The mesa has always been my oasis in the badlands.

  A towering behemoth of brown stone and red sand, it looms high overhead like a sentinel standing watch with wary gaze fixed to the east in patient vigil of troubles ahead. Its sheer cliffsides make for a hazardous climb even with gear and Spells to help you out, and the magical defense laid within give Abby and outlaws alike time enough for regret as they go plummeting down to the ground below. Spider Climbing, Levitate, Featherfall and even Fly, any attempt to use magic to make your way up to the flat top of the mesa is destined to end in disaster as the Anti-Magic Wards strip away your Spells and render you helpless before the laws of physics for a good ten seconds flat. What goes up, must come down, and while the Wards are plenty high, gravity will ensure anyone who triggers the ward has plenty of time to regret their deeds and their actions, but nowhere near enough for to throw off the Anti-Magic and sling a Spell before they hit the ground.

  No idea how my mama did it, laying such powerful wards across a half-plot of land, about 300 square meters total. Neither does my daddy to be fair, even though she explained it to him a fair few times how she was able to do more with less thanks to materials scavenged from the corpse of the baby Proggie they brung down on their first day on the Frontier. Really goes to show what a smart cookie my mama was, on top of the courage she showed in leading my cautious daddy to take out a baby Proggie and its escort of gobbos coming out the Serpent’s Fang Mountain Range. A brilliant woman by any standard, that’s what the Marshal always said, with the implication that I got big shoes to fill on both sides of the family tree. Ain’t ever met her, and my daddy didn’t have any Photos to share, but over the years, I’ve cobbled together an image in mind that always pops up when I think of her, one I like to think is pretty accurate.

  She was a petite woman, slim and slender even by Qin standards, and not all that tall either seeing how she was about a head and a half shorter than my daddy at 5’8”. Small, but fierce, that’s how my daddy described her, a tough woman with a drive to succeed unlike any you ever seen. Black hair, same as mine, fine and silken with none of the curls and tangles that Tina and Aunty Ray complain about, though my mama’s hair started off cropped short in accordance with military standards of the Vanguard. Brown eyes, slightly slanted same as most Qin I’d imagine, with a penchant for squinting and pouting or so I’ve heard. Every time I’m feeling sour and indignant, my daddy’ll get this look in his eyes, a soft sort of amusement to see me sulk, and one time when I was feeling particularly aggrieved, he reached out, patted my head, and said, “You look much like your mother when you pout.”

  Throws me off a bit, trying to imagine my own features, only more feminine on my mother. That’s why I can never get the details right when it comes to putting together her face, so she’s always been more of a concept than an actual person I could look in the eyes.

  There’s more to a person than their looks though, and I heard plenty about my mama over the years. She was goal oriented, same as me, always one to follow a plan and see things through to the end. Brilliant too, in more ways than I can count. Hard to nail down exactly what she specialized in, because she did so much in her short time here on the Frontier, and I can only imagine what she might’ve accomplished if given more time. Knew how to find the right ratio of clay, limestone, iron oxide, and sand to create strong, long-lasting bricks that could match any stonework from the old world, and it took her all of an afternoon to figure out the right formula. Spent more time teaching my daddy how to work it out for himself so she wouldn’t have to sit there looking over his shoulder all the livelong day, because her time was better spent elsewhere on other matters of vital importance.

  That’s what my daddy said, and I always got the feeling he was quoting her verbatim, because he always said it in Qinese with a soft sort of smile and a faraway look in his eyes. Almost makes her sound arrogant, but she had right to be considering all that she accomplished. In terms of materials, she taught my daddy how to craft sturdy panes of Aberrtin-reinforced glass, weave coarse loomshrubs into soft and durable fabric, fire scrap pig iron in to carbonized steel, and turn white grass into smooth parchment paper that’s almost silken to the touch. All in a few months mind you, and wasn’t none of that even her main focus either. Those discoveries were born of necessity, whereas her true talents lay in Artificing and more specifically, gunsmithing.

  Got everything I need to learn how to be a gunsmith myself sitting on the bookshelf back home. Well, not everything, because she didn’t cover none of the basics and skipped right into the nitty gritty of putting Metamagics together into a wooden grip and steel framed Aetherarm. Plus I only got the original and copies of it, all written in Qinese which I can sorta understand, but not really. It’s like reading a calculus textbook, except none of the numbers, variables, or orders of operations are recognizable characters. If you know enough about math and look long and hard enough at the text, then you might pick up on a few familiar things and figure out the rest from there, but I don’t know enough about Etches to make heads or tails of it all. I know it’s got some military secrets too, like how you supposed to work an Aetherarm to accept Intensify and Empower together the right way, and in turn fix Maximize on there too later on down the line, but if asked how it’s done, all I can do is shrug and say, “Magic.”

