“You are sure she did bleed? You could break her Charm?” Campbell leaned in too close for Preston’s comfort, where he’d been for the last hour as Preston recounted his experience at the manor. The knight had been gracious enough to give Granny Esmer time to inspect and wrap his wounds. The medal shards of the pendant had stung on the way out.

“Yes,” Preston snapped. He’d repeated much the same for twenty minutes, validating Campbell’s questions one after the other, all the same questions worded different. As if Preston would change his story after enough badgering.

“Interesting.” The Knight finally backed away and sat in his vacant chair, rubbing his chin. The man had been bedridden the day before and it was disconcerting to see the man up and walking with such manic energy. What was the secret to the man’s staggering vitality? Could it be recreated and given to the soldiers on the battlefield? An army of soldiers able to heal in mere days from the brink of death would be a tremendous force.

“What did you find in the mountains?” Preston asked, if only to escape the incessant questioning of the Knight. Whatever they found didn’t matter. Knowing a vampire could survive a bullet to the skull and seeing it were two different things. And what could defeat something the size of Kash, let alone tear the giant hulk of stone and wood apart with their bare hands? Not anything Preston wanted to be in the same county with. The same Fire was too close.

Preston had thought himself a brave man, strong. Or with a deathwish big enough to overcome his fear. But it seemed Preston was a coward. Sophie would have to wait a little longer.

“Not enough and too much,” Granny Esmer said, and proceeded to tell Preston about ancient godlike beings worshipped by a dark cult of the Hoppaval people and the revelation of Akis’ accidental resurrection. How the magical display at Kindale had been the opening of a gate long shut and things lying slumbering beneath the skin of reality for eons were awakening.

“You mean this is going to happen more and more? What are people going to do about it?” Magic was already beyond understanding for Preston. To hear the magicians admit they did not know what this eldritch presence could be was troublesome.

“Nothing, like they have been doing for thousands of years. Humanity is good at ignoring what they do not want to see.” Campbell said, the first intelligible thing he had said since Granny Esmer began answering Preston’s question. “One or two here or there might care and do something about it, but humanity as a whole will go on as if nothing has changed.”

“But, but, how?” Preston sputtered. It seemed beyond reason anything like what Granny Esmer had described could be ignored. If they could destroy a city in a split second of knowing the city existed, what would happen if they tried to invade Earth? “Surely the Federation would do something about it, now they know about the Others?”

“Do you remember the Werewolf Wars? Or the incursion of the Abyssal Crusaders? Even the Ragnarok plague?” Campbell asked.

“No,” Preston said. “Who knows anything about ancient Iron Knight wars?”

“Each of those events, all supernatural in nature, and with the potential to bring about the end of the world, happened in the last decade.” Preston blinked. He began to ask if those happened as Campbell described, why had no one noticed, when the Knight answered. “I only took part in the Abyssal Crusade, but at each of those world breaking events, the Ordis Ferrum was there, with the druids, or the Helsings, or the Church. There are people who take care of these threats, and the rest of the world goes on as if nothing happens. Ignoring us. Blissfully unaware of the brothers and sisters dying to keep them unaware and…”

The Knight trailed off, voice fading to mumbling then silence, and shook his head, the blue of his throat tattoo catching the light and glimmering a sinister dark shade. Like the deep of the ocean. Preston did not reply. He knew what Campbell was feeling.

“Touching as this is, do ye think we can focus on killin’ my twice undead sister afore she kills us an' claims her own evil kingdom in the mountains?” Preston expected the other man to shout or rebuke the Granny Woman, but the only reaction from Campbell was a rueful smile and a nod.

“You are right! We have more urgent matters to attend.” Campbell pointed to Preston. “You have brought the final pieces of information we needed. I have a plan to defeat this demon scourge. Oddly enough, it was the plan I had intended from the beginning if we learned nothing helpful from your scouting and the burial site.”

“What did ye have in mind, O Wise Knight?”

“Let us review what we have learned. From the Elder, we know the entity called Akisoromokevheje is an amalgam of hundreds of death remnants, the echoes of souls. Your sister was the most complete soul, and so she was the template the entity used to create itself, body and mind. It possesses whatever powers it has encountered, the vampire your sister was, and the succubus it summoned and absorbed. All these were filtered by the energies of the Eye, unleashed when Kindale died and guided by the shadows of the Raven Servants.

“From Preston, we know Akisoromokevheje can be harmed by physical means. A bullet to the head was not lethal, but it did slow her while she was healing. A knife will harm her, if she struck. So if we overcome her defenses, we can bring her down. Remove her head, and she should die. Salt and burn the body, to be safe, and spread the ashes over a distance. This is, of course, assuming we get close enough.”

