Tales of The Miller

by Markdoon

Mayor Dodge leads his townsfolk to survive the rigors of a rapidly changing world.

1. Chapter 1 A New Start

Tales of The Miller

by Mayor Dodge, Bogusville

circa: 5th year of Our Lord

Mayor Dodge

Bob the rancher/farmer/grocer

Juice the apothecary

Balmy the thaumaturge

Hrothgar the watchman

Manger the mason

Lars the bricklayer

Ben the miller

Derringer the hermit

Chapter 1 Tales of the Miller

I, Mayor Dodge, spent half of a shade circuit looking at the works beyond the walls of Bogusville. From the watchman's walkways, atop the outer walls and at the peak of the watchtower, I assessed the extent and purpose of works being done.

Whoever were these builders, laboring earnestly on the flank of the hill, northwest from town? How mysterious were their comings and goings? What great design was the Spirit fulfilling by bringing them here, and to what end did that involve us few survivors, at Bogusville?

For two days, I watched, not intruding nor guessing that they waited audience at my town. They came and went from Bogusville, never speaking to us, rarely seen and less heard, staying overnight at the inn which I kept. By morning light, each person of that company would be gone, back to the build upon which they labored so patiently.

Using axes and spades and brute force, those workers had cleared a swath of terrain. The cleared area ran from the west mount to the north forest flat. Two days, several men of skills, and nary a word hello nor a waved hand in passing. The Spirit and Our Lord and Savior work in mysterious ways, indeed.

At dawn of the third day, I counted their advance and beheld a waterway from a small high lake being fed into their works. That stream fed our north canal, at the foot of town's rise and along eastward to disappear into a hole. Now, the stream went straight in steps down the mount's flank, following a carved stone ditch flanked by stone brick. Straddling said ditch were four pairs of stone supports benched to receive pillow blocks. Beyond each pair, to the north, rose starkly bright sandstone walls of a meter thick, featuring doorway portals without door nor frame.

High above our lowland town, at the lake's edge, I discerned more stonemason handiwork carving ways from abutments. Directly west and above the stairway of water, those masonry works had scoured away landscape. I need go higher to espy the extent of lakeside works, for the watchtower's peak was below even that lake's edge.

Taking sword and bow, as is my custom, I went southward. At the opposite side of town from the strange works, I beheld our townsfolk's work. They were isolating the outer walls, for now it stood atop plateau of stone.

This is whence the Spirit brought our town, just five days past. Fully six meters above all surrounding terrain. The lowest part of our town stood safe from high waters and gave room for dry basement and furnaces below my inn. And waters there were in plenty, from a large lake and links by river to the east, over to natural canals northeast and also several lakes to the south and southwest. Only this large stone table stood between the waters and the mount which rose high above town, on our west and northwest.

Going down the southern flank, I turned west. Thinking to approach the mount by way of a scouted path, I found Juice, our apothecary, at work with Balmy, the thaumaturge. They were hacking away the forest, digging footing for a road. That road would encircle the town's rise. Passing by these men with words of praise and encouragement, I went on up the eastern flank of Westmount, as we named the hill on that day.

Threading my way through birch and oak, I mounted the southerly ridge of that hill. Forward from me, to the west, lay dark oak forest. Both the wood and the shade of its dense canopy were dark. It lay west and also north at a western rise beyond the high lake. My choice was either to climb this spine of the mount or sidle around to the western flank. I chose to do neither.

Climbing into the upper branches of a lower oak, I leapt upward for one meter, to gain hold of a higher spot. Proceeding thus, I made my way to stand atop the great dark forest's roof. Being spritely and full of confidence, I ran and hopped, from treetop to treetop. Quickly, I crossed the edge of the western dark forest and soon came to the bench around the high lake.

The peak of Westmount rose to my east, now between me and my town. Ahead of me, to the north, rose the unnamed humps bounding the mountain lake on its east and west. Between those humps, north of the lake, rose a stony brick wall of considerable size, made by the newcomers. The small little lake now was growing, fed by two streams sprouting from the stone humps.

Spying for men at work, along the east of the lake, I beheld little of use. It was as if they planned no further works around the deepening lake. All their efforts now were upon that swath of carved slope, eastward of the lake.

Going to the lake's edge, I beheld a stony brick road and rock surrounding the water. It was plain that wagons could be used, but neither wagon nor dray animal could be seen, nor tracks of either did show. The Spirit and the Eggs of Creation could bring animals hither, for we townsfolk had those. I assumed that we are not alone in being so trusted by Our Lord and King.

Continuing along, scouting the land and the living things to the north and west, I went as far as a northwestern mountain plain. Looking back upon the wall now bounding the reservoir, I knew that the lake was gone. It lay beneath water now held in control by the masons. The fallacy of might not being right was all the clearer. Only the succeeding endeavors of gods and men made the world right and fit for living. Losers would forever argue the injustice of being made victim, as if any mortal emerged victorious over death, except for Our Lord.

Die, he did, and die, we shall, each and all. Some by weakness, others by choice and courage. Only those faithful at the end of Earth's last age escaped the mortal death, yet even they shall return to wage war. That shall come at the end of this last of times in creation. For now, the world is made new by the coming of Our Lord and King, and old things are not remembered. Only the Word and blood prevail. Amen.

I scouted on eastward, leaving that sparse mountain plain, and took life away from several beasts of The Foe. They lurked or went about their ways, benign to each other for the most part, yet always at odds with the scent of man. Were I just passing through, I would have left them be, but these enemies would come at night to attack the town. Some even came during day, to linger and to await victims. Most of all, I feared the witches, for they hurled ill potions and great hate towards us so that resistance faltered. Them, most of all, I kept arrows at the ready to dispatch.

Monsters do not fall easily, except for great spiders falling to arrows. The rest of the evils always take two if not three strikes to head and heart, even from a sorcerer's bow. Quick and many, the monsters muster to the attack. They allow little or no time for second and third strikes upon one without risking death by another that approaches. If they were townsfolk, I would approve of tactics, but as I am one of few survivors there is little I admire about being mobbed.

Perhaps the strangers whose works now straddle the mountain stream could be useful in a fight. Our Lord knows that they have survived a long journey over hostile lands to arrive at this place. The Spirit transports as he will, never with a road nor leaving any trail, for those are works of mere men. Nor has the Spirit spoken a leading to the surviving townsfolk. We knew nothing about the purposes or the manner of the men now carving out a workplace in the wilderness.

A man only controls that which he may lay hand upon, or at most far that which he sees within a few steps. All other living and undead things regenerate when a man passes far away or returns and comes near. The monsters I dispatched were temporary inhabitants of each allotted piece of terrain. Their kind, or even a few benign animals, generate to fill that locale after my passing. Endless tides of war await the unwary, for they are untiring and endless in number.

I passed through a spruce forest, north from town. Holding northeast from the newcomer's works, I chanced upon a deeply trenched route, parallel to the town's north wall. It was straight but unfinished in any sense, marking a way to make better works soon to follow. The forest shade hastened nightfall to come quickly, and I sped the remaining thirty meters to the town's skirt.

"Hail, traveler!" Juice called out from a wall parapet. "Aye! It is our own foolish mayor who travels unescorted through woodland ways, coming upon night!"

"Aye, it is I, jester!" I called out as the gateway door opened.

"There were neither wall nor door transported here," Hrothgar mentioned as he closed the door behind me. "Did we not notice that more went missing than just animals? Four town clocks, from the lamppost in the square, are gone!"

"Those could have been borrowed, by our new neighbors," I replied, checking my arrows, tools, and inventory. Nothing was left behind for the monsters to use during an attack.

"Borrowed, what went missing?" Hrothgar growled. "They were not there at the time of looking, when first we arrived to retake our town. I have looked under your inn, and in the stores, under Manger's masonry house, and even in loft above the décor storage."

