The Reaper Realm: Threads of Compassion

by K. A. Lentz

  Fear streaked through Thistle’s body as she tried to make a run for the perceived safety of the office. She had only taken a single step before she bounced off the man’s chest like a trampoline. He anticipated this reaction and easily caught his quarry as she sailed toward the floor. Unaccustomed to dealing with anyone from this world, he was not prepared for her next, unconventional approach. Tapping years of earthquake drills, Thistle dropped to her knees and easily slipped through her captor’s grasp. Dread coursing through her body like a raging river, she hastily spun around and tried to flee for the front door now unblocked by her menacing attacker. With speed she set out at a run but was suddenly rooted to the spot by a steely embrace coiled around her torso like a python.

  Desperation quavering in her voice Thistle beseeched the man, “Please, don’t do this. Please, I beg you, don’t!” A deep well of tears poured over her cheeks as she pleaded again, “Please, I beg you, don’t!”

  He spared her a single, uninterested glace while adjusting his hold to free up one hand. With the casual air of a student digging through their backpack, he nonchalantly sunk his freed hand into a pouch on his hip and began rummaging around. Thistle tried to take advantage of his weakened grasp, but quickly found the task entirely futile. When freeing her arms failed she tried kicking him off, but this proved to be an equally less than effective tactic.

  During her fruitless protests, Thistle’s attacker casually continued to dig through his bag. Finally passing over the small stone for which he had been searching, each finger gently cupped the elegant gem as he lifted it from the pouch’s confinements. As he opened his hand the green and blue bobble adjusted to gravity and rolled to an awkward stop in the cradle of his palm. The menacing man raised his prize to his lips and began whispering in a strange, unintelligible language. Overcome by the effects of his budding spell, Thistle was forced to cease her struggles and focus on an unpleasant invasion of words flooding her body. Coming to life at the sound of his voice, the curio’s surface was suddenly aglow in a crisp, blue light. Entranced by its beauty and magic Thistle went listless in his arms, watching without further protest. Perfectly shining upon the gem’s glassy surface was a replica of the world she called home. Marveling at its realism, she was a little disappointed when the comforting image was replaced by churning swirls of random color occasionally trying to coalesce into something new. A thunderous rumble abruptly split through the air around them, unrelenting as it increased in decibel. Thistle felt her ears would bleed as she struggled anew to muffle the painful crescendo. Ignoring the commotion, the swordsman continued his haunting whispers to the slowly solidifying pebble. She was about to demand her immediate release when, as abruptly as the noise had begun… every sound simply stopped.

  There was a moment of calm before the world around them shattered into countless pieces. At first the tiny fragments appeared to float in space, as if mundane coins spinning on a tabletop, but short lived was their stillness. Seemingly caught by a gentle zephyr they began slowly dancing around the pair. Swirling and dashing they churned faster and faster into a raging, crystalline tornado. At the height of its rage a point of light formed directly in front of Thistle. As though caught in an hourglass, the pieces of reality rushed toward the new luminescence. Thistle felt as though she was trapped in the center of a dust storm, yet there was neither sound… nor any other sensation. She tried to yell, but there was nothing to hear. She tried to scream, but nothing came out. As the few, remaining fragments of reality disappeared into the effulgent pinprick dominating her view, so too was Thistle’s grasp on consciousness lost.

  Chapter Three:

  A Brother’s Love

  A hushed silence swept over the excited crowd as a lone wood-elf took center stage. Illuminated by hovering orbs circling just above his head, the resplendently dressed master-of-ceremony bowed to his audience before beginning, “Elves and elflings, humans and children, and of course sprites of all kinds! I welcome you all to the city of trees and our festival of the world flower!” An enthusiastic cheer bounded around the long, dark hall as everyone clapped their approval at the commencement of such a beloved, yearly celebration. Holding up a hand for silence, the ringleader enticed his crowd as they quickly quieted, “I offer… for your enjoyment over the coming week, spectacles of wonder, feats of prowess, and this year… a special bit of magic smuggled to us by the lofty gnomes, expressly for this spectacular occasion.” Another ear splitting cheer rang throughout the audience. Quieting his listeners once more with a wave of his hand, the wood-elf threw both arms into the air and exclaimed, “Let the festival begin!”

