It would drizzle throughout the next few days, turning the ground to mush. Going out was a real pain, but Kiara had to get water and wood. She'd dash to the shack and back, then fiddle at the well, cursing the weather. On occasion, a thunder would boom in response.
But thankfully, the majority of the day would be spent inside. Drinking tea by the window and remembering the lush green summers. Knitting to the soft, slow tunes from the happier times. Reading the same books, smiling at the same scenes.
And it seemed like today wouldn't be any different. Rocking in her chair, Kiara was yet again following brave hobbits on their quest to destroy an evil ring. Until a chill brushed against her shoulder – gently, like the outside cold never could.
The chair abruptly stopped and she looked up beaming. Through the empty air, at the woman no living eye could see. Picturing the pale face framed by long pink hair, the reddish eyes with a touch of sadness – and hoping her gaze wasn't terribly far off.
"Hi, Calli."
The chill glided down Kiara's arm to her wrist as she imagined Calli kneeling beside the chair.
"It's been so long… You really should discuss your work hours with that grouch," Kiara said and flipped her hand.
Her palm started tingling as the chill tapped and brushed against it. No badmouthing sensei, the message said. At the end, Calli drew something akin to a smile. Though it very well could've been the curve of her scythe. A little warning.
"Alright, alright. But seriously, you've been working for him since the dawn of time. Has he not heard of vacations? I bet, if you count all the breaks you've been given, it'd barely come up to a week…"
"My job is endless overtime", Calli said with a sad smile.
Or so Kiara pictured it. Clear as day, with every little detail of her attire. With every note of her voice… Kiara could never thank enough whoever made her memory this vivid. If any part of Calli dimmed in her mind the world would lose some of its shine too.
More dots and dashes followed. "You warm?"
"Mmm? Oh, yes, yes, very warm," Kiara chirped with abundant assurance. "Don't worry. I've prepared all the firewood I need. The winter will be toasty."
There was a pause, after which Calli asked, "Did it get worse?"
Kiara bit her lip. "Well…"
Calli drew a question mark, articulating the dot a little too hard.
"I might've gotten… weaker… a tiny bit…"
As Calli was processing that, Kiara debated if she should continue.
"Is there more?" Calli asked, ever perceptive.
"I… got a cut… and it took a bit to heal…"
Kiara's hand prickled from the tips of her fingers to the wrist in an embrace of cold.
You are so much bolder when I can't see you, Kiara thought absently and smiled. Her thumb wiggled in the air, among that chill.
"I am well," Kiara assured, firmly this time. "And just you wait till spring! Flowers, bird songs… warm grass, warm sun… Warm everything! Oh, it will be great."
The doubt and concern in the air were almost palpable. The mood was souring by the second and it was starting to get on Kiara's nerves. Calli only ever got an hour off. They couldn't waste time like this.
"I am going to make tea and then we will chat. About fun things," Kiara stressed. "Objections?"
"None," Calli said.
Kiara got to the cupboard. There, among other things, stood six cups. Four were at the very back. She glanced at them briefly, with a ghost of a smile, and took out the other two. One was adorned with suns, the other had skulls and bones.
She filled both, then moved back a chair and gestured to it. "Here you go, my lady."
A chill brushed against her forehead spelling "dummy".
With a big silly smile, Kiara sat down as well and laid her arm out on the table, palm up.
"So, how is the Underworld?" she asked.
Calli started drawing up a reply.
Throughout the Wanderer's journey, there would be great many people. Strangers both kind and cruel. Friends who lived up to her trust and those who abused it. Family she found, siblings in name if not by blood. Children she took in to give them a fighting chance in this harsh life.
All butterflies flashing by before her eyes. Blink – and gone.
After having her fill of pain and loss, she learnt not to linger. She'd just stay long enough to help and then move on. Not to let anyone figure out her nature. Not to let herself get attached. She still did, of course. But at least it was easier to leave early and not see people she grew to care about die.