"How about above the smithy?" I wondered. "The baled hay that waits to catch flame, above the furnace, might hide undiscovered treasures."

Hrothgar shook his head slowly, resigned to being misunderstood. Juice laughed at his discomfort, descending from the wall to speak further.

"The bales stay safe, fully five meters above any flame, but they would be safe at three," Juice intoned. "Thus far, only the fireworks of the stray bangers spread four meters from their source. I have made wider spray from potions applied to fireballs. Still, that does not ignite straw nor any living thing that it touches. Fire spreads only near to lava, at this point."

"You and Balmy will ignite the town!" I stated with a mix of exasperation and a bit of humor.

"Night comes full," Hrothgar stated, motioning for Juice to calm down. "I'll be up top, should you have need."

"Those flaming arrows, from your sorcerer's bow, also do not cause materials to burn," I said, to the watchman. "They ignite only living and undead things, but not materials."

"Better than that," Juice spoke with a wry grin, walking me towards the inn. "If Balmy's spell has worked, the arrows from Hrothgar's bow should now cause the foes to burn unto death."

"Now?" I looked around at the streets we passed by, seeking danger in disguise or any form, my sword in hand.

"Now, since the spell is doubly powerful," Juice stated. "Balmy works wonders upon our tools and weapons, ye dodger, and have ye seen what come of works for the road surrounding this burg?"

"That is your handiwork, to the north, a trench hiding under the trees?" I asked as we stopped and talked under the overarching inn structure which spanned two town blocks.

"That is ours, but not for us only," Juice nodded as he looked to the east and west, beyond either end of the archway.

"Let us go in, to our inn," I grinned at the news about the road's intended use.

"The neighbors be all asleep, by this time," Juice backed into the inn, closing the door behind us.

I looked at the booths and tables around the innkeeper's counter. Lifting a gate to enter the kitchen, I nodded at Juice in agreement.

"They sleep quick and rise early," Juice said without emotion. "Spirit feeds them, do you think?"

"Conscription reduces hunger, restores health, repairs damage," my monotone listed common knowledge of Spirit workers while my hands checked drawers and a lone kitchen oven.

"Yea, but two bangers ganged on their lowest workplace, at about midday, and a zombie without kin stood watch," Juice warned. "It watched, Dodge. That is unusual, that it watched, neither attacking nor seeking refuge."

"Unusual, but nothing new," I replied, thrusting a couple of raw chicken into the oven. "One coal; more than enough for our dinner. Have ye other that needs to be cooked?"

"Waste not," Juice agreed, pulling some uncooked goods from his pack. "I must be off to bed, eating on the run."

"How is sleep, since Bob's barns are empty?"

"The silence is disturbing, but I discovered that I worried overly much about the former noises covering the approach of monsters," the apothecary confided. "It was never a problem, although a few lurked about under the arch between his place and my own. We put torches in place, to light the area, but they always had refuge in some nook, cranny, or outside, in the field."

Taking chicken from the oven, I served it up while thrusting the other items in to cook. I didn't want Juice to hurry away to bed. We needed to talk.

"The mountain lake is made a reservoir," I explained. "There is now a wagon route around that, and there are two springs feeding the reservoir."

"The mage's opinion is that waterwheels will be finished within two days," said the apothecary. "The added thrust of water flow can power as many wheels as they can align, between Westmount and the river."

"Resistance to flow will increase over distance, unless they bury any other devices deeper into the ground," I replied. "There is that unmapped hole, where the water goes underground, just east of the north gate."

"Underground waterwheels?" Juice stayed, his hand reaching for the door, while he showed renewed interest. "Whatever do you imagine these wild schemes of strangers?"

"Unless the waterwheels only work in daylight, and not in rain nor darkness, the option to move the works underground is logical," I explained. "There would be less interference by monsters, for one thing."

"The monsters do not interfere with the works of these men," Juice repeated a theme of concern. "Bangers and zombies do them little harm; spiders wander all about but do little nuisance. Skellies actually provoke the men to action. A dark walker took no blocks, but it watched with interest, as did that zombie."

With a flourish of quick hands, I took the hot food out of the oven. Handing it over, but not letting it go easily, I looked into my friend's eyes with honest concern. The sleepers, above us and away to rooms on the other side of the arch, could have listened to all that we said.

The dark and silent night that awaited Juice beckoned him to leave. Hrothgar on watch, high above, would sing out if danger exceeded his abilities. Bob, the rancher, was already at home, comfortable with his home-cooked meals.

"Have you seen Manger?" the apothecary asked. "Never saw nor heard him, out in the field, or in town."

"I haven't seen Manger since we returned," I admitted. "He wasn't back at the judgment area, when I got the dogs. Neither have I seen evidence of his work along the ways, going and coming."

"We all gathered together, beyond the wall, before coming into town, after it was moved," Juice persisted. "Manger was with us, Dodge."

"He was," I agreed. "Out there, he was, but did you see him come into town? We came, all of us in a group, climbed through the empty gateway, and we went about our business, but did anyone see Manger climb up the rise?"

With silent reappraisal, the apothecary stared at me. Five days and four nights had passed without word from our town's mason.

"Five days ago, the Spirit saved us and our work from the judgment upon that region," I reminisced. "We arrived here. Of the original eight, we six remain. Then, Manger has gone since when I left to get my dogs. Life began anew, and we six stood out there, in that forest. We had neither plan or unction to do a new work, as of when founding Bogusville. Now, five days later, you ask if I have seen Manger, today? When have you seen him, or talked to any other who saw our mason?"

The apothecary said nothing. He had not seen the mason, the same as none of them had noticed the missing gates and doors, the missing clocks. None of us knew what would become noticed.

"We must advance...build...do something," Juice said quietly. "What now, when we have works staring back? These others are being spirited away from their own places, to do conscription builds? We are not conscripted, either now or when we first met to agree upon lots together. What should we do, or learn of from the conscripts?"

"Lars was taken," I answered. "That is conscription, as far as I know."

"Cortez was a fine man, and his son Lars is equally valuable to our town," Juice said calmly. "Lars was traumatized, by his father's death. We all are, but he more than us all. The Spirit took him—took from us—an open wound. You are Lars' uncle, but cannot be a father since you saw your brother's end. At best, may you have become as a family of equals in suffering and achievements, but there was no way for your former life to persist. My potions offer healing, helps, and even some remedies, but for heartache I have nothing."

I spread my hands wide apart, palms upward, in a sign of acceptance of the inevitable. I was as powerless as any man to overcome loss.

"Had we been united as strangers, without kin, this would not be Bogusville, my friend," Juice continued. "Because you and your brother and his son came with us, at the founding, we cannot pretend to be family. It would be a pretense! For the time that Cortez was with us, we became close. Lars grew from a young teenager into a man, and that tie is a large part of our town growth together. As Lars grew, we each grew. At his taking we each suffered differently but more than if we had not become so entwined. Manger suffered the most, aside from you, because of kindred heart, I would say."

"Manger was kin, to Lars?" I asked, openly surprised. "I never knew."

"They share a spirit," Juice explained. "It is an oddity of men whose hands find strength in the earth. Lars was not much for the farm, or for the woodland, and certainly not for the stores and treasures. He took to following Manger, seeking secrets from underground, from stone, and especially from clay. I know because he asked me for potions of water breathing, so that he could stay longer while enjoying the clay molding within his hands."

"What of clay without being underwater?" I asked the obvious. "There is plenty of it, unearthed."

"That is not the same as working with it immersed, I guess," the apothecary replied. "Have you tried to do that, working with clay in water suspension, so that gravity and dehydration have no power?"

The idea was unique. I could see why it appealed to the apothecary, but it was not so enticing, for me.

Juice carefully exited from the inn. He waved at Hrothgar, trotted away to take his meal home. Bob, the rancher, waved through a window, so Juice called out a goodnight as he went home.

