Firstborn of the Frontier

Time be a mighty mercurial thing. Got all of it in the world, yet somehow never enough.

That’s how it feels at least, as I look over my two prospects on this fine Monday morning, all geared up and ready to ride. Got their Ranger-issue army jackets and matching caps, both which come in a camo pattern that most call peach-white. Me, I call it ugly and ineffective, but that’s what you get with bean-counters callin’ the shots. The colours are meant to imply ‘good guy’, because the good guys always wear white, while bad guys wear black, which quite honestly has got to be the dumbest thing I’d ever heard come out of a grown man’s mouth. That ain’t the only reason of course, as the colours do sorta blend in with the pale white grass and trees, but stands out in the contrasting black dirt hills and grey stone mountains, to say nothing of Errol’s dark complexion. Course, even if the camouflage worked, whoever was calling the shots failed to notify the folks who made the armoured plate carriers, which are all black and meant to be worn over the jackets.

This here is bureaucracy at its finest, the sort of results you can expect when ruling by committee. Much as I love freedom and democracy, I gotta say, there are some things dictators do right. Like fashion.

Seeing how Errol and Sarah Jay got on their Aetherarms on their persons as if they intend to ride all day strapped and loaded, I’m guessing my prospects figure they’re dressed to impress for their first day out on the wild Frontier. Me, I think they look ridiculous, but ain’t no sense saying as much, seeing how nervous the pair of them are. Can’t blame ‘em either, because last Friday, they was two washouts without any idea what they was gonna do, and now they about to ride out as part of the Firstborn’s crew. Even I got butterflies in my stomach, and not the nice kind either, so it’s all I can do not to run them both through a checklist to make sure they’ve got everything they’re gonna need. Knowing Sarah Jay, she probably already went through it all anyways, so I give them a sharp nod as soon as I decide what to say.

“I ain’t gonna lie,” I begin, and they both stand taller for it, “This has all been a bit rushed. Personally, I’d rather put you through another month of training at least, if not more, but I ain’t got the time to spare.” Or money. Especially not after spending so much gearing them up and scrambling all of Sunday to source enough high-value cargo to fill my wagon. After wasting an hour in church no less, and having to get out right quick to avoid getting chewed out by Uncle Teddy. Said he wouldn’t let me ride out alone, but I ain’t alone, now am I? Course, that’s not what he meant, which is why I didn’t stop in for a chit or a chat.

…What is a chit, in this context? I know it can mean a marker, like in a bet, but somehow, I don’t think that’s what it means.

All in all, I ended up spending all three grand I kept from the bounty and liquidating a good chunk of Aberrtin and Aether to pay for everything, so my purse strings are gonna be tight for the next few months unless I can catch a windfall over in Pleasant Dunes. Which will be dangerous and filled with Abby soon enough, hence why I got all these butterflies. I know what I’m riding into, but I haven’t told Errol and Sarah Jay just yet. Mostly because I don’t want anyone to know I intend to head back, even though it feels like everyone who matters has got some inkling of my intentions. Long as I don’t admit it though, I got plausible deniability, and I suspect that’s all that’s keeping the Marshal from having me locked up for interfering with a military operation.

Which ain’t fair, as there’d be no operation without the intel I brought in.

None that is neither here nor there though. My first concern is keeping my prospects alive, and even though I’m eager see how they handle themselves, I can’t in good conscience drag them an Abby hotspot without one last warning. Meeting their eyes one after the other, I do my best to convey my sincerity and say, “If you don’t feel ready, now is the time to say so. I got no qualms about leaving y’all here in town. Still under contract mind you, though I’d expect you to keep training while I’m gone. We’d resume lessons when I get back, with no hard feelings, and no cut pay neither.” Resisting the urge to sigh, I add, “If I was you, I’d stay in town. It’s the smart move with no real downside, and I’ll be better prepared to teach you once I got all my ducks in a row. Again, ain’t a test, just a suggestion, one you both ought to take.”

As always, Errol defers to Sarah Jay, who doesn’t even spare him a glance as she says, “We’re ready, hoss, here to pick up what you put down. Simple is as simple does.”

A stubborn girl she is, but I can’t say I hate it. Looking sharp and tidy all buttoned up like she is, and might almost pass for a man in uniform from behind, what with her hair all tucked under her cap. Would be even more convincing once she throws on her tinted goggles and covers her mouth with a kerchief, but that ain’t enough to keep her safe. Ain’t no man got curves like her, curves even her baggy jacket and bulky vest can’t hide from a discerning eye, but it’ll have to do for now.

