Firstborn of the Frontier

Conflicted.

That was the best word Errol could come up with for how he felt. Conflicted. Sure was satisfying to see Richard get what’s coming, and more for his goons who backed him up, but that wasn’t what Errol wanted. If it was, he’d have fought them himself the first time they tried to push him around. He didn’t because the good book said to turn the other cheek. An eye for an eye left the whole world blind after all, a lesson he learned was all too true. Losing his temper caused him to miss out on the chance to become an American Ranger and join in on their efforts to tame the wild Frontier after all.

To say he had no regrets would be a lie, but he couldn’t walk away after hearing Richard badmouth Sarah Jay like he did.

Then Howie came striding in to dole out a beatdown for all the wrong reasons, leaving Errol feeling how he did. Would things have turned out like this if he’d stood up to Richard earlier? Weeks of insults and verbal abuse had taken its toll, so when that racist little weasel started talking shit about Sarah Jay, Errol had just snapped. He went overboard breaking Richard’s jaw and stomping on his arm like he did, things he never would have thought himself capable of, and he could only blame it all the repressed anger. Was it a mistake to live and let live? Or was his mistake giving in to anger? Howie did it too, and no one seemed all too concerned that something might come of it. They’d all put the fight behind them as they headed home for the night, not saying one word about Richard or his goons once they were out of sight.

Which seemed wrong, but Errol couldn’t quite say why, and the weight of his doubts sat heavily upon him.

It’d been such a great day too, right up until Richard showed up. A good hearty breakfast to kick things off, followed by a fight against harpies to get the blood pumping. Then they spent an hour or two at the gun range, which Errol always found relaxing, and had an amazing lunch cooked by Aunty Ray. After that, there was a whole festival to top things off, one that was bigger and better than anything he’d ever seen in his life, yet thrown together in less than half a day. Wasn’t a matter of scale or different types of events that made it so amazing, but the way everyone came together to laugh, celebrate, and make merry. Without any tension mind you, as he spent the whole night hand in hand with Sarah Jay and didn’t get harassed for it was. Wasn’t anyone coming up to ask if she was okay, or worse, giving them both dirty looks as they passed. No whispered discussions, no disapproving lectures, no one turning them away from their booths or offering unwarranted ‘advice’. Hell, there were even people who came up to thank them for their efforts against the harpies, bringing them food and drinks and smiles aplenty.

One stocky white lady named Patricia stood out, as she’d patted their cheeks with the sweetest look in her eyes while saying how they were just a lovely couple.

It was a world of difference from his two months in Basic. It wasn’t that everyone there was racist like Richard, but those that weren’t didn’t seem to care about what he said. After he found out about them, he made it sound like the whole world would be against their relationship, and after getting booted out of the Rangers, he thought there might be something to it. Taking a step back, there wasn’t a single boot who was kind enough to sit with him and say, “Hey, Richard’s an asshole.”

No one besides Sarah Jay at least. That’s all it took really, a few words of support, and it made a world of difference. Helped him feel like he wasn’t alone here in New Hope, that there were people who didn’t see eye to eye with the hateful racist and didn’t think Errol was some criminal in the making. Logically, he understood why no one wanted to be around him. He was their scapegoat, Richard’s favoured victim, meaning he and his goons were usually busy making Errol’s life miserable, leaving the rest free and clear. For a time, he carried that burden with pride, because he felt he could handle it, be the shield defending the others. He even made it a point to step up when he saw that sanctimonious prick bothering someone else, and soon enough, he had Richard’s full attention. Small stuff really, like snide comments, hidden shoes, messing with his kit and ‘pranks’ that were just mean, rather than funny, but the instructors didn’t let anyone get away with too much.

As the weeks wore on though, so too did Errol’s nerves. Being in Basic was hard enough, what with the gruelling exercises and mind-numbing drills on top of the constant shouting from sergeants who were meaner and more vicious than Richard could ever be. It wasn’t anything malicious, but the sergeants’ demanded perfection and anything less earned you demerits, which were worked off with more exercise and drills. A button out of place, a boot lace too long, a faint shadow of stubble on your face, that’s all it took to set one of them off, and they all had long, demeaning tirades just ready and waiting for every possible infraction you could imagine.

Besides Richard’s hateful comments of course. Mostly because the little weasel was careful. He never said anything too out of line in earshot of anyone who mattered, and only rarely used actual slurs. Combined with his stellar performance in most exercises, Richard played his part of model recruit to perfection, right up until he found out about Errol and Sarah Jay and had a public meltdown. They’d been dating in secret for more than a month, stealing away for quick kisses and whispered conversations whenever they could. A necessity, since the Rangers had warned them against that sort of thing on day one, but theirs wasn’t the only secret relationship in boot camp.

