Try as I might to put it behind me, my row with Uncle Teddy has left me in a foul mood.

  It wasn’t nothing I ain’t heard before. Lord knows Aunty Ray had plenty to say about how my daddy went about teaching me, and we got plenty of strange looks from foremen and overseers whenever he brought me in to help with the work. Thing is, he always had good reason for doing what he did and was never shy about sharing them with anyone who asked. Including myself, because practice don’t make perfect. It helps sure, but in order to improve and have even the slightest chance of achieving that nigh unattainable perfection, you gotta know what that perfection should look like. That’s why I’m having so much trouble improving of late; I got no idea where I’m lacking, and too much pride to go crawling to the Rangers or some other government organization for help, so I gotta put in the work to figure that out before I can get good.

  Take Fireball for example. Great Spell, and it saved my bacon back in Pleasant Dunes, but was it really worth the 6 months of effort to get right? Difficult to say, but what I can say is that my time could have been better spent. Fireball is great, but the use case is limited to big combat encounters, with the cost being so high that I’m pretty much all in after one or two shots. Putting aside the fact that it got me out of a couple tight spots, I’m almost 90% certain I would’ve been better off now if I’d have stuck to the basics learning the ins and outs of a Diviner’s kit. That’s the role I chose and excel at, the one my daddy was prepping me to take up, and while that don’t mean I can’t sling Big Spells on the side, I should’ve focused on getting good at one thing, made that my primary objective, instead of getting sidetracked by fiery explosions.

  Chase two hares, get none. That’s what Elodie said, and she absolutely right. I still want both hares, but I ought to focus on one first, then go after the other once I caught the first.

  Gunfighting is another area where I’m… not floundering exactly, but lacking in meaningful progress. Sure, I can do dry-fire drills to up my draw speed, and I been doing plenty of it since losing my right hand to familiarize myself with shooting lefty, but beyond that and general shooting practice, I got no earthly idea where to go from here. I mean, without Sergeant Begaye’s advice, I’d still be wearing my holster at that godawful angle on a cross-draw pull, risking the hammer catching on my belt buckle every time I draw it or my gun slipping out whenever I lean too far to the right. As for meaningful progress, I’m conflicted on what my goal ought to be. My whole style is based on shooting with one hand and slinging Spells with the other, and while my phantom fingers allow me to do just that as a south-paw shooter, I’d much rather keep that ace up my sleeve for when I really need it. I doubt I’ll be able to keep it a secret for long, as I’ve already inadvertently revealed it to Tina, and showed Chrissy a few days after the fact so she wouldn’t feel left out once the cat got out the bag.

  So once again, I gotta face facts and realize I’m lacking meaningful direction. Got my goal clear in sight, but no earthly idea how to go about reaching it. Going about it blind for the most part, only to realize how much time I could’ve saved after the fact once the obvious answer gets pointed out to me. Like Carter’s advice about using Detection Spells, which is a nifty little trick that probably ain’t much of a secret at all. Had all the clues laid out before me, the illusions of ADAR systems and the knowledge that there were ways to make Detection Spells pierce through water, earth, and even stone at times to sense what’s hiding on the other side. I just never pieced it all together until Carter drew that diagram in the dirt, and now I’m kicking myself for not seeing it sooner. It’s a simple enough trick to figure out, but that don’t mean it’s easy to pull off. I gotta bear down and focus on the task to get it right, meaning I can’t do it for long or keep it going while I do something else, like walk, talk, or even ride.

  Really goes to show how much thought my daddy put into my training, because without it, I wouldn’t be half the man I am today. Even though people call me the Firstborn, it wouldn’t be nothing more than a joke if it wasn’t for my daddy’s training, so it really sticks in my craw to hear Uncle Teddy disparage him like that. Bad enough the Rangers threw him under the bus after he was shot and killed by Republic fanatics; now Uncle Teddy gonna do him dirty too?

  Sure, my daddy pushed me hard, harder than any other kid I know, but to call that abuse is just plain wrong. Ain’t his fault I don’t like being touched, and I never went to bed hungry no matter what sort of training we was doing. A day without food followed by a few hours of staring at it ain’t abuse. A little harsh on a kid of 8 or 9 years, sure, but there are plenty of kids out there that didn’t have nothing to eat every day, and if that don’t teach discipline, then nothing will. The lift and drop, the Fear Spells, the cliff jumps, scouting missions, and more, all of it was tough to get through, but it served me well and paid off in spades.

