"I—never mind, Jay. Why don`t you just get some sleep? We`re going to be up early."

　　She was right. The sun hadn`t quite broken the horizon when someone knocked on their door. The farm kitchens provided a massive ham and egg breakfast. Jeremiah was too nervous to be hungry, but he forced himself to eat anyway. He felt reenergized after the night`s rest, but he`d need his strength to endure the mental strain of the day.

　　As they returned to the stables, Jeremiah could tell word had gotten around. Farmhands whispered as he passed, or openly stared. He wondered what they had heard, whether rumor overwhelmed the truth or if the truth was strange enough on its own.

　　Jeremiah resumed reanimating horses at once. With Garth`s guidance, he focused on the largest horses that had been part of the plowing teams. This time he made the bubbles small and inactive as soon as he created them. In this manner, he managed to raise another dozen zombies under his control.

　　"You alright, boss?"

　　Jeremiah jumped, snapping back to attention. "What?" He realized Garth was standing very close to him, apparently concerned. He wondered how long he`d been staring into space. "Yes, I`m fine. Get the plows ready, we can get started today with what we have." Jeremiah wasn`t even sure he could control what he had animated right now, not when they were all active.

　　They made their way out from the stables to find the farmhands assembled in neat rows, just like yesterday. Dozens of plows were arrayed beside the stables, from worn wooden plows with cracked handles to great iron contraptions. A small crate had been placed before the assembly. Beside it stood Dunsimmons, watching him expectantly.

　　Jeremiah realized with a jolt that he was expected to say something. At Delilah`s prodding, he stepped onto the box and faced the crowd. No words came to mind as he looked out on sun-darkened faces, sturdy clothes, and suspicious eyes. He swallowed hard.

　　"Ladies and gentlemen of Dunsimmons`s Farm," he said, his voice squeaking. He cleared his throat. "By now you`ve probably heard about what I`m doing. I, uh, want to clarify a few things."

　　His mouth went dry again as he prepared to speak the truth that had led to broken friendships, to being run out of towns, to being put on trial for his life. "I am a necromancer."

　　A murmur ran through the crowd, but Dunsimmons`s discipline did not break. Certain he was about to be lynched, Jeremiah continued. "I have raised some of the horses who have passed on as undead. You would know them as zombies."

　　Jeremiah saw hands go over mouths and anxious shuffling. He continued quickly. "Let me be clear, they are not dangerous! They only do exactly as I command! Think of this as&as a parting gift from those hardworking animals. You`ll see some horses you know. They won`t be at their&prettiest, but if you want to say goodbye, this the time to do it."

　　Jeremiah paused. The farmhands hadn`t broken rank to seize him yet, though Dunsimmons kept a discerning eye on his workers.

　　"They won`t get tired," Jeremiah continued. "They don`t need water breaks. There won`t be any bucking or biting or stubbornness. They are strong, much stronger than they were. You need only guide them and they will follow you. Are there any questions before we get to work?"

　　"This is evil magic!" one of the farmhands yelled, thrusting a finger toward Jeremiah. Several people nodded.

　　Jeremiah had anticipated this objection. "Magic is neither good nor evil. You can kill a man with an axe, or you can cut down a tree, it makes no difference to the axe. Same goes for magic."

　　"Still sounds like evil magic!" the man said.

　　Dunsimmons began walking toward the man. The line went still and silent. The man`s outrage fled, and he stared at the ground as his boss approached.

　　Dunsimmons towered over the man. The line separated on either side of him. "Jones!" he bellowed. "If you have a problem with work, I invite you to let me know now so I can alleviate your discomforts. Do you have a problem with work, Jones?"

　　Jones wrung his hands and averted his eyes. "N-no sir."

　　"Do you have a problem with the triple pay you`re making for this endeavor? Would standard wages put you at ease? Or would you like to ask me for a favor and request half wages? Do you need a favor, Jones?"

　　"No sir."

　　That did it. There were no more questions or objections.

　　"The horses will come to you!" Jeremiah shouted. "Guide them to their plows and hook them up. Once everyone is ready, they`ll start pulling."

　　Jeremiah climbed down from the crate. He closed his eyes and, one by one, began to inflate the bubbles. Delilah steadied him as he nearly buckled under the load. His own mind was being crowded out. He had never tested himself like this before.

　　In the end, he had to keep several bubbles inactive. There simply wasn`t enough room for all the zombies he had created. Still, they had to get started.

　　Rise. Come.

　　A rustling came from inside the stables, soft hoof clops on earthen floor. The farmhands` tension grew as they listened. For so many moving horses, it was eerily quiet.

　　The first of the zombies appeared in the door, and the rest followed in a long, orderly line. The farmhands were visibly shaken at the horses acting so strangely.

　　Randy spurred the farmhands to action. "Move your asses! Daylight`s wasting! No pay for no work!"

