Chapter 9: Reaping the Harvest

As the memory faded, Rhychard pulled into a remote spot in the condo parking lot. The evening was coming on, the mighty oaks casting their long shadows over everything, and all Rhychard wanted was a shower, a beer, and a cigar. The day had been a whole lot of nothing, and he was over it.

He knew he had upset Trace, but he couldn't help it. He was through sticking his nose where it didn't belong. He wanted his life back even though he knew that would never happen. Yet, while others may guide his destiny in some areas, he vowed not to make it worse in any other. His life was in enough turmoil.

Kree wasn't there when Rhychard walked through the door nor was Tryna, and for that Rhychard was glad. He had dealt with enough people for one day. The silence was a soothing balm over his frazzled nerves.

He grabbed the last Amber Bock out of the fridge and peeled off his shirt on his way to the bathroom. Using his sweat-soaked top as protection for his hand, he twisted the cap off his beer and took that first cold swallow. Pulling the bottle from his lips, he took a deep breath and shoved all thoughts of Trace, Mrs. Ivy, and her lecherous son out of his mind. He stripped the rest of the way and stepped into the steaming water.

Of course, with everything else out of his mind, his thoughts went right back to where they always went—Renny. He had contemplated calling her again but chickened out. Their last conversation hadn't exactly allowed room for friendly chatter. She actually accused him of being a borderline stalker.

The hot water beat the top of his head to waterfall down his face. Face it, Rhychard, old boy, you practically were a stalker, chasing after her the way you did. He had been pretty aggressive in his pursuit of reconciliation, he knew. Yet, four years they were together. How could Renny have suddenly just switched everything off? She demanded he not pester her anymore, so he had taken to visiting the small creek behind Harvest Fellowship. It had been one of their favorite places to just sit and be alone, staring at the calm water, soaking in the quietness and each other. Of course, he always made sure there were no activities going on at the church. He was pretty much persona non grata there since the breakup. The congregation had chosen sides and his wasn't the winning one.

Of course, that line of thought brought him back around to how Vargas could be on church property to begin with. It was one of the things that confused Rhychard as Tryna tried to teach him about the workings of the Way and the Void. From the little bit of reading and television he absorbed, it was vampires or witches or something like those that were incapable of entering a church. Tryna's only response was to ask him if he wanted to discuss fiction or real life. She had taught him for three months, and he still didn't understand most of it.

It wasn't really her fault, though. Never before had she had to teach a human the ways of faerie. She was used to an elf who already possessed a foundation of knowledge in the Way. The ellyll was the Keeper of Knowledge for the Warriors. Just as a coshey bonded to an elven Warrior, the ellyll bonded to an area, recording the history of a territory. Tryna had served Jamairlo the entire time he was a Warrior as well as the Sidhe Warrior before him. Yet, they weren't as ignorant in the battle they fought as Rhychard was. They knew why the Guardian called them and gladly accepted it. Rhychard knew nothing, and even with Tryna's hard work the past three months, he still barely had a grasp on it.

What he was sure of, however, was that creatures of the Void, the Unseelie, couldn't stand on holy ground. At least, they couldn't from what he had been told.

So how was Vargas able to attack him at Harvest Fellowship?

Rhychard took a swig of his beer as he left the bathroom, slipped into his room for some sweatpants, and then headed for his porch. With a quick strike of a match, he took a long pull of his cigar and settled back into a worn-out Florida State camp chair. The evening whispered a cool breeze through the branches of the oaks behind his condo. Dusk blanketed the town, and his muscles screamed against the tension of the day. He was tired. Not just from the day he endured, but from the life that was now his, the life he didn't want and never asked for.

He took another swig of his beer and stared out at the woods. He picked this unit because of its access to the small forest from his back porch. Kree had been drawing too much attention at his last apartment, which didn't allow pets to begin with. It was hard to tell his neighbors that the coshey wasn't his pet when they saw this giant elven hound always hanging around his place. Humans didn't understand a dog not being owned by someone. When he first said that Kree wasn't his, the property management people sent out animal control to try to catch him. Of course, how they even planned on capturing an animal Kree's size was beyond Rhychard's imagination as was what they would do with him once they had accomplished such a feat. Still, Rhychard decided it was best to move. Besides, that apartment had too many memories he needed to erase.