Fruits of Your Labor (RWYS 2/4)

The smell of sweet, dry grass hung stagnant in the air. Harvest’s blade sliced cleanly through the rye, which they deposited in their cart. Working under the sweltering glare of the sun was never pleasant. Yet, Harvest escaped out to these rolling, golden fields whenever they could. It was quiet out here. The only sounds were those they made themself, brushing through the prickly stalks, and the clunks that came every time their cart hit an uneven patch of ground. When they paused in their tracks, the world went silent. Just Harvest and the hills. A much-needed relief, despite the artificial sun scorching them alive through their pale-orange cloak. Their parched mouth tasted of dirt and dust. Still better than blood.

It had been decades since Harvest transferred to this district of the agriculture realm, and they still hadn’t grown accustomed to the gruesome violence their fellow spirits partook in. Their old district had factions, sure, but those were different. Groups of spirits who liked to work together and who enjoyed similar activities in their downtime. Joining one was optional. Not here.

Despite this new district being significantly larger than the one Harvest transferred from, the pool of rations was disturbingly similar. Integrating into a faction was the only surefire way to avoid starvation.

And darn it, Harvest tried.

Being the newcomer turned many eyes their way, but as soon as it was deemed that Harvest didn’t have any secret, highly exploitable talents, the better-off groups lost interest. A few times, Harvest managed to join smaller factions at the bottom of the totem pole. It never lasted. Before the year’s end, Harvest inevitably found themself robbed, beaten, and yet again factionless.

Harvest gathered a clump of stalks in one hand, severing them from the ground with a quick tug of their sickle. Out here, they didn’t have to worry about the messy intricacies of faction life. Out here, the only source of agony was the type Harvest was used to, although sometimes they wished whoever built the sun would tone it back a bit.

Out here, labor served to distract from the gnawing ache in their stomach.

 

Harvest returned to town hours later, cart full of rye, head pounding from the heat. They stopped by the collection shack to drop off the fruits of their exertion. They wouldn’t mind storing it in the silos themself, if only for the sake of a detour, but every grain must be catalogued before storage, and that task was not Harvest’s.

Harvest slumped to the ground in the shadow of a large brick building. Pressing their back to the cold hard blocks felt bracing, even as the coarse surface scuffed up their cloak. Around them, spirits transported goods deeper into the city. Flashes of orange, green, white, and ice blue cloaks went about their business, socializing, occasionally sparing fleeting glances at Harvest that Harvest did their best to ignore.

Their fingers traced absently over the edge of the dirt road beside their feet. Hardpacked as it was, the earth gave way to Harvest’s nails, leaving little scratches wherever they touched. Not until they zoned back in did they process what they were drawing. They were taken aback to recognize the emblem of one of the biggest market vendors in the district. Without realizing it, they had recreated the banner across the road, advertising a new line of pottery and craft being sold at today’s market.

Today’s market.

The thought immediately made their stomach twist into knots, loudly bemoaning its vacancy. Harvest set their jaw. Now was not the time to think about food. They’d be paid at the end of the month; they could survive that long.

Theoretically they could survive forever without sustenance, but it wouldn’t be pretty. Harvest had seen what became of spirits without the means to take care of themselves for decades. Walking corpses, gaunt and frail. Full recovery, once a spirit sunk that low, was a challenge requiring better medicine and treatments than lower spirits like those who worked in agriculture had access to.

But a few weeks would be fine.

Not worth doing anything rash over.

Not worth suffering the consequences for something like stealing–they’d be lucky to see any payment for the next year if they were caught stealing.

If they were caught.

Silently, Harvest rose to their feet. Their brain had been quick to shut down that repugnant thought. They were a good, lawful citizen of the Realm. A spirit of diligence. Even if life was dull and work was tedious and factions were merciless, at least they had their character to depend on. They were just walking to the market to have a look around. Not much to do this time of day anyway. Plenty of spirits went to the market to mingle.

Harvest glided through the town center, past vibrant stalls bursting with assorted trinkets, keeping their head down to avoid the gaze of overenthusiastic vendors. Ornate amber and obsidian neckpieces sparkled in the sun. Harvest kept going. They didn’t have the coin to burn on expensive apparel, and everyone knew wearing shiny things in public invited pain.

