Firstborn of the Frontier

"Absolutely not!"

Even before my daddy passed, Aunty Ray was never one to say no to me. Anytime I wanted to do something stupid, she'd either leave me to learn the consequences of my actions by myself, or sit me down and walk me through the process until I understood why it was stupid before helping me figure out a better way forward. Outright saying no though? I'm pretty sure that goes against her southern sensibilities, so to hear such a vehement denial come out of her lips throws me for a loop.

Which is why I just sit there and blink as she glares at me something fierce from across the dinner table. "The Deadlands ain't the Badlands," she says, jabbing her fork in my general direction she's fixing to pin me against the wall. "The worst thing a Feral can do is drag you home to Proggie, but the Soulless? They'll ghost right up into you and wear you like a suit." That don't sound worse to me, and Aunty Ray reads it right off my face despite my best efforts to hide it. "Oh you think that's no big deal? Well ignorance is bliss, ain't it, because they don't always kill you first. Lot of times, they'll leave you alive and twist you up inside until you think of yourself as one of them. That's how them Mimics get you. They'll jump on in and leave you in charge so you think you're resisting them good and well, except you ain't. It's catch and release, letting you think you're fine so you'll lie about what happened, then bring them Soulless Mimics right on home to where there more victims for them to take over. You'll open up the front door with your own two hands and smile as the Mimics take over everyone you care about while thinking it's all your idea."

"…Okay, yeah," I say, spearing a piece of muscari steak with a sigh. "That do sound worse." Buying myself some time to think while chowing down on the delicious cut of bison cooked to a perfect medium rare, I try to come up with an argument using my admittedly limited knowledge of the Soulless, but Aunty Ray ain't done just yet.

"They'll keep doin' it too," she says, knowing good and well I ain't convinced. Throwing up an Illusion of a nondescript man wandering into town with a dark, intangible presence hanging over his head, she animates his actions as she narrates, "Hitch a ride on you to get past checkpoints and into highly populated areas where they'll propagate without any need for a Proggie." The dark presence splits off and does just that, surging in through the orifices of all sorts of vulnerable folks like women, drunks, and children in a horrific montage of possessions. "They can do that because a Mimic is a creature of Spirit. Once they got a host, they get their hooks in them good and well so they can grow fat off their soul like a tick. Then they'll sprout new shards of themselves to embed in new hosts and do the same to them, until the next thing you know the Mimic will be in control of the whole entire town. Not perfect control, because that takes too much effort. No, their initial host aside, them shards will settle for driving their hosts stark raving mad, like Renfield from Dracula. Human in appearance, but Abby in mindset."

Again, the Illusion shifts to show that same man, only now he's shirtless and crawling around on all fours. Not hands and knees, but palms and toes, looking wild as can be but just human enough to make the juxtaposition that much worse. He's gone bald too, with a mouthful of broken, jagged teeth that have turned yellow and black after being filed down into sharp points. Teeth the illusion uses to bite into a squirming chitterrat as it stares deep into my soul. "You'll still be in there, thinking all is well while chowin' down on raw, living flesh and scramblin' around on all fours like a monkey. That's what we call a Ghoul, a living, breathing host that's so far gone they might as well be Abby, especially after the Mimic modifies your body enough to survive eating Goop from an Abby feeding hole. That'll change you even more, make you bigger, faster, stronger, and wholly inhuman in body, mind, and soul."

The Illusory man swells and grows, but not in any sort of healthy way. Sure, the muscles get bigger, but his torso bulges and distends like a half-filled waterskin, while his flesh turns pasty white and even rots away in some places and hardens into chitinous armour in others. "At this point, you still technically alive," she says, as the horrific creature shambles around with arms outstretched to display his fat, distended fingers. "Medically speaking at least. Inside? The person you used to be is all gone, and what's left is nothing but a shell, an empty husk that feels no pain and hungers for warm flesh. This here is what we call an Abomination Howie, because each one used to be a living, breathing human, but has since been turned into a Soulless meat suit.

My medium rare steak ain't so appealing anymore, so I take a swig of fizzy soda to wash down what I still got in my mouth. "I thought they only puppet corpses," I say, which ain't the best defense of my ignorance, because being dead ain't much better.