  I take a lot of tech for granted, what with the Aetherarms available to me, but every time I look up at the primitive rifle and pistol my mama cobbled together using crude steel, rough glue, and even bits of twine in some places, I’m always blown away by the sheer scale of ingenuity. She didn’t have no fancy tools like Aether-powered drills or Dremel’s, no factory pressed bolts or machined screws, or even proper materials such as treated aged wood and high-purity copper, but she still managed to craft 2 proper Aetherarms capable of using standard, 10 Grain ammunition in less than 9 months on the Frontier.

  That’s an accomplishment I can sorta understand, because I’ve learned a fair bit about Aetherarms and what goes into making one. The Wards on the mesa though? The more I learn about Wards, the more I realize how incredible a feat they are, and the more I don’t understand how it was even possible at the time. She wasn’t even much of an Abjurer, or so my daddy says, as she was a Striker first and foremost, one with a hair-trigger of a temper and a devious mind for using Spells in tandem for maximum effect. Grease and Fire Orb, Web and Scorching Beam, Unseen Servant and Dragon’s Breath, she was a one-woman wrecking crew who saved my daddy’s bacon more than once back in the day, and that’s just the combos she could pull off on her own.

  Not bad at all considering she’d arrived on the Frontier without so much as a single Cantrip Structure prepped in her head. Had all the Formulas ready to go though, all the way up to Fourth Order even, which only goes to show she was a brilliant woman through and through, one who would’ve made a huge splash on the Frontier if not for me.

  Anti-Magic Wards ain’t the only defense built into the mesa either, though I reckon they’re the only ones that require materials harvested from a Proggie to make. First off is the permanent Illusory Ward, one that hides the entrance from the senses so well that even Aunty Ray can’t see through it. Always wondered if she could, but as we ride up towards the Warded entrance, she don’t seem to notice it at all. Neither does Tina, who’s all pins and needles as she struggles to maintain vigilance while rubbernecking at the mesa she’s heard so much about. It’s smaller than most people think when they hear the word mesa, at least in terms of width and breadth, but it’s plenty tall enough to show how far we’ve descended below sea level even though there ain’t nothing but open skies overhead.

  Well, for a bit at least, until you get to the sides of the downward sloping canyon we currently stood in. It gets far steeper and goes much deeper from here, down to about 2000 meters from base to peak once you reach the Divide, whereas the mesa and surrounding cliffs ain’t even 200 meters high. Not far from it though, and 200 meters is still a long ways up, with a good 50 to 75 meters of empty air between the mesa’s flattop and surrounding cliffsides. Could build a bridge to span that distance, but not without a significant investment of time and effort, one that would only make the mesa more dangerous since it’d only be one more route to guard. That’s the whole reason my mama picked this spot out, as she’d been travelling south with my daddy while I stowed away in her belly at about four or five months along, and when they spotted the mesa, she decided she’d done walked enough and wanted to settle down right atop the highly defensible location.

  And defensible it is, as I follow Cowie right up to the side of the mesa which got a smooth and sheer overhang jutting out overhead, one that kinda looks like the start of a lumberjack’s work if he was trying to bring down a massive whitewood with nothing but a hatchet in hand. A good place to get out of the snow, even if it ain’t nothing but a minor flurry that won’t slow us down none, though it proves fortuitous to Jinfeng’s cadre assuming they still alive. Eager as Abby will be to track down the group that’s been disturbing them for over a week, they don’t got no recourse against the cold, especially not Skreeler Wasps with their paper-thin wings that can outright freeze and shatter when the temperatures get real low. That’s why they fly close to the ground, or at most will head up and dive bomb down right quick to keep from frosting their wings, though I heard some don’t get the timing right and come crashing down on target.

  Not so great for the Wasp, but also not much better for what they hit, assuming they was already on mark before hand. Don’t matter if the wasp is alive or dead when it hits you so long as it’s moving at a fair rate of knots, and I already done covered how gravity got that handled well enough.

  Glancing around to make sure everyone paying attention, I let my gaze linger on the bound and blindfolded kid sitting pretty on the Floating Disc all calm and tranquil like. If I didn’t know any better, I’d say he was fast asleep despite sitting mostly upright, not exactly ramrod straight but not all that relaxed either, taking long, deep breaths that are slow as molasses and steady as can be. Takes a lot of steel to be utterly helpless before the man who done killed your daddy and remain calm as he is, a feat that ratchets up my respect for him and makes me regret giving his sister my word to see him home safe and sound.

  Because ain’t nothing scarier than a calm and competent man with a grudge against you, and young Who Sheng here got the calm part down pat. Got a little flustered about doing his business in front of another man, but wasn’t like I was actually looking because don’t no one want to watch that. I just kept his general figure in my peripheral vision to make sure he wasn’t up to no funny business, but all he did was drop trough and squat down to make water and nothing else.

