Chapter 10: Reaping the Harvest

He discovered the Whispering Oaks Condominiums while moving a senior couple out of one of the upstairs units. It was a quiet place surrounded by massive oaks whose branches intertwined overhead and shaded most of the back area. Shrubs and palm fronds cluttered the ground beneath the trees, but Rhychard had cut a path through to a small river that ran east-west behind the buildings. He found a flat rock that jutted out into the water he could sit on and watch manatees relaxing in the cool water. The only people he had seen had been a couple paddling a kayak one time while he was out there. Otherwise, the river was pretty deserted, which made it all the more enjoyable for him.

His condo wasn't big, a small kitchen about the size of a walk-in closet with a dinette area next to it which opened into a small living room. To the west was the front door, to the south were sliding glass doors that led to his peaceful haven of a back porch and to the east the hallway to the smaller half of the condo, if that was even possible. Entering the hall, straight in front was the tiny bathroom, to the right was Rhychard's room with its own bathroom and a view of the massive oaks in back. Just to the left of the bathroom was the closet that held the washer and dryer and everything he wanted to hide from his mother when she would visit, which wasn't often because she was still mad at Rhychard for losing Renny. If you continued left, you entered the guest room. It hadn't always been a guest room. When he first moved in, he decided to take a roommate to help offset the costs due to his new career as savior of the world disrupting his money-making career. Brent Huckabee had been a college student partying on Mom and Dad's dime. At first, Rhychard thought it would work out. Brent rarely went to school, choosing to sleep all day and carouse all night. Since his parents were footing the bill for his college education and housing expenses, he really had nothing invested and treated it as a lengthy vacation.

At first, the different schedules made it seem as if Rhychard lived by himself, except for the piles of dirty dishes always left scattered throughout the house, that is. Clothes were also just tossed wherever the younger tenant stripped, and the guest bathroom resembled more of a locker room than a home bathroom. Varying schedules also meant someone was usually awake, and while Rhychard tried to keep the noise level down for his passed-out roommate, the other saw no need to return the courtesy.

Finally, Rhychard had enough and, in the middle of the night, evicted the college kid. Rhychard's place wasn't big enough for obnoxious behavior. It was perfect for him, but him alone, and he had kept it that way ever since. Of course, Tryna had been right, and he shouldn't have used the Guardian Sword to get the message across, but someone that inconsiderate had to be of the Void and in need of vanquishing, at least from his apartment. Now, if he could teach Kree to vacuum, he'd be all set.

Rhychard took a pull from his cigar as he watched two squirrels digging in the ground for their horde of acorns. He was alone, and he shouldn't be. Sure, he had a three-hundred-pound elven hound and a two-foot-high faerie for company, but he didn't feel like cuddling up to either one of them. He should be with Renny. That was how it was supposed to be. He glanced over at the matching chair. Empty. He had set it up for Renny, even though he knew she would never use it. It was a reminder of what he no longer had. No longer would have.

As he sipped his beer, he heard the familiar jingle of bells behind him. He remained quiet.

"How is your arm?" Her voice was soft and almost as musical as her entrance.

He took a drag from his cigar. He knew he shouldn't be angry at Tryna, but she was the reminder of everything he had lost. She was the kitten he could kick when he couldn't kick those he was furious at. After a moment, he answered, "It aches, and working today didn't help." He could hear the bitterness in his voice, and it nauseated him. It was unfair, but he couldn't shake it. He took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. It's been a rough day."

Tryna walked over to him and placed her childlike hand on his arm. The evening breeze tugged at her red dress, causing it to swirl around her tiny figure. Her blond hair fell past her shoulders to the middle of her back, and her greenish eyes were pools you could swim in. "I'm sorry, too. I know the pain you feel is not really in your arm but in your heart. I truly wish things could be different."

Rhychard gazed down at the small ellyll. He didn't trust his voice, so he just nodded.

Tryna squeezed his arm. "But Rhychard, bitterness is a plague upon the soul. To grieve what was is one thing; to live in that misery will only eat away at your being. The Guardian chose you because of the man you are. Do not allow your anger at that choosing to steal your goodness."

He glared at her. "Why not? Being the Good Samaritan cost me everything. The Guardian can call someone else if my bitterness disappoints him, and I can have my life back."

She shook her head, and it was like a five-year-old was showing him pity. "It doesn't work that way, Rhychard. The past is gone, but you can change the future. You are a Warrior of the Way. You are the protector of this world, your world."

He turned his gaze back to the swaying branches of the oaks. "The people I cared about in this world turned their backs on me. The rest can go to Hell or the Void for all I care." He glanced at his beer, downed the rest of it, and set it on the concrete and his cigar in the wooden ashtray. "I'm going to bed. Good night." He pushed himself out of his chair and went back inside. He was through with this day.