"They also do that," Aunty Ray says, switching her Illusion over to show the shambling undead Zombies I previously associated with the Soulless. You know the type. Rotting corpses moving all janky like with open mouths moaning 'braiiiinns' or something like that. Which is artistic license I'm told, as they don't talk or eat. They'll just kill, and keep on killing long after they've rotted away to nothing but bones, which Aunty Ray also depicts as she explains, "Them's your basic Zombies. Comes in all sorts of flavours, not just human, but them Mimics prefer humans. That's because the longer they puppet a corpse, the stronger and smarter it gets, drawing on what it was in life to become more than just a corpse. They'll gather whole hosts of these corpses and power them up all at once, and in time they'll have legions of skeletal Wights who can shake off fully automatic Bolt fire and be mildly inconvenienced by Impact Oil. Or, they'll focus on one particular corpse, usually one that was a powerful Spellslinger in life so they can turn them into a Wight Lord, an undead creature that got all the Spells they had when they died."

"What about Liches?" Can't help but ask the question, because my curiosity got the better of me, but Aunty Ray seems more than happy to answer.

"That's what happens when they get a hold of a Grandmagus," she replies. "A livin' one mind you, though they won't stay that way for long. Instead of using a Mimic to influence them like a ghoul or puppeting them like a zombie, a Proggie will spawn a Synapse to meld with the target's soul and take over directly. They'll still be similar to a Mimic, capable of splitting off parts of itself to make Ghouls, Aberrations, Zombies, and Wights, but the Synapse will also be the target themselves and the Proggie too. Wight Lords? They're a carbon copy of the corpse when they died, meaning they only got the Spells they had prepared and that's it. A Lich though? They'll talk, think, and even act like the person they was in life, capable of preparing different Spells or even learning new ones once the Proggie in charge figures out how the human brain works. That's the endgame for Abby, the worst of the worst, because an Archlich won't just infect humans and animals, but other Abby and Proggies too."

So that's what Carter was on about when he was telling me about the Nahuatl Faith. Said the Lords of the Night were Immortal Monarchs or people close to it who merged with Soulless Abby, which don't sound half as scary as saying 'Nine Archliches' even when I didn't know what they actually were. That right there is terrifying, because I heard that even a single Archlich is considered a worldwide threat, while the Aztecs had Nine of them at the height of their strength.

Even then, they fell before the strength of the modern Aetherarms wielded by the First Nation tribes and the American government during the Mexican American war in the mid 1800s, so might be Archliches ain't as big a deal as I'm thinking.

A comforting lie even I don't believe, as my mouth has gone dry with fear. The prospect of a human mind with a Proggie's Spellslinging capabilities commanding a mixed army of the Undead, Orcs, and Ferals is a terrifying prospect to behold. Especially when you scale it up. Even the Divide has got a whole bunch of competing Proggie nests, meaning them Abby fight one another more often than they fight people. Survival of the fittest as it were, since competition breeds competence. That's the mindset them Proggies are born with, and they hone their skills and Abby both by competing against enemy nests, which is where the bulk of their forces are spent each and every year. That's why them Ferals chasing me and mine immediately switched over to attacking the Illusory Cloud Giant Aunty Ray summoned up with the Deck of Illusion and Phantasmal Force. In their mind, humans are prey, while them other Abby were competitors.

If all of the nests in the Divide were to unite though? Just them bugs with the lizards, harpies, and all other assortment of Ferals coming out of the giant canyon, that's all. I daresay their combined forces would be enough to overrun the Blue Bulwark in a single attack. Wouldn't have to hold any Abby in reserve to guard against other Proggie forces if they all on the same team after all, and even without a Synapse to control them, they'd probably overrun every last human settlement west of the Divide in a matter of months, if not weeks.

"No wonder Harper's spent the last year up in the Deadlands chasing down rumours of a Synapse," I say, taking another bite of my steak now that my appetite's recovered. "A Synapse is bad enough, but a Soulless Synapse who might well be hiding inside a powerful Spellslinger? Seems well worth tying up one of the Ranger's best scouts for so long to rule that out."

