Chapter 65

Bianca

Day 48

Population of Thornhill - 52

Dig, dig, dig. That’s been my motto these past few days. Digging, building, and setting down those giant stone pipes. This sewage system—oh boy, it was our boldest project yet. But with our Build skill and two magical golems—one for crafting, one for quarrying—we were finally laying down the real foundation for a cleaner future.

Every day, I’d carve out at least an hour for bow practice and to work on clay pottery so my skills didn’t get rusty. Then it was back underground to map out the tunnels beneath Thornhill. We’d start with the main pipes beneath the main road, then dig out a reservoir to collect and filter the waste into gray water.

We found a spot east of the village—a little dip in the hills, backed by chalk and limestone ridges that’d hopefully trap any smell before it drifted over. Crag, my quarry golem, could tackle the pit, while Slate, my all-purpose golem, shaped cement pipes from the limestone and chalk.

The city planners—Bruce, our mason, and Marek, our all-around planner—started marking the camp with sticks, measuring out the main pipeline routes and where branches would split off. Marek figured it’d take months to finish it all.

“We need more people, Bianca.” Marek sipped his tea, looking over the rough plan we’d sketched on tree bark with charcoal. “There’s more to build, yes? You want houses, warehouses, all this, all that. Too much. We need more hands.”

“I’ll see if I can round up Alex, Cade, Aiden—and maybe one of the blacksmiths—to help out,” I said.

“Dungeon runts,” Marek frowned. “Can’t get them to stay still to do hard work for more than an hour.”

“I’ll try to get them to pitch in.”

Then there was the matter of upkeep. We needed more hands, more builders. Machines, tools, golems—whatever help we could muster. Slate and Crag were worth ten workers each, easy, but it still wasn’t enough. Could I not have just a few more golems? A little more help to ease this weight?

Amid all the building, one lingering issue loomed over us: a COVID outbreak. On my way to the church, where we were caring for the sick, I ran through a mental list of all that still needed doing. Some were calling it a "small problem"—just another item on our long list. But to me, it felt anything but minor. COVID had already infected four people: Larry and his wife Tiffany, Joycelyn the washerwoman, and even Father Gallagher himself.

Father Gallagher had insisted that the church serve as a quarantine zone. Inside, they kept busy, working on candles or tanning leather—small tasks, but they kept minds and hands occupied, and away from the others. Most of them were only mildly ill, though a few had deep, rattling coughs that sounded a bit too serious to ignore.

I left them some food, tea, and herbs from Anika, which they took gratefully, though Larry couldn’t help but grumble, insisting he was fine and ready to get back to work.

Afterward, I planned to head to my bow practice. But just then, a loud, familiar caw echoed from above. I looked up—and a raven—or was it a crow?—circled me, the size of a bald eagle. The dark blue bird perched on a high branch with his wings spread as if saluting me. I vaguely remembered the bird following Orion.

I could’ve sworn it greeted me, then started pecking at its leg where a note was wrapped.

"Hey… birdie? Is… that for me?"

The bird gave me a sharp look, almost as if it were offended, then let out a caw that sounded impatient.

I approached the bird with care, wary, as it felt like a wild animal, keeping an eye out for any sudden movements, and reached for the tied parcel. As I carefully unwrapped it, I found thick yellow parchment covered in scribbles on both sides.

Build defenses

Raid in 20day

Ask Herm - Rye

Prepare4War

Brb 2-3 days

Take care of Cass

It’s got to be a joke. It’s a joke. No way. Not again.

My knees wobbled as my stomach twisted, tightening with every ragged breath.

What did he expect me to do? Drop everything, throw up defenses? How could we possibly manage it all? This couldn’t be happening—not again.

The weight pressed down on me, anchoring me to the ground. I really didn’t want to go through all this again.

“Bianca, are you alright?” Cade’s voice broke through the fog in my head, his hand steadying me. His eyes narrowed, concern etched across his face. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“Cade…” My throat felt tight, words scraping out. “Get the council together. You, Sasha, Alex, and Herman as well.”

Cade’s brow furrowed. “He’s out on the water, fishing,” he said, trying to make sense of it all.

“I don’t care. Just get him,” I snapped, my voice sharper than I’d meant. “Tell him it’s urgent. And hurry.”

