“Where do you think she’s off to?” Slick asked.
“Preparing to use her deck,” Lydia said. “She’s in her room. Gathering what little gear she has to take with her.”
Bo raised an eyebrow at the monster. “How do you know that?”
“You made me the majordomo of your new home,” Lydia said. “My connection to your community gives me a great deal of information.”
“You know where everybody is, all the time?” Bo asked.
“Of course not. That would be overwhelming even for a creature of my intellect,” she said. “I know where the hex’s champion is, and I also know where all of your experts are. Speaking of which, you have one more upgrade to make and another deck to assign.”
“What are the last two options?” Bo asked.
“Faith is one of the remaining paths,” Lydia said. “I would recommend you choose this for your next community build token. It will allow you to create a shrine to one of the Nine True Gods. This will unlock the Priest expert role. While they are not powerful at low levels, priests can seek the wisdom of the Nine. This could provide you vital information going forward, and a strong faith within your community forms the bedrock upon which you can build a mighty nation.”
Bo didn’t like the sound of that. Sure, it might be nice to have someone who could give him brief glimpses of the future or provide hints about dangers. But the pitmaster had spent enough days in Vacation Bible School and the occasional Sunday service—not to mention reading tales of Greek mythology in school—to know that God’s offered nothing without strings attached.
“I’ll pass on that for now,” Bo said. “Feels a little culty, to be honest. Plus, it’s not my business who people worship. What’s the other option?”
Lydia furrowed her brows at Bo and folded one pair of arms over her chest. “The Nine are real powers in the many worlds. Swearing fealty to one of them could be a big help for your community.”
“That’s how it would start. But as soon as we’ve got a church to some god, they’ll start asking for sacrifices. Had pass,” Bo replied. “Next, please.”
“The grunge elves have their gods,” Lydia said. “They are primitive, horrible deities. But the worship unifies the elves. In times of trouble, they look to their vile patrons and trust in their leadership.”
“The grunge elves are the bad guys,” Bo said. “I don’t care what they have. Come on. What’s the last path?”
“Very well,” Lydia said, her frown unwavering. “The last of the four paths is Craft. The first upgrade will provide you with a workshop. That will unlock the Craftsman role. At low levels, this Expert can create basic weapons, armor, and utility items.”
“Sounds good,” Bo said. “We need to replace all the guns that don’t work anymore. People have to protect themselves.”
“Sort of thought that was your job,” Slick said. “I’m not sure everybody here wants to fight.”
“I can do a lot,” Bo said, “but I can’t battle a small army of grunge elves all alone. People have to help protect this community.”
“I’m not much of a fighter,” Slick said.
“Neither was I,” Bo confirmed. “Before I went to war with a brisket, the last time I got into a fight, I was eight years old.”
Slick nodded, a far-off look in his eye. He said nothing, but Bo could see he wanted to. The pitmaster gave his older friend time to find his words. Finally, Slick let out a sigh and clapped his hands on his knees.
“I don’t tell this story often,” he said, his dark eyes clouding with a painful memory. “Your old man knew, and you might as well, too. Because there are things I won’t do, no matter how nice you ask me.”
Bo wanted to crack a joke, but the torment he saw on Slick’s face zipped his lips.
“When I was around your age, which was before you were even a twinkle in your mama’s eye,” Slick said, “I was a little rough around the edges, you could say. Spent too much time in bars, not enough time in church. Didn’t listen to my mama when I should.”
He took a deep breath and looked out at the horizon, as if searching for something. He didn’t look back at Bo as he continued.
“There was a dice game in one of the neighborhood hangouts,” he said. “I don’t even remember the name of the place now. I guess it doesn’t matter. I was lucky, and the guy running the game decided maybe I was too lucky. He pushed me, I shoved him back, and next thing I know, we were all outside. He caught me with a sucker punch, and I punched back. Caught him square on the jaw, and down he went.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong—” Bo started, but Slick raised a hand to quiet him.
“He never got back up,” Slick said. “Hit his head when he went down, broke something inside it. Looked peaceful as a baby sleeping, but he was dead on the spot. We all covered it up. Your old man was there.”
“It was an accident,” Bo said, but he felt a deep sense of unease at the idea that his father had helped cover up such a serious crime. Not that any of it mattered now. Anyone who would have cared was long gone, and the world had moved on from such pleasant ideas as law and order.