"Or politician," Aunty Ray says, glad to see that I'm taking things seriously now and turning to make sure the others ain't too put off by her talk and Illusions. Tina looks a little green around the gills, and Elodie's green eyes are wide as saucers, but Chrissy ain't none too fazed as she crafts her own Illusion of me gunning down a bunch of Zombies en masse while eating a forkful of mashed potates. Cartoon caricature Zombies that are much cuter and less gory than Aunty Ray's, but Zombies nonetheless. "Wouldn't work, Chrissy," Aunty Ray says, using Arcane Sign Language as she speaks so we get the benefit of both, all while consoling Elodie. "A single Force Bolt won't do nothin' to a Zombie or Wight except up 'em. Takes a whole lot of Bolts to put one down. Better to use Acid or Fire to destroy the corpse entirely, or Frost to freeze before shattering it good and well if that's all you got."

Even though I've spent all day marvelling over how far Chrissy's come in a scant few weeks, it almost brings a tear to my eye to see her respond right away. No pause, no blink, no head tilt, just a rapid-fire retort as I switch from using guns to Spells. Fireball, Flame Thrower, Flaming Cloud and more, though I only know the first one. Glad to see she has so much faith in my abilities, but even I'm starting to second guess myself now that I know more about the Soulless. "What about Radiant damage?" I ask, speaking to the Spells favoured by the Catholic Church and Protectorate. "Ain't that supposed to be the be all end all against the Soulless?"

"Yes and no," Aunty Ray replies. "Radiant Damage will hurt them Zombies and Wraiths a fair bit, but not so you'd know it. That's because Radiant Damage don't do nothin' to the physical. It targets the Spiritual, in this case the bonds between puppet and puppeteer. Could drop a Zombie flat with a single Cantrip, but you'd still have to destroy the corpse before the Mimic reconnects with it. That's why Fire's still better. Where Radiant really shines though is against the Mimics themselves, because that there is the only way to do them in." Pursing her lips, Aunty Ray's baby blues look up and to the left, meaning she just thought of something, but she don't say nothing. I ain't about to let that go though, so I raise an eyebrow and maintain eye contact until she gives in. "Well, Mental damage can hurt a Mimic too," she admits. "Like with Psionic Blast or Hunter's Mark."

Which is good to know, and makes me even more interested in going to the Deadlands. Might find someone willing to share why my daddy loved Hunter's Mark so much, because ain't no one I talked to can explain it. Tim uses the Spell, but mostly to help aim even though he don't really need it, whereas others have pointed out its good for tracking, but my daddy rarely ever used it like that. No, he used it in fights plain and simple, even though I figure there are plenty better options for Concentration.

Had to be a reason my daddy loved the Spell, something I ain't seeing, but that's beside the point. "You make a good point," I begin, speaking slow and unhurried so as to sound like I got my ducks in a row, "Them Soulless be a whole different kettle of fish from what I'm used to dealing with. Jinfeng, she called them the true threat of all Abby, and it sounds like you agree?" I wait until Aunty Ray nods, because I'm setting the trap of logic from which she can't escape. Soon as she does, I continue, "Well, in that case, don't you think it's a good idea to get familiar with fighting them Soulless while they still relatively weak? Learn the risks while I can in case they should ever break free of the Deadlands?"

Not to mention maybe luck out and pick up on the trail of that Synapse Soulless. Doubt it'll happen, as Madigan Harper is a Scout who knows his business, but that don't mean he don't miss things. I wouldn't even have to track down the Synapse myself, just find clues as to its existence and point the military in the right direction. They pay good money for good leads, and might be I spot something Harper and them other Scouts might've missed. Not to mention how the Deadlands is one of the few places west of the Divide Mia Pugliano might be hiding, to say nothing of Luisa and her flock of Nahuatl adherents who are like an itch I can't scratch. I don't got nothing against them, and feel mighty grateful for all they done, but I don't much like having played a part in the birth of the First Deviant on the Frontier, and I would very much like a chance to mend the error of my ways.

With a single, long-range shot from a high-powered Lance rifle if at all possible, so as to avoid getting into it with Lusia and her people. Either way, Froggie Matías has gotta die, and I feel like it's on me to put him down.

