The Reaper Realm: Threads of Compassion

by K. A. Lentz

  Miach loosed another labored sigh before answering in a barely audible voice, “The brother of my body’s original owner. He seeks to reclaim me in honor of his family. I’ve had to face him a few times, but fled as fast as I could, otherwise…”

  Awestruck, Thistle unleashed a small flood of questions, “Is he a powerful elf? Can you reason with him? What honor will it bring his family by killing you?”

  Miach shook his head, “He’s a fairly young elf—as they go—and no I’ve not bothered to try. He is bent on my death as though I killed his brother. He’ll likely never see reason; I cannot blame him for his hatred of my deeds while residing in the body of his beloved twin.”

  Thistle comprehended the situation aloud, “His twin, ouch! So… Pyhe is going to put you two in each other’s path? He must have good cause, as if… he knows something… maybe.”

  Confirming her conclusion Miach stated, “Yes, it would seem he’s planning that very thing. I hope he knows what he’s doing. I don’t want to kill Tahlan and he cannot kill me, though at times I wish he’d find a way, and thus the situation leaves us at an impasse.”

  Thistle gasped before chiding him in an astonished tone, “You do not want any such thing. There is no reason he can’t get along with you. He’s an elf for goodness sake; he should know to behave better than that… shouldn’t he? Anyway, it would seem now is the time for peace between you two. Maybe that is what Pyhe is setting up.”

  An incipient hope sparked deep within Miach as he shrugged, “I suppose we shall see when we arrive at Japake.”

  With a mixture of mischievousness and excitement, Thistle asked, “Will you tell me something else fascinating about another realm? This is about the only time I can get you to open up; otherwise its run, run, and more… run.”

  Miach stared at the fire as he turned a small game-bird on its spit. A smug and mischievous expression spread across his features before declaring, “I have a better idea. Tell me what the world is like in your time. I’ve been regaling you with tales, but none yourself. Do tell.”

  A feline look flashed across her face as Thistle announced, “Well then Sir, I aim to please.” She paused a minute before asking, “A story of the now… hmm; what are you most interested in?”

  Miach quickly responded, “I wish to hear about history. What happened to the world and my people since my taking? Tell me about… something.”

  Thistle mulled it over for a few minutes as Miach sat expectantly waiting. After an inhale followed by a pause of uncertainty, she started off with another question, “To be a bit more detailed, would you be more interested in the people as a whole, or more on an individual level?”

  Miach’s look of wonder turned to playful suspicion, “I sense your stalling for a reason. Okay then—have out with it—tell me something about the world at large.”

  The storm-slave shifted his position to lazily lean against a tree, hands cupped behind his head as he settled in to wait for his story. Thistle stared at the fire for another minute. Breathing out a heavy sigh she admitted, “We’ve not been kind to each other… for the most part. There’ve been many good things to come about, but as a whole, we’ve been a cruel species. Many wars have been fought all over the world since your time. Empires have risen and fell, and the world was explored nearly to its fullest. Everyone has claimed a spot and some are claiming the same spot. It almost seems, at times… as though compassion… died. Oh, and we’re killing our environment without the help of Reapers.” She paused in obvious thought, and then pondered aloud, “I wonder what would happen if we decimated the planet on our realm, would others feel it in theirs’? Do we throw their environment out of balance too?”

  Miach straightened, soberly listening as she continued, “Our triumphs are still being fought in many places, so they’re not yet a victory. Many people in all aspects of life work side by side… umm, in some places. We have begun to win the battle over certain sicknesses in lots of countries. People often live to the age of eighty plus, but again only in some countries. Education is available to more than ever before and multiple countries are now run by the say of their people. We’re trying to head in the right direction.”

  Thistle trailed off as she gazed though the dancing flames and into another world, depressed silence clinging to the air around her. Miach patiently waited with the expectation she would resume, yet after a couple minutes, he realized she had no such intention. Deciding he wanted more, the determined swordsman endeavored to get her talking again.

  Starting with a snort of discontent, Miach stated matter-of-fact, “Your answers are not what I expected. You’re also not what I expected. Why do you not praise your homeland… and people more? Are you evading the full truth of your time?”

