A Desperate Plan: A Desperate Plan

By Victoria Bitters and Jessica L Lim

Plague casts a dire shadow across the continent. This terrible disease preserves its victims even after death. Every attempt to cure or neutralize the plague only spreads it further. Only the Inventors Guild has a plan to destroy the sickness - with science. It all begins with

• Language: English
• Publisher: Dex Greenbright
• Release date: Jun 28, 2022
• ISBN: 9781087952598

Book preview

When in Ukketia

By Victoria Bitters

A gas miner sat on his heels and exhaled slowly, smoke hanging heavily in the humid air. As pungent as the leaf he consumed was, it did little to cut through the dank smell of the swamp. Rotting vegetation, stagnant water, and churned muck roiled in the heat of the day and simmered by night. The smoke did serve to keep the insects at bay for a time, however. The workers took smoke breaks at every opportunity.

With only fifty of them – fifty-two, including the foreman and the too-slick Company representative – those breaks were not as often as the workers would like. Nor as often as would be demanded by a Guild contract, but the compensation was, well, money. Lots of it. Certainly more than any regular job would pay, and with no tithe to the Guild, either.

Called insistently back to his labor, the man sighed and pinched out the roll-up. Picking up his mask, he made a face as he dragged it over his head. It filtered out the toxic natural gasses that seeped out, but it stank of his own sweat and all sorts of unpleasant-but-not-deadly components of the air. Technological innovations every day, it seemed, but a really effective air filtration method? Not interesting enough for those damned tinkerers to work on, apparently.

The group the man rejoined was in the dewatering stage of an already-dug seam. First another crew sunk a wide pipe down to the bed of the swamp. The water was then pumped out so they could get the drill in, down through the porous sediment to the more resistant rock that trapped the gas. It was a battle, but the Company man couldn’t hide his satisfaction at the volume they were extracting. The workers had no complaints – well, actually, they had a lot of complaints, but nothing they’d be willing to quit over, not with the bonuses they were tallying up. It was in the Company’s interests to keep the workers happy – and quiet.

Officially, they weren’t supposed to be here. On the edge of two countries, the land was legally Shunniran. The Company was Teraltian and had scouted the land on the right side of the border. They’d found small seams of the wondrous gas. Apparently, you could get a lot of energy out of a little bit of this stuff. It got a number of people fired up. Sometimes literally – more than one test had ended explosively. And this was just with a trickle of the stuff. Calculations predicted a large deposit under the Ukketia Swamp. In Shunnira. A country that didn’t see eye to eye with the Company. Polluted rivers, despoiled farmlands – fines were paid, but there were still sanctions that would make it very costly for the Company to even apply for a permit to perform a survey, for gods’ sakes.

The swamp wasn’t exactly a hugely popular or populated area. No one lived there; no one derived their livelihood from the place. The boundary could be considered – from the perspective of a certain Company man – a mere formality. So a few surreptitious surveymen were sent in and came back with news that really stirred up the Inventors Guild.

Apparently the Order of Scholars’ estimates of the volume of gas had been on the conservative side.

That was more than a month ago and they’d been working this portion of the swamp for nearly three weeks. Sink a pipe, drain it, drill, dewater, extract, move over a hundred meters or so and repeat. There were miles upon twisting miles of swamp. At this rate, the company could probably afford to pay all the fines Shunnira could dream up if they got caught.

Better still if they didn’t get caught, of course.

It wasn’t all profit, though. There were some significant costs associated with the whole endeavor. There was wear on equipment and the occasional –

The drill whined

Shouting, increasingly urgent

The drill snapped

A scream, cut off

– accident.

The workers were in disarray, but only briefly. The last crew on break came back and helped clear the accident site.

Two bodies were removed and a third man was handed off to the tender mercies of whoever was on shift in the doctoring tent. Not that the Company paid to bring in a doctor. Anyone with a bit of practice winding a bandage or setting a bone more or less straight was eligible for duty, getting them out of the thick of it, which led to exaggerations of skills. Most workers survived, anyway.

Those who’d drawn the lot for last rites, such as they were, dragged their former fellows to a more peaty section of the swamp. The grounds weren’t exactly laid out carefully, lumpy mounds only roughly parallel to each other clustered to the side of the clearing closest to the dig.

Just past the last of the previous rows, the man in the lead dropped his burden, swearing and slapping at the insects biting his shoulder.

Zia-novalla take this rutting place! This is far enough.

Scowling, he took up a sharp-edged shovel. The other workers shrugged and lowered their loads as well. The task went quickly with four men stabbing at the soil, loose but shot through with roots. Once they dredged an oblong ditch a few feet deep, they shifted the bodies into the shallow grave and slung the sod back on top. If there were any gaps, the men cut down swathes of the heavy moss that draped every vertical surface to stuff in, slapping it down with the flat of the shovel.

