Something to Prove - Part 4

Former Chapters: (1), (2), (3), (4)

On spindly legs that hardly seemed strong enough to carry its massive bulk, the creature rose and strode across the garden. Behind it left the patch of fresh-dug earth, paying it no further heed. With the creature no longer blocking their view, Astryon and Terrence could see there were many more patches of bared soil, all lined up in a row, as if someone had been digging graves like an assembly line, one after another, and on. They shared another speaking glance, but said no words as they followed, Astryon hoping he had not dug their own graves to add to the tally.

Around another twist of the hedge there was a clearing, and the strange, darting shapes were finally visible here. There was on question now what the shapes had been- humans and humanoids of all description. Some of the beings they saw in shadowy outline or spectral glow were familiar- creatures of legend like Elves and Dwarves, and some for which they had no name, though others might recognize them as Orcs. 

“I am the Harvester.” The creature they followed explained in what was now a soft, almost gentle voice. “The powers that be have tasked me with gathering in the souls of the dead. I am but a spirit, encased in this form you see so that I might carry out my work. But I need more hands to complete my work… figuratively speaking.” The Harvester gave the impression of a smile, though his vegetal mouth was frozen in a rictus grin. As they walked together, the Harvester’s horrifying form seemed to grow less so, perhaps by some virtue of the gentleness in his voice. Though he bore a scythe, his touch was almost loving as a stray and wandering spirit crossed their path. He lowered the scythe and swept it through the air, but there was no violence in the motion. It was almost as if he shooed the spirit along, more akin to the action of a shepherd’s crook than any weapon. 

“Most of the spirits here have agreed to be my helpers. They are stronger than some of the fellows, more solid. They help me herd the others here to my garden where I can shuffle them along to the other side.” The Harvester explained its work as they walked, though every so often it swung the scythe and another errant soul was whisked from this world into the next, much like sweeping dust bunnies out the door. “This garden is easiest. The veil here is thin. But I, too, must delve into the depths to find those who have become lost in the labyrinth that is the Buried Kingdom.”  The Harvester stopped, taking up a position in the center of the cleared space, surrounded now on all sides by those spirits who seemed more solid, more ‘present’ than their fellows. 

Nearest them was a human with a familiar emblem upon his breast. Throughout the dungeon, but most especially on those remains which dotted the Moor of Sleep, one might find the sigil of a pair of equine heads, each with its teeth sunk into the throat of the other. It was a topic of much debate among those who mined the Buried Kingdom’s secrets. What did the symbol mean and why did it grace the armor and gear of so many of the dead? Astryon himself had seen countless half-buried remnants of cloth and leather, brass and steel with the twin-horse sigil, and had collected no few such momentos himself either to add to his personal stash or as a vehicle of barter with other Coursers. One of the first items he, himself had ever borne out of the dungeon was a buckle with that sigil emblazoned upon it in bas relief. So proud he had been of his find that he still had it hung on his wall to this day, though of course he knew now how common it was in truth. Still… it had been his first real treasure, and he displayed it joyfully, a talking point for those rare few who were invited to visit him at home. 

Also among those gathered were a knife-eared Elf with a sigil of a lithe, deer-like creature in silver and filigree. The Elf inclined her head regally but spoke no word. Her long, narrow face and generous ears gave her an almost Equine beauty, and her form glowed brightly even beneath the rusted moon. She bore a weapon like a hand-held version of the Harvester’s scythe, which Astryon would only later come to learn was called a sickle. 

At her side, a Dwarf stood with arms crossed. Like the apparition they’d encountered in the tunnel, he was short and stout like boulder. Unalike to that other ghost, there were no flames about his figure, nor was he blackened. Crimson moonlight and shadow played havoc over his shape, making it hard to discern his lines, though he was solid enough seeming for a ghost. None of the ghosts gathered were truly solid, though, only mostly-there as opposed to the wandered spirits who seemed barely-there. The Dwarf’s sigil was a goat, but fancifully rendered with a thick ruff of a mane about its head, neck, and forequarters almost more akin to a lion than any caprine animal. Like the Dwarf himself it was short and stout, with wooly feathering about its hooves picked out in what might in life have been bronze. The Dwarf glowered under the Coursers’ gaze, but nodded, acknowledgement perhaps of the fact that they were on the same side in this labor at least.

Alongside the human stood one of those creatures for which neither Astryon nor Terrence had a name. The Orc, for such it was, somewhat resembled the Human in size, but the Dwarf in build. Thick muscle traced the bare, shadowy arms of the ghost, though her form was curvaceous. She had short tusks protruding upward from her lower lip. An echo, perhaps, of this feature was wild boar that graced her sigil, though it’s tusks were outsized even for the boar’s bulk. It charged face-first from the tabard the Orc wore, as if it were only moments from tearing its way free of the fabric and into the world around them. Despite her imposing stature and fierce sigil, she smiled warmly and gave the two Equines a cheerful wave. 

“These here will help you, though you may not always see them. It is difficult for a spirit like these to maintain a visible form unless they have been embodied as I have. They will follow you and usher onward those spirits you have gathered.” Then Harvester leaned down and with fingers more deft than appeared possible it plucked something from the ground where the shades it had been waving along had vanished. “These… these you must gather.” It opened one palm and Astryon and Terrence could see a small collection of seeds. “These soul seeds must be planted, here in my garden, to maintain the bridge. When this task is not completed, that is how you come to find so many wayward spirits still lurking in the Buried Kingdom when they long-since ought to have passed on. Bring me the seeds which fall when my harvesters have done their work and I will trade with you for things that you may find useful in your journeys.” 

And with that, the Harvester ushered them onward before returning to its own duties.

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