The time finally came to leave home and for work. Grant was off by about four days, which was within the margin of error for his trade. Using the time wisely, he saw to the further ordering of his home before leaving. The carpenter was there for a day and built the hay compressor. It was a simple tool that only needed one man to operate. Grant made an example bale he wanted Anthony to set his work by and left him to it. Grant thereafter received a letter from the rookery hand delivered to him by Adam himself.

  It was in the afternoon as Grant was working the garden, sowing new seeds for the summer’s harvest. He heard someone approach him from behind and turned carefully to see his childhood friend.

  “Hey Adam.” Grant said almost shocked. “I take it you have mail for me?” Grant asked.

  Adam smiled and handed Grant the letter. “Yeah, came with special instructions to deliver direct to you.” He adjusted his stance and saw Grant’s garden. He took a few steps forward and took up a tool with Grant.

  Grant smiled and tried to swat Adam’s hands from the tool.

  Adam, anticipating this, had preemptively selected a long tool to fend Grant off. “Ah- Ah- Ah! Grant! Go read your letter!” He said playfully. “You guys need as much help now that you got to go back to work.” Adam remarked.

  Grant smirked and knew he couldn’t beat the reach of a hoe. “Ugh, alright Adam.” He said defeated. Grant stepped free of the garden and looked at the letter in his hands. ‘You are to return to work in the next week for the start of the 34th season.’ He read aloud.

  Adam whistled. “They’ve been running for thirty-four years now, eh?” Adam grunted with effort as he started tilling the soil. “Such a short time for a company to operate these days. They feel like a new company.” Adam remarked.

  Grant nodded and spoke. “Yeah, it’s hard for us to compete with the older guys in the trade at times. But we have a few cards up our sleeves.” Grant said with a hint of pride.

  Adam nodded. “Looks like you have your days plotted out for you. Did you want to catch a beer before you left for work?” Adam said, slowing his rolling cadence of soil tilling.

  Grant nodded and spoke. “Yeah, I would love that. Bring Marry too, I’ll bring my Lyn and we can have a night out on the town before I leave.”

  Adam smiled and leaned on the iron hoe in his hands. “Sounds like a plan. See you two there.” Adam handed the hoe back to Grant and returned to the village.

  Atop Finch, Grant and Lyn rode into town. Finch trotted with pride as his owners sat in an embrace. Grant saw Adam and Marry at the bar, he felt a joy rise in him as he arrived. The smell of booze and a companion always lifted his spirits. A short hop and slide off the back of Finch saw Grant aiding Lyn off too. They were both dressed in their fine weather clothes. The evening gloom had just started to hue the sky a faint purple. That same evening was laying in cool winds that found its ways through clothes. Lyn shivered as Grant helped her down.

  “It’s alright, I got you.” Grant said warmly. Unsheathing his jacket and wrapping her around the shoulders with it.

  “Thank you.” Lyn said in a small voice.

  Grant smiled in a wide goofy grin. “Let’s warm up with some drink.” He said in a cheerful voice.

  Grant woke up several hours later, his head thumping in agony as senses registered the time to wake. His bones creaked as he rose from the bed. ‘Oh… lord…’ He mimed in his head. His body was so sore from just a couple pitchers of beer. He felt the weight of his actions the night prior haunting his frame like an old cemetery. What was worse is that he remembered being able to drink so much more than this with much less repercussion. Grant shook his head and stumbled in the room for his gear. It was a short while later, in the early morning, that Grant was able to fully dress for work. He leaned down and softly kissed Lyn and Mercer on their foreheads before leaving.

  It was cold, blisteringly cold, as it always was when he was to return to work. He saw Finch quietly grazing on some forage he found in the yard. ‘Huh… got some of that Wireback poking through huh?’ Grant thought. He stood next to the beast as he leveraged himself upon Finch’s back. “C’mon Finch, let’s go to work.” He held the reins in his hands and felt at home on the warm animal’s back. He squeezed his thighs and felt Finch take off. Instead of flying down the road to town, Grant took a left deeper into the forests of his home county. Quickly, Grant was swallowed whole by the freshly recovering trees and the shade they rained down over the floor.