The deeper into the market they ventured, the more colorful the assortment of cloaks became, cueing Harvest that their little town had visitors from all over the Realm. On the fringes of the market, a couple large spirits in dark red cloaks surveyed the crowd. Harvest did their best to look casual. They weren’t doing anything wrong, they had no reason to stress.

Up ahead, large buildings heralded the end of the town center. The grandest and most imposing by far was the Red Embassy–the military division’s iron stake in the district. Harvest shivered and looked away. The rest of the block was lined with civic buildings, forming a visual boundary between the agriculture spirits’ side of town and the industrial end, where produce became product. Like the baked goods and confections around them now.

Harvest dragged their feet, willing the market to go on forever. They weren’t ready to leave the aroma of butter, sugar, and cinnamon behind. Their feet carried them to the right, where a stand of fresh muffins and scones sat invitingly. Far more appealing than the dry, flavorless hunks of grain–barely edible enough to qualify as food–that they’d be able to afford come their next payment. They couldn’t have any of the delicacies, of course. They were only looking.

Harvest had just begun to question their judgement coming here when a series of shouts caught their attention. An instant later, the air shook with a heavy crash from somewhere just beyond the market. The light conversation of the market fell dead silent. Heads darted every which way, trying to discern the source. Out of the corner of Harvest’s eye, they noticed the red-cloaked spirits move from their stations.

Before security could get halfway across the market, a louder crash rang out, and Harvest heard the unmistakable sound of glass shatter. The noise sent the tense crowd over the edge. Spirits scrambled over one another. Carts tipped and were crushed under dozens of feet. Cries of pain and fear rose above the stampede.

Chaos descended over the marketplace, and in that moment, Harvest’s hand darted out, retreating into their cloak with a hot scone clasped in their fingers.

Adrenaline roared in their ears. Around the commotion, red security spirits swarmed. Harvest kept their head down. They just needed to follow the surge away from the building that had been hit. Was it the Embassy? Harvest didn’t have time to ponder.

Bodies shoved. Harvest stayed in the crowd as long as they dared, heart racing a million miles a minute. As soon as possible they escaped into the nearest gap between buildings before they could be trampled, treasure clutched tightly to their chest. Long strides took them away from the market and panicking spirits.

Only after the shouting faded behind them did it dawn on them. They just stole something. They just stole something, and got away with it.

A faint, breathy laugh slipped out, immediately followed by guilt. They weren’t a thief. They’d never stolen a single thing in their life. They were a good spirit.

Yet here they were, rushing through narrow alleys, a pastry they hadn’t paid for under their cloak. And the worst part was, Harvest didn’t regret it. The scone was warm. The damage was minor. Now they just needed to get somewhere safe. The rye fields would do, if they could get out of town first.

With their destination in mind, they rounded a corner, only to collide into something full force. Harvest fell to the ground, wind knocked from their lungs. The scone tumbled from their grip onto the grimy pavement. Harvest’s heart leapt into their lungs as they realized what they’d run into was another spirit. They froze, wide eyed. The spirit picked themself off the ground.

“Ah, hello,” the spirit said. Despite sounding just as breathless as Harvest felt, his voice was smooth as silk. He grinned as he glanced over his shoulder. “Nice evening for an alleyway stroll?”

Harvest opened their mouth but no words emerged.

The spirit’s eyes fell on the scone beside Harvest, and his grin twitched. Harvest thought they caught a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Harvest scrambled to their feet, flustered, trying to recover any scrap of dignity that remained. “I swear–it’s not what it looks like.”

After another quick glance over his shoulder, the spirit gave Harvest a knowing smile. “Course not. Listen.” His eyes grew sharp and his expression took on an intense quality as he leaned in. “You never saw me.”

Harvest sucked in a breath.

Then the spirit winked, and vanished into the darkness of the alley.

For a long moment, all Harvest could do was stand there stupidly, mind reeling. Their legs felt weak. They were only vaguely aware of the cold brick walls around them.

Too long. They stood immobile for too long.

“You there!”

Harvest jumped as a harsh, booming voice behind them jolted them back to reality. The red-cloaked spirit bore down on them in a matter of seconds. Their eyes blazed beneath their hood.