For a long while, the only constant in her life was Mother. A being of unimaginable power and age, with duties and responsibilities no mortal or even god could truly grasp. Coming in a dream, for a brief, meaningless chat, a handful of times over a century. As if out of a mere courtesy.
It was only natural the Wanderer would yearn for another connection. For someone whom death couldn't take away. But who would that be? Gods? She wasn't fond of their games and morals, the way they toyed with mortals.
Then there were visitors from the other worlds who had settled on Earth and their descendants. Though not immortal, they lived longer lives and had to hide their nature. She could've found kinship with some fae, youkai or the like – If she ever managed to meet them. The rumors she came across would usually lead her to a monster that needed to be slayed. Or turn up nothing, leaving her with a feeling of being watched and unwelcomed.
And so, she wrote her yearning off as a wishful thinking. This excruciatingly long road was for her alone to walk. There would never be a friend, a companion… anyone special who could join her on it. No one she wouldn't be afraid to care for and love. She had to come to terms with that, she thought.
Not realizing she had only looked among the living…
Until one day.
Until one battle that left no victors.
The field was full of corpses and even the Wanderer fell to countless wounds. Her soul left her body to burst into the plane of the dead. The specters, all as one, turned to her. A radiant form cloaked in flame, illuminating the washed out scene. A golden chain connecting soul and body, each link polished and strong. She drew their eyes, boggled their minds. Humans and nonhumans alike were mystified.
But then dark hooded figures approached them. They'd talk to the departed, swing their scythes – and the souls would vanish in a flash of light.
Reapers, the disciples of Death.
It was her first time seeing them. No one had ever come for her personally. And now too they would just pass by as they walked around the battlefield and consoled the dead. With only the cold around them scraping against her, making her flames flare up. The reapers themselves didn't pay her a single glance.
Avoided even by death.
Always on the outside.
Always alone.
The Wanderer shrank away, eyes drifting about, seeking anything other than indifference. Until her gaze stumbled on one of the reapers watching her. Though she wasn't sure, for there were no eyes on that hollow face. Only two bottomless pits. The Wanderer studied the person. It was a woman, tall and pale, with long pink hair. She wore a dress and a veil, both pitch black, adorned with silver.
More than a reaper, the woman looked like a spirit of mourning. Even though her face was but a skull, there was something sad about it. Or such was the feeling the Wanderer got.
The Wanderer managed a smile, just a courtesy, she thought. But her lips curled more than she believed they should've, with warmth she didn't know she still had. Then her legs moved on their own and the Mourner spun around to attend to a soul. The Wanderer didn't even make another step before the scythe swung. And once the soul was gone, the Mourner left as well. Instantly, like all the others, without casting a single glance back. In the end, that look must've been but a whim, a brief curiosity.
Whatever ghost of a smile the Wanderer had it was no more.
The last soul was collected and she was now all alone. Her gaze brushed over the battlefield and the numerous bodies. Humans, nonhumans. Lives just gone. And for what? A ploy of the gods? Or basic mortal greed? A waste either way.
She turned to her body. One thought, one command – and she would be back in the world of the living. But she kept staring at the corpse. Wondering. Picturing. What if she stayed? Unseen by everybody, unable to get involved. Wouldn't that be easier? Wouldn't that be… better?
"Don't."
An unearthly voice cut into her ears. She flinched and turned. Before her stood a familiar figure with long pink hair.
"I thought your kind avoided me," the Wanderer said.
"Death taught us not to get involved with souls we cannot reap. But your chime was so sad..."
"My what?" she asked, trying to hold back the shivers the voice was giving her.
"Chime. A melody of the soul. When a person dies, it calls to us."
"But you can't collect my soul…"
"And yet we still hear it ring, if we are close." The Mourner paused. She held her hands together and fiddled with her fingers briefly. "It has been mostly… solemn, I suppose, would be the right word. But now… it feels like you are crying."
"I am not!" the Wanderer said and even touched her face. "See? No tears."
"There doesn't need to be."