Was the only one between a black man and a white woman though, which was felt like the reason why the Rangers washed Errol out and kept Richard on after his very public tirade in the mess hall. Bunch of bullshit is what it was, and like Errol told Howie, it was hardly surprising given the U.F.A’s history, but it was the first time he truly saw how deeply embedded the racism really was. Other than Sarah Jay, no other boot stood up for Errol, forgetting all the times he stood up for them, and the Rangers conveniently overlooked everything Richard said and did just to get rid of the only black recruit they had. As for Howie’s beatdown on Richard, it wasn’t done to stand up for Errol. It happened because Howie didn’t like being called ‘kid’, simple as that. The rest was just an excuse, the hateful tirade overlooked and waved aside.

Made a man feel small and alone when no one would come out and refute the racist, like they all agreed with Richard but were just too polite to say it out loud. Hell, maybe they did.

It wasn’t like this was his first time dealing with something like this, but back home, he had a community to rely on. The outpost only had about fifty people in total, most of whom were black too, but every colour was represented besides yellow. Father Nicolas said that was because most Asian countries had been conquered by the Qin Empire, and thus shared their isolationist policies right up until the Second World War, meaning most of those countries had only been in contact with the rest of the world for less than fifty years before the Advent. Otherwise, Errol thought all settlements would be as welcoming as his little village back home, but his trip to New Hope showed him different. Was a rude awakening to have some stranger warn him against stealing or grumbling about letting a ‘coloured’ man sleep under their roof. Even more eye opening was the fact that aside from one predominantly black community along the way, which the sailors made sure to point out, Errol could’ve counted the number of black people he came across the entire trip on two hands.

Was disheartening to be treated like this, which was why today felt like a much-needed break from it all, right up until Richard came along and ruined it all.

That’s what was on his mind as he kissed his girl goodnight on Aunty Ray’s porch. It was just him and Sarah Jay out there, as Aunty Ray had dragged Howie inside after seeing his bloodied knuckles. Tina’s fault that, as she’d insisted he carry her home once they were at Howie’s door, saying he’d done the same for Chrissy that morning and owed her as much. The other boots in Basic would kill for a chance to get that close to Tina, but Howie made a face like he was mucking cows instead of carrying the most popular girl in town. Still carried her home anyways, which was how Aunty Ray spotted his scraped knuckles and insisted on cleaning them to keep them from getting infected, all the while scolding him for getting into yet another fight.

It was clear she loved him like her own, and Howie cared about her too. Now there was a sight to remember, the Firstborn all poleaxed and panicked at the sight of gorgeous Aunty Ray marching up on him earlier this afternoon. A big difference from the calm, cold gunfighter who faced down harpies earlier that day, the mean tough who struck a blow to Richard’s ego, or the furious devil who beat those goons bloody and bruised.

Soon as Howie came back out with a sheepish slouch, Sarah Jay gave Errol one last kiss before heading inside with a smile. She was too giddy and excited to start riding with the Firstborn to notice Errol’s distraction, and he didn’t blame her for it. It’d been a long, eventful day, but even though the good far outweighed the bad, he couldn’t help but fixate on the worst of it. It was so distracting, that he didn’t even make it through Howie’s front door before he just had to ask. “Hey,” he began, before realizing he didn’t know the right words to say it. “That thing, with Richard…”

“Yea?” Eyebrow raised in amusement, Howie smiled and waited with his hand on the doorknob for Errol to get his thoughts together.

“You got pretty mad when he called you kid.” Scary mad, all grim and dark in mood and gaze. Made him look like a different person almost, more like the Firstborn Errol had imagined after hearing so many different stories.

“Suppose I did,” Howie replied with a shrug. “Not exactly proud of the hair-trigger I got on my temper, and I been trying to fix it, but it is what it is. Older folks been calling me boy or kid for long as I can remember, and recently, the word’s taken on an ugly tone, one I don’t much care for. It’s partially why I’m fixing on starting my own crew rather than signing onto an existing one. Ain’t a respectable crew out there that will pay me what I’m worth, and the rest ain’t worth their salt to start with. Meaning most expect me to carry extra weight and get paid less for the privilege, which don’t sound appealing at all.”

“Yea.” Nodding along, Errol was once against awestruck by Howie’s ability to drive a conversation wherever he wanted it to go. “But uh… You didn’t seem all that mad when he called you… other things?”

