Dystopia Pt. 05

Chapter 20

*** This chapter is dedicated to all my readers, but especially Horseman68 and Brittany. I never anticipated anyone reading my stories, not to mention the rabid intensity that some of you seem to appreciate my work. I'm beyond humbled and grateful, and please know that all credit for this story can be placed at the feet of the fans. Thank you so much for your support!***

Markem woke to banging. Grumbling to himself he rolled out of the comfortable, if lumpy, bed and cracked the door and peered one bleary eye out into the hallway.

"Breakfast is ready Mr. Markem, and Master Emil wants you dressed to attend him during morning chores," the slave girl told him.

Markem grunted his acknowledgement and padded his way to the washroom for his morning ablutions. Over the years he had developed the practice of washing his face in the morning to keep him presentable and help wake him up. Something he had never considered in the pleasantries of the south though, was water temperature.

On instinct Markem splashed his face with water from the washbowl, and all the air was sucked from his body as the frigid water shocked him to his core. Now more alert than he had been in years, and unable to feel his face, he quickly dressed in the sweaters and his coat that had been left in his room. Breakfast was a simple affair of grits with slices of fruit that he wolfed down before he pulled on his boots and went outside to find Emil.

He did his best to ignore the howling wind, and frigid air as he looked about for Emil following the fence line to the west, around the side of the house. He caught up with him as he was leaving the sheep and heading towards the goat pen.

"Morning sunshine! Glad to see you up and about. The day starts pretty early on the ranch, since we can only work during daylight. Days are short in the winter, so that's nice; but the cold keeps things interesting."

Markem plastered a smile on his face but quietly seethed at Emil's upbeat attitude. He was used to working long nights and early mornings, but one thing he could never stand were morning people. What kind of monster could just hop out of bed first thing in the morning and be awake and happy? He was fairly certain that if there was a higher power, he put those people on the planet just to torment him.

He followed Emil around as he told him about the sheep; their breed, common sicknesses, feeding habits and the like. Markem nodded along but only listened with half an ear. Feed sheep, broken legs bad. Not rocket surgery.

"Make sense?" Emil asked after finishing his short lesson.

"Very much. Seems pretty simple."

"Great! Lets see how much you remember. Why don't you go ahead and check the goats."

Markem nodded and clambered over the fence. Unlike the sheep, the goats were spread out and seemed completely oblivious to the snow and wind. He approached the nearest couple and visually checked them for the blisters Emil described, and closed in to check for split hooves.

One of the goats stared at him like he had grown horns himself. Out of nowhere, the goat reared up and headbutt him in the gut. He had no time to react. He went tumbling ass over teakettle across the frozen grass and snow. He caught himself and launched to his feet, his fighter reflexes taking over. He stared at the goat in shock, trying to understand what he had done to earn the animal's ire.

A shovel landed at his feet. His head snapped around to find Emil standing at the fenceline, a knowing smile stretching his face.

"Goats are territorial assholes. Don't kill them, but they have some pretty thick skulls. Bop 'em on the head if they get too close." Emil chuckled.

Markem snatched up the shovel and warily made his way past the goat, who was staring at him as if preparing to charge again. He edged sideways along the fence, only to be taken out by another goat from behind. He went sprawling face first in the snow. That one had hurt! He jumped up with a snarl and swung the shovel in a wide arc, but it hit nothing but air. The goat that rammed him was a few feet off munching grass as if it didn't have a care in the world.

Markem's knuckles cracked as his hands tightened around the shovel. Red was starting to tint his vision, until he heard a sharp whistle grab his attention.

"Alright, you've had enough fun. Stop playing, they seem to be fine. Let go check the lines and then I'll show you the garage and we'll be done for this morning."

Markem practically leaped over the fence, in his zeal to escape the goats.

'Coulda warned me about the fucking goats, asshole.' Markem seethed to himself at the indignity of being taken out by livestock, but the really infuriating part was Emil standing there and snickering at him.

"The barn serves as toolshed, and rabbit warren in a way. We keep them in here most of the time, but I don't like them out in a storm like this. They can handle normal temperature changes ok, but when we get hammered like this we'd lose a lot. As soon as the storm blows out, we'll have to relocate them back here and clean up the disaster they're making of my mudroom."