  All in all, my daddy loved me dearly and only wanted the best for me in spite of it all, and them’s the facts. All that other stuff Uncle Teddy was worried about? That ain’t on my daddy. Those were my mistakes which I made after he was gone, and wouldn’t have ever happened if he was still here to guide my way. With him at my side, I would never have been ambushed while sleeping in a rented room and forced to hang a man outside my windowsill. Or angry enough to shoot outlaws on sight for having the gall to lie in wait for ambush. Or stupid enough to share food and drink with strangers bearing ill-intent. My daddy would’ve seen through all their lies and deceits, put them all in their place with a glare or in the ground with his gun, no two ways about it. Wayne would’ve stepped lightly around the Yellow Devil, and Ronald Jackson would’ve never dared cross him, because my daddy wasn’t a man to be crossed lightly.

  As for my childhood? Uncle Teddy ain’t wrong there. I didn’t have much of one, not after I turned 8, but in return, my daddy did everything he could to ensure I’d have a long and prosperous future. A fair trade all things considered, especially having seen the glaring gaps of knowledge in so many of my peers. Like Josie not knowing Contraception, which you’d think would be high on the list of Cantrips to teach considering the sky-high rate of maternal mortalities. Even thinking as much sends a chill down my spine, and I knock on wood while glancing at Josie, who’s looking bright and cheery as can be while playing games with Noora, Elodie, and Chrissy on the living room floor.

  Or at least I try to. Knock on wood that is, only to forget once more that I don’t have a right hand when my phantom knuckles fail to make contact with the kitchen table. Seems like something that’d be hard to forget, but I still do it at least once a day, and today, it sends a surge of rage and self-loathing that is hard to keep off my face. Maybe it’s because Uncle Teddy got me all riled up with his words, or maybe it’s the stark reminder of how much I lost when I failed to warn my daddy of the killers lying in wait for him. Whatever the reason, my inability to knock on wood sets my temper to blazing, and I pop out of my chair to head outside before I break something of Josie’s. Out on the porch, I knock the wooden railing harder than I need to while wishing I could slam my fist full force into the pillar instead. Broken fist wouldn’t help me none though, so I lean on the railing and take a deep breath. Then another, and a third, when the first two do nothing to calm the raging tempest of violent fury contained within my chest.

  I’m upset at Uncle Teddy for what he said, but this anger? It’s all directed inwards towards me, because when you get right down to it, there ain’t no one else to blame. If I’d’ve just opened my mouth and said something, anything at all, then wouldn’t none of this be happening, now would it? He’d still be alive and well, guiding me on my path to becoming the Firstborn, and since I’d still be showing results, Uncle Teddy wouldn’t have no cause to doubt my daddy’s methods. Marcus would still be alive too, because my daddy would’ve been down in the mines with him instead of me, and known that the Proggie was just playing dead. Or helped kill it with a Lance, or come up with a better plan to deal with Ronald Jackson’s schemes or something.

  Step back and ease off the pedal? Nah. If anything, I should be going at it even harder than I have been. I learn more in one combat engagement than I do in weeks worth of training, so I should’ve been out in the badlands hunting bugs in order to identify my weaknesses so I can shore them up. Like that instance with Warding Wind against the froggies, and how I learned it also works against me when shooting out. Then there’s the fact that 6m of Levitation ain’t hardly enough, meaning I gotta figure out a way to climb higher and do it faster to keep from getting got. Keeping my gun holstered at eleven o’ clock makes for a faster draw, but not only is it uncomfortable in the saddle, it’s also harder to draw on horseback since I gotta lean back to get enough clearance. My poor aim with my left might seem obvious, but I did fine at the range, and really only had trouble once the adrenaline got to me after that near miss with Joseph and his buddies. Made it real hard to steady my aim without a second hand to support it, which made me spend more time doing dry-fire exercises while aiming even further downrange.

  Seems obvious really, but there are a lot of things I just take for granted until I run into an issue out in the field. That’s where I should’ve been these last few weeks, traipsing through the badlands to test my limits and figure out what I need to work on. At a bare minimum, I ought to be down at the range with Tina and the other boots, sharpening my skills and maybe working on a way to shoot a rifle rather than avoiding the issue entirely. Instead, I been burning the candle at both ends trying to finish my 480 hours of hard labour right quick and feeling sorry for myself in my free time. Not saying that’s what I would’ve preferred, as plenty of good came outta my hard labour too, like meeting Carter and Elodie, getting together with Josie and Noora, and working with Kevin and Mr. Mueller on modernizing Mage Hand, and saving Clayton’s people. All I’m saying is that my time could’ve been better spent, so I gotta go even harder to make up for lost time.

