Writing to glorify God

Lorcan stared curiously out the window as the carriage bumped along the cobblestones, his chin barely clearing the sill. There were little and lads and lasses playing all along the side of the street, and in the various alleys that they passed. A few of them stared curiously back at him, and he wondered if their class ever got to ride in a nice carriage like this one.

The carriage stopped, held up by traffic, and Lorcan watched a group of lasses, their colourful skirts flying and their bare feet slapping as they jumped in and out of a large swirling rope, chanting together.

Two for the Army

Two for the Navy

One for the Elders

Two for the Clan,

Always steady,

Always ready,

Always watching

Is the clan

Moving upward

Moving outward

Keep it moving

With the clan

“What does that mean, Mommy?” Lorcan asked.

His mother patted him on the head, “Nothing you have to worry about for a few years,” she said.

“I do wish the street class wouldn’t let their young ones natter on about clan business in front of everyone. I suppose I am glad they are teaching it, though. Good for their them to know learn obligations early.”

He peered outside again, “They are Janleen clan, Mommy?” He asked. “Our same clan?”

“Some of them, no doubt, dear, if they know that poem.”

“But what does the poem mean?” He insisted. No one ever really told him anything.

“One day your father and uncles will call you to a meeting, and they will explain the whole thing then, dear.”

Lorcan, disappointed, turned back to the window, quickly becoming reconciled at the view of three lads, wrestling in the mud…

Lorcan absentmindedly fingered his moustache, such as it was, as he tried to analyze the statistics in this formula. “Son?” he heard and, startled, looked up from his book to see his father standing in the doorway, a small frown on his face. And wearing one of his more formal outfits, too! What was up?

“Yes, Father?” Lorcan said, standing up.

“If you would put on a shirt, a nice shirt, and come with me, please,” his father said. “Your uncles are waiting for us in my study.”

Lorcan's jumped up his heart racing, and quickly threw on a church shirt and pushed his way past his curtain and followed his father downstairs. He had seen his father become especially serious over the last few days and he had guessed, based on a couple of half-heard comments, that it was time for ‘the talk’.

His heart pounded. Outside of his family he could hardly manage to even talk to a lass, and now he was suddenly going to be married to one. He clutched his hands together and tried desperately to calm his breathing so he wouldn’t be seen as a Twitter by his uncles. They were wonderful men, his uncles, but any meeting with more than one of them was numbingly formal, and the subject of this meeting would be impossible. What would he say when they asked him what he wanted in a lass?

“Sit down,” Father said as the two made it down the stairs and turned to enter his father’s study. This study was a prominent feature of their new house, a room that Father was very proud of, with its large desk and two walls of bookshelves, most of which Father had managed to fill. But right now all Lorcan really noticed was his father’s four brothers sitting across from the desk, Borron and Grandon in their formal clothes, and Farsten and Xavier in their uniforms.

There was an empty chair in the middle of his uncles but Lorcan noted with shock that that was not the chair his father was pointing him to. Father was pointing, instead, to the chair at the desk and was himself sitting down in the middle of Lorcan’s uncles.

Lorcan walked nervously to the chair and sat down, staring at the pens and note pad on the desk in front of him. A fresh note pad, without even so much as a doodle on it. And, next to the note pad a stack of books. And directly in front of him, printed in finely written gold letters, was that poem he had heard all those years ago.

He picked up the pen, nervously, but steeled himself and did his best to look out at his uncles and his father. He could get through this. He would get through this.

His uncle Borron, his oldest uncle and by far the most formally dressed, cleared his throat. “Nephew, it is time for you to enter the clan.”

“Enter the clan?” Lorcan said, shocked. “Have I not always been a son of the clan?” This was not at all the way he had thought this conversation would start!

“A son, yes,” Uncle Borron, said, slowly. “But now you pass from being a mere lad of the clan become a man of the clan. Or you will, when you finish the tasks we will set before you today.”

Lorcan nodded, too nervous to speak.

Uncle Borron labored on, “When each lad of the clan becomes mature enough to take a wife, as determined by their father in consultation with their uncles they are assigned, usually one of their uncles, to help them write their proposal. It is one of the most important times in a lad’s life…

“The Janleen clan, is the most successful of all of the human groups currently in known space. Whenever you walk down the street and cast your eyes on those unfortunate enough to be outside of clan you should thank the creator for your fortune…

“Aren’t there other clans, Uncle?”

Uncle Borron stopped, abruptly, and stared at Lorcan. “Other clans!? No!”

“Borron!” Uncle Xavier said, grinning. Uncle Xavier was his only street class uncle, in the navy, and the one most likely to interrupt and annoy Uncle Borron.

“Oh, very well. There are, nephew, some other groups, some of which call themselves clans… but you mustn’t ever compare them to the Janleen clan. They have none of our rules, none of our cohesion…”

“And you mustn’t think, nephew,” Xavier added, “That everyone, or even most people, are part of a clan. Outside of the Janleen clan few would even claim to be such and, as my stuffy old brother has mentioned, none of them do very much for their members, or require very much.”

