After the soldiers were gone and the tea was drunk—or poured through one’s ribcage—Jerry went to sleep. He dreamt about being a cow and chewing on grass all day long while watching carriages pass by. He’d enjoy being a cow.

  Come morning, he rose from bed, stretched, had some fruits and a cup of tea for breakfast—he still didn’t know what leaves these were, but he enjoyed them a lot—and then headed back to his laboratory. His project was almost done, and soon, his lovably undead team would have a new addition.

  He had de-animated the two latest skeletons before going to sleep. They were fine workers, but his soul was getting tired. The upkeep of human skeletons was no joke.

  Once again, time flew by. Morning turned into noon, which turned into afternoon, and it was only as the sun touched the far-off mountains that Jerry took a step back, pridefully gazing at his new creation.

  It was a human skeleton, but with double the trouble. Bones were stacked on bones, some parts enhanced more than others, forming a careful balance of weight and strain. It wasn’t the most complicated of tasks, as most things were handled by very convenient magic, but it was still challenging, and he wasn’t too sure he had succeeded.

  There was only one way to find out.

  “Rise,” he whispered, willing the soul trapped inside the skeleton to bond with it in crude yet elaborate ways. The skeleton shivered. It moved. It stood.

  “Yes!” Jerry screamed. “It’s alive!”

  The skeleton rose in all its undeathly glory. The bandit it was built upon was short and bulky. This skeleton kept the bulky part but had largely grown in height, towering an entire head over Jerry. As counterintuitive as it seemed, extra height was the way Jerry had found to stabilize the extra weight.

  However, this was not the full extent of the transformations that the extra bones had caused. The skeleton was still vaguely humanoid, but the extra bones had given it a bulkiness which misled the human eye into considering this skeleton muscular.

  It was terrifying. But wait! There’s more.

  As the two skeletons had been combined, so had their souls, creating an odd soul with random parts strengthened or weakened. Jerry had a feeling that this guy’s mind would be slower than most, though any other effects were hard to estimate. The same thing had happened to Boboar’s soul back when he made it, but though he was more experienced now, the added complexity of human souls made the future impenetrable.

  Despite its lacking mind, the skeleton lowered its gaze to look at its hands, or where its hands should be. Because, of course, Jerry had done some customization.

  Where there used to be hands, there were now two axeblades, as if this was the skeleton of a particularly barbaric pirate captain. It looked at its hands, then back up at Jerry.

  Jerry admired his new creation. A tall, wide, lumbering brute with axeblades for hands and clean white bones which seemed a bit too dense. Jerry could even imagine black flames burning in its deep, empty eye sockets. It would be glorious. And he intended to let this skeleton loose, unleash it on the targets it was built to destroy, slashing and hacking frenziedly until nothing remained standing.

  Yes, this would be glorious.

  “Welcome, Axehand, my strongest creation!” said the necromancer. He laughed manically. “You are going to be the world’s best lumberjack!”

  Axehand grunted.

  “Maybe not the brightest lumberjack”—Jerry patted his shoulder, smiling warmly—”but that’s okay. I’m not too bright either; not everybody needs to be smart. Welcome home, buddy.”

  Axehand grunted happily, and Jerry quickly led him outside to brag.

  As soon as Boney caught sight of Axehand, he froze in place. Jerry would have sworn his bones shivered in excitement.

  “My bones are shaking, Master,” the butler said. “This is amazing! Such a warrior, a monstrosity, a fierce, unmatched killer! We can protect you now!”

  “This is Axehand,” Jerry happily introduced the new addition, who grunted in consent, “and he is our newest lumberjack.”

  Boney’s head turned so quickly that Jerry feared for his spine’s integrity. “Our what?”

  “Our lumberjack.” Jerry stuck his chest out. “I noticed that Headless was having some trouble with cutting wood. He’s a good boy, but his head is just not where it’s supposed to be. Anyway, Axehand will take over the woodcutting now, so you and Headless can focus on fence-building.”

  “That is… Pardon me, Master, but I must have misheard. Did you say that the ultimate avatar of your rage and hatred toward the world, the pinnacle of your skills, the one destined to bring terror, death, and undeath upon your innumerable enemies…is a lumberjack?”

  “Yeah.” Jerry tilted his head in confusion. “I thought it would be obvious. He has axes for hands, if you didn’t notice.”

  “Oh, mighty Desistos, why do you do this to me?” Boney raised his hands at the sky. “Fine. Axehand, go chop wood.”

  Axehand grunted in disapproval.

  “Axehand,” Jerry said, “Boney may seem weird, but he’s a good guy, deep down. He is also the butler and caretaker of our home, so listen to him, please.”