　　Cautiously, the farmhands approached. Some went to particular horses, petting them and speaking softly to them. The zombies were bridled and led away from the stables.

　　Follow. Move.

　　There was so little space in Jeremiah`s own mind for himself. He could see and think and move, but it was slow, as if his thoughts were trudging through mud. It was like turning around in a tunnel only big enough to crawl through—possible, but difficult and claustrophobic. Delilah whispered in his ear. "Go."

　　Jeremiah commanded every zombie he had.

　　Pull. Harder. Faster.

　　The plows kicked into motion, crossing slowly from one side of the field to the other and back again. The incredible strength of the zombified horses heaved giant rocks from the ground and snapped roots like twigs. But many more plows and farmhands stood uselessly to the side.

　　The day passed slowly. His job was simultaneously monotonous and nearly overwhelming. The remaining space in Jeremiah`s head was saved for necessities, such as annoyance at his own limitations.

　　By the time the sun set, the field had been plowed far into the distance. Jeremiah felt exhausted as the farmhands returned the horses and plows to the stable, but he was pleased with the progress. He and Delilah retired to the guest house.

　　"That wasn`t too bad, was it?" Jeremiah asked after dinner.

　　Delilah was scribbling on a piece of paper. "We did good," she said finally, "but not great. Based on what we plowed today, we`ll be at this for a month before we finish. That`s assuming it all goes just as well as it did today and there are no setbacks."

　　Jeremiah`s satisfaction at the day`s work evaporated. His face dropped into his hands. "Dunsimmons wants this done in a week! How are we supposed to make up that kind of time?"

　　"Is there anything you can do? Raise more horses? Make them go faster?"

　　"I`m doing everything I can."

　　Delilah patted his shoulder. "Well, keep doing your best. Maybe Dunsimmons will be happy enough with a quarter of his fields plowed to write the affidavit."

　　He knew she was just trying to keep him from despair. Dunsimmons had been clear about his demands, and he didn`t strike Jeremiah as a man who accepted compromise. Jeremiah lay awake, pondering solutions long into the night, but when he opened his eyes at sunrise, it was without any new ideas.

　　The process began again, grinding away at job that was too big for him. Jeremiah stewed in frustration at his failures as hour after hour passed.

　　Hard to think. Need to do more. Too many bubbles, need space, just a bit more space. Jeremiah tried moving the bubbles around his head, pushing them together as tight as he could to free up a bit more space. They squeezed closer, allowing him a small amount of precious room to think. He used it to try to come up with ways to complete a month`s task in a week. His opportunity to prove his worth was slipping away. "Good, not great" wasn`t going to cut it.Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

　　He picked two bubbles and was squeezing them tighter together, hoping to salvage enough room for one more zombie, when he had a revelation, thanks to the minuscule amount of spare thinking space he had created.

　　There`s space inside bubbles! And the zombies only follow the same command&

　　With that realization, one of the bubbles suddenly existed inside the other. Quite by accident, he had nested the two bubbles neatly together, taking up the space of just one bubble. He quickly scanned the fields for any disruption in the farmhand`s work, but nothing seemed to have changed.

　　Jeremiah chose another pair of bubbles. He wasn`t sure exactly how he`d done it, but just knowing it was possible for one bubble to exist inside the other was exhilarating. He struggled for several minutes, the two bubbles remaining resolutely separate despite his efforts. He had nearly exhausted his focus when, with monumental concentration, it happened again. And again, easier this time. His elation grew as he freed more headspace and began to understand the implications of what he`d managed. He prodded Delilah`s shoulder incessantly.

　　"Ow! Jeremiah, stop it. What`s wrong?"

　　"I`ve got it! I know what to do!" Jeremiah jumped up. Delilah started at the explosion of movement. "I know how Flusoh did it, how he controlled so many!

　　Delilah went pale. "You can control as many as he could?"

　　"Nowhere close! But I can control many more than before. I`m going to raise the rest of the horses."

　　Delilah ran to find Garth and Jeremiah went into the stables. Stall by stall, he resurrected the dead horses, making sure to double up their bubbles as soon they were created. The process of nesting them was already becoming second nature. His heart pounded with excitement as Garth, Randy, and Delilah arrived and saw the new zombies standing and ready to work.

　　"Get any plow you can beg, borrow, or steal." said Jeremiah. "We`ve got work to do!"

　　The new round of reanimations had tired Jeremiah, but he was too elated to care. He had discovered a secret of necromancy all on his own. He now commanded nearly 100 zombie horses. With experimentation, he was able to nest three, and then four bubbles within the space of one. The fourth bubble was exceedingly difficult, but he was confident it would become easier in time. Separating them out again was a chore, but as all his zombies only had to follow the same commands, he could maintain groups of them in the same stack of bubbles.