An odd note slipped through the lifeless voice. It was as if the reaper just smiled. A bitter smile, with a pinch of sweetness. The Wanderer could picture it perfectly, even though that woman had no lips.
Cold brushed over her as the reaper came closer and stared at the body in bright orange garb. Her flames flared up once more – only to freeze, as if puzzled, and then settle down. But the Wanderer didn't have time to get surprised as the Mourner turned to her. Absolute and sovereign darkness, the all-consuming abyss stared through the two black holes. The Wanderer took a step back, moved to make another and then stopped. She frowned while holding the reaper's stare. The urge to look away disappeared as quickly as it came. There was no threat in that void, only more of the same sadness.
"You were thinking about staying, were you not?" the Mourner asked.
"Maybe," the Wanderer said. "What of it?"
"You shouldn't. You won't find any happiness here."
"Like I've found it in life…"
"Is that really true? Can you honestly recall all of your travels and say there have never been good, happy times?"
"Well, there have been… some… But there also have been a lot of bad times… bad things that I've seen… I've gone through… done…"
"And so you decided you've had enough?"
There was not a hint of mockery, and yet the Wanderer still glared at her skull-like face, into the pits of abyss. "What is any of it to you? Like you said, I am not a soul you can reap. You shouldn't care about me."
"Indeed, I shouldn't. And it would've been so much easier if I didn't… if I couldn't…"
Another bitter note echoed in the reaper's voice, and it resonated with the Wanderer so painfully well.
"But like you care about life, I care about death. You want the living to be happy and I want the dead to be happy. I want them to be at peace. And here in the Grey there is no happiness or peace. It's a world of deadbeat souls who can only wander aimlessly and watch others enjoy their lives."
Just as the Wanderer was about to speak the Mourner cut her off, "It is not the same. You can still be a part of the living world. Ghosts can't. They would never again feel warm or cold… would never get to enjoy their favorite food… or hug their loved ones. But they yearn for it all the same. They walk among the crowd and cheer with everyone at the festivals, pretending to still be a part of life. But nobody notices them. Then come misery, jealousy, anger. They fester in the soul and transform it into something hideous, dangerous."
"That won't happen to me," the Wanderer said.
"Your soul may work differently – but not your mind. The Grey won't entertain you and you will be wallowing in your own memories and feelings. They will haunt you day and night. No distractions, no sleep. Please, think this over. Is life that unbearable that you want to escape it so much?"
Lips pursed, she kept glaring, until her shoulders dropped and she murmured, "It's not that it is unbearable. I just… need a rest."
"A rest… from life?"
"Yes…"
Something shifted in the darkness of the Mourner's eyes. "You are very tired, aren't you?" she asked, voice ringing with new, human notes.
"I am," was all the Wanderer could say.
"Then… I suppose… it is alright. Everyone needs to rest once in a while."
The skull-like face blurred and morphed into that of a human. An ordinary, earthly human, with simple features. Except for the eyes. The reddish eyes glowing dimly in place of the dark pits, no less striking than the gaze of the abyss. More, perhaps, through in a different way. The Wanderer found it difficult to look away.
"Is something wrong?" the Mourner asked in a low, yet vivid voice. She touched her nose and cheeks. "Did it not change properly?"
"No… no, it's perfect," the Wanderer mumbled. "Why would you hide it?"
"I wasn't hiding anything. I was simply on duty. Reapers only appear to mortals with that other face. That is how Death taught us."
"Well, it's a shame. If a reaper came for me looking like this, I'd have let her take me anywhere."
The Mourner looked lost for words at first, but then gave her a small sad smile. "If only it was that simple."
Sad, like everything else about her. The looks she gave, the expressions she showed – not just to the Wanderer but to the world itself.
"Say…" the Wanderer started, only for the Mourner to hush her.
"Whatever you want to ask, it won't help your mood. Much like this scenery." She gestured at the corpses. "And since you want to rest… maybe it's best if we changed it."