“Like a savage, slant-eyed Qink?” Smiling like it was all some big joke, Howie shook his head and leaned against the door with arms crossed under his chest, calm and relaxed as can be. “So what? You think I ought to have been madder?”

“Well… yea.”

“Won’t say I was pleased, but one trigger word ought to be more than enough for anyone.” Giving another shrug, Howie said, “Besides, him saying as much was only showing how mad he was. Aside from the initial slip up, you notice how careful he was before all that, when he was insulting you? Nothing outright targeted at you, just saying how most were this way or how typically this sort of thing would end badly and whatnot. Garbage is what it is, but he present it like fact because he wishes it was and wants others to believe it too, so when he start throwing out them slurs, you know he right hopping mad.”

“And you don’t? Believe it, that is.”

That put a frown on Howie’s face, his head rocking back like he’d been struck. “Course not.” Glaring at Errol from behind a hurt expression, Howie asked, “I ever say or do anything to give you cause to think otherwise?”

“No, but you haven’t said anything in the other direction either.”

“So what?” Now it was Errol’s turn to go reeling back, struck by the direct bluntness of Howie’s retort. “I don’t go praising you for the colour of your skin, so I gotta think less of you because of it? That ain’t how it works Errol. The people who care about skin colour tend to be racists. The rest of us don’t pay it any mind, good or bad. I don’t argue against what little Dick says because he ain’t worth arguing with.” Shrugging, Howie continued, “I get it. Words hurt, and you been hurting awhile because of him. Then the Rangers go and wash you out, and you think they buy into all that white power drivel too. Not gonna lie, because it appears that some do, but while race is the crux of your issues, the outcome has more to do with politics than anything else.” Opening the door, Howie waved for Errol to come in before explaining what he’d learned about the matter inside, about Richard’s rich daddy and his connections. “So really,” he concluded, once their boots were off and they were both sitting at the kitchen table, “If you want to blame anything for how your situation turned out, it’s more to do with your lack of wealthy parents, not the colour of your skin.”

Those same words from another man would’ve earned him a punch to the jaw, but Howie’s grin was so disarming Errol couldn’t help but laugh and shake his head. The Firstborn had a way of saying odd, questionable, or irritating things with such exaggerated expressions, so even if it grated to hear, you couldn’t hate him for it. Also made it hard to take him seriously when he went deadpan and deliberate, like he did now. “Look,” Howie began, propping his head up with his hand. “It ain’t easy. Racism sucks. It’s also everywhere, even here in New Hope, and it only gets worse outside these walls. There will be more like little Dick, people who’ll judge you by how you look, call you all sorts of ugly names, and make life harder for you because of it. Doesn’t help that out there, it’s a predominantly white world. Well, technically, by the numbers, the Qin sent in the most settlers, more than three times the next largest group, but they was all young and without magic. Most died, and those that survived typically gathered up to breed like bunnies up in their isolationist communities, like the one on the southern edge of the badlands by the Knife’s Edge Mountains.”

There Howie went again, on another of his tangents, but something Errol noticed was the look on his face when he talked about the Qin. Disgust and revulsion, the same look Richard had that day he picked a fight and got Errol washed out, meaning Howie was speaking from personal experience when he said ‘everyone’s a little racist’. Strange for a Qin man to hate his own people, but Father Nicolas always said, “Judge not lest ye be judged.”

Noticing he’d gotten off track, Howie pivoted with, “What I’m trying to say is there ain’t much you can do about racists. They gonna hate you regardless, because you black and they don’t like that. That’s how it is, and it ain’t your fault. If you wasn’t black, they’d hate you for some other reason, real or imagined. I once spoke to a man in New Sonora who thought Mexicans were stealing all the jobs and a bunch of lazy criminals at the same time? It don’t make no sense, so it makes no sense to try and understand them.” Well on his way into having a one-man conversation, Howie continued, “And that garbage little Dick was spewing? Lazy? Violent? Drug addicts? Bad parents? Psh. You’ll find plenty of those in all colours all across the Frontier, so I don’t see what being black has got to do with it. Fact is, good men and women are in short supply anywhere you go, no matter the colour.”

Which wasn’t wrong. Father Nicholas was a good man who looked after the orphans the most, teaching them to read and write while making sure they were as happy and well-cared for as best he could. There were plenty of other priests and nuns who saw the kids as a nuisance and didn’t work have as hard, and many who outright scorned them for being orphans. Didn’t make Errol feel any better, as he was still torn on how to move forward from here. “So what am I supposed to do to keep stuff like that from happening again?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.

