It hadn’t been enough reeds to reach all the way down with all the lines, but it had been a good start- enough for a proof of the concept, at the very least. In the evening sun, he stood at the mouth of the cave and beheld his work with pride - staring at the channel he had constructed from cloth, mortar and meters upon meters of improvised piping channeling the stream into the depths. Next to Logan’s heavy boots stood an old, dusty box-fan. He was surprised to hear it still worked, but the numerous repairs were obvious on the chassis and the wire connecting it to the power-grid. He bent down and flipped its switch, wincing at the pained, grinding moans of the machine coming to life.
Next, he covered the outlet with fabric that he then tied around the channels. A moment later, a cloud of dust escaped from the depths of the cavern like a vicious cough - ironically irritating his lungs so that he echoed the cave’s.
The theory was that the fan would blow cool air from the surface down through the channel, laying low by the stream to maintain its temperature until it released further down the farm. He could certainly understand why the farmers had aimed their fans squarely on the beds, as the temperatures of the depth felt cool, despite having the same temperature as the heated downstairs.
Next, he wandered on down the steps to verify that his observations had been correct and, as hypothesized, the air coming out of the channel was remarkably cooler than the rest of the place. It also served to mobilize the dust further up - at least the finest particles of it, leaving less work for the cleaners.
Several thumps could be heard on the stairs behind him, four sets of boots - four, similarly sized ones.
“Cool, isn’t it?” Logan spoke over his shoulder, towards the quartet of melancholic shapes. Abraham and Michael supported Marcel between them, while a fourth, thin, tall man followed shortly behind them. He had a grim expression of his own, written across his long, hood-clad face. A priest, by the looks of his robes, but with some impressive scarring. A veteran, by the cold of his gaze.
Disappointed by the lack of their enthusiasm, he shrugged - perhaps the harlot woman now posing as his lover would be more impressed.
Logan had heard Marcel had suffered from the strength of the Ghast - he had seen the cracks in the wall as he returned to their abode. The fact he was still capable of standing was a testament to his sturdiness and to the skill of the two priests, no doubt. But his body would ache for some time more. His spirits seemed far lighter than the other two, especially Michael, whose blue eyes were trained on the stairs.
“It’s a frightening thing, yes? That power - the voice. It takes some training to be resistant to it, most people can’t resist it even with that. Men your age shouldn’t be able to last as long as you did.” Logan spoke, sensing what had soured the small congregation in the tunnel. Michael turned his head away to mutter: “I should’ve resisted it… I could’ve - I would’ve killed Ethel.”
Logan shrugged and offered: “I could have, as well. If I had missed the shot, I would’ve blown her open. But I didn’t and you didn’t. That’s all that matters. For what it’s worth, she’s spoken highly of you warriors.”
Michael might’ve spat on the granite steps if it hadn’t sullied what was, in essence, their only food-supply. “I’m no warrior… I couldn’t resist him. I wanted to protect the people here - I wanted them to be free, but I couldn’t do it.” Logan cocked his head. It wasn’t his usual inquisitive cocking - Marcel had seen that one a fair few times by then… this was different.
Michael went on, still staring into the granite.
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The Ghast asked: “Is that why you want to be a Ghast? To defend the town?”
Michael’s frown never left his lips as he shook his head. “No. I wanted to be a Ghast so I could kill the Hellspawn. I wanted it so I could get revenge - for the people we’ve lost and for the ones we’ll keep losing. You asked me if I didn’t want to tear down the wall and be out there. I do. But now I wanna kill that fucker, too.”
Logan fell silent. Abraham and Marcel nodded in agreement, seconding his statement in the form of contributions: “Because of them, we have to deal with people like him.” Abraham said. Marcel chimed in with: “We’re tired of starving for some protection that never comes… they don’t even protect our caravans. If there weren’t Hellspawn, we wouldn’t need them at all.”
Logan had, up until that point, seen the people of Anza as a sheepish flock - content with their safety beyond the wall. But as he ordered them to meet his gaze, he saw something in their eyes - that familiar, powerful emotion that all killers crave and need.
“In Zeke’s bags, you will find a purse of dust. Marcel, take one pinch now and one in the morning. Abraham, whatever you can do to heal him, do it. Michael, go to Bear and find weapons - live, sharp ones. I need pine sap for accelerant and I’ll need help carrying it.”
It took several moments before the boys understood their orders, much longer for them to realize what Michael spoke through an agape jaw: “W-we’re going out? With you?” Logan nodded.
“Yes. For the time being, you are conscripted for the Order of the Ghast. Now, you’ve got your orders- shush. Get to it.” The black-coated man motioned towards the exit. Marcel, always eager, jerked his brethren around to depart, only for Michael to stop and stare wistfully over his shoulder, as if wishing to ask something. But at the behest of his comrades, the young warriors pushed up towards the mouth of the stairs, forgetting about their escort entirely.
Now on their lonesome, Logan turned the white mask to the long-faced, scarred man. “I’ll need to keep them out of his reach. I believe I pissed him off yesterday.” Isaac’s thin lips split apart in a chuckle.
“I would like to think so. On the topic of which, I’d like to thank you for what you did for us - for Ethel. And for the boys.” Logan nodded. “I’m still a man, priest. I cannot in good conscience let a redhead fall to her death.”
Isaac bowed his head graciously and chuckled, satisfied with the answer.
“This will be their first trip out of the town, you know. I had always wished to take them, myself, but I can see no one better than you for the job.”
“You’re not worried?” Logan asked.
With a cheeky smile, the priest bowed his head down lower and said: “Not in your presence. I saw you fight once; five years ago. It took me a while to make the connection, but between the mask and that flask you have in your coat, it’s hard to ignore the obvious.” The priest was observant - a credit to his kind.
“You were part of the Purge, then? You went back before the push for the Frontier?” The priest bowed his head, obscuring his eyes.
“Indeed. I heard you went to the front and stayed there. I suppose that’s why it was hard to make the connection - your return was unexpected.” Logan pocketed his hands and looked into the darkness of the cave. If he couldn’t confide in a priest, who could he confide in?
“I have unfinished work. At least it started that way - there’s something here, calling me…” The Priest drew back his hood and joined the warrior in looking into the depths, narrowing his eyes to protect himself from the gusts of dust.
“The mechanic ruins? It would certainly bring peace to our region, but… even you… is it doable?” Logan looked up into the cave’s ceiling and shrugged - admiring the now-steady lights, having cut the power consumption drastically.
“Maybe. With the right knowledge and the right people, I’ll find a way.” The dire promise hung in the air; a truth too optimistic for the aged priest to dare believe.
“That would change things. Not just for us, but for the Citadel and the villages in the lowlands - it would reconnect us. I know the Governor is busy on the front, but… surely, you’re not expected to do this alone?” Logan tipped back and forth on his toes, miring in his construct once more. Surely, in the spirit of this man’s profession, he could speak the truth? If not to him, then to whom? If he had already seen him in battle, it meant he already knew, either way.
“I’ll find a way. But I’d be lying if I said I did it for you or for anyone else.” Logan turned his mask towards the priest. His voice dropped an octave and again, all heat seemed to disappear from the cave’s mouth. “I’m just here to kill Hellspawn.”