“Doesn’t matter,” Slick said. “I never got over killing that man. It took the will to kill right out of me, son.”
“I get it,” Bo said. “Much as I can, anyway. But this world won’t give us a choice about whether to fight.”
“Push comes to shove,” Slick said. “I could fight to save someone’s life. But I don’t know if I’d survive it.”
“Well,” Bo said, “Fortunately for you, I’ve got another job in mind. You’re my craftsman.”
“I don’t know,” Slick said. “I got my hands full taking care of Bev.”
“You’re not a babysitter,” Bo said. “Come on, Slick. I can trust you. I know you’ll do good work. That’s what’s important right now.”
The older man looked out of the cave’s mouth at the overcast sky. He sucked on his lower lip for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders. “If you need me, I’ll do it.”
“Fantastic,” Bo said. He summoned the deck into his hand and tossed it to Slick..
“Geez, you could have told me you were going to throw it,” the older man complained. He’d caught the deck, but only after juggling it for a few moments from one hand to the next. “What do I do with it?”
“Open it,” Lydia said, sounding both bored and irritated. It was obvious she’d wanted Bo to pick Faith as his second path. The pitmaster wasn’t sure why she was so hot for that idea, and he didn’t really care. It wasn’t her decision to make.
“Wow,” Slick said after he’d opened the slim packet of cards, staggering a little. “That’s something.”
The older man held the cards out to Bo, who flipped through them quickly. He liked what he saw.
CRAFTSMAN’S EXPERT DECK
Tinker's Hammer
TYPE: Item
ACTIVATE: --
GENERATE: *
POWER: 1
Generate POW mana of any type. This mana may only be used to activate a Craft skill card.
RARITY: Common
Craft Weapon
TYPE: Skill
ACTIVATE: 2W
GENERATE: --
POWER: 2
Create one basic melee weapon or one basic missile weapon.
RARITY: Common
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Craft Armor
TYPE: Skill
ACTIVATE: 2W
GENERATE: --
POWER: 2
Create one basic suit of armor.
RARITY: Common
Craft Utility
TYPE: Skill
ACTIVATE: 1W
GENERATE: --
POWER: 1
Create one basic utility item.
RARITY: Common
Measure Twice
TYPE: Skill
ACTIVATE: 1W
GENERATE: 2W
POWER: 2
Double the cooldown of the next Craft card you activate.
RARITY: Common
Cut Once
TYPE: Skill
ACTIVATE: 1W
GENERATE: --
POWER: 3
The POW of your next crafted item is equal to this card's POW.
RARITY: Rare
GENERATED CARDS: 3 POTENTIAL
“This is amazing,” Bo said. “How often can these cards be activated?”
Lydia’s monstrous eyes flicked closed for a moment, then snapped open again. “Items can be equipped in a single turn. Skill cards have variable activation cool down timers, but most require less than ten minutes between uses. The craft cards are more time intensive and will require one hour per use.”
Bo did some quick calculations in his head. Slick could use the Tinker’s Hammer to generate 1 Wisdom mana. That power would go into Measure Twice to generate 2 Wisdom mana. One point of that mana could then go into Cut Once and Craft Missile to make a bow or crossbow. Every two and a half hours, give or take, Slick would make a POW 3 ranged weapon. If they left out Cut Once, he could make two POW 1 weapons at the same time. The pitmaster didn’t think that was a good idea, though. He’d rather have more powerful bows in as many hands as possible to make sure his archers could put a foe down, not just wound them.
Of course, that would only work if he had people who could shoot bows. He supposed it was time to find out just what kind of personnel he had to work with.
“Thank you for taking on this responsibility, Slick,” Bo said, clapping the older man on the shoulders. “Now I have to ask for another favor. Build me some bows.”
Slick chuckled. “I knew you’d put me right to work. You’ve been going like the devil himself was on your tail ever since you put hands on that deck of yours. How many weapons do you need?”
“As many as you can make,” Bo replied. “Try not to run yourself ragged. If you can knock out a couple for me today, and three or four a day from here on out, that’ll be a tremendous help.”
“As you command, m’lord,” Slick said with an exaggerated bow.
“I’ll thump you if you ever call me that again,” Bo chuckled.
“You’ll try,” Slick said. “I’m the village craftsman now. That makes me important.”
“Yes, it does,” Lydia said. “Come with me. I’ll show you to your workshop.”
