After the soldiers were gone and the tea was drunk—or poured through one’s ribcage, in Boney’s case—Jerry went to sleep. He dreamt about being a cow and chewing on grass all day long while watching carriages pass by. He’d enjoy being a cow.

Come morning, he rose from bed, stretched, had some fruits and a cup of tea for breakfast—he still didn’t know what leaves these were, but he enjoyed them a lot—and then headed back to his laboratory. His project was almost done, and soon they would have a new addition to their undeath-oriented team.

He had de-animated the two latest skeletons before going to sleep. They were fine workers, but his soul was getting tired and that was unpleasant.

Once again, time flew by. Morning turned into noon which turned into afternoon, and it was only as the sun touched the far-off mountains that Jerry took a step back, pridefully gazing at his new creation.

It was a human skeleton, but double the trouble. Bones were connected on top of bones, some parts enhanced more than others into a careful balance of weight and strain. It wasn’t the most complicated of tasks, as most things were handled by very convenient magic, but it was still challenging, and he wasn’t too sure he had succeeded.

There was only one way to find out.

“Rise,” he whispered, willing the soul trapped inside the skeleton to bond with it. The skeleton shivered. It moved. It stood up.

“Yes!” Jerry screamed. “It’s alive!”

The skeleton rose in all of its undeathly glory. The bandit it was built upon was short and bulky. This skeleton kept the bulky part but had largely grown in size, towering an entire head over Jerry. As counterintuitive as it seemed, extra height was the way Jerry had found to stabilize the extra weight. Anything else just didn’t work as well.

However, that was not the full extent of the transformations that the extra bones had caused. The skeleton was still vaguely humanoid but its posture was hunched, like a predator ready to tear you apart, and the extra bones had given it a bulkiness that misled the human eye into considering this skeleton muscular.

It was terrifying. But wait! There’s more.

Actually, as the two skeletons and souls had combined into one being, Jerry had a feeling that sentience would be developed much, much more slowly for this guy. It was like Boboar, though boar souls were significantly smaller and less complicated than human ones.

Yet, despite its lacking mind, the skeleton lowered its gaze to look at its hands, or where its hands used to be. Because, of course, Jerry had done some customization.

Where there used to be hands, there were now two axeblades, as if this was the skeleton of a particularly barbaric pirate captain. It looked at its hands then back up at Jerry.

So this was the new creation. A tall, wide, lumbering brute with axeblades for hands and clean white bones that seemed a bit too dense. Jerry could practically imagine black flames burning in its deep, empty eye sockets. It would be glorious. And he intended to let this skeleton loose, unleash it on the targets it was built to destroy, slashing and hacking frenziedly until nothing remained standing.

Yes, this would be glorious.

“Welcome, Axehand, my strongest creation,” said the necromancer. He smiled warmly. “You, my friend, are going to be the world’s best lumberjack!”

Axehand grunted.

“Maybe not the brightest lumberjack—” Jerry patted his shoulder, smiling warmly— “but that’s okay. I’m not too bright either; not everybody needs to be smart. Welcome home, buddy.”

Axehand grunted happily.

As soon as Boney caught sight of Axehand, he froze in place. Jerry would have sworn his bones shivered in excitement.

“My bones are shaking, master…” said the butler. “This is amazing! Now we can protect you!”

“This is Axehand,” Jerry happily introduced the new addition, who grunted in consent, “and he is our newest lumberjack.”

Boney’s head turned so quickly that Jerry feared for his spine’s integrity. “Our what?”

“Our lumberjack.” Jerry stuck his chest out. “I noticed that Headless was having some trouble with cutting wood. He’s a good boy, but his head is just not where it’s supposed to… Anyway, now Axehand can take over the woodcutting, so you and Headless can focus on fence-building.”

“That is… Pardon me, master, but I must have misheard. Did you say that the ultimate avatar of your rage and hatred towards the world, the pinnacle of your skills, the one destined to bring terror, death, and undeath upon your innumerable enemies... is a lumberjack?”

“Of course.” Jerry tilted his head in confusion. “What else is he supposed to be? He has axes for hands, if you didn’t notice.”

“Oh, mighty Desistos, why do you do this to me?” Boney raised his hands at the sky. “Fine. Axehand, go chop wood.”

