The Reaper Realm: Threads of Compassion

by K. A. Lentz

  “Wait, twenty-two years ago, but I was home just three. How did you fail to tell me this?” Tahlan said with a sting in his heart.

  “You’ve been busy recovering Tahlen, and you did not stay more than two days when last you visited. Before that it had been five years since we had seen you, and most of that time was monopolized by Ifrah’s commencement. We’ve not had the luxury of complete stories regarding the past since… well… for the last eight hundred years. When Tahlen is recovered we can speak on everything that was missed.”

  Kaiyssa’s last statement hit him hard. Tahlan’s sorrow washed over him as he thought of all the missed time with his mate. Before his brother’s death, they had been in a world all their own, untouched by many of the problems in the realm. They had traveled the varied elvish lands together, sought as one the ancient teachings of their ancestors, even fighting in two wars side-by-side. Now he barely saw her and they seemed worlds apart. He longed, painfully at times, for everything to return to as it was before the grief. Not realizing he had sat down, Tahlan looked up at Kaiyssa and saw a grave expression of concern weighing heavy upon her features. Leaning in, she rested one hand on his knee and whispered, “My love, I apologize that I have hurt you with the truth, however, I do feel we can make up for all the time we’ve missed in the years to come. I promise.”

  Cupping her face in one hand, Tahlan caressed her cheek with his thumb and said, “You are correct my love, we shall have many years in the future to enjoy times such as last night.” He leaned up and kissed her on the forehead, but then changed tones asking again, “So, please tell me, how did you come to meet these two lanius griffons?”

  Smiling at his change in topic, Kaiyssa replied, “Megoth, that’s the name of the male that carried us to safety.” She paused to choke back the sadness waiting to pour from her heart and added, “His mate was called… Shresha. The couple was migrating north—through Reaper territory—to their feeding grounds when Megoth was tagged by random fire. They managed to make it over the bluff and pass into safe territory before his injuries forced them to stop. I was heading into the forest for some rest when I saw him take the hit. It took me less than an hour to path-find my way to where the pair had landed. Proving extremely convenient in the future, the griffons had settled down alongside a small lake. Megoth’s wing had been badly injured, he was lucky to have flown as far as he did. It took some time to convince them both I meant no harm and wished to help. Shresha was the first to trust me, but soon Megoth did too.”

  “As it turns out, he was not the only one in need; she went into labor as I was finishing up with his wound. Over the course of two days she delivered a litter of three, healthy griffons. Sadly the game inhabiting the surrounding area was not prepared for such a large family being added to the heavy strain of a reaper front, and so I was vital in their hunt for available food. Three months passed as I divided my time between the front’s hospital and the griffons’ nursery; it was a very rewarding period in my healing career. I constantly wished for your presence and recorded each memory with the spirit of you there.”

  “By the time their little ones could fly both adults were speaking words into my mind… similar to us, yet different. As they left to return home, the couple invited me to visit their capitol for the construction of this horn. It was crafted with their essence and my spoken promise to their people; I am the only one able to use it because of this.”

  She stopped there and watched as he digested the full story. Worrying anew, Tahlan spoke in a whisper, “It upsets me… that you were in harm’s way… without me there to aid you. I thank fate that you are safe and have forged a new friendship. I am sorry their family has suffered this tragic loss on our behalf. In my meditations, I shall reflect upon her life and send energies of hope for their children.”

  Offering up more information Kaiyssa continued, “He is a prince as well. Megoth is the third son of the Lanius King Shan Ladakhi of the northeastern flock. The King was very fond of Shresha. It will be a week of mourning for her when Megoth returns.”

  Tahlan leaned in with elfling eagerness and said, “What is their kingdom like? Have you visited much? Will they grant me entrance to the city when next you go?”

  Kaiyssa laughed, tickled by his expression. Answering through small eruptions of giggles she replied, “Yes, three times now. Once was for a festival of the realm. We shall attend it together when all of this is finished. You will enjoy the beauty of their culture. We learned so little about them when we were elflings; their society is richer than our elders painted. I feel you and Megoth will bond into a lifelong friendship. He is a very noble being, one such as you.”