Sweating heavily, flecked with dirt and bits of bracken, the men retreated from the haphazard cemetery.

Glancing at the other mounds as they wended their way back between – or, in the case of the particularly ill-tempered and unsqueamish, over – them, one man muttered,

Those look, dunno, messed with?

The man pointed to several mounds at the edge of the makeshift graveyard showing signs that animals had gotten to them. Swamp fungus coated the exposed, gray limbs riddled with large bite marks. The whole place smelled strongly of decay.

Another scoffed without looking.

Who’s gonna mess with some poor slurry when there’s costlier muck to dig up?

Nah, I didn’t mean–

You dregs wanna chat in these cozy settings or you wanna finish that game of Trickster’s Hand? Not like we get extra rest time – leave these poor misbegots to theirs.

Grumbling and sniping at each other, the men left, their voices blending in with the whine of insects.

Spores and gnats drifted down in clouds, sifting through the stray rays of sunlight and settling on the bracken and dirt. The humid air weighted down the idle motes and the buzzing swarms fought to stay aloft. The iridescent gleam of wings glinted, as did eyes from the undergrowth.

The bushes rustled as, snorting and snuffling, a bristled boar emerged.

Its beady eyes were intent on the hastily interred bodies. It began to root, sending muck flying. More grunting forms trotted out of the shadows. Sharp squeals rose as the beasts jostled and fought over their feast. Their hooves churned up the fetid filth, exposing more decay and flesh colonized by pale fungus. The sickly-sweet meat sent the boars into a frenzy. They bit and gored one another to gain more of the putrid prize.

The tumult was drowned out by the sound of the drill resuming back at the camp.

* * *

Ananya’s shifty balls! That rutting sausage bit me!

Gored. It got its tusks in you, not its teeth.

Tusks are teeth, you idiot motherless–

Those on doctoring duty took to sedating workers who ran afoul of the wild boars. If the sedation techniques were a bit rough, the injured workers usually got their own back after hours. The swamp soaked up each round of bloody offerings.

Boar became the preferred menu from that point on.

* * *

You hear those swine last night?

I thought that was your ma making her rounds.

Chortles and an irritable fist fight broke out.

* * *

I swear, those snouty diggers got a longing for Ershk-gula. It’s getting where I might go off pork, we’ve had so many volunteers for dinner.

I might go off pork just ‘cause the taste. Something ain’t right with pigs that don’t learn when all their fellows keep getting killed attacking us.

They’re dumb animals. What do you expect?

I expect to be able to step out for a smoke or a piss without having to fend off a fat brute looking for a fight.

That’s what your mates say about you.

Sod off, you rutting–

The exchange moved from trading insults to punches. Too long days, too hot weather, and the ever-present stink were blamed for stirring up festering tempers. None suspected their actions to be anything more serious. Fights became more frequent as the weeks rolled on.

* * *

When workers began falling sick, they were assumed to be exhausted. Some bargained with the doctors for whatever medicines would let them keep working, eager to make more money. Others were happy enough to take their earnings and be sent home, sworn to silence under threat of having their wages garnished and being served papers by the disciples of justice.

Weeks later, the remaining miners heard reports of a deadly new illness in their homeland. Reports quickly denied as rumor by the foreman and the Company’s representative.



Spirit Stories

By Dex Greenbright

Nialla trudged up the muddy trail behind her traveling companions. The mountain peaks they sought still loomed ahead, while smoke rose from the valley they fled. The plague had touched every town she knew. Those who remained burned the homes of the dead. Nialla knew it wouldn’t stop the death from spreading. She’d seen it before. She was already packed when Marcus came to her with a plan to find refuge in the mountains.

She and Marcus had been friends since childhood. When she moved to Ferwuth, he was the only one to visit her. When she moved back, running from the plague, his family treated her like a beloved sister. Nialla was heartbroken when Marcus’s wife died. It was not the plague that took her, but a simple flu. Marcus’s son Duncan blamed Nialla for the death. Others in the town blamed her too. They said she brought death with her. Marcus was the only one who stood up for her, though she could tell a part of him blamed her too.

The rest of the group kept their distance from her. Likely for that same reason. Most of them refused to even speak to her. When they did, it was generally unkind. Especially from Tera, the daughter of the local governor. The girl’s face was locked in a permanent expression of disdain. Her marriage to Brock, the son of a top advisor in the Emperor’s council, was arranged before she was a year old. These types of things usually were.

Tera sneered down at Nialla from the rocks above the main trail.

Why do you continue to follow us? You are obviously plague-slowed, trapper.

As I’ve said, I’m as clean as any of you.

Old Ellenor spat on the trailside.

Clean? I see the way you look at the miller.