  A flood of applause preceded a host of acrobats that took to the expansive wooden stage behind their announcer. Jumping further and higher than any human could achieve, the troupe began their elaborate display of lissome feats and magical pyrotechnics. The master-of-ceremony smiled and waved good-bye to the excited crowd before cartwheeling his way through the performing acrobats continuously in motion. At the height of his last spin he turned and swiftly jumped into a smokescreen along the back. The crowd roared their approval.

  One floor above all this wonder and excitement paced a lone wood-elf named Tahlan. With each pass his agitated circles threatened to wear ruts in the hall outside his home city’s council-chamber doors. Having received a summons from the king’s personal scout, Tahlan begrudgingly decided to begin the three week journey home to honor the command of his people. Now, standing in front of these influential doors, his mind raced over reasons for his recall. Reassignment… it was the only answer. Almost eight hundred years had passed since the start of his personal quest; an endeavor his entire clan believed futile, yet none amongst them had the heart to deny his grief. He had lost his twin brother Tahlen, a circumstance none of his kin could fathom. Possibly seen once in a ten-thousand year lifetime, the rare blessing of twins was a momentous event for any family within the whole of elvish races.

  Far away from home on a quest for their clan, Tahlen had been caught and murdered by the reaper Lesdaeonna. Defiling his body, she installed another soul within and enslaved it to her will. Tahlan vowed to reclaim his brother and preform the sacred funeral rites practiced by his people. Impressing his clan with cunning and skill, he got close to his goal twice within the first five-hundred years of pursuit. Those two feats had bought him more time without question, but three centuries had passed and he had no such accomplishments to report.

  Ten years ago the king’s anger had quickly flared when Tahlan informed his leader that he would continue searching for Tahlen… despite his people’s recommendation to stop. The life-long friends had fought bitterly, yet Tahlan walked away victorious by declaring he knew where the murderer was headed. He had no such news now. Fear spiked through the wood-elf as he confronted the thought that he may never recover his brother. Tahlan halted mid-pace, overwhelmed by this infectious idea.

  Brought to attention by the rustling sounds of an approaching visitor, Tahlan waited as they fumbled with the handle behind one of the large, council doors. Turning to face the newcomer, he was greeted with a bright smile as the king’s niece skipped through the barely open portal. Prancing over to him, the little elf stopped just shy of his feet and waited. Easing their height difference, Tahlan kneeled down to speak face-to-face with his favorite, second cousin.

  Furrowing her brow in anger, the little elf declared in an authoritative tone, “Tahlan! Why have you been gone so long?” Excitement overrode anger as her eyebrows shot up and she squealed, “Look! Oh look, my ears are starting to curve!”

  As her last words resounded around the enclosed hallway, she puffed out her little chest and pulled back soft curls to reveal one petite, growing ear. The auricle of her ear angled gracefully toward the back of her head as its gentle curving helix formed into an elongated point. Letting her hair drop, the little elf-girl turned to face him once more with an eager and expectant smile lighting her adorable features. Tahlan gave the little elfling a broad grin to match. Turning
his head he lifted his long hair into a ponytail revealing both fully grown ears. His little cousin giggled as she reached up and traced the crescent moon shape of one of Tahlan’s presented ears.

  Responding in a courtly tone, Tahlan stated, “Our ears nearly match. My goodness, you are a lady now!” Standing tall he gave her a sweeping bow, and then continued, “Milady! How old are you, thirty-five?! Forty!?”

  “Seventeen and nine moons!” The elfling rushed out with overflowing excitement, her tender high-pitched voice punctuated by giggles.

  “Wow, my goodness you are a lady! Well then, My Lady Ifrah, will you escort me to your uncle?”