Howie’s grin quickly faded as he considered what to say, and it took him a full minute to figure it out. “I can’t answer that for you, because it will happen again, and there ain’t much you can do besides deal with it. Me, I mostly write folks like that off. Got no patience to try making peace or changing opinions, so I don’t bother. Instead, I do what I can to win over the undecideds, those who don’t much care for race or whatnot. The way you do that is just…” Howie shrugged and sighed, as if he didn’t like the answer, but gave it anyways. “Be a model, upstanding citizen. You know why no one really made a fuss about you and Richard? Because while most don’t agree with what he said, they also don’t agree with what you did, beating the tar out of him like you did.”

Putting up a hand to forestall Errol’s angry retort, Howie gave him a knowing look and continued, “This is what I’m talking about. You have every right to be angry, and I’d say you waited two months too long to put that smarmy prick in his place. Thing is, any time you get angry, you’ll be judged more harshly for it, because you’re not just angry, you’re an angry black man. That puts the scare in a lot of folks, though why, I can’t rightly say. So you gotta be calm and cordial more often than not, that way when you do fly off the handle, folks who know you will think you got good reason to.” Rolling his eyes to show what he thought about all that, Howie barrelled on ahead to ask, “Is that fair? No. Life ain’t fair though. Me, I gotta work hard at being friendly and approachable each and every day, because I bet you anything that we’ll be hearing whispers tomorrow about how that ‘savage Qin boy’ is itching to stew some feet.”

Which was really everything Errol knew about Qin culture, besides the fact that they also ate with chopsticks. During the Second World War, they were infamous for chopping feet off of their prisoners and feeding it back to them. Horrific stuff, but Father Nicholas hadn’t shied away from detail the horrific acts orchestrated by both sides. The Brits, Prussians, Sicilians, Soviet Union, Vatican, and more, every nation seemed to have committed some horrific war-crime or massacre during those tumultuous times. Then there were the Nipponese, whose refusal to surrender and stop said atrocities led to the Americans dropping two Aetheric bombs on their country. Killed over two-hundred and fifty thousand people in the blink of an eye, so Errol was pretty sure there weren’t any ‘good’ sides in that war.

“So what you’re saying is I have to work hard to be one of the ‘good ones’?” Errol scoffed, almost insulted Howie would even suggest it, but the other man took it in stride.

“Suppose so.” Another shrug, as Howie didn’t look too pleased by it either, but rather resigned to it. “Being a minority means that there some folks in town who ain’t ever even seen another black man, so anything you do right or wrong ain’t just gonna be about you to them, but all black folk. If you leave a good impression, then when little Dick or some other fool spews their hate about you, the people of New Hope who know you will think, ‘That don’t sound like Errol. He’s a good, polite young man. Again, not exactly fair, but it is what it is.”

“Yea… about that.” There was no good way to say it, so Errol just came out with it. “Why aren’t there any black people around? Or black Rangers?”

“There are a few.” Shrugging, Howie said, “Hate to play the ‘one black friend’ card, but next to the Marshal, Drex Durden outta Memphis might well be the most famous Ranger around these parts, and he dark as night. As for New Hope itself, we used to have a prominent black community here, but then Marcus left to head up Meadowbrook and most went along to support him. I’ll introduce you when we see him.”

Well, that made Errol feel a little better, knowing there was a prominent black community nearby, with a black Ranger in charge to boot. One exception wasn’t enough to make up for what happened, but between that and Howie’s explanation about Richard’s rich, tax paying daddy, Errol was feeling a lot less angry about things and just… resentful.

“Remember though,” Howie said, all serious once more, “When you out there, you can’t fly off the handle anytime someone drops the U-word.” Even hearing it referenced as such made Errol flinch and frown, but he figured Howie had been called the Q-word more times than he could remember, so he should know what he was talking about. “What little Dick was spewing was just words, and you’ll get worse out there in passing, but the real danger is the folks who’d sooner kill you as look at you. In comparison, a few words ain’t much, so even if you get mad-hopping angry over some racist’s tirade, you need to think twice before you act. Gotta pick your fights after all, know when to hold and when to fold. Can’t explain the specifics of each situation, but follow my lead and you’ll get a handle for it eventually. In general though, it’s best to grow a thick skin and ignore the insults where you can. Let them slurs roll off you like water off a duck. If you can’t do that, then copy how I reacted tonight. Calm, polite, and non-confrontational, mostly.”

