Without the Mindspire to bring us down, New Hope almost feels like an entirely different town.

  Me, I figured only the Aetherically sensitive folks like me, Chrissy, Tina, Aunty Ray, and more powerful Spellslingers were being bothered by the Dissonant Whistle, and to an extent, I think that’s still true, but the Mindspire was more than just that piercing, droning whine. It was a constant threat which plagued us all for weeks, and turned us against one another in a bout of magically induced Madness. A single night of inexplicable and unpreventable violence where family, friends, and loved ones turned on one another without warning, leaving us reeling in grief and fear for weeks after the fact. That ain’t something you just bounce back from, but I didn’t realize how much it was affecting not only me, but the people around me.

  No longer are folks eyeing each other as they pass each other on the street, with a good amount of distance between them no less, or scurrying around solo with hands close to guns while moving through backstreets in hopes of avoiding contact with anyone. Ain’t no one feel obligated to show hands to prove they ain’t a threat, or take inventory of the other person’s weapons to know what you going up against. Don’t gotta stand vigilant against the varying Enchantments thrown out by the Proggie, sometimes as much as six or seven attempts a day as it tries to find what works best. The Bane Spells to make our minds more susceptible, the constant Glowing Coins luring us out into the lake, the whispered Suggestions to drive us deeper into our funk, and the odd Hexes turning minor scrapes into life-threatening injuries as the flesh rots away and requires immediate treatment. Even if the wound don’t kill you, an infection might well could, and there ain’t a thing Uncle Art can do except lop off or cauterize the affected area and hope for the best.

  Today though? Today, folks are all out in the streets, more people than I’ve seen gathered together in weeks, all smiling, laughing, and making merry as they celebrate the good news. Gone is all the tension and anxiety that was present last week, and in its place is an unmistakable relief, a joi de vivre of folks basking in this long-awaited reprieve which goes to show just how difficult the last two months have been.

  Fills me with pride to see, which is an odd thing to say, but this just goes to show the grit and resilience of the quiet majority. I’m talking about the hardy folks who kept their heads down and noses to the grindstone regardless of what may come, and not just throughout the Mindspire. The farmer who works the field in the middle of a drought. The construction worker who shows up every morning and works a full 10-hour shift without complaint. The postal worker who travels through rain, sleet, snow, and hail to deliver letters all across Federal territory. These are the good, hardworking, salt of the earth people for whom I fight, and I’m heartened to see them come out on top for once and find cause to celebrate their hard-earned victory.

  Sure it was Carter who pointed us towards the Proggie’s nest, and the Rangers who done cleared it out, but none of it would’ve been possible if the people still here didn’t stick around to help out. Otherwise, the Rangers would’ve been too busy escorting townies to safer pastures and supplies back to New Hope to ensure they were fed and housed for the interim. Sounds like lip service even when the Marshal says it in a big announcement to the entire town, but that don’t mean it ain’t true, and even the news of the Proggie’s continued survival don’t put a hamper in anyone’s mood. Instead, we all break out in cheers and set about reclaiming our lives without the threat of the Mindspire hanging over head, one that weighed heavy upon my psyche in ways I didn’t even know until after it was gone.

  It's like I done sneezed and cleared out a metric tonne of gunk from my lungs so I can finally breathe again. Don’t get it twisted. There’ve been a whole lot of highs and lows these last couple of weeks, but if you focus solely on the highs, then I don’t think there’s ever been a time when I’ve been happier. I got Josie and Noora to thank for that, because they been with me throughout it all, showering me with love, affection, and desire the whole way through when I might otherwise have wallowed in anger and self-loathing. Elodie’s been a great help too, as she’s a breath of fresh air who is oh so sweet and endearing, not to mention a great influence on Chrissy is the few short weeks they’ve known each other. While the green-haired girlie beams brightly with genuine cheer which my silver-haired sorta-sister can’t match, there’s no arguing the facts that Chrissy is much livelier and more animated than she was before they met. It's subtle and easy to miss if you don’t know her all that well, but as someone who’s been looking after her for as long as I can remember, the changes are staggering to behold indeed.

  This morning alone, Chrissy spends an hour running around the park with Elodie and playing games of catch or tag until she’s out of breath, only taking short rests to smell the flowers and pet the marties before getting right back to it. Though her expression is stony and unexpressive as usual, she’s so much more animated in her motions as she goes about her day, hopping, skipping, twirling, and dancing as she has a grand old time outside of the church without the Mindspire making her miserable as all heck. Every time she comes back to rest, she’s got something to say, which is a huge improvement from having to pull every word and statement out of her. It ain’t much really, just short vocalizations like, ‘hungry’, ‘thirsty’, ‘tired’, or my favourite of all, ‘happy’, but it’s more than she’s freely offered in years and gives me hope for the future again.

  All because Elodie can read Chrissy’s mood with little more than a glance and encourages her to express it more often than not.

