The Reaper Realm: Threads of Compassion

by K. A. Lentz

  Discomfort painted in bold colors across her face, Thistle interrupted, “Please, I must stop. I’m starving, not to mention my arms and legs hurt from holding on so tight. I just need a few minutes rest… minimum.”

  His own level of unease surprisingly on display Miach explained, “We cannot stop here… it is not safe. We must move on a while longer. There is no time for food here. Crossing the river, not far ahead, will get us into a more hospitable area.”

  “River?! Oh please, at least give me a minute to relieve myself. We haven’t stopped since I woke this morning.” Thistle desperately pleaded.

  Miach took one look at her expression, then her stance, and quickly decided he had best spare her the minute. With a wave of his hand he conceded, “Go now! That is all you have time to do. I give you my word we will stop as soon as it is safe to do so.”

  Thistle handed back his borrowed cloak and hurried off, a string of repeated thank yous trailing in her wake. Barely a minute passed before she was trotting back to his side with a smile of relief lighting her features, entirely unaware of a low thundering emanating from the thick forest behind her. Miach’s head snapped around in its direction and then back at Thistle. In a flash he presented her with his back and exclaimed, “UP!”

  The mysterious noise had rapidly grown to a decibel Thistle could hear, trapping her like a deer in headlights. Refusing to wait another second for her compliance Miach grabbed his charge by the wrists, slung one arm over each shoulder, and then leaned into her petrified body. Instinct caused her to cling without thinking as he sped into the thinning forest ahead. Thistle twisted her head around to stare hard at the spot they had left, searching for a glimpse of the cause before it was out of sight. The fates seemed willing to grant her wish as a creature emerged in time to be seen. A giant, black and green bird crashed through the forest’s tall wall of undergrowth and into view. Immediately the animal turned in their direction and sped off in pursuit of its hopeful lunch. Thistle inhaled sharply, causing Miach to hazard a hasty glance over one shoulder. Much to his dismay, he too noted that the bird was following… and already nearly upon them. Runes flared to life as he bent his head and ran for the river with the speed of the wind. The bird also kicked into high gear, managing to keep pace. Looking over his shoulder once more, the storm-slave was further disheartened by the creature’s matching stride but relieved to see it was no longer gaining on them. Hoping to avoid a risky fight involving Thistle, Miach continued running hard as he wove through trees and darted around shrubs in an effort to reach the river.

  Thistle’s eyes never faltered from their pursuer. The beast looked like something out of prehistory. Its beak was massive, rimed with sharp, thorn-like peaks angling back toward a waiting throat. The head behind appeared more joint than skull, accommodating enough room to link jaw and throat while saving just enough space for the creature’s fiercely determined eyes. Another powerful feature on this model of deadly predator was the monstrous bird’s mighty legs; long and muscular, yet lean for fast top speeds. The body between its neck and tail was much akin to their pursuer’s head, a kind of physical afterthought adorned with two stubby wings. All in all, it was obvious the bird was built to run and eat. Thistle began pondering what sort of animal the creature must chase to require such speeds, and again the fates seemed eager to answer her question.

  As the trio pressed onward toward the river, another deeper, more concussive thundering added itself to the mix. Charging up from behind their pursuer, the newcomer quickly fell-in with the ranks of runners as it crashed like a bulldozer through the forest’s underbrush. Weaving around a barricade of trees after its prey, the creature’s amber chitin glimmered as it passed under stray streams of light penetrating the dense canopy above. It appeared to be some kind of… bug. This revelation caused Thistle to crane her head further in an effort to confirm the assessment. As she guessed, it was indeed some kind of insect, but unlike any she had ever seen. Eight, broad legs powered alongside three adjoined sections making up its bulbous body. Given the large and rounded dimensions of the bug’s thorax and abdomen, it was an odd twist of nature that the creature’s head was unusually small and surprisingly rectangular.