Yea, aside from looming over Richard with an obnoxious sneer. Man, seeing that face even made Errol want to punch Howie just a bit, though the memory made him smile. “I mean, it was quite the show,” he said, giving the man his due, “But… I don’t how it makes any difference.”

Scratching at his neck with a pinched grimace, Howie said, “Well, it’s a bit complicated to explain in full, but it boils down to being perceived in the right. See, when you beat the tar out of Richard, there was no definite instigator. Sure some of the others said Richard went on a rant and threw the first punch, but his lackies came right back and lied to say you started the fight.” That threw Errol for a loop, because he didn’t know anyone had spoken on his behalf, but Howie went right on to explain, “Now the water’s all muddied, so folks gotta look at the indisputable facts. One boy got his arm and jaw broken, while the other one walked away clean, so for most, their minds are already made up before colour even enter the equation.”

There wasn’t anything outright wrong with what Howie was saying, but it didn’t help. All it did was make Errol more frustrated, because no one cared to hear the truth. It was more about how the facts were presented, as Howie went on to say, “In my case, even putting my rep aside, you saw how I took the extra time to warn Richard off three times. To anyone listening paints him as the aggressor, no two ways about it. Now, they could lie about it sure, but when two versions of the story goes around, and one got those extra details, folks will believe it more often than not, because lies gotta be simple. What’s more, those extra details make it easy for people to make up their mind, and people like easy. They don’t want to have to think about who was right and who was wrong. They want the answer clear from the start, so I made sure the facts did just that. Didn’t run in swinging, now did I? I tried to deescalate first, which changes the narrative into aggressor versus victim. So even though I came out on top, it’s clear I was the victim acting in self defence, whereas in your case, it didn’t look so cut and dry. The Accords work in a similar way, and same with less law-abiding types, but I’ll wait till Sarah Jay’s here too before I get into all that.”

Again, it all made perfect, logical sense, but it didn’t feel right. Sure, Errol was wrong to raise his fist in anger, but Richard was also wrong to say the things he did, so why didn’t the Rangers do anything about that? Bullshit it what it was, but there wasn’t any point in saying so.

Slapping the table to show he was done talking, Howie wandered over to a kitchen cabinets and took out a thin, dark metal wand, one tipped with an opaque, orange stone bound in polished steel wire. Jasper, if Errol remembered his gems right. “Hold still,” Howie said, touching the wand to the back of Errol’s hand which was sitting on the table, and looking real focused for a couple seconds. “Alright then, you’re keyed to the door now, can come and go as you please. At Aunty Ray’s too, though I suggest if there’s any sneaking to be done, you let Sarah Jay do the sneaking. Better if she walks into the wrong room than you, because Aunty Ray and Tina both’ll shoot you dead, while Chrissy might do worse.”

Not to mention what Howie would do, except he didn’t say as much, just gave Errol a look that said in no uncertain terms that all three of those beautiful women were off limits. Once he was sure they both understood each other, Howie pointed at the door beside the front door. “Bathroom’s over there, fresh towels on the hook. You can go first, as I gotta work out and do some Spell Slinging.” Pointing at the larger room on the other side of the front door, he continued, “That’s your room. Aunty Ray left some of Uncle Raleigh’s old clothes for you in the closet, and there’s extra blankets in the dresser if you need ‘em. Gun and ammo goes into the safe next to the bed when you sleep, key is on top, and meals will be at Aunty Ray’s.”

Putting away the wand, Howie gave him a nod and strode away to put on his boots and head back outside, leaving Errol alone in the house. Truth be told, the Firstborn’s lodgings weren’t much to look at, just a simple, rectangular layout with two rooms, a stove, a Freeze-box, a couple cabinets and a single bathroom. Two bare wooden chairs and a simple rectangular dinner table was the only furniture around, aside from a bed and a desk in each bedroom. It was a simple, barren home devoid of any real trappings or ornaments save for a simple rifle and pistol mounted on the wall across from the kitchen table. Primitive, single-shot Aetherarms, both well-worn and well cared for, but otherwise, the rooms were completely bare, without a cushion, rug, plant, or decoration to be seen. It didn’t seem like a home, more like a hunting cabin you’d stop in at for a few weeks a season, with everything put away in its own little place and no personality to speak of.