  Looking back at it now, I think a big reason why Chrissy closed herself off like that was because we all got so good at reading her mood, we knew what she wanted without having to ask. Elodie ain’t like that though, because while she can read Chrissy better than most, she’s also big on confirmation, so she asks even if she already knows the answer, prompting Chrissy to vocalize her thoughts more often of late. Makes her seem like a completely different person almost, especially without the Dissonant Whistle bringing her down. It’s a real treat seeing her play with the marties, copying Elodie who so loves to almost rough-house with the little critters before smothering them with love and affection, or laying herself out on the grass for a big old stretch same as the other girlie.

  Not exactly ladylike behaviour, but I’d rather Chrissy be happy than mind her manners all the time.

  Thankfully, even though the Proggie got away, the chances of it building a second Mindspire any time soon are slim to none. Since the Rangers cleared out all resources from its nest, the Proggie will have to start from scratch and spend years gathering and growing biomass and materials enough to produce another Mindspire, to say nothing of the time spent putting it all together. No idea how it works from a technical standpoint, but I do know that Magic don’t do permanent very good, which means any construct produced will have to be built by hand.

  Or tentacle as it were when it comes to Proggies, and something tells me they ain’t the most dextrous monsters around. You never know though. Maybe they got a set of slender, more nimble tentacles they use for finer work, which is far less ridiculous than all the disgusting art I seen which suggests they got tentacles reserved for use of a sexual nature. Say what you will about Proggies, but while they desire our bodies for procreation, there ain’t nothing carnal or erotic about it, unless you happen to find horrific body modifications and painful tumorous growths erupting out of your flesh titillating.

  Putting aside humanity’s questionable ability to fetishize almost anything, it’s a nice change of pace to spend the morning outdoors and among other people without having to worry. That said, Danny is suspiciously absent from the celebrations, and I find him hard at work in his shop when I head over to check in on him. Man ain’t ready to give up on his Mental Fortress Dreamcatcher project just yet, and while I feel like he can afford to put it off a day or two to relax, there’s no convincing him once he’s made up his mind. Instead of even trying, I grab him a plate of food and treats from folks who are giving it stuff out on the streets and leave him to it.

  Not for nothing, because if Danny does ever work things out and come up with a functional Mental Fortress Ward, then he’ll make bank once he trademarks the design and starts collecting royalties from the handful of institutions willing to pay it. Most Federal agencies for starters, and businesses operating in Federal territory, not to mention the government agencies of all allied nations like the Métis, the French, the Brits, and a whole slew of other European countries.

  There’s the very real possibility of another Proggie throwing up a Mindspire somewhere else on the Frontier. I’m sure those folks would be real happy to shell out for a Mental Fortress Ward, and there are other use cases too. Banks for example, who got a real problem with Enchanters walking in and casting Charm, Suggestion, and other mind-affecting Spells to convince tellers to hand over all the cash they got on hand without any of the pesky anti-theft devices secreted within. Supplying a Mental Fortress Ward for negotiations would be another big one, and courtrooms could use one to stop looky-loos from surreptitiously casting Babble or some other nonsense Spell to make witnesses appear less reliable on the stand. We got weaker and stronger wards for that sort of thing, but nothing at Third Order, which would be a good trade-off between cost and effectiveness even if it wasn’t the cut-off for Spells here on the Frontier.

  For a little while longer at least.

  Makes you really wonder how pre-industrial societies dealt with a Mindspire. Wouldn’t surprise me at all if Dreamcatchers were truly a counter to the Mindspire, because the Natives of the Americas have a long and storied history of waging war against Proggies, who were far more active here than over in Europe and completely locked out of Bharth and the Qin Republic. I’m sure Africa got plenty of folklore about battling Abby too, but the sad truth of the matter is that the southern half of the continent is so overrun that it’s considered no man’s land and full-on Abby territory, much like we’ve classified the badlands and the Divide. Despite all the modern weaponry like missiles, tanks, jets, and helicopters, the old world still struggles with Abby, because with Aetheric Concentration levels high enough to support Ninth Order Spells, you best believe them Proggies cook up some real dangerous Abby.

  Almost makes me want to follow Danny’s example and join him in the workshop, but I can’t bring myself to do it. I’m never one to shy away from working hard, but Uncle Raleigh taught me that you gotta play hard too to make up for it. Take joy in the moment so you can appreciate what you have and work all the harder to protect it, that’s his reasoning behind it, and the man lived that way to the very end. That’s why I spend the whole weekend with family and friends, all too happy to help Aunty Ray clean house and settle in or bring Chrissy and Elodie out to places in town they haven’t been to just yet. Noora and Josie keep us company, and Tina drops in every now and then when she ain’t catching up on missed sleep or hanging out with her friends. Who I meet up with at the saloon come Sunday and sing them praises while listening to their war stories even though it all fills me with a jealous rage because I still wish it were me instead.