As for Errol, even though he’s dressed in much the same clothes, he gives it all a roguish look. He’s got his cap at a one o’clock angle and not seated firmly on his head for some extra flair. His jacket ain’t buttoned up either, worn open and almost off the shoulders as he stands semi-slouched and relaxed save for a bit of tension in his shoulders. No arguing that he makes his outfit look stylish, just not up to standards. Not that it should matter, and I envy how suave he makes the ugly outfit look just a tiny bit.

He’s even got his goggles sitting on the lip of his cap, making him look chic and battle ready. Man just oozes cool in a way I could never match, not even if I dressed the exact same way.

Least he’s got his boots laced up right. Meeting his gaze just to confirm he agrees with Sarah Jay, I nod and push all my doubts aside, because once we step outside the gates and head out, there’s no room for second guessing. I’ve warned my prospects as best I could, and I’ll give them another chance to back down before setting out into the Coral Desert, but the clock is ticking for Pleasant Dunes, and the sooner I get there, the more time I’ll have to hunt the Proggie.

Assuming I can convince whoever’s in charge to give me a chance, but we’ll cross that bridge when we get there.

“All right then,” I say. “First lesson of the day; stow your rifles on the wagon. They’re too long to be using on horseback, so no sense in luggin’ ‘em around all the time.” I consider telling them to stow the armour too, hang it right next to mine within arm’s reach from the driver’s seat. Them chonky plate carriers ain’t exactly comfortable even without eight extra bibles stuffed inside, and I doubt we gonna get shot at in the next few days. Still, I’ll let my prospects decide if the discomfort is worth it, mostly because I don’t want to accept responsibility for this particular decision. “Sarah Jay, you can carry my carbine in your saddle holster, and Errol can keep the Whumper in yours.” The 3-Line replaces my carbine on the hooks behind my head, while the El-Minister goes into the storage chest under my seat. This works out, I’ll get them both their own carbines, maybe even something special like a Merlin .45 for Sarah Jay so won’t have to carry three different types of ammo like she does now. As for Errol, he could use another Ranger carbine, but given his shooting skills, I wouldn’t count on him to hitting anything from horseback just yet, so I ain’t in no rush.

Once they got their guns in place, I turn to Sarah Jay. “Now, I know I stressed this several times before,” I begin, ignoring her stalled eye-roll she just barely got ahead of, “But from here on out, you’re just Jay. No hand holdin’, kiss stealin’, or eye battin’ between the two while we out on the road. Don’t matter what anyone says, you a man outside these walls, so you best act it and make others believe the same.”

She nods in agreement, taking the warning as serious as the grave. Which is good because while most like to think they got some sense of morality about them, it don’t take much to strip that away. Ain’t the Frontier’s fault; men and women have done far worse in far better situations, though I reckon these lawless lands have brought out the worst in all of us, with plenty of folk roaming these here hills who make con artists and wifebeaters look like a decent bunch. I just hope I can keep her safe enough so she won’t have to learn no lessons the hard way. Same with Errol, as he ain’t safe either. He pretty enough to attract all the wrong sorts of attention out there.

There are a couple more things to go through before it’s time to head out, like a teary farewell with Aunty Ray. Saying goodbye is never easy, but I ain’t ever set out to hunt no Proggie before. To her credit, she don’t tell me not to go or warn me off from Pleasant Dunes, because she knows I won’t listen, and much like how I don’t want to dampen Errol and Sarah Jay’s spirits, she don’t want to shake my confidence. “You be safe and come home, Howie,” she whispers, all teary-eyed as she hugs me tight outside her front door. “That’s all I’ll ask. Be safe. Come home.”

“Will do, Aunty Ray.” I can’t think of anything else to say besides, “Love you lots,” which only makes her hug me that much tighter.

Tina comes next, all sleepy-eyed and sluggish as she shuffles over for her hug. “See you when you get back,” she says, eyes closed and head resting on my shoulder as she’s still unaware that we’ll see each other sooner than that. They’ll probably tell the boots about Pleasant Dunes today, then leave tomorrow morning at the earliest, though I doubt it. The desert town is six days of hard riding from Meadowbrook, through less than hospitable territory. Even if Captain Marcus sent a Scout out the day I arrived with news of the Proggy ten days ago, it’ll still be a day or two before he hears back at the earliest. No Radio towers out in the Coral Desert, meaning the scouts got to make the trip to town, look around, then ride almost the entire way back to Meadowbrook before making contact. There’s also no way they’d ever talk about a Proggy over the open Aetherwaves, not unless they want the area swarmed with mercs and scavs, so accounting for the time needed to get the boots all ready to travel, I probably got a three-to-five-day head start on Tina and the rest of her class.