  Because regardless if I become the Firstborn again or settle down and be a daddy, the Frontier won’t pull no punches. That’s why my daddy pushed me so hard, because he saw that the first wave of settlers hadn’t been properly prepared, and had no reason to believe the second wave would be any different. Even though there’ll be time between the Watershed and the second Advent to share information with the old world, it won’t be time enough to get the second wave trained to handle what may come. It won’t even be a two-way conversation, just a broadcast out into the Aether hoping the other side picks up, without knowing who might be listening on the other end. Asynchronous communication, where you tell everyone what you willing to share and do your best to listen in on what others are saying at the same time. One thing’s for sure though, every nation on the Frontier will be singing the same song; the second wave will be in grave danger upon their arrival, because not only do we not have enough food and housing for so many souls, we don’t got the manpower to find and protect them either. Aside from the few lucky ones who appear close to civilization, the rest will have to make their way through the vast swathes of wilderness all by their lonesome, no different from the settlers of the first wave. Again, it seems obvious to me, but them old world governments were wildly optimistic about how much progress we’d make out here on the Frontier. Add in the fact that the watershed was earmarked to happen within a decade of the Advent and might well not happen until after two, and it’s safe to assume that the second wave of settlers will be less than amply prepared.

  Age limits alone will disqualify a good number of would-be volunteers, while others will have second thoughts about leaving everything behind after 18 years of waiting. There’s also the fact that the second wave was expected to arrive on a conquered Frontier with plenty of paved roads and safe regions. That was the job after all, the task entrusted to the first wave, while the second wave was just expected to provide an influx of manpower and expertise lacking in the first wave. Dentists for example, or any sort of healthcare that ain’t a battlefield medico. Arcana Technicians too, not general Artificers like Danny and his daddy Mr. Lee Bernier, or gunsmiths like Mr. Kalthoff, but full-blown specialists who deal in the technical nitty gritty of it all. Telegraph techs, engineers of all flavours, forestry managers, soil scientists, Aetheric Geologists, and more research minded Alchemists to help uncover all the secrets the Frontier is hiding. That’s just a fraction of the jobs we need to fill, and I’m sure there are thousands more which I don’t even know of, but that’s the role the second wave was supposed to take, which means they’ll be ill suited for the life they find here on the Frontier.

  Stupid is what it is. The old world governments were in such a rush to colonize and capitalize on the Frontier, they failed to do their due diligence and figure out what the circumstances were like out here. The low ambient Aether concentration levels led them to believe that there weren’t any Abby around, because if there were, the concentration levels would be higher. They believed that eventually, we’d attract the attention of the Proggies same as we did in the old world, which far as anyone can tell is sometime before the Qin Immortal Monarch was born some 6000 years ago, but after the pyramids were built. Course, back then, Abby were few and far between, enough so that most folks thought they were nothing but the stuff of fairy tales. The Immortal Monarchs of the times liked it that way too, since they didn’t want knowledge of Spell Cores or Innates becoming widespread, so chances are they ‘encouraged’ the status quo, but even then, it amazes me to think that knowledge of Abby wasn’t commonplace even during Sir Issac Newton’s time, and only really became widespread during the Aetheric Revolution in the mid 1800’s.

  Regardless of the history, the old world government believed the greatest obstacle for the First Wave would be the Frontier itself. As for Abby and Magical Beasties? They figured that even if there were any around, it wouldn’t be all that bad considering the low Aether levels, meaning the Rangers and other bare bone military outfits would have it handled. Instead, the Frontier proved to be infested by Proggies, which came as a rude awakening to those who saw the Divide or the recording of events Uncle Teddy brought back after his first foray in. That’s the same mission where he met my daddy and me, but despite the early warning, the first wave as a whole ain’t done a great job of adapting to the times. Rather than pivot from their initial mission of laying claim to the Frontier, they doubled down on it instead, fighting amongst themselves for all the choicest bits of land even though they don’t got the manpower to defend it from Abby.

  Credit where it’s due, Uncle Teddy and the Feds done a decent enough job of fortifying the Bulwark along the Highway, but word over the Radio is that the rest of the Frontier ain’t doing so hot. There are a couple other bastions of safety out in the world, too many for me to even begin to name, but what’s left unsaid is all the places were we ain’t even been. Which shouldn’t come as any surprise, given how large the Frontier is and how few people were sent to settle it, but I don’t think the old world governments even knew the size of the landmass before sending their people through the gate.