  He remembered why he started this job two years ago. It struck him simply how beautiful this land was. The early god’s rays poking through the sky and trees. The fresh smell of damp earth filled his lungs. The cold air that woke him up for work. All of it helped to clear his mind of his life in the service. He smiled as he brought Finch into a run. That steady ‘Thud-thud. Thud-thud.’ cadence filled his mind with the easy stride of a giant. He saw the forest blur past in a smooth stream. It was an easy three-hour ride from home to work. But with Finch’s easy gait, Grant made it to work early.

  It was a simple structure surrounded with palisade walls. The logs were lashed and burned according to quick fortification rites. The marks of skirmishes lined these walls along their length. It was almost a warning to anyone who wasn’t a part of the timber industry. ‘Don’t even try.’ Read the walls as he rode past them. Their gnarled wood deeply imposed over a man. It wasn’t long then until he was spotted by some Sentries who manned the post year-round. One of them raised a hand and spoke loudly.

  “Grant?” He said, almost confused. “Grant is that you?” He repeated.

  Grant nodded sternly. “Reporting for work!” He shouted at the top of the palisade. He could hear a faint echo as his words reached the Sentry. Grant could almost see who it was.

  “Give us a few minutes to open the door. It was tweaked over winter and we’ve been getting by with a crane.” He shouted back, indicating at a simple wheel and log post contraption that hung over the walls. He leapt down from the raised structure with a hefty thud on the other side.

  Grant, silent at the revelation, quietly analyzed the outside of the corporate office. He hadn’t realized things deteriorated so quickly here over winter. His eyes followed the Sentry as the work was undertaken. Grant’s hands idly found their way to his new fuel containers strapped to his hips. They felt foreign to him, alien even. Grant disliked the new fuel he had to use. But he trusted Nesico. If that man was confident in the fuel Grant was using now, it would work this way… Well then, he was going to trust what he was told anyway.

  What felt like a quarter hour passed before the gate started to lurch open. It hadn’t opened very far either, just wide enough for Grant to clear it with Finch. “What happened here?” Grant said, looking around as the ruined building and internal walls made themselves clear to him. Grant’s eyes carried up to the man who let him in, finally recognizing the man as Lucky Bright.

  “Hey Luck.” Grant said as he got a measure of the man. The Sentry was sporting a splint on his arm and several cuts on his face. “You alright?” Grant asked.

  Lucky shook his head. “Broke my arm last month, I have not had the money or a horse to get back to town to see my brother.” He said honestly. “Have you seen Nathaniel?” Lucky asked a beat later; his face contorted in a strange way for a moment.

  Grant nodded, remembering the dour man that made Lucky’s brother. “He’s in good health, but poor spirit. He’s fine.” Grant said affirmingly. “I could say the opposite about you.”

  Lucky reached up and scratched his neck. “Ah, well… Druids…” He said sheepishly. “Loony bastards rushed us with forest folk and their abominations.” He said with a hint of remorse.

  Grant nodded and spoke. “Should I run and grab your brother? You look like you could use the help.” He said, feeling torn up over the man’s plight.

  Lucky shook his head. “No, we finally got some pigeons out, and we’re already waiting on my brother to come out here. Just waiting on Adam to wake and read the messages.” He said with confidence.

  Grant nodded. “Why did they prioritize me over you then? Doesn’t it only take a couple hours for a runner to get from town to here?” He asked.

  Lucky shook his head. “Same issue as before, Druids kept shooting down our pigeons and hunting return messengers. We almost couldn’t overcome the threat.” He said more remorsefully now. “We’re fine now, honestly, we are. Go get in line to report in for work.” He said earnestly.

  Grant nodded at the information, and steered Finch to anchor the beast to a pole. Something didn’t feel right about this whole thing. But he simply couldn’t put his finger on it. ‘Listen to your gut’ said this small animal part of Grant’s mind. He wasn’t sure where that was coming from, but it perturbed him nevertheless.

  The corporate office’s exterior was a simple flack board and plywood building, the wood staining grey as it aged in the sun. It had hay for horses, water troughs too, all of it out the front of the building. There was this… oddness… about the place. It wasn’t warm here for lack of a better term. He looked left and right, trying to gauge the situation he found himself in now. Nothing was adding up as he took everything in. Why wasn’t Lucky healed. Why aren’t there more Sentries around? Where is everyone? These three questions burned him. Even if he was early, there should be more people around. Holdovers from winter to keep vagabonds from claiming the place. There should be stockpiled goods in the corners where he left them last season. He felt his choler rise, this aching heat in the back of his throat ticked at the back of his mind.