  With his last question the little elf’s demeanor drastically changed. She had begun nervously ringing her hands, rooted to the spot, as her eyes welled with unshed tears. Worried she would rapidly progress into a full tantrum, Tahlan kneeled back down to comfort her. Accepting his offered support, Ifrah threw her arms around his neck and sobbed onto his shoulder.

  “What is wrong, little one?” Tahlan cooed as he rubbed her back.

  Ifrah’s soft little sniffles paused between whispered words, “You are being sent away again, I overheard my uncle talking. They want to send you to the reaper-front, think it will be good for your vengeance. Can I help… so you can stay?”

  Leaning back to look him in the eye, his little cousin wore a genuine expression of hope on her sweet cherub face. Tahlan, however, had lost his focus upon hearing the words reaper-front, and so failed to answer her question. Seeing her cousin’s torment, fresh tears spilled over the little elf’s cheeks as she fret aloud, “Oh no it is very bad isn’t it? I have made you sad Tahlan, I see it. Will you not come back?” Clutching him tight, she wailed into his shoulder once more, “Pp… plea… sse! Don’t go!”

  He held her tiny body to his chest while humming her favorite song against the temple of her forehead. Once she had quieted, he looked down at her peaceful face and smiled when he noticed she had fallen asleep. Quietly laughing to himself Tahlan scooped up Ifrah’s feather-light body, but paused realizing he was unsure where to take her. It was in this moment her mother came around the corner looking for her wayward child. Walking up to her cousin, the girl’s mother smiled at the sight of her sleeping daughter nestled in Tahlan’s arms.

  Reaching out to take the slumbering elfling, she said, “I was just looking for this little imp. It is time to put her down for the nap I happily see she has already begun. I have the timing of Grandmother.” Cradling her daughter she added in a hasty whisper, “Go now, Elvor has been eager to see you since word reached us of your pending arrival.” Tahlan nodded his agreement as they traded a brief hug and went their separate ways. Unable to avoid his king a moment longer, the nervous wood-elf boldly opened the council doors to whatever fate awaited him.

  Lacking a single window, the large chamber was suitably lit by softly shimmering runes weaving like vines across the room’s surface. Beautiful as a sunset, their radiant glow bathed both occupants in an intoxicating atmosphere of inner peace. Meandering in a path along the floor rested sparkling blue, stone tiles guiding each visitor past stunning tapestries chronicling wood-elf history. Each finely embroidered piece was brought to life as its viewer walked by, slowly telling the legend of its subject at the onlookers pace. Despite all this finery and splendor, a more fascinating fixture dominated the far end of the long, council chamber.

  The council’s gathering table was not only a commanding piece of furniture, but also one of the rarest in the kingdom. Crafted from the elusive ghostwood tree, this peculiar table bore the mark of a master-artisan possessing the rare skill to work such coveted lumber. Difficult to mill, nearly impossible to hew, neither of these challenges compared to the patience of harvesting such an elusive tree. While alive, the mysterious conifer constantly wanders from place to place, fading away only to reappear a random distance from its original location. The tree’s movements never slow until one day they stop altogether and immediately the tree begins rotting away.

  Through the centuries exceptionally skilled crafters have happily weathered these harvesting trials to procure such a rare medium. When properly handled each hewn creation boasts an extraordinary gift unique unto itself. This particular piece was born with the curious talent of retaining every word spoken within its vicinity and—when called upon—will repeat anything simply by asking. Truly a master of his craft, the table’s creator possessed another rare skill enabling him to suspend this unique wood in its natural, ghostly state. Though solid to the touch, the furniture remained translucent and retained its ethereal glow. Illuminated by the magical light surrounding it, the marvelous table rivaled many a splendorous sunset.

  Sitting along the apex of the table’s arch, the wood-elf king’s boredom was conspicuously conveyed through the slump of his frame. Leaning heavy on the tabletop, Elvor cradled his head in one hand while drumming stout fingers atop the platform’s surface. Elected hundreds of years ago at the tender age of thirty-two the young king had often felt caged by much of the official work accompanying his station, yet despite his feelings, he never wavered from the duty required by his people.

