by Kim Fielding
Nobody had told Phineas whether reapers could, in fact, wring necks. It seemed possible, with the reaper tangible enough that its grave-stink carried on the breeze. But Phin held his ground. “You can’t have him.”
“I will. And I’ll have yours too when you die, and yours, soldier.”
A few weeks earlier, this threat would have carried weight with Phin. But he realized now that he was part of a community and that his new neighbors would hold vigil over his grave. And as for Kendo, well, Phin wouldn’t let him be abandoned either. “No. We’ll never be yours.”
Kendo gave him another smile, this one fierce and beautiful, before facing the reaper and pointing his sword. “You’re not my captain, and I needn’t obey you. Go.”
The reaper didn’t appear to be afraid of the weapon. It seemed more annoyed than anything, Phineas thought. It stood for a few moments, swaying. The light in its eyes dimmed and, after a pause, flared again. “Neither of you loved this man. Nobody did. Why should you care if I eat his soul?”
“Because I promised to guard him,” Phin answered. “He and I had a valid contract.”
The reaper’s wide grin was a terrible sight. “Ah, I see. He paid you. Very well, I can pay you more. I know where there’s a hidden store of coins. I ate the owner’s soul long, long ago, and nobody but me knows of the treasure. I will bring you a bag of coins. Enough to pay for a month’s worth of meals, demon. Enough for a month’s worth of shelter for you, soldier.”
Before Phineas could refuse, Kendo spoke up. “A man’s soul is worth more than that—even Thozzon’s. Give us enough coins to fill my boot and then we’ll step away.”
The reaper laughed—a nasty, slithery sound—and disappeared.
Phineas whirled angrily toward Kendo, who was sheathing his sword. “Look, I know you could probably use some money, but I’m not selling out!”
“Are you sure? You could be wealthy.”
“Like Thozzon was? No way. I’d rather scrape by in my little hut.” He gave a heavy huff. “It’s a nice little house.”
Kendo gave him that smile again, the warm one that made Phin’s heart beat more quickly. “You are a good man. If you don’t want wealth, tell me what you yearn for.”
Phineas didn’t even have to think of it. “Home. Friends. A chance to contribute. Love.”
“I had those things once, a long time ago.” Kendo sat down on the gravemound and began unlacing his boots. He kept his eyes on that task as he spoke. “I had a cozy little house near the edge of the forest, and I shared it with my lover. We helped in the fields and kept a nice garden. We had plenty of food and everything else we needed. But then the war came and we marched off to be soldiers. He died. I… became lost.” He’d removed his tall boots by then and sat, hunched and still.
“This is your village,” Phin said. How had it taken him so long to see that?
“It was… once.”
“And I’m living in your house.”
Kendo shook his head slowly. “It’s yours.” Then he leapt to his feet. “Will you trust me, Phineas? Please? You are the first person in a decade to look at me, to… to know me. So will you trust me?”
Throat too tight to speak, Phineas nodded.
This time, Kendo’s smile was full of mischief, making him look years younger. “Look at this.” He held up one of his boots and angled it just right. Even in the dim light, Phin could see that much of the sole near the toe of the boot was worn away—in fact, the moonlight shone right through the hole. It must have been damned uncomfortable to wear. But that clearly wasn’t Kendo’s current concern, because he grabbed the starstick and, moving slowly around, used it to illuminate the ground as if looking for something. “Aha!” Crouching, he set the boot down, carefully placing it just so. He tossed the other boot aside; it hit the wall with a quiet thunk.
“What are you doing?” Phin asked, bewildered.
“Reapers aren’t very bright. And after the things I’ve seen them do, I don’t mind playing a small trick on this one. I’ve placed the front of the boot over a hole in the ground.”
“But why?”
“Just wait. You’ll see.”
Nothing happened for a while, so Phineas fetched the basket and they shared a small picnic beside Thozzon’s grave. When they were through eating, Kendo stroked the blanket around Phin’s shoulders. “Did Gurthcir knit this?”