  A tough pill to swallow, but that’s my problem, not theirs, so I put on a happy face and console myself in the arms of my two best gals after the fact. Both know all too well how I feel about the Rangers and my place among them, so they’re extra attentive and affectionate all weekend, so much so that I’m almost late to catch my boat over to Carter’s compound come Monday morning. I don’t own no boat, but I made arrangements with a local to ferry us over to the compound and shave a good 90 minutes off of my trip. Would’ve been even faster if I dropped Carter, Miss Amelie, and Elodie off before taking the boat to Mueller’s Quay, but it’s finally come time to say goodbye to Old Tux, which is something I’ve been avoiding for weeks now. This is gonna be my last week in the quay, and then all 480 hours will be done and dusted, meaning I won’t have much reason to come out this way again. This here will be my very last ride with Old Tux before handing over ownership to Elodie, who I just know will love and spoil him for the rest of his days.

  Makes for a bittersweet moment when we reach the end of the road, or rather our stopping point about a half-hour walk from Mueller’s Quay. Patting the piebald on the nose, I guide his head in for a hug and hold him close, because he’s been family for as long as I can remember and can’t bear the thought of giving him up. I gotta though, because there ain’t no denying the fact that he’ll be much happier with Elodie than he would be living his days out in my barn. “Guess this is it then,” I say, feeling misty-eyed even though I strive not to show it. “We had a good run together, didn’t we Old Tux? Now you get to retire to the countryside, living out the rest of your days among folks who got the time and inclination to treat you right. Don’t that sound grand?”

  “You will see him again soon,” Elodie says, unable to read the room as she removes his saddle instead of giving me a quiet moment to say goodbye. “We will be staying in town with Aunty Ray until the big Fourth of July celebration, remember?”

  “Absolutely,” I say, giving Old Tux a little kiss on the cheek to end our goodbyes. In response, he chomps my hat and takes it away on a lark, all too happy to be done with work for the day and head off with Elodie and Cowie to play. Shows that I made the right decision, because I ain’t seen him so frisky and mischievous in years, and it’s good to see him in high spirits again. Playing along with his little game of keep-away, I reach for my hat and go round in circles with him for a bit, before finally latching on and holding fast while he changes the game to tug of war. A gentle one, as even when playing, he knows not to damage my things, and I can’t help but smile to see it. Glancing at Carter while clinging gamely to my hat, I open my mouth, change my mind, and turn to Elodie instead, because it feels strange to talk to a human in a horse’s body.

  Don’t know why. I talk to Old Tux and Cowie all the time, but soon as Carter turns into a horse, I ain’t sure how to interact with the man. Don’t want to treat him like a horse, and I can’t exactly act like a person still either, so thus far I’ve avoided interaction as much as I can. Though I will say it took all the discipline I had not to poke his little marty belly when he clambered up onto my shoulder, or rub my cheek against his furry face. “Now remember Elodie,” I begin, speaking for everyone’s benefit once more. “Come Friday, I’ll be taking a boat back home to New Hope, so no need to come pick me up. You can just mosey on over into town whenever you please so long as you get there before the gates close at ten. Don’t have to wait until evening either, or even day of, because I know Aunty Ray will be happy to have you over for as long as you willing to stay.”

  I ain’t kidding either. Unlike me and Tina, Elodie loves to cuddle with Aunty Ray and listen to her go on and on for hours without end. Chrissy doesn’t mind the cuddling, but she ain’t one for conversation, while Elodie is an endless font of questions with a perspective that can be quite refreshing at times.

  “Yes!” Bursting with energy and excitement, Elodie hops up onto Old Tux bareback and exclaims, “I cannot wait for the celebration! Chrissy says there will be much to see and eat, as well as plenty of music and dancing! I do not know your dances, but you will show me yes?”

  I smile and nod while Carter huffs and paws the ground, which is far more intimidating coming from a massive stallion with the intelligence of a human being. Though I like to think I’ve grown on the man, he still ain’t none too pleased about his daughter’s infatuation, and I can’t really blame him for it. Especially considering Elodie probably don’t got much of a filter when it comes to her family, so it wouldn’t surprise me if she done spilled the beans about how she found me in bed with Josie and Noora both. Miss Amelie is harder to read, but she whickers softly and nuzzles her husband, who huffs once more before settling down just a hair. I really should make my stance clear with Elodie, but I don’t really know how to go about it. Already stated I ain’t interested in being her husband, that I got Josie and Noora, but the silly girl just thinks I’m playing hard to get and that I’ll come around to her eventually.

  She might not be wrong either, as she is awful sweet and endearing. Which is why when she leans over for her head pat, I got no choice but to concede, and even give her cheek a light pinch on the way out because she’s too adorable not to love. Not in the way I love Noora and Josie, but in the way I love Chrissy and Tina. Brotherly love, and anything more is just me being a young man with eyes bigger than his head.

  Cowie gets a farewell hug and a kiss too, before running off to follow Elodie back home, and I get a pang in my chest as I consider his future too. He’s also clearly happier with her, and I dunno how much time I’ll have for my best buddy and partner once I got a kid to look out for. I ain’t saying I’m ready to give Cowie up too, but life is only get busier as the years go on, so I gotta think about what’s best for him too. Especially once the Watershed hits and Abby start getting more dangerous, because the Proggies will have more Aether and materials to work with, meaning more powerful Abby with more Spell Cores and other armaments, magical or mundane.