  Takes a hot minute, it does, but soon enough, I got my anger and scorn directed elsewhere rather than inwards towards myself. Or worse, at Uncle Teddy for speaking his mind, even if he is wrong about it. The man just wants what’s best for me, and he wouldn’t be having none of those thoughts if I didn’t give him reason to doubt. That’s on me, so it’s also on me to prove him wrong, to take up the mantle my daddy envisioned and lead the charge on taming this wild Frontier. For now, we can only hope that we get word out to the old world government about the dire state of things out here, and instead of sending us their brainiest and brightest, they send over armies instead. Food and shelter we can handle well enough given time and help, and guns too once that’s all dealt with, but what we’re sorely lacking are steeled hearts and skilled hands to wield them in battle.

  No pun intended.

  The front door creaks open behind me, and I glance back to see Josie in all her radiant beauty. Always a treat for the eyes, seeing her in her usual loose, flowing sundress, a white and yellow number with a neckline a touch deeper than proper and all the more alluring for it. Always a different hairstyle for every day too, and she’s got her brown locks all gathered up in a low bun today, held together by a big red bow tie that pokes out from behind her ears. Adds an extra hint of elegance to her natural good looks, but keeps herself grounded by leaving a few strands of hair to drape down on either side of her head. Classy and casual at the same time, while her snaggle-toothed smile is just the cherry on top as she sidles up next to me and I slip my arm around her all natural as can be. “Hey there beautiful,” I say, feeling all my rage and indignation melt away as I scan our surroundings before risking a quick kiss. “Chrissy or Elodie get bored of Aetheric Echo?”

  Which is just a pattern game where you use Minor Illusion to craft a simple symbol, like a square, circle, or triangle. The next person then adds a second symbol, showing off two in row, and the third adds yet another. You keep going until someone gets it wrong, which can get real complicated once you get past 10 symbols. Chrissy is real good at the game, and Elodie picked it up quickly too, meaning Noora and Josie have been getting their clocks cleaned the last hour or so, while I’ve been inwardly fuming on my own at the kitchen table.

  “No, they’re still going strong,” Josie replies, snuggling into my embrace with a soft sigh of wholehearted contentment. That’s one of my favourite things about her, how expressive she is in all these subtle ways, mostly to show her love and affection. Grabbing my collar, clutching my arm, rubbing her cheek against my chest and more, these are just some of the little things I’ve noticed and appreciate about this woman I’ve come to love. Unaware of just how deep my affections run, Josie giggles as she plants a small kiss on my chin and adds, “Noora especially. She tried to play it off as a silly game at first, but she’s so competitive and won’t stop until she wins.”

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  “Then she won’t be stopping,” I say with a grin. “Chrissy’s one of the few who can beat me, and she even won against my daddy who taught her the game.”

  Josie’s big, round eyes go wide to hear it, and my heart leaps to see it. “Really?” she asks, her tone one of amazement and wonder rather than disbelief, which further shows how much of a sweetheart she is. “That’s incredible. And here I thought I could bring you in as a ringer and put them all in their place.”

  “Oh no,” I say with a shake of my head. “I don’t got the hours to go back and forth with Chrissy.” Which ain’t much of an exaggeration. The original game only lets you use the standard shapes, so I kept track of corners and just memorized a string of numbers to keep the shapes in proper order. Last time we played like that, we were at it for a good while since neither me nor Chrissy would give up, though she ended up winning eventually because she just better than I am. Since then, we started throwing in nonstandard shapes and symbols alongside the normal ones, like stars, diamonds, dollar signs, and more. Keeps the game shorter since I can’t cheat and gotta play normally, meaning I only last for about fifteen minutes before making a mistake, whereas I’ve yet to see Chrissy get tripped up even once.

  All of which I share with Josie, who puts on a big pout and pinches me in the side. “Then why didn’t you say nothing when I suggested we play, guapo?” she asks, playing up her pique just so I’ll hold her close to console her. Win-win for the both of us, and my foul mood melts away as I wrap both arms around her pretty frame.

  The truth is because I wasn’t paying attention until she asked if I wanted to play too, and I just said no out of reflex. Instead of saying as much, I go with an answer that’s also true, but not as true as the first. “Chrissy loves the game, and I love seeing how people react when they realize how good she is. Since she don’t talk much, most folks think she’s simple or worse, stupid, but I said it before and I’ll say it again. Chrissy’s sharp as tack; she just has troubles communicating all her thoughts, putting those abstract concepts into words that the rest of us would understand.”