  Thistle shrugged while replying in a monotone voice, “It’s complicated. I might be evading the full truth, but there is too much. Where do I start? How do I explain it all? How will you understand my present in the context of your past?”

  Cautioned by her obvious upset, Miach decided to change the topic, “I understand the reason for your hesitation. Think on it later, we’ll talk of this some other time. There is no need to continue for now.”

  They both fell silent as each took turns rotisserizing Thistle’s dinner. The meal that followed was conducted in much the same manner. As Thistle threw a cleaned-off bone into the fire, she abruptly broke their silence with her characteristically casual thoughts, “What did you think of the world in your time?”

  Miach had been unprepared for her question, yet was not surprised she asked it. Uncertainty coupled with thoughtfulness crinkled his brow before responding, “I… umm… well it was the world around me. I had expectations from my family and clan, but the world… it was an unknown place for most of us. Stories reached my village through a trickle of travelers trading wares across many lands, but it was hard to know which were real and which were spun for a good story. From the short stint I spent in your time, I can say my past was a lot quieter than your busy and noisy future. Spending time in your world was a harrowing experience.”

  Thistle shared his straight-forward expression, “That’s pretty much how many people see it in my time too. Well anyone who compares past and present timelines, but for the most part… history has fallen out of favor with the human species. We do collect…”

  Standing up Miach interrupted her train of thought, “While there is much we can compare about our two worlds, it’s time for bed. We need to get up before daybreak.” Miach pulled his cloak off and laid it down beside the fire. An arrogant smile perched upon his lips as he added, “You need not sleep in a tree tonight; we’re safe in these woods.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear that! I do, however, require a bit more time before being tucked into bed. I must confess… I’m not in the mood to sleep… just yet. It’s your turn to tell me something.”

  Not wanting to force her compliance, Miach gave in, “Hmm, all right, dwarves seem a fair topic tonight. Let’s see, where to start? They’re from the seventh-realm along with the elves. The attributes of each dwarf will greatly depend on the rock their egg was placed within before birth. It’s done by magic, and is one of the reasons natural magic still exists in this realm today. As I told you before, after the gate was sealed every reaper sought to banish magic in retribution… and they did, until facing what their vengeance had wrought. The dwarves were one of the few races impacted the most by their actions. No longer protected by magic, every unborn egg was crushed within their incubating rock. As heartless and cruel as the reapers are… they still need life to thrive. The more diverse the world, the happier their existence; otherwise they get depressed and this, I must add, is not something they easily weather.”

  Thistle was a rapt audience, always eager for more. Curiosity peaking, she asked, “What do you mean placed in the rock? You mean that they truly place their… unborn… within rocks?”

  Miach was quick to explain, “Their children birth as eggs before they’re born. The parents must
place it within a suitable rock of their choosing, and then, several months later, it will emerge on its own as an infant. Dwarves can take on the properties of any rock, or in some cases pure ore. There are a few, powerful dwarf clans in the mountains bordering areas of my master’s private domain. Beneath those peaks rests a rare and unique vein of Babane-iron. The dwarves are fiercely territorial and will defend their breeding ground unto death.”

  Adding as a side note Miach continued, “They do fight the reapers, but they also fight everyone else… in most cases. The only race tolerated by the dwarves are hale-elves. Oddly enough they managed to install a single ambassador within Ogglugroggin… a large mine controlled by the union of two powerful clans. Conversely, you’ll never find a dwarf within the walls of any elvish city, by their say so; they detest leaving their mines.”

  Confused Thistle asked, “Wait, they mine up the same ore used for their young? Do they trade it or something?”

  Miach was perplexed for a moment before he understood her confusion. An expression of apology earnestly hung upon his features as he explained, “I’d long ago forgotten the mining my people did back home. I do not speak of a fifth-realm mine. Here, the term is solely in reference to dwarves, speaking of labyrinthine tunnels under a mountain occupied by their race; as in a city or town, even village by meaning. Mines, as you call them back home, are called ore-pits or extraction-caves in this realm. In answer to both of your questions; no, they definitely do not. Dwarves only trade ore when pressed to do so for the purposes of power or survival… which is a very rare occurrence indeed. The humans have a long standing war with the dwarves concerning ore extraction rights. Some of the humans brought here long ago retained their history of fifth-realm mining and refused to give up the trade, but the dwarves… well let’s just say they don’t take kindly to sharing. They see the ore as their right to survival. The only time either maintained a cease fire was during the realm’s first war. That event allied both sides long enough to share resources. However, after the reapers blocked magic for a time, their alliance crumbled to dust.”

