EdgarFig
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2. Walls
🕑 Added 2024-07-13 22:11:39 +0000 UTCCome on, don’t make a fool of yourself. Mark aimed his palm at a fifteen-meter-tall oak.
His understanding of the imperator suit was that it read his neural pulses somehow. Still, this was the first time he would intentionally use its power.
Electricity crackled down his arm too fast for human eyes, and the beam snaked through the air with a flash. A deafening boom echoed as it slammed against the tree’s trunk, loosening snow from surrounding trees and sending birds flying. The wood groaned and was quickly succeeded by crunching snaps.
“Timber!” Henric called out, hands to his mouth.
The ground reverberated as the heavy tree landed with a thud, and several small branches flung out.
I did it; Mark grinned.
Downing trees wasn’t just about providing timber to extend the palisade. The branches would provide them with plenty of firewood.
Work couldn’t start properly while he was downing trees, though. And so Mark hurried to knock down the next. And within several minutes, he had downed a dozen trees—causing the suit to warm into a portable furnace.
“Done,” he said, wiping sweat from his brow. His body felt moist beneath the suit now. A hot bath—that’s what this place needs.
“Well, the easy part’s done, at least,” Henric said. “Alright, enough standing around, you slackers,” he twirled his hand above his head.
The acolytes descended on the first tree with axes and began delimbing the trunk.
“I agree that the firewood will come in handy.”
“But?” Mark replied, stepping to Hernic’s side as they watched the acolytes work.
“While I'm glad you’re finally taking this seriously. The reality is we need food, Imperator. The stores aren’t even half full. And now you’re putting us to work extending the palisade.”
“I understand,” Mark tapped Henric’s shoulder. “Give me some time,” he added, turning to the fort.
Felling trees wasn’t just about logs for the palisade. Mark wanted to keep the acolytes and Henric off his back as much as possible. He still had no idea what he was supposed to teach these kids. And would do whatever he could to postpone those lessons.
Retrieving one of Atlas’s journals, Mark made for a nearby stretch of woods. It was a location the former Imperator had marked for food gathering. His journal had roughly drawn maps noting spots where thick shrubbery could be found with plentiful berry bushes, wooded lands where he had spotted deer scat and several fishing spots. Fishing and berry picking—if any berries still remained at this time of year—sounded like tasks better suited to the acolytes.
Walking with the map between his hands, Mark’s gaze constantly shifted between it and the indistinguishable trees.
If this is the fort, then… He ran his finger along the larger map as he tried to compare it with the journal entries and paused. Behind a circular screen on the inside of his forearm, a dial flickered as he moved.
“Wait a minute,” he mouthed, holding out his arm as he pivoted. Sure enough, the dial turned. This suit really does have everything.
After a minute or two, Mark had found his bearings. Thanks to the combination of the compass on his suit, the map, and the location of the fort on it—he found the landmarks scribbled into Atlas’s journal.
Mark crunched through the snow for several minutes before arriving at the spot Atlas marked.
He was no hunter and realized he had no idea what to do, but he remembered a survivalist show he had watched on TV. Deer were skittish. And if he wanted to hunt one, he would need to be invisible.
Lowering himself by some trees and bushy undergrowth, Mark tried to make himself unseen. Unfortunately, after half an hour, he spotted no signs of deer.
They’re not going to show, are they?
Sighing, he rose to his feet. He wasn’t sure if deer hunting was like fishing and he should be patient and wait, but a sense of urgency made sitting around hard.
Carefully avoiding twigs and bushes, he trudged the forest—moving deeper into the area marked by Atlas.
Disappearing into the woods again and returning empty-handed isn’t a good showing. Especially not when I’ve asked them to trust me and just built the palisade.
Through the corner of his eye, Mark caught the faintest of movements and froze.
Even leafless, the density of the surrounding forest made it hard to see far, and whatever he had spotted blended into its surroundings.
Mark remained still for a long moment and focused on silently cycling his breath.
There!
Carefully, he twisted his neck to where he spotted movement and narrowed his gaze.
Brown, black, and white trunks, some narrow and some thick, climbed from the ground. The undergrowth created an uneven surface of snow. But after a moment of squinting and straining, he spotted something.
The horizontal brown of the deer’s body between trees caught his eyes, and a second later, he saw its head into the undergrowth to gnaw at the vegetation.
Slowly, he raised his arm and pointed his palm. But the shot was far from clear and distant.
Holding his breath, Make steadily inched forward. He wasn’t sure what kind of range his lightning attack was capable of, but the trees between them concerned him.
After only a few meters, the deer’s head shot up. Its ears twitched, and it turned to survey its surroundings.
Shit! He stood completely still for what felt like an eternity. Finally, the deer lowered its head again, and he exhaled.
He wanted to get closer, but the risk felt too high now.
Raising his arm again, Mark held his breath and aimed. Lightning crackled across the forest floor. Arcs of its energy caught trees as it passed, blackening and burning them. But the bolt shot true, and a resounding clap blasted through the forest as it hit the deer.
“Did I get it?” Mark mouthed as he began to hop through the undergrowth towards his target.
The deer lay amongst the snow. Its fur roasted and body unmoving.
One deer won’t last long, but hopefully, it will raise their spirits and maybe even earn me some trust.