Plenty of time to unload all my cargo and get the measure of my prospects before heading off to Pleasant Dunes.

Saying goodbye to Chrissy is most difficult of all, because unlike her sister, she’s caught on to something amiss. Always said she was sharp, and she proves is, wrapping her arms around my shoulders without any indication of wanting to let go. “It’s alright Princess,” I say, after a full minute of lung crushing warmth. “I’ll be back before you know it.”

“…Stay?”

That’s new. Only time she’s ever asked me not to go was on my second solo trip. Not the first, because she didn’t know I’d be gone for so long, but she figured it all out the second time around. “Sorry Chrissy,” I say, giving her should a quick three squeezes. “I’d love to, but I can’t. Work calls. I’ll stick around a bit longer when I get back okay?” She doesn’t answer, nor does she let go, not until Aunty Ray comes by to help me out.

“It’s alright Chrissy,” she says, gently extricating me from her daughter’s arms and wrapping her in her own. “Howie’ll be back before you know it. You’ll see.” Reaching out to run her hand through my hair, which has gotten long enough to almost cover my eyes, Aunty Ray smiles and adds, “Ain’t that right?”

“Yes ma’am.” The gentle touch turns into a sharp rap as Aunty Ray mock glowers and pinches my cheek for real, but it ain’t enough to take away my smile. She’s the closest thing to a mother I’ve ever known, so even if I can’t bring myself to call her that, she knows it.

I’m sure she knows. She’s gotta, right?

Aunty Ray has a few words for Errol and Sarah Jay too, telling them to listen good and follow orders, but it remains to be seen if they will. With all our farewells behind us, I hop onto the wagon and wait for Cowie to receive his due hugs and kisses before he’s ready to go too. “You two lead the way,” I say, gesturing at my prospects once they’re mounted up. “That way, we can talk while we ride.” And I can keep an eye on them and point out any mistakes, of which there will be plenty. The two extra horses are already hitched to the back of the wagon, as Cowie don’t need help pulling, nor would I know how to drive them if he did. Hopefully he performed his marital duties well these last few weeks and we’ll have new calves to raise come autumn, ones he’ll have to learn to get along with, but until then, Errol and Sarah Jay will just have to suffer on horseback.

Me, I ain’t ridden a horse for any long stretch since my daddy passed, which might seem strange considering how often I’m out and about. Never saw any reason to bring both Cowie and old Tux out on a trade run, and I don’t miss walking around bow-legged either. Sarah Jay will be feeling it soon enough, because while she got enough natural padding to ease her seat, she ain’t got the posture down pat just yet. An hour or two or riding will set her legs aflame, and by day’s end, she’ll be mighty grateful for the vapour rub Uncle Art packed in our kits. Errol’s got a real knack for horsemanship though, sitting upright and relaxed with a smile on his face and the reins held loosely between his hands which sit resting on the saddle-horn. Keeps that posture too as we head out the gate and onto the cobblestone Highway, at which point they both make their first mistake of the day, after agreeing to come along with of course.

“Stick to the right,” I say, as Cowie ambles over into his lane, leaving Errol and Sarah Jay walking down the centre. “Ain’t got no lines painted, but the Highway is divided into six lanes. Left three are for oncoming traffic. On our side, the left most lane is reserved for military only, while the middle lane is for passing. Otherwise, you stick to the rightmost lane at all times.” Lot of little unspoken rules like that, things you wouldn’t know unless someone told you, most of which I take for granted and didn’t think to explain beforehand. “Also, pick up the pace,” I say, once they’re both in the right lane. “Not quite a trot, but a bit faster than a leisurely walk. Irongate is a touch over a hundred klicks from New Hope, and while it’s possible to make the trip in a single day, I ain’t about to try it with your new horses. I’ll be happy to cover half that and call it.”

“Oh they can definitely handle a hundred klicks in a day,” Errol says, fondly patting his brown destrier on the neck. “Especially big Bruno here. He’s got enough grain in him to go a hundred twenty klicks easy.”