I don't say nothing about Mia or Luisa though. Just the facts as they are, in that I'll end up fighting Soulless sooner or later, so best to get my legs under me before they start pumping out Wight Lords and Liches after the Watershed. Right now, even an Abomination is probably a stretch, because modifying a living host or dead corpse seems like it'd take a whole lot of Aether and time given the current levels of Aetheric Concentration. Not saying Zombies and Ghouls ain't nothing to worry about, but they can't be that much worse than Orcs and Bugbears. It's the Mimics themselves that are the real problem, but I got no Spells or Cantrips that do Radiant damage, and no idea how I'd target a Soulless Abby comprised of Spirit with Hunter's Mark. Gotta see your target to cast a Spell on it, and I gotta imagine the dark clouds Aunty Ray used to depict her Mimics were a matter of artistic license. Would hardly be difficult to spot an infected host if they had literal dark clouds hanging over them after all, and I get the feeling that 4 separate world powers wouldn't have to work together to keep the Deadlands contained if it was that easy to spot the threat.

Aunty Ray knows I done poked a hole through her logic though, which is why she don't reply right quick. After waiting long enough so she can't say I'm rushing her, I hammer my arguments home quick as a blink. "I know it's dangerous, but I'd say I know enough about fighting Ferals and Gobbos by now, so it's high time I learned about Soulless. Won't be like I'm goin' in blind either. I wrote to Edward saying what I was planning, and he said it's all fine and dandy to come out for a look-see." Before she can interject, I add, "Also wrote to Mr. Bailey and Mr. Rawlings, and while they didn't answer, Edward said they was looking forward to my visit and hoped to teach me a thing or three."

Which ain't the same as the Protectorate's blessing mind you. Warden Aaron Bailey and Sentinel Luther Rawlings are both officially Knight Commanders of the Protectorate, or Captain equivalents if they was Rangers. That said, neither one actually has any soldiers under their command, or responsibilities to see to in the bureaucratic nonsense all armies tend to be at the mercy of. Nor are they actually beholden to orders from higher ranking officers, as their duty is to their ward, Edward Elton, the current generation Jack the Ripper.

Who is beholden to orders, but tends to carry them out however he pleases, seeing how he considers himself the highest ranking noble on the Frontier. Not that nobility means much of anything here or the old world, but the British Monarchy and the government which replaced them were happy to leave the Eltons to their delusions so long as they toed the line. Folks tend to give you a whole lot of leeway when you belong to one of the most powerful Innate families of the British Commonwealth, who also happen to be die hard loyalists to King and Country, in that exact order.

Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

Fact is, the Eltons were one of the few outside of the Royal Family to know about Old Bloody Bill's existence. Mostly because the British Immortal Monarch used them as his hunting dogs for whenever the royals got out of hand. Bred them like dogs too, finding the most powerful Innates to induct into the bloodline with the hopes of crafting the most powerful and mentally stable Innates possible. It sorta worked too, until one of Edward's ancestors went on a killing spree in 1888. The original Jack the Ripper as it were, and it wasn't until after William the Conqueror's death during the Second World War that the news came out. Turns out, old Bloody Bill was so pleased with his Elton hunting dogs that he started calling the star of each successive generation 'Jack the Ripper', or Jill if it happened to be a woman.

Which says a lot about the twisted old goat, though I suppose I shouldn't be all that surprised considering he earned his bones during an era of brutal medieval warfare and was considered a sadist even by those standards.

Regardless of his dark family history filled with various Jacks and Jills, his grandfather included, Edward is good people and ain't never done wrong by me. He's hopelessly infatuated with Aunty Ray, but has always been the very picture of a perfect gentleman in her presence, and loves painting birds in his spare time. Course, he's also a born and bred Abby killing machine, but I ain't about to hold that against him. Either way, asking Edward for permission to head into the Deadlands is a little like sneaking the gate guard a crisp twenty-dollar bill so he won't check under the wagon. Edward's blessing don't mean much in the eyes of the law, but practically speaking, it's about as good as it gets without going through proper protocols. Even if someone takes issue with my presence, I doubt they'll bring it up, because don't no one want to make a liar out of Edward Elton.

Like I said, he's an old school sort of gent, the type to demand satisfaction in a duel to the death should someone impugn upon his honour that of his esteemed family. A threat he'd follow through with even if his opponent doesn't show up for the fight. Not to mention how he also got juice enough to avoid getting anything more than a slap on the wrist if he's caught, because the man is pretty much a prisoner as it is. Sure, he's free to come and go as he pleases, so long as he never goes too far from where he's stationed. Would hate to know what the Warden and Sentinel would do if Edward tried, but I doubt they'd just stand idly by and let him have his fun if he wanted to go on a pleasure cruise or something.