“Where are you coming from?”

Harvest lowered their head pliantly. “The market, sir.”

“Before that?”

“The fields.”

“Your time is logged?”

Harvest nodded.

“We’ll see about that.” The security spirit paced closer, and Harvest became acutely aware of how the spirit’s shoulders cleared Harvest’s head. Doubtless the deep red cloak hid a wall of muscle. Enough to snap Harvest in two. “Has any spirit come through there?”

Harvest’s skin felt clammy. “What?”

“After leaving the market,” the spirit’s eyes narrowed, “did you see any other spirit come this way?”

Their mouth moved before their mind could catch up, only vaguely registering the question’s implication before their response was out. “No.”

The security spirit huffed. They turned away momentarily, frustration visible in their grimace.

For a few long seconds, the alleyway was quiet. All Harvest knew was the thunderous pounding in their chest. Their mouth felt dry, drier than it ever did under the punishing sun. The parched sensation crept into their throat. Each forced breath tickled the walls and threatened to send them into a coughing fit. Somehow, they kept their composure.

“That scone,” the red spirit said at last. “Is your payment on record?”

Harvest’s stomach dropped.

 

In Harvest’s old agriculture district, jail time was reserved for destructive crimes, like property damage or assault on a higher spirit, and everything else was dealt with via fines. But as they were constantly reminded, this was not their old district.

The grimy concrete cell had no windows, save for the small barred slot in the door. Cold, coarse walls enclosed them. An eerie dripping sound echoed somewhere above. The whole place smelled of sulphur, must, and misery.

Harvest had given up trying to defend themself. To the red spirits, it didn’t matter how clean their history was. All that mattered was that they had broken a rule. As soon as the metal door slammed shut, nothing Harvest could say would reopen it, and the red guards didn’t stick around to let them try.

It was hard to judge the passage of time without the sun for reference. Harvest lay slouched in a corner, staring up at the ceiling and contemplating the odds of it caving in on them. This building seemed old, very old, and not well maintained. A little voice in Harvest’s ear whispered that if it did come down, Harvest deserved to be crushed.

They were a good, upstanding spirit. They knew they were. They couldn’t not be. It was all they had in this morality-forsaken, wretched corner of the Realm.

The dissonance clung to them like the faintly humid air, thick with mustiness from unseen mold. Worse still was the biting pain in their stomach. All that stress, now the repercussions, and they hadn’t even gotten to taste the damn pastry. And now they wouldn’t taste anything for the next few months. The irony made them laugh, and laughing made them feel sick. Harvest wanted to cry or maybe slam their head into the wall, though they didn’t want to bother with the cleanup or the pain if they were honest.

Somewhere beyond their cell, a series of faint, rhythmic thuds grew louder. Abruptly they came to a stop, and the heavy door to Harvest’s cell was yanked open, scraping against the concrete. A spirit was escorted inside by a red guard. The guard gave Harvest a fleeting glance before slamming the door shut with a CLANK and leaving Harvest alone with their new cellmate.

In their right mind, Harvest would try to catch the guard before they left. Demand to know why they had to share space with a stranger, and for how long. Instead, Harvest stayed put.

Perhaps they weren’t in their right mind. But this was no stranger.

“Hey,” the spirit from the alley said, with the easygoing confidence of someone who wasn’t locked in a jail cell. “Harvest, is it?”

Harvest gave a small nod. They felt like they should be angry with this spirit, who had the nerve to get Harvest thrown in jail on their behalf, only to wind up here regardless. Yet, Harvest only felt slight apprehension mixed with a strange awe they couldn’t place. “What’s your name?” they asked.

“Mercury.” The spirit plopped himself down beside them, folding his hands behind his head. “But friends call me Mercy.”

“Was it you who attacked the Embassy?” The words slipped out before Harvest could think better of them. Their chest tightened, but Mercury merely grinned.

“Bold question. Let me ask you something first.” Mercury’s voice dropped, a curious inflection sneaking in. “Why’d you cover for me?”

“I don’t know.”

“Try again.”

Harvest let out a gust of air, almost a chuckle, staring down at their hands. “I really don’t. I’m not a criminal.”