  Thistle chirped a barely audible squeak as the desperate bird made hurried bids to end the race by attempting to snatch her up with hasty chomps. Trying to buy them extra time Miach leapt into the sprawling latticework of branches overhead, intent on sheltering within their woody maze until arriving at the river. The bird and bug followed respectively, adapting quickly to the change in terrain. Thistle’s jaw descended to unprecedented lows as the chase took on startling new dimensions before her eyes.

  The bug seemed to be the only one hindered by this new aspect to its pursuit. Deciding to take a different approach, the enormous insect exclusively maneuvered along the treetops, bending and snapping branches with every step. Nearly parallel with the bird, the behemoth bug began punching its claw through the canopy in an effort to snatch up its prey. The creature’s avian adversary protested this action with horridly loud screeches directed at Thistle’s face. Each attempt to snatch the bird slowed the bug for a moment before it was forced to run full tilt in an effort to catch up. The trees were taking the brunt of this action, splintering and cracking apart before starting their downward decent to the forest floor. Again the bug crashed its crab-like claw through the canopy, this time knocking the fowl to the ground and pinning it beneath a heap of cascading litter. Eager for the kill, the hungry insect dove back into the ocean of forest intending to claim its struggling prize. The trapped bird thrashed and kicked at its imprisoning boughs in an effort to free itself, loosing frantic shrieks all the while. Miach was undaunted by the commotion behind them as he continued to duck and hop along giant tree-limbs toward the river. Swiftly he dropped to the ground and ran flat-out for the approaching cliff-edge; not far off he could hear the rushing torrent and feel its thundering waterfall pouring into a deep canyon below.

  Thistle never ceased gawking at the scene unfolding behind them. Their feathered assailant had managed a hasty recovery as the bug lost its inadequate footing descending from the trees and tumbled hard to the ground. Again the bird kicked it legs into high gear and sped off in their direction. First to reach the flowing finish line, Miach paused long enough to readjust Thistle. Standing on the edge of the precipice, he pulled her off his back, into his waiting arms, and then draped his body around her like a cloak. She had only begun to understand the next step of his plan when he implemented it. To Thistle, the fall felt as if it took forever. Her eyes clenched tight against the coming water, she waited and waited until… Barely a moment before contact Miach curled more fully around her and took the brunt of the impact.

  The river spit Thistle out first, shortly followed by Miach. As they fought the current toward each other, the train’s caboose came crashing down the gorge behind them. The confident bug had jumped the ravine in pursuit of its prey, whom had deftly jumped the chasm moments before, but the cliff’s brittle edge easily gave way under its enormous weight and sent the creature tumbling toward the river. Sprays of cliff-face showered down into the valley as the insect bounced from one side to the next, clawing and scrambling in vain. The last crash spelled death for the careening creature as the bug’s abdomen was swiftly severed from its thorax by a tall, razor-sharp jut of rock. Briefly catching on the rocky outcrop, a large crack was torn into the bug’s carapace before breaking off and allowing the insect to continue its downward decent. A torrent of waves followed each section’s colossal impact with the rushing water. Floating to the top, the unfortunate creature’s lifeless corpse bobbed along the river’s surface as an oily, orange stain flowed from its wounds.

  Allowing the stream to carry them a while longer, Miach held tight to his charge as they drifted toward an eddying elbow just a few minutes ride downriver from the waterfall. Paddling to the outside bend, Miach was ready when the stream’s current abruptly forced them onto a bank that was waiting like a catc
her’s mitt on the far side. Without missing a step Miach dragged Thistle out of the water and swiftly turned to watch both sections of the giant carcass floating toward them. Caught in the same outside current, the bug’s abdomen roll-up beside Thistle and Miach shortly followed by the upper-body pushing up curls of mud as it was wedged in front of the watching pair. Securing the elephantine corpse more fully ashore, Miach grabbed a leg and heaved on the long limb until the bug was nearly free of the river. As he wiped his hands clean, the confident storm-slave loosed a rye chuckle and said, “Well… we will stop here, and luckily I have no need to hunt for lunch. Though in truth, it has been a couple hundred years since I ate one of these things. If I recall correctly… they taste a bit like crab.”