  Guess he got gun shy when it came down to the wire, so maybe I don’t gotta concern myself with him all that much. Then again, he’s a young one, maybe 12 or 13, so he got plenty of room for growth, and I don’t fancy having to face him down in a fair fight a few years down the line, or an unfair one where he got the jump on me.

  Killing in cold blood ain’t my thing though, regardless of what others might say. I’ll kill when I have to, but killing a kid because he might represent a threat later on down the line is way out of my comfort zone. Might be I come to regret this decision after some time, but it done been made and I’m sticking with it. Partially because Aunty Ray, Tina, and Chrissy are all here with me, but also because it’s what my daddy would’ve wanted, as he never harboured no real hate against his people, not even his killers. He wanted better for them, to show them what they could do after breaking free of the chains the Republic placed on them, chains of tradition, authority, and indoctrination that bound them tight as any real chains could. Just look at this kid here and you’ll know good and well how discipline and obedience is engraved into them from an early age. He been sitting in quiet meditation whenever he ain’t fast asleep, when earlier on he was right hopping mad and ready to throw down with me at a moment’s notice.

  And all it took was a private word from his commanding officer to set him straight. I am both impressed and appalled after seeing it first hand, because I always been told that the ‘sons and daughters’ of the Republic were a disciplined bunch, but this level of self control from a boy of 13 sat behind the man who killed his daddy is unsettling to behold.

  Won’t ever admit it out loud though, you best believe that. Instead, I take every precaution to make sure he can’t see nothing of what we doing or know where we are, which is why he been blindfolded for all this time. Not sure if he can glean we under an overhang from the lack of snow or how the wind blows, but if he can figure out that much, then there ain’t nothing I can do to keep him from finding out just where the entrance up really is. Just knowing the location ain’t enough though, else Jinfeng wouldn’t have had to come to me to negotiate for the remains of their dead. If it was, they could’ve parked nearby with a scope to watch what I do, then gone right up the mesa themselves, but they didn’t and waited 4 long years before making their move for reasons still unknown.

  Ain’t nothing for it except to play along though, and make sure the kid don’t learn nothing he ain’t supposed to. That’s why I done already checked him for Bugs, Recording Devices, and Divination Spells that might well give us away, but I give him yet another sweep with Detect Magic up in another attempt to identify what magics he got wrapped around him. Something powerful considering it’s been a full day and change since we parted ways with the rest of the cadre and has yet to fade even a bit, but ain’t nothing dangerous as far as I can tell. Though I don’t see much else besides a soft, shimmering glow emanating from him, it ain’t a solid glow like what I’d see from an Abjuration Spell like Warrior’s Ward or Greater Mage Armour. Ain’t a Conjuration Spell either, because then the glow would be its own thing rather than coming off of him from all angles, while Divination, Enchantments, and Illusions are typically softer and muted because they’re made so that Abby can’t sense and avoid them all that easily. Given how they literally live and breathe magic, that means Spells from those Schools are difficult to spot even with a Detect Magic Spell going, but you can still see it if you know to look for it.

  That leaves Evocation and Transmutation, and given the time frame it’s safe to dismiss the former. Evocation is all about quick and dirty magic, something you throw out right quick that hits hard and fades away. That’s what makes Captain Jung such a great Evoker after all; the fact that she done found a method to sustain a Spell like that, one from a School that trades longevity for instantaneous power. Transmutation sits on the other end of that spectrum, as it ain’t all that powerful upfront, but the benefits tend to stick around a whole lot longer than even Conjuration Spells, because unlike those, Transmutation Spells are anchored to a person and their Spirit both which helps stabilize the effect in reality over time. There’s a whole lot more to it of course, stuff that goes beyond my ken like shifting planes and dimensional drift and what not, but that’s the long and short of it as far as I know, meaning this magical glow coming out of Who Sheng has gotta be a Transmutation Spell of some sort.

  Not Wildshape, which was my first thought, only to immediately dismiss it since Wildshape is one of those outlier Spell-like effects that bucks the trends. Though it falls under the umbrella of Conjuration, the Native Americans worked something into their magics to keep others from seeing through their transformations with little more than a glance. Don’t matter if you look like a mouse but shine bright like a bonfire in the dead of night, because any fool would know you ain’t actually a mouse. Ain’t a defensive Spell either, because they all do something to change the way you look, and there ain’t nothing off about Who Sheng here. His skin don’t got the dry, hard look of Barkskin, or the metallic sheen of Ablative Armour thinned down to cover his skin. Ain’t Dragon’s Breath, because the magic would be more concentrated around his throat and lungs to protect him from his own Spell, and it ain’t Enhance Aspect either because he ain’t any leaner, brawnier, or surefooted than before, not so far as I can tell at least.