  With an understanding nod, Tahlan responded, “Thank you my love, I am certain I shall consider him one such as family.”

  Gathering her in, Tahlan held his mate close for a while before a growing need to pace out each thought overtook his desire to sit still. Feeling hunger press in, Kaiyssa turned to take inventory of the bags still in their possession. The pain of an empty stomach quickly turned to disappointment when she realized one of the bags was missing. Half the meat from the night before had been cooked and stored in that bag for the journey ahead. Compelled to take a mental inventory of its missing contents, Kaiyssa closed her eyes and pictured packing it. Disappointment turned to dread when she realized her healing pouch had been inside and contained within that bag was her pollen-of-return. Whoever was lucky enough to find her missing haversack would also find her healing pouch, pour the pollen into their hands, and ride the magical powder straight into the City of Trees. Worry forking through her body like lightening, Kaiyssa rushed out, “Oh no, my pollen-of-return… it was in the missing pack.”

  With those words Tahlan stopped his pacing and turned to look at her. Having gained his full attention, she elaborated on the dilemma, “I put my herbal pouch inside one of the provisions bags which was lost when we fled. Before I left the city, I visited the Tree of Transportation, but it had only recently been planted earlier that morning. I’m not sure where it’ll take the user if Elvor was delayed in shielding it due to festival demands.”

  Taking an instructive tone, Tahlan soothed her fears, “It will return them to the Grove of War; the council’s mages were able to safeguard the city. I visited the barracks after meeting with the council. When I arrived Elvor was overseeing the ritual’s final stages. We cannot turn back to help them; especially now that we have Megoth’s assistance. Besides, they can handle a few specters should the liches find your missing pack. When do you anticipate his return? Tonight by chance?”

  Not entirely soothed by his words, Kaiyssa whispered, “He’ll return when he is ready, no sooner.”

  Tahlan pressed on with his questions, “Do you think he will assist us further by flying to Varmount?”

  “His children are still young, but they recently entered into adult training to become members of their community. Megoth will likely decide to assist us in revenge of his mate. Unlike ours’, the eldest members of their society exclusively train the youngest. It’s how it is done in their culture. He has very little duty for the time being, so I think he’ll aid us for the entirety of our quest.” Kaiyssa offered.

  Relieved by her words, Tahlan breathed a confident sigh and said, “That is excellent news, if it turns out he is unable to help us we will turn toward the Tower of the South Watch, and from there I shall continue on alone. If he does decide to help, we shall fly to the Watch, but afterward he and I shall continue our journey and you will return home. I do believe they have a small store of pollen…”

  Kaiyssa shook her head at his last words, face furrowing in anger. In a stern voice she countered hotly, “Megoth won’t go without me, so you can forget leaving me behind. And if you leave us both behind, I’ll follow you with his help. Elvor did tell you I’m determined, right? I told him to inform you I would not be taking no for an answer. You will not leave me behind again!”

  “Very well then, you may come for now.” Tahlan admitted wi
th resignation, “If there is nothing I can say to send you home to safety, we shall continue on from the tower to the human town of Varmount.”

  Still hot over his request, Kaiyssa shot, “You know, I do know who owns that city.”

  Tahlan’s laughter echoed off the mountains.

  Chapter Four:

  Introductions

  Thistle awoke to the sensation of soft grass tickling the side of her face. By the sounds of it she was resting on the grassy bank of a small stream. Holding her head through a haze of pain she tried to make sense of everything that had just happened. Feeling the instinct to look around, she immediately regretted this rash action as her eyes opened to a fresh rush of torture. Vice like agony gripping her head, Thistle tried to focus on what could have caused the pain. Nothing made sense in her mind. She couldn’t have been through what her brain was telling her she had just experienced. Have I gone mad? Has my grasp on reality been damaged somehow? Was my vision yesterday the first sign? Perhaps I walked in my sleep. It’s possible I fell during a sleepy trek and hit my head on a nearby rock. Resigned to the pain, she decided to test that theory when she was feeling better.

