Page 7 of The Souls Harvest
I shake my head, unsure, toying with the bottle lid. “What if thereissomeone else like me? Not just a Reaper, but someone who can harvest the souls of the gifted ones, of the Harvesters that Roden never had a chance to find and train?” I set down the bottle and press my hands between my knees to stop myself from fidgeting.
A loud screech of Popplewish’s chair tells me I won’t like heranswer. “You know that’s impossible. And even thinking that Roden somehow didn’t realise someone like you exists is madness. I’d say arrogant enough to deserve temporary isolation.”
“Right, because Roden has never lost a Harvester before—” I blurt out, accidentally kicking the bottle away from me. I snap my head up so quickly my hair comes undone, cascading like dark curtains on my shoulder—the perfect image of a perfect arrogant fool.
“Enough,” Popplewish whispers a warning, eyeing the door before walking towards me, her fingers interlaced on her front. “Roden loves his people, and he is the reason why you’re still alive.”
But my brain is in motion and impossible to control. “Love? I’m alive becausehegave up on Rogues, and I’m the only one who can hunt them down.” I instantly cover my mouth, regretting my audacity, surely shining behind my wide eyes. My heart gallops in my ribcage.
Miss P. drops her head, looking at her hands as if her answer to my sudden folly is carved along her long fingers.
Every step resonates in my ears like the ticking of a clock counting down the seconds separating me from my punishment.
When she’s close enough, I can see the colours in her eyes twirling and darkening. She says somberly, “You know it’s not that simple. You’re not just a tool, but you are the only one who can gift those Rogues with the peace they deserve. It is not lack of love that forces Roden’s hand to find them, but his need for atonement.”
“He wakes up every day with the constant reminder that hesaved us, his people, but that there are still many out there, he couldn’t sense in time, damned to live with a gift they will never understand. A talent that would have driven you to madness had he failed to find you.”
I contemplate her words. Wise, righteous, but still not fully sitting well with me. “But he is not the one who has to live with the voices of Rogues begging for one more day. Harvesting their souls is not like plucking Nistarei’s souls. It hurtsme—every single time. It’s like dismembering my own heart…” I realise I’m crying only when a tear drops onto the back of my hand.
Popplewish’s tall, slender figure, wrapped in a mustard shawl, crisp white blouse and wide light blue trousers, blurs behind the veil of my tears, like a mirage in the desert. But her hand is warm and solid on my knee when she crouches before me.
“You know you could stop if you wish,” she reminds me.
I shift in the chair, blinking her hand into focus, registering the freckles on her skin and the marks of black ink on her fingers.
I shrug, offering a crooked smile. “It’s too late for that. If I stop, there will still be Rogues out there losing their minds because their untrained gift slowly eats them alive. I could never live with the idea of innocent people abandoned to their destiny because I was too weak to accept mine.”
And yet, Roden seems to live well even if he loses hundreds of them every year because he fails to find them before their fifth birthday. But I keep that to myself. Today, I’ve already walked too close to the edge.
A newfound peace lingers between us, until Popplewishstraightens back up, flattens the creases of her trousers, and walks opposite the classroom door, where the bottle has rolled, to pick it up.
She doesn’t need words. When she turns back to me, it’s all in her eyes—the gleam of understanding that speaks more than a thousand words.
The plastic bottle screeches in her hand, the annoying sound sending shivers down my spine.
“As you wish, July. My door’s always open should you change your mind…” The smile she dispenses hurts me more than the discouragement in her voice. The heels of her shoes don’t make a sound when she turns her back, a silent dismissal.
No matter her age, she still deserves the nickname she was famous for as a young Reaper—Silent End.
“You’ll have my comments on your report before the end of the week. Off you go,” she adds, standing by one of the bay windows.
I’m already at the door when I hear the whoosh of her linen trousers caressing the floor as she walks back to her desk. I can’t help but throw her a last look over my shoulder.
Sat behind her desk, she reminds me of a normal sixty-something-year-old teacher. Respectable, with fewer doctrines than her first day in class and a collection of books to flip through, like photo albums of her knowledge—except for the fact that she celebrated her sixtieth birthday over forty years ago.
We don’t age like Horigeans. Our souls, blood, veins, and tissue are born different. But only Roden and a few senior Harvesters, likeEvelyn Popplewish, treasure the secret behind it until their time approaches, and they are finally allowed to select someone in Libera they trust enough to carry their knowledge.
“I’m sorry...” I breathe against the door. My forehead pressed against the rough wood.
Evelyn Popplewish is already mentioned in our history books, and I’ve just refused her wisdomand help.
Chapter 3 - What a Way to Start a Day
Galen
The comments that always follow me every time I enter July’s apartment early in the morning subside as I close her door behind me.
The corridor of her floor seems never to be empty, no matter the time of day. The faces are usually the same, but they always treat my presence as if they’ve never seen me before. But today, I must have given them a majestic spectacle by rushing up the stairs and barging inside her apartment like Libera’s on fire.
