Bloodwood

“Come on and get those barrels loaded! This isn’t a union, you know! We don’t have all day!”

Two burly-looking stallions looked up from where they’d been chatting, leaning against a wagon half-loaded with steel barrels and a few random crates. One gave a grunt, then expertly spit a line of chewing tobacco from between two teeth and went back to work, the other hesitating a second longer before joining him.

The tan unicorn stallion who’d called out to them rolled his eyes, then turned back to the makeshift table in front of him and several others. “I swear—some of these workers would forget to breathe if you didn’t remind them.” His comment earned him a few dry chuckles, to which he tipped his head, the white hard hat perched atop it falling down in front of his eyes. Grasping a small stick from the earthen ground with one hoof, and righting his hat with the other, the stallion raised the stick and slapped the jagged tip of it down on a circle near one corner of the map upon the table—it had been drawn in with black magic marker. “This is your target area.”

“Yeah, you told me that in the letter.” A boxy earth pony stallion sitting directly across from him snorted a mucusy breath, then coughed. One auburn hoof patted sloppily at the breast of his reflective safety jacket, then pulled out a half-crushed pack of cigarettes. He bit one out of the pack, then re-pocketed it and produced an abused flip lighter from the same pocket to light the tip. “But I still don’t get why you’re sendin’ me an’ my crew out there to buttfuck nowhere, in the middle of the Everfree forest of all places just to cut some wood.” He took a long drag on the cigarette, then blew it out through his nose and ran a hoof through his ratty, mud-brown mane. “That spot is miles away from any path or trail.”

The tan stallion across the table gave him a thin smile, then withdrew the stick. “Because, Mr. Rusty, you’re getting paid to go out there and cut some wood.”

“Well no shit,” Rusty gruffed, leaning forward to roughly prod the circle on the map with a hoof, the table giving a light creak of protest as the earth pony leaned on it with his other. “But, I mean, the whole Celestia-damned forest is made of wood.” As if to make his point, he jabbed his right hoof towards the forest, waving it over the wide expanse of trees that stretched as far as the eye could see. “What’s in there? Oak? Aspen? Maple? You can find all that without goin’ on a fuckin’ safari.”

The tan stallion pursed his lips, then breathed a long sigh. “Mr. Rusty—”

“Rusty’s fine,” he gruffed in response.

The unicorn fired him a short look before continuing. “Mr. Rusty, I am simply a representative hired to ensure that you receive the proper briefing for your assignment. You have been provided with a sealed envelope containing the parameters of your agreement that neither I, nor you are permitted to view until this briefing has been concluded and you are on your way.” His horn flashed, and the map immediately rolled itself up and was held out to the earth pony with a casual grin from the wielder. “Perhaps it is some very fine wood.”

Rusty glared at him long and hard, then snatched the map and set it aside. “So, lemme’ confirm all this. We’re authorized for twenty ponies, including myself, to remain out there for six months? Paperwork’s filed? We’re legal?”

The unicorn pointedly held up a hoof. “Twenty two, counting the guards that we’ve taken the liberty of hiring for you. They both excel in high-pressure, combat situations and scenarios where survival is necessary.”

Rusty blinked, then glared out over the temporary camp on the edge of the forest. “This is a logging party, not a fuckin’ army. What exactly do you think we’re gonna need them for?”

“You’re going into the Everfree forest, Mr. Rusty. They have been graciously offered to you by the company I represent and I can assume, as a intelligent stallion of your trade, you would rather have them for free and not need them, rather than need them and not have them.”

The auburn stallion seemed to seethe as his narrowed eyes scanned the unicorn’s face for emotion, and after a second, the earth pony nodded and let out another puff of smoke. “Double our normal labor rate, right?”

The unicorn nodded firmly. “Of course, Mr. Rusty. We would never go back on our offer.”

“Payment bi-monthly in an account for the base price, and full payment in return for the hours invested, plus a percent value of any lumber we produce?”

“It’s what was arranged.” The stallion didn’t blink.

After a moment of hesitation, Rusty nodded, then scooped up the map and turned away. “If that’s everythin,’ then I think I’m gonna round up the gang and we’ll get movin.’” Rusty looked back over his shoulder at the representative, a shitty sort of grin creeping onto his face, smoke-stained teeth glinting ever so slightly in the soft light. “It’s a shame you won’t be comin’ with us. I was just startin’ to like you.”

The stallion raised a hoof, as if to tug at an invisible collar, then smiled his thin smile right back. “That’s quite alright. I like to consider myself an intellectual.”

“There are very few trails that penetrate the Everfree forest,” the orange pegasus stallion rattled on, his face lost in the map they’d been provided with, his voice sharp and well-articulated, his tone crisp. The wagon they were riding bounced over a rock along the trail, and he jerked, his thin glasses and gray mane falling down on his face. With a short huff, he glared forward at the pullers, then pushed his glasses up and went back to the map. “Most don’t even bother to tickle the fringes of what could be considered its confines. What few do are scarcely maintained and overgrown with foliage. What very few trails there are have been blazed out of pure necessity.” He jabbed the tip of his hoof at another line that had been magic-markered onto the map. “They cut this route about seven years ago to gain access to the ruins of the old royal castle to remove historical heirlooms and documents—big enough for wagons to get in there. It runs within sixteen miles of the area marked on our map so I think it's our best bet.”

