Soul Shepherds

SPRING 2025, SHORT STORY, 2700 WORDS

Across the ruined fields came the faint boom of artillery shells in the distance. Standing silently among the blackened grasses, the Grim Reaper leaned on his scythe and waited, his black robes billowing around his tall frame in the cold northern breeze. The smell of noxious fumes and death filled the air. There were souls to collect, but the Reaper had something more important to deal with first.

Angels began to descend from the heavens. They glided down through the clouds or came drifting across the plains from nearby cities, summoned by the news of the crash. Most of them were white-robed angels from European countries, but there were also several Arabic malaikats and various soul shepherds from other beliefs among them—crows, owls, a couple of wrinkled ancestor spirits, and a regal god from the Indian subcontinent. A few nodded in greeting to the Grim Reaper as they passed by.

The Reaper paid them no mind. He was waiting only for Kondok.

The smoky evening air shimmered, the grassy ground split open to reveal a portal from the underworld. A strong, brown-skinned young man leapt into the world of the living. He wore nothing but a traditional Mah Meri skirt of woven pandanus leaves around his waist.

This was Moyang Kondok, the soul shepherd from Malaysia. His haunted expression showed that news of the tragedy had struck him hard.

“You came alone,” said the Reaper.

“We are shorthanded at home, in case you haven’t been paying attention.”

That terse response was uncharacteristic of Kondok. Among spirits, no one dared speak so bluntly to the Grim Reaper. Yet everyone knew that in stressful times even soul shepherds could lose their professionalism, so a few rough words could be excused.

“Patience, Moyang Kondok.” The Reaper’s voice was a quiet hiss between his teeth. “Do not act in anger. Remember your vows.”

Kondok ignored him and strode past him towards the crash site. The Reaper glided after him and laid a skeletal hand on his shoulder. Kondok knocked it off, but the Reaper caught him again and held firmly this time, his fingerbones digging into the moyang’s bare skin.

“Out of my way, Reaper,” growled Kondok.

“Not until you calm down.”

“I have work to do!”

“You are not fit to shepherd souls in this mood,” the Reaper said firmly. “Let us handle everything for you, just this time.”

“You have your people to guide, and I have mine. They await me!”

Kondok tore free from the Reaper’s grasp and stormed towards the plane’s wreckage. The Reaper exhaled strongly through his skull and followed closely behind.

The growing darkness on the Ukrainian plains forced all first responders to switch on their searchlights in order to continue their harrowing work. While angels and humans wandered among the fallen debris, Kondok stopped at the edge of the ruin and stood gazing at a world thick with sorrow and death.

At his feet lay a suitcase, open. Clothes spilled out; some large, some small. Beside them lay a wallet among scattered personal belongings.

Kondok picked up the wallet and flipped it open. The vibrant faces of a young woman and her infant smiled back at him from the clear window in the front pocket. Gently he replaced the wallet where it had fallen.

Around him, firefighters scoured the unsalvageable wreckage of the passenger plane. Journalists hovered at the distant edges of the wreck, snapping photos and taking notes, the weight of the tragic loss of life evident upon their pale and haggard faces. They were surrounded and monitored by armed rebels from the battalion that had shot down the plane. Beyond the smoking fuselage lay what remained of the wings, cabin, landing gear and fuel tanks, no more than heaps of crumpled metal. Everywhere Kondok looked, there were pieces of debris, luggage, and bodies—unnumbered bodies, strewn everywhere.

The tail of the plane lay alone in a separate field, sticking out of the soil. Kondok drew near and stood beneath the shadow of the twisted steel, staring silently at the red-and-blue logo printed on it, clenching and unclenching his fists.

The Grim Reaper hung back, watching Kondok carefully. He had to make sure that the moyang did not lose control of himself. The other soul shepherds had discussed their concerns and had unanimously elected the Reaper to keep an eye on him, but now the Reaper was starting to doubt whether he could control Kondok if anything went wrong.

Thankfully, backup arrived.

“Moyang Kondok,” someone called.

Kondok and the Reaper turned.

Two ghostly figures approached them, wreathed in wispy clouds formed by their powerful aura, their feet touching the ground so lightly that they glided more than walked. Kondok knew this duo; he had met them in Malaysia many times when receiving souls from Chinese funerals. They were recognizable from their matching robes and tall hats, the chains and hand fans that they carried, and their contrasting colour schemes: the taller one clad entirely in white, the other in black.

They were the Heibai Wuchang—the Ghosts of Impermanence, the twin soul shepherds from Chinese folk beliefs.

