One Moo'r Plow - Book 2: Chapter 12: Foolishness.

Despite obvious appearances, Ishila continued to insist that she was not furious. The panicked youth quaked on the ground, seated in the dirt and quivering at the fuming lass above him.

“I’m not angry, Garek. Just annoyed.” She insisted, breath heavy and rage boiling under her attempt at a calm demeanor. “Annoyed that someone thinks they can do this better than me. Downplays the fekin’ risks after I plainly tell them it’s dangerous.”

Nods of understanding came from me as I patiently waited for a full explanation. Ishila was, despite her attempts at calm, bothered. Her proverbial skin had been gotten under. For all she had done, I knew the past month had been difficult for her, and I truly did empathize. Le’rish had disappeared without a trace, and any fool with two withs of understanding could see it had hurt her.

“A full recount might help me better understand the situation.” I rumbled once she had finished expressing her frustration.

One hand held up and quick grunt told the youth on the ground to stay put, not slink off. If I was to remedy this, now and in the future, I needed the full story.

“We talked ‘bout this.” The orc began, hands on her hips. “You’d give me leeway to train a few volunteers teh help with harvestin’ materials.”

I nodded, having recalled the extensive conversation several days ago.

“Acid pitchers. Dangerous, but simple. Flesh-meltin’ liquid. Unhealthy, but not unpredictable. Most stable plant to start with.”

Again, I agreed. She glared at the youth between every pause. He quaked under her gaze.

“I explained the risk. I showed how to do it. I asked; Do. You. Have Protection.” She held up one steel-clad arm and slammed another gauntleted finger into its side with every word, point driven home. “When I heard: ‘Yes miss Ishila, my pa’s house has some, it’s just a fast run from here.’ I expected he’d bring back metal and talk to me first before tryin’ to harvest flesh-eatin’ acid.”

Aside from actual combat, I had never seen the lass exhibit this level of aggression. And I did understand. Should someone be hurt on the job this early, tales would spread. From there, it would be an uphill battle to restore the farm’s reputation. And I had little need of a blackened reputation before I even had a chance to construct one that was positive.

As it were, several workers had already stopped to watch us. A quick shout got them back to work, and arms folded, I turned back to the two.

“Now, I’m down by the biters.” Ishila indicated the spot further down the road where the vine-nest was overflowing from its limits. “Got a bucket of spores fresh-harvested. Bout to head into the patch and start cuttin’ pods. I look back and this chucklefuck is wrist-deep in the pitcher, tryna pry its entire guts out instead of gently tippin’ it like I told him to.”

“I got over here fast as I could, had to rip him out of the plant before it unloaded a burst into his face, and then had to fight to rip his gloves off before they got eaten through.”

This had occurred while I was supervising Tash on the farm’s opposite end. With my back turned, I had not seen the youth arrive from wherever he had lived. My first indication of this had been Ishila’s yell. Even as I was this farm’s master, I could not be ever-vigilant. Such things happened.

But they could be prevented.

“And you, boy.” I rumbled down at him. “Your name.”

“Dillan, mister Garek.” He mumbled after a moment, eyes turned away from my glare.

“You nearly lost both of your hands today, Dillan.” I told him without pity. “You volunteered for a dangerous job. Had the dangers explained to you and chose to be sloppy in spite of the warnings you got.”

“Let it be known that I am a fair master. Before I make a decision, I will hear your side of this.”

His side turned out to be uninspired. He admitted to not fully paying attention during the instructions, and too proud to ask for help and potentially disappoint Ishila, he tried to simply make do and improvise. Sorely tempted as I was to let him go then and there for his foolishness, I had need of all the workers I could find.

“You will retain your job.” I announced after a moment to pause and make a decision. “On the fields, and there only. That is where you will stay. It seems you cannot be trusted with tasks that require trust, and as such, will never be called to do them again.”

He looked more relieved than disappointed at those words. Some folks were simply not cut from that cloth, content with what they got and unable to advance meaningfully. A harsh reality.

“Go.” I commanded. “Take a scythe and help the harvest, at least.”

Ishila watched him hurry away with a glare, her arms folded.

“It was enough.” She begrudgingly admitted. “Fitting punishment, I guess.”

“The punishment of others is not my business.” I sighed and wiped some grime from my forehead. “Their own foolishness will see to that. Yet I am not content to play games of fortune where the currency is life and limb. Of others, at least.”

“Fair.” Ishila nodded, frown on her face. “But we should move the plants. Somewhere less easy to get to.”