He glanced up eagerly to the faces of five other stallions in the wagon who really didn’t seem to be paying much attention to a word he’d said. A brown stallion with a somewhat impressive beard noticed the frustrated look forming on the orange pegasus’ face, and quickly waved a hoof for him to go on.

“Yeah, keep going,” another pitched in, “it makes for a good lullaby.”

Before the orange pegasus could get in a reply over their cackling, Rusty’s auburn hoof reached back from the front of the wagon and gave him a good pat on the shoulder. “Cool it, four-eyes. I don’t pay ‘em to be interested in history.” He patted the empty seat beside him behind the hoofboard, then waved with his hoof for the other to come up.

The pegasus hesitated, then nodded, turning to scramble up over the back of the wagon, ruffling the map a little in the process. “You’re Rusty, right?”

“Sure am,” the earth pony chimed. A short chuckle left him as his eyes drifted out ahead, looking over the other wagons laden with equipment and supplies, each pulled by a Clydesdale breed from up north. “Lookit’ those beasts,” he said, motioning to one of the pullers. “If I had the bits I’d hire a whole crew of them. They pull like freight trains, lift like cranes, and probably eat like sharks.” He stifled a chuckle. “Too bad I don’t get to keep ‘em for the work—just for transport, hired by those hard-to-reach-wood-wanting fucks.”

The Clydesdale in question, pulling the wagon the two were riding on, glanced back and rolled his eyes.

Rusty shrugged at him, then looked over at the thin stallion beside him. “Your name’s Crunch, ain’t it?”

Crunch straightened the map a little, then nodded. “Yes. Cartographer, analyst, accountant. General administrative assistant.” He took a moment to glance around, looking up and down the wagon train. “Albeit a little out of my element...”

“Yeah well I needed someone to run the books. Never been good at all that shit. My old guy quit, got married, wife wanted him close to home. A damn shame.” Rusty gave him a firm nudge, then snorted. “But that’s why you get paid more than the grunts.” He leaned in close, suddenly, his voice a harsh rasp. “And don’t go tellin’ the workers that, or else they’ll wring you like a sweat rag.”

With a firm nod, Crunch swallowed hard, then leaned over to hold the map out in front of Rusty. “Anyways, uh... yeah, so we’re here.” He flared one wing to poke his longest primary feather at a small spot on the trail just into the fringes of the forest. Then, he trailed the feather upwards to a point about three-quarters of the way up the line. “This is where we’re going to break off and unload the wagons, then it’s about sixteen miles through uncut foliage to reach the site.”

Rusty nodded once, twice, then blinked and snatched the map from the pony beside him. “Shit, you fuckin’ insane?” He smacked the map with the back of his hoof. “You’re talkin’ about movin’ hundreds of gallons gasoline, chainsaws, a wood chipper, millin’ equipment, temporary structures, food, and a crew of twenty-two sixteen miles through uncut forest!”

Crunch made a scrunched sort of face, then gingerly took the map back from Rusty. “If you recall, they’re paying the labor for mobilization and demobilization stages of the operation, by payroll hour, so long as I document it. You read the full agreement, right?”

The large earth pony blinked. “Not that part...” Rusty thought for a moment, then snickered and pulled out a new cigarette. “Nevermind. Sixteen miles is just fine.”

“Hey, Rusty!”

The auburn stallion’s ears perked at the voice that sounded from just ahead. A light blue unicorn standing atop the lead wagon just visible in the distance was waving somewhat urgently for his attention.

“Yeah!?” Rusty bellowed right back, his voice dampened somewhat by the surrounding foliage and the distant buzz of two-stroke engines.

“I need to talk to you about this!”

Rusty grunted, then took a long pull on his cigarette and exhaled the smoke through his nose. “I’ll be back to play cartographer with ya’ later, four-eyes. Gotta go see what Ratchet needs.”

Crunch blinked. “Ratchet?”

“Assistant foreman. Don’t worry, kid; I’ll introduce you to the whole crew some time.” Rusty heaved himself off the edge of the moving wagon and hit the ground with a heavy thud, groaning a little as his aging bones took the weighty landing. “Damn, really gotta lose some weight,” he grunted under his breath, shaking off the aches as he straightened up.

Rusty made his way up past the wagons that were moving at a slow walk at best, each pulled by similarly-huge Clydesdale. At the very front of the group, two stallions with rig-mounted pole saws were clearing seven years of foliage from the trail to make way for the passage, while two more walked behind them to clear the fallen branches.