Standing inside of his apothecary, Juice looked over towards the mason's house, across the way. A perennial torch burned within, never extinguished, and there was no shadow of movement. If there were comings and goings of the mason, only Hrothgar, the watchman, might know of it.

Hrothgar studied the shades and shadows of night, the movement of eerie red eyes alight with evil beyond the walls. Most peculiar was the lack of monsters in proximity to the waterwheel builds. Rains came almost daily, and each night, so that much beyond the walls was not visible to Hrothgar. He kept watch for the sake of the townsfolk, only, and not for the sake of interest.

There were cyclical events, day and night, which measured time. Hrothgar knew that I would retire to the basement furnace area, under the south leg of the inn. That area was only accessible via a ladder from the kitchen, at the north leg of the inn. Sleepers would be above the north and south legs, and also on the ground floor of the south part.

To the south of the inn, in a tall house behind a cobblestone wall, there were villagers bred for pure interest. Coming from Eggs of Creation, the two villies had thus far generated two offspring. Those little ones had been the first and only children in the history of Bogusville. The unending hatred of the zombies for villagers riveted upon that location. Each day and night found zombies staring at the outer wall, seeking a way to turn the villies into zombies.

Hrothgar found relief in that zombie hatred. It forced zombies to focus upon the unreachable goal, behind walls and closed doors. That focus decreased the number of hostile mobs endangering townsfolk. The watchman kept sharper on the lookout for other monsters. There were flying bangers, dark walkers opening doors for other monsters to enter, skeletal archers seeking victims, and always the witches.

Witches appeared with disturbing regularity, often by twos and threes. They kept a convention of sorts in the cleared waterfront area, rarely standing alone. Once in a while, Hrothgar was pleased to see an archer piercing other monsters. Something unknown could trigger an all-out war between them, and it was sobering to see that they never relented. Many foes always had to die before the fray ended.

The watchman surveyed the peaceful streets of Bogusville, minute by minute, and kept aware of matters. Once in a while, he unlimbered his great bow and shot a flaming arrow into a monster, fifty meters or further away. The rain kept snuffing out the flaming arrow, long before that arrow impaled a monster. With sufficient practice, Hrothgar was able to hit skellies in the back. They turned and fired at the nearest archer, starting a war. His unending supply of arrows from a mystical quiver kept the monsters busy, all night long.

Dawn's light found the visiting conscripts quietly going about their works. It was as if they either whispered or communed in Spirit to talk. Hrothgar maintained his vigil until the townsfolk resumed their daily affairs. He counted heads, as was good practice, knowing how many people had exited from town and how many should remain.

I awoke to the sounds of wreckage being made, above my head, but off to the south. It was not inside of my inn. I rolled away from the cot, coming up to rise with sword in hand. Grabbing up my backpack, I thrust my arms through the slings while going down the hall to the kitchen ladder.

"Mayor!" a voice yelled from the inn's archway.

I came out of the inn, on the run, sword leading the way.

"Whoa!" Hrothgar cautioned, sidestepping my egress route. "It's the villies! They got into a ruckus, inside of the cobble fence!"

"Zombie spawned?" I demanded, knowing that was foolish because of the high amount of lighting within the enclosure.

"Possible, if anyone dropped an egg into that bunch?" Hrothgar would not guess at how anything was possible.

"Break in!" I shouted to Bob, the rancher, who was approaching the fence with a pick in his hand. "Gate?"

Bob nodded, pitching a gate towards me, from his backpack. He swung his pickaxe into the cobblestone fence with a practiced motion, breaking away the space needed for a gate.

I shoved the gate into place, just as the internal racket silenced.

"Noticed us finally, did they?" Bob wondered aloud.

"Would you look?" Hrothgar demanded. "If that weren't the villagers, then it is still inside of their clutch!"

I went through the gate, leaving it for Bob to man. After opening a door, I went inside, half crouched and at the ready with sword to maim and kill.

"No villies on this floor!" I yelled out. "Heading around!"

Going around an internal set of walls which sported several doors, I began to search for the miscreant. Something other than villagers had caused the racket that roused me from sleep.

"Hole in the floor!" I yelled. "Watch your footing!"

Bob and Hrothgar exchanged a glance. Monsters did not tunnel, dig, or chop down things. They went where openings allowed, sometimes as small as half of a meter square, but they never made openings.

"Those builders are all out beyond the wall, at their own works," Hrothgar said with confidence. "This is something else."

I made a circuit of the bottom floor. There was just the one hole, so I began climbing stairs, intent upon finding the villagers, or their attacker.

"Dodge!" a somehow familiar voice echoed dimly, hollowly, from below.

The villagers were upstairs, ahead of me. They did not sound distressed. That other voice came from down at the hole in the floor. The villagers were alive; the other voice needed attention. I retraced my steps and looked down into the black hole.

"Who is it?" I demanded.

"Dodge!" the excited relief was clear. "It's me! Manger!"

"Manger!?" I demanded with mixed relief and curiosity. "What are you doing, down there?"

Weary laughter wafted upward. There was no saying whatever he felt, at this moment.

Hrothgar burst in, leaving Bob at the gate. He had to see this for his own eyes, and to explain something.

"Hrothgar is here!" I called down. "Do you need tools? Anything?"

"Yes!" Manger yelled. "Dump in water, or ladders! And a pickaxe! Mine broke, and I'm nearly dead of hunger! Again!"

"If that is Manger, then we have a problem with the count," Hrothgar said, with all sincerity. "Each day, I count heads, coming in and leaving. There has always been one more leaving than the first day after the builders came."

I was busily tossing tools and food down to the mason. Still, I listened to what the watchman said, but I did not slacken in aiding our missing friend.

"Who is that other person?" Hrothgar continued. "I tallied the beds at the inn, and the number of people leaving added to one more. If that is not one of us, then who is it, and where do they sleep?"

"They sleep in the spare bed, at the décor building, or else in Mason's bed, in the masonry house," I replied easily. "Nobody is home, at either place, and since Cortez was killed, nobody took over the décor building."

"Lars slept there, when he wasn't staying at your inn," Hrothgar mentioned.

"Off to bed, for you," I responded. "You and me, we sleep down at the inn, by shifts. It's your bedtime."

"I made a bed, at the armory, at the bottom of the watchtower, after the new people arrived," Hrothgar stated.

"Smart," I agreed. "I'll get Manger set up, and catch up with him on what kept him away. You go. We need you on watch, tonight."

Hrothgar left, passing Juice and Balmy, as they entered. With a nod that all was passably well, he went home. At the gate, Bob stared at Hrothgar and did wonder at the peculiar expression.

"Is that Manger, for real?" Bob asked.

"Sounds like it, to me," Hrothgar kept walking, going over to the décor house that held chests of various items.

The three of us within the villager enclosure worked together, rescuing Manger from whatever trouble he had discovered. The important thing was the rescue, and not what prompted the mason to vanish for several days. We had each gone on adventures during our years together. Respect demanded space. Each man to come to grips with the consequences of decision before admitting to whatever foolhardy or wrongful thinking was responsible.

Manger worked his way up through the shaft, gaining help from us. The food was delicious, the vials of healthful potions divine, but foremost was the fact of coming home. The welcoming hearts and goodwill was more healing to Manger's spirits than his words could express.

"Bloody hole!" Manger spat at the dark depths which he exited.

"You're a bit bloodied, yourself, mate," Juice observed. "That must have been a fright of an episode."

"The water!" Manger gasped. "That stream, beyond the north wall, carried me all of the way down to Hades! What a mischief that work must have been, for The Foe!"

I glanced towards Juice, then to Balmy, saying nothing.

"We had presumed that you went on adventure, after Dodge left, to recover his dogs," Juice admitted.

"Dogs?" Manger blinked in the bright light, and sat down while grasping at another liter of drink. "You went back? Your dogs are here, now?"