  There are a whole lot more possibilities, too many to go through one at a time, but I been working my way through them ever since we parted ways with the cadre, and I’ve narrowed it down to two possibilities. The first is that the magic emanating from him is due to a Spell being stored on his person, which I hear is possible through tattoos or some other mediums engraved right onto your body. Aberrant Marks is what they’re called, and often used by the Qin and their ‘allies’ during the Second World War to give Second or Third Order Spell-like Abilities to their otherwise mundane soldiers, ones they could typically use about once a day at most because it’d leave them exhausted and barely able to move. That ain’t the only drawback either, as inking them Marks is dangerous as all hell. Can’t just use regular old ink to do the tattooing. You gotta use Aether infused inks, which is like using poison to flavour your drinks. In the correct doses, you should be able to walk away fine, but one wrong move and you’ll be doubled over puking, or in the case of Aberrant Marks, rotting from the inside out because too much Aether made its way into your bloodstream.

  Bad way to go I imagine, and not a risk I’d personally be willing to take. Weren’t all that many folks capable of bestowing Aberrant Marks either, mostly direct descendants of the Immortal Monarch who were either killed by one another or went into hiding after old Tian Zi’s death. Wasn’t a huge loss either, since they were all monsters themselves too, royalty who ruled over the Qinese people with an iron fist in the name of their Ancestor and weren’t always as benevolent or magnanimous as you’d like. Hear tell old Tian Zi deposed no less than a dozen of his own scions it the years before the war when he learned of their murderous ways, but things had to get really bad in the Qin Empire before he’d actually sit up and take notice. I suppose Immortal Monarchs got more important things to do besides care about the good of the nations they ruled, though what they did with all their years is a mystery to be sure.

  Either way, I’m pretty sure that even if Who Sheng had the means to get himself an Aberrant Mark, he wouldn’t need one seeing how he’s an Innate who’ll have at least a handful of Spells to him by now. That leaves the other option, which I don’t much like, because it means that Who Sheng ain’t actually Who Sheng, and is someone else in disguise. Yes sir, Alter Self is the Spell I’m talking about, one that lets the caster assume a different form, so long as it ain’t all that far from what they originally look like. You can’t go from human to diamondclaw like Elodie and her mama can, or even human to horse, panther, rhino, or whatever other animal you might care to come up with. Best you can do is go from average human to fat or skinny, but you can’t go from skinny to fat. That’s the easiest way to delineate the scope of transformation, though I hear there are some skilled Spellslingers who can give themselves gills to breathe underwater or talons to claw at your opponents.

  Pretty sure Cowie uses the Spell to give himself horns, or at least I think that’s the case. Problem is, Alter Self is a Second Order Spell that requires Concentration from the get go, and Cowie’s been able to grow horns since he was 4 and does it as often as he likes, sometimes even just to threaten folks. Could be he just got a real big Aether tank, or could be he’s so good with the magic it don’t cost him as much as it should, the same way I’m able to recoup some Aether from Second Order Divination Spells and up. More to the point, if Who Sheng is really someone else in disguise, that means they’re a damn good Transmuter who’s been hiding in plain sight.

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  Ain’t as farfetched as it sounds. Though ain’t much known about the Qin Immortal Monarch’s actual skills, his self-published legends make him out to be some sort of Transmutation specialist, though not in so many words. He’d supposedly mastered the 72 Transformations and could cover a distance of 108,000 li in a single bound, or round about 54,000 kilometres. Which mind you is longer than the circumference of the entire old world when measured at the equator, so you gotta take those tales with a grain of salt. Either way, the most popular depiction of the Qin Immortal Monarch is in the form of an eastern dragon, a snake like lizard thing with a bearded dragon head, and four legs bearing five talons a piece, with four protruding forward and one back like a bird’s claw. All that put together means that the modern world sees the Qin Immortal Monarch as a Transmuter first, which makes it a very popular School of Magic among the Qin and Alter Self one of their most ubiquitous lower order Spells.

  Well, that and Dragon’s Breath, but to be fair, if I was training an army of soldiers, I’d make them learn that Spell too. It lets you breathe out a cone in your choice of Elemental damage once every five seconds for a full minute with Concentration, and longer once you get good. Add in the spears they so often use, and you got a pretty solid foundation for soldiers fighting up close and personal, and one well suited for survival on the Frontier. Sure Bolt is a whole lot more fun, and Elemental Orb much longer ranged, but you can’t beat the coverage of a half-dozen soldiers holding the line with alternating bursts of Dragon’s Breath in an Element most suitable for killing whatever Abby they up against.

  So maybe fighting in melee ain’t as dumb as I like to think it is, and maybe I want to learn a bit, but ain’t gonna happen anytime soon since I ain’t about to go bare-handed box no Abby. That’s about the sum total of my experience with hand-to-hand combat, a couple boxing lessons from Uncle Raleigh that were mostly focused on dodging, ducking, weaving, and diving out the way when someone big and bad wants to get its murder mitts on me. Besides, if my daddy wanted me to know how to go toe-to-toe with Abby, he would’ve taught me something at the very least, but he mostly stuck to the tried-and-true tactic of ‘kill it before it can kill you’, which worked out pretty good.

