The Souls Harvest

Chapter 1 - Kernels

July

It ends with a kernel.

Sometimes they burn so hot it’s hard to remember they can’t hurt me. They can be as light as a feather, but those assigned to me often reek of decay, even if only minutes have passed since they last floated inside their owners’ warm chests.

I run a finger over my roll-up bag, splayed across a discarded table, admiring the superb craftsmanship of the vials, all tidily arranged in the leather loops.

A light purple puff of air escapes my lips when I lower my mask to speak. “I bet your soul smells like poison. Acrid and nasty, like the sweets you sell to your clients,” I hiss at the woman curled against the metal back door of her confectionery shop.

She studies me, nostrils flaring, brows twitching. “That wasn’t part of the deal. Roden never mentioned there were right and wrong ways to repay him. And what are the lives of a few greedy gutter rats to you Harvesters anyway?” She spits the words as if they could hurt me.

My glass vials are almost frozen as I caress them one by one, carefully deciding which will better suit the size of the woman’s soul. Some are already glowing purple, filled with the Nistarei’s souls I harvested tonight.

I stop my ritual, feeling the anger in the Nistares’ eyes.

“You know, I wanted to offer you special treatment because you’re my last one today, but you’ve just ruined it.

If only you had picked your words more carefully…

but you don’t sound sorry at all,” I shrug, as I slide out a snake-shaped vial from one of the loops, without taking my eyes off of her.

I doubt she has enough energy left to run away.

She reminds me of a frightened beast, curled upon the steps of her shop, under a flickering exit sign that turns her soaked hair green, like the poison she’s been selling to her clients.

But she could fuck up my mission with a knife to her heart—or worse.

Finding a kernel inside a mangled heart is hard, not impossible. But the aftermath of a bullet is… I shiver at the thought.

I huff a laugh.

My footsteps are barely audible over the pouring rain as I approach her.

“How old are you?” I ask, resting my right boot on the first step and bracing my arm on my knee. She is so close; I cannot ignore her hollow eyes and the dark circles, which match the shade of her lipstick.

“Shouldn’t you know?” She bites back, recoiling against the door as if it could swallow her and transport her to somewhere safe, away from me. “Didn’t Roden fill you in with all the details before unleashing you on Horigos like a ravenous wolf?”

I chuckle, turning the vial between my fingers as a raindrop slithers down its surface before falling into the gap between my fingerless glove and my black sleeve.

The icy cold water against my skin is exciting, compared to the heat that rises through my body every time I’m in the presence of a Nistares.

“I’ve been called worse. Fine, if you don’t fancy a little chat before the grand finale...” I narrow my eyes, pressing my fingertip against the sharp point of my vial.

The emerald jumper dress she wears must have been beautiful before mud and water turned it into a shapeless mass of wool that rolls up, revealing her thin legs when she shifts her position to look straight at me.

“Slap that condescending look off your face, and stop playing with me, pup. Do what you’ve been ordered to, and fuck off. I’m ready.” She laughs somberly, a sound that soon turns into a cough.

I sigh—the party’s over.

One quick move and I’m crouched in front of her, my left hand pressing over her mouth, my right holding the vial to her heart. “It’s funny how someone with hundreds of innocent deaths on her shoulders can so easily judge me for simply doing my job,” I chide her.

The terror in her eyes excites me. I run the tip of my tongue over my upper lip, savouring the taste of terror and disgust exuding from her pores, both for myself and what I represent to her and the rest of the Horigeans.

The storm has died down to a shy rain. The sound of invisible vehicles in the distance, Horigeans starting their day, and distant voices remind me that an undesired audience may soon join me. I quickly look up, ensuring nobody is enjoying the violet sunrise from one of the windows above us.

“Right, time’s up. See? I’ve been gentle despite your stinky attitude.” I gingerly lift my left hand, freeing her mouth.

She gasps, eyes wide with realisation.

An acrid smell tickles my nostrils when the tip of the vial punctures the middle of her chest, searing the fabric of her dress.

A satisfied smirk stretches on my lips...

“Nineteen.”

I yank down my hood, blinking away ice-cold raindrops and confusion.

“I’m nineteen,” the woman repeats, short of breath, staring at me with a different light in her eyes. “And if I could go back…” She struggles to sit upright on the hard, wet floor.