"No, he went alone," Juice nodded towards me, watching Manger. "He brought the dogs back to midway, at a hamlet to the east. Monsters were peckish about our mayor traipsing across the countryside."

Manger gulped some more refreshment, then chewed thoughtfully upon some fruit. He looked over at the thaumaturge with invitation to speak.

"Those tools, and your weapons, are gone, I suppose?" Balmy inquired.

"Those are indeed gone, but not to worry, as I regained three times their weight in gems, iron, gold, and more," Manger stated. "Too bad that the only food in the caverns used to be mushrooms. I left with only enough wood to make four bowls, or two bowls and eight torches."

"You could have made a workbench," Balmy offered. "For what good without wood is a workbench? I cannot guess how the strain must have injured your spirit."

"Nay, the bench is expended, hereafter," Manger grinned widely, showing dust-stained teeth now gummy with fresh drink. "This rescue is not only for me, but for the lot of us, mates!"

"Come now, let's get out and repair the enclosure," I said, and led the way.

"That's not all!" Manger exclaimed, walking out into the rainy day, yet squinting against the comparable brightness.

"What is not all?" Bob demanded, pulling the mason through the gate and then hugging him in grand style. "Where have you been!? What have you seen?"

"Lars!" Mason exclaimed. "I saw Lars, in the flesh! He did not see me, for I was in the Spirit, but he is here! Now!"

"Here?" Dodge interrupted. "In town? Now?"

"No—yes—maybe!" Manger stuttered, then he caught sight of Hrothgar. "Hey! Is Lars at home, in that building?"

Hrothgar shook his head, leaving the small house and walking to the armory. It was too soon in the day for tales and fables. He was going to rest and renew.

Manger pulled out a miniature stone replica of a crafting table, and then he tossed it at the large watchman.

Hrothgar deftly snatched the oncoming object from the air..and he stopped all movement. Transfixed by the immensity of what happened, Hrothgar did not see that each person watching him continued moving. They could not see what he was seeing...and neither could he move without first breaking contact with the object.

"Just open your hand!" Manger called. "It will pocket itself, into your apron!"

Hrothgar slowly opened his hand. The view vanished and the item vanished into his backpack. He wore no apron, as of a blacksmith. Only Mayor Dodge wore such an apron, as did Manger.

"What wizardry is this?" Balmy wondered, coming closer to the watchman.

"That is a find!" Manger stated with glee. "One of many!"

Balmy stood divided. He wanted to see what the watchman possessed, to discern its workings. He also must see what else the mason had found.

"It is a wizardly small workbench, mage," Hrothgar said. "Not to lose sleep, for he has other trinkets to show."

"Aye, sleep well, good friend," Balmy said to the watchman, who already turned away and was going into the armory.

"Each of us each maintains watch, through the day," Balmy said, looking around at the townsfolk. "Yet that good fellow alone watches over us through the night, but he earns no special award from us?"

"Do not fret over a calling," I warned. "We each face calling to do alone what might strain the hearts of others. Your calling gifts you with abilities to do wizardry and metallurgy beyond our ken. Bob communes with animals to which we are all as dumb beasts. Juice concocts potions which transmute our abilities beyond mere humanity. Manger crafts stone yet calls us to witness stonework speaking to him before it is shaped, but none of us can hear. Lars was similarly gifted, before he was taken, but now..."

"He is here!" Manger insisted. "I saw him, working with those millers, beyond the walls."

"You saw in the Spirit," I clarified. "The sight in the Spirit is of what god sees, in and out of time, and may be entirely different than the time within which we are constrained to exist."

"What did you see?" Balmy inquired.

"He is trained to bricklaying, stonemason, and artful works of clay," Manger said with obvious happiness. "Lars is surpassing me!"

I felt surprised by pride in my nephew's achievement. More than that, I was astonished at being warmed by Manger's happiness. It was as if hearing my brother's voice speaking from beyond death, approving of Lars' growth.

"You were gone," I pointed out. "You have returned. Lars was here, but none saw this, and now that you are here, will he return?"

"Go out, to see him!" Manger urged. "He is there, working with the milling crew of builders!"

"Yes, I suppose that formality makes it my duty, but you are more a father or role model than me" I said with calm deliberation. "You should welcome him back, for each of us."

Manger saw anew why they had appointed me to be mayor. There was a kind of distance between my person and role that enabled me to separate my emotions from duties. Blood relatives are exceedingly rare, and after losing an only brother, standing aside from welcoming my nephew was unexpectedly selfless of me.

I did not feel like being selfless. I felt like finding a quiet place to adjust to being in an undefined state of shock.

"Not before he shares his tale with us!" Balmy insisted. "We must see what our friend has gained, and learn what he has to teach!"

That we did, and so Manger set out to tell his tale. We worked together all that day, for the sake of hearing once what would otherwise be repeated. Going first with Bob, to hatch and to feed new animals from the Eggs of Creation, we kept our hands busy. The mason told a tale and explained his discoveries. There were questions beyond number, though we tried to restrain them.

By day's dusk, we each had wearied the teacher whose fatigue already laid claim over his senses. Juice's ministrations kept Manger alert and unwearied for long after his body would have fallen. After having opened unto us his backpack of baubles, gems, and treasures, and explained many things. With that done, the mason fell off into the relentless sleep reserved for grand heroes.

Lars came into town, that night, and went straight to sleep. As we had deduced, he slept in his father's place, the carpenter's house of decorations. Since we remained quite busy catching up with all of Manger's discoveries, and also needed sleep, we went to bed without disturbing the bricklayer.

The following morn, after breaking my fast, I climbed the watchtower. My head reeled from the exceeding amount of knowledge and changes coming upon our locality.

Manger's trip down the water slide into oblivion had ended at the deep of our known world, seventy meters below the town. He wandered to and fro, within the earth, skirting lava and dangers of many kinds. The thirst for knowledge of that arcane skill called masonry soon left him without food. Manger was not accustomed to fainting from hunger, thus each episode gave him fresh vigor without resurrection to the surface.

It seemed as if the mason's trip went south of the norm, guiding his feet to ways untrod by men. He found many dangers, dungeons, engines of destruction and also mysterious items the like of which apothecary and thaumaturge alike labored to study and discern purpose and means. Little of use to common men, like myself, was brought back, except for two items of storage value.

The one item, which Hrothgar kept, was a ready workbench in pocket edition, as if packing around a workbench were to become a normal task. It was very useful, without doubt. Balmy was certain that he could make out its manner of function, to give to each of us.

The other find of significance to me was a two-piece storage chest which held nothing. Both of the chests could be broken, yet neither would lose the items kept safe within them. I doubted this so strongly that I insisted upon a test, and Balmy was first and foremost against losing such a treasure. We settled upon using one of his sorcery tools which broke blocks without dividing apart their constituent contents. The test resolved only that his tool worked without damaging the chest's ingredients.

I challenged Manger's claim by building one of the chests, using the new one at some distance without associating it to the others. My friends stayed with me, to see it for themselves, and thus we sacrificed a rare item of our treasury. The Eye of and Ender, it was called, came by way of uniting the eye of a black walker with an arcane rod fallen from a blazing spirit cast out into the depths of Hades. Balmy had learned the secret of making such eyes, and needless to say they were beyond rare. Manger described them as the one essential ingredient for the new chest, surrounded by eight chunks of obsidian.

Lo, and behold! The new chest was able to access the other chests, from far away!

Balmy made another chest, of course, and we found a greater mystery. All that Balmy had put into the chest of his design did not appear to me, or to any other man, but only to the one who held that chest! Bob, first, and then Juice, also looked into my ender chest, and into Balmy's chest, and also into the first set of chests which Manger had discovered.

The great change that this enabled was for each of us to fill the new chest with other chests. Twenty-seven chests full of treasures, tools, weapons, and foods could be carried in one slot in a backpack inventory. The entire village could be dismantled and rebuilt, all from one ender chest!