"Aaron and Luther both signed off on it?" Aunty Ray asks, and I nod like a kiccaw pecking grains, even though I never really got a first hand answer from either. Furrowing her brows, she pouts something fierce, but also relaxes her shoulders a hair now that she knows I'll have proper backup. "And you gonna stick with them when you there right? Not just get 'em to let you in before you go harin' off on your own?"

"Doubt they'd let me even if I wanted to. You know how it is. The Deadlands are locked down tight and you need a license to even get in, but Edward said he'd handle it for me." Whatever that means. Could be he knows a guy who can expedite the paper work, or could be he just draws up the papers and stamps them himself, seeing how he considers himself a noble and believes that comes with obligations and privileges both. The government might think otherwise, but Edward will raise a real big stink if they try and tell him his family name don't mean shit, which means they won't dare come right out and tell him he ain't allowed to bring a +1 into the Deadlands.

Chewing her lip, Aunty Ray thinks it through for a little longer, and I don't rush her. I get how it is. She worries about me, and I love that, because it means she loves me, but this here is a trip I wanna make for more reasons than one. On top of learning about Soulless, Mia, and Luisa, I also don't much like my other options. Can't go south, not with tensions as high as they are after the repeated Qin attacks, and I don't want to go north and face all the folks who counted Marcus, Wayne, and Conner as their friends, folks who'll want answers regarding what went down outside of the official party lines.

Then there's New Hope, which ain't been all that friendly of late, leaving west as my only option. Aside from the Deadlands though, there ain't much else out that way. Well, that ain't true. There's plenty of stuff, but ain't nothing of interest to me. There plenty of Abby around, but localized nests that are really only a threat to the immediate surroundings, or coastal incursions that can show up anywhere that shares a border with the ocean. Can't hardly set up base camp and learn about the local Abby while making a decent living, not like what I do here. I can hunt the Badlands all day every day and never go hungry for it, but unless I get real lucky, I won't be earning no cash hand over fist. Not when I gotta run from every horde too big to bring down by my lonesome, which is gonna be more than most. Could join a team, but even if they was willing to pay me what I'm worth, I wouldn't be making much more either. Can take on bigger hordes, but gotta split it more ways, to say nothing of all the perils that come with greed and opportunity.

One big score split 20 ways ain't all that impressive, but take 19 people out of the equation and all of a sudden the profits look good enough to kill for. My trust issues aside, there are plenty of good reasons why I can't make a living hunting out in the Badlands. Even the best make mistakes sometimes, and Lady Luck won't always be on my side. Add in how I've recently come to terms with the fact that I need better gear to keep ahead of the competition, and the fact that Soulless have the highest concentration of Spell Cores of all Abby, and the Deadlands might well prove to be a goldmine worth hitting up.

And even if it ain't, I do miss Edward, Aaron, Luther. I don't call them last two by their first names out loud, but only because it'd feel wrong. Be like calling Cowie Mr. Bull. Technically correct, but just off is all.

Heaving a long sigh, Aunty Ray goes back to her meal with a vengeance, spearing a chuck of cut steak and scooping up some mashed potates to go with it. "Well, I can see you done made up your mind," she says, after making me wait until she done chewing and swallowing to continue. "Ain't nothin' I can do to change it, and don't much like the thought of you sulking all spring if I put my foot down."

I don't sulk, but Aunty Ray gives me a look that says 'yes you do', and that's that. With another sigh, she says, "Well, long as you goin' in with both eyes open." Pursing her lips in thought, she adds, "Might be good to make some friends in the British Protectorate anyways. Maybe even try and get a mercenary license so you can use fully automatic weapons outside of Federal Territory."

Wait. What? "That's a thing?" I ask.

"Oh for sure," Aunty Ray replies. "The Brits got a long and storied military history, and most them noble houses needed to make money outside of wartime, so they often hired their knights out. These days, it means getting a license to operate, which is mostly just paying a fee and taxes on income earned from it." Aunty Ray shrugs. "Might be Mr. Tillman can find out more, or you could ask Edward when you see him. He's got a license to practice law you know?"

I did know, but I always figured he didn't come into it honestly. I mean, let's be real. If he wanted to cheat during his exams, I doubt there's a teacher or proctor in all of Britain who's gonna risk their hide to tell him to put his books away.