Axehand grunted in disapproval.

“Axehand,” said Jerry, “Boney may seem weird but he’s a good guy, deep down. He is also the butler and caretaker of our home so listen to him, please.”

Axehand grunted in agreement and took off towards the forest. He dived into the treeline. Seconds later, a man’s terrified screams cut through the silence.

“Oh boy—” the necromancer sighed— “who is it again? Did the Billies come back?”

Two forms jumped out of the woods. One was Derek, who seemed pale, and the other was the Mayor, who was screaming harder than Holly had when cornered by the bandits.

“Oh hey!” Jerry waved at them. “I see you met Axehand!”

“That abomination is yours?” shouted Derek. “What the fuck, Jerry?”

“Hey, he’s no abomination.” Jerry frowned and crossed his arms. “He’s a good boy. He’s currently working hard as a lumberjack.”

Meanwhile, the Mayor dived and groveled at Jerry’s feet, clutching a stalk of wood nettle in one hand and a yellow ball in the other, begging to be spared.

It took some time to convince him that Axehand was not, in fact, out to eat him. Eventually, he took the hint, and Derek apologized to Axehand for calling him an abomination, on Jerry’s suggestion. He insisted that the undead grow like children, and that making them feel safe and wanted is important.

Some time later, the three men were huddled on the tower’s roof, sitting on wooden chairs and sipping some tea. The Mayor had donned a blanket around him, still shivering.

“Sorry for the fright.” Jerry scratched his head. “Perhaps I should have checked before unleashing a horror into the woods.”

“That would have been nice.” Derek nodded. “Make sure to send him in the other direction next time. An actual lumberjack might see him and have a heart attack.”

“Will do.”

“I’ve actually been wondering,” continued the hunter, leveling an intensely curious stare at Jerry. “These undead of yours, they seem… obedient. Peaceful. Hell, that talking skeleton of yours even made a paltry attempt at humor earlier. Undead aren’t supposed to be like that.”

“Yeah, I know.” Jerry looked at the sky. “I suspect that my undead are affected by my own mindset. Boney is funny and relaxed, but when I asked him, he said that he wasn’t like that when alive. I don’t know. What I do know is that they’re good people. They won’t cause any problems.”

“Not on purpose, maybe. I believe you. But I fear that the villagers will never accept you and your skeletons…” Derek sighed, taking another sip. “They are petty and close-minded. You saw it; even after you saved their lives, they looked at you like an enemy. Were they not afraid, I have no doubt they would have risen against you.”

“It is natural.” Jerry shrugged. “The undead seem terrifying. They will understand, in time.”

“I don’t know.” Derek shook his head. “Take Holly. She’s my daughter, and yet she… she is very scared of you. Even though you saved her, she shivers at any mention of you or the undead. She wakes up at night, screaming. She has trouble focusing, and she is afraid of entering the forest again, not so much because of the bandits, but mostly because of you.”

“But the bandits tried to harm her.” The necromancer frowned. “I saved her.”

“And still, it is you she is scared of. Bandits are a part of life, Jerry. You are not, at least according to common sense.”

The necromancer fell silent.

“That is sad,” he said eventually. “But there isn’t anything I can do about it. Those who can accept me will accept me, and those who cannot will not. That is enough.”

“I pray that it is.” Derek leaned back.

“Speaking of Holly,” asked Jerry, changing the subject, “out of curiosity, why does she keep wearing dresses? Are they not unwieldy?”

Derek sighed the sigh of a man about to explain a tiresome subject.

“They are, and very unfit for Pilpen too. But my little girl is obsessed with the city life… What can I do? If she doesn’t want to stay here, I won’t force her. However, I have given her a condition; before we move, she has to learn herbalism properly. The world is a harsh place, and I will not take my daughter to Milaris without the skills to make a living.”

“Does she agree?”

“No.” The hunter laughed harshly. “Maybe that’s why her progress is snail-paced. She thinks I’m being too cautious, but… she’s only a child. She doesn’t know the world as I do. If she shows up unprepared, it will grab her and squeeze her dry for everything she’s worth. As it will do to you, if you don’t manage to blend in with the villagers. What do you think, Ashman?” He turned to the mayor.