  Yeah, soon enough, it won’t be safe for Cowie to be pulling my wagon no more, or following me out on hunts even. Always figured I could keep him with me once I started travelling by automobile or whatnot, but that ain’t a long-term solution, now is it? An animal big and strong as he is needs lots of room and exercise, both of which he’ll get with Elodie.

  Not a decision I gotta make today, but life moves fast out here on the Frontier, and it’ll move even faster once the Watershed hits. Once the Second Wave of settlers steps through the gate and we get over the initial hump, we’ll have likely tripled our population overnight. That’s a conservative estimate too, based on less than 50% of the Second Wave surviving the trip and making it all the way into town, though chances are that number will be much higher. That was always the plan, to send quantity over quality in the Second Wave since the first was supposed to have things well in hand. While we’ve done a decent enough job of it, all signs point to us being behind the projected curve, what with how we arrived on a world where Abby was already firmly dug in, so we had to commit more time and resources to our defense than expected.

  Even if things go well, the coming Watershed will be a hard time for us all, and not just because of the population boom or increased Proggie capabilities. Change will come, and it’s up to us to adapt or die, and I know there will be plenty of stubborn fools unwilling to change. That’s just how people are built, unhappy to do things different because what they been doing has kept them alive so far, so why mess with what works?

  Maybe it’s because of the Mindspire going down, or maybe or maybe it’s the fact that I’ll soon have a wife and child to look out for, but I’m feeling optimistic today as I make my way towards Mueller’s Quay. Whatever may come, I’ll face it with my family, and do everything I can to see them through safe and sound. That’s all there is to it, and I feel a hundred pounds lighter as I walk with a spring in my step and a smile on my face which I don’t gotta fake. My mood is so bright and cheery, I don’t even shy away from small talk when I get to the outskirts, greeting Mervyn with a big hello after inviting myself into his garden for a chat. “Missed you here last week,” I say, clapping the portly man on the shoulder only to almost pull out at the last second as I come face to face with his uncharacteristically dour expression. “The trade go smoothly?”

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  “Smooth as can be expected,” comes the reply, but more telling is the haunted look in the balding man’s eyes. Doesn’t stop him from throwing his arms out wide and wrapping me in a big hug, one I work really hard not to resist but can’t help tensing up at. “Could’ve used an experienced man like yourself along for the ride, but things were time sensitive and we couldn’t afford to wait.”

  “Was their food shortage that bad?” I ask, because now I’m actually interested. Then again, it’s easy to panic when your people don’t got enough to eat, because you’re already working from behind the eight ball and gotta factor in travel and prep time to boot. “Rough situation that. What was the problem? No trade on the waterways?”

  “Oh, uh, well, I uh, don’t know the details,” Mervyn stammers, waving away my questions and turning back to his garden. One which is surprisingly empty of all plant life, as it all been uprooted in a hurry, with soil overflowing out of the planters but not so much as a single leaf left lying around. “They just needed a lot of foodstuffs as quickly as possible, and we were in a position to provide.”

  “Went all out doing it too,” I say, gesturing at the ruins of his once lovely garden. “Least caddishes grow fast though. Three to six weeks and you’ll be ready for another harvest.”

  “Best to wait the full eight.” Glowing with that energy folks get when talking about their passions, Mervyn explains, “The extra two weeks gives them time to really develop all their natural sugars, and gives the fiber more crunch for that satisfying mouth-feel. You get the timing right, and they’re big enough to erupt out of the soil with little more than a tug, whereas I really had to dig in and pull for this last harvest here.” Suppressing a grimace as he looks upon what he wrought, he heaves a sigh before flashing a sheepish grin and says, “Was hoping to have things all tidied up before you got here, but you’re early.”

  “Well, with boats back on the lake, that cuts my travel time down a fair bit.” Which is great, because now I can buy bricks outright and get them back home easily. I’ll need about 2.5 tonnes, of which Cowie can haul one, and I got enough Force Disc sleds for the rest, but the problem is finding a trail big enough for the wagon. I’d probably have to head up to Mount Rime, then east to Irongate before taking the Highway back down to New Hope, a three- or four-day trip one way. All of which I mention out loud, just to change the subject. Sounds like they had some hiccups along the way, and if Mervyn don’t want to talk about it, then I ain’t one to pry. Least he made it back safe and sound, and I can hear his wife Lauren puttering about the kitchen inside. Not sure about his son Lynn, but I can’t imagine the man would be out in his garden if his boy was hurt or killed, so I chit chat a little while longer until it’s polite to be on my way.

  Without receiving a single invitation to come inside for a meal, snack, or even a drink, not that I was fishing for one. Nor do I get one at any of the other houses along the way, which just goes to show how hard up they have it. Guess they really pulled out all the stops and sent it with this sale, which I’m sure their buyer is no doubt kicking themselves about. Had they waited one more week, they could’ve bought all the foodstuffs they needed at a more reasonable price, but instead they likely had to pay out the nose to get Mr. Mueller and his people to deliver so much on short notice. Probably didn’t have a choice, and while I’m sure the good price helped things along, the folks here in the quay didn’t spare no expense making sure their customer got everything they needed to tide themselves over. Almost too much if I’m being honest, as I ain’t seen hide nor hair of cattle or hoggi, when there were at least a couple dozen heads wandering about the fields last I checked.