“I stand in agreement. Once the loggers have finished their bunkhouses, I have an idea for that. I will require your father’s services for this, should he be available within the next few days.”

Wood and glass had a fickle relationship when paired together, yet Velton’s magicks might help smooth things over. While it had been just me, Ishila and Artyom, having the monster-plants in the fields had been well enough. Now, they were dangerous. A contained, safe environment for growth and study would benefit me greatly.

“Come.” I beckoned. “There are some matters to discuss in private.”

Away from any potential prying ears, Ishila and I went over recent events. There were rustlings at the forest’s edge, but nothing like the coordinated harassment on the farm itself several nights ago. Her mother had promised to keep an eye out while making her rounds through the forests and valleys but had shown nothing since.

My run-in with the possible nobility was relayed, and Ishila sighed all the while.

“I dunno how to feel about this.” She shrugged after a bit of thought. “Close to the edge as we are, these are still Ironmoor’s lands. Small, traveling groups of rivals might not be enough to bother him long as they come to pay their respects. The moment they try anything larger, however, he’ll have grounds for retaliation.”

“Baron’s a cold, vicious bastard. Nobody in their right mind would march a force onto his land to root out a farmer and give him an excuse to flatten them back. Much as I dislike the man, he protects his subjects.”

“And we seem to find ourselves among them.”

“That, I would not count upon.” Ishila winced. “We are at the very edge of his property. Should he particularly hate you, this might be the spark he needs. Let some other noble you offend get into a conflict with you while he sits back and watches the circus.”

“More problems I find myself not needing.”

“There’s a way to kill two birds with one stone here, but ya’ may not like it.” Ishila suggested after a few moments. “We would be greatly appreciative of a potential market in Hullbretch, and the Baron’s summer towers are not far beyond that. He resides there now, from what I’ve heard.”

She was right. I did not like her plan. It was, however, the rational thing to do.

“Tomorrow, then?” I asked as a bell began to clang.

“Sooner the better.” She nodded and stood. The lass wiped dust from the seat of her pants and strode towards the noise. Zheli called the farmhands in for lunch, and I idly watched the fields empty from my seat under the old oak tree. Bodies streamed toward a single point by my lodge, yet I did not join them.

I found myself lacking hunger. Instead, work called to me. Sigh escaping from my lips, I heaved myself upon and headed for the old storage shed. Dread crept into my stomach as I opened the door and found my suspicions confirmed.

Contained in glass and untouched, my month-long powernap had proved fatal to the large variety of plants I had spliced and kept under observation. I had not left instructions to have them watered and fed, and this was the result. Half-formed species were wilted and dried, a wealth of potential knowledge simply vanished.

I clicked my tongue, shook my head and decided to start again. Once the new project was completed, I would dive back into splicing monster-plants and discovering new strains. For now, there was little to do save for emptying out the jars and preparing to start fresh.

Work distracted me from the thoughts of politics and endless posturing with power. A welcome reprieve. One I was eager to extend. There was little that called for my immediate attention throughout the rest of this day. Instead, I found myself in the field, scythe in hand and hurrying along the harvest.

They were scared of me.

I smelled it whenever I drew near. Saw it in the way their body language shifted. Wheat that I cut and piled was hurriedly carried away, the worker’s forms stiff all the while. Even the beastfolk were nervous when in close proximity to me.

Yet they garnered my respect in this. Even fearful as they were, the workers pressed on. Worked through it. Attempted to smile when I asked them questions. Did their best to hide it.

I soon tired of it. There was something overwhelming in being able to smell emotions, and fear itself had a sickly stench to it. My presence slowed work, I realized. With a frustrated grunt, I cut down one last swathe of wheat and abruptly stomped off. If my own workers regarded me with such fear, what did I inspire in my enemies?

I had never even met most of the people that wished me ill. Perhaps I should, if only to reinforce these emotions. Ishila’s plan seemed less undesirable now, if I followed this line of thought.

My thoughts returned to the carriage of people I had brushed off and left behind.

Fools thought they were, one did simply not anger the rich and walk away without consequences. They were far too petty for that. With my accumulated wealth, could I now be counted among their number? Perhaps.

They were petty. I was wrathful. Should they persist in a doomed venture to exact revenge for my slights upon them, they would discover as much. Even Ironmoor kept his distance with our brief history of antagonism. Perhaps not the healthiest pastime a man could have, to make enemies of the rich and powerful.

Yet I was ll out of fucks to give.

Whatever came of this venture, whatever the future held, I was sure it would be sufficiently amusing for those Gods Above that watched.