Gravemound by Kim Fielding (snow like ashes TXT) 📕

“Um, hello.” Phineas fought the urge to fidget. “I wonder if I could talk to you about something.”

“I’m busy.”

Phin suppressed a sigh. “Of course. Sorry. I’ll, uh, come back later.” He turned to walk back to the village.

He’d gone only a few paces when Thozzon called out. “Sky-Demon!”

Phin stopped and turned to face him. He was pretty sure Thozzon was more earnest than Gurthcir in using the demon reference, but it had stopped bothering him.

“What do you want?” Thozzon demanded.

Deep breath. “To see if you have some spare brewing equipment I could use. I’ll try to pay you for it later, if I can.”

Thozzon squinted at him. “Brewing equipment?” Then his face pinched up like a grape turned suddenly to a raisin. “You plan to compete for my business.”

“No! I mean, not exactly.” Phin didn’t want to lie. “I’m trying to find a way to support myself so I’m not a burden anymore. I want to try making a drink we have back home, made from fermented grains. I thought maybe people would enjoy it in addition to your milk, not instead of it.” His ale would have a lesser kick than the milk, which had an alcohol content high enough to curl his nose hairs.

“Grains? Like those?” Thozzon gestured at his fields.

“Yes. At least I hope so.”

This conversation had progressed considerably better than he’d expected. Thozzon now stared at him as if Phin were demented rather than disgusting, which was, Phin supposed, an improvement. Still, he was astonished when Thozzon stepped outside the house, clearing the entrance to the doorway, and inclined his head. “Come in.”

Somewhat trepidatiously, Phin obeyed.

His own hut comprised a single room, as did most of the others in the village, although a few had a loft or small storeroom. In sharp contrast, Thozzon’s house had a large central space with a half-dozen doorways leading to other rooms, not to mention a steep stairway to a second story. His floors were stone, not dirt, and they were strewn with colorful rugs. More rugs adorned the walls. Phineas noted ornate cabinetry instead of open shelves, furniture that didn’t look battleworn, and a fireplace almost as big as Phin’s entire hut.

But Thozzon didn’t look as if he especially enjoyed his luxurious surroundings, and he certainly wasn’t trying to show them off. He quickly ushered his visitor to a dark wood chair with a red-and-yellow-patterned cushion. After Phin sat, Thozzon paced restlessly, his fingers twining with one another. His habitually stooped posture had disappeared. He wasn’t an old man, Phin suddenly realized. At least, not as old as he’d previously assumed. The lines on his face came from frowning rather than age. He must be somewhere in middle age, although Phin couldn’t guess more accurately than that.

While he waited for Thozzon to do whatever he was working himself up to do, Phin silently admired the handiwork of Thozzon’s knickknacks, all a little dusty, now that he was looking more closely. He also noticed that the house smelled a little like sour milk and ashes.

“You’re not truly a demon, are you?” Thozzon seemed entirely serious.

“No. I’m just a person, like you.”

“You’re a witch, though. How else could you fly?”

Phin tried not to groan. He’d had a similar discussion with other villagers several months ago. “It’s not magic. It’s….” Science. Physics. Technology. But this language had no words for any of those things. “A machine. Like the mill that grinds the grain into flour. If I was a witch, wouldn’t I have flown away by now?”

Thozzon nodded reluctantly. “That would be powerful magic, to be able to fly.”

Honestly, Phineas had never given it much thought. Ships zoomed through space all the time. When Somboon had informed him that they were going to take a vacation on one of their planet’s moons, Phin had been delighted at the thought of a holiday at a nice resort—he and Somboon had never taken one together—and slightly irritated they’d be stuck inside a cramped starship for the few hours it took to get there. It had never occurred to him that they might encounter a space anomaly and end up folded into another solar system, where their poor ship would do its best to land them on a planet with a survivable atmosphere and human inhabitants. He absolutely hadn’t expected to crash-land, lose his husband, and end up stranded.

“So you’re not a demon or a witch,” Thozzon said. “But do you know how to destroy a soul-reaper?”

Phin shook his head. He had no idea what a soul-reaper was, although it didn’t sound friendly.

“Didn’t think so.” Thozzon shuddered. “One of ’em knocked on my door last night. I didn’t let it in—I’m no fool—but it stood outside and called and called until I couldn’t stand anymore. I asked what it wanted. But I knew. Oh, I knew.”

“What?”

“My soul, of course! It said when I die, it’ll come gather my soul and take it away.”

Nope, definitely not friendly. “What will it do with it?”

“Eat it. That’s what a soul-reaper does. And then the soul is stuck inside it, doomed to spend eternity squashed in there with all the other souls, traveling through the night. No sunlight, no freedom, no peace.” Thozzon’s voice shook as if he might burst into tears at any moment. He’d stopped pacing, but now his thin body swayed and shook. “And do you know the worst part? It’s my own fault.”

Phineas was beginning to wonder how much of his own fermented milk Thozzon had drunk and whether it would be possible to slink away without causing too much offense. But Thozzon seemed distraught, not dangerous. Maybe he just needed someone to rave at. As far as Phin knew, the man didn’t have any family or friends. Phin could empathize with the ache of loneliness; he felt it often in his little hut. “How is it your fault?” he asked gently.

Thozzon stopped pacing and wrung his hands. “I’m selfish!” he wailed. “I’ve spent my entire life thinking about myself, seeing how much wealth