Mercury raised his brows. “A thief but not a criminal?”

Their skin felt tingly, prickly, as if an insect was crawling under their cloak. “That was a one-time thing,” they said firmly.

“Shame starving ain’t.”

 As if to accentuate Mercury’s point, Harvest’s stomach gave a wrenching pang. They crossed their arms over their abdomen. Mercury watched them with keen eyes.

“Just saying,” Mercury said, “if you gotta break rules to live, maybe the rules ain’t worth following.”

“If we hadn’t broken them we wouldn’t be in here.”

“Hm.” Mercury’s smile twitched. It sent a shiver down Harvest’s spine. He looked like he was searching for something in Harvest’s face. Scrutinizing them. Whether he found it, he gave no indication. “Let me ask you something, Harvest. Why do factions work?”

“Because safety in numbers. Why?”

“Safety from what?”

Harvest hesitated. “Starvation. Isolation. Other spirits.”

“What else?”

What in the world was this spirit getting at? Harvest racked their brain. Lower spirits like planters and collectors didn’t have many options. Forming a faction meant everyone in your group was fed, if you were strong enough to steal from other factions. It ensured protection from other groups of lower spirits. And… and…

“The red spirits leave them alone.”

Mercury’s grin widened. “Why’s that?”

“Factions don’t break the law.”

“Don’t they? Last I checked thievery and battery were illegal.”

“But that’s different; factions attack each other, not higher spirits.” Their brow creased, and in the very back of their throat, they thought they faintly tasted bile. “…Which is legal.”

“Right. ‘Cause that’s so much better than swiping a scone.”

Harvest went silent. Some twisted little part of their mind latched onto Mercury’s words like a vice. No one ever spoke to them this way. It felt like cool water after an arduous day in the fields. But it was dangerous. He was dangerous. Not the type of spirit they should be accepting moral validation from.

“Why are you here?” Harvest demanded. “What did you do to the Embassy?”

“Those are very different questions,” Mercury said. “Let’s start with the Embassy. You know what they keep there?”

Harvest shook their head. They knew embassies were where red spirits kept in contact with the rest of the Realm. Received orders and laws from the main Realm to enforce out across the districts. In their old district, it was where lower spirits could report grievances, albeit they were rarely heeded.

“Think of it as a base of operations. Lots of supplies, conference rooms, files of documents—so much paperwork you wouldn’t believe it. More rations than you ever seen in one place, and nothing like the tasteless crap they feed us. Fine alcohol. Hard to pass up.”

“You raided the Red Embassy?” Alarm breached their voice. Mercury brought a finger to his lips.

“We might’ve skimmed a bit off the top,” he said softly. “But we came for the documents. Those files hold the record of every perceived slight, every inflated debt, every arbitrary restriction placed on a spirit to teach the rest a lesson of obedience.” The intensity from the alleyway returned to his face as he leaned close to Harvest. “We burned them. As many as we could find.”

Harvest didn’t dare look away. Their thoughts raced, trying to keep up. “The crash?”

“Distraction. Wanted to slip away unseen, but all good plans have backups.”

They knew they should be appalled. They really, really should be. Yet, the strange awe from before bubbled up fiercely inside them, and for the time being they could focus on nothing else. “I can’t believe they didn’t have your head for that,” Harvest breathed.

Mercury chuckled. “Yes. Well. Hard to punish someone you don’t catch.”

Harvest’s eyes widened. “You weren’t caught? Then why are you here?”

“To thank you.” Mercury laughed at Harvest’s dubious expression. “I mean it. Not many spirits would cover for a stranger. ‘Sides, you probably would’ve gotten away with your little larceny had I not slowed you down. I owed you one.”

“You got yourself trapped in jail for maybe months to thank me?”

The concrete beneath Harvest trembled. A muffled bang echoed down the hall. Harvest jumped, eyes darting to their cellmate.

“Ha. Nah, I ain’t that altruistic.” Unperturbed, Mercury rose to his feet and gave his limbs a long stretch. He neared the cell door. “Getting in’s simple as putting your name on a list. Getting out, well…” His eyes glinted mischievously. “Let’s say documents ain’t the only thing of value in that building.”

Mercury raised his hand and gave the door a short, measured knock.