  Thistle flinched when someone had the gall to shake her. She mumbled something about sleepwalking and possibly being hurt, but could say no more due to the torrent in her skull. A second, gentler shake was accompanied by a strong, male voice, “It will go away in a short while. I can allow another minute of rest before we must move away from this place. Someone most certainly detected our crossing; we cannot stay long.”

  Through a fog of pain, Thistle tentatively opened her eyes to catch a peek of the person talking. Afforded a few moments of bliss while she noted the pain was indeed ebbing, her relief dissipated and was replaced by a lump of fear lodged deep in her throat. It’s him, the man from her vision… from the TV… the guy who assaulted poor Esme and was responsible for… did he say crossing? Thistle’s eyes tried to open wide, but her head still refused to allow it. She attempted to get up and run, but found that action more taxing than lifting her eye-lids. Her captor rested his hand on her shoulder for a moment, but then yanked it back saying, “You are not yet ready to travel, do not try to stand.”

  Not the least comforted by his words Thistle lay entirely still, pouring all her energy into feeling well enough to run away. Racing like a speeding car in the opposite direction of calm, her mind maneuvered through various escape plans and possible outcomes. She was deeply immersed in thought when the man suddenly hauled her up tight to his side. Passably noticing her lack of pain along the way, Thistle applied every effort to freeing her captured wrist from the man’s vice-like grip. He reacted by lifting her arm high into the air, forcing both heels off the ground, and then grabbed her other shoulder giving it a quick shake. In a hard tone he promised, “You will not escape me, and even if you could by cunning, I would quickly hunt you down and haul you back. So I hope we can come to somewhat of an understanding… making this whole ordeal easier on both of us.”

  Thistle simply stood staring up at him, but then, lacking any restraint, a question escaped her lips, “Who the hell are you?”

  Annoyed but compelled to answer, he rumbled back, “I am no one.”

  Thistle’s eyebrows shot up as she retorted with annoyance, “You’re clearly someone, I can see you.” She gave his side a brief jab with her free hand, “and I can touch you, so it would seem you’re real. So… you must be someone.”

  Glaring down his nose the man growled, “I can gag you.”

  Thistle gave a short laugh before looking him in the eye and daring, “Clearly you don’t want to or you wouldn’t make the threat… you’d just do it.”

  A dark menace colored his tone as he warned, “Don’t push me.”

  “Considering what I… think… I’ve just been through, I… I don’t mind pushing you. Who are you, and where the heck am I?!” Thistle demanded, growing bolder by the second.

  The man loomed over her, “You would not say such things if you knew. I am in no mood to answer your questions, nor do we have the time. You appear well enough to move. So… shall we?”

  With that, his hand coiled tighter around her wrist as he proceeded to walk up the bank and into the surrounding forest. Adamant about her point, she dug both heels into the soft earth of the upper bank. This act merely served to lurch Thistle forward, sending her on a collision course with the ground. In a flash he turned and caught her but was quick to put his captive down at a distance. Grabbing both shoulders this time, the man issued his last warning by glaring down his nose and giving her another mild shake. She blinked at this action and continued rebelliously staring up at him. A bit taken aback by her lack of fear—and clear defiance—he stood holding her shoulders at arm’s length, eyeing this strange woman.

  Thistle fidgeted under the weight of his scrutinous gaze and asked, “What? Why are you staring at me?”

  The man’s silence continued to reign as he retrieved her wrist and resumed their trudge into the forest. She decided it was not the time for rash escapes or challenging questions. For now she would quietly allow herself to be pulled along, waiting for the perfect opportunity to make her getaway; plus it wouldn’t hurt to gain a little bearing on where she was.