  Thistle took a drink from her water-skin before handing it over to Miach. Wiping her mouth on the forearm of her sleeve she asked, “Interesting! Words with other meanings, but the same, I must be careful of that! How many races live here? Hale-elves, what…”

  Foreseeing the inevitable string of questions Thistle was about to weave into existence, Miach decided to cut in, “There are many races within this realm, and I shall tell you tomorrow, for now, sleep.”

  Thistle’s mouth dropped yet quickly recovered as she said, “Ah-huh, okay then. Well, goodnight and sleep well.”

  She lay down onto her makeshift bed in a flash, turning away from the fire as she curled up onto one side. It wasn’t a cold night, but a chill rode the air as it traveled through the forest’s dense wall of trees. Tucking her cloak tightly under her chin, she stared off into the dark night beyond the fire’s glow. Listening over the gentle crackle of wood, Thistle noticed a complete lack of sound normally betraying the nocturnal creatures of this hour. Miach was right… there was no game here. The forest surrounding them was unnervingly still. She was becoming deeply immersed in pondering likely causes to this odd circumstance when sleep finally claimed her curious mind. Hearing the rhythm of her even breath, Miach moved to a spot he could see her slumbering face as he listened to the nothingness around them.

  The night passed slowly. Deep in thought, Miach watched his charge for over three hours before the looming threat of boredom forced him to consider other ways of entertaining himself. Foraging for more breakfast ingredients seemed a passable enough task and so he set off in search of additives to the morning meal. Lacking any competition from other animals, he didn’t have to go far—or gather long—to fill a pouch with small, red berries. Foraging around a little more, he inwardly celebrated the rare find of a fungus buried at the base of an ancient tree. The storm-slave unearthed the unusual mushroom with a smile before jogging the short distance back to camp.

  Thistle was still sound asleep, splayed out in comfort beside the crackling fire. Looking at the tools he had on hand, Miach determined he was going to need more sophisticated utensils than a spit to cook what he had gathered. Glancing at his charge, he once more crept from earshot with a light-foot and then assailed a nearby tree. Pulling free a sizeable strip of thin, paper-like bark, he proceeded to hastily fashion a somewhat awkward basket. Satisfied with its construction, Miach filled it to the top with everything he had foraged up, along with the bird leftover from the night before. Topping the mixture off with a dollop of water from his flask, the eager storm-slave carefully hung his overflowing stewpot above a freshly stocked fire. Diligently he watched over the tempting meal as the blazing fire below hissed in protest at a trickle of water slowly dripping from his leaky cookware. The smells of savory meat billowed into an unseen cloud throughout the campsite, waking all sleeping occupants within.

  Miach shooed away an eager fly as he watched Thistle go through her morning wake-up routine. A suppressed smile threatened to crack his face as he watched bold wisps of hair make a jail-break from her braid only to dance about like laden grass in the early, morning breeze. Having come partially loose in the night, her cloak hung awkwardly over one shoulder quickly gaining her attention. She clumsily reattached its errant fastening before flumping down on a rock beside her protector. A loud yawn escaped Thistle’s lips as she rested her head comfortably on his shoulder and fanned her cloak to capture the fire’s roaring heat. The shy warrior was always touched by this unabashed display of trust and familiarity, regardless of the fact that it happened every morning without fail. Following another yawn louder than the first, Miach’s charge stated in a dreamy voice, “That smells so good! If there is anything in these woods other than this annoying fly we’ll know soon enough… they’ll be tempted here by such wonderful smells.”

  The proud cook gazed down into her upturned face and smiled. Hastily looking back at the fire, Miach said in a tone loader than intended, “Did you sleep well? You didn’t seem to toss much. Any interesting dreams?”