The sun was falling behind the mountains now, painting the sky red, but the men weren’t worried; they had already agreed to stay overnight, much to Ashman’s original dismay.

“I think it will be difficult,” he muttered. “Even my own wife has grown disgruntled lately. I fear it’s Murdock’s influence. She’s been learning herbalism from him for a few months now, and his thinking has started to rub off on her. Like teacher, like student.”

“Murdock isn’t a very agreeable man.” Jerry nodded.

“He is not,” Ashman agreed. “He is a rough case; authoritative, stubborn, arrogant. But the village needs him. With the bandits nearby…”

“I can protect you,” said Jerry. “Just let me station Axehand and Shorty as a patrol. I doubt any bandit would dare challenge them.”

“That could never happen.” The Mayor shook his head. “They will not rely on you, Jerry. I know my villagers. Even when Elena was here, they—”

“Hey.” Derek frowned.

“Oh.” The Mayor blinked. “Sorry, I thought…”

“It’s okay.” He waved it off, turning to Jerry. For a long moment, the hunter remained silent, considering his next words. Then he sighed.

“Elena was my wife when fate brought us here. We were from far away, originally, hailing from the Sea of Sands. Ever heard of it?”

“Never,” replied Jerry.

“It’s in the south; the land of sand and camels and spices and colorful, flowing fabrics,” he said, his nostalgia evident. His eyes were filled with memories as he looked down. “Fate brought us to these lands when Holly was only six. That was ten years ago. We knew Ashman by chance, so we chose to settle here. And the villagers were wary of us as we were strangers, but we didn’t mind. They’d come around in time, we thought, and eventually they did. The thing is, that same year…”

His eyes darkened. “Elena got sick. Murdock wasn’t part of this village yet, so there was no herbalist, no doctor. Nobody who could help. The snow had fallen and I couldn’t travel to seek help. She spent a winter in bed, and passed away just before the first snows melted.”

Ashman sat in knowing silence, sipping on his tea with glazed eyes, while Jerry listened intently. “I’m sorry for your loss…” he finally said.

“It’s okay.” The hunter waved a hand. “That was ten years ago. I’ve grown used to solitude since then, and Holly has grown into a beautiful young woman. The reason I’m saying all this is that, while Elena was sick, the village did not help us. Nobody came to keep Holly company when I was gone for hours or days on end, hunting. Nobody boiled soup or tea for us, nobody gave us food, nobody came to help clean our home. Not even Melissa; she only warmed up to us after it was too late. I had to take care of a bedridden wife, a young daughter, and a house all by myself. Only Ashman was there for us, but how much can one man do?”

He took a deep breath before continuing. “I just couldn’t handle everything, obviously. We had to skimp on wood, spending some nights shivering. We had to eat little, pour more water into our soup. I was but one man, and I could not take care of my family. Perhaps this is why Elena eventually succumbed. If the village had been quicker to accept us, if they had helped… or if I had been stronger… perhaps spring would have come to my home.”

He stewed in silence for a moment.

“I see…” Jerry looked down.

“Yes, you see.” Derek nodded, directing a hard glare at Jerry. “We weren’t necromancers. If even we were not accepted, you have a hard task in front of you, my friend.”

“But I will persevere.” The necromancer smiled sadly. “I like this place, and I have decided to make it my home. Unless the Billies come back, of course, but nevermind. In any case, I will persevere. One year, or three, or five, it makes little difference to me. Time has long lost its meaning. Now, the days simply come one after the other, slipping through my fingers so quickly I cannot keep up. Before I know it, ten years will have passed, and my undead household will be filled with the warmth of visitors.”

“I wish that upon you, my friend.” Derek smiled, while Ashman nodded too.

“But for now, let’s drink.” The hunter raised a tea-filled cup. “Not this stuff, obviously—it’s bitter. But the night is young, and the alcohol I brought won’t drink itself!”

“Haha!” Jerry laughed, the heavy atmosphere dissipating into joy. “Fine then. Let’s see just how much booze the people of Pilpen can hold!”

It turned out they could hold their booze very well. But unfortunately, there was something else they really couldn't, and their problems weren't over for that night...