The Reaper Realm: Threads of Compassion

by K. A. Lentz

  Quick to answer the elf-maid stated in a low voice, “Thistle was forced to take a leave of privacy. She strode off in the direction of the grand-bath. It is two rights and a left down the noon path, oh I do apologize.” She turned and pointed at the path, “You will find her down that one my friend.”

  Miach quickly headed off in Thistle’s direction; growing ever brighter by the minute. She was just emerging from a small cave steeply diving into the ground, when Miach spotted her. Not expecting him to be there—much less glowing like a beacon—Thistle was startled by the sudden appearance of an incredibly bright light at her side. She tried to jump back in fear, but something within caught her about the waist and pulled her struggling body deeper into the light. It was then she knew who her captor was by the familiar feel of his arms. From the moment they touched he began to dim at an amazing rate. Less than a minute passed before he looked almost normal again, yet his stance showed clear signs of exhaustion. Unsure what just happened and concerned for Miach, Thistle jumped into a pool of worry and verbally flailed about, “What just… are you okay… you don’t look… wow you look terrible… why did you hug me?”

  Miach’s only response was to drop onto his knees while keeping an iron-tight grip on Thistle’s hand. Syheran came jogging around the corner followed by a small crowd of hale-elves to witness Miach felled to his knees. The concerned elf immediately ran to the storm-slave’s side. Looking down at their linked hands, he foolishly felt free to touch Miach, but upon contact suffered the same fate as his kin. Seeing this powerful display Thistle tried to retreat, yet Miach held tight, anchoring her to the spot. Deciding it was better to simply hold on and kneel down for comfort, Thistle sat on-heel in front of him and touched his face without fear.

  “What happened?” She tenderly asked.

  Miach resolutely stared at the ground while answering in a hesitated whisper, “I was… running from you. It was a fool’s errand, but I dared myself to try. Stubbornly proving… to myself… that my slavery… will not allow me to leave you. This creates within me… a deep fear… for your well-being.”

  As she tried to shed his hand Thistle angrily replied, “Fear for me or just fear of me? You were just… going to leave me here?”

  Wearily looking her in the eye Miach confessed, “Both I admit, and… for your own good… yes.”

  She had to respect that; Miach had always been honest. She also couldn’t fault him for being scared of the idea… she was too. How were they to solve this? Everyone said it was the right way, but the outcome was overflowing with many uncertainties. Thistle’s familiar looked up again and said a little louder, “There was something I wanted to tell you… last night however… it seemed best to wait. I…”

  There was a rustle in the grass beside them as dirt rapidly mounded up from below. Pyhe sprung from his tunnel and upon landing declared, “Failure I counseled at start to run! Too far, too far and now see. Come, come, lay upon earth, feel better. Rest for renewal.”

  Miach tightly threaded his fingers through Thistle’s to keep a better grasp as he lay down upon the grassy earth and closed his eyes as instructed. Pyhe rested one stout little hand atop the couple’s laced fingers, free from any repercussion, before closing his eyes too. Going limp as though he had fallen asleep, the storm-slave’s eyes began rolling beneath each lid. He lay this way for several minutes, twitching now and then, before he awoke and responded, “Yes, my friend, you were indeed right, I should not have done that, yet you also… knew I would do it anyway.”

  Pyhe patted Miach’s shoulder as he said, “Yes, Tall-one. Run I knew, returning also. Now filled in strength for bond as needs. When dusk begins we shall commence.”

  The little gnome turned, bowed to the group, and then dove back into his tunnel with no more of a good-bye. Miach stood tall, pulling Thistle up as he went, and placed his arm around her shoulder. Looking Syheran in the eye, he said in a loud voice, “It looks as though we may have a bonding tonight.”

  Thistle’s head shot around as she flashed a look of disbelief and betrayal his way. Miach aimed a brief, yet uncertain smile at his bride-to-be before leading her toward the smell of food still wafting from the festival square. Everyone around immediately seemed in good spirits… except Thistle; silently she seethed over his bold announcement without her consent.