All of the sixth day, since relocation, we made headway into studies of Manger's treasure. Still, we worked, questioned, prodded and surmised, not stinting about any of our duties. The former works outside of the walls, by Juice and Balmy, had gone very well. Now, with the added aids of Manger's efforts, they were able to largely finish four legs of roads, all during one day!

The enlargement of Bogusville's success led me to call an early halt. Choosing to worship Our Lord and Savior, for the remainder of sunlight until day's close, we sat in the town's round square, by the smithy.

"Mayor Dodge, would you be so kind as to retrieve the Bogusville Ledger, from the archives of Balmy?" Manger requested. "I do believe that it is time for our company to register a note of thankfulness."

"I agree," I said, but I paused just before I strode away to the mage's abode, beyond the grocer's structure.

"Why do ye walk, old man?" Balmy called out with good humor. "Can we not get all the books of my domain in this central town chest, of Manger's design?"

I paused, scowling at my friends, looking to see if the jest was a test.

"Hrothgar, the Watchman, who oversees our safety each night, keeps central care over the armory," Balmy stated. "In there, behind locked doors, under arms and armor, stays the town chest, courtesy of Manger, the Mason."

To gain access to Balmy's upper library was no small trip. I would pass through a visibly scant door made of acacia wood, step upon a trap that would close and lock said door. Thereafter, the only exit was up a narrow stair, to another trap, and another door which only Balmy could open from the inside. I could go in, but not get out, except for going down another stairway into a basement and out through a portal into Hades. That would be no escape. If I bypassed the second trap, and climbed yet another stair up to the library and enchantment area, two more traps awaited, each at a door. Were I to find and take the book or any item from shelves, the traps below would reset. Balmy was among the least trusting of all humans, yet also very adept in his arcane ways.

"I expect not to find the town's ledger, is why," I admitted to the waiting audience. "Not only did the relocation remove our barriers or gates, for they were not left behind in the judgment area, it removed clocks and fixtures, torches and pictures. In fact, that relocation literally started over our personal history, at this point. There is not one thing here of relevance to the former life, at that other region, except that we pretend to make it that way."

"Correction, there is one thing returned," Manger disagreed. "Lars."

"Still, his life is made new, as are each of ours, for we were translated from that place to this," I argued. "Our calling remains, which he was just discovering. It is plain that his calling transformed into conscription. That call to duty far excels our pace of self-discovery, until your return from robbing the spirits of the underworld."

"Let us see," Balmy interjected, halting the discussion. He pulled out from his backpack the rare item of his own, his ender chest.

"I placed herein copies of all my tomes, many works, tools, essences and other manner of things—but just copies," Balmy warned. "The originals remain in their place, secured behind doors and disguises, copied in entirety by spells and by means of discernment of the Spirit."

"Mayor, you can read the script of the Spirit's alphabet, it is true?" Manger said, by way of question, to verify what each of the members knew.

"Yes, but I am not the wizard of combining the terms into spells, such as our apothecary and thaumaturge are called to do," I replied, still not moving from my walk towards Balmy's townhouse.

"There was occasion, on my haunted journey, to make out inscriptions upon not a few dungeons and ways," Manger continued. "I recall thinking, at such times, that I would rather be aided by your skills as a warrior than by these gentlemen in their specialties."

I nodded, neither agreeing with his assessment or choice. He should continue to describe what linked this subject with Balmy's experiment.

"There are things of which I saw, and some that I did damage, but I could not bring them back while in their assigned form," Manger gestured his hands about as if helpless. "They are sometimes good fortune, other times not, and often it came about that I must stand away, at arm's reach, before touching them off. In the words of Juicy, the conflagration. There might be explosions, triggering of traps and devices, even to birthing from Eggs of Creation the animals and bogeymen which we are not privileged to see, upon our domain."

"Were such things a challenge to a mason, whose communing with stone and earth should not be surprised?" I wondered aloud.

"Yea," the mason groaned slowly, not desiring to agree. "Still, those things are scattered, hither and yon, below the lands which we trod. Their design is not of man's doing, nor can only masons find such treasure and unspeakable dangers being unleashed."

"What do you mean?!" I asked somewhat sharply. "You're hinting that others than men might be here, below us, around us, loosing things which we lack the means to battle?"

Manger nodded once, deeply, emphasizing the truth.

"Let us say, firstly," Balmy interrupted, "that Mayor Dodge's perception is quite sharp. The town's ledger is no longer in my library."

Bob, Juice, Manger, and now Hrothgar stood to look about. They looked not at Balmy, who failed to safeguard the town's volumes, but first they looked at me, then elsewhere.

"The Spirit does as pleases Our Lord," I stated, absolving Balmy of blame. "The nuances of dealing with all ill-mannered entities of creation are its own labor, not ours."

"The Spirit took the town's books?" Juice scowled openly.

"The Spirit is more to our side than we admit, doing many works," I said with thankful words, "Unearthly items of which Manger speaks are not of The Foe, lest we should encounter only grief and deception, but of the Spirit, requiring faith and courage. You wonder at this, yet Bob decries the loss of nineteen parts of each animal? Manger described how several such things and stacks of steaks, eggs, and other foods fell from the blocks which he broke. I suggest that he was shown on the one hand where these portions are gone."

Hrothgar looked closely at Bob, as if seeing something new in the eyes of an old friend. The watchman said nothing, but his look then shifted to stare upon man after man, finally coming to rest upon me.

"Mayor," Hrothgar began. He said no more.

"Continue, if you must," I said.

"I should," Hrothgar agreed. "You said 'on the one hand' about Manger's block or whatever it is to be called. What lies on the other hand?"

"On the other hand," the words came too easily to my lips, "Bob's analysis is made the more true with Manger's discovery. It is not merely us whose works are feeding wealth into those strange things. It could be foolish for us to presume several things."

"Several meaning that other people are involved," Hrothgar said.

"Indeed," I agreed. "To continue, I say that it is foolish to presume that such blocks are for us, alone. It is foolish to suppose that they exist only locally. We must also not believe that once the local supply is discovered and exhausted that our safety would increase, or that this new wealth would dry up."

"The spigot is open for all to drink from," Hrothgar made a simile.

"Here is what I see, among my armored brethren," I described. "I see men who take danger for granted, but not greater dangers than they have faced. We live while others died from lack of preparation, lack of courage, and generally by lacking what is required.

"Now, the evidence of Manger's adventure shows that we face higher risks," I continued. "There are greater weapons, superior potions, and immortal enemies which spawn relentless troops whose armament is above anything fielded by surface minions. Repairing the gates cannot halt all of these things. Neither will abandoning those workers outside the walls to this unknown fate bring us close to Our Lord and King."

"Let us go, to see Derringer," Hrothgar suggested.

"Indeed, that is wise," I agreed. "Bob, you should also come along."

The rancher knew what was being planned. He shook his head, resigned that this inevitable time had come.

"It is needful," Hrothgar stated, looking at Bob. "You hold all Eggs of Creation, of this town, in safekeeping."

"They are safe," Bob assured his friends. "I check them, twice, each day."

"Would somebody clarify what is being planned, for me?" a younger voice rose to the discussion. "I only just returned, and have been busy all the day long, but if you're risking life and limb for us, I deserve to know."

The standing group turned and looked upon Lars, who had arrived unnoticed, as the sun was setting. We saw a different young man than the teenager whom we used to know, but he was truly Lars, of Bogusville.

"It is evening, on the sixth day," Lars continued. "I need not sleep right away, for we do not work on the seventh, except to do good."

"Welcome home!" Manger shouted for all the assembled townsfolk, and with that he strode over to Lars and hugged him soundly.

A chorus of agreement rose and then calmed. The men gathered around Lars, expressing thankfulness for his return. Nobody remarked upon the other silent men who passed quickly along, going to bed or to whatever fulfilled their spirits on this night.