  “So sweet and caring, mi corazón.” That’s another thing I love about Josie, all the pet names she’s got in her pocket. My heart, pretty much, and I wish I had a way to express how I feel about her too. Something besides a squeeze, kiss, and nuzzle, all of which goes far too quick since we still in plain sight out here on the porch. ‘I love you’ just don’t seem to cut it anymore. She stole my heart and I can admit as much, but that’s just stating the facts. Saying any more would require more courage and fortitude than I got, because I lack the eloquence to give proper voice to how I feel about her. She drives me crazy in a good way, to the point where I see her face every time I close my eyes, an image engraved into the back of my eyelids since I can’t stop myself from staring every time we lay down to rest.

  So instead, I just give a bashful little shake of my head to deny her accusations. Rolling her eyes, she turns to face me with her arms around my waist, and it takes every iota of restraint not to go in for a taste of her cherry red lips. “At least you’re smiling again,” she says, and as she looks into my eyes, I pray that mine mirror the depths of my love and adoration the same way hers do. “No need to share if you don’t want to, but you should know that a burden shared is a burden halved.”

  “It’s nothing,” I say, only to wince at the lie, because I ain’t fooling no one. “Silly stuff, really.” And that was meant to be the end of it, but there ain’t no hiding from her lovely brown eyes, a calming pool which I sink deep into without even knowing it. So I tell her everything about my argument with Uncle Teddy, not just what he said about my daddy, but why he’s all wrong about it. Means sharing how I was trained, which wasn’t ever much of a secret, though I’m often surprised by how willfully ignorant people can be, not seeing things happening right in front of their face unless it sticks out like a sore thumb. I’m not exempt from it neither, because there are times when I can’t see the forest for the trees like that whole mess with ADAR, so I spell it all out for Josie and give her the broad strokes.

  She don’t look surprised, more intrigued more than anything else, but she don’t say nothing either. She just listens and holds me close while I get things off my chest, nodding along and giving me her full attention while I talk. “Everything my daddy did,” I conclude, feeling much relieved for having said it, only to tense up now that we’re at the end and it’s almost her turn to weigh in, “Was done for my sake. Ain’t no two ways about it. He pushed me to be the best not just because I had the potential, but also because that’d give me the best chance of surviving whatever the Frontier throws at me. Everyone goes on and on about how the Republic sent kids through the Gate to die, which ain’t wrong, but don’t no one talk about how they gave those same kids the best chance of surviving by training them up right.”

  I got my issues with the Qin, no two ways about it, but I’ll be the first to admit they ain’t failing to thrive due to a lack of training. No, their problem is corruption, same as any other system of government, only compounded by the general complacency and lack of empathy they all share, as they seem all too ready to accept whatever shit sandwich their leaders give them. A byproduct of thousands upon thousands of years kneeling to an Immortal Monarch who ruled over them with an iron fist, unlike the multitude of Western Immortal Monarchs who took more of a back seat when it came to governing their populaces. The Qin system works fine when you got the right people up top, but judging by the results, I’m guessing they got the wrong ones and are suffering for it.

  Not to say that the Feds got things right either. Governing by committee is the foundation of democracy, so that the needs of the many outweigh the desires of a few, but the problem there is that oftentimes, the many are far too stupid to understand what it is they actually need. Sometimes, you gotta make hard decisions that ain’t no one gonna like in order to build a better future, like ensuring every man, woman, and child knows how to use a gun in case of emergency. Makes perfect sense, but then you get all them Downer Dans and Negative Nancys complaining about gun safety or lack of time to learn or whatnot. Foolish is what that is, putting your own safety in the hands of a government whose primary response to rising crime is a ‘live and let live’ policy. Ignorance is bliss though, so they’ll just have to learn things the hard way I suppose.

  As for Josie, she don’t say nothing right away, just gets real quiet while thinking things over. After a good minute of pondering, she meets my eyes again, and there ain’t no scorn, judgement, pity, or compassion behind them. All I see is love and affection, as well as steely determination as she says, “Let me ask you a question. If we do have a child, are you planning on teaching them the same way your daddy taught you?”