  The confident familiar had no trouble finding Thistle’s original spot at the table. Snuggling her little rump against one of Thistle’s chair legs, Amy sat waiting for her expected treat resting on the last plate of food occupying the nearly vacant square. Thistle said nothing as she sat down and hotly glared at the relaxing landscape. Miach, on the other hand, took one look at his charge’s half-eaten plate of food and immediately turned to request a breakfast of his own. Syheran was already ahead of him. The smiling hale-elf disappeared into a small building tucked along the hilly side of the patio and emerged a couple minutes later with a plate of food in each hand. He quickly made his way to a seat beside the couple before placing the storm-slave’s mound of breakfast into the cross-hairs of his hungry gaze. A quick, yet sincere, thank you exited Miach’s mouth before food was being shoveled into it. Thistle remained silent while the two chatted as though old friends about the surrounding forest and other light topics of conversation.

  Feeling the overwhelming urge to talk… alone, she abruptly tugged on Miach’s tunic and leaned in close to make her request. His only reply was to stand, bow to Syheran, and then lead her away into the woods. They walked in silence for a short while, stopping only when Miach knew they were well from elvish earshot. Turning to face her he said, “There are… many things that I must tell you… however please, go first.”

  Thistle’s gaze shot to the forest floor as she apologetically said, “This is all happening so fast… I don’t feel like I’ve caught up. They’re asking so much from us, and they seem to believe it is the right thing to do… why? They barely know us, I barely know you! How can I agree?”

  Miach felt bold enough to give into his desire and gently rubbed Thistle’s arm while replying, “These questions and thoughts have plagued me as well. There is something beyond the insistence of Pyhe, something which has helped me decide the course of my life and hopefully yours. Allow me to explain. Before I went to war and was killed… there was a girl—from another tribe—that I was to marry. The seers of our villages witnessed a shared vision. Not long after the two women traveled to meet one another beside a rock formation sacred to my culture. There they discussed what the dream had told each of them, speaking of our shared destiny and roles we had yet to play in the future of our people. We were to be guides and protectors of the human race, in honor of the gods and nature. At the ages of nine and ten we became betrothed, however we had never met… not once. Anyway, a year before we were to join houses… she became ill with a plague from the gods—or at least that’s what her people were calling it—and died a short time later. Her family alone was affected by this, as was my master’s design. Her name was Tanfana, after a great goddess, and I was to be her guardian and lover.”

  Thistle watched as the remembrance of his promised life etched deep trails of mourning across his face. She stood silent and unreadable, a pang of jealousy ringing from within. Miach continued through her silence, “Pyhe, being what he is, must know… she was… you. He must know what the seers knew so long ago. Now—with everything I’ve seen—I can accept that there’s some truth to this wisdom given by so many… unique beings.”

  Upset by his words and easy acceptance, Thistle’s anger lashed out. Adopting a sterner stance, she planted a fist on each hip and hurled questions at him, “Okay… if this is happening, then I have some questions for you. Where do you fancy women belong? Am I to be the seen but not heard wife?”

  Miach flashed Thistle a look she couldn’t read as he replied in a stern tone, “As in, do I want a slave?” His expression turned hard as he answered his own question, “No, I most certainly do not. And, where do you belong? You belong with your family
, your clan, your people… do you get my meaning? You belong where you belong. Let me say this… from the moment I grabbed you in that shop, I felt an instant need to protect you. At first I thought it was this mission I’m on—compelling me to deliver you to her safely—however now I’m defying my master more than I ever have in the past… more than I ever dreamed I could. I feel the need to protect you, to keep you safe.”

  Thistle loosened her stance and took on a more curious, less hardened approach, “Will I have a say in my own life?” She added with a slight dare in her voice, “Even here?”

  Responding with a sincere—yet cocky—smile Miach replied, “As I’ve said before, you’ll always have a say in your life. At times, however… you may find my guidance wise to heed.”

  Parrying his smart-ass comment, she loosed another question, “Can you promise the same; listening to me when I think it’s important?”