"Good to know," I say, filing that bit of information away. "Any other tidbits to share?"

"Just… be careful and listen to what Aaron and Luther tell you." Glancing at Tina and Elodie who've gone back to eating after their minor scare, Aunty Ray picks and chooses her words carefully. "The Soulless ain't like anythin' you ever faced before. Like nothin' I ever faced before either, so I can't rightly tell you what to watch out for."

"I will ask Mama," Elodie declares, holding out her plate in a silent request for more mashed potates, and I ladle them on thick alongside my beef gravy, before throwing on another steak for good measure. Grinning from ear to ear, Elodie stuffs a forkful of potates into her mouth and says, "She is hatałii, trained in the Holy Way to heal and protect. Though not as good as the Enemy Way in preventing Ghost Sickness, she will know how to deal with the Soulless." Pausing to shovel more mashed into her mouth, she adds, "This is a secret, so do not tell anyone."

"Oh, Elodie sweetheart," Aunty Ray says, looking both amused and chagrined. "Don't talk when your mouths full. Also, if it's supposed to be a secret, then maybe you shouldn't have told us."

Shaking her head, Elodie swallows and says, "No. It is okay. Secrets are to be kept from strangers, but you are all friends of the tribe." It's so sweet how her mind operates, and even though I'd love to pick Miss Amelie's brain for what she knows about the Soulless, I make a decision then and there not to bring it up. If she wants it kept secret, then I'll pretend I didn't hear a thing.

That said, it's nice to know Elodie thinks of us so fondly, so I gesture for her plate and get to cutting up her steak. Same as I do for Chrissy, with the only difference being that she won't gnaw on the whole steak if left to her own devices. Speaking of Chrissy, with no food to eat, Elodie belatedly remembers to include her in the conversation and gets to Signing right quick. Chrissy signs back and they get to having a back and forth between them, and I can't help but wonder if I'm slow in the head. Chrissy being so fast with Arcane Sign Language is one thing, but Elodie only started learning today and picked it up faster than I did, so I must be doing something wrong.

Their rapid-fire flurry of exchanges are much too fast for me to follow, and Tina too from the looks of things. Even Aunty Ray is a little behind the eight ball as she gets that look in her eyes you sometimes get when you an hour away from home and remember you done forgot to turn the stove off. "Oh Chrissy no," Aunty Ray exclaims, "It's not that dangerous. Those are just scary stories. Howie will be fine."

"They are stories," Elodie says, all sagely and serious like. "But there is much truth to them. The Soulless were a plague upon the First People, and many Braves died before my ancestors learned how to do battle against them."

Aunty Ray knows this of course, as she was just telling Chrissy a little white lie so she wouldn't worry about me. Too late now though, because the Princess is looking real concerned as she glances at me, then her mama, and back at me again. Then she Signs, and though I only catch a bit and don't understand the rest, I can piece together the question well enough. "Howie is going to fight the Soulless?"

"I'mma go hunt them Soulless," I say, sounding casual and cavalier as can be while stumbling over the Signs. "Same as I hunt any Abby."'

Which of course gets Elodie to Signing right quick, but she don't say it out loud because she gotta focus on her hand movements still. "They are not like other Aberrations," she eventually says, and though she's got more to say, I finish cutting up her steak place it back in front of her to keep her from saying more.

Chrissy already heard all she needs to hear though. "Howie," she says, turning towards me and looking me in the eyes, which is new and all too effective because I'm ready to do whatever it is she wants. "I go too."

Hardly the most complicated statement ever made, but it takes me a fair few seconds to process it. Mostly because my brain keeps rejecting the obvious answer, since it don't make sense. Finally, it clicks and I say, "No. Princess, you can't. It's…" Too dangerous, but saying that will only reinforce her decision, because I can't imagine she got any other reason for wanting to come along besides watching my back. "Too difficult. It'll just be me and you, which means you'll have to handle most your own business." I can't even begin to sign any of this in Arcane Sign Language, but I try none the less because it gives me time to think about what to say. "You'll have to get dressed by yourself, and wash your hair without help." To say nothing of going to the bathroom and handling any lady business that may or may not crop up while we away. "It won't be like the Badlands, where I know what I'm doin' and can look after you too. I'll be learning, so I…"