  Grant kept his hand near his revolver as he walked around the place. His unease grew at the large bloodstains marking the floors and walls of the camp around him. He knew what was going on in this odd way. Grant’s hand found home in the butt of the revolver, drawing it at low ready as he stepped up onto the wraparound porch of the building’s entrance. He peered around the corner slowly but saw nothing inside the dark building. He inhaled carefully and felt his mind slip into rote. He heard this loud clap from one of the new fuel cells he bought, his mind dipped into the familiar painless discipline. He stepped into the building with his revolver drawn.

  “Hello?” Grant’s voice carried to the back of the office. The interior space ravaged by the long winter and what looks like a scuffle. “Heellloooo?” He said louder. A small movement drew his iron sights towards an office cubicle. The room was devastated he could see. The chairs were strewn about in this scuffle, papers littering the floor. His eyes widened as he saw another Sentry standing up at an awkward angle. Its head turned…

  Grant lifted his hand and felt nothing as he fired his revolver. Putting the Sentry down with an expert shot. The flesh of the rotten being shredded at the touch of the bullet. Spraying pearlescent green ichor in an erratic pattern on the wall behind it. The loud rip of the pistol shrieked out into the camp, echoing off the palisades behind him. He dipped into his speed, the passage of the world around him slurred into this obscene smear of color. He stepped forward and turned behind him. His neck tingling with a danger sense. Grant saw Lucky there, standing with a large cleaver in hand. The glamor cast on him now clearly gone. “Lucky…” Grant said in remorse. He lifted the pistol and planted a bullet square in the revenant charm carved into the zombie’s flesh.

  He looked down at the corpse before him. ‘Damn…’ Grant mentally prepared for what this really was. The slur of time drew sound out into this slow, deep, mire. A normal man’s voice is this deep and reverberating tone that would scare a faithful man. To Grant, it sounded like Finch was in trouble. He suddenly felt his fuel exhaust. Looking down he realized that he could shut off the cast whenever he wanted. His feet moved on their own then, carrying him outside to see several revenants closing in on Finch.

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  He knelt and picked up some rocks in hand. He felt the rage of desecration overcome him as he saw them nearing his lifeblood. Time slid languidly again, his muscles bunched with power. He pinched the stones in his hand to flick them at thunder speed. The sound of these improvised bullets rupturing flesh followed a moment later as the rocks found home in the undead creatures. Bursting their corpses apart in sundered viscera, spraying the palisades and Finch in wonderful gouts of gore. Grant saw them burst, their trailing organs spewing soft but tightly wound bundles of black intestines.

  He felt time resume its pace again, the revenants torn asunder at his wrath. He breathlessly listened to the resounding notes the rocks made. The snap and thunder they made came back in scattered echoes of the fallen. There, amidst the tree line, curious footsteps. Grant slipped back into that slow waltz again, ratcheting his legs with intense strength to bring himself to a leap. His limbs carried him far, almost enough to jump over the roof of his own home. His hand felt the weight of the remaining rocks in it as he came to settle on the parapet. His eyes scanned the area around the walls. Dotted amongst them were a fearful sight…

  Grant quickly tallied six Druids. Beset in natural way they glared at him at the walls. Grant felt his colic rise at the sight of them. Memories drew daggers at the mere sight of the wood dwellers. He knew, deeply knew, that they were in their element there in the wood. His discipline would work there, but it wouldn’t matter in a six-on-one fight. They can blend into trees, heal supernaturally fast from beyond lethal injuries, and defy his commands. Grant simply watched the guerillas blend back into the woods. He let his canisters exhaust, allowing time to speed back into the mundane again. His breath misted, and he slid down the palisade wall inside the camp.

