Gravemound by Kim Fielding (snow like ashes TXT) 📕

a distance from Thozzon’s. Phin wasn’t even surprised to find he was speaking in the local language instead of his native one.

“Do you suppose space accidents happen often and the starship companies simply cover them up? If I could sue them, we’d be filthy rich. Maybe I should’ve appointed someone to sue in my absence, just in case, but that money never would have done us any good anyway.”

The stone wall had become an uncomfortable perch, so he slid off and sat on the much softer grass beside Thozzon’s grave, his back propped against the wall. He yawned. “It’s going to be hard to stay awake. I guess I should be thankful Thozzon died when the weather was good. I’d be pretty miserable sitting here during the winter.” Another yawn. “Where do souls go after three nights anyway, assuming a reaper doesn’t eat them? Are they stuck on the planet where the person died? Is there an entirely different plane of existence? Do you get to unite with ancestors? That would be interesting. I’d have a lot of questions for them.”

For a while Phineas thought about who he’d most want to meet in the afterlife and what he’d discuss with them. When that proved insufficient to keep him alert, he stood, stretched, and ambled around, keeping Thozzon’s gravemound within sight. The cemetery contained a lot of dead people, some with neglected sites while others—with loving arrangements of stones—were kept well maintained. He assumed that the uneven ground he walked on hid graves so old that the mounds had eroded and the living had forgotten their existence.

“That’s not such a bad thing,” he said to Somboon. “The living should go on with life, and the dead should move on to whatever it is they do. I hope you’ve moved on. I’ll always remember you. Always miss you. But if you can find love, I hope you do. I wouldn’t want you to be alone.” He meant this sincerely and was certain that Somboon would feel the same about him. His husband had possessed a human’s usual assortment of shortcomings, but possessiveness and jealousy hadn’t been among his collection.

With a noisy sigh, Phin trudged back to Thozzon’s grave, where he’d left his evening’s supplies. Maybe now was a good time for a snack. What he could really use was a caf-pod like the ones he used to chew when, in his other life, he had to work late. But those didn’t exist here, and he didn’t know of a local substitute.

He paused to stare at the stones he’d placed on Thozzon’s mound. “I’ll remember you too, if that’s any solace. The good part, I mean. How you shared the things I needed for my brewery. I think almost everyone has at least a little good in them. It’s too bad yours was so deeply buried. And now it’s buried forever.”

A footstep scraped on the ground behind him, and Phineas spun around with a gasp.

The soul-reaper stood several paces away, tall and thin, clothed in rags. It was backlit by a bright moon, so Phin couldn’t make out its features, but he could hear its quiet breaths. It had something long and thin slung over a shoulder, probably a weapon of some kind. Wonderful.

“Go away!” Phineas hoped he sounded braver and fiercer than he felt. “I won’t let you have this soul, so you might as well skedaddle.” He planted his fists on his hips and glared.

The reaper laughed.

That wasn’t the response Phin had expected. It was a dry sound, rusty like long-unused metal parts, but it was definitely a laugh. And not an evil one. At least he didn’t think so.

“I mean it. I made a promise, so you’ll have to reap somewhere else. Somewhere far away.”

“Who are you?” asked the reaper. Like its laugh, its voice sounded out of practice too, although it was surprisingly soft. Phin would have expected a reaper to screech.

“None of your business. I’m alive, so my soul’s not up for grabs.”

“I don’t want your soul. Or his either.” The reaper pointed at the grave. “My own’s too heavy already.”

“But….” Maybe this was a trick. Did reapers have souls of their own? He should have asked Gurthcir more questions when he had a chance. “What do you want then?”

There was a long silence before the reaper answered. “I’m hungry. Could you share some of your food?”

Phineas had been under the definite impression that reapers subsisted on souls alone. But then, as he stood there stupidly, the obvious finally occurred to him. “You’re not a soul-reaper, are you?”

A long sigh in response. “I don’t think so.”

The man—because that’s what he seemed to be—waited while Phin fetched his starstick, activated it, and lifted it high. The face looking back at him appeared entirely human. Gaunt, dirty, and badly scarred, yes, but there was nothing monstrous about it. “Who are you?” Phin asked.

“A traveler. I’ll leave if you’d rather. But if you’re sitting guard tonight and want some company to keep you awake, I could be that.”

Phin thought he detected something plaintive in the man’s tone, as if he asked for very little and expected even less.

Well, why not. Phin wouldn’t mind someone to talk to. He beckoned. “I don’t have a lot of food with me, but you’re welcome to it.”

The man moved slowly, a severe limp twisting his gait, but his smile revealed no discomfort. When Phin sat on the grass beside the wall, the man lowered himself beside him with a soft moan. Phin wordlessly handed over the basket.

The man looked at the collection of nuts and dried fruit. “You’d better parcel out as much as you’re willing to share, or I’m apt to eat it all.”

“Take it. I’ve eaten already.”

The man thanked him and then, surprisingly, didn’t gorge himself. Instead he moved each morsel gently to his mouth and chewed slowly as if savoring every bit of flavor. The bright moonlight gave Phin the opportunity for a better look. The traveler’s long, tangled hair was threaded