Told him not to get too attached, but he went ahead and named the horses anyways. One of these days, he’s gonna learn to take what I say serious. All four horses Errol picked out are winners though, destriers one and all, the breed Aunty Ray once raised. Named them after what the French knights called their warhorses, because these beasties are built for long walks and short bursts of speeds, which is why I don’t doubt Errol’s claim. “True enough,” I say, giving credit where it’s due, because he picked them better than I could’ve. “But he’ll need to rest a day when he’s done, and we got a full week of non-stop travel ahead us.” Maybe even two if they coming along to Pleasant Dunes, or more if the Proggy arrives before we do and we gotta turn ourselves right back around. “Gotta always plan for the long game, because that’s how you make it back home. Fifty klicks a day is plenty.”

Credit where it’s due, Sarah Jay doesn’t immediately whip out her notepad and start jotting things down, though she’s done it often enough before. “What exactly is the plan then?” She asks, glancing back to meet my eyes, even though she ain’t good enough of a rider to do that. Tugs the reins a bit too hard as she turns, which almost sends her chestnut filly Fifi crashing into Errol and Bruno beside them.

Waiting till they got themselves back in order to answer, I say, “Hit up Meadowbrook and see what the word is. That’s all I got, as I tend to play things by ear. All we gotta do is follow the Highway for six days to get there at our current pace. We’ll pass by Irongate and Mirador too, but we won’t be stopping in.” Neither one of my prospects were expecting that, which was why I didn’t tell them before now, and their concerned expressions have got me grinning. “Yes sir, you both looking at the better part of a week out in the brush, or close enough to it. No comfy beds or hot food neither, as we’ll be roughing it the whole way there in true survivalist fashion. Won’t be much of a trial run if there ain’t no tribulations to bear, so last chance to turn around now, in case y’all having second thoughts.”

Errol and Sarah Jay have themselves a silent exchange, after which the latter says, “I didn’t see you pack no tents.”

“That’s because I don’t got none.” Gesturing at the clear copper skies, I say, “Ain’t a cloud to be seen, so we safe for today. If it do start raining, y’all got your ponchos, don’cha?” A bit more seriously, I say, “A tent is just extra weight. If you need shelter, you find it or build it. I usually bunk down under the wagon or inside if there’s room, though I mostly sleep outside under the twin moons. You best get used to it, because you don’t want to be stuck in no tent when Abby come a knocking.”

“Wish you would’ve told us earlier,” Sarah Jay grumbles. “I’d have packed an extra set of blankets and more rations.”

“And I’d have tossed them out,” I reply, “Which is why I didn’t. Save us all that conflict. The two of you got everything you need to survive for a week packed in your saddlebags and you gonna live off of that for the next six days. That’s the point of this here exercise, so if things go south and you gotta cut and run without me, you’ll know how to live on what you got.”

Having said my piece, I lean back in my seat and pull my Stetson down low to study the shimmering Spell Structures embedded in my mind while playing cat’s cradle with my Mage Hands. We ain’t even reached the shooting range yet, so might as well let the prospects settle in and see the sights before going hard at the lessons again. Even though I been hammering home how dangerous it can get out here, we’re safe as can be riding this close to New Hope, and there’s no denying the fact that the Frontier is a beautiful place. The pale-white grass and matching smooth-trunked trees might seem monotonous at first glance, but there’s plenty of colour sprinkled about to break it all up. Baby blue creeper vines, soft purple loomshrubs, sandy yellow bush apples, dark-red sneezeweed, those are just a few of the plants I see in passing, to say nothing of the local wildlife. They’re a bit harder to spot and tend to avoid the Highway, but if you look close enough, you’ll find them. Striped chitter rats and spotted rhyzo-martens are the most common, as they ain’t afraid of people at all, while the birds feel safe perched high up in the leafy green branches or flying overhead in the sky. We got colourful butterflies and luminous glowhoppers too, as well as bicorn bunnies, wild wallies, hoggidillas, and scale bears roaming the forest hills. There are plenty of other smaller animals we ain’t decided names for just yet, and if we’re lucky, we might even come across a herd of bramble elk and maybe a pack of tuskwulves chasing them down, a sight both majestic and frightening at the same time.

And if we’re unlucky, we might stumble across a Diamondclaw, and then it’s every man for themselves. I’ve only ever seen the one in all my years roaming about, but once was more than enough to put the fear in me. Least now I got the Big Stick to keep me safe, though I ain’t so certain it’s enough gun to do the job, and I hope I never have to find out.