'Alright, at least it's not standard to keep the pets in the house,' Markem thought to himself. 'Still a fucking hick though.'

Emil showed him around the barn, which was hardly spacious but was extremely well organized. Sure these people may have been simple ranchers, but they obviously had pride in their work and put a fair amount of thought into it. Markem actually found himself nodding along and trying to think of ways to further improve optimization of the buckets of spare parts stacked in the corner.

"Last and most important of course is, my truck. Now, she's my baby and very delicate. I don't want anyone touching her under any circumstances. Understand?"

"Of course Mr. Jackson, but please let me assure you, I've been fully trained on the operation of such vehicles. My old unit had three similar trucks that we used for hauling feed or transporting nobles," Markem retorted. 'As if I would damage the only way in or out of this frozen hellhole. I swear to the Twins, there's going to be singing snowmen any second.'

"All the same if you don't mind, she's my baby and I'll be the only one to look under her skirt, or take her for a ride. Think of it this way, one less task I will ask of you" Emil grinned at him as if to say "you should thank me for this favor" and it made Markem's blood boil. He was used to being insulted to his face though, and kept his composure. At least, as much composure as he could while shivering uncontrollably and hopping from foot to foot.

The tour wasn't long thankfully, since they were only touring the main buildings. Emil pointed out the cistern on a tower next to the roof, and explained that it would need inspection and maintenance after the storm and that would be Markem's first real task. It wasn't anything special, just a large barrel essentially. The dark wood was held in place with thick iron straps, and held aloft on large posts. A simple, but effective design and he was sure that the fixes would be even simpler.

They tromped back inside and tried to knock as much of the ice off their coats as possible, before taking them inside and hanging them up over the bathroom to hopefully drip dry. A few seconds later Markem was huddled in front of his pot-bellied stove, trying to rub life back into his fingers. A delicate knock drew his attention away from the flickering fire.

"Mr. Markem? Lunch is nearly ready," came the slave's voice from the doorway.

"I'll be right there," he said without bothering to look up. A quiet shuffling of feet told of her departure, but dry socks were more important. Dry socks were life.

'I'm going to have to look into better boots. I wonder if I can talk Emil into buying them before the season is out. Could really use them to deal with this godawful white bullshit.'

A few minutes later Markem stumbled on frozen nubs into the kitchen and slouched into a chair. He was a soldier damnit, he regularly pounded thieves into the ground and could go toe to toe with some of the best armsmasters south of the 30th parallel. He could run a mile flat out before his vision started to go, and he could fight with several different kinds of ranged weapons and any weapon with an edge. But this cold. This cold was next level. It sapped his strength and breathing was like little saw blades in his lungs.

'How do these people stand living in this nightmare?'

The girl returned quickly with a small bowl of some of last night's soup. It was still quite good, even if it would never grace the table of a paying customer, and he wondered idly about the chunks of vegetables and meat that he spotted.

'Hopefully goat,' he snickered to himself.

Steam wafted from the top of the bowl, and Markem barely waited for the girl to put it on the table before he was shoveling mouthful after blessed mouthful down his gullet. The heat seeped into his stomach and immediately made him sweat, covered in layers as he was; but nothing compared to finally being warm. You don't realize how much you take little luxuries, like sensation in your extremities, for granted until suddenly they are missing. He hadn't been proper warm in weeks, huddling in allys with barely a penny to his name. Since he'd struck his bargain with Emil however, he had been fed, given a place to sleep, and warmed inside and out.

Oh yes. This was going quite well.

"Girl, what is your name again?" he mumbled around his spoon of soup.

"It's Isla, Mr. Markem," she said quietly without meeting his gaze or kneeling while speaking to him as proper slaves did.

Markem studied her. Her hair was straight and black, or at least what he could see under the scarf that she had wrapped artfully around her head. Her clothes were all poorly fitted, with her pants being both too narrow and too long. The coat was easily sized for someone much larger than her, probably hand-me-downs from Emil's cast offs.

