Gravemound by Kim Fielding (snow like ashes TXT) 📕

with only a little gray, which suggested he wasn’t very old. But his brown eyes seemed ancient, and his face—deeply creased by old scars—could have been any age. He wore layers of ragged clothing and appeared to be carrying only a small pouch and sheathed knife at his waist and that thing—Phin guessed a sword—over his shoulder. He smelled of sweat and dirt and crushed herbs. His boots looked as if they’d walked a million kilometers.

“You’re not from this village,” the man said eventually, not looking at Phineas.

“No.” Phin pointed up at the stars. “I came from there.”

“Are you a god?”

Phineas chuckled. “No, and not a sky-demon either. Just a man.”

Finally the companion turned his head to gaze at him. “You’re lost.”

“I….” For no concrete reason, Phin found it hard to swallow. He blinked a few times. “Yes. I’m trying to make this place my home now.”

“Home.” The word echoed quietly from the man’s lips.

“My name’s Phineas Coleman. Phin. Will you tell me yours?”

The response came long after Phin had given up on getting one. “I used to be Kendo.”

“Can I call you that now?”

“That would be nice.”

“Well then, Kendo, it’s nice to meet you.”

Kendo gave a small smile, paused, and then pointed at the gravemound. “A friend?”

“No. I barely knew him.”

“Then why guard his soul so bravely?”

Phin snorted. “I don’t think I was very brave.”

“Of course you were. You confronted danger in order to protect another. That’s an important form of courage.”

Neither Phin nor anyone he knew had ever thought of him as courageous. Back home, it was Somboon who took over during times of crisis. And after crash-landing here, Phin had remained an emotional wreck long after he should have buckled up and soldiered on. But he had stood up to Kendo when he mistook him for a reaper, hadn’t he? “Thank you.”

“So why did you do it?”

“I promised him I would. He did me a favor, and in exchange I said I’d keep the reaper away. He didn’t have anyone else to do it for him.”

Kendo nodded somberly. “It’s a terrible thing for a soul to be unguarded.”

“Well, his won’t. I’ll be here for two more nights.”

They were both quiet after that, except for the sounds of Kendo chewing and swallowing. He worked his way steadily through the contents of the basket, making Phin wish he’d brought more. It looked as if Kendo hadn’t eaten well in a long time.

Finally, he set aside the empty basket and drank from Phin’s water jar. He rubbed his stomach as if he’d eaten a feast. “Will you tell me where you came from and how you ended up here?”

“It’s a longish story.”

“We have hours before sunrise. And it’s been a long time since I conversed with anyone.”

So after a little fumbling as to where to begin, Phin told about his life back home, about Somboon, and about their plans to take a vacation on the moon. It must have seemed like nonsense to Kendo, yet he listened closely and without obvious skepticism. Sometimes he asked questions, as if he truly wanted to know what a lawyer did or how Phin and Somboon had met. It was soothing to speak of these things and to share good memories with an attentive audience. And oddly, every mention of what he’d lost eased more of Phin’s grief.

He found himself liking Kendo, who didn’t say much but never took his steady gaze from Phin’s face. Kendo revealed nothing about himself, and Phin didn’t pry. A person was entitled to keep his secrets, and it was clear that Kendo had endured considerable suffering.

Phineas, his throat and muscles sore but his mind oddly at peace, looked up at the brightening sky. “I talked my way through the whole night. I’m sorry.”

Kendo’s expression was serious. “Don’t be. Your company was even better sustenance than the food.”

“I guess the reaper’s a no-show.” Phin slowly stood and stretched, feeling the sun’s strengthening rays begin to warm his bones. He was exhausted, but in the way of a person who’d accomplished a great deal.

When he saw that Kendo was slower to stand, Phin held out a hand to help. But Kendo smiled a little, shook his head, and made his own way to his feet. They stood there, strangely awkward after a night together.

“Would you like to come to my house?” Phin finally asked. “I have plenty of food there, and I could make up a bed for you. The villagers have been generous with blankets.”

Kendo’s eyes were so sorrowful that it was painful to look at them. “No, thank you.”

“But—”

“It’s dangerous for me to get too comfortable.” Kendo executed a shallow but genuine bow. “But I thank you for your generosity.”

“I’m glad you were here tonight.” Phin considered pressing the invitation but decided against it. Whether it was pride or something else, Kendo had his reasons for refusing. Maybe he’d simply had enough of Phin’s company.

Kendo nodded once more and then, with surprising grace, climbed the low wall. He limped away in the direction of the forest. Phin gathered his belongings, gave the gravemounds a last glance, and began the trek back to his hut.

Phineas fell into bed almost immediately after arriving home and slept deeply for most of the day, his dreams as insubstantial as morning mist over the fields. He woke up well rested and ravenous, almost believing he’d imagined Kendo. God, had he really spent an entire night talking some poor stranger’s ears off?

If Kendo was real, where had he slept today? He hadn’t even been carrying a blanket. Dammit, Phin should have given him the one he’d brought to the cemetery. He could have spared it.

In the day’s final hours of sunlight, Phin fixed himself a simple meal, ate, and tended to his kitchen garden. He still wasn’t sure what he was doing there—he’d need more tips from Osgod—but Phin thought he’d made a slight improvement. Or he’d at least kept the plants from erupting into a full-fledged jungle. He looked forward to