I held back, waiting until the end of merriment. Stepping forward, I offered my hand or a hug, depending on Lars to choose. He took both.

"There!" Lars laughed aloud, breaking away, "Now tell me! What do you intend, or shall I forsake this home for another?"

"Ye conscript of the Spirit!" I chuckled hoarsely. "Yer home is with Our Lord and King, but ye rest in family, here. We owe you welcome, and allegiance if it comes to that. Why endanger your calling for a few dogs and animals?"

"Why?" Lars looked confused. "Our dogs? Your dogs? Your horse?"

"Yes, those that survived the battle, from thence unto Derringer," I agreed.

The news visibly discomforted Lars. He looked simultaneously concerned and a bit afraid, but somehow angry, also.

"There was no word, to me, about battles, and losses," Lars explained. "Only that the Spirit had moved the town to this location, as refuge from judgment falling upon that region."

I nodded, understanding now the confusion of what was real versus what he had expected. Standing here, in the center of a relocated town, with renewed people on a new calling for Our Lord, some explanations were needful.

"Had I not returned to the dogs, they would remain, perhaps unharmed," I said by way of explanation. "My emotional tie of trust and loyalty compelled me to go back. I risk everything that I am in order to prove that their trust in me was not in vain. Had there been no monsters, no opposition from terrain and nature, it would have been a lark. I expected to fight, going and coming, but I was wrong."

"Wrong how?" Lars interrupted. "There was no fight?"

"The fight was too great, both on the way and even fiercer on the return," said I, without remorse. "Two of the dogs fell before I got the horse, and then there was another that I abandoned while saving the rest. That was on the second day of the adventure. On that eve, I made kennel, at Derringer. From there, I returned afoot, alone, until strong enough to make way again."

With a thoughtful pause, Lars looked around at his family of townsfolk. Though he said nothing, the silence spoke quite loudly.

"We had only just arrived, here," Juice explained. "When it became clear that none of the animals had been relocated, Dodge went to find out what had become of them. We were discombobulated by that event, returning to this village which was empty of all life, except for the two villagers and their kids."

"I wasn't here," Manger intoned. "I was busy falling down the waterway, into the underworld, on the north, while Dodge was heading south."

"So, just the four of you remained, against the monsters?" Lars wondered. "Two men gone, and the four of you survived, for how long?"

"Until now, young fellow," Hrothgar said.

"I meant how did you survive, in this isolated area, surrounded by forest and monsters, not being conscripted?" Lars specified his interest. "How did Mayor Dodge get all the way back to that region, alive, on his own?"

"There is the regional route, which he followed, I believe," Hrothgar said with a shrug. "The battles coming back are the real mystery, to me. It seems that if we bring the dogs and horses, then the monsters throng together on the attack in greater number. That is the risk which he delayed us from facing, by kenneling up at Derringer."

"You're saying that if he had brought the dogs back, all of the way, a wave of monsters would have flung against the gates," Lars summarized.

"There were no gates," Hrothgar stated. "For two days and nights, we stood at the gateways, and fought off monsters trying to enter. Forty-three giant spiders, in one day, I shot from the walls!"

"But spiders cannot climb over the outer barriers!" Lars exclaimed. "That is the way you designed them!"

"There were no gates," Hrothgar repeated. "No doors, no frames, and spiders do not come in alone. They bring skeletal warriors, and witches!"

"Witches," Lars almost gulped.

"Witches," Hrothgar nodded while repeating the fact. "Juice saw a small zombie riding a spider, also, on the first night."

"A chicken jockey, on a spider?" Lars truly was surprised.

"Yes, and so now we muster our courage to bring home the pack, to make way through the wilderness!" Hrothgar explained.

"You have eggs," Lars persisted. "You said that you have creation eggs. You can make more wolves, and tame them, right here."

I chuckled, turning away from the pointless discussion. The tomes of the town were gone. History was not just being restarted; it was over. Each day was a new setting with unforeseen changes to realities.

Lars spared a glance towards me. He looked more closely at the men whom he used to know, seeing differences in their faces and spirits. Everyone had been changed, more than was expected.

"How old shall we be, by the middle of this last of ages?" Lars asked.

Balmy looked appreciatively at the newly returned young man. There was much that they could discuss, but this night was already growing thick, and no man stood watch upon the walls.

"Tomorrow, we set out, for Derringer!" Hrothgar stated decisively. "Bob, I am up top, if you need me."

I did not stay for the unceremonious call to sleep. The party surely divided and went their separate ways, one-eighth of the way into the night shades.

My reason for walking away, leaving them in discussion, was to take advantage of the opportunity. Hrothgar would go up in the tower, on watch, while I tarried, and the risks of exposure increased.

Going around the grocer's home, passing by Balmy's house, I passed from view of the townsfolk. Ascending the wall at the northwest corner, I dropped over and down. Rolling to my feet to absorb the fall, I gained speed going down the slope, leapt across the canal, and gained cover.

The cover was none other than the beginning shape of a waterwheel, without the paddles yet, outside of the lowest walled structure. I found no room for a way up between the wheel and the build, so I climbed up to the wall's top. Still behind the large wooden wheel, I hurried uphill. The buildings each shared an inner wall, making the eastward face one long wall, up to the lake.

At the lake, the wall fell away into a planned stair, down to the lake's edge. Now that I was above the village's tower, Hrothgar could not see my passage. I stood straighter and trotted around the lake, over to the dark forest.

Finding myself back where my previous scouting mission had come, I made way up into the forest canopy. None of my fellows, in town, had remarked that the daily and evening rains had not come, on this day. Now, traveling by moonlight atop the dense canopy, I ran and I laughed. Leaping from treetop to treetop, like a sprite in the silvery dark airs of evening, I headed away.

Doing good, as Lars had commented, was a fine way to pass a seventh day. It was also a fine means of filling the sixth night's evening. I would rescue my dogs and two horses from their place of waiting.

Diving into my new ender chest while on the run, I consumed potions and foods for the trip. My speed increased, my leaps grew longer, the saturation of health from great foods improved, and my strength increased. The kilometers fell away as if I were born anew in a changed world!

I had no intention to deceive Hrothgar, or the others, when I had said that Bob should also come along. My sincerity was at that time focused upon making those two homebodies fight through the wilderness. With just us three, the throngs of monsters along the way to the kennels would be fierce. In the open, without defense of walls to channel enemies into convenient killing slots, the battles would become almost endless running fights. That as my intent, to force my brothers into readiness. We must make ourselves ready for what Manger had described was coming up from the land's deep.

Then, after Lars insisted on being made party to my shenanigans, I saw that my trick would turn into a fruitless endeavor. The Spirit, which had once taken Lars from our company, would skew the battles and favor the conscript. Lars would enjoy undying health and rapid healing. Whether Lars perished or survived, we three other men would fight unequally in his shadow. No good end could come of mixing immortality with mere fighting men.

Unless immortal enemies appeared, of course. The descriptions that Manger had supplied of nearly immortal foes and their minions gave cause to rethink what Our Lord and King was calling upon us to become. With conscripts now laboring at the Spirit's works, what if greater minions of The Foe came to attack? Bogusville was wholly unprepared to defend the conscripts and their works from such monsters.

My formerly just cause of kenneling my animal allies fell away, compared now to the reality of the extreme foes coming forth. There would never be a safer time for me to bring packs and herds to aid our village. Times would get darker, very soon, if not this very night, and our isolated location forbade any retreat.

As I neared the hermitage of Derringer, I saw a great beacon of light thrusting straight up into the night. This was larger, more ostentatious, than the formerly welcoming light of this little out of the way place. The hermit, called Derringer, had discovered the means to make lighting of some amazing kinds. Mining away at the great depths, he said, had resulted in combining minerals in ways that came to mind. The result was a beacon, an amazing light which reached up from the depths, piercing even through clouds.