The Mourner took her by the arm and pulled along up in the air. The only protests came from the Wanderer's flames as they hissed at the reaper's touch. But her mind was elsewhere. Occupied by these flutters within her soul that came when their arms linked. Like echoes of a heartbeat, hectic and thrilled.
As the ground was getting further and further away, she finally uttered, "What about my body?"
"Don't worry, we aren't going anywhere far. Besides, you can always find your way back to it, can't you?"
That was true. It was as if the chain could keep extending endlessly. However, she was still reluctant to look away, even when her remains became but a dot. The Mourner had to shake her a little once they stopped. They were now among the clouds, with the setting sun painting the sky in various shades of orange, pink and purple. Faded, dulled, yet not without its charm.
The Mourner let go of her and there was a sting of disappointment. The Wanderer frowned confused with herself. What were all these feelings veiled in nostalgia, both sweet and bitter? They stirred up something within her soul – a part so small and buried so deep she didn't even know she had. But now the Mourner was bringing it out. Just by talking and smiling and looking. Just by being there.
How? Why? The Wanderer wanted to know, wanted to understand, yet before she could ask, the Mourner turned to her smiling and said, "A much better view, don't you think?"
And this smile was only slightly less sad than the one from before. Only a touch brighter. But it lit up everything around them.
"Much, much better," the Wanderer said, eyes drawn neither to the sky nor the sun.
"So, let's enjoy it for a little while."
"Is this really alright? Don't you have your duties?"
"This is my duty. I am with a departed soul, am I not? The only chime I am hearing right now is yours and Death isn't calling me back. Unless… you mind my company."
The Wanderer didn't. Nor did she believe she could. And so they floated in the evening sky soaking in the serenity. Blissful, silent, with all questions and vexations put aside. The cold air around the Mourner shimmered next to the Wanderer's flames that danced at their leisure. Fire and cold would brush against each other, shy away and get close again, calmer each time, until finally making peace.
Quivering only ever so slightly at an occasional touch.
The reaper's cold gave off a strange sense of comfort. It soothed the Wanderer's thoughts and though her worries were still there, snarling from the back of her mind, she felt more at ease now. She felt… at peace. Could any reaper do this? Or only the Mourner?
She sneaked a glance at the woman beside her, at the face marked by sadness, with a small, yet full smile. A happy smile. Once again, there was this tingly fluttering feeling and she looked away. If not the peace, then at least "that" only the Mourner could do to her.
But as everything within the Wanderer eased, one part protested. One yearning, one thought. It didn't meddle or made a fuss. Rather, it stood there, in her mind, tall and clear, stripped of all the filth of the dark thoughts.
The purpose she chose for herself.
The impossible dream that had brought her as much pain as it had joy. More even, perhaps. And yet she couldn't give up on it – or that beautifully imperfect world. The idea alone felt wrong. She still thought she could do more. She yearned to do more.
"I am going back," the Wanderer said.
The Mourner looked her in the eyes and nodded slowly, half of that happy smile gone.
And just like that, the colors faded once more.
"You will be alright now, won't you?" the reaper asked.
"I will, yes. Thanks to you."
"But I didn't do anything."
"That's not true. You…" The Wanderer stumbled. How could she put all that she had felt into words? When she wasn't even sure what most of it was? "You came back. You pulled me out of the pit of my stupid thoughts… quite literally. And then you stayed with me. Even though you didn't have to."
Good words. True words. But they still left her dissatisfied. They just weren't right. Not exactly, not fully.
"So, thank you. For caring," she said from the bottom of her heart.
"Always," the Mourner breathed out.
A whisper, yet it carried weight. Like that of a promise she intended to keep.
No more words were exchanged. No questions, no goodbyes. Only a brief look, a smile and a nod. And then the Wanderer hurried back into her body. Flames broke out and consumed the corpse. Leather, metal, flesh – everything burnt away and she rose from the ashes, clad in fire that morphed into armor once more.
A single living soul among the field of corpses.
She leaned forward, to bow to the dead, or simply hunching over from guilt.