Preston nodded as Campbell spoke. What he said made a nice kind of sense to the retired soldier.

"Have you got some weird scheme we're going to use?” Preston asked. From what he had seen, the demon’s defenses were formidable. If the Knight had some trick to get around them, all the better. “Cast her out with the dirt of her grave? Wave your fingers in a hexagram, shake a mistletoe branch?"

Campbell gave a low chuckle and patted the Big Iron strapped to his hip. "I thought I would use this."

"Overwhelming violence, just my style." Preston nodded in approval. It was the solution he had employed in the army for decades with resounding success. “But I thought you lot always liked your magic to solve problems.”

“There is a place for words and rituals and prayer, and there is a place for justice through hard iron.”

“Never thought I’d hear ye say them words, Knight. Ain’t you types more 'bout solvin' the problem with prayer and wishful thinkin'? Or magic, as the soldier said?” Granny Esmer asked. Preston answered for the Knight.

“The Iron Knights were one of the finest units I’ve had the pleasure of working with, Granny Esmer. They brought down the walls of Denochdidlan, and killed the Demon Priests to a man.”

“Woman, actually. The last one alive was a priestess hidden in the basement.”

“Ye’d kill women, Knight? I thought ye too soft hearted.”

“We have been planning how to rekill your sister for days now.”

“She do no count. Nothing human 'bout her except fer the memories the Servant absorbed.”

“One could argue we are nothing but our memories. But yes, I do not hold the naïve notion women should not be killed. This priestess in particular had a baby with her.”

“You killed a baby?!” Preston shouted and jumped from his seat. He didn’t know if he wanted to yell in disgust or punch the Knight in anger.

“This baby was a chimera, half demon, half human. Such a creature must not be allowed to live.”

“You…” Preston looked to Granny Esmer for confirmation his feelings were valid. The broad woman shook her head and shrugged. Preston slumped. “I suppose that kind of thing happens more than I know.”

“Far, far more. And more gruesome. There is a reason the work the Knights do is called the Red Work.” Campbell held his hands before him, blue tattoos flashing in the light, gaze pressing through them into the nothing beyond. Preston recognized the look in the man’s eye.

He’d felt the same often enough. He also knew it was best not to dwell on the haunts of war. This man had killed children, and as God had not struck him down for violating his Oaths, such as the Knights were said to take, he had done the right thing. How horrifying, that killing a child was Good and Right. What would the child have amounted to if allowed to live?

“There are three of us,” Preston said, jolting Campbell from his internal stewing. “And last I counted, there are at least five men guarding the manor house. Not counting the Revenant and Akis herself. How are we to overcome this?”

“We are four, with Kashehotapalo.” Granny Esmer spoke from her chair in the corner for the first time in a while. Preston noticed with surprise she had a pipe light and was puffing a smoke cloud darker than a midsummer stormcloud.

“We are not four,” Preston said. “I’m sorry about Kash, Granny Esmer. He was a brave spirit, and spent his last moments to give me time to get away. I will never forget him.”

“Him? Bah. That were his vessel. I’ll resummon him afore we go after Akis fer real.”

Campbell mumbled something under his breath, but Preston ignored him and squinted at the Granny Woman.

“You what?” Preston asked. “What the fuck? I thought he was dead! He was—is—a weird fucking thing, but Yeshua Krist, you could have fucking told me when I first said something. And what the hell is with his obsession with the damn Raven this and Raven that?”

Preston could see Granny Esmer was trying to respond, but he’d built a head of steam and wasn’t stopping his rant.

“I swear he would have skinned half the thugs we left behind and displayed the skins as art for his Raven. Is it some pagan nature god in this valley? And Kash threatened to eat what was left? What the hell is he? Unlike any spirit I have ever known.”

“He is what happens when an alien god is let free in the world of men.” Campbell spoke softly, but Preston heard him over the sound of his own ranting all the same. “A spirit, behaving on its own nature, corrupted and twisted into a blend of this world and the Other. Laws lose meaning, logic fails, sanity fades before the things from the stars.”

If Preston had not witnessed what he had, he would have thought the Knight grandiose and exaggerating for dramatic effect. That was before he saw an entire city of buildings, people, walls, and lives vanish before the awful power of the alien Other. He’d put a bullet between the eyes of a servant of an eldritch god and she had kept walking as if nothing had happened. Nothing could ever be the same for the twice retired soldier.