  Axehand grunted in agreement and took off toward the forest. He entered the tree line. Seconds later, a man’s terrified screams cut through the silence.

  “Oh, come on!” Jerry sighed. “Who is it again? Did the Billies come back?”

  Two forms jumped out of the woods. One was Derek, who seemed pale, and the other was the mayor, who was screaming harder than Holly had when cornered by the bandits.

  “Oh! Hey guys!” Jerry waved at them. “I see you met Axehand!”

  “That abomination is yours?” Derek shouted. “What the hell, Jerry?”

  “Axehand is no abomination.” Jerry frowned and crossed his arms. “He’s a good boy. He’s currently hard at work as a lumberjack.”

  Meanwhile, the mayor dove and groveled at Jerry’s feet, clutching a stalk of wood nettle in one hand and a yellow ball in the other, begging to be spared.

  It took some time to convince him that Axehand was not, in fact, out to eat him. Eventually, he took the hint, and Derek apologized to Axehand for calling him an abomination, on Jerry’s suggestion. He insisted that the undead grow like children, and that making them feel safe and wanted is important.

  Sometime later, the three men were huddled on the tower’s roof, sitting on wooden chairs and sipping some tea. The mayor had donned a blanket around him, still shivering.

  “Sorry for the fright.” Jerry scratched his head. “Perhaps I should have checked before unleashing Axehand into the woods.”

  Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

  “That would have been nice.” Derek nodded. “Make sure to send him in the other direction next time. An actual lumberjack might see him and have a heart attack.”

  “Will do.”

  “I’ve actually been wondering,” continued the hunter, leveling an intensely curious stare at Jerry. “These undead of yours, they seem…obedient. Peaceful. Hell, that talking skeleton made a paltry attempt at humor earlier. They aren’t supposed to be like that.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Jerry looked at the sky. “I suspect that my undead are affected by my nature. Boney is funny and relaxed, but when I asked him, he said he wasn’t like that while alive. I don’t know. What I do know is that they’re good people. They won’t cause any problems.”

  “Not on purpose, maybe. I believe you. But I fear that the villagers will never accept you and your skeletons…” Derek sighed, taking another sip. “They’re petty and close-minded. You saw it; even after you saved their lives, they looked at you as an enemy. Were they not afraid, they would have risen against you.”

  “It’s natural.” Jerry shrugged. “The undead seem terrifying. They will understand, in time.”

  “I don’t know.” Derek shook his head. “Take Holly. She’s my daughter, and yet, she is very scared of you. Even though you saved her, she shivers at any mention of you or the undead. She wakes up at night screaming. She struggles to focus, and she’s afraid of entering the forest again, not so much because of the bandits, but mostly because of you.”

  “But the bandits tried to harm her. I saved her.”

  “And yet, it’s you that she fears. Bandits are a part of life, Jerry. You are not, at least not according to common sense.”

  The necromancer fell silent.

  “That makes me sad,” he said eventually. “But there’s nothing I can do about it. Those who can accept me will accept me, and those who cannot, will not. That will be enough.”

  “I pray that it is.” Derek leaned back.

  “Speaking of Holly,” Jerry asked, changing the subject, “out of curiosity, why does she keep wearing dresses? Aren’t they inconvenient?”

  Derek sighed the sigh of a man about to explain a tiresome subject.

  “They are, and very unfit for Pilpen, too. My little girl is obsessed with the city life… She wants to go to Milaris. What can I do? If she doesn’t want to stay here, I won’t force her. However, I have given her a condition; before we move, she has to learn herbalism properly. The world is a harsh place, and I will not take my daughter to Milaris without the skills to make a living.”

  “Does she agree?”

  “No.” The hunter chuckled. “Maybe that’s why her progress is snail-paced. She thinks I’m being too cautious, but she’s only a child. She doesn’t know the world as I do. If she shows up unprepared, it will grab her and squeeze her dry for everything she’s got—as it will do to you, if you don’t manage to blend in with the villagers. What do you think, Ashman?” He turned to the mayor.

  The sun was falling behind the mountains now, painting the sky red, but the three men weren’t worried; they had already agreed to stay overnight, much to Ashman’s original dismay.

  “I think it will be difficult,” he muttered. “Even my own wife has grown disgruntled lately. I fear it’s Murdock’s influence. She’s been learning herbalism from him for some time now, and his thinking has started to rub off on her. Like teacher, like student.”

  “Murdock isn’t a very agreeable man.” Jerry nodded.