I remembered the fleeting energy which the former beacon had imparted. It had buoyed up my spirits. Seeming to give wings to my feet, I had hurried about in haste. Easily, I remembered, I had made fit kenneling for horses and dogs, before facing my wastefulness and unkind risky behavior.

Kneeling to Our Lord, repentant and apologetic, I had cried for our losses. My shame came from pride, for wasting lives when I ought to have been patient.

It was not in me to desert my loyal animals; not then nor even now. Several days passed, and yet I yearned for completion in having these companions back at my side. Whatever the outcome, I could not break away from the duty that my heart felt for these creatures. Their life—their only life—was filled with trust towards me looking out for their welfare.

Hastening across the forest, then down and whirling between the lesser trees, I sped to my destiny. Occasional patches of clear plains and treeless expanses gave me greater speed, but I used up potions and foods at a sobering pace.

Finally, closing within fifty meters of Derringer, I began to feel the newness of this hermit's works taking hold. The giant streaking light that blazed skyward filled my health to overflowing! My feet burned with desire to run! Even my arms ached with newfound strength to strike down at monsters!

"Hail, warrior!" a gravelly but familiar voice called out. "Approaching at night ensures a quick death!"

"Derringer! It is Dodge, the Mayor, of Bogusville!" I shouted in reply.

"That cursed place?!" the hermit spat with disgust. "Why do you hurry so, to bring your curses upon me?"

"I come to remove my animals from your domain, sire!" I breathed heavily, now that my long run had ended. Winded, but recovering rapidly, I let the potions of the race wear off, leaving me spent.

"Do you realize that your animals triple and quadruple the number of monsters that I must slay?" Derringer demanded. "The dogs do not aid me, old man, but their presence increases the enemies which I kill."

"You sound pleased, as a stout hermit," I smiled with that perception.

"Well, leave us breed two or three, to remain with me, and then be on your way!" the hermit crowed happily.

"There be stronger, more merciless foes coming upon the world, sooner rather than later," I warned. "That is what prompts me to get the animals set up, before that night falls."

Derringer shuttered the barred window from which he had yelled. Opening a crafted iron door, he stood forth in mighty armor with an awesome sword at hand. Enchantments must have been thick upon both armor and weapon, for he seemed to exude an aura of magical powers.

"You seem to be less conceited," Derringer commented. "Perhaps your pack has good reason to wait so patiently."

I laughed, awkwardly but honestly. It was not in me to deny that I had been less considerate when I had passed this way.

"There is honesty in your laughter, but still you lack wisdom," Derringer assured me. "I would have enchanted the armors of your horses, but you gave me no such permissions."

"Let us breed the animals, give you your just rewards, and then speak of how we shall contend for our regions against the rising foes," I suggested.

"Hah! You shall not be king, old bard!" Derringer snorted, but he opened the way into the kennels and the horse stable. "The wickedness in high places has brought down several rulers and towns, from near and far. Is that the merciless foes of which you speak?"

"No, nor do I care much what weakens greater towns than my hamlet," I said without rancor. "Each has their own challenges, but mine has unearthed down deep a system of sorts. It generates or releases greater foes upon the world, and some of these do not die from wounds."

"What manner of beings are they?" Derringer asked.

"Our mason described them as a variety of things, from lesser gods down to armored skeletons wielding enchanted weapons," I described. "Even worse, there are Eggs of Creation and various spawning mechanisms creating monsters at a freakish pace."

I worked away at breeding and adopting out several pups and two colts, all the while discussing events with the hermit. The miller's works by conscripts, and the return of Lars proved of great interest. In return, the solitary warrior and adventurer explained for me how to create beacons. They could prove valuabe for aiding defense and also for fighting against the monsters. We parted ways at the night's middle, and I set off towards home.

Weary though I was, now that I rode and my pack followed closely, the route home was shorter. Thinking upon the hermit's instructions, I turned each word and phrase over again, reviewing what he had said. It came as a surprise to find that one key phrase was a reminder of good fortune which my fellows had forgotten. We need not sleep, except to refresh our minds, for it availed no gain to the body.

Derringer never slept, or did so quite sparingly. He mastered his works and spent all his energies to profit and advance. He was a warrior, rancher, farmer, miner, and each other skill. Derringer suffered no distractions of governing nor social guises, for he had all that was needful.

Where I had no doubts of Derringer's sufficiency, upon return to Bogusville I found doubts about our readiness. In my mind, with certainty, I knew that Derringer could change all things for the better. It was thus that I defined what was needed, and began to plan for how to go about achieving that goal.

Morning of the seventh day brought change. Some strong-willed workers must have labored at the miller's place through the night.

I surveyed the works of the millers, outside the north wall of Bogusville. A stepped quartet of flour mills with sandstone structure and reddish roofs was a blaring contrast to local forested hills. My town, of Bogusville, was earthen and dark colors in tune with a subdued design. These two architectural styles of a bygone world provided a testimony to their different missions. Local lakes and cleared lands blended our achievements into a difficult harmony.

The millers had labored all day and then all night. Scarcely anything else was of interest in this benign fog which obscures our horizons. That is except for the now common supernatural beings, such as archer skeletons and other unearthly creations of The Foe. The miller's works seem to be unchanged by the dreadful attackers, as if his kind are driven to haste beyond understanding. Although the thousand year kingdom of Our Lord on Earth has just begun, the miller works at a feverish pace. This brings me to consider our stance, our readiness, and yea even our confident ability to obey Our Lord at his convenience.

We each allot to ourselves a nod towards being one of Our Lord's chosen, sent to do works such as building this town. I, too, being of such mind, felt we were outcast from the common, by god's decree. Being isolated, we felt as if our special purposes were yet to be made clear. The lot of us, each and all, discussed this at meeting, and again at a secondary meeting. We agreed to labor together for founding the town and building a worthy community.

Our labors prospered beyond imagination, as if to each work done by hand there were two angels laboring and adding their gains to our efforts. Giant eggs appeared, as if by god's will, and from them hatched all manner of things! The Eggs of Creation, we dubbed them. Within their various guises lay many things which even the stoutest of angels and men should fear...and thus we locked them all away. The good with the less good; the needful with the wasteful and potentially disastrous. We thought this was wise, and ceased to labor so diligently, for we had grown rich.

Could that be true? Merely five years into the kingdom of Our Lord on Earth, and already wealth became common! Wealth, true and vast, without taxation or any earthly rule! And of that wealth, we donated freely to Our Lord and King, by leaving its refined and ready manner all over the lands about our town's former locale. That was the bidding of the Spirit, and thus it was all taken.

So much has changed, but within us as much as in the world about. Thus have I taken the occasion to write, to admire and ponder the works of the millers.

None of us knows the miller's former name, from before the coming of Our Lord to take reign over the Earth. Neither can we recall what were our names, or the names of bygone kin, kind, or of loved ones. Then it was not strange that we were gathered together, by Spirit, to decide our lot. That is as we discussed, at meetings, for we agreed readily and eagerly to do these few things now accomplished. Not one of us beggared or bolted. Each threw in his lot and agreed to tend herd and land, to build and become a town, and also to lend cover and safe sleep to passersby and wandering souls.

Mistakes were common, though thankfully few, during our first year. Our hurry to get on with things saw us make form and place for cemetery, to bury or to burn, even to crypt and safeguard corpses. It was as if scales covered our mind to blind us to the openly visible truth. That was a belated irony in this world of what once was habitual in the other time.

He is risen, Lord of Creation, ruler of life and taken death captive. Even Enoch, who walked side by side with Father for centuries, saw hell's first resident come to that place called Sheol, and knew that the Son would one day take it for his own. Mistakes were made, even by the sons of angels and men who walked the earth after Enoch left to school at the Father's knee, in heaven. Mistakes we guard against, now in this last era of creation. We rise each day, assured of salvation, yet now the miller's works goad me to look deeper.