He nodded, his jaw clenched, and took off without another word. As Cade vanished from view, Orion’s bird, perched nearby, fixed its sharp, black eyes on me. It seemed to confirm that I had received the message before launching itself into the sky, heading back north.

The room spun again, a dull pounding gathering at my temples as I made my way to the mess hall. I focused on my breathing, trying to keep the panic from showing. Hold it together, I told myself. Just breathe.

One by one, they arrived—Anika, Ethan, Herman, Alex, Cade, and Sasha. The scrape of chairs against the stone floor sounded through the mess hall as they settled around the table, tension thickening the air between us. Herman came in last, leaning heavily on his walking stick, practically dragged in by Cade, who bore the brunt of his muttered complaints and irritation.

“This better be good,” he grumbled, easing himself down with a sigh, his bones creaking along with the wood beneath him.

“I got a note from Rye,” I managed, lifting the scrap of paper. “We have twenty days to prepare for an attack on our village.”

The message was passed around the circle, each pair of hands gripping it a little tighter than the last. When it reached Herman, he clenched it in his trembling hands, his knuckles clenched, the paper crumpling slightly under his grip. Silence rippled through the room, heavy and thick, each person processing the shock in their own way. Every face turned pale, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and disbelief. For a moment, no one moved. No one spoke. This was real. This was happening.

“He’s joking, right?” Sasha’s voice was barely a whisper, as if speaking louder would make it real. “How did he even get that message to you?”

“Rye’s bird brought it,” I said, swallowing hard. “He must have found something out in Kronfeldt.”

Herman scratched his beard, his eyes narrowed with thought. “Orion isn’t one to joke about things like this. If he says to build defenses, he’s got a reason.”

“But how?” Ethan stammered, struggling to form the words. “How do we build defenses?”

“We need a spot to fortify,” Herman said, pacing with a soldier’s rhythm. “Start with a wall. Palisades, ditches… maybe towers. Set up a perimeter.”

“But the land’s too open,” Anika pointed out. “How can we cover it all?”

Herman gave a short nod, already considering. “We won’t. Not everything. But if we dig a moat near the river and set Crag’s team to quarrying stone for a wall on the opposite side, we’ll create strong boundaries.”

Herman pointed east. “Those hills? Natural barrier. We close them off with smaller walls, make it harder for them to flank us.”

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Herman got up and wandered to the open doors of the mess hall, looking out onto the horizon and pointing with a walking stick.

“Gates. Chokepoints.” Herman’s eyes narrowed. “Force them into tight spaces where we control the flow. Defend from above with bows.”

“But there’s only twenty days,” Cade frowned, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don't think we can build that many walls and make bows in such a short time.”

Herman looked out over the rest of the council. “We’ll need every hand we’ve got. But it’s doable—if we work smart.”

“Alright,” I said, finding a flicker of confidence. “We’ll start on a bridge over the moat for the main gate. We’ll hold off filling it with water till the last second. I’ll get Crag carry stone blocks and place them next to each other to make us a wall. You guys can handle digging the moats.”

Alex cleared his throat, a faint spark in his eyes that none of the rest of us shared. Out of all of us, he looked almost eager. “What about weapons?” he asked, leaning forward. “Arrows, bows—anything we can use to fight back?”

“Yes,” I said, voice firmer. “We’ll need a whole arsenal. And quickly.”

“We can’t have everyone working on defenses,” Anika spoke up. “People still need food and water.”

“Defenses take priority.” My voice cut through the murmurs. “This is life or death. We’ll set aside a few to keep making bread, catching fish, but everyone else will focus on fortifying. Those not strong enough to dig can help fletch arrows or manage the daily operations.”

Anika’s eyes held worry. “And what do we tell everyone else?”

“I’ll call a town meeting.” I turned to Cade, who looked like he was ready to charge into action, jaw set with determination. “Go ring the bell three times,” I said. It was our signal for an emergency gathering at the town hall.

The bells rung thrice. Soon, the entire village filled the hall, anxious and whispering. They looked to me, eyes wide with fear and questions. When the last few trickled in, I scanned the room, taking a quick count. Everyone was here.