“Where should I bring the bows?” Slick asked as he followed Lydia into the cavern.
“My room,” Bo replied.
And then Slick and Lydia were gone, and Bo was alone with his smoker. He fed it enough crypt coins to keep it running for a few more days, helped himself to some of the slow-roasted meat it produced, and looked out at the land beyond his new home.
The blue tinge on the horizon was comforting, but it was also a dark reminder that there were foes beyond its protective barrier. The grunge elves were, no doubt, working themselves to the bone in service of whatever dark gods they served. The pitmaster wondered what weapons they had, how well their armor would protect them, and just how deep of a hole he’d find himself in when the time came to fight them.
“Stop borrowing trouble,” he said to himself and headed for his room. He needed to get cleaned up and rest.
Tomorrow would be a busy day.
----------------------------------------
Bo had stripped his gloves off, shucked his apron, and was about to drop his shorts when a giggle erupted from the far corner of the room.
The pitmaster whirled toward the sound and equipped his cleaver. He had the weapon raised to strike and was on the verge of drawing a new hand of cards when the giggles became full-blown laughter.
“You should see your face,” Jenny said.
The scout seemed to emerge from the wall as she spoke. Bo saw her grin first, then her eyes, and finally each of her limbs before she stepped out of hiding to reveal her slender form. She shifted color like a chameleon as she moved, her skin slowly warming from the cold gray of the stone wall to its normal flesh tones.
“Neat trick,” Bo said. “I wouldn’t sneak up on me again, though.”
“Next time, I won't let you see me coming,” Jenny said.
Oh, tell her you definitely want to—
“I figured you’d already be on the road,” Bo said, banishing the cleaver along with Barbie’s intrusive thoughts. He was about to raise his apron over his head when Jenny grabbed the rubberized material and pulled it out of his hands.
“Don’t,” she said. “I want to ogle you a bit before I take off. Just in case.”
“I thought you said you’d be careful,” Bo said.
“I will be,” Jenny said. “Mostly.”
She stopped at arm’s reach and trailed a finger down his chest. She didn’t say anything, just looked at Bo with eyes that burned with emotions he wasn’t sure he could read.
“You’d best be,” Bo said. “Where are you headed first?”
Jenny flopped down on the bed. She wore the same clothes she’d had on every day since the apocalypse kicked off. Her knife was still strapped to her back, its handle rising above her shoulder for easy access. Despite the weapon, she seemed too small to Bo, too helpless. But he knew better than to say any such thing to Jenny.
She would kick his ass all over this room if he even suggested she couldn’t take care of herself.
“That’s what I’m here to ask. Any suggestions?” she asked him.
“That’s a good question,” Bo said. “Those jackalopes are still out there. Some giant lizards, too. Try to find their spawn points. I need to deal with them to clear one of these challenges. Stay away from the thunder bison, though.”
“You don’t think I can take ‘em?” Jenny asked.
“I don’t think you should,” Bo said. “We might need them later.”
“Intriguing,” Jenny said. “All right, boss man. I’ll find your monsters and report back. Don’t wait up.”
The scout rolled off the bed and onto her feet. She strode out of the room without a backward glance, leaving Bo to wonder if he’d done something wrong.
This is what looooove feels like. Such fun.
“Shut up, Barbie,” Bo said. “You’re just jealous.”
To the pitmaster’s surprise, the devil didn’t respond. Maybe Barbie was jealous.
----------------------------------------
Bo woke the next morning feeling like a new man. His body had completely recovered from the day’s exertions, he’d scrubbed all the gore off his skin and out of his hair, and the only problem he had was an empty belly. That, at least, had a simple solution. He’d soon quieted his hunger with fresh meat from the smoker.
He spent the rest of that morning seeing which of his people could shoot a bow. They set globs of the dense red clay so common in this area on top of rock piles to use as targets and gave three shots with a bow to anyone who wanted them. Most everyone took a turn, while Slick and Bo appraised the shooters.
“Notice anything about those arrows?” Slick asked.
Bo watched as Gertrude took a shaky turn, then chuckled and handed the bow off to one of Martin’s friends. The arrows in the quiver that matched the bow were sleek wooden projectiles with blunted tips for target practice, but Bo couldn’t see anything special about them.
“What am I missing?” he asked Slick.
“They don’t run out,” Slick replied. “I tested it out last night. The bows come with a quiver of about twenty arrows. But every time you shoot one, the quiver replaces it.”