“Yes, yes,” Borron said. “Now, as I was saying, we, those of us fortunate enough to be Janleen, are successful because, for years, we have followed a very strict set of rules which were set down by our founder and are broadly outlined by that poem which you see in front of you. Today you personally begin your own obedience to those rules…”

“Or leave the clan,” Uncle Farsten interjected. Uncle Farsten was his favourite uncle, the proud father of eight lasses, all of whom were cute, cheerful, talkative, and always willing to, “help a lad cousin with any task that they, mere lasses, could perform.” “That is the other choice you must make, at this point. Not right now, not today, but that is a choice…”

“Of course the lad will not leave the clan!” His father interjected.

“I don’t believe he will either,” Uncle Farsten said, “But he does need to know that that is a choice he must make at this time.”

“True,” Father said, sitting back. “But no son of mine will leave the clan!”

“It is his right, and Farsten is right to bring it up, but it indeed would be a very foolish thing to do,” Uncle Borron continued. “As I said we are the most successful human group in known space. Our rules, while not always pleasant, are a price well worth paying!”

“But what are these rules?” Lorcan asked, rather desperate to get his uncles into a less serious vein.

Your uncle Uncle Farsten will explain them to you,” Uncle Borron said. “We have assigned him as your assisting uncle, and he will stay with you until it is finished.”

And of course it is all written out in those books we have brought you,” he added, waving at the stack at Lorcan’s elbow. “We have assembled the books all of the books you will need to make these decisions, and explain the clan rules. Your father says you are very good at research so we trust you will study them well.”

“Do you have any questions?”

Lorcan noticed Uncle Farsten giving his head a quick shake, and Lorcan knew that talking just to Farsten would be much easier than this formal assembly of uncles, so he stood up, bowed, and said, “No, thank you, uncles, you have given me good instruction and I will endeavour to be obedient.”

“We are sure you will,” Uncle Borron said, standing and bowing himself, and turning toward the door. Father also gave him a bow but his uncle Grandon just winked and soon they were all gone and Uncle Farsten closed the door.

“We’re done with all that formality, anyway. First, the rules. They are simple enough. The Janleen clan marry young, produce at least six offspring, and work very hard in life to better themselves and their family.

Which brings us to what we need to do here. It is time for you to marry. We will be writing a document, which will be at the same time a proposal of marriage and a search for an exchange. You will be exchanging, as it were, you and your wife’s willingness to go into the army, instead of, well, in your case you are completely free, and we will have to decide what we need from the lass.”

“In return…”

“The army?” Lorcan interrupted. “Why the army?”

“Ah, yes, we left that out. He cocked his head, “You really don’t know? You have been a bit sheltered. Your father has odd ideas about… but that is not our subject for today.”

“When we marry each Janleen son or daughter is required to begin producing offspring. At least six offspringper couple, in fact. Or, if you prefer, three offspring per man or woman. Which really only applies to widows and widowers…”

“What if they can’t?” Lorcan asked.

“That problem is both unfortunate and rare. However it can also be beneficial for those who, as yourself, are ‘extra’. A couple that cannot produce enough offspring will gladly pay an ‘exchange’ price to ensure that you fulfil their obligations for them. A couple that won’t pay an exchange, or won’t produce offspring themselves is counseled and then cast out of the clan in they continue in their attitude. Or, as I mentioned before, they leave the clan.”

“Anyway the clan requires that the first two of these offspring go to the army, the second two to the navy, and the last two are free for any occupation. Which we state as ‘for the clan’.”

Lorcan leaned forward, “But I know lots of families where they didn’t…”

“Yes, Nephew, As you say, not everyone goes into that exact pattern. If a lad is born to a merchant family, they naturally want their sons to go into the family business. So what they do is trade… usually by paying an exchangeprice… an army slot for a navy slot. Which requires that the other son, or daughter, be free to accept that slot, or make that trade.”

“Thus the set of proposals you will be writing today. You and I will write a proposal that covers what role you are willing to fill, what you want in a wife, how much you want for your exchange portion, telling all about you… It’s all there in those books,” he said, pointing to the large stack of books by Lorcan's right elbow.

“You, my dear nephew, are a seventh child, that most profitable of offspring. Your father is shop class, but reaching higher. He already has your brother to take over the family business. You yourself have no obligations… so the way you can bless your family, and further your family’s goals, is by putting yourself open to the army. It isn’t pleasant but… its the way of our life, of our clan.”

“The clan, of course, gives you no such obligation. But your family… it is expected.”

“I will do my duty,” Lorcan replied, firmly. “ To my family and my clan. I can’t say I had expected to go into the army, but my father had to work to raise me, in money and time; and my goal would be to be a blessing to him and to the rest of the family.”

Uncle Farsten leaned back in his chair, “Good, good. I expected nothing less from you.”

“Now, nephew, I think that what you have need of right now is a bit of time to process what we have said, without your favorite uncle hovering at your elbow.”

Lorcan looked at the pile of books set out for him, “And do a bit of reading.”

“Would it be good if I left you, and, perhaps, came back for dinner? We can have it sent in here.”

“That would be good,” Lorcan agreed. “All of my schooling has taught me how to do research, anyway, so I should be fine on my own for a while.”

Uncle Farsten got up but, instead of leaving he came over and pulled Lorcan into a hug. “This is a hard time, but a very important time,” he said, releasing the startled Lorcan. “And just think, we should soon have you in bed with a wife.”

Uncle Farsten turned and left Lorcan who, his face a flaming red, turned hurriedly back to his books.