I pass along all this information and more to my two prospects as the klicks roll by, in between familiarizing them with Highway etiquette along the busy road. Pass on the left ain’t the be all end all of it, because most folks don’t take kindly to heavily armoured wagons riding up alongside them. That’s why we always wave and shout to announce our presence if they ain’t seen us yet, then pass along as quick as we can with hands away from our weapons once we’ve made our intentions known. Most other travelers we see along the way are heavy wagons laden with cargo bound for the Emerald Plains and heavily guarded to boot. Same as us really, but Cowie can haul a fully loaded wagon 75 klicks a day without breaking a sweat, meaning 50 is a walk in the park. Horses are quicker in short bursts for sure, but ain’t as strong or vigorous under heavy weight, so we end up passing more than a fair few caravans early on in the day. By lunchtime, we got most of those slower moving caravans on our six, as they’ll be lucky to cover 35 klicks by the time night falls, while any caravans still ahead have a day’s head start on us, meaning we won’t be passing them till late afternoon.

I tell the prospects as much, letting them know we ought to have open road ahead, then ask, “So what’s all that tell you?” Neither one answers right away, and I can tell they don’t see what I’m getting at, which is fine since it ain’t exactly obvious. “It means that if we pass any wagons or riders in the next few hours,” I drawl, speaking slowly so the words have time to sink in, “It ought to raise our suspicions a bit.”

Unlike Sarah Jay, Errol ain’t afraid to ask questions, which is another thing I like about him. “Why though?” he asks, glancing back while keeping Bruno straight. “Just because they off schedule?”

“Pretty much.” Gesturing at the road we’ve been travelling on for some hours now, I say, “This here is the Highway, with a capital H. In the old world, they got countless roads just like this, but round these here parts, this the only one we got. Starts up north in the fortified Métis town of Wabasca up in them Muskari Steppes, where it cuts southwest through Minaik and Nakoda on the Emerald Plains along the border of the Coral Desert. From there, it heads south to Meadowbrook and connects all seven fortress towns of the Blue Bulwark, including New Hope. Once it hits Redeemer’s Keep, which I reckon is about 310 klicks southwest from where we currently sit, the Highway takes a straight shot down to New Sonora in the Fuchsia Flatlands. That’s where it ends for now, 1,200 kilometres of flat road alongside the badlands and Coral Desert both. Aside from that last stretch south past Redeermer’s Keep, we got a fortified U.F.A. or Métis settlement every hundred klicks, and plenty of unaffiliated colonies nearby too.”

“Okay.” Judging by his tone, Errol ain’t half as impressed as he ought to be, which is crazy. That’s twenty-four days of travel across easy roads, give or take, made possible only by a cooperative effort between the Rangers, the Pathfinders, the Protectorate, the Chevaliers, and the Catholic Church, with a few other organizations adding their funds and efforts into the mix. A fortress every fifty kilometres, that was the plan put forth by Marshal Ellis, to build a Bulwark to contain the hordes of Abby who come flooding out of the badlands every season or two. The first and last line of defense against the Proggie infested Divide, and the inevitable offensive emerging from within once it comes time for the Watershed in a few years give or take. My daddy believed in this plan, sacrificed countless months and years of his time to see it through, a plan set in motion over a decade ago, and one that won’t be complete for another decade yet. We’re currently on track to have a fortress built every hundred klicks in a year or two, with three more going up between Redeemer’s Keep and New Sonora even as we speak, but I guess a simple ‘okay’ is all that warrants.

Wholly ignorant of my internal pique, Errol asks, “But what’s any of that got to do with off-schedule caravans and riders?”

“You think on that for a minute,” I say, doing my best not to sound pouty. “Then give me your best answer.” Sarah Jay is the first to respond a few minutes later, but I cut her off before she can speak. “I wanna hear what Errol’s got to say first,” I say. Not because I’m fixing to embarrass him. I just want him to flex his brain a bit, because he’s too content to just go with the flow, and out here, getting caught up in another person’s schemes could see you dead and your corpse fed to Abby, with no one ever being the wiser.

After another minute, Errol finally comes up with something to say. “Big stretch of road,” he begins, still piecing it all together. “Safe too, with so many Rangers and Pathfinders about. With so much traffic and so many places to stop, chances of a lame horse or broken axle slowing you down for long is low. So if we see someone lagging behind, they’re either unlucky, or they have other reasons for slowing down.”

“Reasons which may or may not be nefarious,” I conclude, grinning ear to ear now that I got Errol thinking right. “Chances of a stool pigeon sitting this close to New Hope are low,” I begin, only to stop when Errol and Sarah Jay both look back with raised eyebrows. “A decoy meant to lure us in, so the ambush can close around us. That’s what I mean by stool pigeon, which is what Aunty Ray calls the bait, though she can’t say why. Regardless, I doubt we’ll run into any ambushes this deep into the Bulwark, but you never take your safety for granted out here.”

