Gravemound by Kim Fielding (snow like ashes TXT) 📕

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