  As they reached the tree line, Thistle turned and studied the clearing they had just occupied. On the opposite riverbank rested a megalith resembling one of the post and lentil structures from Stonehenge. The large edifice appeared recently built, lacking any chips or cracks, yet abundant colonies of lichen betrayed its age. The march of time had also begun claiming one post, burying the stone column in dirt, grass and flowers to nearly one-third its original height. Acting as caretakers along the forest’s edge, a brigade of trees tucked their long limbs into the surrounding woods giving the dominating megalith plenty of light. Thistle saw no other structures or statues to adorn it in any way, nor any markings along the surface to claim its construction.

  Another yank on her wrist forced Thistle to turn back around and take stock of the looming woodlands ahead. Barely glancing down in time, she clumsily hopped over a protruding root jutting high above the ground. As her curious eyes followed its path to the trunk and slowly up the massive tree, Thistle noticed that the forest around them appeared old… very old. The thick armament of bark upon each tree seemed weathered and hardened with age, almost petrified. As her gaze finally made its long journey to the tree’s enormous canopy above, she gasped as her eyes worked hard to focus on broad-leaves dancing oddly in the cold, afternoon breeze. Passing close to one with a low hanging branch, Thistle screwed up the courage to jump for a handful of what she figured would be odd deciduous leaves. Instead her hand clenched tight on a cluster of long, brittle needles that when bunched together formed the image of something resembling an oak leaf. In awe she asked without thinking, “Wow, what are these things? Their leaves are like nothing I’ve ever seen!”

  With a curt tone her kidnapper replied, “This is the oldest forest in the realm, called the Frozen Forest, no other trees will ever exist as they do.”

  “I’ve got to be dreaming, there are no trees like this on earth,” she stated with a sincere hope of waking.

  Again, not sparing her a glance he growled, “No… this is not a dream. To compare it to anything you know… would be to understand it as a nightmare.”

  Panic pricking at the edges of fear, Thistle fought back questions plaguing her worried mind. Now is not the time to lose it self, he was only trying to rattle me. Shoving away the tide of anxiety, Thistle decided to focus on her surroundings once more. Staring up at the magnificent trees she quickly got lost in their unusual existence, gawking at each while searching for imperfections in the camouflage until the novelty wore off.

  After what felt like hours they started descending into a small valley populated by shrubs and the occasional odd, mature tree. As the pair made their way down the hillside’s rocky slope and into its shadowy base, Thistle’s captor suddenly stopped. A grave expression hardening
his features, the swordsman stared intently as if listening to something only he could hear. Thistle’s eyes darted across the landscape with hope as she looked for a potential savior. Knocking the wind out of her, he unexpectedly slung her over one shoulder. Stricken by shock as they ran at speeds no human could achieve, Thistle hung preoccupied with her situation and failed to notice a newcomer now in pursuit. Her captor ran for less than a minute before he once again stopped dead in his tracks. She attempted to look over her backside for the cause, but was unable to level herself high enough to see. Struggling for a glimpse, Thistle was surprised when all of the sudden she found herself sitting on said visual impediment… hard. A strangled yelp of pain escaped her lips a scant second before a gasp of fear entered them. Dropped down to her kidnapper’s side, Thistle got an unobstructed view of the threat they now faced.

  It was just a man, or so she thought at first glance, but upon further inspection she discerned… he could not be human. His sparse white, scale armor left much of his muscular body exposed. Scattered across the visible flesh of his arms, legs, and chest blazed red runes glowing with the intensity of fire. Burning from within, the strange symbols gave one the impression he was made of flame beneath otherwise normal looking skin. The personified nightmare gazed down at Thistle and gifted her with a broad smile. As his malicious grin formed, liquid blue flame drooled from the corners of his mouth and down each side of his chin, leaving not a scar in its wake. Thistle sucked in another gasp of fear as her eyes widened in disbelief. In reaction the fiend’s smile broadened into a full, lava-like laugh. When next he spoke sounds of a crackling fire echoed like currents through his silken voice, “Don’t you worry my pretty; you’ll get to know me once I finish attending to your escort. I’ll torture you slowly before I hand you over to my master. Always some fun for me you know! My master will not…”