A few seconds passed before—to Harvest’s amazement—the door slid open with a heavy, grating screech. A spirit garbed in orange like themself and Mercury stood beyond the cell, a grin bombastic on her face.

“Hi Mercy,” she said. “Ready to bounce?”

Mercury nodded, outstretching an open hand. The newcomer dropped what seemed to be a black key into his palm. “Come on, Harvest. ‘Less you wanna stick around for the guards.”

Shaky as they were, Harvest didn’t need to be told twice. They stepped outside the cell into the dingy hall.

“Here, enjoy.” The new spirit tossed something hard and round to Harvest. “Mercy said you could use a bite.”

An apple. Harvest’s head swam. They could break down sobbing on the spot, but they reminded themself they weren’t in the clear yet.

Mercury spoke to the newcomer in a hushed voice. “Everything running smooth?”

“So far.”

“Good. Go help Barloe.”

The spirit nodded. She turned down the hall, giving Harvest a little wave before speeding off.

Mercury turned to Harvest. “Follow me.”

 

In addition to a master key, Mercury must have gotten his hands on prison blueprints from the Embassy. Harvest could only imagine how many hours he must have spent poring over those schematics, memorizing every corridor and stairway, to navigate as efficiently as he did now. In no time at all, they were scaling the jail roof.

“So y’all are a faction?” Harvest asked, heart pounding. They kept their body pressed close to the building. Heights weren’t an issue, but if anyone spotted them…

“Nah.” Mercury crouched on the roof above, surveying their surroundings. “We don’t play the same game as the rest of ‘em. Safe from the higher-ups, starving amongst themselves?” He chuckled lowly. “Not very appealing. No, we follow our own rules.”

Harvest clambered to the top. “How big is your group then?”

“Just three. More spirits in on a secret means more spirits to spill it. Also more ways to divide the spoils.” Mercury moved to the edge of the roof, where a couple meters of empty air separated this building and another wing of the jail. With a running leap, he crossed the gap and landed gracefully on the other side. Harvest approached the edge hesitantly.

“You’re not worried about me knowing?”

Mercury watched from the other roof, voice just loud enough to carry across. “Knowing?”

Harvest backed up, steeling themself. “Just that you’ve trusted me with a lot of incriminating stuff. You ain’t worried I’ll tell someone?” They ran forward and launched themself across the gap. Just a little short. They slammed into the edge of the roof, air punched from their chest. Their fingers gripped the flat cement as they tried to haul themself up.

Mercury squatted down above them. Harvest looked up to see an easy smile that didn’t reach his eyes. Something about it made their blood run cold. “No, I trust you value your immortality.” He grabbed Harvest’s sleeve and helped tug them onto the roof. With a wry wink, he straightened up and continued on. Harvest scrambled to catch up.

Proceeding swiftly across the complex, staying out of view of red spirits, Harvest calmed their nerves. Of course the criminal was dangerous, this wasn’t news. And it wasn’t like Harvest had anyone to tell, anyway. Which Mercury probably knew.

They weren’t surprised he knew their name back in the cell. Spirits didn’t transfer between districts often, so Harvest’s arrival had garnered quite a bit of attention. Perhaps too much. But that had been decades ago. Since then, Harvest had done their best to fit in and keep their head down, so the fact their name still took up space in Mercury’s mind… Maybe he just had a good memory.

It wasn’t until the pair were fully clear of the prison complex with their feet back on the ground that Mercury finally slowed to a stop. Towering, industrial buildings rose on all sides, concealing them.

“We got a bit farther to go,” Mercury said, “but no more climbing.”

Harvest let out a relieved breath. They were used to hours of labor on an empty stomach, but having uneaten food on their person while exercising was a new brand of torment. Their hands fumbled around the apple, extracting it from the folds of their cloak. They glanced at Mercury, who gave a small nod.

“We’re waiting on someone. Might be a minute.”

Harvest brought the fruit to their mouth and took a bite. The apple was crisp enough to audibly snap, releasing a spritz of juice onto their tongue. Sweety, tangy flesh yielded to their teeth in an explosion of flavor. Harvest closed their eyes as they chewed. They didn’t know the last time they’d tasted an apple. Neither this district nor their old one featured orchards, and while imports weren’t rare, having coin enough to spend on them was. They felt like melting on the spot. Hastening to eat more, they devoured the red fruit core and all.