  “I will listen to your words as equally as I do my own. My only exception to this is when your safety is an issue. I’ll not lightly accept something that will assuredly put you in harm’s way.” He informed Thistle with a tilted eye glaring her direction.

  Deciding on one last test, Thistle thought to prove something she already knew. Without explanation she politely demanded, “Let me hold one of your swords.”

  Miach didn’t question her motives, simply unstrapped a weapon and handed it over with confidence. Thistle took the weighty blade from him without fuss. Holding it up to the light, she noticed for the first time that the sword lacked any reflection upon its liquid-like surface. Rubbing her thumb over the intricate string of runes decorating the blade, she asked, “What does this say?”

  “I’m uncertain; they aren’t in any language I know. You would have to ask Pyhe what it says as he is the one who graced me with them. Funny though, I’ve never really thought to ask.” Miach’s statement trailed off with unspoken questions of his own. Why haven’t I ever thought to ask? Had the answers to their purpose been staring me in the face all this time? Thistle interrupted his thoughts for a change as she stated her decision, “Well, it would seem your sword doesn’t disagree with this union… as it would appear I’m the only other being able to touch them. Did you know what it would do to Syheran when he tried?”

  Miach shook his head. “After what took place in the cathedral, when I came to retrieve you, I guessed they might protect themselves from hostile people, but no real notion they would behave in such a manner. Also, the elder spring-sprite… he sensed a certain oddness about them that drew him in and repelled him at the same time. Before then no one ever wanted to see my weapons—let alone touch one of them—and you’ve traveled fine on my back with them between us all this time. So I had no real inkling they would be so repellent to simply anyone.”

  Thistle held out her hand and declared, “Sir, I think we have an agreement.”

  A cocky smile tugged at the corners of Miach’s mouth as he looked down at her gesture of peace and silently shook her hand.

  Chapter Ten:

  New Beginnings

  Pyhe and Old Grandma failed to show later that night. It wasn’t until the following evening they finally arrived, and even then it was to simply inform the gathered crowd that everything must be delayed until dawn. The following morning, as the sun’s rays beamed like spotlights from behind the horizon, Miach stood from his makeshift bed on the floor and contentedly stretched after a second night of strangely peaceful sleep. Looking down his length, he was shocked to find he had… somehow… been changed into a formal set of fine, elvish robes. Who had done such a thing? It had to be Pyhe! Yes but how did I remain asleep during the whole process!?

  Turning around, Miach approached the full-length mirror tucked beside the room’s one chair and—for the second time in his life—regarded his reflection in a looking-glass. He had had chances within his master’s castle, long halls of nothing but mirrors, yet he passed them by. Once he had paused to look, however the marvel of his reflection quickly wore off as he stood regarding the elvish stranger staring back. Looking at himself now, Miach could finally see past the slave, and the elf, to the person within. A painful knot lodged itself at the back of his throat. Seeking the source, he turned and gazed at his contentedly slumbering bride-to-be. Feeling oddly in charge of his destiny for the first time in centuries, his eyes burned with the threat of tears. She had helped him to become a living person once again. The worry of uncertainty regarding their future dominated his mind as he drifted back to his bedroll and retrieved the small heap of weaponry piled on the floor beside it. Finding both scabbards among his pile of clothes resting at the foot of his bed, Miach ceremonially strapped on each sword as a voice softly counseled from within, “Listen to Pyhe and become what you are meant to be; let not my efforts be in vain.”

  Miach felt comforted by the voice’s ethereal words and decided then that he would do as asked, no looking back. Regarding his visage one last time in the mirror, the strangely confident storm-slave sternly nodded his course of action to himself before turning to fulfill it. Striding over to Thistle, he smiled down at her sleeping form—curled into a mound of blankets—and rested a palm on the area he assumed to be her hip. Hoping to wake her he gave it a gentle, yet stern bounce. No response, not even a change in breathing. He did it again… and then three more tries after that before she finally responded. From fully asleep to shocked awake, Thistle shot upright while looking around for her offender. Wearing a mildly startled expression, she found Miach standing beside the bed wearing a smug look. A smile broke through the haze of Thistle’s awakening state as she said, “Good morning. Oh wow, don’t you look handsome!”