Say what you will about the Firstborn, but he was still a puzzle Errol had yet to wholly figure out. A badass gunfighter and Spellslinger sure, and a good enough person as far as anyone could tell, but he also had a distance to him that didn’t make any sense. Wasn’t just about his lack of empathy regarding Errol’s situation, but also his general attitude. Howie loved Chrissy, that much was clear, and Tina and Aunty Ray too, but he didn’t even consider how any of them would feel after the harpy attack. Errol thought that was because they were all be used to it by now, but Aunty Ray clearly wasn’t and Howie should’ve known as much. That sort of disconnect didn’t make sense, a cheerful, charming young man who didn’t think about how his family might feel? What made him that way, so warm and caring yet also inconsiderate, almost callous even?

No, definitely callous, because Errol had seen the look on his face when he was beating Ike bloody, and Richard’s face when Howie warned him off after the fight. Whatever it was the Firstborn said, it scared the shit out of Richard, and Errol shuddered to think what might have been shared.

Maybe that’s what it took to survive out here. Being cold. Calculating. Manipulative almost. That’s Howie, as he’d been listening in before making his presence known, else how’d he know what’d been said? He made sure to cover his ass from the lawmen and lawbreakers both before laying a beatdown, and it felt like he did it for the thrill of the fight more than anything else. Whatever the reasons, Errol derived no pleasure from seeing Richard scared like that. Truth be told, he didn’t even hate the little prick all that much, was just angry it all happened. Why did it matter if he was black and Sarah Jay was white? Errol loved her, and she loved him, and that’s all either of them cared about, so why did he have to get booted from the Rangers just because someone else didn’t like seeing them together? All his life, he’d dreamed of joining up to fight the good fight, so now what was he supposed to do?

These thoughts and more like them continued to rattle around in his head, even after he finished his hot shower and laid down in bed. Felt like he only just closed his eyes when the morning sun woke him up and he lazily stretched himself awake, only to freeze as he came face to nose with a glowering Cowie standing just inches away from his head. In his calf form, thank the Heavens, but so still and tense Errol could see the bull’s lips trembling as he heaved and rumbled. Wasn’t right seeing a small, cute, fluffy calf making noises like that, guttural, unhappy sounds that reminded everyone he could grow about eight times bigger to stand almost eye to eye with Errol without having to raise his head.

“Cowie!” Howie hissed, his voice quiet and body out of sight. “Get out of there! Now, or ain’t gonna be no lullaby tonight.” For a moment, Errol wasn’t sure the beast would listen, but the white calf met his eyes with an arrogant snort before turning around to leave. “That’s Errol’s room now,” Howie admonished in a whisper, once Cowie was out of sight. “Not daddy’s anymore. You just gonna hafta get over it, and you best do it right quick. He’s a friend, understood? Now go close the door before he wakes up and thinks I’ve been peeking. Do it gentle, got it?”

Cowie snorted in response before making his way back to the door, where he stopped to stare at Errol for a full second before gently nosing it shut. How much the bull understood, he couldn’t say, but that was by far the smartest animal he’d ever met. After lying around for a few more minutes, Errol got dressed and headed out to the bathroom to do his thing, before coming back to find Howie sitting at the desk in his room, in a plain wooden chair identical to the ones in the kitchen and probably just as uncomfortable. “Morning,” he said, looking up from his books while petting Cowie’s head nestled on his thigh. “Sleep well?”

“Like a baby.” Staying out of the room and making an effort not to look at the books, Errol stretched and yawned before saying, “Didn’t hear you come back in.”

“Yea, you was fast asleep and snoring.” And yet somehow, still up later than the Firstborn, which told Errol that Howie had worked hard to earn his reputation and hone his skills. If Sarah Jay was driven, then Howie was a man possessed, though you sure wouldn’t know it with a glance, as he seemed so relaxed and laid back most of the time. “You can head on over if you like,” Howie said, wearing his usual, carefree smile. “Aunty Ray’s already up and cooking, but don’t know about the rest. Or you can hang out here instead if you prefer, doing whatever. Tina’ll let us know when it’s time to eat.”

“Alright.” Not wanting to intrude on the gorgeous but all too chatty Aunty Ray, Errol took a seat at the kitchen table and asked, “You picking out Spells to teach us?”

“Nah, made a list already.” Having already gone back to his notes, Howie gave Errol a quick but strained smile and said, “I’m actually memorizing a new Spell Structure. Well, an old one. Had to clear out Eagle Eye so I could store a Featherfall on my boot, and now I’m memorizing it again.”

“Oh, sorry.” Errol stood up and made for the door. “I’ll get out of your hair then.”

“Nah it’s fine,” Howie called. “Just do whatever. Won’t be any good for conversation for a bit, but I only need a few minutes. Mi casa es su casa, or my house is your house. No need to walk eggshells around here.”