  Thistle’s face furrowed with thought as she recalled the events of her dream, “Now that you mention it, I did have an interesting one… it’s a dream I’ve had since I was young. I’m in a town elegantly chiseled up the side of a cliff-face. There’s something very important happening there and I feel as though I’m a part of it. Also, there’s a man in my dream who can change into a creature resembling some sort of cat… lion more like, but also a man. I suppose one could call it a werelion, err, of sorts.” Thistle paused to sleepily giggle at her own funny before continuing on, “I think it’s something different though. I realize it could be the product of too many horror movies at a tender age, but I think it’s more than that. Anyway… we’re traveling overtop the cliff on which the city rests and down into the valley on the other side. I somehow get the feeling that time is of the essence, but I don’t know why… and that’s all I remember.”

  Miach had gone still halfway through her recount. When she finished he stared at her for a while with an unreadable expression sternly rooted upon his face. Becoming lost in thought over her dream, Thistle was mildly startled when he abruptly responded to her story with stifled curiosity, “I use to have the same dream when I was a human. It was the last dream I had… the night before I was killed. It’s the only dream I ever remember having as a human. If there were others, I couldn’t say.”

  Astonishment sobering her sleepy haze, Thistle pronounced, “That is so strange! You had that dream too?! Wait, okay, let’s see if they are truly the same! What color is the cliff?”

  Miach closed his eyes for a moment and then answered, “It was a vibrant, but creamy orange, with striking layers of deep auburn.” Getting into the spirit of things, he finished with a question, “Alright then, I have one for you; what was the color of your shoes?”

  “My shoes, how odd… okay well… hmm, let me think.” Thistle stared at the fire fo
r a second and then replied with a smile, “They’re green, with gold trim… like metal vines spreading out over lush grass.” Miach nodded his agreement as Thistle decided it was her turn to ask another, “Umm, another one… what color is the cat… man, um, guy?”

  Waking from the spell Thistle wove with her wonder and excitement, Miach flaunted a knowing expression as he requested, “The last of such questions… for now, okay?” She excitedly nodded in agreement; the storm-slave gave her a curt nod of acknowledgement in return. Obligingly he responded, “I do believe it had a mane down its back, dark as the sky during a moonless night… with a rusty-brown coat, similar to the streaks of auburn within the cliff-face of the city.”

  Thistle’s jaw was locked in a state of dumbfounded amazement before her chin moved again to voice more boundless wonder, “Oh my gosh! That is the same one! How can this be?! You had the same dream as me… but two thousand years ago?! Well, by my timeline anyway. I have to say… that is beyond odd!”

  Miach removed Thistle’s breakfast from the fire and then changed topics as he set the steaming meal on a rock beside her. “I could not say, but now it is time for you to eat your breakfast. We must travel fast the next few days.”

  With a smile and salute Thistle thanked him for the fine meal, “This looks fantastic, thank you! I’d say I need about… fifteen minutes, you know, once I start eating.”

  She waited barely a minute before shoveling down the scalding hot breakfast at a rate her seared tongue would allow. A bit past her estimated departure time, the pair traveled through the forest at the usual fast pace. Miach stopped for short rests during the day—but a scarce few at that—and the following night’s stay in a shallow cave yielded little conversation and even less sleep. The next morning they set off before dawn, Miach’s speed turning unyieldingly fast. Come dinner time, she was convinced he would stop for the night… but the unwavering warrior kept running, leaving her stomach grumbling in disappointment. Her hunger grew to nearly intolerable heights as Miach ran through the night and well past noon the following day. Thistle’s legs were screaming in protest as she held tight, focusing every ounce of energy toward staying aboard the wild ride. Miach, much to her annoyance, exhibited no outward sign that the hard pace was taking a toll on him, yet it was. Early that morning a highly conspicuous cramp had formed in one thigh, spreading down into his calve by dusk. His lower back had also developed a streaking pain flashing its way toward his shoulders. He stopped only twice to allow them both a break, yet soon after they pressed-on once again through the night. As the sun peeked over the treetops, Thistle, exhausted and barely fed, worried how much longer either could endure this grueling pace when Miach finally stopped… abruptly.