Ratchet was waiting atop a stack supply crates on the front wagon, though as Rusty approached, he hopped down onto a smaller stack of flour sacks near the back and motioned the auburn stallion over. Grunting, cursing like a sailor, Rusty dragged himself up onto the wagon and flopped back on what turned out to be a rather comfortable, impromptu couch of flour sacks.

“Did your friend back at camp tell you about this?” Ratchet’s horn lit up ice-blue, and he flipped open the clasp on a satchel he was wearing to produce a manila envelope.

Rusty snatched the envelope and shook out the folder within, sightlessly passing the empty envelope back to Ratchet as he flipped open the file in his lap. The wagon jostled, and the final ashes of his cigarette fell onto the first page of print. Rusty gruffed, then swiped them off and spit the butt off the back of the wagon. “You mean that business rep with the hardhat and the stick up his ass?” He snorted. “Said we weren’t supposed to see this until we moved out.”

“Yeah, well...” The frustrated edge in his voice was clear. Ratchet nodded towards the folder. “Turn a couple pages and you’ll see why.”

Rusty’s eyes snapped to the other stallion, and the two shared a concerned look. Rusty snorted once, then looked down and turned the page over.

—and is thereby your responsibility to execute.

Target area is approximately 2500 acres of dense forest commonly referred to as ‘bloodwood’ for the characteristic red appearance of the unique forestry.

The bloodwood perennial is most notable for its ironwood characteristics while maintaining a dark red hue. Such timber is almost nonexistent in today’s market due to the lack of proper conditions required to sustain it, and the approximate time it takes for a single tree to properly mature (upwards of 100 years). The market value for such timber is fluid, and often sells in auction rather than at market price, making the proclaimed ‘bloodwood’ the most valuable timber on the market. Even the excess scraps as a byproduct of milling have value as carving blanks or as potent ingredients for potionmaking and spellcasting catalysts. All known biomes of this specific forestry have either been eradicated through deforestation or protected by the Equestrian Land Act for Endangered Species and Flora, which restricts the harvest of old-growth forest. Attempts to artificially grow and nurture these unique perennials have been unsuccessful, as the intricate conditions required to harbor the bloodwood seed proves to be elusive and unattainable in fabricated settings. This, coupled with the timber’s unique beauty and inherent magical properties, is what maintains its incredibly high market value.

Rusty rubbed a hoof over his brow, then shared a somewhat startled look with Ratchet before glancing back down. A single picture had been provided, depicting a massive, sickly-looking tree with gnarled roots, so dark in color that it was hard to tell where the actual contours of the tree were. It was tall, nearly as wide as a wagon at the base, though over the course of three or four feet, it narrowed down some to a more reasonably-sized trunk that spanned upwards. The small, almost bush-like leaves on its spindly branches were dull hues of orange, red, and yellow.

Shaking his head suddenly, Rusty slapped the folder closed. “This is so fuckin’ illegal.”

“You think!?” Ratchet fired right back. “This two-thousand acres is hotter than Celestia’s goddamn sun! Did you know what you were getting us into when you signed us up for this shit?”

“No!” Rusty flipped through a few more pages, then growled and half-tossed the folder back to Ratchet. “Fuck—no wonder they’re payin’ so well!”

Ratchet snatched up the folder, then tucked it away into his satchel with a guilty look around in all directions. “Well... what do we do? Do we call it off?”

Rusty spluttered. “You’re tellin’ me you wanna look at those eighteen stallions we’ve hauled halfway into the Everfree forest on the promise that they’d be makin’ double pay than what they normally do, an’ tell ‘em that they gotta go home without a cent? We called ‘em in a week ago, Ratch! Half of ‘em quit their jobs! I’ve already bought all the food and the gas! I’m buried up to my ears with the credit union!” Rusty pulled out another cigarette and fumbled for his lighter. “Ain’t no way that’s gonna happen. We all got mouths to feed.”

Ratchet bit his lip and glanced backwards at the convoy. “But what about—”

“I don’t know!” Rusty finished lighting his cigarette and immediately took a deep pull on it, watching the tip turn to ash. Groaning out a cloud of smoke, the large stallion seemed to deflate for a moment. “We just don’t tell ‘em.”

The unicorn stared at the satchel for a second, then glanced out into the trees. “I don’t like this, Rusty. There are a million ways this could come back to fuck us. The crew will ask questions when we start cutting down trees older than their great-great-grandparents.”

“Then we cut ‘em in on it.” Rusty calmed himself with another long drag on the cigarette, closing his eyes. “But not yet. We all knew this was too good to be true somehow—we’re getting paid out the ass, Ratch.” Leaning back to peer over the edge of the wagon, Rusty looked out ahead, through the undisturbed forest, the evening sun barely casting its slanted light through the thick foliage. What light actually made its way to the forest floor seemed to glow like magma.

“Rusty spoke after a long moment of silence. “I can’t afford to not do this. Neither can they. Neither can you.”

Ratchet muttered his reply.

“I know.”