That wasn’t what most Spellcasters said when memorizing new Spell Structures, as it was a process which usually required the utmost focus and concentration. That said, Errol didn’t really have anywhere else to go, and the chill alone made him not want to leave, so he sat down at the desk and took out his sidearm to disassemble, like they did in Basic. True to his word, Howie popped his head in a few minutes later with Cowie trailing behind him. “Nice,” he said, nodding at Errol’s efforts. “There’s oil and rags in the side drawer there, for cleaning if you ever need it.” Which of course Errol took as a cue to clean the gun, while Howie gave him tips on how to do it more quickly and efficiently.

Which he appreciated, but it felt constraining having another man look over his shoulder while he worked..,

Breakfast was delicious and not at all cramped, as Aunty Ray’s dining table was big enough to fit ten. It was a world of difference going from Howie’s stark home to Aunty Ray’s extravagant mansion, with all its minor but warm and welcome touches that turned it into a well-lived home. Not stuff Errol would have noticed before seeing how barren and bleak Howie’s home was, but between padded cushion seats, the carefully stitched placemats, and the strategically placed plants, he wondered how the Firstborn could stand to live like he did.

After breakfast, Howie brought Errol and Sarah Jay back to his place, while Tina took Chrissy out to do their chores. It was Saturday, which meant they had the weekend off from Basic, though most folk worked seven days a week without a break. That’s just how it was here on the Frontier, as there was always something to be done, and not even Father Nicolas insisted that they rest on the sabbath after mass, because as he would say, “C’est la vie.”

“Alright,” Howie said, after setting Sarah Jay up at his desk and bringing Errol to the other desk. “This here is the Bolt Cantrip.” A sheet of paper covered in neat letters, numbers, and symbols appeared in front of him, with notes in the margins to explain what it all meant and how to derive the known variables. “Now technically it ain’t legal for you to learn yet, as you need a permit, though no one ever asks. Same permit to go around carrying loaded weapons in town, which we gonna go get later once the office opens. That’s not for a while though, and I ain’t ever been one to waste daylight, so might as well get this Spell Structure into your head first and hope no one asks about it.”

“Still don’t get what good knowing the Bolt Cantrip will do.” Making a face that had more to do with the math than anything else, Errol looked away and said, “A Bolt you cast isn’t even half as strong as a properly Metamagicked Aetherarm.”

“You’re not wrong,” Howie replied, patting the gun on his hip. “This here Rattlesnake hits about three times harder than a manually casted Bolt, at a minimum.” Stopping to think for a moment, he gestured for Errol to get up and they headed out the house and around to the back. There was a massive paddock between Howie’s house and Aunty Ray’s, one large enough for twenty horses at least, but only occupied by three cows, a dozen wallabies, and sometimes Cowie too. Inside, Howie had an area roped off with his own personal shooting range, albeit one only about twenty metres in length, with a stone-brick wall at the other end. Taking his position at the firing line, Howie gestured for Errol to stand about an arm’s length away beside him before handing him a stack of round clay plates. “Go on ahead and frisbee one down towards the wall whenever you ready.”

Grinning brightly at having gotten away from studying, Errol launched the first plate at the wall. None too gently either, and it hurtled off so fast he expected it crash before Howie could get his Bolt off. No such luck though, as Howie chanted, “Canto – Fortia – Asta!”, while moving his left arm like he was drawing a pistol and shooting finger guns, with two index fingers pointed forward and his thumb up at the sky. A formless, colorless Bolt burst out from his fingers, visible only by the displacement of the air as it hurtled silently towards the plate and hammed home, showering the bare dirt with clay shards. “See that?” he asked, way too proud of something so simple, and Errol simply raised his eyebrow in question. “Bah,” Howie exclaimed, giving another exaggerated grimace that you just couldn’t not smile at. “Watch closer. Pull.”

Out went another plate, and again Howie chanted, pointed, and the plate exploded, but even though Errol was paying more attention, he didn’t see anything special about it. Wasn’t like the plates were especially tough or fast, so what was Howie trying to show him? Show off, more like. It took two more plates and Bolts before Errol finally caught on though, and he looked at Howie in confusion. “You’re firing from here, so how come the shards keep falling straight down?”