　　The sun was setting, but Jeremiah was too excited to rest. He gathered Delilah, Garth and Randy. "We`ve got more than double the workforce as before. Let`s go all night."

　　Delilah looked at him with concern, but Randy nodded with genuine approval. "Garth, fetch lanterns and oil for every plow. I`ll set up a schedule for the men. An extra silver to anybody that goes all night!"

　　Jeremiah monitored the fields as the last rays of sun disappeared over the horizon. Delilah was crunching numbers beside him. "By my estimate," she said, "with the extra horses and all the men working in shifts to keep them going, we`ll finish the last field in just about five days. But that`s assuming the horses are going 24 hours a day. You`ll need to sleep at some point, right?"

　　Jeremiah pursed his lips. "I don`t know what will happen if I sleep while the zombies are working. It doesn`t sound like something we can risk, though. We`re going to just barely make Dunsimmons`s deadline as it is. I`ll just have to stay awake as much as possible."

　　Delilah frowned, but she rummaged through her bag and handed Jeremiah a crystal vial of clear, viscous liquid. "Use this only if you really need it to stay awake. The effects can be&messy."

　　He accepted it with thanks. Delilah wished him luck and returned to the guest house, leaving Jeremiah to face his vigil.

　　The hours of darkness crawled past. Jeremiah kept himself awake by pacing the edge of the field, watching the progress of the plows by their lanterns. The farmhands were all too eager to earn their bonus pay by working through the night. They seemed to consider it easy work, with the zombies able to continue unimpeded by the obstacles normal horses face.

　　Jeremiah quaffed Delilah`s serum early in the morning, when the hours until sunrise seemed to stretch toward eternity. His energy surged at once, although his thoughts also became erratic. He was struck by the idea to walk the field itself, to see his minions working first-hand, and had no sooner conceived the thought than was out there, stumbling through the freshly-churned earth by dim starlight.

　　As he headed toward the steady lanterns in the distance, a movement caught his eye. Another group of glowing lights was approaching from the river, moving much faster than any of the plows. Galloping hoofbeats reached Jeremiah`s ears. These weren`t of his own contingent.

　　Jeremiah broke into a run as the new lights reached the slow-moving plows ahead. Suddenly, he sensed one of his zombies had sustained an injury. He separated its bubble from the stack at once. There was shouting from up ahead, and the fast group of lights once again peeled away from the plows and galloped back toward the river.

　　Jeremiah reached the injured zombie and its handler a few minutes later, clutching a stitch in his side. "What happened?" he gasped.

　　The driver glared at Jeremiah. "Some of Gifford`s boys decided to pay us a visit." He pointed to a shaft buried deep in the zombie`s chest, where its heart sat silent. "Guess they don`t much approve of our methods. Can`t say I do either." The man spat toward Jeremiah`s boots.

　　Jeremiah wrenched the crossbow bolt from the zombie. The injury appeared superficial. He issued a few test commands and found the zombie able to respond as expected.

　　Randy appeared with a drawn shortsword. "Can`t believe those bastards got the drop on us. Horse still work?"

　　"Yeah, it should be fine," said Jeremiah. "Looks like it took a cross—"

　　"I know that! But seeing as how it can still pull a plow, why the hell is it standing still?"

　　The farmhand muttered an apology, and climbed back aboard the plow. Jeremiah rejoined the zombie`s bubble into its stack, and it resumed its steady work, pulling the farmhand into the night.

　　Randy spent the rest of the night prowling the border near the river, but no further incidents arose. The sun began to rise, and the effects of Delilah`s serum started to fade. Jeremiah`s thoughts took on a dreamlike quality as he sat by the edge of the field, but he brightened to see Delilah bringing him a bowl of hot oatmeal.

　　"Keep your strength up," she said. "We`re making good progress! Just get through the next few days."

　　That plan turned out to be easier said than done. Jeremiah became nauseous with exhaustion as the day wore on. Delilah chatted with him as a distraction, but eventually her energy began to grate on him. Jeremiah excused himself to walk the perimeter of the field, just to get his blood moving.

　　The day was warm for spring, and the heat of the sun didn`t help Jeremiah`s queasiness. He paused in the shade of a tree to catch his breath, watching his minions pull their plows relentlessly across the vast field. Despite the pressure they were under, he couldn`t help but feel some pride. This was work he had made possible. Necromancy wasn`t just about cults and murder, it was just as versatile and useful as other schools of magic. He`d show them, Dunsimmons and Allison, the Council and the whole world, he`d show them what he was capable of&

　　A deep growl startled Jeremiah awake. Dunsimmons loomed over him. "Have a good nap?" Threat rumbled in his voice.

　　Jeremiah scrambled to his feet. "Sorry, sir."