  Several hours passed as he meticulously cleared the camp, cleaned and reinforced the mundane aspects of the camp. He knew they wouldn’t sully the inside of the building with their feet; this place is too ‘artificial’ for them. They must wait for grass and ruins to take over a region before they decide to occupy it. Grant sneered at the pile of revenant corpses just waiting to reanimate. With a flick of his wrist, he tossed a lit match onto the corpse pile. He shook his head, feeling the weight of refueled bottles and a reloaded gun on his hip. He knew he must stay awake now until the workers return in force.

  He sat, his face stretching taut at the smell of burning corpses. “Ugh” a small part of his mind spoke to him. “It wreaks…” Grant shook his head. He felt the weight of the scene fill him. The bodies cooked… the smell of blood and bloat remained… Kerosene… It all brought him back. Grant tightened up as he heard a soft footstep at the camp gate. A man in a tight lumber works uniform stepped through.

  Grant stood to his feet in a direct and brutal motion and drew his gun. “Name. Now.” He said in the most commanding tone he could summon. With no real defense against glamours, Grant sorely wished he had a man of the cloth here to help him. “Or I will blow your head off.” He added for clarity.

  The man grew pale white at the sight of the revolver. “Oh crap!” He said ducking back. “Dan! Its Dan!” He said in fear. “Holy crap put that thing away!” His hands poked through the opening to reveal that they were empty.

  Grant kept his stance wide and his ears alert for any tricks that might be on their way. “You new? I don’t recognize you.” He said in this gruff tone. “Druids sacked the place. Don’t fuck with me. Speak plain. Or I will fucking shoot you.” Grant lowered the gun somewhat. He could never be sure if this was a glamour, or a real man. Damn druids could have just dressed up as this ‘Dan’ by stealing someone’s clothes. There was just- “Wait, you got a gun?” Grant asked.

  Dan quietly nodded behind the gate, realizing the man inside couldn’t see him. “I- I do!” He said, a hand disappeared behind the gate to grip it.

  “Good. Show me you can hold it!” Grant commanded.

  Dan was confused for a moment but remembered the old Faith tales. He brandished the cold iron in his hand. Not pointed at Grant, but by the frame. The barrel pointed up and away from both as he walked in with his hands raised above his head. “I’m not Fae! No glamour here!”

  Grant saw Dan holding the revolver in his hand. Grant lowered the revolver a little more, and approached Dan. “Wait.” He said, as the glamor could replicate the image of steel to the eyes. He took his weapon and tapped Dan along the arms, ready for a burst of violence to incapacitate if Dan was a threat.

  Dan’s eyes locked with Grants as they came to know safety then. “What happened?” Dan asked. “Why does it smell so awful?”

  Grant frowned at the concept of having to explain this, instead he took a couple of steps back and kept his eyes on the man. “Druids. Best I can tell they tried to corrupt the place and return it to nature.” Grant wasn’t about to let the man out of his sight for a moment until there were more than four of them present. “Did you see anyone else along the path here?”

  Dan shook his head. “No, I didn’t. But its about time to start working. I was kind of surprised nobody sent mail out…” He said, letting some of the tension leave his frame.

  Grant looked surprised. “What do you mean?” He grabbed the small scrap of paper from his belongings. “They did send…” He looked at the man for a beat, and returned his hand to the pistol grip again.

  Dan kept his eyes locked on Grant’s. “C’mon, we don’t need to devolve to that again. I am a new employee here.” He said pleadingly. “I am no Fae. You tested me!” He said raising his voice.

  Grant didn’t like any of this. The way the man showed up seemed too precise then to matter. It seemed very convenient how well he arrived. His eyes caught another man lurking in the background then. Someone he remembered. Silas Boone stepped into the walled encampment to see the mess here.

  “What the-“ He turned to see Grant walking his way and flinched. “Grant-“

  Grant quietly placed the steel of his revolver against the man’s arm. A beat passed before he spoke. “Glamours and druids Silas. Don’t freak out.” He said as he tapped a couple more times, as if to be sure.

  Silas froze then but kept his eyes locked on the new guy in the back. “Who’s the new guy?” He said before spotting the burnt pile of corpses in the middle of the courtyard.

  The new guy spoke as he saw Silas speaking. “I’m… Dan…” He said furtively. “Does… does he always wave his gun around?” Dan pointed at Grant then.

  Silas didn’t speak, remembering the paranoia of fighting forest folk.