  Nor did everyone make it back home it seems. Given how early the whole town rises, I’d expected everyone to be going about their day same as before even though I showed up an hour and a half earlier, but I pass by a few houses that are devoid and empty of life. Granted, the inhabitants could just be sleeping off a long, hard week of travel, because Lord knows I done crashed myself plenty of times after a particularly bad trek, but it weighs heavy on the heart to think the people of Mueller’s Quay suffered so. No one comes out and says it, but everyone I talk to got that same air of false cheer about them as they put on a brave face and do their best to smile through the pain.

  Oddly enough, no one really mentions the Mindspire going down, not until I bring it up, and their reactions are typically to overlook it and move on. You’d think they’d be more hyped about it, but traffic on the waterways aside, I suppose it wasn’t much of an issue for them seeing how they had that daily Ritual to protect them. Which I would love to know more about, except they are surprisingly closed-off about their religious views. Luisa’s said the most about it, so I imagine it’s got something to do with her old ways and ancestry, but other than their morning ritual and caste system dividing warriors, craftsman, and labourers, she don’t share much about it. Add in their positive views on magic and it all sounds like a religion I could really get behind, which I gotta say is a first for me.

  All in all, I make record time going from the outskirts of the village to Mr. Mueller’s big house. As I mosey on up to knock on the door, I hear the faint sounds of a heated argument coming from the other side, which makes things awkward right quick. I don’t want to interrupt, but I don’t want to be caught out for eavesdropping neither. Can’t make out what the clamour is about, as it’s more of a hectic discussion than actual full-blown fight, so I suck it up and knock before I make matters worse. The voices go quiet, and about 15 seconds later, the door opens up to reveal Mr. Mueller wearing a strained smile. “Howie,” he begins by way of greeting. “Sorry to keep you waiting. Weren’t expecting you for another hour at least.”

  “Took a boat to Carter’s to save time,” I reply, and Mr. Mueller nods along in understanding.

  “Right. Come in, come in,” he says, stepping aside so I can do just that. “Put your stuff away in the room and I’ll get a pot of coffee brewing.” Mrs. Mueller and Hailey are both in the kitchen, and they greet me with strained smiles too, though the younger gal gives me a wave. Guess that means Mr. Mueller was having it out with Kevin then, and my suspicion is confirmed when I head up the stairs and find Kevin sitting on his bed with his back to the door. Can’t see his face, but his posture screams anger and frustration, with arms crossed and shoulders hunched in typical teenaged brooding rebellion.

  So after putting my stuff away and changing into my boring beige shirt and shorts, I stop outside Kevin’s door and give the frame a little knock. “Hey there,” I begin, before deciding that the best approach is a frontal assault. “Couldn’t help but hear you arguing with your da just before I knocked.”

  The big guy looks mortified to hear it, but I smile and wave away his concerns as best I can. “Relax. Didn’t hear no specifics, just a bit of heated discussion. Just wanted you to know I’m here if you want to talk about it. Or anything else really. Or not. Up to you.”

  “Thanks.” Heaving a big breath of relief, Kevin falls silent for a long minute while staring deep into the fabric of his bedsheets. I don’t rush him and give him time to think, because I get the feeling he ain’t all that used to conversating. Comes with the territory, and is probably made worse by the fact that he don’t got many kids his age either. Mervyn’s kid Lynn is 14 and looks to be the oldest, but that’s the same age as Kevin’s little sister, and those 2-3 years can add up to what feels like a whole lifetime of difference at this age. I would know. Even though me and Kevin are only a couple months apart, it doesn’t feel like we’re more or less the same age, as he real twisted up about a spat with his daddy, whereas I’d give anything to argue with mine again.

  Eventually, Kevin looks up and opens his mouth to say something, only to freeze and fixate on the gun on my hip while turning white as a sheet. “It’s nothing,” he says, and even tries a smile to reassure, one that falls laughably flat. “Just a stupid argument is all. A difference of opinion.”

  “I see.” I nod along and change the subject, or at least I pretend to. “So how was your big trip? First time seeing more of the Frontier?”

  “Trip?” Kevin looks confused by the question at first, and so am I, but he recovers and says, “Right. The trip. No, it was fine. I was just thinking of it as work is all. You would see it as a trip, wouldn’t you? Killing Abby and outlaws is nothing to you, just another day in the life of the Firstborn.”

  The way he says it makes me take notice, because it’s more than just a casual mention. Nor is it self-deprecating, like he comparing himself to me, and instead feels full of nervous energy. Makes sense, if things got bad and he saw someone die. That’s a heavy burden to bear, and now he’s wondering what sort of man can just shake something like that off. “That what happen?” I ask, with a little tilt of my head. “You run into trouble?”