“Greetings, Reaper. Greetings, Kondok,” said the slender and elegant White Guard with a gentle smile. “It has been a long time since we last met. Last September, was it?”

“It was December,” said Kondok, bowing in return. “Greetings to you too, First and Second Masters.” That was the proper way to address the Heibai Wuchang. Soul shepherds who worked in the same region were often more courteous to their colleagues. As he bowed, he missed the glance of understanding between the Grim Reaper and the Heibai Wuchang.

“Shall we proceed in our duties?” said the short and swarthy Black Guard.

“Yes we shall,” said the Reaper.

They joined the other soul shepherds in the acknowledgement of the dead.

Angels walked through the plain of death, their wings folded, laying their gentle hands on every broken body they could find. Many angels were weeping, golden tears streaming down their faces and splashing onto the silent forms. It mattered not what religious beliefs the deceased had held in life. For soul shepherds, every death deserved to be mourned. They spoke not a word as they anointed each body they found.

Kondok was no fool. It did not take long for him to notice that the Heibai Wuchang and the Reaper did not leave his side as they walked together through the field of debris. Finally, exasperated, he swung around to face them.

“Stop following me. Don’t you have your own souls to seek?”

“Kondok, we are here for your sake,” said the White Guard.

“I do not need your constant supervision!” snapped Kondok. “I have been a soul shepherd for a thousand years. I can do my duty without you looking over my shoulder, thank you very much!”

“This isn’t about your work.” The Reaper’s eyes glowed in their empty holes. “We cannot allow you to attack the humans who have caused this tragedy. That would destroy the peace, and it would be disastrous for everyone.”

“You are angry,” the Black Guard added. “We understand. But valid or not, you are in danger of breaking your vows if you lash out.”

“Vows?” Kondok half-laughed, half-cried. “Our vows of neutrality? Vows of standing aside, vows of doing nothing while our wards perish. Do you know who were the neutral ones here, Reaper?” He jabbed his finger at the ghastly scenes surrounding them. “All these people were neutral. Every single one of them, and now they are dead!”

Before they could speak, Kondok leapt into the air with a burst of power and sped towards the armed men who were policing the first responders.

“Kondok, stop!”

Kondok flew through the air, fists raised, radiating power, ready to smash the puny humans into pulp. The mortals would never stand a chance. They deserved every conceivable punishment in hell for the terror they had unleashed upon the passengers in the plane.

Avenge those poor souls, ran the burning thoughts through Kondok’s mind, passion coursing through his veins, his senses blinded by fury. Give these killers what they deserve, they have slain hundreds of innocents, send them straight to hell, avenge the dead, avenge them…

Another few seconds and it would have been too late.

The Black Guard’s long chain wrapped around Kondok’s feet and dragged him back to earth. The White Guard’s hand fan blew a strong gust of wind that knocked the Malaysian spirit over backwards. Kondok gasped, trying to catch his breath. The Grim Reaper placed his heavy, bony foot on the moyang’s chest and pressed him to the ground.

“This is your final warning, Kondok,” said the Reaper in a stern voice laced with authority. The curved blade of his scythe glinted. “If you try anything again, on my word as a senior shepherd, you shall be stripped of your powers and blacklisted forever.”

A few nearby angels approached warily with their swords drawn, ready to lend a hand if necessary. The Heibai Wuchang Guards waved them away, assuring them that the Reaper was in control. Peace between deities of various cultures was maintained in part by the cooperation between soul shepherds, and most spirits would not hesitate to help others uphold the law in dire situations.

Tears pooled in Kondok’s eyes, and he began to weep.

“It’s not fair,” he managed to say. “They didn’t deserve this.”

Does anyone deserve anything? the Reaper wanted to respond. As soul shepherds, it was not in their place to judge. There were greater spirits in the various underworlds and afterlives who would take care of that. Soul shepherds were only there to mourn, comfort and guide. All spirits who took on the role were made to understand this.

But the Reaper said nothing, for he understood that Kondok needed to vent and struggle through all the tumultuous emotions he was facing.

“May the innocent be avenged and the guilty be damned,” said the White and Black Guards in unison. That was their declaration every time they guided souls.

The fire faded from Kondok’s eyes. For a brief moment his veneer of glamour fell apart, and his true appearance came through: a tired face worn by years of unnumbered tears that had etched faint grey tracks down his cheeks, his deep black eyes lined with immeasurable sadness. For a fraction of a second, the deaths and lives of millions of souls, young and old, were reflected in the dark pupils of he who had been their final companion before they entered the afterlife.

Then he brushed away his tears, and he became a young man lying on the grass again.