The world is awash in life, as if the great disappearance of humanity formerly of Our Lord's calling opened a giant horn of plenty. With their departure all things of modernity faded, washed from use, and the new rushed in to fill that void. No longer do the vision machines function, nor do their essences remain, nor any kind of transmission venue except for the blood.

The blood of the former world's end dried into deep red flakes, turned to stone. Crumbled and powdered, the redstone powers contraptions for physical purposes. (We do not call it bloodstone, for it is not His blood.) Tiny railways, now powered by redstone and gold, can mobilize small train carts and strings of them, from horizon to horizon and beyond! But there is no means for comfort, for convenience. Work we must; work we shall, but from the rising of the sun to its going down our daily allotted time is split. We each must perform all labor and yet remain on guard against the spawn of demons. No angel nor lesser gods rescue or defend us at any time. Neither is death permanent anymore, as Our Lord's written word once foretold. We respawn, refreshed yet aged; damaged yet wiser.

The miller seems not to notice such limitations. I have observed the hell spawn entering his works, even to do catastrophic noise which kills lesser men and any normal animals nearby. The miller works onward, scarcely interrupted except on rare occasion, taking no sleep nor resting overly long. His waterwheels and the great grinding millstones and furnaces labor without ceasing. It is not simply a seemingly tireless labor, but is established by a tale from a worker, named Lars, who is a son of my bygone brother. It is a tale of the miller.

Lars works at bricklaying, making foundations, and carving stone. That is his calling, Lars told me, and he is one of many, but none of two. In the new language, being 'none of two' means to have no affiliation, no group, or any belonging to a place except by trade. If Bogusville were to expand, then Manger, our mason, could gain Lars as town bricklayer. For now, Lars and his kind go from place to place, at the Spirit's urge, as conscripted for Our Lord's works. Lars was conscripted, for the miller, to do works for what the miller said was "the resurrection of Barbegal" in this region and time.

I knew nothing about Barbegal, nor what it might have to do with milling flour from grains. Lars explained what he had been taught to do. This would be a precursor to what would be done in other regions. It is a tale that I shan't forget soon, if Our Lord allows.

Once upon a time, that great city, called Rome, had legions of warriors. While it is true that Rome remains a city, the tale of Barbegal tells of Rome's army in conquest of many nations. Barbegal was in a nation that no longer exists, but Barbegal sat upon the route of a long aqueduct. That aqueduct remains, to this day! In this age! That was the site where Lars was resurrected, during Year Three, after his father's death and he was spirited away. Lars was returned to life at the site of his new calling. Whatever Lars used to be, he was now a bricklayer, and his first work was as a hod carrier for bricklayers rebuilding that aqueduct, and also rebuilding the Roman flour mills, at Barbegal.

The Roman army once needed tons of bread and flour, every day, in each region that they conquered. A legion of one hundred warriors also required one servant for each warrior, to carry his weaponry and gear. Thus, a legion of warriors took one hundred able men from a community at their passing, conscripting the men to be carriers until sundown. The army on the march could not afford to stop and find grains, cure those seeds, grind them into flour, cook the flour mix into bread, and so forth. The legions conscripted masons and bricklayers to build massive flour mills, such as at Barbegal. At Barbegal, the engineers created sixteen waterwheel-powered flour mills in a stairway alignment. Those mills supplied enough flour for thousands of warriors either stationed in the region or while they were on the march. Rome marched onward, long ago, in that bygone world of the Age of Grace.

Now, Lars came to Bogusville, last seventh day, on assignment. His calling was to help build a quarter-mass Barbegal for the miller. The miller's company also included two engineers, a baker, a Lord's Reign nutritionist, hod carriers, and a few other essential specialists along with five resident helpers.

When did the five resident helpers arrive? None came, that I saw arrive, and we few in Bogusville have not been called.

We have a rancher, thaumaturge, watchman, apothecary, mason, and me. I serve as a monster hunter, explorer, scavenger, carpenter, smithy, weaver, innkeeper, and general laborer. Each of us serves multiple purposes, but that is not my point. The point is that there are six of us, but the town needs only one of us to manage ongoing work. That would free up five of us to do other works. We stopped expanding after getting the basics of food, shelter, weapons and other necessities stably met. There are five of us with permanent luxury of deciding what to do with their time, or all six of us are pretending to be busy for five-sixths of each day.

That is our calling, to Our Lord and Savior. We must own up to having taken off a whole bunch of time without justification. We are lazy.

The miller and his crew are making way for feeding several hundred working people. If those people need to be fed then they must be busy doing something other than looking out for their own. I have to admit that our innkeeper doesn't have rooms for hundreds, or even for one dozen, but for seven! And I am the innkeeper! My rooms are full—plus three are double bunked—since the miller's arrival.

The truth is that we never imagined being needed, or called, to supply food and goods for hundreds of people. Miller is answering that call, but there is not a warehouse or a railway to handle that massive production. Lars' work on this project has run for seven days, but he expects ten more days until the end is in sight.

I must ponder the actual productive capacity of Bogusville.

The first issue, for us, was better food than bread and melons. Mushroom stew is okay, but we decided upon meat supplemented with fruit and fish and vegetables. Health saturation from cooked steak is the best means of survival. The daily production capacity of our ranch is fifteen head each of beef and pork and mutton. Bob, our rancher is planning a new breeder that can output several hundred eggs per day. He also told me that the blood redstone systems could quadruple the beef output, but that option is still being studied. Honestly, the six of us consume only the smallest fraction of food output that Bogusville is ready to provide.

Shelter, which includes clothing and armor, came as byproduct to the ranching and also by our thaumaturge and apothecary working out their issues. Many of us looked askance at the need for Juice, the apothecary, but his work proved to be far more valuable than we foresaw. The thaumaturge, who we call Balmy, doubled as a spell caster of singular importance. Balmy has made huge enhancements to the functionality of our tools, weapons, and other items. Still, looked at in the larger picture, all of Balmy and Juice's works are occasional rather than requiring daily attention.

Our watchman, named Hrothgar, naps during the day, reserving his best energy for the night. The frights, which visibly fly around black walkers during the day, come into their own at night. Working in pairs quite often, the charged creepers fly in soundlessly and orbit a man's area. A sizzling tick presages their explosive demise, as one took my brother Cortez. Hrothgar saw it, and was injured while rushing to aid Cortez. All of us heard, and came running to the scene.

Cortez never returned, nor did his body stay, for it faded from sight as we gaped in awe. We built the entrance to our cemetery, but never a grave, nor any mausoleum nor furnace. The new realities emphasize Our Lord's kingdom is quite unpredictable. Thus we made high walls all around, and even cooked sand into glass in an ordinary furnace! Miracles abound, strange and unseen things lurk, nor dare we venture far from our brothers in town. Our concerns are real, for any of us might not return except as a named undead thing.

Bogusville is a village, in truth, but there are other kinds of villages, and another kind of villager. We have seen and produced them, from Eggs of Creation!Hatching two eggs, there stood a medicinal man of sorts, though not a man such as we, and also a farmer. I had seen such villages for people as these while exploring, but all their works were broken down, uninhabited, and did not look to be fit for men.

That night, after hatching the villager things, and ensconcing them in a vacant loft of the inn, the ravagers came in strength. The undead kin to the strange villagers wrenched upon door and wall, pounding to get close and to ravage the newly formed people. For once, those abominations ignored us, but we saw in a few of them a familial resemblance to our villagers. We torched, cut, hacked and shot with arrows until they all had died again. Hrothgar did the most damage, even though he was beset by two other nightmarish creatures.

So much has transpired that I shrink away from thinking of there being more to do. The realities keep advancing, growing, forcing us to adapt, to stay focused on Our Lord and the Spirit. Now, with the millers and their workers on the outside of Bogusville, we must advance to a new destiny. I, for one, cannot assume that any of my present duties will be fit for the changing kingdom. My calling is to adapt, to prosper, and to adventure!