  “What? No.” Shaking his head, Kevin denies it, but not quickly or vehemently enough to convince me he’s lying. Nah, my gut says he’s being honest about it, except now I’m completely lost as to why he’s being so cagey about things. For a moment, I was thinking his da might’ve done something Kevin didn’t wholly agree with, like killing a bandit who’d surrendered instead of bringing him into town or something. Now, I’m thinking it could be anything at all, which ain’t of much help, though I could very well be blowing things out of proportion.

  So I mentally reset and wave my concerns off, because if no one wants to talk about, there ain’t nothing I can do to help. “Well, whatever it is,” I begin, serious as the grave. “You mind if I share my two cents?” Kevin nods, so I say, “Your da? He’s doing his very best for your sake, and the sake of your mama and your little sister, as well as everyone else here in the village. Remember that. Doesn’t mean you can’t have a difference of opinion, but try and cut him some slack because he got a lot on his plate. Ain’t just his own family he gotta look out for. He’s looking out for every family that makes their home here on the quay, and while he’s done a damn fine job so far, you’re old enough to help share the burden, instead of adding to it on the home front.”

  It's incredible what a difference of perspective can make. A year ago, I would’ve immediately sided with Kevin, figured Mr. Mueller was being heavy handed in some way or refusing to budge on a silly issue like bed times or chores or something. Now that I’m about to be a father myself, I find myself resonating more with Mr. Mueller. Won’t ever forget the first day we met, when he shared his doubts and concerns from back when he lost his foot and doubted he could provide for his family like that. Man pushed through the loss and became someone of note, a figurehead in his wonderful community of admittedly odd and obese settlers.

  Seeing Kevin’s crestfallen expression, I try to rally his spirits and say, “I’m not telling you to just knuckle under and obey. All I’m saying is to try and see things from his perspective sometimes, and realize that the decisions he’s faced with ain’t always easy to make.”

  I finally hit the mark, and Kevin sinks into a thoughtful silence while I try and puzzle out what all this is about. Probably nothing of real importance, but he looks real humbled by it all. After a long pause, he asks, “You’ve been around and seen a lot, right? You really think my da’s doing a good job?”

  “Absolutely,” I reply. “You and yours got more luxury than most households in New Hope.” Pointing at the hanging light fixture in the ceiling and the clock on his dresser, I say, “There usually only one of each in your typical house in New Hope, while most villages share the one clock. Don’t get me started on the appliances either, as most can’t afford to power them, much less buy them outright. The clothes are a little boring and humdrum, but I get why you wear them, so ain’t nothing to be done about that.” I shrug, because I don’t think I ever seen any other ranchers concerned about what colours they wearing, but Mr. Mueller is an educated man so he can’t be too wrong about it.

  Seeing Kevin’s doubts, I glance back at the stairs to make sure no one’s listening in, even though I probably would’ve heard someone coming from mile away. “Look,” I say, knowing full well that Kevin won’t believe it till he sees it himself, but that won’t stop me from trying to convince him. “The world out there? It’s ugly as sin. Here around the Bulwark, things ain’t so bad, but you still got scum like them Mafiosos bullying villagers for protection fees and running the mines up in Mount Rime. Not ideal, but I seen far worse in my time. Drunks murdering one another over stupid, silly arguments, folks getting up in arms about skin colour, caste, or some other arbitrary difference, men beating their women and children, while warlords wage bloody battles over imaginary lines in the dirt.”

  The ire flows out alongside the tirade, and I can’t help but shudder to remember it. The fights are bad, and the aftermath worse, because much like the Accords and Federal Laws, the Geneva Conventions don’t mean nothing to some folk out there. I seen folks flayed, dismembered, disembowelled, and crucified, and I heard about far worse in my travels. Kevin don’t need to hear all that though, so I get myself back on track and say, “I won’t go into the gory details. I will say this though; it ain’t always to the scale you think it is. I seen small village feuds turn into bloody massacres with neighbours murdering neighbours over the silliest disagreements. Killed a man who poisoned his neighbour’s whole family because their cattle were grazing on his land, land which was unmarked and undeveloped meaning he had no real claim to it. Reported another village where their leader was a petty tyrant, working with a handful of thugs to terrorize everyone who lived nearby and tithe tribute in the form of food, goods, and even women at times.”

  By now, Kevin’s eyes are about the size of saucers, so I give him a minute to take it all in, and wait for him to engage once more. When he does, it’s to say something so na?ve and innocent you’d think he was born in the old world and only learning about the Frontier from a book or something. “Why doesn’t the government do something to keep them safe?”

  “Because they don’t got the manpower to do much of anything besides fight Abby,” I reply with a shrug. “Gotta pick and choose their battles, so long as the criminals keep their heads down and their impact minimal, then the Rangers don’t got time to be patrolling through every village across the Frontier. They can maintain the law well enough inside towns like New Hope and Irongate, but you seen it for yourself. Even keeping a hold of the operations in Mount Rimepeak is too much to ask for.” I don’t make any effort to hide my disdain, because even though I get why Uncle Teddy can’t do nothing about it, it makes me sick to my stomach to leave them criminals be. Forget due process and kill them all I say, because they a drain on society and that cannot be allowed. Things dicey enough with the Divide there to contend with; can’t risking having criminals slowing down progress enough to doom us all as well.