It can’t be. She’s too young to bargain her soul. Roden wouldn’t have...

I hastily withdraw the vial and leap away from her, shaking my hair free. It lashes behind me in the wind, leaving my face perfectly visible in the yellow light of the street lamps.

I hate the expression of pleasure on her face caused by my uncontrolled reaction.

A feral grin grows on her lips. “I’ll do it again. Every. Single. Fucking. Time.”

A window screeches above us, and I jerk my head up. Unsteady fingertips push it open, followed by a head of brown curls.

“Shit!” I snap, pulling my hood back up and bending over the woman to grab her by her arms.

I find it easy to pull her up and turn her to face the wall, but a hiss of discomfort escapes my lips at the view of her bare back, her vertebrae sticking out white under her bruised skin.

Nineteen...

No distractions. Surely Roden won’t discuss it later, but Galen may have the answer I need.

I press my body against hers, sliding a hand over her mouth again.

“Don’t try anything reckless. You’re the last soul I’m harvesting today, and I’m not planning casualties because of you.

” I whisper in her ear. The aroma of vanilla, sugar, and lemon she’s used to mask the real taste of her delicacies lingers in her hair.

I slowly turn around and move towards the metal door, ignoring her humid laugh against the palm of my hand that muffled her words.

“Is this how Harvesters deal with unwanted accidents? You convince yourself that if someone else gets killed during your hunting, it is also our fault, so you can walk away like the perfect beings you think you are?”

“Shut up. You don’t know anything about me.” My voice doesn’t come out as controlled as I would like it.

“Mummy, come look at the sky! It’s prurpel. Nana says that’s when the happy souls come back.” Despite being high above, the child’s voice sounds too close. Dangerously close.

I halt, holding my breath, but the young woman scoffs beneath my hand. “Happy. What about stolen?”

The vial I concealed beneath my right glove vibrates as if responding to my increasing worry, urging me to stop hesitating.

Another voice comes from above. “Ludo, I’ve told you not to lean out of the window if I’m not around. Come on, breakfast’s ready…”

The window shuts, to my relief.

I’ve already risked too much. I push the woman down the steps and through the dead-end alley before us, where no curious eyes can witness my harvesting ritual.

Nineteen…

She’s only a few years younger than me.

I set her against a brick wall, watching her struggle to remain upright. The green dress, ripped and scorched above her chest, hangs too large on her frame. There are shadows under her cheekbones, and her lips are cracked, as if she hasn’t touched water in days.

“Is this part of your job as well? Staring at your crop with disgust before you kill it?” The angry energy in her voice shouldn’t belong to a body so emaciated. “Does it make you feel better?”

“You talk too much.”

“I've got nothing to lose.” A smirk flashes on her face before she starts coughing again.

“You don’t know that,” I blurt out when it’s already too late. I’m not supposed to talk to them. This is why I chose to be a Reaper rather than a Donatore. I cut ties. I don’t want memories.

I curl my fingers around the glass vial. The rain has started to fall again, and every drop that touches its tip sizzles into a whiff of smoke.

My hair has become a dark mass plastered to my back, face and neck, prickling at my skin as if charged with the electricity carried by distant thunder.

She glares at me. “Shut up. You don’t know anything about me,” she says mockingly.

But her eyes are starting to grow tired, her lids heavy.

“Let’s end it here. Just take what’s not yours and go back to living your superior life.

” She tilts her head back against the wall, fidgeting with the burnt dress, ripping the fabric enough to reveal the pale skin beneath.

Her decay started when she accepted Roden’s deal. He promised her money, fame, or perhaps just a nicer house, and like many before her, I’m sure she thought she could pay him back in full while he was safely protecting her most precious bargaining chip—all the kernels of her soul, but one.

I look away, telling myself I’m just checking that nobody is coming. “You could have used the time we gave you to repay your debt without destroying your morals. You could’ve bargained for more time—” The weight of the lies on my tongue chokes me.

The fabric rips a bit more as she barks a laugh, “If your beloved Roden Breith is so powerful and wealthy enough to respond to all our desperate requests, why doesn’t he just fucking help us—” A wet and violent cough shakes her fragile body, and she holds up a hand to keep me away.

She raises her red-rimmed eyes at me, fire burning behind them as she says through clenched teeth, “I bet he loves pleasuring himself with all those souls. At night. When his dear Harvesters are not watching.”