My two prospects both nod along with my explanation, but I can tell they ain’t taking my warnings as serious as they should, and not for the first time. Don’t matter how many times I tell them it’s dangerous out here, they keep thinking I’m over-exaggerating, when the truth is anything but. I told them straight up I’d feel more comfortable if they had another month or two of training, but they came along regardless. Sure, I started riding out solo almost two years ago after I turned fifteen, but I had more Spells and know-how than both of them combined, and I still had more close shaves than I care to admit.

Couldn’t have done it without Cowie, but my Spellslinging skills helped too. My daddy always loved to brag about my mama, and one thing he never forgot to mention was how talented a Spellslinger she was. A craftsman by trade, but she had a mind for arcana which even Uncle Teddy admits was beyond his understanding, and he spent four whole years in a fancy university studying it. In contrast, my mama was only sixteen when she arrived on the Frontier without a Spell Structure in memory, and was slinging Second Order Spells before she passed away not eight months later. A super genius by old world standards, as most don’t start slinging First Order Spells until their first year of college or university, and take two years to move up to Second Order. That’s seventeen or eighteen years old to start, which to me seems crazy considering I learned my first Cantrip at eleven, and was slinging First Order Spells a year later.

Never figured myself for a prodigy, no matter how many people said otherwise. Magic is simple, and even simpler here on the Frontier due to the lower concentration of ambient Aether. Means the flows of Aether are slower, more sluggish, less responsive, and less stable compared to the old world, or at least that’s what I’m told. Makes it more difficult to form stable Spell Structures, impossible even for Spells above Third Order, which was a real kick in the pants for powerful and accomplished Spell slingers like Uncle Teddy and the other experienced Rangers. They won’t have access to their Higher Order Spells for several more years yet, not until well after the Watershed and ambient concentration levels of Aether rise enough to support Fourth Order Spell Structures and higher. The upside however, is that slow and sluggish Aether flows are easier to sense and substantiate, meaning it makes it easier for beginners to notice their mistakes and find the correct path forward.

It's a bit like learning how to stand upright underwater. Much easier to do when everything pushing you along in the right direction. In short, I ain’t no genius, as my early Spell slinging abilities is merely a product of my environment and all the hard work I put into learning. I also have my mama to thank, as I learned my first Cantrip, Mage Hand, just from reading her work. Also had Uncle Teddy, who took me under his wing and showed me what’s what. All this is what put me ahead of the pack, which is only where I ought to be, being the Firstborn as I am.

Least, that’s how I felt right up until I learned how far ahead I really am. Growing up alongside Tina and Chrissy will humble a Spellcaster right quick, because they ain’t just Innates, they double bloodline Innates. They got more magic oozing out of them than most got hairs on their heads, so aside from my early start, they’ve only ever been a few steps behind me. Wasn’t until Tina started Basic that I had any real idea of where other people my age stood, and let me tell you what a rude awakening that was.

Take Errol for instance. He’s only got a handful of Spell Structures, Cantrips included. I’ve spent at least six hours tutoring him on the Bolt Cantrip, and he put in a couple more on his own, and he still don’t got it down pat. Took me three hours when I was twelve, without my daddy helping me along, because he didn’t really want me learning it just yet. The Bolt Cantrip is a dangerous Spell, but it’s also the most widely used Cantrip in human history, with almost four hundred years of constant improvements to make it the most efficient and powerful Cantrip to date. That also means it’s one of the most complex Cantrips around, although there are a few highly inefficient and needlessly complicated Cantrips out there that might surpass it. Either way, it’s still a Cantrip, which means there’s no need to synch the timing of the Spell Structure Formation to anything besides the three focal points the Bolt Cantrip makes use of.

Or in layman’s terms, it’s like simultaneously drawing three contiguous, interlacing, non-Euclidean shapes in a three-dimensional mental medium derived from a fairly simple mathematical formula. Simple is as simple does.

Light. Living Whip. Power Word: Endure. Stabilize. That’s all the Cantrips Errol knows. Four. Besides Bolt and Hearing Protection, which he definitely needs to learn, there are so many useful Cantrips out there that he’s missing out on. Like Protection from Insects or Umbrella to guard against rain and sun, or Contraception even, so hopefully Sarah Jay knows the woman’s version of that particular Cantrip. Mage Hand is a Cantrip, and so is Water Sphere, True Strike, Timepiece, and Deodorant. That’s barely even scratching the surface of useful Cantrips, and it boggles my mind that Errol only knows four. It’s like going through life blind because you can’t be bothered to open your eyes, or choosing not to learn how to read because you don’t think it’s useful enough. Madness.