  Course, they couldn’t get every member of the mafia, and more criminals would flock in to replace them, but that’s beside the point. We gotta raise the cost of being a criminal, show that there are consequences if you step over the line, because if not, then that’s as good as giving them free reign to run rampant and terrorize the good, law-abiding folk the Feds are supposed to protect.

  Or you know, mostly law-abiding, like myself and Clayton. We only break the stupid laws anyways, so it shouldn’t matter much in the grand scheme of things.

  Ain’t much more to say to Kevin, except to add, “Your da, he’s one of the good guys far as I can tell. Takes care of his people, doesn’t abuse his power for his own benefit, and while he might eat and sleep a little better than everyone else, the difference ain’t much of anything at all.” Not like what they had in Pleasant Dunes, or even in New Hope with all them fat cats getting rich off the labours of the everyday man. The way I see it, putting your name on a company don’t entitle you to take in the lion’s share of the profits while your workers scrimp and save to get by. Got nothing against the owner earning more, but you should make sure your people are taken care of first before lining your own pockets.

  That’s how things would be in a fair and just world, but we live in the Frontier which is anything but.

  Leaving Kevin to his thoughts, I head back down for a cup of coffee before heading out to work. All by my lonesome once more, which is how I prefer it, but Mr. Mueller seems right conflicted about it. Mostly because he ended up selling some of the building material too, namely all the lumber we needed for the structural supports. No big deal, because unless everyone worked as hard as I do without taking any breaks, we would’ve needed the whole village to pitch in for the next week to make it that far. Instead, the best I can hope for is to finish digging out the foundation before I leave on Friday, and even that will take some luck and hard work.

  Which I don’t shy away from, especially now that the Mindspire ain’t around to distract me from my thoughts. Let’s me get a whole bunch of planning in while I work, whether it be with regards to building our new home or workshopping baby names to have on hand the second Josie brings it up. When planning gets boring, I get to work on my Mage Hand too, studying the Structure in an effort to make it a part of me in body, mind, and spirit like Luisa suggested. This includes using the Mage Hands to fire my guns of course, which I get to every evening after work and before dinner, but I don’t make any progress over the next few days unless you count damaging my Squires just a little more every time a Mage Hand drops it.

  “So hardworking,” Luisa says, standing over the pit I done dug for the warehouse’s foundation which I’ve also been using as my gun range. “But not much success, yes?”

  “Nope,” I reply, flashing a big grin, because surly as I am over the lack of advancement, I know Luisa ain’t poking fun, but simply stating a fact. She’s a very forward, no nonsense sort, which is my kinda lady, and she nods to hear it like she expected as much.

  “Show me,” she says, gesturing from her vantage point at the edge of the pit. “From the start.” Got no reason not to, so I Conjure up a Mage Hand and have it slip a single bullet into the six-cylinder chamber. Once the hinge is closed and the loaded bullet ready to shoot, I line up the shot and have the Mage Hand thumb back the hammer, only to gently lower it back into place when Luisa says, “Stop.” Meeting my eyes as I glance up, she gestures at me and asks, “Is this how you will shoot? Using the Mage Hand like a true hand?”

  Which is a good question, once I stop to think about it. I won’t have a chance to line up the shot each time, because I intend to use it as a free-floating hand, which offers far more of an advantage than one fixed to my wrist. Assuming it can fire off more than a single shot before dissipating into nothingness of course, but Luisa ain’t done yet. “Only one bullet in gun. Why?” she asks, only to not bother waiting for an answer. “You are afraid, because you believe you will fail, and in doing so, you make it true. The mind, body, and spirit are all linked you see? What is true of one is true for the others, so you must believe.”

  Or in other words, have faith. Easy enough to say from her perch up top, but if my Mage Hand drops a Squire, there’s a decent chance it’ll fire a second time when it hits the ground, and who knows what direction the barrel will be pointed in?

  Again, without waiting for feedback, Luisa continues, “Your Spell, it is no different from before. Still of numbers and logic. You must give yourself to the magic, make it a part of you. I already tell you this.”

  As the matronly woman pauses for a breath, I finally get a chance to squeeze a word in edgewise. “How though?” I ask, disregarding all my previous concerns because this here is the crux of the matter. “How exactly am I supposed to do that?”

  Tilting her head like the answer is obvious, Luisa says, “The Structure. You know it well, yes?” I nod. “Then do away with it, the product of your Formula of numbers and logic. Then use your familiarity to guide your heart and spirit towards the Structure hidden within the Heavens and forge a connection back to your body.”

  I open my mouth, then snap it closed as I consider the implications, and spend a good, long moment parsing it all out just to be sure. Why does that make so much sense? The idea that there’s a metaphysical construct upon which our Spell Structures are linked to somewhere in the Immaterium isn’t exactly uncommon, but it is unproven. Especially when it comes to Cantrips, which are 100% man made as opposed to developed by Proggies and exist only in 3 dimensions as opposed to 4. Meaning timing isn’t an issue, as in there’s no need to synch the flow of the Cantrip’s Structure to the great metronome of the Universe or whatever. That said, forging a direct connection to the raw arcane energies of the Immaterium sounds like a terrible idea, because that direct connection is the sole reason why Innates are prone to developing personality quirks.

