Warrior of the Way

Chapter 5: Reaping the Harvest

It took about an hour to load the truck. The problem with monotonous manual labor is that, while it keeps your body busy, it abandons the mind to venture into dark corners you wish to ignore. Rhychard's mind took him to what Tryna said about the sword's power being hesitant because of his bitterness. The Guardian had drafted him into the god's war, given Rhychard a magical weapon to do battle with, and then punished him because he wasn't all chuckling happy about fighting. Perhaps the races of the Seelie Court felt proud the Guardian chose them as a Warrior, but Rhychard wanted nothing to do with it. Unfortunately, however, he couldn't get out of it. It was a cruel twist of logic thrust upon him, and eventually, it would cost him his life. Of course, without Renny, life was not worth living.

By the time they loaded the last box onto the truck, Rhychard's arm was throbbing, and he just wanted the job over. Trace made a couple of cracks about Rhychard getting old and feeble, and by the time they finished, it was all he could do not to ram the Guardian Sword up the other man's ass. The only reason Rhychard held back was that he didn't want a lecture from Tryna on the proper use of his weapon or Warrior behavior. Her reprimands were worse than being scolded by his mother, which reminded him, he should reach out and see how his mother was doing. She had taken his breakup with Renny harder than he had.

“She's already family, Rhychard." His mother had practically screamed him into early hearing loss when he told her of the breakup. “Four years you've been together. Four years! You don't just toss aside four years. We love Renny like a daughter. I don't know what you did to screw it up but fix it!"

If only there were a way he could. Yet, Kendalais made Rhychard swear not to reveal his new mission in life to anyone. “Humans do not believe in the Seelie, and they are safer for their ignorance." The human race was always seen as the weaker species to the Seelie, a fact the Sidhe Warrior Master took great pains to remind Rhychard every chance the elf got. It would have made Renny and anyone else he cared about a target if they knew. As it was, the Seelie put a protective detail around his family, something never before needed because there had never been a human Warrior.

Kendalais was the elf the Sidhe sent to train Rhychard in the ways of the Warrior. The elf was an arrogant, pompous ass who had a sneer in every word he uttered. Rhychard, however, had made it perfectly clear he wanted nothing to do with the elf, the Warriors, or their Guardian. He didn't care about the battle between the Way and the Void. He didn't care about demons or the Destroyer or how they wanted to destroy Rhychard's world. The Guardian had already destroyed Rhychard's world. He just wanted them to leave him alone now.

“I know we both need money and all," Trace said, his voice soft and distant as he stared out the passenger window. “But I don't feel right about this."

Rhychard stayed quiet, his hands squeezing the steering wheel.

“I mean, what if it was our mothers? My mom has a ton of stuff left over from before my dad died. It would kill her if any of it came up missing, you know?"

After taking a deep breath, Rhychard asked, “What do you want us to do, Trace? We've already got the stuff. It's not like we can stand guard over it."

They rode in silence for a while, Trace lost in his sudden guilt and Rhychard sinking into his frustrations of life. As they neared the elaborate neighborhood of Sky Winds, Trace finally whispered, “It's just not right what he's doing to his own mother, is all."

“Why didn't you think about that before we took the damn job?" Rhychard snapped. “Life isn't fair, Trace. People are assholes. It's the way it is." He didn't need the conscience Trace tried to stir up. Helping people got you screwed.

Rhychard backed into the driveway of Justin Ivy. As with all the homes in Sky Winds, the Ivy home was a neo-eclectic mansion that seemed more for show than living. It almost looked like two homes with the garage positioned in the middle. More living space connected the two sections above the two-and-a-half car garage, which Rhychard thought would make moving from one end of the house to the other quite annoying. Who would want to go up and then down a flight of stairs just to raid the kitchen during a commercial? The entire home was constructed of beige brick, and while one half seemed like a Cape Cod home, the other gave the appearance of a Texas ranch. It came across gaudy and pretentious. Rhychard's dislike for Justin Ivy increased.

The garage door was open, and Mrs. Ivy stood to the side, dry-washing her hands over one another. “Get out and make sure I don't run over any shrubs while backing up. Justin Ivy doesn't seem like a very forgiving man."

Trace stared at the elderly lady, her blue-gray hair put up in a bun, her face a frown. “She looks scared."

“She's not scared. Now get out and guide me or you'll need to be scared."

Trace nodded as he opened the passenger door. Rhychard heard the man shout a greeting to Mrs. Ivy as he stepped out.

