A War of Gifts (Ender's Saga 1.10)

"Yes," said Wiggin. "You know the next verse."

"'The Lord is a man of war,'" said Zeck. "'Jehovah is his name.'"

"The King James version just says 'the Lord,'" said Wiggin.

"But that's what it means when the Bible puts it in small caps like that. They're just avoiding putting down the name of God."

"'The Lord is a man of war,'" said Wiggin. "But if your dad quoted that, then he'd have no reason to try to control this bloodlust thing. This berzerker rage. He'd kill you. So it's really a good thing, isn't it, that he ignored Jesus and Moses talking about how God is about war and peace. Because he loved you so much that he'd build half his religion up like a wall to keep him from killing you."

"Stay out of my family," whispered Zeck.

"He loved you," said Wiggin. "But you were right to be afraid of him."

"Don't make me hurt you," said Zeck.

"I'm not worried about you," said Wiggin. "You're twice the man your father is. Now that you've seen the violence inside you, you can control it. You won't hit me for telling you the truth."

"Nothing that you've said is true."

"Zeck," said Wiggin. "'It were better for him that a millstone were hanged about his neck, and he cast into the sea, than that he should offend one of these little ones.' Did your father quote that very much?"

He wanted to kill Wiggin. He also wanted to cry. He didn't do either. "He quoted it all the time."

"And then he took you out and made all those scars on your back."

"I wasn't pure."

"No, he wasn't pure. He wasn't."

"Some people are looking so hard to find Satan that they see him even where he isn't!" cried Zeck.

"I don't remember that from the Bible."

It wasn't the Bible. It was Mother. He couldn't say that.

"I'm not sure what you're saying," said Wiggin. "That I'm finding Satan where he isn't? I don't think so. I think a man who whips a little kid and then blames the kid for it, I think that's exactly where Satan lives."

The urge to cry was apparently going to win. Zeck could hardly get the words out. "I have to go home."

"And do what?" asked Wiggin. "Stand between your mother and father until your father finally loses control and kills you?"

"If that's what it takes!"

"You know my biggest fear?" said Wiggin.

"I don't care about your fear," said Zeck.

"As much as I hate my brother, what I'm afraid of is that I'm just like him."

"I don't hate my father."

"You're terrified of him," said Wiggin, "and you should be. But I think what you're really planning to do when you go home is kill the old son of a bitch."

"No I'm not!" cried Zeck. The rage filled him again, and he couldn't stop himself from lashing out, but at least he aimed his blows at the wall and the floor, not at Wiggin. So it hurt only Zeck's own hands and arms and elbows. Only himself.

"If he laid one hand on your mother--" said Wiggin.

"I'll kill him!" Then Zeck hurled himself backward, threw himself to the floor away from Wiggin and beat on the floor and kept beating on it till the skin of the palm of his left hand broke open and bled. And even then, he only stopped because Wiggin took hold of his wrist. Held it and then put something in his palm and closed Zeck's fist around it.