  Which all too often manifest as bouts of murderous and uncontrollable rage.

  Not all the time, or even most, but enough so that it becomes a very real issue. Even if you dodge that bullet, ending up like Chrissy with her closed off nature or Aunty Ray who’s overly emotional, or even Elodie with her very straightforward and matter of fact mindset isn’t exactly a boon. There’s nothing wrong with them, not in my eyes, but that’s not to say they’re completely normal either. Me, I got issues enough with getting stuck in my own head, so adding in a chance of developing a mental problem or disability even don’t sound all that great.

  That said, even without the personality quirks, making a direct connection to the Immaterium don’t exactly sound safe, and I say as much to Luisa. Nodding sagely, she says, “Yes. Very dangerous, but there can be no gain without cost, no progress without sacrifice, no reward without risk. For you? Minimal. You are ōcēlōtl. The Gods have given you purpose, and as such, will guide you to where you must go.” Seeing my expression, Luisa doesn’t take offense and merely smiles. “You may not have faith not in the Gods, but you must have faith yourself, your purpose, your destiny. Your actions show you have none, which is why you take such care before each shot and load only one bullet. Safety is good, but you do this for more than safety. You prepare to fail, so fail you will. This is as I see things.” She shrugs. “Perhaps I am wrong. You can continue in this manner, if you believe it will bear fruit. You yourself know best.”

  Which is one hell of a way to end things, as she gestures for me to fire off my bullet and pack up for the day. Very expressive hand waving, you gotta give her that, and a phenomenal cook who’s been feeding me most of my meals thus far. Not because the rest of the village is still hard up, since enough days have passed for them to stock up on supplies from the almost never-ending line of ships docking and undocking at the quay. Trade is back in full force now that the Mindspire has been dealt with, and Mueller’s Quay is busy as ever, leaving little time for Mr. Mueller to help with the Mage Hand Formula. Me and Kevin still make good progress on the work, enough so that come Thursday, we can’t think of anything else that needs to be derived, simplified, or otherwise modified to meet modern standards.

  Ain’t as much of a win as I hoped, because even with the updated Formula in front of me, it’ll take some trial and error to figure out how to build the Spell Structure with it. Knowing the numbers isn’t enough, as I gotta know how to direct the flows as I go along, and everything I know about it was linked to a vastly different formula. Even then, I’m all smiles and good cheer when I bid Kevin and his family farewell the next evening, with the warehouse foundation fully dug out, my 480 hours all signed for, and a ship carrying a full load of sturdy bricks ready to ship back to New Hope.

  “I wanna thank y’all for the warm hospitality you’ve shown me,” I say, and Mr. Mueller waves it off. As does everyone else who’s come to see me off, which is more or less everyone who’s around. There are a few missing faces of course, but apparently they’re off working in Brightpick, Riverrun, and various other locations to ensure a steady flow of traffic to Mueller’s Quay. “I mean it,” I say, smiling as I look over the crowd. “Y’all made me feel welcome here in your homes, which means something given all the controversy around me.”

  “Hogwash is what it is,” Mr. Mueller says, clapping me on the shoulder. “If the people in New Hope can’t see that, then you’re always welcome to make your home here. Ain’t the house your daddy built, but you’ll be close to the docks he built, so that’s something.”

  “It really is,” I reply, and I mean it with all my heart. If not for the fact that Aunty Ray would never leave New Hope, I’d even seriously consider it, because the food alone is enough to sway me. The beige clothes I could do without, and I doubt Josie or Noora would be all that pleased either. Still, it’s good to know there’s always options, so I clasp Mr. Mueller’s hand one last time and bid everyone farewell, including a Kevin who looks much less conflicted than before. Maybe what I said struck a chord, whether it be about him cutting his da some slack or the world outside the quay being far worse. Either way, he seems more resolved now, and he sees me off with a smile and a final refusal to come visit New Hope for the 4th of July celebration.

  Which is a real shame. Elodie seemed a little fond of the big guy, and I know he had eyes for her. Not without reason, seeing how she wasn’t wearing a stitch of clothes at the time, but you can’t blame Kevin for that. Either way, I’ve finally finished my 480 hours of hard labour, and with it, the whole debacle at Pleasant Dunes in my six. There are some scars I’ll carry forever, like my failure with Marcus, the loss of my right hand, and my inner conflict over killing Conner, but with the bulk of it all behind me, I can finally focus on the future ahead, one which is finally coming into clear view.

  This here is the start of a new chapter in my life, one in which I’ll be joined by Josie and our baby. Anyone or anything else will just be gravy, but that right there is all I need. Howie Zhu, not the Firstborn or the Yellow Devil, but a father, husband, and breadwinner among other things, which don’t sound all that shabby to me.