Watching Trace's rotating hand in the side mirror, Rhychard glimpsed Justin's mother standing beside him. She wore a peach dress with sunflowers on it and white tennis shoes. Her hands remained clasped together, the right continually rubbing the left. Her eyes were a mixture of tears and a smile. Trace was right. She looked scared.

Rhychard took a deep breath. No. He was not getting involved. Interfering in other people's lives saddled him with the giant glow stick strapped to his back as it was. They could force him to battle the creatures of the Nether, but he was not foolish enough to keep poking his nose in the lives of people about which he knew nothing. He had learned his lesson, and the learning of it cost him everything. They were there to do a job, and they would do it, but that was the end of it.

It took them longer to unload the truck than to load it. Trace's heart wasn't in it, and he just dragged along. He looked like a whipped dog the entire time, his whole body drooped as he tried to make conversation with Patricia Ivy while stacking her possessions in neat rows. She offered to make them lemonade and cucumber sandwiches, but Rhychard turned her down, just wanting to get out of there.

When they finished, Rhychard sent Trace to collect the money. Rhychard just wished the lady a good day and slid back into the truck. He was hot and sweaty and wanted a shower and a cold beer. He hadn't expected the job to be easy, but he hadn't expected the emotional weight on top of it, either.

As Trace climbed into the cab of the truck, Rhychard glanced back through the side mirror and saw Mrs. Ivy caressing the edge of one of the boxes, her other hand covering her mouth. He could see the shake of her shoulders and knew she was crying. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and pressed down on the accelerator.

Rhychard could feel Trace staring at him. “What?" Rhychard felt the seat shift as his friend leaned back against the passenger door, one arm along the back of the front seat, the other along the door. Trace was as drenched in sweat as Rhychard, his shirt pasted to his chest. Rhychard didn't look at him. He knew Trace was trying to make him feel guilty, but his friend wasted his time. Rhychard felt guilty enough already.

“I don't get it," Trace said, his voice a tight edge. “You never would have just stood around like that before. That woman's son intends to rip her off, and you just handed him her goods."

“What the hell? You got us that job, Trace. If you didn't feel up to it, why in the hell did you agree to take it in the first damn place?"

Trace turned his soft green eyes out the front window. In the reflection of the glass, Rhychard could see the struggle going on within his friend. Finally, Trace said, “I thought you could help her. Protect her somehow."

“What made you think I could protect her? If she's being robbed, she needs to go to the police."

“The police won't help." Trace turned to Rhychard, his soft face tight with anger as he continued. “Because nothing's been done to her…yet! By the time it happens, it will be too late. Besides, you helped that police captain. I thought you could help her."

“Well, you thought wrong." Rhychard's voice was more a sigh than a statement. “Helping Captain Relco was a fluke." And it cost me Renny. “I was at the wrong place at the right time."

John Relco was the man Jamairlo had been protecting when Vargas and his gargoyles killed the elf. Rhychard had inherited the task of safeguarding the police captain as he brought down the human half of the Unseelie crime ring, another thing of the faerie and human connection that made no sense. The Unseelie were helping a human crime lord sell drugs so they could prey upon the weak minds of the drug induced. Captain Relco was cracking down, and Vargas intended on killing the man. Rhychard had saved the captain, but not without the media finding out. The papers called Rhychard a Good Samaritan and even posted his picture. However, the attention hadn't been enough to save his relationship with Renny, but apparently, it gave Trace the idea Rhychard was some sort of superhero. Mrs. Ivy wasn't the first hard luck case his friend had brought him.

A depressed Trace slid back around in his seat as he nodded. “I just felt bad for the old lady."

“So do I, but there's nothing we can do." It just didn't pay to be the good guy.

Rhychard pulled up in front of Trace's home and waited for his cut of the money and for his friend to get out of the truck. Rhychard had endured enough of the guilt-ridden conversation.

Trace didn't move. “Well, we did what we could," he said in a sheepish voice as he stared out the window.

Rhychard fell back against the truck door. “You son of a bitch."

Trace turned back around, his face a mask of apology. “I'll get you your part of the money. I promise. I just couldn't take that lady's cash knowing what was about to happen." Trace opened the door and started to slide out. Before he had fully cleared the door, he turned back, his face that of a scolded child who had just disappointed his father. “I'm sorry, Rhychard."

Rhychard said nothing as his friend shut the door. He just drove off.

The past three months had been an earthquake to his life. Fate left nothing standing. He lost Renny, his friends, even his ability to choose his own way, all because he stopped when he heard someone screaming for help. It was only three months ago, but it felt like yesterday.