Brad seethed. He was tired and felt dry of energy.

“Why did they have to hit the wall last night? They couldn’t even wait a day. I could barely go through the motions of cleaning up breakfast.”

“We just need to survive the next few hours,” said Wilson. He sat down with Brad on the steps to the orphanage. “We should have been more cautious, or we should have followed the rules for church days. The discussions could have been put off until today. Now we have to deal with the consequences.”

Greg and Taylor joined them outside and found spots to sit on the stairs.

“He still inside?” asked Brad.

“For now,” Taylor answered. “He should be out soon. Ash has stalled him with some small talk, but I don’t think that will last long.”

“That’s bold,” said Wilson. “I’m not sure it will work very well.”

“He has a soft spot for the younger kids,” said Taylor. “I think he thinks he can mold them in his image better.”

“Good luck with that. Any guess on what we will do today?” asked Greg.

“Construction work is likely,” answered Wilson. “The park was already trimmed. By me and others. Work at the wall is also likely.”

“If I have to go there then I am going to puke,” said Taylor.

“Please don’t. Then we would have to clean it up as well,” said Greg.

Their conversation slowed and they heard the distinctive footsteps of Priest Damon.

Priest Damon approached them with a predatory grin on his face. “There has unfortunately been a change of plans for the day. Perhaps for the better. We will see. The builders will just have to wait another day or two for you. The unexpected arrival of the undead monsters needs to be cleaned up. The area is no doubt safe by now and the sweep will continue. For you four, however, you will stay near the wall and deal with the aftermath. There are some out there already working. You will join and assist them. I want each of you to fill a bucket, move it, and get it consecrated and burned.” He pointed out the waist-high buckets that had been used for the park cleaning. “Follow any further instructions from the crews working there and be a helpful citizen for once.”

They nodded and followed Priest Damon toward the wall. There was no room for disagreement. The roads became busier and closer to the wall. Carts rolled down carrying merchant’s goods and supplies for the workers beyond the wall. There was still somewhat of a military presence though it had died down. A runner ran by them bringing messages back to the military office.

The five of them approached the gate without issues and were marked as leaving as they exited the main city. Past the wall, they could see the destruction and result of the fight clearly. Dirt was churned up. Trails dug into the earth and spun toward the horizon.

The scene beyond the city walls was one of utter devastation. The once pristine landscape was now a churned-up mess of dirt, debris, and the scattered remains of the undead monsters that had attacked in the night. Deep furrows scarred the earth where the creatures had charged toward the walls in a frenzied assault. Broken arrows, shattered bones, and bits of rotting flesh littered the ground, painting a grim picture of the ferocious battle that had taken place.

An oppressive stench hung heavy in the air, a nauseating mix of decay, smoke, and an underlying tinge of dark magic. The boys covered their noses and mouths with rags in a feeble attempt to block out the overwhelming smell as they surveyed the gruesome task before them. Dozens of workers moved methodically across the battlefield, gathering the remains of the vanquished undead into large waist-high buckets. Men and women of all ages bent low, using shovels, pitchforks, and even their bare hands to scoop up the foul detritus. Their faces were grim, etched with a mix of exhaustion, revulsion, and resignation. The filled buckets were hauled to waiting carts and wagons, the contents sloshing sickeningly with each step.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Teams of draft horses stamped and snorted nervously, their eyes wide and nostrils flared at the overpowering stench of death that surrounded them. The carts creaked and groaned under the weight of their macabre cargo as they rolled slowly toward the consecration fires burning in the distance. Great pyres belched thick black smoke into the sky, the flames greedily consuming the remains of the unholy abominations.

Robed men stood before the fires, chanting prayers, and blessings over the burning mounds. Enchanted symbols glinted in their hands as they worked to purify and cleanse the land of the undead taint. Energy swirled around them, and the world reacted to their call. Their wills became reality and what they wished became true. The four of them wished their job was as simple as speaking.