  Hits me hard, it does. Not because it’s difficult to answer, but rather the opposite. I already know the answer, and I don’t even have to think about it, which pains in ways I can’t describe. “No,” I whisper, wracking my brain for all the reasons and dreading what I might find. Thankfully, the answer to this also comes easily, and I let go of the breath I didn’t know I was holding. “My daddy wanted me to be the best, so that I could pave the way forward for others. Our kid don’t need to be the best, because when it comes time for them to head out into the Frontier, I’ll have done that, made sure there’d be clear skies and smooth sailing ahead. If things do get bumpy though, you know I’ll be right there with them to keep them safe and sound.”

  Josie nods, and her point made, she don’t rub it in my face. I love my daddy, but I didn’t love my training so much, not a first. Given the choice, I’d probably go without, take the same childhood as everyone else got, but that don’t mean he was wrong either. The grass is always greener after all, so might be that I’m just too close to see it, or simply too soft to make the tough choices my daddy made for me. Firstborn wouldn’t mean much of anything without all that training after all, just a twist of fate which cost my mama her life, which is why I can’t go and waste it, now can I?

  Maybe I should start planning some training for our kid, nothing too out of pocket, but more than what the Federal Education System got planned for them. Not to disparage any of our fine teachers here in New Hope, but their standards are shockingly low, and I could say the same about the Rangers’ expectations for their boots and recruits. Were it up to me, I wouldn’t bother with more than half of the boots, and that’s half of those who’ve stuck it out until now. Ain’t my call to make though, and not an opinion I care to share, because like Sergeant Begaye said, it ain’t my role to tear them down, not when they need building up the most.

  “This is why I fell for you, you know?” Popping up for a kiss, Josie gives a soft little sigh when I cut it short and buries her head in my chest instead. “Everyone sees you as the Firstborn, a tough son of a gun who lives for violence and bloodshed. They don’t see the man hidden underneath. The sweet soul who brushes his sisters’ hair, sings his bull to sleep at night, and will drop everything to help a stranger in need. You hang onto all that, because that’s the man I love. Not the Firstborn, but Howie Zhu, and don’t you forget it.”

  “I love you too.” The words slip out so easily in response, but again, feel wholly inadequate to describe how I feel. Josie still lights up to hear it, and that alone is enough to make it worth my while as I follow her back in for more games and refreshments. Despite knowing I gotta train harder than ever before, I can’t bear to tear myself away from her side, and come evening, Josie’s even more enthusiastic than normal. Makes it a challenge to keep up and save some for Noora too. Thankfully, I’m able to rise to the occasion and plough through all obstacles to attain complete victory for our three-person team, though I pay for it come morning. Never before has it been more difficult to peel myself out of bed, and I barely manage to make it out in time to get home and get ready before Elodie, Carter, and Miss Amelie arrive to pick me up. Once again, they drop me off a little outside of Mueller’s Quay and leave with Cowie and Old Tux in tow, both of whom are prancing about at the prospect of another five days with Elodie. As for me, I’m dreading the walk through the village and greeting everyone I pass by, because I’m not sure I can handle the large volume of small talk demanded of me.

  Not so early in the morning at least, though I won’t lie and say I ain’t looking forward to lunch. Oddly enough though, Mervyn ain’t puttering out in his garden when I pass by, and it don’t look like Donna’s inside either judging by the lack of lights. The next house over belongs to Brendan and Susan, but they ain’t in either, nor are the next few houses occupied either. When I get to Don and Bianca’s, the lady of the house comes out with a big smile on her face to greet me, and explains that her neighbours are out because there was a big emergency over the weekend. Seems someone bought up the bulk of their herds, and without any boats to ship them, a good number of villagers were tapped to help shepherd all the cattle and hoggis overland to their waiting client. “Offered a ridiculous price,” Bianca exclaims, before I can even ask about it, “So Mr. Mueller did the math and figured we could put that money into the village and see a huge return on investment so long as we were all willing to tighten our belts for a year or three until the herds grow large enough again.”

  “I believe it,” I say, nodding sagely at the story. If they’d said something silly about putting it in the bank or buying government bonds, then I’d’ve been less approving, but you can’t go wrong investing in yourselves. “Besides, with the Watershed due in a year or three, you risk losing your herd to Abby attacks all the same. Better to pre-empt that and use the money to build up walls and defenses instead.” Because somehow, I doubt the good people of Mueller’s Quay will care to take shelter inside New Hope or Iron’s Gate. Even if there’ll be armies of Abby roaming about and a whole slew of baby Proggies looking for new digs, I’m thinking it’ll be much safer here than it would be in town, which is the whole point of the Bulwark to begin with. To hold back the tides of Abby and keep them from sweeping west, not to mention the fact that there’s only the one Proggie within 25 klicks of the Lake, meaning Mueller’s Quay will be safer than most places, even ones further west along the Wayfarer River.

