November 14th, 1795 aex

Mak Garde

South of Picklewood, Watateje, New Alben

Two weeks had passed since Skylde’s funeral. Sherik had spent most of his time riding Butterhoof in the field across the river, and Mak loitered in the barn loft, watching his remaining birds.

None of the chicken eggs had hatched, but the birds seemed much happier in the barn. They had more space in which to fly and were more secluded. Throughout all that had happened, Mak had never stopped feeding and spending time with them. They were still his escape when emotions grew too strong.

Net hadn’t smiled since the night of Skylde’s murder. His face had been stern and serious. Mak and Sherik had begun building fortifications, but heavy emotions made it difficult to work. It was Net who coaxed them when their production wavered.

They used materials taken from the Westen Freight camp along with planks from the fence along their river. It had no use anymore. There were no animals left to protect, and Butterhoof did not tend to stray.

In those weeks, Net had become the man of the house. The young boy’s arms couldn’t carry much, but he worked beyond his capacities to keep up with the men, and for the first time, he willingly ignored his little garden for the good of the farm.

Sherik had accidentally hammered his own thumb. He wailed and danced about in pain. Net would have normally offered him a sprig or root from his garden, but instead, he said, “You have to keep working, big brother,” and returned to his task.

Mak suggested that Konni and Net practice their firing while Mak and Sherik took care of the fortifications. They had enough ammunition to make practice worth it. Konni seemed to be a natural somehow, even without having ever touched a gun. Net needed the practice, but he persisted. It didn’t take long before he was an adequate asset for the big attack that would inevitably come. The sight of them holding guns was heartwrenching. Doubt crept into his mind, but he pushed it away by starting another task.

They built layers of short walls along the path from road to home. There wasn’t enough wood to put walls anywhere else, but they had the house surrounded by one, at least. They were short enough to climb over, as they weren’t meant to prevent an enemy from coming, but to provide cover for the defenders without trapping them in the small house.

Mak stationed a couple rifles and a satchel of bullet cartridges in a few strategic locations along the walls in case he was forced to flee one location for another without enough time to bring his equipment.

What remained of Mak’s family sat around the fire for supper. The farm looked nothing like it had before. It was emptier and crowded at the same time. The fair, jovial voices of Jerri and Skylde had been replaced by stark walls, covered in the Westen Freight logo; songs, dances, and smiles by guns, bullets, and frowns.

“I think I should run to the barn the moment they come,” Sherik said. “I’ll flank. It worked very well last time.”

Mak nodded. “Be careful. They won’t be as drunk this time, and they might be expecting you. I’m sure that worker who got away will mention your charge.”

Konni poked at the salted turkey on her plate. She’d been somber and silent since Skylde’s funeral, they all had. She only seemed happy when she practiced her shot. She must have accepted that they were staying, so she focused her energy on revenge. “How do you know they’re coming?” She asked. “You seem so sure of it.”

“Jerri read their papers,” Mak said. “I know he’s got more than the handful he sent the other night.” He chose not to remind her of the ten purchased centaurs.

Net finished the pickled carrot on his plate and belched thunderously. His transition from boy to man had been quicker than most. He lay a tiny palm on his filled gut. “Can the steam plough do that too?”

“What do you mean?” Mak asked.

“We could crash the steam plough into the army.” He made the suggestion casually, as if it was something most seven-year-olds spoke of.

“That would work,” Sherik said. “Steam plough from one side, me and Butterhoof from the other, you and Ma shoot from the front, they’d need a pretty big army to deal with something like that.”

Mak wasn’t so sure. The papers Guvson gave him granted Westen Freight a certain portion of the colony’s army, how much, Mak didn’t know, as the papers hadn’t clarified. A chill ran up his spine. The papers were clear on one number. Mak nodded to his youngest son. The steam plough might be the only thing with a chance at stopping the centaurs.

Konni raised one sharp brow from her plate. “And who do you expect is going to drive the plough?”