“Kathy,” I called. “The children don’t need to hear this. Please take them back to their studies. I'll talk to you later.” Kathy, a retired teacher who managed all the teaching and babysitting in town, nodded, her face pale with understanding. She gently guided the children out, shepherding them away like little ducklings. When they left the mess hall, I turned to face the others, their expectant expressions mirroring the dread I felt.

I took a breath and let it out slowly, steadying myself. How could I even begin to deliver this? Open and transparent government, Bianca. They had to know. Rip off the band-aid.

“We’ve received word from the trade expedition.” My voice carried to every corner of the room. “In about twenty days, raiders will attack our village.”

The hall erupted into a frantic wave of voices, each overlapping in a chorus of fear and frustration. People glanced wildly at one another, eyes wide, as if searching for some reassurance that no one could give.

“No, it can’t be!”

“Why us, again? Why?”

“We should leave! Pack up and go!”

The panic kept rising, bubbling like a volcano into a fever pitch.

And then Ruth’s voice, sharp and bitter, pierced through. “It’s that Orion’s fault! He always drags trouble with him! What were they doing out there?! They were supposed to make peace, Bianca!”

I raised my hands, trying to calm them, but the hysteria spread like a virulent disease, jumping from person to person. Finally, I had to shout, “QUIET!”

The shout pierced every eardrum through the hall, and one by one, their voices fell silent. I let the quiet hang a moment, holding their gazes.

“We are stronger than we were before,” I said calmly, steady but loud enough for all to hear. “Many of us have grown stronger in the dungeon. We have Slate and Crag—they’ll help us build walls and dig moats. But for this to work, we all need to pull together. Each of us has a role, and we’re all going to have to rely on each other.”

The crowd shifted, the fear giving way to something closer to unease as they listened.

I scanned the room, meeting their eyes as I spoke, keeping my voice steady but not too forceful. “Cade and Alex, you’ll organize the diggers. Anyone with the strength to dig, start working on the moat. Marek and Bruce, you’re with Crag on the wall construction. Anika, you’ll keep everything running smoothly with logistics. Herman and Samar, food and water are yours—fishing and farming are the only things that won’t stop. If you’re not digging or building, focus on traps, fetching water, or fletching arrows. Every hand counts.”

I let my gaze settle on each of them, trying my best to smile warmly. “I’ll make sure Slate and Crag handle the heaviest work. We’ll get this done—together.”

The villagers nodded, steeling themselves, some even standing a little taller, purpose driving out their fear.

“We’ve got twenty days,” I said firmly. “Let’s make them count.”

“Bianca… how many of them are there going to be? Why do they want to hurt us?” Gladys’s voice trembled, and the room held its breath.

“I don’t know yet.” The unease spread, murmurs breaking through the crowd. “Orion and the others will bring us more details when they’re back.”

Cade and Alex stepped forward, resolute, representing the authority of my commands. Cade’s voice sliced through the whispers, sharp and steady. “Let’s get to work. If we want to stay alive, it’s time to start digging!”

With those words, our leaders sprang into action. Like parts of a machine, they moved into place, purpose in their steps. Cade and Alex pulled the strongest with them, including Ethan, our doctor, whose jaw was set in determination. Marek and his builders broke away to the north, where Crag—a massive presence even among the crew—had already begun heaving blocks of limestone into place for a wall that might hold back the storm.

Herman gathered his fishers, though today there’d be no nets in the water. Instead, Samar and Lu Yi turned back toward the fields, their work less visible, but no less vital. Anika’s team, including the blacksmiths, scattered swiftly toward the warehouse to begin fletching arrows, sharpening spear points, and fashioning weapons from whatever spare wood and metal we had.

I took a moment to take it all in—the rush, the purpose in every step. Then, I turned toward Molvin, our carpenter, and Slate, always close by. Together, we would work on the bridge at the main gate. A chokepoint. If all went to plan, that bridge would be the narrow funnel where we’d make our stand. It would draw all the attackers there once it was inevitably destroyed.

But when had anything ever gone to plan?

In those first few days, Crag, my quarry golem, hauled stone blocks one by one, each thud like the heartbeat of our hope. Watching him, I couldn’t help but think of the tales of the pyramids—backbreaking work, stone by stone, hour by hour. The wall took shape in precise rows of off-white limestone blocks, each one perfectly cut, massive, squared, and lined up seamlessly on top of and beside one another, like something I’d arrange in a voxel video game. Though I wanted Crag to help dig, he couldn’t do both—build walls and carve trenches. So, the diggers would have to bear the brunt of the work on the trench, which would eventually connect to the river and form the moat around the white walls of Thornhill.