  Add in some tall walls and towers to shoot from, and I’d say the quay is about as safe as anywhere else, though I will say I’m a little worried about the lack of Aetherarms. Even though Mr. Mueller used to be a soldier, I’d say his soldiering days are long behind him, and I can’t imagine anyone else in the village doing much better than he would. A year or three of dieting might do everyone good in fact, though I keep that last bit to myself.

  Something in Bianca’s smile makes me do a double take though, just the tiniest bit of strain and smugness. The first due to hiding the second it seems, meaning she thinks I’m off the mark about walls and whatnot. I suppose they got another plan to help them ride out the Watershed, but before I can ask, she informs me that I’ll be staying with Luisa for the week, since Mr. Mueller is leading the herds to their new homes.

  Which is alarming for many reasons. The first which comes to mind is the fact that it’s his name on my working papers, meaning he’s supposed to be present to oversee my work. The second comes only moments later as I imagine the worst-case scenario, namely that Mr. Mueller doesn’t make it back. Why not? Well, there are plenty of things that could happen, some innocuous and others not so much. Maybe he falls getting on or off of his horse, or maybe the ‘ridiculous’ price was a setup to get Mr. Mueller and his people out on the road where the prospective buyer could more easily steal them. There’s plenty more reasons why I ought to be worried, but Bianca is a sharp cookie and picks up on my roundabout questions right quick. She assures me that there isn’t any problem with the sale, and that they were paid upfront and a little extra to help bring the animals in. The buyer can handle protection, but transport was the issue, and the quickest way to solve that problem was for Mr. Mueller to help out. “It’s all aboveboard so no need to worry,” big Bianca says, waving her hands to dismiss my concerns before contradicting herself with her next words. “I don’t know much about it, but you can ask Luisa if you still have any concerns.”

  That’s a dismissal if I ever heard one, and Bianca don’t even pretend to insist I stay for a pre-lunch snack or something. Which more than anything else hammers home how food-poor they currently are, because time was Bianca wouldn’t let me out of her sight until I tried her ‘World Famous’ lady fingers. Which turns out weren’t fingers at all, or even meat of any kind, but rather crumbly little biscuits that go great with coffee and tea. Luisa don’t disappoint though, as she greets me with a warm smile and a big mug of chilled and frothy Avena Colombiana, as well as a platter of snacks to keep me refreshed until lunch which is little more than an hour away.

  One she keeps me for, rather than letting me run off to work unsupervised. Not because she don’t trust me, but rather because she thinks that sort of labour is beneath me and hints that no one would blink twice if I didn’t make any progress on the warehouse while there wasn’t anyone around to help out. Me, I’m thinking I’ll make even more progress than I did all last week if I don’t gotta stop every hour on the hour for a snack break. I don’t say as much though, just smile and say that I ain’t one to let a job go unfinished. “Such honour and dedication,” she says, cupping my cheeks with a warm and matronly smile. “If only all young men were as honest and hardworking.” Frowning, she adds, “Still, it is only right if you put effort in the right places. Not this digging of foundation, but of your true skills.”

  Turning away to get back to the stove, she checks on the sumptuous feast she’s cooking up for our lunch and gives me an opening to chime in. “About that,” I drawl, taking the line given to me. “I ain’t looking to pry into your affairs or nothing, so I won’t ask no questions. Just want to say that if anything were to go awry with this dealing of yours, I’ll be more than happy to help out however I can.”

  She don’t answer right away, just goes right on stirring her stew on the stovetop, one that got a whole lot more than beef and turnips. Got plenty of potates and sunspire tubers, which I love to bits, and plenty of greens and garnishes to add to the flavour profile. Ain’t as watery either, because this stew is meant to be served over a bed of bristle grains, which I can smell steaming up real nice and fragrant on the other stove. That’s why I ain’t touched much of the snacks, because delicious as they might be, they can’t hold a candle to a bowl of white bristle grains. Must be in the genes, my love of rice or rice-like alternatives, though truth be told, I’m pretty sure most cultures eat some form of rice. Not just the ones in Asia neither, as there plenty of Euro cultures who are a big on rice, like the Espa?a, the Greeks, and even the Aegyptians and Mexicans like Noora and Josie.