“May I get up?” Kondok asked.

“First recite your vows again,” the Grim Reaper said. “To remind yourself of the great task we undertake.”

In their presence Kondok uttered the solemn words.

“I am a shepherd of souls. My ears are closed to mortal quarrels; I stand apart from all sides. My eyes are closed to judgement; I see neither sinner nor saint. My hands consecrate the fallen, my feet tread the shadowed paths where none should walk alone. I am the guardian of the last journey, the final companion, the eternal and impartial guide.”

The last light of the sun, no more than a streak of yellow on the horizon, sank and vanished at last. The fields of wheat and debris were plunged into the gloom of night—and slowly, among the angels, translucent beings begin to take form. Some wandered aimless; others sat beside their bodies, quiet. A few were trying to wake themselves up. Under the light of the stars, they begin to glimmer as the last vestiges of physicality seeped out from their spiritual forms.

Human souls.

“Our wards are here,” said the Reaper. Without saying farewell he took his foot off Kondok’s chest and turned away, his black robes swishing softly.

The Guards helped Kondok to his feet and brushed the grass off his body.

“Let us do our duty without delay and leave this place,” said the Black Guard, and the others agreed.

The main passenger cabin, mangled and crushed, was where most of the angels and spirits gathered. In most deaths, the human souls could be found sitting beside their deceased earthly shells, but in accidents like these where everything in the aircraft had been scattered over leagues of land, sometimes it took days to find the souls who had been separated from their bodies.

As Kondok and the Heibai Wuchang approached, a tall angel with a scroll hailed them. He did not seem to recognize them. That was expected, as Asian soul shepherds rarely visited this corner of the world.

“You’re the Chinese psychopomps, I presume?” The angel gestured at their matching black-and-white attire. “Heibai Wuchang, the White and Black Guards?”

“That is us.”

The angel placed a hand on his heart—a sign of empathic respect and mourning between soul shepherds. “We mourn with you.” He ran a finger down his scroll. “You have two souls to escort today. An old woman and a middle-aged man. May your journey be smooth.”

The Guards nodded and moved towards the wreckage.

The angel frowned at Kondok. “I don’t recognise you. Where are you from?”

“I am a soul shepherd from Malaysia. My name is Moyang Kondok, the Spirit of the Pangolin from the Mah Meri pantheon.”

“Malaysia? Where are Tok Samin and Che Timah?”

“They sent me in their stead,” Kondok said. “They are busy…They’ve been working in the Indian Ocean for the past four months.”

The angel’s expression changed. “I am sorry.” He placed his hand on his heart again. “It has been a hard year for your country. We mourn with you.”

The Heibai Wuchang emerged from the cabin, guiding two glowing souls. The White Guard gave Kondok a final bow of farewell, then the spirits sank into the ground with their wards and disappeared into the Chinese underworld. A small white lily blossom sprouted at the spot where they vanished.

“You have one soul waiting for you over there,” said the angel, pointing towards the nearby woods. As Kondok was leaving, the angel continued, “I didn’t know that people still followed the old religions of the indigenous tribes. There were no Mah Meri names on the passenger list.”

Kondok shook his head. “I’m not here because they believe in me. I do the same duty as the Grim Reaper.” He pointed across the field.

The majority of souls had departed with the angels, leaving several stragglers sitting dumbfounded among the debris. Over them now loomed a giant hooded shape, blacker than the night sky, blotting out the bright stars. With his gleaming scythe resting on his shoulder, as he passed by each soul, the Reaper tapped them on their shoulders with a skeletal finger. The souls rose one by one and entered his embrace, disappearing into the folds of his robes.

“Those who do not adhere to a specific belief or another, the Grim Reaper takes under his wing,” Kondok said with a sombre smile. “In Malaysia, they come under my care.”

He entered the woods.

Under a smoking chunk of cabin that had been flung into the trees, the soul of a young woman sat, silent. Her body was nowhere to be seen, likely buried somewhere under the rubble. As Kondok walked up to her, she looked up.

Moyang Kondok saw her entire life through her eyes. Virtuous deeds, evil deeds, desires, struggles, loves and hates, victories and regrets. The urge to pronounce her saint or sinner rose in his heart as usual, but he pushed it aside. This was a human life in all its glory and shame—but it was not his place to judge.

He was merely a soul shepherd, after all.

Kondok extended his hand. “Come, my daughter.”

She took his hand. Together they walked out of the quiet woods and down the long dark road where the booming echoes of artillery shells could reach them no more.

In memory of the victims of MH17 and MH370.

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