“Yes.”
“I thought I recognized the pattern. She’s… still well?” He spoke hesitantly, as if not sure he wanted to hear the answer.
“Oh yes. She came to see me just this afternoon. She’s been very kind to me.”
“She’s my father’s sister.”
Phineas blinked at that. The woman he’d been calling auntie was, in fact, Kendo’s aunt. “Don’t you want to visit with her? I’m sure she misses you. I’m sure everyone does.”
“They miss the man who left the village a decade ago. But he’s as dead as Thozzon.” Kendo patted the gravemound for emphasis.
“But they could grow to love who you are now.”
“There’s nothing to love.”
Phin was going to argue strongly against that statement, but the reaper suddenly reappeared, a dark shape where nothing had been a moment before. It rushed to the gravemound holding a cloth sack in its claws. “See?” it hissed gleefully. “Coins!”
Kendo pointed to his boot. “You promised to fill that, but you didn’t bring enough. Pour it in.”
Although Phineas wanted to recoil when the reaper drew close, he stood his ground, trying not to retch at the foul smell. He didn’t like the way the thing moved either, alternately jerking or slithering, as if its bones were reshaping beneath its gray skin. Kendo’s breathing came louder, and somehow, irrationally, that small sign of distress gave Phin strength.
Cackling to itself, the reaper opened the sack and tipped its contents into the boot, where the coins clinked dully.
“Look at that, you fool!” Kendo said. “I told you it wasn’t enough.”
The reaper bent low to peer inside the boot, then stood straight with brow furrowed. “I thought it was plenty.”
“It wasn’t.”
“I can bring more.”
“I doubt you can bring enough.”
“I can!” the reaper cried before disappearing again.
Kendo laughed as he sat back down. “As I said. Not very smart. If he had looked carefully inside the boot, he might have been suspicious. But reapers are driven by a singleminded passion, not logic.”
“Gurthcir told me that reapers were human once.”
“So was I.”
Phineas sat very close beside him and impulsively rested his palm over Kendo’s chest. “Your heart’s beating and you’re warm. You feel human to me.”
After a long pause in which neither of them moved, Kendo sighed. He gently took Phin’s calloused warm hand in his own. “That’s not the part of me that’s gone.”
“So you have a heartbeat. And we know you have a soul because the reaper threatened to eat it. What’s missing?”
“I….” Kendo shook his head. “I don’t know.”
“You’re different from who you used to be. You’re broken, maybe. But you’re still here, alive, and there’s still so much potential inside you. It’s like….” Phin thought for a moment and then inspiration struck. “Your garden. The one you planted in front of your home. It’s spent ten years untended and going wild. But Osgod says there are still plenty of valuable plants remaining. I just have to work to find them and make them strong.” Phineas wasn’t usually the type for pep talks and analogies, but it was very late and he was sitting in a cemetery with a man who was helping him wrangle with a monster. It seemed like a good time to be heartfelt and even a little eloquent.
Kendo was staring hard into Phineas’s eyes, as if trying to read a hidden message. “You believe that about me.”
“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”
“I’ve had ten years to find myself, but I’ve on
ly grown more lost.”
“Maybe you need a little help. God knows I’ve had plenty since I arrived here. The entire village has given me a hand—even poor old Thozzon.”
Kendo released Phin’s hand and looked down. He didn’t say anything for a long time, and neither did Phineas. He figured Kendo needed to think. After so many years of solitude, he might be overwhelmed with so many words at once.
Phineas was yawning hugely and fighting sleep when the reaper returned. It had a much larger bag and an air of smug satisfaction. “Plenty this time.”
“I doubt it,” Kendo said with an air of nonchalance. “But pour it and we’ll see.”
The reaper did, and again the coins jangled. But this time, after tossing the empty sack aside, the reaper looked into the boot, observed the paltry layer of coins across the bottom, and screeched with anger. “You have shamefully big feet!”