  Grant had stepped away then, eyeing Dan. “Only when shit doesn’t add up.” He said harshly. “I hardly know what the fuck is going on and I don’t like it. Don’t give me a reason to burry you.” He said cautiously holstering his pistol. “I had to burn the revenants before the Druids returned and tried to reanimate them. Nearly lost my horse to them.” Grant said this gesturing to the pile of burnt bones. “I think they’re gone for now, no telling if they’re going to return however.” Grant, finally able to take a risk, turned to Finch and started filling his fuel canisters to replenish his disciplines.

  Silas nodded as he knew. “We must tell the head office then. Things can get very ugly here very quickly.” He brought his horse in to tie up, sizing up Grant’s new purchase. “What kind of half breed did you get yourself Grant?” He asked incredulously.

  Grant saw the new beast and shook his head. “What do you mean? You’re the one on a Wireback.” He said with just the faintest tease.

  A beat passed as the awkward situation passed between them. Dan shook his head. “Is… is this normal…. For this kind of job…?” He asked sheepishly.

  Grant frowned as he saw Dan ringing his hands. “No. You going to be okay?” He asked, looking the man in the eyes. “Don’t think you’re cut out for this?”

  Dan shook his head. “I’m fine.” He said a little too firmly. “I am fine.” He affirmed once again, in a more even tone.

  Silas took his turn to shake his head now. “Oh lord.” His hands found their way to his face. “Alright. Lets just… lets get this all organized so we can get to work.” Silas started walking to the building. “Ill go scrounge up any birds if they’re here-“

  “There aren’t any pigeons here Silas.” Grant affirmed. “As far as I know, it’s just you, me, and the druids out there.” He said dourly.

  Dan huffed. “I’m here too you know.”

  Silas glared the two down. “Great.” He said sarcastically.

  Grant shook his head now too, sighing deeply at the predicament. “Listen. We just need to work together as a team to get message out to Mr. Bramwell. I’m not sure how we can, but it’s the priority now. We will need to make sure we can travel light and fast out of the walls.” He said firmly.

  Dan and Silas nodded. “Have you fought druids before?” Dan asked.

  Grant nodded. “I have. With better men and in better conditions. This is the safest place we can be for now.” Grant’s eyes scanned the looming trees. “We’re in their home field now. We must play by their rules.” He said softly.

  Silas frowned at the thought. “We could start a large fire.” Offered the older man.

  Dan nodded. “Yeah, I like that plan!”

  “Absolutely not.” Grant remarked harshly. “This is all prime tinder ready for harvest. If we burn all this down, we lose our jobs. Mr. Bramwell goes out of business.” Grant said harshly.

  The two remain silent as they watch grant. Silas fiddling with his pockets.

  Dan lifted his head and spoke. “W-what if we poison the forest instead?”

  Grant glared at Dan. “I told you we cant-“

  “No! Not like the way you think! You touched me and Silas with your gun, right?” He remarked.

  Grant nodded slowly, not understanding the meaning.

  Silas screwed up his face in confusion as he thought about it. “We just need a file, a rasp, anything to make iron filings. If we make enough and sprinkle it across our immediate path. We could keep the druids from entering or… hell even maybe casting.”

  Grant looked a little shocked at the revelation. “Wait…”

  Silas nodded. “Sounds… plausible…”

  Grant nodded too. “We need a file then, I’ll start looking for a rasp. You two look for anything made of iron. Don’t file down your guns unless it’s a last resort.”

  Grant saw the two walk, searching for anything that might help. He then started searching for his tools for the rasp he kept keeping his hatchet sharp. About ten minutes later the three reconvened in the middle of camp again. Grant saw them with horseshoes and pots in hand. Grant himself had a couple of rasps he had scrounged up for himself.

  Grant worked his iron quietly, using his fuel to quickly grind the metal into a fine powder. He felt his arms tire as the speed and strength needed exceeded two of his bottles of fuel. While he had about ten casts of disciplines in the gallon of fuel he had, Grant already used 3 cups with the first group, and another cup and a half on this. What he had left to him now was a 10-pound pile of black iron filings. Grant looked up at the two and sighed. “Now the bad news… Who’s going to go back to town?” He asked sincerely.

  Dan kept his eyes on the pile of iron.

  Silas mimicked Dan, not sure what to do.