  I ought to source some bristle grains and cook a meal for the girls, show them I’m more than a pretty face…

  So distracted by thoughts of the coming meal, I completely forget I was in the middle of a conversation with Luisa. “And what sort of troubles might you be expecting then?” Though asked in a calm and casual manner, I can sense the underlying tension in Luisa’s question. She’s worried then, but that’s no surprise, because a big deal like this can make or break a community. If things go well, Mueller’s Quay might well become a second Riverrun, with boats stopping here to ship cargo north and over in New Hope to send things south. Cut a full day of travel at least, getting to Irongate from here, and anyone who gets in on the ground floor is set for life. They’d be grandfathered into a whole new town, one which could have all the convenience and luxury of New Hope and the safety of Riverrun at the same time. Add in their massive, 500-acre plots of land as opposed to the compact houses any latecomers will be entitled to have, and you can understand why this would be a huge boon to the current community.

  If it doesn’t work out though? Then they’ll have set themselves back by several years with nothing to show for it. Less than nothing if everyone who left with Mr. Mueller doesn’t make it back in one piece, and far as I can tell, more than half the village has gone with him. Weren’t many faces to greet me on my way in, which means they’ve put a whole lot of eggs into one very big basket, so I get why Luisa would be worried. Ain’t nothing I can say to console her though, just let her know the facts. “Not saying something will happen,” I say, trying my best to ease the matronly woman into it. “I’m just saying that if something does, you can come to me and I’ll do whatever I can to help.” Flashing a grin as she turns to meet my eyes, I add, “I’m sure Mr. Mueller got things well in hand though. That there is a man who thinks thrice before he acts.”

  “A wise man, many would say,” Luisa replies, giving me a smile in return. Cups my cheeks again too, and her joy is mixed with sorrow as she takes in the sight, no doubt thinking about the son she lost. Makes me wonder if things would’ve been different if my mama were around too, someone to keep my daddy in check and stop him from going too far. Or maybe she’d’ve been even more gung-ho about my training, because far as I can tell, she was the go-getter in their relationship, while he was happy to follow orders and provide for her and the baby who’d kill her soon enough. “The heart of an ōcēlōtl,” she whispers, in a tone which lifts my spirits and colours my cheeks. “A Warrior of the Gods, here to protect us from our enemies. A good child you are, one born to conquer these lands as my people once conquered theirs.”

  Don’t rightly know what to say about that, but she breaks it off soon enough and dismisses my concerns with a wave of her hand. “There is nothing to worry about,” she says, and I almost believe her. “And if there is, there is nothing any man could do to save them. Their fate sits in the hands of the Gods now, so all we can do is pray and make offerings.” There’s no invitation that follows, which is good because while I got an academic interest in general religions, I ain’t much for practical applications of faith. Instead, she switches tack to ask me about my weekend, having long since pried my relationship with Josie out of me and no doubt suspecting more since I’ve always go plenty to say about Noora too, as well as Elodie and Chrissy for that matter. Though I ain’t one for small talk, Luisa frames her questions in a way that’s more like a demand for information, a report even if you will, which makes it easy to stick to the facts and tell her what’s what without getting too far off track. We talk and eat a sumptuous feast, one she digs into right alongside me, and there ain’t a moment of awkward silence to be had.

  There’s just something about Luisa that makes it easy to open up to her. Not just because of how motherly she is, but because she don’t hold nothing back. Not to mention she’s got a very unique view of how things ought to be, encouraging me to meet more pretty women and ‘sow my oats’ as it were, because ‘the blood is strong and must be passed along’. At least she don’t offer to set me up with any of the ladies in town, which is good because they all too old or too young and most certainly too large for my tastes. By the time lunch is over and done with, I’m stuffed too full to even move, and Luisa is happy to keep me around while she cleans up around the kitchen. My offer to help is met with outright scorn, as she very opinionated about what I should and shouldn’t do. Ain’t about gender, but my role in the world as an ōcēlōtl, or Jaguar Warrior as it were. Which is honestly an awesome sounding vocation, even though I got no earthly idea what Jaguar is. Something fierce, clever, and stealthy I would assume, but otherwise, it’s anyone’s game.

  There’s something about it that just tickles my fancy though, and something else about all this that I can’t quite put in words. A general sense of something that I ought to consider, but I can’t place what it’s about or how I’m supposed to figure it out. It’s there on the tip of my tongue as I waddle out to the work site almost two hours after I arrive, but soon as the sweat gets flowing, my brain turns off as I focus on the job and nothing else.

  Two more weeks of this, and then I’m home free, free to spend the rest of my life with Josie, facing down whatever may come together.