  Until it didn’t of course, but that wasn’t on him. Was on me, because wasn’t no reason for him to have his guard up when heading up to the mesa’s flattop, not when he knew I was already up there and could easily make some noise if there was something wrong. Try as I might to ignore the impulse, I can’t help but stare at Who Sheng’s features and do everything I can to match his face to one of the killers, but weren’t none of them Innates with pastel blue hair and matching eyes. Suppose that means Who Sheng’s mama was the Innate in the family, but it don’t help much here, because I don’t know which one of them men buried up on the mesa could be Who Sheng’s father.

  Or if this person here in front of me is even Who Sheng.

  Course, that there is a long shot, because I done already tested that theory in a myriad of different ways. The most definitive of which was making him cast a Dancing Light so he gotta drop Concentration on any Alter Self Spell. That right there was enough to eliminate 99% of my concerns, but being fooled by Elodie has got me on edge, which is why I been keeping a close eye on the kid. Thing is, there ain’t much to see besides his calm temperament, which also got me worried since it’s such a marked change from before, but unless he’s capable of maintaining two Concentration Spells at a time and can maintain Alter Self for more than 24 hours, much of which was spent fast asleep, then there’s no way this is someone else in disguise.

  Could still be Wildshape, except I was told Wildshaping into another person is a big nono that makes for mental instability and murderous insanity. Besides, even though they look more alike than any two other colours, there ain’t a whole lot of cultural blending between Reds and Yellows of any nation, much less the highly insular Qin. Where would the Qin have learned to Wildshape? Nah, Transmutation is far more likely, and since Polymorph is a Fourth Order Spell not available to anyone here, then this kid here has gotta be the same kid that wanted to tear my throat out with his teeth when I disrespected his older sister.

  Who, if I’m being honest, was a drop-dead gorgeous gal far more suited for my tastes than Jinfeng. While both were slim and angular, Who Dieh had softer lines to her face and body as well as far more ample curves. I been told the Qinese tend to fall on the flatter and more petite side of the scale, but if that’s the case, then the blue-haired girlie bucks the trend and didn’t seem all that opposed to getting to know me better. Even after I phrased it so crudely mind you, though that’s the thing with the Qin. They been told that their duty ain’t just to fight and die for the Republic, but to have plenty of sons and daughters so they can fight and die for the Republic too. Who Dieh most likely didn’t care about who I am as a person, and was more than happy to bear the grandchild of their General, my mama’s brother who seems to be a big player in the Republic, even though I ain’t heard nothing about no Zhu Yuanzhang being mentioned when folks talk about the Qin high muckity mucks.

  My best guess? He’s got status for being a top notch Spellslinger, one who wears the military insignia of a Qin Great General and Grand Magus both, six stars over two crossed staves. Seeing how don’t no military mess around with insignia like that, it means someone high up the food sees much potential in my mother’s brother, which makes sense seeing how smart and well prepared my mama was. Either way, bearing his grandson might well get Who Dieh settled for life, and she was willing to overlook the fact that I done killed her father because of it. That’s how the Qin are though, because it ain’t empty talk when they say they all sons and daughters of the Republic. Most buy into it too, and see procreation as their duty and obligation same as any other service to their country.

  So the circumstances of my birth wasn’t just my parents being young and dumb though. They knew full well what they was doing, as my mama wanted me to be among the oldest of my generation, and she got her wish. The monkey’s paw curled its finger though and done twisted her desire, because the price paid for the Firstborn was her very own life, a price she happily paid seeing how she died smiling with me cradled in her arms. That’s what my daddy told me the first time I asked why my mama wasn’t around, and even though I wasn’t yet 5, I remember even then that I thought he was lying.

  My mama was just a hair over 17 when I was born, and it breaks my heart to think about my mama being so young, scared, and alone while giving birth to me. My daddy was out hunting at the time, because I wasn’t due for another month or so at the very earliest, but I suppose I always been quick on the trigger, now haven’t I?

  My daddy ain’t one for telling white lies though, as he was a straight shooter who spoke his mind. Rubbed a lot of folks the wrong way even though he wasn’t ever rude about it, just calm and matter of fact. Either way, it’s something I think about every time I come here to the mesa, and ever since my daddy died up there too, it always takes me a hot minute to work up the nerve to head in once more.

  Doubly so since now I know the Qin were out in full force nearby, and I still got no earthly idea how them first three made their way up top of the mesa. My daddy said outright that even if someone used Fly to go high up into the sky before coming straight down atop the Mesa, that Spell would cut out about 35 metres up. Now technically, it is possible to survive a fall from that height, but not without injury, and you most certainly won’t be walking away from it in good health, so no chance of that. Any other possibilities are all taken care of, but just to be sure, I check and double check the Wards at the entrance while waffling about because I need time to steel myself so I don’t burst into tears upon reaching the summit.