Cold brushed against her back. Gentle, consoling. The Wanderer stood straight. Nothing followed, and yet she smiled slightly. There was now someone in her life that couldn't be taken away by time. Maybe a mere acquaintance, maybe a future friend. But just the thought of the Mourner being there filled the Wanderer with warmth.
The kind of warmth no fire, even her own, could compare to.
They chatted away. Catching up, reminiscing, joking around. Kiara's cheeks were starting to hurt from smiling. A giggle slipped out, then a heartfelt laugh.
She had refilled her cup several times; the other one remained untouched. Like always. And yet every time she would set it out. Years back, Calli had picked that cup herself. Now, it helped Kiara picture the not so grim reaper sitting there smiling, rambling. Play pretend, perhaps, but it comforted her.
Before they knew it, the hour was almost up. Realizing that, Kiara sprang on her feet and hurried to the bookcase. There, on the top shelf, vinyls lined up. She looked through the collection but couldn't make up her mind.
Cold glazed her side and she asked, "Would you like to pick?"
Random, Calli messaged.
"Then tell me when to stop."
Kiara's finger ran over the records, until Calli patted her shoulder. She pulled it out and chuckled. How terribly fitting.
When the music started playing, Kiara curtsied pulling the sides of her skirt. She offered her hand and the cold embraced it, then slid back. Kiara stepped closer following the call. They held each other, to the extent it was possible. Chills spread over her body, though that wasn't all from the cold.
Then the singer's voice came.
"My overgrown fringe sways to and fro
Silhouetted against the glow of the evening sky…"
They waltzed by the fireplace. Calli was leading. It wasn't their first dance, so they moved with confidence. But Kiara had no illusions. Most certainly, they were passing through each other multiple times. If they could properly touch, there'd have been constant tripping over and stepping on each other's feet.
Then again, if they could touch…
Kiara forbade her mind to finish that thought. To imagine what could've been.
Instead, she focused on the song, on its words. Those sweet and sad words of the days passing in confusion and the prayers for a brighter tomorrow. Of longing and yearning for someone far, far away, yet keeping hope.
"Remember that we are always looking up at the same sky," the singer urged.
Kiara smiled. Not a day would go by when she hadn't done just that. Wondering where Calli's duty could've taken her. To what corner of the world, to what soul. How much it chipped off of her. And just like now, she would smile, sending her best wishes to the reaper who strived to bring peace to the dead.
The song went on, "Let's spend the precious time together, to eternity!"
The cold covered Kiara's face, enveloped her body. She smiled through the shivers – a bittersweet smile for a promise that might not come to be.
"On days you feel down, on nights you cannot cry
I'll sing "It's okay, it's okay".
On days you take a new step forward
I will always sing "It's okay"."
"It's okay, it's okay," Kiara echoed.
For herself.
For Calli.
"We are tiny but we cherish the things we care for
Even as our hearts waver, as we look toward the future…"
At that, she couldn't help but chuckle. A century ago she wouldn't consider herself tiny, in any meaning of the word. But now, as her flames were dying out… Yes, she was. A tiny thing scared of what the future might hold.
"You loved me through thick and thin
I will always remember
Times may change but my feelings for you never will
I will return the love with all my heart!"
Kiara's cheeks tingled – this time, from warmth. Her own. This old body could still blush. With a sly smile, she looked Calli in the eyes, where they would be. Though right now Calli was probably looking away, her face unsure if it should be scowling or beaming.
"I love you through thick and thin," Kiara sang along with the song. "I'll sing…"
She trailed off as the cold stroke her cheek. Then it all disappeared leaving only the warmth from the fireplace. Lulling and indifferent.
Calli left. The duty called.
Deaf to the last tunes of the song, Kiara took Calli's cup and walked to the window. She sipped the cold tea looking up at the sky, but the heavy clouds were hiding most of it. There was a long, long sigh.
"My heart will always be with you, overriding time and space," the singer finished.
"Always," Kiara whispered.