When Harvest finally opened their eyes, Mercury was watching them with an amused smile. A pang of self-consciousness resounded within them. They wiped their mouth on the corner of their sleeve.

“Thank you,” they mumbled.

“Course.” Mercury craned his head back to scan the buildings. A slight frown crossed his face. Abruptly, he turned his attention to Harvest’s left.

“Surprise!”

Harvest flinched, spinning around. Two spirits barreled towards them, expressions invigorated. One Harvest recognized as the spirit who unlocked their cell.

Mercury’s shoulders relaxed. “‘Bout time. Anyone see you?”

“Nope,” said the spirit Harvest didn’t know. “Altered voice and everything.”

“Anyone follow you?” Mercury asked.

The same spirit shook his head, letting out a genial chuckle. “Have a little faith, Mercy, we ain’t rookies anymore.”

“If I didn’t have faith,” Mercury said, “I wouldn’t have asked y’all’s help for this.” He jerked his chin up before turning his back on the group and starting down the lane. Harvest and the two spirits quickly followed.

“Hey,” the new spirit said to Harvest. “You doing alright? First stay in a cell’s always tough. ‘Specially when you’re peckish.”

Harvest was taken aback. “Uh, yeah. Thank you for helping make it a brief one.”

The spirit smiled broadly. “Apple-solutely glad to help!”

“What?”

“Ignore him,” said the spirit who had unlocked the cell. “Hi, I’m Ebony. You’re welcome for busting you out of jail. My moronic friend here’s Barloe.”

“At your service.” Barloe gave a little bow as he walked.

“Harvest,” Harvest said. “Good to meet you both. You’re Mercury’s team, then?”

“And friends,” Ebony said. “It’s a sweet gig. Least it would be if someone could lay off the puns!”

“Complain all you want,” Barloe said. “I know at your core you find ‘em ex-seed-ingly ripe with potential.”

“I’m gonna kill you.”

Harvest suppressed their smile.

Up ahead, Mercury came to a stop. The road continued on, and down it, buildings shifted from industrial back to small establishments. Farther still down that road, Harvest knew, they would find their quiet fields waiting for them.

“This is as far as we’ll take you,” Mercury said. “The road’ll lead you the rest. We wiped your little larceny record, so you’re good to go home.”

Mercury signaled to Ebony and Barloe with a flick of his finger. The pair waved goodbye to Harvest before leaving the path to the left and slipping into the darkness between two buildings.

Harvest watched them go before turning to the road. For a long moment, they stared at it, unmoving.

“You’re welcome.” Mercury’s voice carried a smile. Out of the corner of their eye, Harvest saw him step off the road.

“Wait.”

At the edge of the darkness, Mercury paused.

Harvest turned fully to face him. Beneath their racing heart and the dread pooling in their stomach, resoluteness took form. They took a deep breath. “I’m joining your team.”

A strange, undecipherable gleam caught Mercury’s eye. “Are you? Whatever happened to not being a criminal?”

Harvest hardened their gaze. “I’m a thief, aren’t I?”

“A lousy thief.”

“I can learn.” It felt wrong to say. Wrong to want something so disruptive, unruly, and entirely illegal. But for the first time since transferring to this district, Harvest didn’t feel aimless. “You can teach me.”

Mercury folded his arms. “What would you contribute to my team? As I said, I prefer to keep my numbers low.”

“I…” Harvest floundered. A dozen times over the decades Harvest had tried to join a faction for protection. A dozen times they had been refused. Harvest didn’t know how to fight, they didn’t know how to spy undetected, they didn’t know how to make schemes. The only thing Harvest could do well was their namesake. And a few useless hobbies… But Mercury was waiting for an answer.

Eventually, they said, “I can copy things I see. Pictures, words, emblems.” Harvest smiled. “You like messing with documents right?”

Mercury laughed. The sound bounced around the empty street, lingering long after he stopped. “Sure, I can work with that.” He beckoned to them with a short wave of his hand before turning and heading after Ebony and Barloe.

Harvest took a step off the road and followed Mercury into the darkness.