Chapter 11: 11. Raise the Walls

The acolytes hauled logs late into the night. Torches and lanterns sat on posts, dotting the clearing and lightening it for the exhausted teens as the snowfall intensified.

“I hope your plans are worth it. Don’t be surprised if your acolytes wake with fevers.”

“That depends on how much you want to survive the coming winter, Henric. Personally, I’m not ready to die.”

“If the God-Lord wills it.”

“Don’t be so stubborn,” Mark smiled at the grim-faced man. “Besides, isn’t it my job to test them?”

“It's also your job to uphold the law and teach the next generation of hopeful Imperators. Yet it's been almost a month since their last lesson. And don't try telling me this is a lesson.”

“How many of them do you think will make it? You know, to become Imperators?” Mark asked. It was a trick question. He knew from reading Atlas's notes that he doubted any would earn their suits and had only recommended two candidates for evaluation. Acolytes Callum and Radic.

“That's not my–”

“I know. Just give me your opinion. I won't hold anything to it.”

“That's hardly the point, Imperator. The kids and their families are fully aware of how unlikely it is that they'll earn a suit when joining up. Yet here they are.”

“And how does being sent to an outpost at the edge of civilization to die fit into all that? Don't get me wrong. Lessons will resume, but my priority is surviving what's coming.”

“Still believing barbarian tales, I see.”

“Tales or not, the cultists are here. Even if the stories are all fantasy, that doesn't change the fact that the ferals believe them. We need to react to that, whether we like it or not.”

The final bolts were screwed into hand-drilled holes, and a resounding thud echoed as the gate doors were closed.

“Alright, remember your tools. If the tool count is down when we get back to the store room, you'll be sent back out here to find whatever was left,” Henric yelled with his hands beside his mouth.

“We’ll need to reward them,” Mark said as he walked toward the palisade gate.

“Where are you going, Imperator?”

“You all need rest. I'll guard our new wall through the night. We can figure the rest out in the morning.”

“You’ve been out here as long as we have.”

“I’m aware. But someone needs to uphold the law.”

Henric’s stern gaze seemed to pass through Mark as he watched him momentarily before nodding.

***

The only thing that kept Mark’s eyes open was the biting cold. His nose had started to drip through the night, and now ice wrapped around his mustache hairs.

The ferals that had followed them had long since left, but yesterday’s commotion had brought fresh sets of eyes to the wall. Not that it mattered. He wasn’t about to let down his watch. The ferals might be primitive, but they spoke, which meant they shared rumors. And Mark had little doubt that those living in the nearby region would hear of his night-long vigil.

As dawn crept across the trees, Fort Winterclaw’s gates pushed open, and Henric led three acolytes across to the outer wall.

“You made it through the night,” Henric waved.

“Suprised you didn’t sleep in.”

“Go relieve your Imperator,” Henric waved to the acolytes. “Sleep in? Wouldn’t think of it. Now come on, go get some rest for yourself.”

“Not yet,” Mark said, climbing the rickety wooden ladder they built down from the narrow palisade wallwalk. “With any luck, some of our neighbors will come looking for protection. I intend to be here for that.”

“You’re going to start inviting ferals into our fort immediately?”

“Look around, Henric. There are plenty already here. Besides, this isn’t Fort Winterclaw, that is,” Mark said, pointing toward the fort. “This is the outer wall. A place where ferals loyal to my law will be invited to live.”

“If you say so.”

***

Hours went by as Mark stood at the gate. He had reduced the wall watch to just two acolytes since the fort’s walls also needed to be manned.

Sighing as snow fell around him—a reminder that the real winter wasn’t far behind—he shook his head. Perhaps he had overestimated his chances of appealing to the ferals.

He turned to head for Winterclaw. He had spent long enough in the cold and could feel his body yearning for rest. But stopped as he saw shadows in the tree line a dozen meters from the palisade.

Squinting through the snowfall, Mark’s lips loosened as he saw a man step out. He looked around and then waved someone forward. A moment later, five other figures came running across the snow. Most carried sacks, and Mark’s eyes widened as he spotted a baby wrapped in cloth held to a woman's chest.

“Hello,” Mark waved, but the ferals remained silent until the man caught up.

“Your invitation. We take offers—keep girls from the cultists.”

Mark looked across the figures, meeting their blue eyes. Cowls hid them, but up close, he could see they were just kids: four girls, their blonde-almost white hair tied back and hidden beneath their cowls.

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“Your daughters?”

The man nodded. He was thin but muscular, with a scar across his face and a patchy, blonde beard.

“And you agree to abide by my law?”

The man nodded, and his wife looked up at Mark with unwavering eyes and mouthed, “We do, yes.”

“Swear it.”

“I swears it,” the man said and looked into his eyes—leading the woman to echo the pledge a second later.

“Alright, in you go,” Mark said, stepping aside and waving them through. He had little means to test the ferals and, for now, would have to hope that saving their daughters from the ferals was enough to make them loyal.

The family followed his instructions, passing through the gate, but the man remained still, his eyes glued to Mark.

“Where we go now? Got no home, we do. No long straw, all gone wiff the winta. Where you spect us ta live?”

Right. There certainly isn’t any straw growing around here, and it won’t be coming back with the snow pouring down like it is.

“Perhaps we could make a deal.”

“Like what?”

“Collect rigar bark, as much of it as you can, and I’ll provide you with logs in return. I don’t have the manpower to assemble it into something livable for you. But I could get my acolytes to pull a cloth from our walls and prop it up with posts. It won’t be something you’d want to brave the winter in, but it’ll keep most of the snow off your kids until you can assemble a cabin.”

