October 29th, 1795 aex

Mak Garde

South of Picklewood, Watateje, New Alben

Butterhoof didn’t relax until she was placed back into her stall. She immediately ate from the bale of hay. The silent, empty barn had been a reminder of all the bad that had happened. The mare’s presence restored order in Mak’s mind. Everything had still happened, and dead animals had not resurrected, but finally, God had given them a break.

Mak stood side by side with Sherik. They’d spent the second half of the morning in silence. Mak had alerted Konni that the fight was over. She’d asked questions about the battle, but Mak ignored her, not on purpose, not fully conscious after the chaos of battle, and headed for the barn, Sherik and Butterhoof in tow.

“Should we see about breakfast?” Sherik asked.

Mak nodded, though he did not want the moment to end. He spotted the blunderbuss that Sherik still held. “That’s a good-looking tool.” Mak extended an open hand, signalling that he wanted to hold it.

Sherik obliged reluctantly. The portion of the barrel where Sherik’s grip had held it was warm and clammy. Mak turned the weapon in his hands and studied it. The main structure of the gun was made with steel and walnut wood as usual, but it was adorned with brass, silver, and what appeared to be polished ivory rocks embedded in a spiral pattern on both sides of the butt. He shook his head. Lady Marlay was nothing but old steel and wood, but she’d done the job so far.

The firing mechanism caused Mak’s lips to purse. “Even their guns are complicated for nothing.” He grimaced. It occurred to him, after a quick, narrow-eyed study, that the mechanism was no different than that of Lady Marlay or the other northern rifles he’d used. It was a flintlock system like the others, but the hammer struck the flint from the side and sent a spark into a pan that opened from the side. It was unnecessarily complicated, and Mak thrust the weapon back toward Sherik in disgust. “There’s a real northern stench to that thing.”

“The only northern stench to it is the smell of the soldier it killed.” Sherik grinned.

Mak winced at the remark. “I killed my first man recently. Not too long before yours. But I’m thirty-five years old. I can’t imagine doing it at sixteen.” It was easy to hide feelings deep in one’s self. Mak had done it since the day he married. Not once did he weep before his family, and he assumed Sherik might take after him, just as Mak had learned from his own pa. “No woman wants a sniveling man,” Pa would say, “she’ll get enough of that from the children.”

“I’m fine,” Sherik said. “I’m proud of what I did. They were trying to kill you, to kill all of us. You don’t have to worry about me. I didn’t enjoy doing it, but I’d do it over a thousand times if it meant helping you, Ma, or the others.”

Mak studied him. The words seemed sincere, but the boy’s jittery movements and fast talking told Mak to drop the subject. He’d be alright. “We’ll need more bullets,” Mak said. Sherik looked up from his blunderbuss with wide, worried eyes. Mak’s statement shattered their peace. It was an admission that they’d only won a small battle, that there’d be more to come. “We can probably use rocks in that thing,” he pointed to the blunderbuss. “It would be less than ideal, but it might work. But the powder. There’s no way around it. The small amount we have won’t last us another fight.”

“Let’s raid their camp,” Sherik said. “We take whatever guns and ammunition they had, and I think I saw a couple bags of bullet cartridges around the rail equipment.”

Mak agreed. “I expect them to return sooner rather than late. You should expect the same. Keep your eyes open, and don’t stray too far from a loaded gun. We can’t afford being aloof no more.”

Sherik nodded and gripped his blunderbuss intently.

“Our position needs to be strong when they return,” Mak said. “Let’s get out there and take every bit of weaponry we find. It would be nonsense leaving it for them. That one workman ran off. I’m sure he’ll be telling his bosses what transpired here. Guvson won’t be happy with the result. He’ll strike hard.”

Sherik’s grip loosened.

“Stay strong.” Mak patted his son’s shoulder. “We took care of eight men. Imagine what we could do with more weaponry and time to plan.”

His face lightened. “Jerri told me it’s easier to defend a castle than—”

“I know,” Mak interrupted. He couldn’t bear to hear talk of Jerri. It’d been pulling his heart to his throat ever since Konni returned from Picklewood alone. “I know.”

* * *

The vanquished foes lay where they’d left them. Mak looked over his shoulder constantly despite being on his rightful land. He glanced at both sides of the road, the forest on the edge of his land, and the woods across the road. He peered over his property to make sure nothing happened at the house. There was nothing but Konni. She repaired clothes. Skylde and Net cleaned blankets and other clothing in the river. They were never far from a loaded rifle, as Mak ordered.

There was a stench to the place. Not northern, just a proper stench. The smell of seven dead men. Mak and Sherik dragged the four bodies from in front of the house to the other side of the road and deposited them in the same place where he’d dumped Aldren Knester and the man who’d snuck into their home a couple nights ago. Mak doubted it was enough to keep the smell away from Konni and the kids. He prayed for favourable wind.