  As Tahlan walked up to the table, Elvor casually glanced at his approaching visitor without changing position. Simultaneously speaking with an escaping yawn, the bored king stated with clear relief, “About time, I feared I would need to send someone other than my niece to find you. Is Ifrah okay by the way? I heard her sobbing in the hall… little imp listened in didn’t she?” He fit the last few words between another yawn and a few stray chuckles.

  Restraining his annoyance, Tahlan replied, “Yes she did and she is fine, Nasshta took her. Now, what have I done to be recalled and—it would seem—reassigned?”

  Without missing a step Elvor ignored Tahlan’s last question and continued along with his, “So did you get a chance to see Kaiyssa on your way into the city? She was talking about leaving with you this time… and I don’t think you’ll be able to persuade her otherwise. From the look on your face you didn’t count on that, did you, my friend?”

  Regaining his impassable look, Tahlan responded, “No, and no. I did not go to see Kaiyssa, she knows what this means to me. Now, stop changing the topic of conversation and tell me why.”

  Elvor loosed a burdensome sigh, stood up, and walked around to where Tahlan had cemented his feet. Consoling his lifelong friend, Elvor treaded carefully as he answered, “Listen, Tah, you know what your brother meant to me, and I certainly know what your brother meant to you, so you’ll understand how greatly it pains me to say what I must.” He paused a moment, dreading his next words, “You are to cease your search for Tahlen, report to the human reaper-front stationed outside Varmount, and lead a quest to retrieve knowledge of Lesdaeonna’s recent actions toward fellow Reaper Eltine.”

  Clenching his fists at each side, Tahlan’s voice crackled with anger, “So… let me get this straight; instead of focusing on my brother… you want to me investigate actions of the reaper who murdered him? You think that will clear my head of the wrongs against my brother and the vengeance I seek on my family’s behalf? I really do not understand the reasoning in this path Elvor.”

  The cunning leader decided to take a different approach. He annoyingly paced around Tahlan as he spoke, “You’re the only one who can do this quest, Tah. You have the most experience with her minions. There is also the plain fact… if you do this hunt now… you may gain more information on Tahlen, or even another chance at capture. Might I also mention that completing our council’s quest will certainly buy you time to locate your brother in the future. One last note, there’s also the small matter of me spending two, full days arguing with the council over their intent to force you into leave. You’re lucky you weren’t grounded at home for the next fifty years.”

  Tahlan tried not to listen. He knew his friend spoke reason, but the anger in his mind raced over lost time and worthy excuses. With a note of desperation in his voice he begged, “You know as well as I the time co
nstraints at issue here. What if his soul is trapped within… ?”

  Elvor could see Tahlan’s pain and tried to lend his friend some hope, “Tah, that tale is most certainly a lie by the minion who told it. Hold deep in your heart the belief that Tahlen has moved on to the otherworld.” The king decided to change tracks and steer his beloved friend in a positive direction… fast, “Now listen, none of us ever expected you to get as close as you have gotten in the past. Your skills have brought valid purpose to your quest in the eyes of our clan, but for now you must halt your search. You’ve given us all hope with the triumphs you’ve claimed, and I promise those accomplishments will buy more time before it’s too late.”

  Tahlan seemed to lose a bit of his anger, “You will plead my case to the council if I do this?”

  True friendship laden in his voice Elvor affirmed, “Yes, of course I will my friend.”

  With that Tahlan visibly relaxed. He sat down with a flump and cradled his head in both hands. Elvor slapped his friend on the back and asked, “So anything new or interesting happen while you were gone?”

  Tahlan looked up long enough to shoot his king a mild glare before returning to the sanctuary of his hands. Elvor simply chuckled in response. With a muffled voice Tahlan recounted, “Three years ago my trail went completely cold. I was getting close to him at Gold Island, I had been waiting for well over a week, but as it turned out… he came and went without my knowledge. Try as I may, I could not find a clue as to why he had been there or where he had gone.” Tahlan slammed a clenched fist onto the table. Breathing out a heavy sigh, he added in a barely audible voice, “I have failed ever since.”