The farmlands around Bannerburg were well-guarded. They followed the river. The water was piped in with cast iron pipes forged in the city. A water tower supplied the pressure, and the pipes weren’t buried far under the ground.

  Dig too far, and you ran into a solid white crust Fintan thought was completely impenetrable until Bannerburg. The irrigation lines fed the fields, and he learned that any seed would grow if fed river water. That was an interesting observation, but it didn’t work in the river.

  The plants that grew from river water weren’t any hardier than the natural plants from the landscape, but they weren’t weaker, which should have happened if they didn’t grow in their natural climate.

  In addition to that problem, there wasn’t a sun. All sorts of problems should have prevented Earth-normal plants from that fact alone. Somehow, it didn’t. Fintan wasn’t a forest guide, but the directions of the leaves should have told him something. They didn’t. This place is upside down or inside out.

  Since they were new to Bannerburg, he and RuTing were assigned the worst jobs. They picked the fruits and vegetables closest to the ground. In this season, that was primarily strawberries. They had a dozen fields, a large crew, and a foreman who watched and helped when they fell behind.

  Guards on watch towers kept a lookout for Centaurs or bandits. They stayed in human form to avoid strain on the wooden structures, but with a quick swig from a silver flask, they could transform in an instant.

  The serum wasn’t the ogre's only weapon. They carried narrow clubs with large heads. The clubs were made of stainless steel, and the head was perforated with sharp lines.

  The lookouts stayed in the towers, but other guards patrolled the edges of the farm on foot. Fintan saw no escape for ordinary workers, but they had levels, and the mist swirled at their feet. He suspected even his weak illusions would get him past the ogres. They were more interested in hitting rocks than paying attention to the field hands.

  With RuTing’s aid, he thought they could leave any time, although they still didn’t know where to go. If they ran, they would never be invited back. They carried a debt in Bannerburg, and the ogres meant for them to pay.

  So they worked the fields. After the initial soreness of unused muscles, Fintan’s high fortitude paid off. He could pick faster than the most skilled picker by the third day.

  He couldn’t help but feel sorry for the others. Most of the new farmhands were failed Bomb Midges. Their height hadn’t been restored overnight, and the doctors wouldn’t give them more formula.

  From the corner of his eye, Fintan saw Sarah in a row behind him. At intervals, her whole body shook like she was freezing, and she sweated profusely until her plain farm clothes were soaked.

  Water bearers came around frequently, and she drank thirstily. The water seemed normal to Fintan, but he only pretended to drink. He and RuTing never ate or drank the food. They pretended, afraid of what chemicals the doctors might have added. It was easy to manifest food directly into your mouth outside the city, so he never felt hungry, and the job wasn’t onerous with his strength.

  At midday, they switched fields to one closer to the river. Fintan felt the pull of the water. Every level made that pull stronger, even as it fortified his strength to fight the draw of oblivion.

  Sarah was in no shape to fight.

  “We have a runner!” The lookout guard yelled.

  Sarah was only three and a half feet tall, although she was as perfectly formed as everyone Fintan saw in Bannerburg. She ran with surprising speed, bounding over the mounds. With each stride, she traveled feet into the air—flying serum indeed.

  Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more.

  The guard at the river bank was slow to respond. He was using his club to knock rocks into holes. By the time he fumbled for his flask, Sara was only fifty feet from the edge.

  If she jumped in, she would die. Fintan dropped his bucket, preparing to Step. In a fraction of a second, he could cross the distance. I can’t let her die.

  His foot left the ground. He didn’t need to walk to use his Skill, but it was easier and almost subconscious. His foot was still in the air when someone hit him from behind. He plowed into the dirt face first.

  Fintan struggled. His arms were pulled behind his back and held together like they were wrapped in an iron bar.

  “Don’t do it,” RuTing whispered in his ear.

  “I can save her,” he said.

  “No, you can’t.”

  The exchange was only seconds, and RuTing released him. Behind her, he saw a semblance of himself staring at the water. She was covering them with her illusion. The illusion stared at Sarah.