Nialla yanked her boot out of the mud. They had been walking for three days straight. If not for her loyalty to Marcus, she would have set out on her own by now. Hers was the only gun among them.

Marcus and I are like siblings. Unlike how your daughter-in-law trades glances with Duncan.

I’ll deal with her sins later.

Tera gasped.

My sins? I’ve done nothing!

Brock growled at the three of them.

Stop your squawking. You’ll bring the wolves down on us.

Nialla rolled her eyes, but reached for the strap of her rifle all the same. There hadn’t been reports of wolves in the Perragron mountains in a generation. Bandits were a different story.

The silence Brock had bought them was broken a few minutes later when Duncan cleared his throat.

I would like to say, sir, that I would never disrespect you or your lovely wife with traded looks or anything else.

How then do you say my wife is lovely?

Duncan was left stammering. Nialla snickered. The boy walked right into that one.

Marcus came to his son’s rescue.

Leave it, Brock. It’s an expression. You’ve used it many a time.

Hmmph.

The group stopped to make camp late in the afternoon. Nialla skinned the morning’s catch with her hunting knife, then left to set new traps while the others built a fire to cook the rabbits. Each day they ate what she caught. It was how she knew they would never truly turn on her, despite the talk. They relied on her skills.

She returned to camp after setting up five traps in the surrounding forest. She hoped to find something larger than rabbits and squirrels tomorrow morning. The air was filled with the scent of roast rabbit with herbs. She took a seat next to Marcus. Brock was distributing the last of the ale he had brought. It was the only comfort of home that remained. Unsurprisingly, the drinks ran out before reaching her and Duncan.

There was little pleasant chatter during the meal. Whenever her husband’s face was buried in his mug, Tera snuck a wink or fluttered her eyes.

Emboldened by the flirting, Duncan puffed out his chest and addressed the group.

Some day soon, I’ll be one of the windswept of Caelspyr.

Marcus tore the leg off his portion and pointed it at his son.

The floating cities are no place for the likes of us.

Hard workers?

Those of a lower class. Brock and Tera, they would be welcomed. Not you and not me.

The firelight highlighted Duncan’s reddening face.

I’ll apply to the Inventors Guild. I’ve got the mind for mechanics. You can’t stop me.

You’ll be tossed to the underside without a second glance. I will not see my son reduced to near-slavery!

Brock interrupted the argument with a laugh.

"He’s right. Even Tera would be in danger without my connections. The floating cities are for the rich. But, perhaps you should go up there and see for yourself. You would wear ash and grime well."

Duncan slammed his plate onto the ground. He stormed off.

Tera stood up as well, giving her husband a scathing look.

Who are you to stomp on a man’s dreams? Does the plague not tear us down enough?

Brock gripped his meal as if to kill it a second time.

Where are you going?

To bring him back. Do you think we will survive this journey if his father turns us away?

The group’s leader said nothing, letting the perceived threat of abandonment in the forest stand. Nialla knew the kind-hearted miller would not let them come to harm under his watch. Although, she thought, perhaps the nobles had finally worn her friend’s patience as thin as her own. Even his son had been especially grating of late.

Marcus took his son’s plate with his own and Nialla’s and left to wash them away from camp. She knew he loved his son. His strict views were meant to keep the boy safe. But, after the death of his wife, there had only been animosity between father and son.

Once Tera disappeared into the forest, Ellenor muttered loudly to herself under her breath.

How my son remains with that whore, I do not know.

Brock grunted.

This arrangement was your doing, mother, but the shame would be mine if we parted.

As if anyone would know, here in the mountains.

Nialla pretended not to hear either of them. Once Marcus was settled in wherever the group ended up, she would make her own way. Staying in the midst of this drama was not worth the stress.

The only thing cooler than the feelings she had for her traveling companions was the weather. The wind blew in from the north. It would rain again soon. The chill brought Duncan and Tera back to the fire before long. Tera pulled up a new log so that she could sit alone.

Duncan wore a grin. The first Nialla had seen since his mother died. He clapped his hands together as he stared into the fire.

I must apologize. This plague has us all on edge. But, the fire is warm and we are all of us clean.

Tera scoffed.

Except the trapper, you mean.

Duncan raised his voice to keep Nialla from taking the bait.

This night reminds me of the ones from better times. Trading stories with newcomers to the village around a communal fire. They were always full of adventure. Now we’re on an adventure of our own. We should share stories of our own.

Brock mysteriously found more ale to pour into his mug, and took a long drink.

Those tales were not made for these dark times. I have the perfect one. It’s true, too.

Nialla raised her collar to protect against the wind, and settled in to listen to Brock’s tale.

* * *

When Teraltis was new, these mountains were home to a dozen warring gangs. Their ruined camps litter the foothills. The most feared gang was led by a vicious bandit queen. She was known for razing whole villages. The fort she built was decorated with