“I’ll do it, Ma.” Net said it without even looking her way, as if his words settled the debate. Mak knew better. He looked to Konni, bracing for the upcoming outburst.

“You can’t even get in there without a boost.” She smiled. The words were far softer than Mak could’ve anticipated. Perhaps the last two weeks of training with the muskets had showed Konni that Net was responsible enough to use certain tools they might have thought him too young for. Or perhaps their dire situation caused her usual worry to fade. They’d already lost two children, and that number would likely grow if they didn’t do everything in their power to defend themselves.

“His size might be an advantage, Kon,” Mak said. “He knows what each lever does and I’m sure he could learn to steer the thing real quick. Because of his height, his head won’t be exposed. The northerners will think a ghost is driving toward them.”

“Mak, you know I don’t like this,” Konni’s eyes lowered. “But I agree. It’s got to be done.”

After supper, they wheeled the steam plough to a solid position at the top of a hill that overlooked the road. The incline was gradual, perfect to gather enough speed to crash into whatever force Guvson brought.

Net climbed into the carriage himself, refusing Mak’s help. Konni’s words must have gotten to him.

“You remember what all these levers do, boy?” Mak asked.

He nodded. “Plough up, down,” he pointed to the correct lever. “Fast, slow, steering wheel…” his hands continued moving around.

“Good,” Mak said. “You remember how to start it?”

He nodded again.

“Well, do it then,” Mak said. “You’re doing a trial run.”

Net’s eyes widened. He shot out of the carriage, and excitement poured from him in the form of a strange happy whimpering. He started the engine just as Mak had shown him, but slower. Where Mak only needed to get to the tips of his toes to drop the fizzore into the boiler, Net needed to climb the new iron wheels.

He dropped down, rushed to the front of the carriage and climbed in. Mak chuckled. “I’ll have to put a stump there to make your entry quicker. The faster you attack after starting the engine the better. Leaves them less time to react and rearrange their lines.” If they come from that direction at all.

Net pulled the lever, and the chugging carriage moved forward, leaving clouds of red steam beneath it. It picked up speed as it thundered down the hill, more than Mak thought. Net’s little body bounced within, seemingly weightless. Despite his being thrashed about, the boy was somehow able to keep the thing going in a straight line. Mak was proud.

“He’s great!” Sherik thrust a cheerful fist in the air.

Konni had both hands over her lips and peeked through one narrow eye.

The plough came to a stop, and Net hopped out as if he’d done it a thousand times.

* * *

The family gathered before the house. Mak peered down the road where he assumed Guvson would come from, if he came at all. There was an ominous look to the stretch of road he’d seen his whole life. The sun was setting, causing the portion of the road he watched to be drenched in the shadow of the hill, where the rest of the land still felt the sun. He shivered and turned to the others.

“Keep your eyes on the road for the next few days,” he said. “They’ll know Daun failed soon enough. I’m surprised they haven’t come yet. The moment we see them, we get to our stations. Got that, Sherik?”

Sherik nodded. “The barn doors are open, and Butterhoof is ready in case I need her. It won’t take me five minutes to get in position, Pa.”

Mak stepped forward and embraced him. “I’m proud of you. You’ve grown up a lot. I hate the way you had to do it, but you’ve done it.”

“Thanks, Pa.” His eyes glistened like a pup’s.

“Kon…” Mak started.

“Behind the outhouse,” Konni said. “I’ll alternate fire from both sides.”

“Perfect.” Mak turned to Net. “When you hear my signal, drop the fizzore in the boiler, and attack as quick as you can.”

Net nodded. His face was dominated by a dimpled smile that gleamed in the light of the setting sun. “I’ll run as fast as I can up the hill.” He pointed to the steam plough that shone red and orange atop a mound of yellow-green grass. “I drop the fizzore, and then…”

Bang!

Blood shot from Net’s head and he collapsed. A spray of blood painted the house’s wall, and a pool of it formed around his dead son’s head.