  The guard had reached his flask and transformed in seconds. His heavy footfalls should have gotten him in front of her, but he slipped on loose dirt, catching his club between his legs before he went sprawling.

  Sarah leaped into the water, disappearing below the current.

  The other ogres converged on the first who stood, shaking the dirt off. His club was bent, and he straightened the metal shaft with an annoyed expression.

  “She pay you off?” the next guard asked.

  “I slipped,” the ogre said calmly. “I tripped on my nine iron. It happens.”

  “Really.” The guard’s skepticism didn’t inspire faith.

  “You know the rules. There will be an investigation,” the third guard said.

  “Of course.”

  The clumsy guard was led away while the foreman called in the field workers. His expression was sad. He’d offered to help Fintan and RuTing find a better job, but Fintan knew he cared about his team.

  “We lost a worker, and now we will miss our quota. If you can dig in deep today, I will ask upper management for a one-time bonus. You will all be automatically signed up for grief counseling. It isn’t free, but the bonus should cover most of the cost.”

  “Someone dies, and we pay for it,” RuTing whispered to Fintan.

  He wasn’t sure what to say. Everything the ogres did sounded right, but somehow the results got worse and worse.

  They worked all day and into the evening. Without Sarah, their team was a worker short. A regular crew was ten people plus the foreman, so at worst, they should have been ten percent off.

  Sarah wasn’t the best strawberry picker, but she was keeping up. With the extra hour, they should have covered the difference. When each line was finished, they carried a bucket to a wagon. The buckets were separated by worker, and at the end of the day, the manager counted the buckets as they were poured into baskets.

  The manager who took their buckets was also a doctor in a white lab coat, and he studied the strawberries, etching observations and numbers on a metal foil.

  He didn’t like what he saw, and he called the foreman. The foreman was helping Fintan and RuTing dump the buckets into the baskets. The process was painstaking. If you overturned a bucket into a basket, the strawberries on the bottom would get bruised.

  Fintan held the bucket at an angle while the foreman and RuTing nudged them into the basket. The foreman left, but they continued. The other workers were too tired to lift a bucket, and Fintan didn’t want to see their work wasted. It was hard to stay ahead of the debt.

  “Who picked these strawberries?” the manager asked the foreman. He pointed to buckets from RuTing’s stack.

  “RuTing,” the Foreman responded. “She and Fintan are new. They are some of my best workers.”

  “The numbers don’t add up.”

  The doctor said the words with some finality, but the foreman responded with disagreement. Fintan could tell the situation was serious because the foreman was so tense. He wasn’t an ogre, but the foreman was a big man. He hoisted the buckets and baskets all day, keeping mental count. The stains on his shirt weren’t from sitting still.

  “I watched them pick every berry,” the Foreman said.

  “It’s witchcraft,” the doctor announced.

  “Suspected witchcraft. You can’t do anything without evidence.”

  “Something is going wrong with your crew, Foreman,” the doctor said. “I won’t rest until I find out what it is. Until then, RuTing and Fintan will be assigned to refuse management.”

  “I’ll be short three workers,” the Foreman complained. “I need at least one more.”

  “Fine.”

  The doctor’s word was a small concession. Fintan could tell the foreman was trying to help them, but he didn’t want to get separated from RuTing. The situation in Bannerburg was getting worse every day.

  “I’ll work refuse with RuTing,” Fintan said. “We are new here, and it's easier for us to work together.”

  “Staying together is slowing your acclimatization to Bannerburg,” the doctor said.

  “They are good workers,” the Foreman added.

  “It’s our choice,” RuTing said.

  The doctor nodded and etched a few words on his foil pad.

  “It is your choice,” he said. “In Bannerburg, you always have a choice. You should best remember that the rest of the afterlife isn’t like this. We are the only free city. One small light in an ocean of darkness.”

  “Of course,” Fintan said. “If we have to prove ourselves by picking up refuse, that is what we will do.”