The feral-eyed Mark suspiciously for a moment, “Shelta and timba for some grub? You got yourself a deal, Southie. And I even got payment,” the feral added, dropping one of his sacks at Mark’s boots.

With a raised brow, Mark leaned down and peeled the burlap back a little. It was completely packed with the bark.

“Looks like I need to get to work,” Mark said, and immediately walked out from the fort and raised his hand. Within a minute, his thunderous blasts had downed several smallish trees, and he turned back to the wall.

“I’ll have my acolytes prep them for you. If you need more, get me more bark.”

“Will do, Mr. Imperator man,” the feral nodded as he stared at the downed trees with a broad, yellow smile.

“Already creating more work for us, I see,” Henric said, approaching from a couple of acolytes he ordered to work.

“Find out who knows how to process this bark. Someone with a big pot, preferably.”

“They’re ferals, they probably all know.”

“Humor me.”

“Yes, sir,” Henric said.

If we can provide a reliable source of logs, maybe the others will be interested in upgrading or building new homes as well. Then, if we have people to process the bark, we’ll have completed the first step in providing a reliable food source.

Mark’s thoughts drifted back to Erin. He needed rest and had no idea where to start looking for her. Don’t get yourself killed, girl. I haven’t forgotten.

***Acolytes***

Erin stood by the hut as she watched Trayox carry the bags he’d packed outside as he piled them.

She had given up trying to convince the stubborn man, but that only did so much to cure the guilt she felt. A bad feeling stirred within, and she hoped to the God-Lord she was wrong. She hoped the babies would survive the journey.

She couldn’t blame him. If someone had asked her only a few weeks ago what she thought about such a plan, she would have called them crazy. Callum was right. The Imperator was behaving strangely. He was putting the lives of these people before the law. And it filled her with pride.

She ground her teeth as invasive thoughts entered her mind. She remembered the lashings she had received from her uncle. Her parents had been kind. Knowledgable and adventurous. After they died, she found herself working in her uncle’s inn. And he didn’t take too kindly to discovering her stealing food scraps to give to the poor. The first time she was whipped. The second time, she was beaten. And the third, sold to the Imperium. They brushed it off like it was some kind of honor. That she had a chance to make something of herself, but she knew the truth. She saw the sack of crowns her uncle got.

Her charity had become too annoying, and they had decided that a one-off payment from the Imperium was more valuable than keeping her for free labor.

“You’re too weak-hearted. Maybe being an acolyte will harden you up. Teach you what real life in the Imperium is like.” She remembered her uncle berating her as the wagon to take her away arrived. It did harden her; he was right. But she had never lost her desire to help people.

As a tear welled in her eye, she wondered if she was just weak, as her uncle had told her so many times. She barely knew these people, yet she felt like crying at their departure.

It didn’t make things any easier that Arinie–the mother, had let her hold the bubs. They were so pure and innocent, she had thought. Too innocent for this world. But that wouldn’t stop the cold or any other scoundrel that might catch them on the road.

She wondered how you told a man who knew better through his own experiences that he was wrong. The Imperator was different. He had changed. But she had no idea how to convince this stubborn-headed brute.

Her gaze shifted as she spotted several ferals chatting loudly. They walked through the trees several meters from them and took no notice that she was watching them. They laughed about something—their tone sounded mocking.

“Nekello rathma, tam su dan. Tu damar, Trayox,” one of them waved and started laughing almost immediately, nearly tripping as a feral pushed him from behind.

Trayox shouted something back, and one of the ferals smacked the man across the back of his head and yelled back apologetically.

“What was that about?”

“Nothing,” Trayox grunted and passed Erin back into the hut.

“Didn’t sound like nothing. Just saying,” Erin called out after him. “Kinda sounded like they were being assholes, if you ask me.”

“Didn’t ask you. Girl.”

“Well, I know, but–it’s just something you say.”

“Imperials, maybe. Not us.”

“Fine, something Imperials say. Happy? So, you going to tell me what it was about then?”

“No.”

“Oh, come on. I thought we were like friends now. I even held your babies.”

“Stupid rumor. Nothing else.”

“Rumors?” Erin’s brow perked. “What rumors?”

“Stupid ones.”

“Like?”

Trayox’s gaze fell half-lidded as he passed her with a grunt.

“You're seriously not going to tell me?”

“No.”

“So, you are going to tell me?”? Erin grinned.

“Shut mouth. Girl.”

Erin followed him out of the hut as he dropped a sack among the pile, sighed, and stretched.

“Oh, come on. I can see you’re dying to share. It’s just that big, fat, stubborn head of yours getting in the way.”

“Why so annoying, girl?”

“They said something important, didn’t they? What was it? What'd they say?”

“So annoying. Girl. You trust Imperator?”

“I do, yes. That’s kinda what I’ve been saying this entire time. Look, I get that it’s hard to believe, but he's changed. He doesn’t do things like normal Imperators.”

“Take me.”

“Really? To the fort?”

“Don't make me repeat. Annoying. Girl.”

“Sure, sure, sure,” Erin nodded and jumped into action.

“Where you going?”

“What, didn't you just?” Erin turned, halting her hurried march.

“Now?”

“Sooner the better, isn't it? What about the cultists?”

“Need things. Can’t leave babies.”

“Oh, right,” Erin nodded. “Well, let’s get packing then.”

“Fine,” Trayox grunted.

“You still don’t want to go, do you? Delaying it won't make it any easier,” Erin wagged a finger.

“Shut mouth. Annoying girl.”