  Been a hard few days and an even harder year, all of which has got me feeling sad, lost, and afraid. Not to mention how I got the son of my daddy’s killer here with me today, though I’m less angry and more upset at myself for giving in to temptation so easily. Aunty Ray wasn’t wrong about how my daddy would’ve told me to take the deal, but it still feels all sorts of wrong, even though I wasn’t doing nothing with them dead bodies besides leaving them there to rot. Makes me feel like I’m betraying his memory, giving up the bodies of his killers like this, all for an Arcane Grimoire that’s gonna take me hours to translate because it’s been years since I actually read anything in Qinese and don’t got anyone to help me.

  Too late for regret now though, because the kid is here, and I done all I can to make sure he don’t see or hear how I open the mesa up. It’s an ingenious mix of arcana and tech, as behind the oh so subtle Illusory Ward is nothing but a patch of rock that don’t look any different from the rest of the mesa. Turn one particular protruding rock though, and all of a sudden you get a click, which startles both Tina and Aunty Ray. Much as I’d like to reassure them, I’m on a bit of a clock here as I turn the various protruding rocks and push down of a few flat surfaces to get the clicking mechanisms to open up the front door instead of dumping a metric buttload of Alchemical Acid right on top of my head.

  My mama drew up the plans and started work on this here contraption, but she didn’t have enough time to finish her work before I came along and ruined things. By the time of my first visit at 8 years young though, my daddy had long since installed all the mechanisms in place and they worked like magic, so much so that I thought it really was some incredible Spell rather than mundane machinery. Truth is, mechanically, the mechanisms ain’t all that different from what goes into guns, just retooled for different purposes other than killing, and my daddy done built it all according to my mama’s instruction. She wrote it all out for two reasons really, one so she wouldn’t forget anything she’d learned over in years to come, and two so she could teach me later on down the line when I was old enough to work.

  Had high expectations for me, she did, but I done disappointed her same as everyone else. I’m a great gunfighter and better than average Spellslinger, but I might well have peaked now that I ain’t got no one to teach me. Books are fine and all, even if they written in a language I ain’t all that great at reading, but don’t nothing compare to having someone there to no just answer all my questions, but guide me in away so that I’m asking the right ones.

  Do I regret my deeds and my actions that led to this fallout between me and the Marshal? Not one bit. I did what I had to do, what I should’ve done the moment I done heard the Pugliano’s were interested in me, and I’d do it all again if I went back in time to the moment of Josie’s death. Don’t mean I don’t wish things were otherwise though, because much as I wish I could go back to calling him Uncle Teddy, I still can’t get over how he done let me down.

  “Give us time to sort things out with the Pugliano’s.” That’s what he said. Promised to reach out and let them know in ‘no uncertain terms’ that there’d be consequences if they came after me and mine, but what’d he go and do when they ignored his warning? Not nothing, I’ll give him that much, but considering the timeframe he would’ve needed to get something going and the low chance of any actual success, I can’t help but feel like he might as well have sat back brushed his hands of it all. What good is going through the official channels and working with an undercover agent when the Feds value economic stability over the safety and wellbeing of their people? The high muckity mucks had more than a decade to deal with the Puglianos, but the never made a move against them, and not because their hands were tied. No, their hands were bribed, weighted with cash and coin by the very criminals they were supposed to guard against. There’s no doubt in my mind that someone higher up the food chain would’ve warned the Marshal off soon as he picked up a head of steam, told him not to rock the boat and let sleeping dogs lie, leaving me in the wind and Josie unavenged. That’s what would’ve happened if we had done things by the book, only the Marshal won’t ever admit it because he still got too much faith in the system, one that ain’t exactly broken, but rather is working exactly as intended to make the rich richer and squeeze the masses for all that they’re worth.

  In truth? While the Federation and the Republic might differ greatly in methods, the end result don’t look all that different to me. One side uses capitalism, the other communism, and both are rife with corruption that is rarely ever punished. The Feds who took bribes from the Puglianos to look the other way are still doing the same jobs as always, except now they waiting to see who comes out on top so they can squeeze them criminals for a little extra off the top.

  Almost makes me mad enough to regret not cutting a deal with Francis Pugliano and getting his book of names. Not so I could bribe or prosecute them; no, there ain’t no justice in the Federal Justice System, so Frontier Justice is all a man can really count on out here.

  Glancing at my bound and blindfolded young prisoner, I once again quash the murderous impulse rising up from within, because the only checks and balances you got when it comes to Frontier Justice is your own moral compass, and mine has always been guided by my daddy’s teachings. Wasn’t exactly eye for an eye, but rather violence begets violence, and he was taught to never aim to wound. More common ground between the Rangers and the Vanguard, though most militaries are the same, because you can’t be second guessing yourself in the heat of combat, and soldiers being soldiers are trained to kill.