Dozens of crates bearing the Westen Freight logo were stacked a few yards past the smoldering bed of embers the soldiers had spent the night around. Each crate was closed. The four soldiers and three workmen were not far from their muskets, and each had a satchel of bullet cartridges.

“This’ll do.” Mak grinned.

“Look…” Sherik moved to one of the crates. The only one opened. He pulled out another satchel filled with ammunition, enough for maybe fifty shots. Sherik counted. “There’s ten of these in here.”

Guvson planned for war. Mak shook his head, still struggling to believe that any of this had happened. “Take as much as you can. We’ll come back with the carriage for the rest.”

“I think Butterhoof needs a good rest, Pa.”

“Then we’ll use the steam plough.”

They burdened themselves with as many rifles and satchels as they could carry. Mak ached from the wounds of the battle and walked slowly with a limp. Something caught the sunlight and flashed in Mak’s eyes.

“Pa, there’s something in the woods across the road.”

They set their loads on the ground, and Mak signalled for Sherik to follow. They crossed the road and pushed through the line of trees. “Stay low, b—” He was about to say “boy” out of habit, but he wanted to avoid the word. Sherik had proved himself a man that morning.

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Sherik crouched. He seemed more willing to obey when that word wasn’t spoken.

All you needed was a little bit of respect, eh? Mak felt like a fool.

They stopped before a clearing in the woods. Mak’s jaw dropped. A village of Westen Freight crates sprawled before them. Rows of boxes ran for nearly a hundred yards. There were carriages, wagons, hundreds of tools strewn about, and a few pyramids of canned foods.

“Construction will begin any day,” Mak said grimly.

“How haven’t we seen this until now?” Sherik asked. “You’d think we would have heard them unload or seen them come up the road.”

“There’s a path that leads to this clearing from Picklewood,” Mak said. “Me and your grandpa would take it on the way home. There’s good foraging in these woods. As for the sound,” he pointed a thumb to the hill beside them. “Voices could barely carry from here to the house even without these big hills. With them…” He let the words hang and hoped the sentenced finished itself.

Each of the carriages about the camp were steam-powered. There must have been crates full of valuable fizzore. “We should sabotage this camp, just like they did to us,” Mak said.

Sherik grinned at the idea, but voices sounded in the distance.

Mak lowered his head, Sherik did the same.

Two workers sauntered through the rows of crates, each carried another box to add to the piles. They conversed in an idle tone, though their words weren’t discernable from so far. Mak put a hand on Sherik’s shoulder. “We’d best be getting home.”

“Why don’t we kill them, Pa?” Sherik readied his blunderbuss.

“No!” Mak spoke louder than he’d anticipated. He glanced at the workers, but they showed no sign of having heard. “They could just be Westen Freight employees. Labourers. Probably only out here to put food on their family’s tables. This isn’t our land.”

Sherik looked to the ground in deep thought.

“If any of these men take one step on our farm, however,” Mak said, “you’d have permission to question them. Give them a chance to leave. Killing is your last resort.”

“But you were going to sabotage their camp,” Sherik said.

“That’s different.” It was increasingly difficult to avoid calling him boy. “Everything in this camp belongs to Westen Freight. We’d only be hurting the company owners by doing that. Only the ones responsible for what happened to our farm. The workers wouldn’t be affected.”

“Unless Guvson got angry and killed them for failing to defend the camp,” Sherik said.

He made a good point. Mak dropped it.

Sherik tensed. The workers looked their way. Their bodies craned and twisted. The taller one pointed their way, and they exchanged incoherent words.

“Don’t move,” Mak whispered. He stared back at the workers and prayed they would not advance. He had just told Sherik to avoid killing wherever he could, but if they were spotted and attacked…

His thought trailed off as the men started toward them.

“Pa, we have to get out of here,” Sherik whispered. His body inched toward the road. “We’ve got to get back to the guns.”

“Don’t move,” Mak repeated, a bit louder this time.

The men approached quickly, their eyes fixed on their prey.

“Pa, we’ve got to—”

Mak silenced him with a quick, sharply exhaled breath between clenched teeth. They were close enough to hear whispers now depending on the wind. They craned their necks and peered into the woods. Mak and Sherik were motionless.

“I swear I saw it,” one of the workers said in a gravelly, bone-chilling voice.

“Horse shit,” the other replied. His voice was average but felt angelic compared to his comrade’s.

“I’m telling you,” Gravelly-Voice said. “It was right there in the woods. I saw movement.”

“Why would I believe a one-eyed man?” the other said.

“I can still see, you idiot,” Gravelly-Voice said. “It was movement. There was no mistaking it.”

They stood side by side at the line of trees, staring directly at Mak and his son. Mak wondered about the “one-eyed” statement. Gravelly-Voice clearly had two. Yet only one of them moved as Gravely-Voice studied the woods. A chill ran through Mak’s bones.

“Right there, see it?” Gravelly-Voice pointed at them.