Won't have time to spare for her. That's what I was about to say, but that'd be too hurtful. Despite her Callsign, she ain't no helpless maiden, not really. She proved it by using her Big Spell against Abby without too much direction, even adding a Phantasmal Force infused card from the Deck of Illusions after seeing her mama do the same. In some ways, Chrissy is a real heavy hitter, albeit one who needs to be reminded to put her shoes on, much less lace them up before heading out. Which I can't be doing if I want to learn the ins and outs of fighting Soulless. For a lack of better ways to phrase my refusal, I turn to Aunty Ray for help, but rather than chime in with an assist, I catch her giving Chrissy a good, long look as she mulls things over.

"Chrissy," Aunty Ray begins, getting her attention with a big, bright Sign. "You know this won't be like goin' the Mesa right? Howie ain't goin' west for fun. He's goin' to look for work."

Chrissy nods and Signs something back, and again, I piece together enough to get the gist. "It's dangerous, so I will watch over him." Warms my heart it does, to know she's ready to step outside her comfort zone to watch my back, because she ain't ever asked to go on an Abby hunt or nothing. If I said I was heading up to the Coral Desert or out into the Badlands again, I think she'd be just fine with it, but something Elodie just told her put the fear of the Soulless in her. Course, Chrissy got more to say, which I don't exactly understand, but eventually, Aunty Ray fills in the blanks.

"Chrissy," Aunty Ray begins, "You right that Mental Fortress will help against the Soulless, but you can only cast it on yourself. How you gonna help Howie?" Again follows a flurry of Signing, which gets everyone else to smiling. "Yes, he has a lot of room to improve his Spell, but I don't think watching you cast it will help much." More Signing, and more smiles. "Casting it on him won't help either. He's… he learns his Spells differently from you."

When Chrissy's pale, violet eyes land on me once more, I can't help but feel like there's a hint of chagrin, like she's wondering how I can be so dense. Ain't nothing to be done except sit here and take it, as Tina giggles up a storm across the way and wisely keeps out of the conversation. Got no doubt in my mind she'd like to come along too, and I'd welcome the company, but not only are the Rangers not keen on teaching their newest recruits how to deal with Soulless, I gotta imagine Tina's skillset is poorly suited for them. Illusions won't work against dead flesh, because like I said, you gotta see your target to sling a Spell at it, and slinging an Illusion at a corpse won't do squat. Gotta sling it at the Mimic pulling the strings, but not only is seeing the target a problem, I'm guessing a creature of Spirit won't be fooled by Illusions or Enchantments all that easily.

That said, I might have to put my foot down and be the bad guy here, so I take a deep breath and make ready to do just that.

Only for Aunty Ray to chime in and say, "Why don't we put a pin this discussion and come back to it later? You won't be leaving for a bit, right Howie?"

Me, I was thinking like next week, soon as the papers report all the ice done melted along the Wayfarer and Momo's had her calf. It's not like I couldn't make the trip today, but I ain't experienced enough of a sailor to navigate unfamiliar waters and worry about ice hazards while I'm at it. The less ways I can screw up, the better, but I simply go along with Aunty Ray's statement because it ain't like I'm in any big rush to get west. Made enough money hunting outlaws to sit pretty for a bit, and kicking the ball down the road might well be enough for Chrissy to forget all about it.

Then again, I doubt it'll work this time around. She looks dead set on coming along and gets to Signing with Elodie about what she ought to bring. Elodie's suggestions all have to do with food, because she seems deathly afraid there won't be nothing she likes to eat if she should ever go west, which is odd for a girlie who spends most her days as a sea lion or horsie eating raw clams and mushrooms. Either way, with that landmine mostly sidestepped, we finish our dinner in relative peace, including a lovely bapple pie I done baked from scratch myself. Ain't as good as Aunty Ray's, but I churned up a good 6 litres of ice cream to go with it, as Momo's got more milk than I know what to do with.