Now, in his defense, Errol didn’t have access to the same level of education I did, though that don’t mean he’s dumb. I seen him do his math and he got them numbers down pat. He just has trouble translating the numbers into angles and directions in his mind. For Cantrips, the simplest solution would just be to do the math alongside him and draw the correct Structure for him to copy using a Minor Illusion, but that won’t work for First Order or higher Spells, since timing plays a part in those, and being a beat behind means failure plain and simple. Best if he figures it out on his own, but I ain’t been able to help him there. I never had that problem, so Sarah Jay has been lending a hand, and I’m guessing he prefers her instruction over mine.

As for First Order Spells, Errol only knows three, which ain’t a lot, but ain’t bad either when compared to our peers. Staunch Wound. Minor Regeneration. Heroism. Those ain’t the easiest First Order Spells to memorize, and it’s a fairly promising start on a medico’s loadout, one he got thanks to his Intuitive ways. Me and Sarah Jay can help him round out the basics, stuff like Mage Armour, Longstrider, Jump, and other Spells you might want in your everyday loadout, while Uncle Art offered to help Errol learn more, like Bless, Mantle of Inspiration, and all the Spells from the Protection line. The Intuitive way, not orthodox, as Uncle Art ain’t got the patience for teaching math, but that’ll have to wait a bit. I suspect the only reason Errol didn’t learn all the First Order Spells Father Nicolas could cast was because he reached his limit and didn’t know how to clear away Spell Structures from memory to make room for new ones. The human mind is an incredible machine, but like any other muscle in the human body, it requires training to make full use of. When I first started slinging Spells, two or three First Order Spells was my limit for the day, and I’d need a full night’s rest before I could cast any more. Could only pack two Spell Structures into memory too, but I loved learning new Spells so much I cleared them out daily to take new ones for a spin. Nowadays, my limit is much higher for both casting and memorizing, but Errol’s just getting started. Three proper Spell Structures and a handful of casts is where he caps out, though with a bit of time and a lot of effort, he’ll catch up soon enough.

As for Sarah Jay, she’s sharp as a tack, and her skills are impressive for someone who was mostly self-taught. She got a much longer list of Cantrips that covers all the essentials, like Bolt, True Strike, Ignite, and Hearing Protection, but I slipped her the Formulas for a few others I thought she might find useful, with a focus on non-lethal self-defence like Shocking Grasp. As for First Order Spells, she’s got Mage Armour and Jump already locked down, as well as Aegis. Three First Order Spells in two months, because she didn’t have access to any before starting Basic, which is mighty impressive indeed. She’s on the cusp of figuring out Entangle, which is what I’ve had her working on all this time, and if she can add that to her repertoire in the next couple days, then our hunting trip to the Coral Sands will go much smoother. For the long term, I’m thinking Grease for more Battlefield Control, and then she could go a number of different ways depending on where her talents lie. Divination Spells to make her a more versatile sharpshooter, Transmutation to make her more mobile and durable, Conjuration Summoning for an extra spotter and support, or Illusion Spells to help her hide and slip away whenever threats draw near.

Or Evocation, if that’s what she wants. There ain’t many problems a Blast to the face can’t solve, and for everything else, there’s Fireball.

Like I told Tina, these two prospects definitely got the chops for life on the wild Frontier, assuming they got the nerves for it too. I was a little surprised to learn they ain’t got any Second Order Spells, but that ain’t their fault. I had plenty of resources and instruction from the best, so I shouldn’t look down on others just because they didn’t have the same. If Errol and Sarah Jay can both manage to progress to Third Order Spells before the Watershed in two or three years, then we’ll make a real killing hunting Proggies and Abby when the time comes.

You know, assuming I’m willing to trust them with my life and show them everything I can do.

These are the thoughts that keep tumbling around my head over the next few days. The first night, we camp at the base of Mount Rimepeak with Last Chance Lake still in sight so long as you get the right angle through the thick forest of trees. Unfortunately, one thing I didn’t count on was how aggravating travelling with a lovely-dovey couple would be. Even without the hand-holding, eye-batting, and tongue-kissing, Errol and Sarah Jay’s antics got me both wishing I had a girlie of my own and hating all couples in love everywhere at the same time. It’s the curse of the lonely man it is, but I endure all the quiet whispers and loving glances as best I can. The next day, we pass Irongate and push on a bit later into the night, as I ain’t cruel enough to camp them outside a town’s gate where they can smell all the delicious food cooking inside while we eat hard-tack, jerky, dried grumble berries, and dehydrated bapple sauce. Two days later, we do the same with Mirador, and as we settle in for a cold dinner around the wagon, I hunker down and explain what comes next.