He nodded and returned to his soup without any further comments. She was poorly trained, and god only knew what diseases she might be carrying slumming it up here with the stable boy, but none of that mattered in the long run. Hell, she probably had hoof and mouth, just like the rest of those goats.

Markem was nearly done with his first serving of soup when Emil came around the corner of the hallway. The man quickly slumped in the chair across from Markem and was presented with a large bowl of soup from the same pot and a small apple slice.

'Of course he gets apples and I don't. Fuck I hate him,' he swore internally. Seeing the casual air that Emil and Isla shared, even going so far as to eat at the same table at the same time, he had hoped that working for Emil would be a step up from working for Lord Aldridge, but no. Once again he found himself gritting his teeth and pushing down his rage at the small slight.

'Just be patient,' he thought. Aloud he asked, "So Mr. Jackson, beyond the feeding and checking of the animals, what else can we accomplish during the storm?"

Emil sipped at his soup with a thoughtful expression.

"Well the main thing we need to do is check the fence. The goats are always getting out, or ripping it down and they'll cause all sorts of havoc if they can. It's going to suck though, it's a lot of fence. Before that, let's see if we can get you some better clothes. Your coat is impressive, but it's not designed for our home up here. I think I have a spare coat somewhere."

Emil nodded almost to himself, and muttered as if lost in thought, "...can never have too many coats."

Markem felt relief wash through him. Shivering his way through the tour this morning had been less than pleasant. A few more mouthfuls of soup and he extended his bowl to the slave for a refill.

Before the girl could even reach out, Emil stopped her.

"Apologies Markem, you're not from here. When it storms like this we have to ration ourselves. You never know when a storm could set in for weeks, and stretching our food supply is required. Thankfully we only do that when it's storming. It's not so bad once you get used to it, the lack of work means you need less food anyway. Besides, we're just watching the portions. We're still gonna eat plenty."

Markem seethed internally. "Of course Mr. Jackson."

"We can't have you getting sick though, did you get an apple?"

The slave spoke up from where she stood in the kitchen, "Master, we are out of apples, and almost all our other fruits. Your apple was the last."

Emil blanched and leaned back in his chair. "Well shit. Gonna have to hit town sooner than I hoped. I have beans, but I want to save those for a real emergency, and we need fruits to keep our energy up."

With a sigh Emil picked up his bowl and drained the last of the soup and handed it to the girl. "Thanks Isla, delicious again."

"Of course Master."

"Come on Markem, lets see what I have in my closet that fits."

Emil shoved back from the table and walked into the hallway, with Markem close behind. Unexpectedly, they didn't head into the master bedroom like he thought, but Emil barged right into Markem's own room. Heading to the wall next to the bed, Emil pulled on a rope handle that opened a closet that he'd previously missed.

Emil began pulling out various heavy shirts and pants for Markem, and they were a little baggy but fit well enough. Sadly the coat that he had was several sizes too small, fitted more for a large child than an adult. Emil didn't even bother asking Markem to try it on, instead just glaring at it and dragging it along with him as he left the room.

They walked over to the master bedroom where the slave was tidying up. Markem took note of the hanging cot on the wall for her to sleep, and was mildly surprised to find a modest bookshelf with a couple dozen books.

Emil tossed the coat on the bed and headed over to his closet. There was even less in here than in the storage in the other room. There was a single coat and it was a little smaller than the one Emil was currently wearing, but it looked like it would fit him no problem.

Emil rubbed the sleeve for a minute lost in thought, then shook his head and tossed it to Markem. "Try that on."

Thankfully it did fit and was much thicker than his uniform coat. There was even a hood that had been lined with wool, and some decorative stitching along the cuffs. Nothing fancy, but it was a very solid and well made jacket.

"Thank you Mr. Jackson. This is much nicer than the one I have," Markem said with genuine appreciation.

Emil just nodded and turned to the slave. "Isla, could you do me a favor and see what you can do with my old coat? It's too small for any of us, but I don't want to waste the materials. Take a look and let me know if we can salvage or repurpose any of it."

The girl nodded, "Of course Master."

