Page 49 of The Souls Harvest
If there’s one thing we all know about Roden, it’s that he loves a nice rooftop. Every building has one: small or large, with chairs and benches, some with many plants. They’re there for people to relax, spend time with friends, and enjoy the always-clear sky of Libera.
But Galen and I have a special place, on top of one of the highest towers of the Castle—The Blind Wise. A little square with just enough space for two or three people to admire the sky while sitting on hard, uneven stones imported from Horigos. Away from the yellowish glare of lamp posts and houses, the roof offers the most enchanting view of the island and its evergreen hills that stretch towards the sea until they meet the coast in a dance of water and sand.
When I start toying with the idea that maybe Galen has organised something for our upcoming birthday, another message makes me swear under my breath. Apparently, its vibration is as aggressive as the stupid bird-ring.
Do not think the us-talk made me forget your unbelievable, reckless decision to return to Horigos so soon.
I sink into my chair and stare at the oval glass ceiling, a modern addition to the original turret. Horigos and Libera share the same sky, but everything stops moving and stands still when it enters our reality. We only have a few gulls and tiny birds, which fly so low wecan touch them. Even our clouds are odd. They have dull shapes, never a dragon cloud or a floating boat cloud. Just white masses. Immobile. I can count and name them all because they have never changed since the day Popplewish brought me here.
But our sky turns dark purple at night and light blue in the morning—Horigos has not seen such a phenomenon in centuries.
I’m not a child of the Great Famine, and I don’t know how Horigos’ sky looked before those terrible years. But those who lived there before seeking refuge on Libera swear it was breathtaking, with a different shade of blue for each season, and pink and orange brushstrokes from dusk to dawn.
Now, Horigos’ sky is just a mass of dirty grey that only gifts its people with memories of its past beauty when it rains, and rays of a sickly violet hue bleed through its thick surface.
I blink before the sunlight blinds me for good, and straighten myself up. “Time to go…” I slam my hand on the desk to scare away the nagging feeling I’ve had since I met the Chapter—tell Galen what happened the night before and ask him to run away with me.
But where? And who says he will follow me?
I will never forget you, Sof…
But he already has, if only a tiny part of me.
Miss P.’s door opens slowly, soundlessly under the weight of myhand when I knock. I peer inside, spotting her sitting in one of her Chesterfield armchairs, the most expensive and beautiful piece of furniture I’ve ever seen; a unique work of art she bought from an antique shop in Horigos when she was offered the role of Master Reaper.
“We can’t talk if you linger by the threshold. Come in, please.”
“You didn’t need to ring me. You could have just messaged.” My voice still carries that sense of betrayal that swallowed me during the meeting with the Chapter.
The atmosphere is not what I’m used to when I step inside her office. This is not the welcoming space where I spent hours looking at the hundreds of books, perfectly aligned by size and colour, on the ceiling-high bookshelves. The curtains are shut, and the yellow light that fights its way in from narrow openings is old and dusty, smelling like dried flowers and mouldy paper.
“And risk for whoever was with you to read our private conversation? You should be more careful now and limit your interactions with Galen.” Her voice is raw, and her eyes weary as if she hasn’t seen her bed in days.
How did she know?
“As you requested, I’m keeping my contact with him to a minimum, but I think he’s planning something for our birthday tonight, and I have no intention of rejecting his invite.”
I close the door behind me and move towards her like a scrawny foal still learning to walk. The Miss Popplewish sitting in front of me is not the one I’ve known all these years, and I don’t know howto behave.
She dismisses my comment with a hasty shake of her head. The armchair’s leather creaks like old bones when she stands, pressing both hands on the armrests. “Take a seat, please,” she motions toward her desk, where two less comfortable chairs await us.
Her hair is elegantly plaited and pinned on the crown of her head. In a sea of ginger, greying strands turn silver in the dusty light. Her long black skirt caresses the polished floor as she glides over it.
I blink quickly, averting my eyes from her ethereal figure. “No, thanks. I’m not planning to stay long. What is it?” I would’ve never imagined being able to use such a tone in her presence. And yet, I cannot shake off the feeling that she’s lost the privilege of being called my mentor and role model.
Popplewish inhales deeply. “As you wish. I just wanted to review our plan to ensure you’re prepared. Perhaps you were too shocked that night, and some details may have gotten lost.”
There is only her desk between us, which I’m glad of because I would probably start vomiting all my rage on her instead of digging my nails under the edge of the wooden furniture. Or at least try to, as I don’t think Popplewish will let me scream and shout inside her office for long before restraining me.
Instead, I tap a finger to my temple, leaning over her desk, “Oh, don’t worry,allthe details are branded in my memory. As well as the faces of the Chapter. As to Galen and I—stay out of it. I’m the last, if not the only one, who doesn’t want to see him harmed.”
Her eyes narrow on me as she takes in my words. “That is not my wish either. Believe me, I know how important your friendship is.” She pauses to open one of the drawers and hands me an envelope. “This is why I needed to see you.”
I shrug dismissively and pull out the chair, ignoring the annoying sound of its legs as I drag it on the floor.
“Your new identity, address and contacts of Harvesters you might find useful should you need an extra pair of hands.”
I cautiously take the envelope between my fingers because my mind doesn’t stop whispering that anything offered by a Chapter member may now hurt me. Once I would’ve asked her what happened to the back of her hands, where short, parallel scratches gleam still fresh—but she doesn’t deserve my concern.
