Gravemound by Kim Fielding (snow like ashes TXT) 📕

“Yeah, I guess so.”

She nodded. “Then follow along so you can see where we put him.”

The cemetery was a good distance from the center of the village. Everyone agreed that the best course of action was to carry Thozzon there on his own wagon, so some villagers quickly unloaded the milk while others wrapped the body in an old blanket and hoisted him into the now-empty wagon bed. With one man slowly leading the sykaen, Phineas and a few other villagers followed behind in a sort of funeral procession.

When Phin had first begun visiting Somboon’s grave, he’d found the concept very strange. Land on their home planet was too scarce to waste on corpses, so the deceased were cremated instead and their remains added to the biomixture used by the rooftop ag-domes. Bereaved family members could pull up a holo on their vidscreens when they wanted to visit with the memory of the dearly departed.

But there were no holos or vidscreens here, and eventually Phineas had found some peace as he sat beside the gentle mound where Somboon lay. Phin learned to do as the locals did, decorating the gravemound with arrangements of small stones, making it unique and special. The cemetery itself was a pleasant place, with soft grasses, several enormous trees for shade in summer, and a low wall that was perfect for sitting. It gave Phin solace to know that his husband’s final rest was in a good location with plenty of quiet company.

Thozzon’s burial party chose a spot near the wall, a little apart from the nearest mounds. A young woman named Irbet distributed shovels, but when Phin reached to take one, she shook her head. “You have a long night. Better for you to get your rest now.”

True enough, he supposed. He detoured to Somboon, pausing long enough to set a few new stones on the greening hillock, and then headed back to his hut, which wasn’t far away. After frying and eating one of Osgod’s eggs and a footfruit—a delicacy much tastier than its name suggested—he washed up with a pitcher of water and climbed into bed. He had no time to be surprised at how quickly he fell asleep.

With the shutters closed and the fire out, Phin’s hut was so dark that he thought he might have overslept. He stumbled blindly to the door and was relieved to find the evening sky painted in oranges and pinks. He had plenty of time to reach the cemetery before nightfall, so he ate some nearly stale bread and another footfruit before gathering a few items to get him through the night: a warm blanket, a basket of snacks, a clay water jar, and a starstick. The last item was nothing but a sturdy branch with a smooth rock affixed to the end; if rubbed gently, the rock would emit dim light for a few hours, like a very strange flashlight. The villagers used starsticks to light their way on dark roads and inside their huts when a fire wasn’t appropriate. Phineas had asked how the starsticks worked, but everyone simply shrugged and said they were magic. Well, they were handy at any rate.

Suitably supplied, Phineas set off for the cemetery. He was more than a little nervous and wished he had some kind of weapon. Not that it would do him any good. The local consensus was that you couldn’t harm a soul-reaper. Besides, Phin had no idea how to use any kind of weapon and was more likely to injure himself than an opponent. He’d never been in a physical fight, not even with fists. He’d just have to hope that the reaper would leave his living soul untouched—along with the body it was attached to.

The moon was nearly full tonight and the sky clear, so he barely needed the starstick even after the sun set. Birds called softly from the trees as they settled into their nests, insects chirped, and a soft breeze carried the scents of tilled earth and fresh growing things. All very restful. On his own planet, there had been so many artificial lights that it was hard to tell day from night, and he was almost never alone. Every walking surface had been hard and unforgiving, not like the soft soil now under his feet. The sounds had been strident and artificial, the smells harsh and chemical. He realized that despite his anxiety over the night’s duties, he was walking more easily than he ever had at home, his shoulders relaxed, his steps leisurely yet confident. His lungs finally had room to fully expand, and his heart had found its own steady rhythm.

“It’s not so bad here,” he said to the evening. “It’s feeling like home.”

The burial party had long since finished its work and departed, leaving the cemetery without living people. A fresh mound of dirt marked Thozzon’s grave. It was devoid of any ornaments, but Phin had picked up a few small stones as he walked. He set them atop the mound in a pleasing pattern.

“Maybe if you’d lived longer, your character might have fully reformed. I’m sorry we’ll never know. But I appreciate what you did for me.” Phin nodded at his own words and then settled on the wall.

Moonlit darkness surrounded him and the night stilled. The cemetery wasn’t creepy, he was pleased to discover. He felt almost as if he were sitting in a large bedroom full of people who were soundly asleep. He wondered if the dead could dream.

Time passed, but Phin couldn’t tell how quickly. No timepieces on this planet, not even the ancient mechanical clocks he’d once seen in a museum back home. He grew bored, which was almost a novelty. He’d rarely had the chance for that in his previous life, what with work and chores and holos to watch. Even here, he filled his days with various tasks.

“Neither of us would have predicted this,” he said to Somboon, even though his grave was quite