Six often didn’t acknowledge their absence, but those of Four’s high blood took the insult like a salted wound – most notable was Lady Evangeline of the Yellow Order. The lady’s skirt fluttered with the promise of trouble, her gaze dreadful as she scanned across the din. At last, she landed on Ser Ethan, who was less gathering his arms, and more playing his hand at jokes. Those of Yellow House held their breaths as Lady Evangeline landed her poison “Good Sir, might I ask why you play a role in this foolishness? Your lateness has not yet been excused.”

“The Gods kept us behind, my lady – we could not find the gluestick lid.” the knight quickly replied, “yet you need not fret, for I am a man of Blue’s honourable order, and we make steady time.”

Lady Evangeline near spat her contempt, “Daft and spindly is what I would name you, Sir. Mayhap the guild shall name you jester instead of knight.”

Before Ethan could rise to his defence, a brutish sound echoed across the field – arrogant, loud, swollen. Every person in the Grass Den whipped their heads to see an entourage of House of Five approaching the walls, spears thumping the ground, voices raised – at the centre stood Lord Carl, flanked by four bodies.

He spoke, voice clipped and lofty, as he greeted Lord Jack, “At ease, my lord. I am no threat as of this moment.”

“You show a display. What is your purpose?” Jack stood tall, arms crossed over his chest. The Guardmaster stood by his side.

“I come to treat; might we sit?” asked Lord Carl.

“Nay. State your purpose.”

The lord faltered breath at the candour, yet he recovered, quick and sure, “I come for your surrender – I am a generous man, you see, for I give you a chance to wave the white flag.”

The same bluntness followed, “My surrender? You will not have it. I have the numbers.”

“You ally yourself with… lesser folk.” Lord Carl’s eyes flicked to mine; I stood a foot from Jack, stick in hand – the Guardmaster spat at the Lord’s words.

“My army is larger,” Jack said.

“Ours is of strength and reckoning, good Sir, you would be well to remember that when I take down your walls. When the sun reaches its peak on the morrow, you should bid your den farewell.” At that, the Lord left.

Jack’s eyes never left Carl’s back. When his voice came, it was low, near snarling, “Aye, and on the morrow, we shall see if the House of Five knows their multiplications.”

When noon came, did the field see chaos. Sticks clashed and bodies collided, and scores of war chants echoed across the grass. I scrambled across the wall, spear in hand and a rock in the other, bellowing, “HOLD THE LINE!” as waves of weapons struck the Grass Den. I was knocked back by the thrust of a spear as a spitting Five soldier came to fell me — he did not get far as Jack’s own spear collided with his, tumbling both into the grass. One punch, then another, and Jack rose, turning to me with fury, “Do not fall! Onwards, these bastards shan’t take us down!”

And fight we did — side by side, cries growing louder, fiercer, prideful. The Grass Den shan’t fall today . Brother and sister, bound to the den by blood — victory was ours with every kick and every thrust. Jack parried one and punched another; I followed his every move with a shout raw in my throat, “Our glorious den shall see a thousand years! ”

The field saw fire, red and hot and choking. All bodies stilled, spears dropped and fists froze. The Gods brought their wrath, halting the din and scattering the chaos. The Grass Den shan’t fall today; I whispered to the sky.

Yet, it did fall to the fiery hands of Mesne Lea, and no longer could we fight to claim our victory.