He doubted they would forget so easily that Atlas had checked out a while ago. But he had seen enough of his memories to know that jobs like hunting and other support roles were seen as beneath an Imperator. Even if they were starving to death, such a job would be the responsibility of the acolytes.
Hopefully, if I can gain their trust, my plan with the ferals will go over smoothly.
Pulling the smoldering corpse through the snow, Mark’s belly began to rumble. It smelt a bit burned, but it was still cooked meat and a reminder he hadn’t eaten since his arrival.
Somehow, even this bullshit isn't as bad as meeting venture capitalists back in the Bay Area.
Mark had probably repeated the same exhausting speech a thousand times: disruptive tech. The terminology made him shudder. If there was one thing he was grateful for, it was not having to say that again.
Not only that, but Mark had been relatively fit back in college. That was over ten years ago now, and he had well and truly let it go, chasing his dreams with grueling eighty-hour work weeks.
On the other hand, Atlas's build was like something between a special forces operative and a lumberjack, and the feel of his muscles tightening as he strained them reminded him of what he had once had.
There is no way I am letting myself get out of shape again.
Mark heaved the deer with a rough grunt, dropping it in front of the fort and exhaling.
“Been busy, Imperator?” Henric said, eyeing the deer as he approached, walking over from the busy acolytes.
“You said we needed food.”
“Yeah… but maybe take a crossbow next time. Charcoal is an acquired taste.”
Mark looked down at the burns covering much of the deer's body.
Right, I'm an idiot.
“The acolytes, not to mention Treff, will be glad to have more meat. But Imperator, we need real supplies. Every day, walking around out here is going to get more dangerous. With all due respect, we should be sending the acolytes out on hunting and gathering trips. Not building a senseless wall.”
“Are you questioning my orders, arms master?”
“–No… Imperator–”
“I don't have to explain my plans to you. Nor do I need you to understand them. But you will follow them, Henric. Understood?”
Henric gritted his teeth and nodded.
“Besides, I'm not going to let people go hungry.”
Mark mentally sighed. Playing the tough guy is getting tiring. But if I let my guard down now, things could spiral. Just remember, you're doing this for the right reasons, Mark.
Beside one of the cabins, a trail of smoke puffed into the foggy sky. It was the smokehouse.
The smoky scent of herbs, meat, and cherry wood chips greeted Mark’s senses as he entered the cook’s cabin.
Working a cleaver on a wolf's corpse, a bald, mustached man with a square jaw looked up at Mark mid-swing.
“Over there,” Mark said, pointing to an empty butcher's table. Three acolytes passed him and heaved the deer onto it, almost collapsing under its weight.
“You've gone from bringing me nothing to two corpses in one day?”
Mark eyed the partially cut-up wolf corpse. Despite its fur having been removed, he spotted the charring.
“The wolf I killed?”
“What do you think, Imperator?” Treff raised a dark, bushy brow as he brought his cleaver down with a reverberating thud, severing a limb. “We don't waste food here,” he grunted.
“Right,” Mark mumbled. “Is it possible to get some steaks out of this?” He pointed to the deer.
“Out of a deer? Yes, Imperator. It is.”
“Good. Prepare and cook enough for the acolytes. The best steaks you can manage. Hard work should be rewarded.”
“Sure,” Treff grunted and severed another of the naked wolf corpse's legs.
Mark eyed the short-worded butcher for a moment as he returned to work.
“Something else, Imperator?”
“No, it's fine,” Mark replied. “Just thinking.”
Treff’s bushy brow curled, but he didn't speak as he returned to chopping.
**Acolytes**
The acolytes sat around, their robes pulled down to their waists, revealing their dirty undershirts. Treff had cooked up steaks on the bone, and they tore into them, barely stopping to breathe.
They already had several trunks prepared and lined up. And a growing pile of firewood.
The ferals watched curiously but knew their place and didn't get too close. This didn't help their perceptions among the acolytes, who glared them down as they ate.
“What you think goes on in their heads,” Acolyte Clay said as he tore meat away from the bone.
“Pure evil. Pa said they eat their young during the winter,” Dober replied, thinning his glare at the ferals as he chewed. “Probably casting curses on us, filthy things.”
“What would your pa know? You said you were the first of your blood to leave the Imperium.”
“You think you're so special coz yer family are travelers. I'll have you know, Eeerin, that the good men of Tibbits Way know plenty. Including all the evil them ferals are up to.”
“Sure, Dober,” Erin rolled her eyes and took a bite.
The three ferals they watched crouched together, whispering. One pointed a dirty, mittened finger at them, and the others nodded.
Crunchy steps sounded behind them, and Callum dropped himself beside the trio, biting into his meat and loudly chewing. “Who cares.”
“Whaddya mean, who cares?” Dober spat, almost choking.
“About the ferals. They've been here since before we arrived. And they ain’t ever caused us no trouble.” His voice dropped to a whisper, “But what about the Imperator.”
“Careful what you say,” Erin whispered.
Callum glanced around before continuing, “None of you think he's been acting weird? Suddenly, he wants us to extend the walls. Now, this? Have you ever heard of an Imperator hunting to feed his acolytes?”
“At least he's doing something now,” Clay said.
“Yeah,” Callum said under his breath. “I suppose he is.”
“Don’t stick your nose where it doesn’t belong,” said Erin. “We’ve enough to worry about with winter coming.”
“Forget I said anything,” Callum grunted, but Erin’s gaze rested on him.