  “He is not,” Ashman agreed. “He’s a rough case; authoritative, stubborn, arrogant. But the village needs him. With the bandits nearby…”

  “I can protect you. Just let me station Axehand and Shorty as a patrol. I doubt any bandit would dare challenge them.”

  “That could never happen.” The mayor shook his head. “They will not rely on you, Jerry. I know my villagers. Even when Elena was here, they—”

  “Hey.” Derek frowned.

  “Oh.” The mayor blinked. “Sorry, I thought—”

  “It’s fine.” He waved it off, turning to Jerry. For a long moment, the hunter remained silent, considering his next words. Finally, he sighed.

  “Elena was my wife when fate brought us here. We were from far away, originally, hailing from the Sea of Sands. Ever heard of it?”

  “Not really.”

  “It’s in the south; a land of sand and camels and spices and colorful, flowing fabrics,” he said, his nostalgia evident. His eyes were filled with memories as he looked down. “Fate brought us to these lands when Holly was only six. That was ten years ago. We met Ashman by chance, so we chose to settle here. The villagers were wary of us, as we were strangers, but we didn’t mind. They’d come around in time, we thought, and they did eventually. The problem was, that same year…”

  His eyes darkened. “Elena got sick. Murdock wasn’t part of this village yet, so there was no herbalist, no doctor. Nobody could help. The snow had fallen, and I couldn’t travel to seek help. She spent a winter in bed and passed away just before the first snow melted.”

  Ashman sat in knowing silence, sipping on his tea with sober eyes, while Jerry listened. “I’m sorry for your loss,” he finally said.

  “It’s okay.” The hunter waved a hand. “That was ten years ago. I’ve grown used to solitude since then, and Holly has grown into a beautiful young woman. I’m just trying to say that while Elena was sick, the village did not help us. Nobody came to keep Holly company when I was gone for hours or days on end, hunting. Nobody boiled soup or tea for us, nobody gave us food, nobody came to help clean our home. Not even Melissa. She warmed up to us later, but it was too late. That winter, I had to take care of a bedridden wife, a young daughter, and a house all by myself. Only Ashman was there for us, but how much can one man do?”

  He took a deep breath before continuing. “I couldn’t handle everything, obviously. We had to skimp on wood, spending some nights shivering. We had to eat little, pour more water into our soup. I was but one man, and I could not take care of my family. Perhaps that was why Elena eventually succumbed. If the village had been quicker to accept us, if they had helped…or if I was stronger…perhaps spring would have come to my home.”

  He stewed in silence for a moment.

  “I see…” Jerry looked down.

  “Yes, you see.” Derek gave a frank stare at Jerry. “We weren’t necromancers. If even we were not accepted, you have a hard task ahead of you, my friend.”

  “But I will persevere.” The necromancer smiled sadly. “I like this place, and I have decided to make it my home. Unless the Billies come back, of course, but never mind that. In any case, I will persist. One year, three, or five, it makes little difference to me. Time has lost its meaning. Now, the days simply come one after the other, slipping through my fingers so quickly I cannot keep up. Before I know it, ten years will have passed, and my undead household will be filled with the warmth of visitors.”

  “I wish that upon you, my friend.” Derek smiled, while Ashman nodded, too.

  “Jerry,” Ashman said, “I’m sorry if I’m being too forward, but your words made me curious. What exactly is your story? What brought a man like you to a little village like ours?”

  “The same thing that brought Derek,” Jerry said, sipping on his tea. “Fate.”

  “Fate.”

  “There’s no better word for it. Yours was the tenth village I visited, and you would have turned me away like all the others if I didn’t happen to save Holly from those bandits. It was blind chance.”

  Ashman looked like he wanted to say something, but he hesitated. “Didn’t you have a home before?” he finally asked.

  “I kind of did. Another village, probably far away from here, where I wasted the best years of my life suppressing my nature as a necromancer. It didn’t work. It was six months ago that I just couldn’t take it anymore, and my magic burst out, and I ran into the forest. I lived as a hermit for a while, practicing my art in solitude, then decided to look for a new home where I would be accepted. You know what happened next.”

  Neither Derek nor Ashman knew anything about magic. Jerry could feel them itching with curiosity, but he was glad they didn’t ask.

  “What about your family?” Ashman asked in a weak voice.

  “This is my family.”

  The other two men nodded. “Enough with the sad talk,” Derek said, raising a tea-filled cup. “Let’s drink! Not this stuff, obviously—it’s bitter. But the night is young, and the alcohol I brought won’t drink itself!”

  Jerry laughed, the heavy atmosphere dissipating into joy. “Fine then. Let’s see just how much booze the people of Pilpen can hold!”