Kendo, who hadn’t bothered to stand, wiggled his toes. “No bigger than they should be. They’ve served me faithfully for a very long while. But you, beast, have disappointed us again. You promised riches and brought nothing but spare change. No soul for you.”
The reaper’s eyes glowed so bright that it hurt to look at them. “I’m hungry!” it howled, stomping like a petulant child.
“So? I’ve been hungry for a decade.”
Now the reaper snorted. “I’ll bring more. This time it will be plenty.” It disappeared before Kendo had the chance to doubt it.
Some clouds had crept in, softening the moonlight and warming the night air, bringing a hint of moisture. If it rained in the morning, Phin wondered what Kendo would do. Would he find shelter? Phineas sensed that if Kendo left the village again, he’d never come back; yet Phin didn’t want to push him. A person’s future should be their own choice, even when circumstances gave them unexpected options. So instead of speaking, Phin hummed softly and munched on dried berries from the basket. Kendo occasionally ate some too.
They waited for so long that Phin almost believed the reaper had given up. But then it was there again, carrying a large lumpy bag on one emaciated shoulder and huffing with the effort. “I had to go very far to collect these coins. One end of the kingdom to the other. But see how many I have! This will surely be enough.”
Kendo and Phineas both got to their feet and stretched. Phin longed for his bed, with the sheets that smelled like meadows and the blankets lovingly stitched by Gurthcir. And, he realized, he was looking forward to tending his garden, to puttering around in the brewery, to strolling into the village to chat with his neighbors. He glanced at the sky.
“It won’t be enough,” he said confidently.
The reaper hissed. “Nonsense!” It dropped the bag onto the ground with a thud and stood for a moment, panting. Then with some effort it tore open an upper corner, grunted as it hefted the bag, and tipped it carefully over the boot.
The coins fell for a long time, clanking merrily as if enjoying themselves. Somewhere in the trees outside the cemetery, birds began to sing. Maybe they liked the sound the coins made. The reaper kept on pouring, shifting its stance now and then to adjust as the bag emptied.
At long last, the bag hung loosely. The reaper shook it a few times to make sure nothing remained inside, and then he let it fall. After a baleful glare at Kendo and Phin, it bent to look inside the boot.
“No!” Its scream rent the air, startling the birds into silence. “That’s not possible!” It did a furious dance, bellowing a litany of sounds that weren’t remotely human. It kicked the stones off nearby graves, screeched as if being burned, and waved its gnarled claws in the air.
It was an impressive tantrum.
But when the reaper stopped throwing a fit, it turned to face Kendo and Phin with an expression so filled with hatred that some of the grasses surrounding them shriveled and went brown. “I’ll rip you to pieces and feast on your souls,” it snarled.
Phineas braced himself to fight without any weapons, and Kendo unsheathed his sword. The reaper took a step toward them, then another. Aside from harsh breathing, the world was silent.
And then—as no surprise to either Phin or Kendo—a single ray of sunlight appeared, brightening the sky and tingeing the low clouds yellow and peach.
As Phineas held his breath, the reaper shrieked in loss and despair. It jerked about and pulled at fistfuls of its lanky hair. Another ray of sunshine burst through a low-lying cloud and settled on his tattered clothing. As Phin and Kendo watched, the creature faded to transparence before disappearing completely. Its cries echoed in a puff of foul-smelling wind.
The birds resumed their song.
“You did it,” Kendo said. “You saved Thezzon’s soul.”
“Only because you helped.”
“And I only helped because you were here. And because you welcomed me.”
They smiled tentatively at each other. In the mellow dawn light, Kendo appeared younger and less careworn. He smoothly sheathed his sword.
“That’s a lot of coins,” Phin said. “Enough to make you very wealthy, I think. You can buy yourself a castle.”
“I don’t want wealth or a castle. Keep as much as you want and give the rest to the villagers.”