　　"Sorry? While you were catching up on your beauty rest, one of the horses wandered into a river and took a plow with him. It wouldn`t listen to the farmhand. You owe me a new plow."

　　"Sir, I—"

　　"On top of that, I don`t tolerate laziness. We`re a hardworking farm. Don`t go lounging the day away while my men are doing your job."

　　Jeremiah resisted the urge to protest that the men were doing nothing more than babysitting the zombies. He checked his zombies and found one was experiencing an abnormal amount of cold and wet. He separated that zombie from its stack and commanded it to return.

　　"I apologize, sir. I`ve taken care of the missing horse, you should have your plow back soon. However," Jeremiah drew himself up to look Dunsimmons in the eye, "the fact is, I do need sleep. I can do it away from the fields, if you prefer, but if you want this work to continue at all, we`re going to have to accept some risk."

　　Dunsimmons`s eyes narrowed. He worked his jaw, like he was chewing Jeremiah`s assertion to test its flavor. "Fine. But I`m holding you responsible for anything those monsters do."

　　The days passed like years in a rhythm that Jeremiah could just barely tolerate. Jeremiah`s pride at his accomplishments was replaced by a dull desperation for the job to end. He stayed awake during the day and a good portion of the night, snatching short stretches of sleep when he thought it was safe.

　　Jeremiah`s brief respites were interrupted occasionally by news that a zombie had wandered astray or gotten stuck somewhere. He was generally able to rectify the issue within a few moments of waking. Damage to the plows themselves was his greatest fear, but they seemed to suffer no more wear than normal on their brief sojourns.

　　Gifford`s raiders returned on the third night, but this time Randy was prepared for them. After the skirmish, he sauntered back to the stables and dumped a body at Jeremiah`s feet. It was a young man, a boy really. Jeremiah looked away.

　　"Feeling squeamish, necromancer?" Randy sneered. "He wouldn`t have been out here tonight if it wasn`t for you!"

　　Jeremiah raised his gaze. "I can prepare the body for a respectful burial, if that task is beyond you."

　　Randy scoffed and muttered under his breath, but dragged the body away. Jeremiah closed his eyes and wished he were anywhere else. At least their work continued in peace after that night.

　　Jeremiah sat in silence with Delilah on the last day of Dunsimmons` deadline. The plows had been operating out of sight in the far fields for some time now. One of the farmhands reappeared around the side of the barn. He stopped his plow in front of the stable and began unhooking the zombie.

　　"Something wrong?" Jeremiah asked. He could spot no damage to horse or plow.

　　"Done, boss," said the farmhand. He led his horse into the stable.

　　"Jeremiah, look." Delilah pointed toward the horizon.

　　Dozens of horses were making their way back. In a matter of minutes, the plows were being lined up and cleaned, the horses led to their pens. Jeremiah couldn`t believe what he was seeing. Relief began to blossom in his chest.

　　As the last zombie was returned, Dunsimmons appeared, flanked by Garth and Randy.

　　"Gods damn, boy. You did it," said Dunsimmons. "Per our agreement , I`ve written a report for the courts that says you helped me out of jam."

　　As he spoke, Randy produced a small folded bundle of papers, tied and wax sealed. He thrust it toward a beaming Delilah.

　　Dunsimmons clapped Jeremiah on the shoulder. "You`ve made me quite a bit of money already! A stable of horses that need no care, no food, and don`t get tired? My profits will dwarf even my best year!"

　　"Actually, sir," Jeremiah said, "I`ll need to cut them off soon. They`ll go back to just being dead horses."

　　Dunsimmons` eyes narrowed as he processed what Jeremiah said. "You`re telling me you`re going to take my horses away. I`ll have no horses again."

　　"Unfortunately, yes. They aren`t independent, they need me to maintain them."

　　Dunsimmons turned to Delilah, a storm brewing in his eyes. "You lied to me, woman."

　　Delilah`s eyes went wide as she took in a breath that was half gasp, half preparation. She thrust a finger directly into Dunsimmons`s face. "How dare you! At no point did I ever say you could keep these horses. I never implied it. I never suggested it. I never even hinted at it! I told you exactly what was going to happen and it`s not my fault your greed made you hear what you wanted to hear!"

　　"Maybe I`ll just let my counselor have that little discussion with you," Dunsimmons said.

　　Delilah stepped forward with her chin raised as if daring him to take a swing at her. "I. Would. Ruin you!"

　　Jeremiah popped the bubbles in his head, forever ending the possibility of the horses doing work. The sound of heavy bodies slumping to the ground reverberated throughout the stable, announcing what he had done.

　　Dunsimmons`s voice was low and dangerous. "Mr. Thorn. Ms. Fortune. I`ll trust you to see yourselves off my property."

　　"Thank you, Albert, we will," said Delilah, her voice dripping with acid. She stomped away, Jeremiah following closely behind.