  Grant spoke up. “I must stay. I am the only one here with any real fighting experience. It’s going to have to be one of you.” He said frankly. “They won’t touch you if you’re coated in this and sprinkling it behind you.”

  The others look at Grant as he spoke. Dan inhaled sharply. “It… was my idea…” Dan said sheepishly.

  Silas shook his head. “No. I’ll go.” He said firmly. Attempting to grab the bag.

  Grant stopped Silas quietly. “No, Silas. I need you here.”

  Silas gave that same screwed-up look to Grant. “What do you mean?” He pulled his hand back.

  Grant huffed. “These Druids are old thinkers. They might think you’re the lead of this expedition. Let the greenhorn go. Less risk to Bramwell anyway.”

  Dan stiffens at the way Grant dismisses him despite his solution they’re arguing over now. He sat straighter and spoke with confidence. “I know I’m new here. But don’t underestimate me.” He said firmly, digging into the spirit his mother and father bred into him. Dan stood looking at the two old drivers. “If we burn salt pork and spread the ashes, it will help keep them at bay longer. Smoke drives out bad spirits, and the salt purifies the land.” He said with confidence.

  Silas sneered at the youth. “Your offerings of salt and ash don’t stop druids.” He said darkly. “You’re more likely to draw more of them out with the smell of cooking flesh than you are to drive them off. Men operate off their stomach’s. Not some folk nonsense.” He said dismissively.

  Grant scowled at the old miser. “Knock it off. You fought in the old wars, you saw what they’re capable of.” He said with some effort. “I don’t like your Folk magic Dan, but I trust what my wife does and she’s Folk. My disciplines are limited compared to the druids on their own home grounds. I’ll take anything that works.” He said, knowing when he was at the limit of his ability.

  Dan felt the fire in his chest warm his limbs. “These are tested solutions you old miser. Ashes and smoke ward off the old spirits when the forests got mean. My folk passed them down from generation to generation.” He said more firmly now.

  Grant felt firmer in his choice to send Dan now, he felt safe that they could get a message out now.

  Silas’ face etched darkly as he looked down at the pile of filings that sat between them. “We fought those bastards for years, Boy. Ran and bled them till the river ran black with their blood. Killed things that ain’t seen the light of day well before your birth.” Silas spat a fat gobbet of mucus that sat wrong in his throat. “Not once did we stop and pray over the gristle in our campfires or pay head to the smoke overhead.” Silas sat up and glared the young man down.

  Grant stood. “Knock it off. We’re not the enemy here.” He said firmly, stepping back into his officer training to keep men out of the killing mood. Well, keeping their killing mood directed towards the right way anyhow.

  Dan stood and marched off to retrieve salt pork, returning a few minutes later. He started on a fire and thereafter burned the meat. He watched the fat sizzle in the coals, black smoke rising into the sky. The acrid sting of flesh rising into their noses.

  Silas’ gaze never left the youth, his jaw tightening as he watched the Boy. “Steel and fire used to be enough.” His hand pawed at the empty place his brass canister once occupied. “Now we watch boys burn food and call it war.” He said darkly.

  Grant rolled his eyes. “That’s enough Silas. You can save your gripes for when we must fight the druids at the doorstep. If this folk solution works, then it works. Hell, even if it only works for an hour or two. Don’t you think it’s worth the chance?” Grant asked sincerely. “We owe it to Mr. Bramwell to give an honest account of ourselves to defend this place. He took a chance on all of us.” Grant softened his gaze at Silas as the Boy worked the fire.

  Grant turned to Dan again. “Listen, Dan. I need you to take my horse Finch, and ride out.” He said as he reached into the bag and produced a small sugar cube. “Finch is a good horse and will carry you fast and true. Silas and I will give a good account of ourselves here and fight like the stubborn bastards we are.” Grant gave a toothy grin to the old codger, who returned it with the same animal ferocity.

  Dan saw the look the two men gave one another, feeling a chill run up his spine at the sight of it. “But- “ He tried to speak through the unease he felt at the sight of it. “But that’ your- “

  “Shut the hell up.” Grant remarked coldly. “We’re in a survival situation now. Fighting for our lives. You will do what I tell you or I will compel you to do what I tell you. Am I understood?”