Gravemound by Kim Fielding (snow like ashes TXT) 📕

was okay. Gurthcir’s granddaughter had recently had a baby, so Phin—in addition to the fermenting trials—helped her husband and older children with their chores while mother and infant spent time together. He also helped a neighbor dig an irrigation trench. With such contributions, he didn’t feel too guilty about his continued dependence on the villagers for food and other necessities. If all went well, he’d be contributing more fully soon.

On the third day after his visit to Thozzon, Phineas decided to deal with the swiftly growing plants in front of his hut. If he ignored them much longer, he’d end up with a jungle. But it didn’t seem right to simply yank them all out, especially if some might prove useful. So after he woke up and ate a quick breakfast, he walked to his nearest neighbors, a family of seven who seemed content to live in a hut scarcely bigger than his own.

The oldest member of the family, Osgod, was tending to the garden and greeted Phin cheerfully. “Morning!” he called as he stood up straight and brushed loose soil from his hands. Like most of the people here, he was shorter than Phineas but sturdily built. His waist-length hair, bound at his nape by a cord, was as white and fluffy as a midsummer cloud. “Come by for more eggs? We’ve plenty today.”

“Thanks, but I’m actually hoping for advice.”

Osgod grinned. “Oh, I’ve plenty of that too, but it’s not always as fresh as the eggs.”

“That’s just fine,” Phin replied with a laugh. “I think sometimes advice is better when well-aged. I have a lot of… things growing in front of my house. It’s a mess, and I don’t know what to keep. Can I look around your garden and see if I recognize anything?”

“How about if I come to your place and show you firsthand?”

That was better, but Phineas knew his neighbors were busy people, and he didn’t want to interrupt Osgod’s work.

As if reading his mind, Osgod said, “A little break will do me some good.”

“Okay then, if you don’t mind.”

It was a ten-minute walk, which Osgod spent pointing out the wildflower plants lining the dirt track. None were blooming yet—and Phin would never remember most of them—but he enjoyed it nonetheless. Maybe at least a little knowledge would sink into his brain.

Back at his place, Phineas gave a quick tour of his brewery-in-progress, and Osgod seemed eager to sample the results when they were ready. But when they wandered to the front of Phin’s hut and Osgod saw the state of things, he put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “This is a mess.”

“I know. It wasn’t so bad a few days ago, but everything’s growing really fast.”

“What did you do last year?”

Phineas shrugged. He’d crashed here almost a year ago, but even after he’d recovered from his injuries, he’d been far too traumatized to worry about gardens. Besides, he’d stubbornly held on to the irrational hope that he’d be rescued. That, despite the fact that he knew nothing about electronics, he’d somehow rig a communication device out of the ship’s mangled parts and find a way to send an SOS in the right direction, and someone there would hear it in a timely fashion and know where he was and launch a starship to come fetch him despite the immense distance. With these fantasies clouding his mind, he hadn’t done anything with the vegetation other than keep a pathway clear.

“Well,” Osgod said, “a lot of this is weeds. But you have some salvageable herbs and vegetables. Let me show you.”

Phineas watched and listened closely, and Osgod seemed pleased to have an attentive student. He was just in the middle of describing how to prune a fruit-bearing vine when a child came running up the road, panting and red-faced. “Sky-Demon! Sky-Demon!” she yelled with unnecessary volume, even once she had Phineas’s full attention.

He caught her before she could run into him full-tilt. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Her eyes were huge. “It’s Thozzon. He dropped stone-cold dead!”

Thozzon’s death turned out to have been fast but memorable. He’d hauled a wagonload of fermented milk to the main square, apparently in preparation for an upcoming festival. He must have already forgotten the lessons he’d learned from the soul-reaper’s visit, because when the villagers objected to his price, he started yelling that they were ungrateful. He was in mid-rant when his face went purple and he dropped like a felled tree, right there in front of Gurthcir’s favorite bench.

By the time Phineas, Osgod, and the girl arrived at the square, most of the villagers had gathered to stare at the inert corpse. They weren’t celebrating his demise, by any means, but nobody was mourning either.

“What killed him?” Phineas asked.

“Greed,” Gurthcir said with a sniff. “A stone heart doesn’t beat well, does it?”

“No, I guess not.” Phin looked at the sturdy beast still hitched to the wagon. Only a few people in the village were wealthy enough to own a sykaen, and of course Thozzon’s was bigger and stronger than the others. It seemed indifferent to its owner’s carcass and far more interested in whatever vegetables a nearby woman carried in a basket. “Will the sykaen and Thozzon’s other animals be okay?”

Gurthcir patted Phin’s shoulder. “Don’t worry. We’ll make sure the beasts are taken care of, and since Thozzon had no heirs, we’ll send a message off to the queen. Her people can decide what to do with his things. We’ll make sure the milk doesn’t go to waste.” She dropped a broad wink. Then a thought clearly occurred to her. “Did you get everything he promised you?”

“Yes.”

“If you need more, you could take a look. It’ll be a fortnight before the queen’s people get here.”

“No, that’s okay.” It didn’t seem right to take more than he’d bargained for.

“Good lad.”

“Um, but, what about him?” He tilted his head toward the motionless body.

“We’ll get him planted before he starts to go bad. Do you still intend to