“Do you mean Kash will become a thing like Akis? Because that would be terrifying. I shouldn’t need to explain how terrifying.” Preston knew he was babbling, but the idea of a thing with the physical presence of Kash being given the same eldritch boost Akis possessed was something Preston could not let go. Such an entity was death incarnate.

“Kashehotapalo is incapable o' becomin' like Akis. His existence as the embodiment of nature in the mountains is incorruptible by things no of this world.” Granny Esmer’s voice was calm and full of conviction. Preston wished he could believe her.

“He was talking about the Raven, and how he wished to kill. From what you said, that’s what Akis has become.” Preston trusted his own eyes more than the woman who had summoned the terrible spirit.

“Nature cannot become something anathema. It may be corrupted, but there will be no Other god of the valley.” Preston didn’t trust the Knight very far either. Not much more than the Granny Woman.

“Be that as it may, but the numbers are not on our side.”

“But the runes and triggers you left through the manor will help,” Campbell said, looking at Preston. Mass illusions, mild insanity, enforced slumber. Most men will not be conscious when we breach. All but the vampire and the revenant.”

“It still feels as if we are outnumbered. But knowing about the runes helps. Why wasn't I told what they did earlier?”

Campbell shrugged. “In case you were captured. Cannot tell what you do not know.”

“Not very trusting, eh?”

Campbell shook his head. “Better that way. There is no disappointment if there are no expectations.”

“As a full third of the marshalled forces, I need to know what is happening. You have military experience, but do you have command experience?” Preston asked, letting the irritation he felt into his voice.

“I do.” Campbell shrugged. “It is not relevant for the time being. I am reasonably certain you have not been Charmed a second time. If you have, our chances against Akisoromokevheje are a long shot anyway. Alright, you get the full plan. Any objects, Granny Esmer?”

“None from me, my boy. Shocked it took ye this long.”

A knock came at the door and all three conspirators jerked their heads towards the door, Campbell’s hand going to his gun, Granny’s to her staff, and Preston’s gripped the chair, ready to stand and throw at the smallest threat. Mrs Harper appeared in the doorway, pristine apron marred by a long streak of gravy down the left side.

“Would anyone like dinner?”

…

Dinner presented itself as a beef roast dripping in juice, artfully charred potatoes, carrots, and corn, fresh apples picked from the trees outside, and delightfully light bread. It was the best meal Preston had eaten in a while. The Army put quantity before quality, and the few inns he’d stayed in on his journey home had been light on food stock.

An uncomfortable air filled the room, hanging over the table. Preston did his best to ignore it, but the food slowly became flavorless mush in his mouth as he ate and the discomfort grew. The source of it was obvious, but the cure was not.

Mr Harper sat in his chair, lips pressed, pushing a piece of beef from one side of his plate to the other. He shifted his weight and the chair squeaked. Mrs Harper alternated between glaring at her husband and, when she thought no one was looking, glaring at the three strangers in her home. If the boy had not been asleep in his bed, Preston was sure she’d be glaring at him in turn.

“It true ye’re goin’ ta kill the demon inna Mayor’s house?”

“Aye,” Granny Esmer said as she spread butter on a thick slice of bread. Preston ignored his gut impulse for secrecy. He did not know this man well, presumably Granny Esmer did. But Preston did know the sight of a man girding himself for an unpleasant task.

“And… the demon is the cause of all the disappearances, and monster sightings?” Preston noticed the man’s knuckles were tight as he gripped his fork.

“Aye.” The bread crust crunched pleasantly as Granny Esmer bit into it, and Preston immediately reached for a piece. When bread sounded like that, it needed to be consumed immediately.

Mr Harper inhaled through his nose. “I wish to help ye.”

“Help?” said the Knight, who was mopping the last of the beef juice with his own slice of crusty bread, “You have helped us plenty enough. Food, shelter, information. Thank you good sir. Ma’am.”

“No, I mean 'gainst the demon. I wish-wish to fight the demon with ye.” Mrs Harper squeaked louder than the chair at her husband’s words. Understandable. Sophie would have scolded Preston eight ways to Sunday if she knew what he was planning to do with the Granny Woman and the Iron Knight. But she was not here, and Preston had a duty. Mr Harper had a wife, and a son. Fighting a demon was not his place.

“Absolutely not,” said Campbell. “Out of the question.”

“But if this is, well, I mean, like ye say, then ye… need all… help…”

The farmer’s protestations dwindled under the triple threat of Campbell, Granny Esmer, and his own wife’s stares. The last was much more like a glare. Preston remained silent and uninteresting, working to finish buttering his slice of bread.