In the warehouse, the air was thick with focus. Hands flew over arrows and spear shafts, while Jesus, our blacksmith, sweated over his forge, cranking out copper arrowheads as fast as he could while Bart was away working in the trenches. Meanwhile, my world narrowed to the wooden bridge, Slate and Molvin helping me clear trees and mill the planks. Once finished, the bridge would span the moat beneath, a final pathway over water when we connected it to the river.

For two days, we worked tirelessly, making slow but steady progress. Each of us knew the stakes, having barely survived the last raid, and this time, we weren’t caught off guard. We had time to prepare, and we made every minute count.

Then, one afternoon as the late spring sun hung heavy in the sky, a figure appeared upriver. A black elk. Rudolph, nearly the size of a stallion now, galloped toward us. Work stopped, heads turned, and hearts lifted. As more figures crested the hill behind him, I squinted, and my pulse quickened.

Orion’s gaze swept over the trenches and the walls, a flash of pride lighting his eyes. I didn’t think—I just bolted forward, and as he dismounted, I flung myself into his arms, nearly knocking the breath out of him.

“Oh, Rye! You’re back!” My voice was muffled against his chest.

"Hey, it’s good to see you." Orion grinned as he wrapped me in a quick hug, his arms strong and familiar. "You all have been busy."

Before I could squeeze in a single question, the others were closing in, their curiosity blending with a simmering suspicion, buzzing around him like flies.

“What did you do, Orion? What did you do?”

“Why are we under attack?”

“Did they follow you here?”

I stayed close, watching the worried faces around us. And that’s when I saw him—the stranger who sat awkwardly on Rudolph, an old man with thin wisps of gray hair clinging to his bald scalp. He looked so fragile like he might shatter at the sound of a harsh word. He stared around him in a daze, eyes wide, as if he’d stumbled into a five-star hotel instead of our muddy, half-built town.

Behind him, two more riders came up the slope, their mounts exhausted, struggling in the ruts. Astrid hurried toward them, arms outstretched like she could steady them by sheer will alone. I noticed James’ mount among them, bearing two flaxen-haired strangers slumped over, looking half-dead. Sophie rode solo, perched on Olive—the lone cow of Thornhill.

“Rye, who… who are these people? And where’s James?” I asked.

Orion hesitated, shifting on his feet. “James… he’s on a mission. These people—” He shook his head, already worn down by the barrage of questions. “Look, it’s a long story. Can we sit down? Where’s Cass?”

As if summoned, Cass’s voice cut through the clamor—a shout from across the distant horizon. “Rye!” I squinted, spotting him as a tiny dot sprinting toward us from Shelter 3. Orion waved him over, and Cass dashed closer, pure joy in his shouts as it came closer and closer.

But then, something strange happened.

The silver collar around the old man’s neck—the one I hadn’t even noticed until now—buzzed. The blue light flickered, and with a final dim glow, vanished. It slipped from the old man’s neck and landed on the ground with a heavy clang, and the man froze, eyes locked on the thing like it held a dark magic. His face twisted in a mixture of wonder and fury as he grabbed the collar, trembling, his knuckles white around it. Then he flung it to the ground, his voice bursting out like a dam breaking.

“Erandor ti lado! Erandor ti lado!” He knelt, hands lifted toward the sky, his words escaping in sobbing breaths. Tears carved through the grime on his face as he chanted, his voice booming in zeal. “ERANDOR TI LADO!”

I watched, captivated, as the same thing happened with the other newcomers on Comet. Their collars slipped off too, tumbling onto the earth. They dropped to their knees, shaking, weeping, pressing their hands together in a strange reverence. "Erandor ti lado!" they called out, voices heavy with release.

The Thornhill villagers looked on, shifting uneasily, muttering. All except for Orion, whose face was pale, eyes wide, mouth tense. A horror I couldn’t place lay behind that look.

“Rye…” I murmured, leaning toward him, trying to catch his gaze. “What are they saying?”

His face went blank, almost uncomprehending, as he whispered shakily, “Praise the Magebane.”