  So with no other option, I stifle a sigh and wait for the machinery to finish clicking everything into place, then cast the Cantrip that will open things up. It’s a simple one that I’d put on my list of top 5 Cantrips, but the amount of people that actually learn it is woefully low. Don’t see why, because it is almost a quintessential piece of magic that sparks joy and wonder when you use Mending to take something broken and make it whole again.

  In this case, I’m using a thin rod of high-carbon steel to Mend two pieces of broken metal hidden by a hollow stone. Where there were two, now there is one, and that connection enables the weighted bottom end to pull down on the top and lift the heavy, solid stone door concealing the ramp up to the mesa, a marvel of mechanical engineering that only uses magic as a convenient bit of joinery, when really a simple link would do the trick. Problem is, leaving connections for that link might give the game away, whereas two separated bits of steel make you want to reach in a touch them. Now, I don’t know exactly what’ll happen if you do, but I do know it won’t be pleasant, as my daddy warned me more than once never to make skin contact with the joints. He wasn’t one to coddle, so if he felt compelled to say it twice, then that says something about the danger involved, though I do kinda want to find out, so long as I ain’t front and centre when I do.

  Once we all through the gate, there’s a hand crank I gotta use to lower the gate again, which is another part of how ingenious the whole system is. See, even if someone was watching and saw everything I done did, when they try to replicate it all and see a Mended bit of metal inside, even if they don’t touch it, most folks will think that cutting the link could open the door. Unfortunately for them, doing so would actually seal it shut until the join is Mended again, at which point the door will still be shut because I done cranked it that way.

  Would love to gush about it all to Tina and Aunty Ray, and maybe even Chrissy too if she wants to pay attention, but I keep my mouth shut since Who Sheng is listening in. Means I’ll have to bring Tina back out here a second time, since I done promised to get the kid home safe and sound, and I don’t trust him enough to leave him alone with Chrissy and Aunty Ray. Someone’s gotta keep an eye on him at all times, and Chrissy needs a fair bit of supervision too, as she done already tried to get close to the kid more than once to get a good look at his magic.

  Or maybe pinch his cheeks, pull down his blindfold, untie his hands, or a thousand other things that seem innocent enough, but might well prove disastrous. Not sure she understands the implication of having a prisoner, or even the tension between us and the Qin as didn’t no one spell things out for her after the fact, so she might well be feeling bad for the kid and don’t realize he might be a danger to us all.

  Speaking of which, I maintain my vigilance the whole way up, checking all the various Wards, traps, and Spell Gylphs as I pass. The Alarm Wards ain’t been triggered since I was last here, and the tripwires, pressure plates, and various other mechanical doodads are still locked and loaded for bear. I of course disarm them long before Cowie brings up the wagon with everyone inside, as well as Who Sheng who’s sat on his Floating Disc which is anchored to my partner there. Don’t much like putting the kid so close, as Cowie ain’t exactly what you’d call hypervigilant, but even he ought to notice if the kid shreds through his binds using some Spell or another and have time enough to react.

  Leaving me good and well alone as I make my way up the ramp, one that was dug straight through solid stone and must have taken weeks to get through. Or a few hours if my daddy lured an Ankhrav over now that I think about it. Yeah, that’s probably what he did, then killed it quick and quiet like to avoid any notice. Really goes to show the size of the things, which Tina ain’t seen up close, and much as I’d like to point it out for her now that she can get a proper appreciation of what she’s up against out here, I don’t want our guest learning any more than he has to.

  My parents were both amazing people in their own right, and proud as I am to tell anyone who’ll listen, lately it’s been weighing heavy on my conscience. Just think of what they could’ve done if they were both still alive, the boundless potential they both possessed and the Frontier lost because of me. I done killed my mama coming out of the womb, then got my daddy killed because I done froze up in surprise when I came out of this tunnel here on that fateful winter night some four years past. I remember it like it was just yesterday, and I watch it all unfold before me in real time, the past overlapping with the present same as it always does when I come back every year.

  Here I was, having run up the tunnel by avoiding the last few traps and letting my daddy disarm them himself. I was eager to pay my respects to my mama, then take a load off after the long, hard, and boring trip. So imagine my surprise when I cleared the summit and saw three men sat in what little cover the mesa had to offer. One was stood behind the shabby shack I was born in, leaning out to keep watch of the ramp. Another was off to the right, laid flat on his belly by the outhouse with his gun at the ready and cheek resting against the butt of his stock. The third and final fella was crouched next to the shed where my daddy used to keep his tools, but had since sat empty because there wasn’t no need to keep anything here no more. He also had his rifle in hand, but he raised it when he saw it was me. Looked mighty apologetic too, giving a little bow of his head like he was saying sorry before flashing me a sheepish smile.