“Because I’m arcing the Bolt and hitting the plates from above.” Grinning like a fool, Howie said, “Throw another one, but watch where I’m pointing.” Errol did and watched carefully as Howie pointed straight up while casting the Spell, and drew a deep breath when the clay plate shattered all the same. “See that? Don’t matter much where I point, unlike an Aetherarm. When cast through a Spell Core, the Bolt travels in a straight line from the tip of the Core and is affected by factors like and wind and all that. When I cast it manually, the Bolt emerges from the tips of my fingers, but it doesn’t have to travel in a straight line. It goes where I want it to go, within reason. It’ll curve a bit, but it won’t make sharp ninety degree turns or nothing, nor will it do any loop de loops, and you need to see your target to hit it. Plus, if you get real good with it, you can do all that while throwing out multiple Bolts at once like Captain Jung. Takes practice and familiarity, but you can get all sorts of extra juice from a manually casted Spell, assuming you know where and how to squeeze. Plus, don’t cost no crystallized Aether or anything, which makes slingin’ Spells basically free unless it got a material component cost, which Bolt don’t.”

And the mental effort to cast it, which wasn’t nothing. Errol could run for hours, but slinging Heroism three or four times in quick succession would leave him mentally drained for half the day at least. “Okay, that’s cool,” he said, nodding in admiration, because he heard that sort of Spell manipulation wasn’t easy. “But it still doesn’t change the fact that a basic Bolt Cantrip is weak as shit.”

“Watch your language,” Howie hissed, giving a nervous glance at the main house. “Were it up to me, I couldn’t care less what you say, but if Aunty Ray hears you, she’ll make everything you eat taste like soap.” Like mother, like daughter it seems, though Errol would rather eat delicious dirt than have everything taste terrible, especially considering how the best meals he’d ever eaten were all at Aunty Ray’s table. “Anyways,” Howie said, once it was clear Aunty Ray hadn’t overheard them, “It is weak, I’ll give you that, but it’s better than using your bare hands. Not to mention how it’s easier to aim for the soft spots when you manually cast, which ain’t nothing.” Before Errol could bring up his rope, Howie read his mind and continued, “Plus it gives you something to use from range, so you don’t have to go sprinting out of cover to swing that rope.” Another look followed, telling him in no uncertain terms that even though Howie appreciated the assist during the harpy attack, he expected Errol to learn from his mistakes. A very expressive face, the Firstborn had, and Errol was getting the hang of this non-verbal communication.

“Most importantly,” Howie said, flicking his hand like he was casting a Bolt, “The Bolt Cantrip is the baseline of some of the most popular Evocation Spells, so once you familiarize yourself with it, you’ll find picking up the others much easier and can even apply the same tricks. Then you can toss Elemental Orbs to set groups of Abby ablaze or freeze them in place, Blast whole bunches down from around a corner, or even learn the quintessential Evoker’s Spell and solve all your problems with Fireball.”

Assuming you had the right licenses of course, of which there were many, and the skills needed to learn Second and Third Order Spells. Howie was clearly at Second Order at least, but most folks stopped at First Order Spells, and only the most practiced and accomplished Spellslingers could pull off Third Order Spells. That said, Errol was slightly less apprehensive of learning the Bolt Cantrip and even sort of looking forward to it provided their lesson went well. Howie started them off slow once they were back at his desk, explained the formula step by step and how it would look if Errol got it right. Then Howie gave him a bunch of static numbers for the variables, and had Errol solve the equation, which meant he didn’t need to rush his math, considering time was one of those variables. Orthodox Spellcasting had always seemed so daunting before, but Howie had a way of explaining it that cut out all the unnecessary bits, things he warned Errol would eventually need to learn if he wanted to move onto memorizing First Order Spells or higher, but was unnecessary for Cantrips.

It really was simple if you looked at it the right way. Take the constants, plug in the variables, do the math, and if all done quickly enough, you got the timing for the first point of the Spell Structure. Once you had that, you’d set it into motion, following the pre-laid paths envisioned before hand. From there, you only need to match the following points to the initial path, synching up their timing to a variable that was already solved. That’s all it was, so while Errol didn’t make it that far before their hour was up, he’d made progress familiarizing himself with the formula. “No worries Errol,” Howie said, gesturing at Sarah Jay who was still scowling over her desk without mentioning her frustrations out loud. “No shame in taking some time to get things right the first time. You’ll get there eventually.” Clapping his hands to get Sarah Jay’s attention, he met her glower with a grin and said, “Enough studying for now. Let’s go do something real fun.”

Knowing his girl was never one to like leaving things half done, Errol smiled when Sarah Jay scowled and asked, “What?”

Grinning from ear to ear, Howie reached into his jacket and pulled out a thick wad of cash, all crisp, green, and neatly bundled in a clip. “Shopping.”