  Soaked through, Thistle gawked from him to the bug and back again in utter disbelief. A nervous laugh burst from her throat before she asked, “Y-you’re joking right? You seriously don’t intend to eat this thing? Oh no…” She fretfully looked at both sections of the insect and then back to Miach before declaring, “No… nooo, I don’t eat bug… wait, is it a bug? What the hell is it anyway? If this is a bug what else lives here? How, in the name of all that is normal do you… survive in this wretched place?!”

  Miach could see Thistle starting to bend under the strain of a new world to cope with. Stunned into silence, she had gone limp and stood defeated before the creature she feared to eat. Sitting down with a resounding thump, she carelessly dangled both heels into the river as shock crept through her soul. In a devastated hush she pleaded, “Why am I here? Please… I beg you, take me back.”

  Miach knelt down beside her and rested one hand atop the crown of her head. Sighing, he gently replied, “If I could take you back home I would, yet I cannot. I would tell you why I have brought you here, but also… I cannot. What I can tell you is this; I shall keep you safe and do whatever possible to provide extra time before delivering you to my master.”

  A glimmer of hope driving back the dark of fear, Thistle looked him in the eye and asked, “You can do that? Dawdle I mean.”

  With a reassuring smile Miach said, “Umm, yes I can… dawdle as you put it. So long as I get the job done, I may do it how I wish. My master is not hindered by time and, for the most part, neither am I.”

  Despite the hope he had wished to impart, Thistle’s only response was to emotionlessly stare into space while retreating to the comfort of her mind. Giving her head an affectionate rub he straightened once more to prepare their meal. Something inside him knew she had a strong soul and would quickly adapt to life in this strange, new world… however brief her allotted time may be. Miach didn’t know why but he was equally certain he would do whatever it took to extend her time in his life, no matter where that unknown path may lead. His mind began plaguing him with a string of questions. How long will my master wait before coming after us? Would she send one of her many minions first or simply descend upon us in the night? Feeling the drain of worry, he pushed away such thoughts and turned to the task at hand.

  With skill and grace Miach unsheathed one sword and lobbed off a leg of the exarch tight up to its thorax. A small jet of orange fluid shot from the newly made opening onto the muddy bank before ebbing to a trickle. Thistle covered her mouth as a wave of nausea pressed up from her stomach, yet her accursed curiosity kept both eyes locked on the scene. After setting two more severed legs aside, next to go was the insect’s square head. While adding the creature’s thick skull to his pile of severed bug parts, Miach suddenly halted progress just before his head snapped to attention. Thistle dropped the hand covering her horror stricken mouth and turned to look the same direction.

  Some of the small wildlife inhabiting the river’s banks had begun warming up for their afternoon concert. Thistle strained to hear over their stray calls, chirps, and croaks but could hear nothing above the din. Scrutinizing the tall grass trimming the tree line, her eyes wrinkled into rigid focus as she tried detecting any movement within the green barricade. A chilly breeze gently blowing into the widening river valley was seeping through Thistle’s wet clothes, working its way into her bones. Unable to hear anything, and becoming increasingly preoccupied with a budding shiver, she was about to ask what he was listening for when their party became a trio again.

  Springing from the grass directly at Thistle, the bird made a hasty attempt at executing a quick grab. Miach immediately foiled the creature’s plans by leaping between the pair, defensively swinging both blades at the beast. Reacting to his deadly interception the feathered fiend fanned its stubby wings desperately trying to reverse momentum. Taking the opportunity presented, Miach slashed a deep gash in each of his adversary’s powerfully large, inner thighs. Screeching in fear the injured bird jumped back from its foe and stood swaying on the spot. Blood freely poured from both cuts for barely a moment before slowing to a stop. Quickly recovering, the insistent fowl focused all energies on displacing its opponent from his defensive spot. Glancing at Thistle Miach instructed, “Stay behind me and move backward between the exarch’s body sections.”