  That more than anything is what threw me off. How deferential and friendly he was, him and his two buddies sat waiting with rifles in hand. Didn’t seem like they was here to kill anyone, more like lost folks who had their guard up, and because I don’t see many Qin around, I stopped to study each and every one in turn. They didn’t look like nothing special, just men like any others, rugged, hard worn men who’d been ridden hard and put away wet. Their clothes were all tattered and worn, their guns poorly machined and maintained, their faces clean shaven and hair cropped short according to military regulation. Aunty Ray would scold me for saying it, but they all looked more or less the same, and if the three of them were to mix in with a crowd of similarly dressed and styled men, I’d have trouble picking them out.

  Or at least I would if not for what happened next. My daddy cleared the summit, and those three men gunned him down then and there. Took me a good second to register what happened, and several more before I reacted, time enough for the men to reload their single shot, breech loaded Aetherarms or even just club me over the head. They didn’t do that though, or even move from their hiding spots, just craned their necks to get a good look and see if they done finished the job. Me, I didn’t check, because all I could see was red as the rage took me over for the first time ever. Wasn’t the Rattlesnake on my hip, but rather an old Squire, a gun that takes a full second to exhaust and Prime after every single shot. Gave me plenty of time to consider my actions as I took aim at my first target, the friendly son of a bitch who done threw me off.

  And wouldn’t you know it? The son of a bitch didn’t flinch when he looked down the barrel of my pistol, didn’t quiver or recoil or do nothing of the sort. No, that bastard had the gall to smile, salute, and say his last words before I gunned him down dead, which only served to fuel my rage to greater heights. That’s why I didn’t blink twice while lining up my shot on the second Vanguard, who was far less stoic that his companion and pleaded for mercy. “No,” he said, dropping his rifle and holding his hands out in a placating gesture. “Please Great One. I have a wife and children.”

  I remember hesitating, because I ain’t ever shot a defenseless man before. That’s all I did though, hesitate, because it occurred to me that my daddy had a child too, and this man shot him all the same, so I repaid him in kind. The third man had many of the same pleas, and even went so far as to get on his knees and beg, but I shot him without hesitation, the first three men I done ever killed. Then and only then did I go to check on my daddy, who wasn’t actually dead just yet. Only mortally wounded, but I think it would’ve been more merciful for us both if he’d gone in an instant. Not because of his physical pain from taking 3 Bolts to the chest, or my emotional pain from not being able to save him despite doing everything I could, but because a quick death would’ve spared him from seeing me disappoint him so gravely, and me from having to hear it.

  “You killed them?” he asked, his eyes brimming with an emotion I ain’t ever seen in him before, one of chagrin and frustration. “Why? They would not have harmed you. You could have taken them prisoner with but a word.”

  “They shot you daddy,” I said, my hands warm with his blood as I struggled to put pressure on all three of his wounds with my two tiny hands. “They shot you, so I shot them.”

  Despite having a hole in his lung, he still found it in him to heave a sigh, one which broke my heart then and does so again when I hear it memory today. “They are your people, Hao’er. Yours and mine, and those of your mother.” He raised his hand to touch my face, but I didn’t let him, moved his hand to cover one of his wounds instead so I could deal with the others, and I don’t think he had the strength to try again. “Do not hate them,” he said, looking so lost and forlorn, because I think he knew then and there that I’d never be the Firstborn he thought I would be, knew that I’d run into the troubles I’ve done come across since and despaired for my future without him. “They are misguided, have been lied to all their lives, so show them the truth with your actions and accomplishments. They are not your enemy. Remember this, Hao’er. You were not born in the Republic, but you are still a Son of the Republic, the Firstborn of a new generation, one who will lead your peers and your people to claim the Frontier.”

  Then he relaxed, because even though he worried for my future, his heart had always been with my mama, and he was finally free to see her again. Don’t get it twisted. My daddy loved me as much as any man can love his son, and though he was harsh when it came to my training, that’s only because he wanted the best for me and worried I wouldn’t be strong enough to shoulder my burdens. End of the day though? I am still the man who killed the love of his life, and I think that in some way, he’d been ready to see her again for a good many years. Why else go riding around the Frontier solo like he did and volunteer for every delve he came across and then some?

  Can’t really blame him for wanting to call it quits, especially when I turned out to be such a failure in the end. Never act on emotion. That’s one of the first lessons he taught me, how to never draw my gun in anger because anger does nothing to help things along. Ain’t a lesson I learned well, and is advice I disregard often enough, but that’s just how it is. Even if my daddy, the Marshal, Uncle Rigsby, and everyone else don’t approve, I’d pull the trigger all the same if given a second chance.

  Ain’t ever felt much regret for killing a man, but I’ve earned myself a world of pain for not doing it soon enough. That’s life on the Frontier though, kill or be killed, and the trick is to know who to hit before they hit you.