Mak’s crouching knees burned with the need to run, the sprained leg was numb. Gravelly-Voice stepped forward and pounced. Mak flinched but stayed still and was relieved to see that Sherik did the same.

“You weren’t lying,” the second man said, astonished.

“Of course, I wasn’t,” Gravelly-Voice shouted, “now, help me!”

The second man ran in and they chased something Mak couldn’t see. That is, until a small white ball of fluff hopped out of the woods and into the rows of crates. Its long ears erected as it ran from the workers. It carried a golden pocket watch in its mouth and hopped away at an incredible speed. Its tail, a white ball like a seeding dandelion, bounced up and down, taunting the workers as they chased.

Mak and Sherik exchanged a look and could not help but laugh. They got up and returned to the road.

“What did we just see?” Sherik asked, still laughing.

Mak had stopped laughing. The pain in his knee took his focus as he limped forward. He looked ahead, past the trees to the road. “I’m not sure, but that rabbit nearly got us spotted.”

A shape blurred from the trees to his right and settled a yard before him. Mak yelped and recoiled. His knee flared, and he fell on his arse. He shuffled back away from the dark mass before him.

Sherik laughed even harder.

A long, slender lizard scuttled into the woods to their left, rustling leaves and dry grass as it went.

“That’s the second time that’s happened this autumn.” Mak winced as he rose to his feet and brushed the dust from his pants. He froze, and his heart turned to ice. The lizard had led his eyes to something odd on the forest floor. Something that did not belong.

A grey dress lay on the ground, dirtied with muddy footprints. Mak picked it up and shook the dirt and ants from it. His heart pounded. He could barely swallow. It was Jerri’s. It was the dress she wore the day she left for Picklewood. He poked his finger through the hole near the navel that confirmed it. What happened, Little Lady? He reached into the deep pocket. The coal pen, leather-bound notebook, and Parren’s knife were gone.

A tear rushed down his cheek and Mak hurried to wipe it.

“It’s okay to cry, Pa.” Sherik stood tall, with two fists balled tightly. He looked in the direction of the workers with scorn and tears in his eyes.

“Don’t blame those men.” Mak’s voice trembled. “You know who to blame. The same man who’s been responsible for all of this.” He coughed to cover a sob. “Don’t tell your mother about this. Or the kids. They still have hope that Jerri might return. We shouldn’t take that from them. At least not until all of this is sorted out.”

Sherik nodded, his eyes red with rage and hurt. His face softened, and his eyes fixed on something. “What’s this?” He crouched and picked up a clump of black cloth, powdered with sand. He slapped it against his thigh to clean it, but the sand remained.

“Wait,” Mak recognized the thing.

“This isn’t sand,” Sherik said, overlooking the cloth in awe.

“It’s gold,” Mak swiped the bow-tie from his son’s hands. “It belonged to a Mister Androck.”

A wind blew in from the road, carrying the smell of decaying northern bodies with it. Crows cawed, like children called to supper.

“We have to look for her,” Sherik ran into the woods before Mak could say anything.

Mak knew not to hope. He lay the dress to rest beneath a canopy of leaves on a low branch. He mouthed a quick prayer, stood, and leaned against a tree, waiting for his son’s futile search to end.

* * *

They had not spoken since leaving the dress. They regained their burdens of guns and bullets and started for the house in silence. Sherik sniffled here and there, causing Mak to flinch each time. He held back a flow of tears, and his son’s weeping made it more difficult to do so.

Jerri was gone. He was certain of it now. I should have taken you to see the city, at least once. I let my own hatred of the North act as prison bars for you. You worked hard on the farm, you were loyal to your family, yet I was too stubborn to allow you a simple curiosity about the wonders of the city. Mak cleared his throat to push another sob away.

Sherik dropped his things and crouched. He loaded one of the rifles.

“What are you doing?”

“There’s someone heading down the path to the house, Pa.”

Mak peered ahead. He was right. A man sauntered toward the front door. A rifle leaned on his shoulder and he moved with a limp. Mak could barely make out any details from so far, but the man did not have the helm of a soldier, nor the blue coat. He wore what looked like white, or cream coloured shirt, not too different from Mak’s own attire.

Sherik handed Mak a rifle. “I loaded you one, too, let’s go.” Sherik charged ahead.

Mak was impressed. His son had never taken charge before. Mak dropped his load and followed. The two ran toward the man, not caring if they were seen or not. Konni and the kids would be behind the house preparing supper at this time. Easy targets. The thought pushed Mak through the ache in his hip.

Mak aimed his gun. “Halt, stranger!”

The stranger obeyed and raised his hands.

“If you move and inch, you eat lead,” Mak said. “Sherik, get his gun, and any other weapon he might have.”

Sherik moved forward and froze a few paces before the stranger. “Pa! It’s Uncle Daun!”

Mak lowered his gun and stepped forward on his uninjured leg.

Daun looked at him and fell to his knees. His face was red, bruised, and gaunt. “I lost them all, Mak. They’re all gone. I won’t let the same thing happen here.”