“So these last four days have been a cakewalk,” I begin, glancing around just to double check that we can’t be seen from the road, here in our nestled thicket of trees, a white wall of wood and leaves that’ll shelter us from eyes and wind alike. “So far, I’ve left you to your own devices, but from tomorrow onwards, you both best be on alert. Come nightfall, we’ll be within a day’s ride of No Man’s Land, which means there’ll be outlaws aplenty looking to take advantage.”

“What’s No Man’s Land?” Sarah Jay asks, without hesitation even, as she’s finally grown accustomed to her ignorance and is no longer ashamed of it. It’s silly to feel bad just because you didn’t know something, because how were you to know you didn’t know it in the first place?

Happy to have made so much progress in less than a handful of days, I nod at my prospects and ask, “Either of you remember the name of the next fortified settlement after Meadowbrook?”

“Nakoda,” Errol replies, showing he ain’t as dumb as he pretends to be and earning himself a fake scowl from Sarah Jay.

“Exactly,” I say, and having long since learned how to handle them both, I wait for Sarah Jay to finish pouting before directing my question towards her. “What’s the name tell you?”

“…That they ain’t American?”

“Got it in one.” Polishing off the last of my hard tack, I drain my canteen dry getting the ‘bread’ down my throat. “Now,” I continue, after only a brief bout of coughing, “While that don’t seem like something that should mean much here on the Frontier, it do, and it makes things mighty complicated. Even though every participating nation agreed to abide by the Accords, most disagree on how those Accords ought to be upheld. You get me?” They don’t, but I was expecting as much. “See, along the Highway behind us, the local Sheriffs can easily send a request to the Rangers for help. Means any lawbreakers are almost certain to be caught and punished. Don’t matter if it means being lashed, shipped off to a prison camp, or hanged. The rule of law is upheld in accordance with U.F.A law. Works the same way with the Pathfinders in the Métis controlled areas that start at Nakoda, but what about the contested lands between Nakoda and Meadowbrook? Whose version of the laws apply there?” Without waiting for an answer, I point to the northeast and continue, “To further complicate the issue, we got the border between the badlands and the Coral Desert coming up soon too, both of which can be found east of us. The badlands belong to Abby, and ain’t no nation laid claim to the desert just yet, meaning we got four different jurisdictions to think about. The Métis, the Americans, the independents, and the badlands. Makes for a lot of messy bureaucratic nonsense, largely because the Métis don’t believe in capital punishment, while independents are typically all gung-ho about Frontier Justice without much care for niceties like burden of proof and innocent until proven guilty.”

As for Americans, they get way too excited about punishing criminals, but it helps pay the bills, so I ain’t complaining. “Anyway,” I continue, enjoying my portion of dried grumble berries one at a time, “All this means that a lot of criminally-minded folk are drawn to the area we heading towards, because if they commit their crimes close to the border, they can ride hard and fast into a different jurisdiction where local law enforcement can’t chase them down without following protocol. Usually involves putting in a request and submitting proof and all that, which takes time, time a smart outlaw would use to get far, far away.” Shrugging, I lean back against the wagon and try to ignore Cowie’s big doe eyes begging for the rest of my berries, but end up feeding him half all the same. “Hence, No Man’s Land. Means among other things, that if you see a wagon lagging behind, it’s probably an ambush laying in wait. Plenty of hills and trees on both sides of the highway to hide shooters in, so keep your eyes sharp and your wits sharper. And no more slacking off during watch anymore, among other things I won’t mention.”

At least my two prospects got the good grace to blush. Don’t know how they could’ve thought they’d gotten away with their antics these last few nights. I’ve heard Cowie crash into buildings and make less noise than they did, but I let it be because I didn’t want to have no awkward conversations about hygiene and safe sex. Instead, I press on to tell them about a few more things to be wary of, hoping they absorb enough to matter should the worst come to pass.

Preparation is key after all, and the more I teach my prospects, the more I realize they have so much left to learn. Too late to turn back now, so all we can do is push forward, hope for the best, and plan for the worst.

Business as usual really, except now I got two extra burdens to drag along until they ready to stand on their own two feet. That’s what I signed up for though, so ain’t got no one to blame but myself, no matter how much I wish it were otherwise.