Emil turned back to him, "I can't do anything about your boots sadly. I only have the two pairs and they're the wrong size for you."

Markem cheered internally. He needed to find a way to bring that up and here it was on a silver platter. "I was thinking perhaps I could accompany you to town and perhaps pick up some better footwear there. The town does have a cobbler, correct?"

"Yeah, Tack's a decent sort too. Quiet, but he does good work." Emil nodded, making his decision. "I'll bring you to town with me, that does seem best. Do you have the coin for a decent set of boots? They can be several gold for the good ones."

Markem blanched. "That's the price of a Lord's pair of boots!"

Emil shrugged. "They're probably a lot thicker and warmer than what you're used to in the south. More durable too. Can't skimp on good footwear though. Gotta protect your feet or you're useless."

Markem bristled at that, but was barely able to keep his temper under control. "I may have to draw against my incoming funds Mr. Jackson, as I seem to be a few silver short."

'Calling me useless already?! What, are you gonna try to kick me out after we made a deal, you little piece of shit? I eat people like you for breakfast.'

Emil nodded, completely unaware of his rage. "Sure, that's no problem. We'll head out tomorrow, but for now... back to chore'in."

The tour of the fence line was miserable. The wind was whipping and the small wet flakes of snow stung his eyes something fierce. The pens were also far larger than he expected, stretching off into the distance beyond the snow. Thankfully the goats were actually staying in a smaller internal pen that was closer to the house, and they only needed to check the smaller fence and get a headcount.

By the time they had finished the sky was much darker, and Markem could barely make out the fence they were using as a guide to find the house. When they stumbled back inside, his feet were completely numb and he was having trouble walking. Emil shouldered the mudroom door open and before either of them could so much as twitch, one of the rabbits slipped outside and hopped past both of them, sprinting off into the distance. Markem knew what was coming, and suppressing his groan he turned to begin chasing the annoying but of fluff.

"Hang on Markem. Step in the mudroom, out of the wind."

Markem didn't hesitate. He hadn't been this exhausted since he was training under Arms Sergeant Yockey. He was used to hard work, but he had never trained in this kind of cold. Most of their training was how to fight against ranged opponents when you didn't have a rifle or bow yourself; and water based infiltration. He immediately turned and stumbled into the mudroom and huddled against the wall.

Emil just stood there, rubbing his hands to keep warm. For a few seconds they both just stood there staring at each other and nudging the occasional rabbit back into the room with their boots. Right as Markem was opening his mouth to ask what the hell they were doing, the rabbit hopped back into the mudroom all on its own.

Emil just quietly closed the exterior door and walked into the house, with him only a few inches behind.

"How did you know he would simply hop back into the room? Are they trained or something?" Markem asked as they shucked their outerwear.

"It's cold outside. They like the warm just as much as you do, and they are herd animals. Rabbits may not study the weather, but they know where the warm is."

Nodding, Markem felt slightly foolish at such an obvious answer. Walking into the kitchen they were greeted with large bowls each of soup and a piping hot loaf of bread. His mouth started watering at the veritable feast before him. It was humble, sure... but damn it smelled good.

"Oh! You made bread! I didn't know you could do that Isla," Emil stated with great enthusiasm.

"Yes Master, my mother taught me. I used the flour you had, mixed in a little water and yeast, then fried it. I added a few seeds I found that tasted pretty good." She pointed to small black flecks that dotted the surface. "I don't know what they are, but they're quite good. I think I'll include them in the next soup pot."

Emil picked up the bread and took a deep sniff. "Garlic! These are garlic seeds. Rare to find, but once planted are self perpetuating, like onions." Taking a bite he moaned in a nearly obscene manner. "Oh dats gud. Oh man, I haven't had some good bread like this in," pausing for a second with that trademark faraway look Markem had taken to associate with the tiny campfire that ran Emil's brain, "a long time."

Taking a bite himself, it was actually quite palatable. He'd had better of course, but that was several months and a few hundred miles ago. "It's actually pretty good. Maybe a pinch more salt in the future, but otherwise it's damn close to what some of the restaurants I've been to."