Oddly enough, Aunty Ray don't shoo me away when it comes time to do dishes, though she does tell Tina to go take a load off. Means she got something to say to me, so I get to rinsing whatever she puts in my hands and stacking it away nice and neat. After a few minutes of silence, Aunty Ray finally opens up with, "Chrissy ain't never done nothin' like this. Spoken her mind about goin' out to do somethin' outside of havin' a lark, you know? If she'd just said she wanted to go with you, like it was some big, fun trip, then I'd have shut that down right quick, but that ain't what she said. She said she wants to protect you. To watch your back. She knows it ain't all fun and games, and she still wants to go. That's progress, good progress if it wasn't so dangerous, and I don't know what to do now. If I say no, I might well shatter her newfound confidence, and I don't want that, but how can I let her go along with you to the Deadlands?"

Knowing her dilemma ain't an easy one, I offer her an out. "I could always say I changed my mind about heading west. Spend the year in the Badlands and Coral Desert instead." Avoiding towns as best I can while I'm at it, though I would like to spread word about how my mailbox is open to any information regarding wanted outlaws walking around in public. Have gun, will travel, that sort of thing you know? Might be I should take an ad out in the papers even, though that seems a bit on the nose.

Aunty Ray don't answer right away, because tempting as it is to grab the lifeline, she also gotta think about what's best for me. It would be good for me to learn how to deal with the Soulless, because even if we keep the Deadlands contained, it won't be the only place on the Frontier with Soulless, and ain't no guarantee them other places will do as well. Plus, I'm guessing she knows as well as I do why I don't want to stick around here, not for the spring, summer, and autumn at least. Best to get away for a bit while tensions die down and memories fade after the busy year I just had.

"You promise to stick with Aaron and Luther?" Aunty Ray asks again, just to be sure, and if I wasn't being entirely honest before, I sure as shooting am when I nod along now. "You think you can handle watchin' over our Princess?" Seeing me frown, Aunty Ray rolls her eyes and says, "You don't gotta worry about getting her dressed or washin' up or nothin'. All you gotta do is tell her what to do and stop yourself from caterin' to her every need. I'm talkin' about keepin' an eye on her when things get hot, because I know they sure as shootin' will when you go out lookin' for trouble."

I don't answer right away, because truth is, I ain't sure. So I say as much, because while I love Chrissy to bits, I'd be the first to admit she can be a bit of handful when she wants to be. "If you or Tina came along, I wouldn't have to think twice, but just me lookin' out for her is a bit tricksy," I conclude. "You know how I can get sometimes. I just fixate on something and go at it, to say nothin' of how I'm accustomed to moving at a fair rate of knots once we go guns free. Not much for standin' and shootin', and smart as Cowie is, he still needs direction in a fight, especially if it's in a new location against unfamiliar Abby."

Now it's my turn to sigh. "I can be the bad guy here," I say. "Maybe say something like she gotta go through some training to see if she's up to snuff, then have her fail every test. Wouldn't even have to do much, just point her at the Ranger obstacle course and watch her deflate."

Aunty Ray don't like hearing that much, because she's a firm believer in building a person up, not tearing them down. "Would've been nice if you'd've kept Sarah Jay on as a partner," she grumbles. "Now there's a good, proper southern girl. Minds her manners and is oh so sweet to our Chrissy. Would've been fine if you had a second set of hands to help you out, and not just to ease Chrissy's worries."

There's subtext in Aunty Ray's tone, and I gotta wonder if she knows about how Sarah Jay feels about me. Ain't nothing but drunken infatuation, combined with heartbreak over Errol walking out, but even if it was something more, this ain't the time for either of us. That said, I get an idea in my head and ask, "You know anyone that's headed West any time soon? Could say I'm joining up with them, and that'll give us the perfect excuse to keep Chrissy here. Say that they're only taking on experienced hands and assure her I'll have folks to watch my back."

"Good idea," Aunty Ray says. "I do so love seeing Chrissy come out of her shell, but might be she's moving a touch too fast for my tastes." Mine too, though if it was up to me, I'd keep her safe and sound in a stone tower surrounded by tall walls, a fiery moat, and automated turrets to gun down anything bigger than bird.

What can I say? I'm overprotective when it comes to me and mine. I admit it, and I don't see any reason why that should change.

With that settled, I get back to rinsing dishes while coming to terms with what I just landed myself in. This here is a situation I've been dreading; one I've avoided ever since my daddy passed and hoped I'd never have to do. No helping it now though, because no matter who Aunty Ray finds, they're not gonna want me tagging along even as a farce without seeing what I can do.

Which means that for the first time in my 18 years, I, Howie Zhu, might finally have to go through a job interview.