  Reacting to his orders, Thistle moved fast to the corpse while keeping a watchful eye on the threatening bird. Excited by their combined movement the eager beast made frantic attempts to gain her defender’s full attention, slashing hasty swipes with its long, lethal talons. Momentarily pinning Thistle between himself and the exarch’s oozing thorax, Miach took a step forward and demanded, “Remain near this stinger!”

  Turning to one side as he kept a defensive blade at the ready, the storm-slave lobbed off the exarch’s slackened stinger and quickly sank his free sword into the exposed venom gland. Facing his adversary once more Miach advanced on the creature, his weapon dripping with a brown, viscous fluid.

  Hoping its opportunity had finally arrived, the impatient predator executed an opportunistic chomp. Rolling under the bone rattling snap, Miach made a deep wound in the bird’s exposed shoulder and two more quick slices in the backs of its legs. Unable to support itself any longer, the injured fowl screeched in pain and rage as it floundered onto the muddy earth. Fighting the ground hard to stand, the bird slipped and rolled along the mucky riverbank hazardously exposing its feathered underbelly. The presented opportunity was not wasted. Jumping onto the flailing beast, the storm-slave aimed straight for the creature’s heart. The poor, dying bird screeched a last, mournful cry before fading into eternal silence. Miach turned to look at Thistle and said, “I had a feeling it would turn up. Well, it looks as if you will not be eating bug, but fowl instead.”

  Thistle stood motionless as she surveyed the scene from beside the bug’s giant corpse. Excited by yet another unbelievable event, she blurted out, “That’s a good thing too, because I really don’t think I could have eaten this thing… the exarch… without throwing up.”

  Freeing an odd laugh, Miach stated with confidence, “Once you cook them down to an edible state, they are actually quite good. You eventually get over the initial, unpleasant idea of it.”

  Her state of mind firmly stamped upon her face, Thistle responded with assurance, “No, thanks, I’d rather take your word for it!”

  His voice adopted a casual tone as Miach remarked, “When I finish preparing the exarch for cooking, I shall begin with the bird. You must wait a while to butcher them; as they are highly regenerative in life, they will also do so for a short time after death.” Thistle could see the truth of his words as the creature’s leg-wounds slowly and sporadically healed before her eyes. Aware of her budding tide of questions Miach continued on, “The only thing to halt their regeneration is the venom of an exarch. They are from the same realm, this fiendish pair, brought here long ago when the reapers still transported flesh and not just soul.”

  Worry flashing to the forefront of her mind, Thistle asked, “Is the exarch a… solo bug… or is there a hive of some kind lurking around?”

  Glancing up from his task, Miach casually answered, “Yes, they exist within a hive. There must be one not far off, but exarches are the only member fr
om their population you will see. They are the hunters and of no threat to us; we would make a very meager meal indeed. There is nothing to fear from them. Now, if you were to walk into their nest… it would be safe to expect an unfriendly welcome.”

  Thistle’s eyebrows shot up as a serious expression roosted upon her features. In a voice laced with obvious relief she stated, “Well… that’s good news… I’ve no intention of visiting a bug nest!” Trying to keep the shock at bay, she changed the subject, “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  Miach’s reply was insultingly quick, “No, but please remain here, near me and the river.”

  Feeling a bit useless Thistle sat down and hugged her legs close while taking stock of her unfamiliar surroundings. It really was a beautiful river. A light fog had begun to creep its way down the valley, slowly swelling onto the riverbanks. Many of the waterway’s boisterous residents had moved past their afternoon warm up and into a full cacophony of song. Thistle started oddly feeling at peace while listening to their music and gazing around at the lush landscape steadily disappearing into the growing mist. The forest had visibly changed from the one in which she had awoken. Replacing the towering conifers were broad willows resembling fluffy cotton balls; their leaves slowly curling from the crisp yellow of early fall to the brown husks of late autumn.

  As Thistle idly stared at the scenery, Miach cracked open one of the exarch’s leg segments and quickly cleared the shell of its unpleasant looking contents. Setting his newly fashioned bowl next to the bird, he heaved both sections of the giant insect back into the water and watched as the creature’s butchered body commenced its journey downstream.