Phineas smiled. It would be years before anyone here went hungry or suffered for need of material goods. Gurthcir and the others could have as much yarn as they wanted. Everyone could fix their houses, buy new carts and tools, provide better feed and bedding for their livestock, indulge in toys for the children. “If not wealth or a castle, what do you want, Kendo?”
“I—” Kendo’s voice caught and he had to clear his throat. “I want to come home.”
It was Phineas’s turn to swallow a few times before he could speak. He held out his hands toward Kendo. “Good. Come with me to your home.”
“Maybe we should try it as our home.” Ignoring Phin’s hands, Kendo stepped in close and grasped Phin’s upper arms. Not hard, not hard at all. It was more like a promise of embraces to come.
And as Gurthcir had foreseen, Phineas began to cry. For that matter, so did Kendo. They stood together in the morning light, a fortune at their feet, tears trickling down cheeks both scarred and smooth, and with new hope sprouting in their souls.
Dawn was the perfect time to visit Somboon’s gravemound. The birds were just waking up, calling their urgency as they hurried to gather the final grains left behind after the autumn harvests. Phineas wore two of Gurthcir’s sweaters to ward off the chill, along with a hat and scarf she’d knitted in black with yellow dots, like stars in a midnight sky.
“No Kendo this time,” Phineas said as he arranged new stones atop the gentle mound. “There was a festival last night and he slightly overdid our ale, so now he’s sleeping it off. He says he’ll visit next time.” Phin didn’t mind. It was so wonderful to see Kendo becoming comfortable around his relatives and neighbors. He looked years younger than when Phin had first met him, and his thin frame had filled out with solid muscle. Best of all, Kendo smiled often, no longer self-conscious about his scars.
Phineas sat on the grass, which had been turning dry and brown as the cold settled in. “The ale’s been a big hit with almost everyone. Some of the older folks insist that it’s good for digestion, which I’m pretty sure isn’t true. It’s easier on the stomach than fermented milk, that’s for sure, but I’m not making any false product claims.”
For several minutes, Phineas brought Somboon up-to-date on the small but important details of his life. He and Kendo had finished adding a roof and door to the brewery, so that was set for the winter. It had taken longer than it should have because Kendo tended to wield all tools as if they were swords. Now Kendo was talking about expanding their house. Although most of the villagers were doing the same with their newfound wealth, Phin preferred the hut’s current coziness. He and Kendo argued good-naturedly about it, cuddled up cozily in bed after their lovemaking sessions. Phineas patted the gravemound fondly. “Kendo’s as stubborn as you were. He’ll probably win in the end.”
>
After sitting quietly for a time and letting the sun warm his face, Phin roused himself with a little shake. “I have to head back home. Kendo’s showing me how to preserve the last of our vegetables. He hasn’t done it in years, so he’s kind of excited. But we’ll be back soon for another visit.” He patted the mound once more, straightened a stone or two, and stood. “I’ll always miss you, Somboon. I’m so happy to have found my home—and I’m glad you’re nearby.”
Phineas smiled as he began to jog back to the cottage. The rosy dawn had morphed into a golden sky.
It was going to be a beautiful day.
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to my good friend J. Scott Coatsworth, who provided the inspiration and the cover for this story, and who’s an all-around wonderful human being.
About the Author
Kim Fielding is very pleased every time someone calls her eclectic. A Lambda Award finalist and two-time Foreword INDIE finalist, she has migrated back and forth across the western two-thirds of the United States and currently lives in California, where she long ago ran out of bookshelf space. She’s a university professor who dreams of being able to travel and write full time. She also dreams of having two daughters who fully appreciate her, a husband who isn’t obsessed with football, and a house that cleans itself. Some dreams are more easily obtained than others.
Kim can be found on her blog: http://kfieldingwrites.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/KFieldingWrites
and Twitter: @KFieldingWrites
Her e-mail is [email protected]