Timothy Brown's Perfect Fertilizer

Five years. The two kingdoms of Sharlona and Krron had spent five years at war. Despite all those years of bloodshed and gore, the two kingdoms kept at it. Every time the fighting settled down, one of the young, immature kings would insult the other's behind and the fighting would start all over again. Liam had been fighting for the kingdom of Krron for three of those years. 

During that time he had fought on the front lines -- driving back trolls, taking down dragons, and doing his best to stay alive and well. He had managed to go unscathed during battles, but one day while collecting firewood, he had tripped on a root and broken his leg, putting him out of commission. But instead of sending him home, his superiors made him a recruiter. They had told him that he would be doing his country a service, that there was a shortage of recruiters. He should have been enjoying a nice break, but no. Here he was dragging away any poor soul who was old enough to fight. Really, he was just picking up the stragglers. He saw the way people looked at him; he could feel the hate radiating off them like heat from the sun. Liam wished with a passion that it wasn't like that, but you can't wish away hate, just as you can't wish away the war. 

When he traveled through a small hamlet on the outskirts of a wood recently, everyone suited for war had already been drafted and sent off. He asked around, a woman said there was a young man who lived with his father back in the woods. Liam thought it worthwhile to go check it out. The woman acted strangely when she told him though, looking around nervously. When Liam questioned her, she merely said that the boy was a botanist of all things, and the father had a problem with drinking. She told him that she knew the boy hadn't been recruited because she had seen him going into the apothecary. Liam guessed that he and his father had been overlooked when other recruiters had come through. It happened often. 

So here he was, traveling through the woods looking for the botanist boy. He had passed nothing of interest, besides a rundown graveyard in which several of the graves looked disturbed. Probably greedy grave robbers who had no qualms with stealing from the dead. He was about to turn around, assuming that the woman had set him up, when he saw smoke in the sky. He headed towards it, and as he did he saw many exotic plants he had never seen in his lifetime. Vibrant blue flowers, red sparkling trees, bulbous fruit hanging off of trees with gold leaves. He then came across a cottage surrounded by curious flora. Gardening tools littered the pathway up to the door, along with empty and broken bottles. 

Liam knocked on the door. A gruff and slurred voice from inside said, “Go away.”

Liam sighed and shook his head and knocked again, louder.

“Come out by order of the King of Krron,” Liam said with the air of someone exhausted with life.

Bolts were unlocked, and the door opened enough to see the man behind it. In front of Liam was a short, round man with twitchy eyes that couldn't focus, meaty hands that shook slightly, and an uncombed mane of grey-streaked hair. As Liam studied him, he caught the glint of a knife in the man's hand, and he stepped back a little.

“What do you want?” the man said.

“I'm a recruiter for the king’s army.”

“Didn't you already come?” the man asked, scratching his head. He was obviously drunk. Liam decided that it would probably be better to find the son and talk to him. 

“Ummm, Mr.-” he started.

“Mr. Brown,” the man said, bringing a small bottle to his lips. 

“Well, Mr. Brown, I would like to see your son.”

At that, Mr. Brown choked on his drink and coughed all over Liam. His eyes might have been what you called wide if they weren't so bloodshot and swollen.

“You want Timothy?”

“If that's your son, then yes,” Liam replied. Mr. Brown's eyes shifted about, and then he spoke softly.

“You shouldn't be around here. Nasty things happen to people who come around here.”

Liam saw the knife shake in his hand as he spoke, but he shrugged off the threat.

“Now really, I would like to speak to your son.”

The drunken man gave him a hard look and took another sip of his drink, as if he were sizing Liam up.

“He's out back, tending his… children,” he said smirking, putting an odd emphasis on the word children. Liam gave him a curt nod and headed around the cottage. He passed many more peculiar plants, a well covered in what looked to be blue ivy, and an ax tinted with red sap sitting next to a stack of firewood. As he rounded the corner, he saw the boy. Well, he wasn't much of a boy. He was at least 17, maybe 18. He had dark brown hair with long bangs and round glasses. His skin was tanned and even slightly burned from the sun in places. He was kneeling on the ground, examining moss under a magnifying glass. Liam coughed to draw the boy's attention, and he looked up startled. His hand shot out and grabbed a nearby spade. Liam grinned at him, hoping to put him at ease, but he couldn't help wondering why he was so defensive, like he was expecting a fight. 

“You're alright. I didn't mean to scare you.” Liam spoke gently. He saw the fear in the boy's eyes recede a little, but not much. Liam began to wonder if the boy was on guard because of his father. He wasn't very big. Normal height, with no sign of battle training, but Liam knew that you didn't have to look strong to be strong. Even so, he would need to build up muscles and courage if he wanted to survive the war.

“You're a recruiter,” the boy said, eyeing him. He pushed his glasses up farther on his nose.

“And you're Timothy Brown.” Liam then looked around at the plant life and gestured to it with his hand. “And are these your children?”

“My father says they are. I like to think of them as my friends. I help take care of them, and they help take care of me.”

“You have a marvelous collection of flowers and trees here. Why, I haven't seen half of these plants before in my life.”

Timothy smiled humbly as he looked around. “My mother made me promise to watch over two things before she died. The garden and my father.” He said the garden part proudly, but when he said father, it sent a chill down Liam’s spine.

“Well, you've done a wonderful job with the garden.” 

Timothy watched him with big brown eyes, studying him like a bug. “You're not the first recruiter that's come to my house, you know.”

“Is that so?”

“The last one acted like he owned me.”