Bo stroked his beard as he pondered that. “What if you dump them out of the quiver?”
“Tried that,” Slick said with a chuckle. “That doesn’t work the same. You can shoot all day, but if you take some out and don’t shoot them, the quiver doesn’t replace it.”
“Pure friggin’ magic,” Bo said.
“That’s about the size of it,” Slick agreed. “It’ll come in handy during a fight, but trying to use them for building materials or any other shenanigans just won’t work.”
Bo nodded, then tilted his head toward the archery lanes. “What do you think about that?”
Slick chuckled ruefully. “We don’t have a lot of raw material to work with. But if we put enough bows in their hands, they’ll hit something. Eventually.”
Bo felt about the same. “A couple of Martin’s guys look pretty good. Hunters, probably. I’ll get them in charge of training some others. I’m not expecting anyone to pull a Legolas, but a solid firing line might persuade monsters to go look for easier prey.”
“I think you can handle this without me,” Slick said. He dragged himself off the rock he’d been using as a seat and pressed his knuckles into the base of his spine. “I need to get back to the workshop. I can probably make four powerful bows a day, but I don’t have time to sit around playing America’s Got Talent: Archery Edition.”
“Thanks for your help,” Bo said. “Don’t burn yourself out.”
“No worries there,” Slick said. “Using this deck isn’t hard, just time consuming. As long as you keep me fed, I’ll keep making bows.”
“Got you covered,” the pitmaster said.
Over the next few days, things went smoothly enough. Jenny checked in from time to time, but she had found no monsters on her journeys. They agreed it was time for her to head farther afield, and she promised to be back in time for the meeting with the silver hounds. The gnomes settled in nicely and took it upon themselves to handle the food lines at the smoker.
Martin and his men agreed to take over archery training. Their efforts added fresh faces to the firing line every day. They ran two shifts of training, which doubled the number of folks who could sharpen their skills. The process gave them twenty-five archers who could hit the broad side of the barn after a few days. Martin promised fifty who could shoot accurately enough to hit a deer at thirty yards by the end of the week.
Slick kept up with manufacturing the bows and even gained an Expert Craftsman level that reduced the time it took him to create bows by a quarter. That allowed him to create four bows a day without strain, five if he went hard.
Things were, in Bo’s opinion, humming right along. They’d have enough archers to start hunting and foraging soon, which was good news. While everyone enjoyed the smoker’s magical meats, even Bo had to admit that some variety in their diets would be good for morale.
And then, five days after the last time he’d seen Jenny, Bo heard her voice.
“Is this, uh, Bo? Can you hear me?” The sound came from the small basin of water in Bo’s room. It was long after dinner, and the pitmaster had just settled in to sleep. But the sound of his friend’s voice catapulted Bo out of bed.
“Did you sneak back in?” he asked.
“Look in the water,” she said. “And try to keep it down. We don’t want to spook them.”
Bo wasn’t sure who ‘them’ was, but he lowered his voice as he approached the basin. “What kind of trouble did you land in?”
“Screw you, Bo,” Jenny whispered. “I can’t believe you’re not even asking how I can talk to you. It’s one of my cards. I can’t use it very often, though, so take a good look.”
Bo peered into the water to see Jenny’s face seemingly just below its surface. Her skin was painted in silver light that turned her eyes into deep hollows and made her nose pale as bone. His friend held a finger to her lips and did something that shifted Bo’s view.
He saw gently rolling hills studded with small stands of mesquite. The twin moons, which always seemed to be full, cast competing waves of light across the land. Shadows battled with one another as the wind shifted the trees, and it took Bo a long moment to understand what Jenny showed him.
The hills formed a ring around a depression. Creatures writhed down in that pit, long, snaky bodies with too many awkward limbs. Heads rose from the congregation, long and triangular like living daggers, and forked tongues lashed at the air.
Jenny had found the lizards.
But she’d found something else, too.
As Bo watched, he understood why the lizards weren’t moving out of the pit. At first, he thought they were tangled in vines. He knew there had been some new vineyards popping up along the Red River and imagined the magic changing them into something much stranger.
But the longer he looked, the more what he’d thought were vines looked like veins.
Red veins.
Or roots.
“Ah, shit,” Bo said.
“That’s what I thought,” Jenny replied. “The tree is here.”