Other robed men stood at intervals near the wall. Their dances and synchronized choruses shifted the ground causing the area around them to level. The dirt was thrown up by attacks and the treading of feet shook. Smaller remains of the fighting sunk into the ground allowing the battle to remain a memory. While they worked on the closest parts of the walls some men used farming tools to till the ground and even out the soil manually.

Under the watchful eye of Priest Damon, the four children - Brad, Wilson, Greg, and Taylor - reluctantly joined the cleanup crews already hard at work. They collected their buckets and spread out, grimly joining the effort. They worked mechanically, shoveling the gruesome debris, and trying not to dwell too deeply on the origins of the bits and pieces they collected. Rotting limbs, shattered bones, sundered armor, and weaponry - all were consigned to the buckets without ceremony.

Sweat poured down their faces, leaving streaks in the grime that coated their skin. Their muscles ached and their stomachs churned from the stench and the grisly nature of their labor. But still, they pressed on, driven by Priest Damon's watchful presence and the knowledge that this was their duty as citizens.

“I am glad that god blessed them last night,” said Priest Damon interrupting their thoughts. “Some were injured, but no one died. Hopefully, they will make a quick recovery. Our city needs more men like them.”

Taylor looked away from the remains of the undead. She had plugged her nose with a cloth. It had blocked the smell for a while. She wished she could have a flower mask. The boys too wished for a reprieve from the atmosphere.

“The workers have been blessed by your presence as well,” Priest Damon continued. “This process has been sped up greatly by your presence.” They knew that to be a lie. “Maybe next time I should bring you and your friends out here to help once again.”

Brad, Wilson, Greg, and Taylor toiled under the harsh gaze of Priest Damon; their spirits as battered as the war-torn landscape surrounding them. The stench of death and decay assaulted their senses, making each breath a struggle as they shoveled the grisly remains of the undead into their buckets. Sweat mingled with grime on their faces, a physical manifestation of their inner turmoil and exhaustion.

Taylor finally threw up. She didn’t feel any better. Priest Damon frowned.

“If you don’t want to keep your food then perhaps you shouldn’t eat at all.” He turned toward Greg, Brad, and Wilson. “Do keep your food in your stomach unless you want to join her.”

The threat hung heavy in the air; a stark reminder of the power Priest Damon held over them. Brad, Wilson, and Greg exchanged glances, their faces pale and drawn. They knew better than to challenge the priest, his authority absolute and unyielding. With grim determination, they swallowed back their own nausea and continued their work, shoveling faster in a desperate bid to finish the task and escape Damon's oppressive presence.

Orphans, with no family to protect them. They were at the mercy of those in power. Priest Damon seemed to take a perverse pleasure in their suffering, using every opportunity to belittle and demean them. It was as if he saw them as less than human, mere tools to be used and discarded at his whim.

As the day wore on, the piles of remains slowly diminished. The ground was scoured clean, the earth sanctified by the robed men’s blessings and the purifying flames. The air began to clear, the smoke from the pyres dissipating on the wind. Over the next few days, the ground would need to be tilled and swept over, the grass replanted with new wildflowers and the road swept of debris.

Finally, as the last of the undead remains were consigned to the flames, Priest Damon called a halt to their labor. Taylor’s stomach churned at the thought of food that would not come that night. The work had only grown easier in that others were there working the land with them, and the sun was setting which allowed some cool air to pass them.

"You have done well today," he said, his voice devoid of any real praise. "Perhaps there is hope for you yet. But do not forget your place. You are here by the grace of the church, and you will do as you are told."

With that, he turned and strode away, leaving the four children to stagger back to the orphanage, their bodies aching, and their spirits crushed.

Taylor looked at the boys.

“Don’t say a word,” said Greg to her. “We will talk later. Maybe tomorrow, but not now.”

“I’ll see what I can get for you tonight,” Wilson said sympathetically.

“That would be great. Just don’t get yourself in any more trouble. I know that this week has not been great for you.”

“I’m not sure if it has been any better for you.”