Liam nodded, knowing how arrogant the other recruiters could be. As he nodded, his foot hit something hard and oddly shaped. He looked down and saw something white protruding from the ground. He picked it up and examined it. Timothy watched him as he did. It looked to be a bone or tooth.

“What is this?”

“Oh, I like to use decaying creatures to nourish my plants.”

“What kind of creatures?” Liam said as he turned it over in his hand.

“This and that,” he said offhandedly. “Whatever I can get my hands on, mostly dead animals. It's probably a squirrel bone. Though they’re not the perfect choice for fertilizer.” He then stood up and brushed the dirt off his pants. “Now, how about you come inside. I'll make you some tea and sandwiches.”

Liam shrugged and dropped the bone. He couldn’t help but smile, thinking about how much Timothy had opened up to him. Maybe he would actually be able to convince him.

“You are much more polite than the other recruiters that have come here,” he said as he opened the cottage door.

“I thought you said there was just one before me.”

“Oh no, he was the seventh this year.”

“Seventh?”

“Oh yes, there have been recruiters from both sides of this ridiculous war. They come thinking they can just take me away.”

“What about your father?”

“Oh, he's far too drunk. They take one look at him and then go straight to me.”

“Well, you are in the age range for being a foot soldier,” said Liam as he sat down at the table in the kitchen. The room was tiny and unorganized. Half of it was overtaken with plants and the other half with bottles, both empty and full. 

“And why do you think I want to die in some pointless war?” Timothy asked as he prepared the tea.

“It's not pointless,” argued Liam, though the words sounded wrong in his mouth. “And anyway, it's your duty to serve your kingdom,” he said, trying to steer the conversation in the right direction.

Timothy froze, his hands over the kettle of tea.

“Duty, you say,” he said slowly, but he returned to making tea, putting blue leaves into the kettle. Then he let it brew, turning around to look at Liam. 

Now that he got a better look at the boy, Liam saw that the top of his hands and his lower arms were scarred.

“Does your father beat you?” he asked quietly. 

Timothy shrugged. “Not in a long time.”

He started making the sandwiches. A thick air of sadness hung around him. Liam felt a surge of pity for the boy, and the things he must have gone through.

“Some of these are from the other boys.”

“What boys?”

“Boys that were in the army. They came every once in a while and teased me for my garden.” Bitterness lined his voice.

“Not all men in the army are like that, Timothy.”

“No, they're worse.”

“Trust me, Timothy. Come back with me, and you'll see it's not that bad.”

Timothy glared at him, and Liam shrank back a little. There was something, something in those eyes. Then the kettle whistled. Liam watched him, wondering if he had upset him. He tried to win him over by changing his tactics a little.

“Look, I know boys can be mean, but you can get them back once you're in the army.”

“Who's saying I haven't gotten them back?” Timothy said, his voice barely above a whisper. 

Liam wasn't alarmed by his words. He sincerely doubted that this twig of a boy could do much lasting harm. 

Timothy handed Liam his tea and a sandwich, and before long they were gone. 

Liam savored the sweetness of the tea. He smiled and said, “That was delicious, Timothy. I really have missed the comforts of home.”

“That's why I don't want to join the army.”

“Don't tell me it's just that.”

“No. I can't leave.”

“You could get away from your father,” Liam said slyly. Timothy looked him in the eye, and Liam saw something flicker for a moment. Just a moment, and then it was gone.

“No, I couldn't,” he said bitterly.

“Why not?”

“I told you -- I promised my mother that I would take care of him,” he said softly, and Liam pitied the boy for making a promise he didn't want to keep. So he tried to put Timothy at ease.

“He'd be fine without you, I'm sure. And think about how much better it would be.”

Timothy considered for another moment, and this time the something stayed in his eyes. He was about to speak when his eyes flitted towards the window and the garden beyond it.

“What about my friends?” 

Liam laughed heartily. “You mean the plants? You'll make so many friends in the army, you'll forget all about your plants.”

Timothy poured him another cup of tea, and he began to drink. He drained it to its last drop. 

“That really does hit the spot,” he sighed. “So what do you say, Timothy, ready to leave and join the army?” he said with a smile still on his face.

“No, I don't think you understand,” Timothy said, standing up. 

Liam felt an odd sensation go through his body, like his muscles were tightening. He tried to stand up, but fell. Liam watched as Timothy circled him.

“I'm not leaving my paradise.”

Liam gurgled, trying to speak. He was frozen solid.

“You see, you're not the first idiot to try, nor will you be the last.”

Timothy went outside for a moment and returned with the ax Liam had seen in the garden. “It really is a shame. I did like you at first,” he added as he came back in. Then Liam heard the uncoordinated steps of Mr. Brown approaching.

“Son, please, not anoth-”

“Quiet, Father! Don't make me smash the rest of your drink! You know I will, and you and I both know you'll go mad without it.”

“It's time to stop, Timmy.”

“Don't call me Timmy!”

Shattered glass and liquid flew across Liam’s immobilized face.

“Your mother would never have wanted this.”

“Don’t you dare talk to me about my mother. Don’t you dare act like you cared for her or me!” 

Timothy sounded ragged. For a moment, there was a sullen silence that was filled with violent energy. But when Timothy spoke again, the violence was masked with an eerie calm.

“Now go to your room, Father. It's time to feed my friends.” 

Liam heard Mr. Brown leave. Then Timothy’s face leaned over him.

“Now, Mr. Recruiter, I don't think I ever told you what's the perfect source of fertilizer for plants.”

Timothy raised the ax. Now that it hung above Liam’s face, he could see that it wasn't sap that tinted the blade.

“I've found that humans are the perfect fertilizer.”