“Ye’ve given what help ye can. We can no ask fer more.”

Despite Mrs Harper reaching out and grasping his arm, Mr Harper still puffed his chest in false courage and continued. “I may not be a Knight, or a Granny Woman-”

Preston heard a faint “Damn right you are not” from either side of him.

“-but I can shoot a gun, an' I pray as well as any man. We’re proper God Fearin' Yeshites under this roof. Let me fight beside ye! We’ll sweep the demon right out!”

For all his faults, the man had courage and conviction when he found it, Preston had to give the farmer that. Courage was about all he had. With a sigh, he put down his bread to be eaten later. “You ain’t coming with.”

Mr Harper turned his wavering stare to the soldier. He had to look up even as Preston was seated. “Who are ye to say no? Ye are no a warrior in the dark, ye are a man. Ye an' I are the same, we can do the same.”

“You ever killed a man?” Preston could have started lighter, worked his argument to his final point, but subtlety had never been his strong suit.

“N-no,” Harper said, blinking. “This is a demon!”

“A demon who looks human, sounds human, acts human. You would not have the guts or the training necessary to overcome that. Listen to your wife and stay behind. It is not cowardice to bow out of an impossible task. Stay, and watch your boy grow old.”

“But-”

“If you do not swear to remain behind,” Preston growled at the man, “I will tie you to the chair and tell your wife to let you loose in the morning. Good luck stopping me.”

“I… mm.” The farmer’s jaw clenched, but his wife smiled at Preston with gratitude. Instead of responding further, Mr Harper speared a stray chunk of roast and pushed it into his mouth, chewing with force.

Judging the worst of the conversation behind them, Preston picked up his bread and bit into it. The crust was delightfully hard, cracking beneath his teeth. The center was soft and chewy, and the butter fresh and rich. He might have to ask Mrs Harper if he could have a loaf when he left for Dubjuk. If the demon didn’t kill them all.

The meal continued in silence, utensils scraping, apples crunching, meat shredding, potatoes sliding. Granny Esmer gave Preston an appreciative nod, a small smile tugging the corner of her mouth on the side facing away from Mr Harper. No need to bring further shame on the farmer, as he might see it.

“What do we do if ye fail?”

Preston looked up from the scarce remnants of his meal to see Mrs Harper focused on Granny Esmer with the look a mother bear gives an interloping mountain lion. “If ye go there, storm the house, fight the demon, an' fail. In all yer wisdom, strength, ability, what if the demon is still better? What do we, the people still yet free of the demon’s influence, do?”

“Run away,” Granny Esmer said. “If we fall, there is no chance. No choice. Take what ye can carry an' run far away.”

“This is our home,” Mr Harper protested. “We worked hard fer this land. I will pass it to my son. Everything we are is tied into the land.”

“Then your blood will water the land, and you will remain here for eternity.” The Knight’s voice was soft, but no less thunderous for it. “When confronted with an insurmountable flood, there is nothing to be done but flee. Your family will be safe, and that is enough. You can begin again elsewhere.”

“The farmlands of Aewa are the most fertile in the world. Plenty to go around there. You could make a good life, build something again for your son.” Preston knew the thoughts of the man, coming from farmer stock himself. To provide for his family immediately and for generations to come was his goal.

“We will leave. How will we know?” Mrs Harper asked.

“If ye’ve not seen from us by noon, run.”

“Is that all we can do?” Mr Harper held up his hands, bits of potato stuck to his fork. “I’m not tryin’ tah fight the demon, but there must be more than tuckin’ tail an' runnin’.”

“You send a telegram to Joren Anderson in Neu’ork City,” Campbell said. “You tell him ‘Night has fallen in Quincy Hill, Ninnesaw. Bring the sun.’ He will understand what it means, and will do what he can to cleanse the land.”

“Could we return after he is finished?” A true farmer returned to their land after windstorms, wildfires, floods, and a fae infestation. There was work to be done. Preston had battled all over the years.

“There will be nothing but ash left,” the Knight said. “The Order Ferrum does not take those words lightly. I will not speak further to them.”

“But-”

“No further.” Silence fell on the table again following the Knight’s stern words. Preston finished his third slice of bread, and watched the others for a sign they might be done eating and he could snag yet another serving of the delicious food. No one gave the notion they wished for more bread, yet they did not give the notion they did not, either. A conundrum. One alleviated by Mrs Harper’s welcome words.

“Would anyone like pie?”

She was the best person Preston had met in the last four years.