  “Thank you Milady!” He said with a smile of his own. Merrily humming Thistle climbed out of bed, followed by Amy rustling from beneath a small hillock gathered beside the main mound of covers. The light-hearted witch quickly put on her spider-lace slippers as she threw her satchel over one shoulder, grabbed Miach’s hand, pushed the front door wide, and dragged him through the open portal with an excited giggle.

  Blissfully unaware of the joyous spell cast by Old Grandma’s flowers, Miach and Thistle were a bit unprepared for the rush of nervousness that returned when they arrived at the dining patio. The wedding party was already gathered and waiting. Syheran stood flanked on one side by two, young elf-maids and on his other slumped a brooding elf-boy. Pyhe and Old Grandma were there as promised, centrally located together beside the pool. Friend was also in attendance, lazily treading along the surface with an odd, fishy smile.

  As the couple came to stand in front of the two beaming gnomes, Thistle and Miach nervously clutched each other’s hand. Ready to begin, Pyhe glanced over at Syheran and waved the hale-elf forward to speak, “Please, deposit your weaponry and satchel on a table and then come to stand in front of me.”

  Miach and Thistle quickly did as requested and stood in front of Syheran once more. Adopting his customarily instructive tone the hale-elf began, “In this ceremony, your souls will rise to the surface of your bodies and connect to one another. All the while this takes place, you must keep your hands together at the palm… or we’ll be forced to begin anew. When the ceremony is complete a soul-rune shall appear on each hand and be a matched set between you both. A word of caution, my friends, there is no telling what will come about after all this is completed; it’s the reason so few are in attendance. Are you ready, Thistle… Miach?”

  Both nodded their agreement. Syheran replied with a nod of his own before stepping back into his elvish retinue. Pyhe gained the crowd’s attention as he began, “Remembrances of what gifts bestow at bonding, I knew not. Searched for answers, in realms away we found truths, but tell not. To power your mightiest, you flow without understanding toward instinct.”

  The little gnome stopped talking to look at his other; inhaling together, they spoke as one voice in a tone of happiness and love, “Bond together. Here we witness souls Miach and Thistle find their path. Made, formed, grow, as one. Move through ages alongside
footsteps of other. Unseen you may still see. Hidden you will always find, soul speaks as one and sees as two. Learn as two, act as one. Hold hands both, left in right and right in left. The circle is started.”

  Miach and Thistle stood facing each other, hands linked between them, as Old Grandma and Pyhe began speaking in a foreign tongue. Drawing their souls from the depths of their bodies, tendrils of radiant energy simultaneously erupted from epicenters along Miach and Thistle’s torsos as a translucent bubble expanded around them. Two, serpentine strands of gold snaked from the heart of each guardian and wound their way down both arms to intertwine atop the couple’s joined hands. Thistle and Miach were a rapt audience for the events taking place all around them, yet within raged a stormy sea of emotion ferrying their ships of confidence over waves of uncertainty. Thistle watched their ethereal cocoon turn an opaque, pearlescent white as she anxiously thought; this is really happening! I’m standing here… about to marry a man! Can I do this?!

  What if I really love her? How will I protect her from the dangers of this realm? How will I ever protect her from my master?! Miach worried to himself as his body was assailed by a host of odd sensations.

  Will he expect a wedding night? Thistle inwardly feared. Oh no, I never thought about that! How could I’ve overlooked such a detail?!

  The calming sensation of purpose suddenly washed their ships onto the safe shores of understanding. Each felt their worries slip away. Thistle’s frantic fears turned into optimistic revelations. I can see it now; the two of us as a good team, partners for peace. I might not be magical, but there’s got to be something special I can do as a… witch.

  Miach’s thoughts gained clarity and hope as well. Pyhe said I’d be stronger with her, and after what happened in the bog… maybe there was more power hidden within.

  Thistle was suddenly flooded by the most exhilarating rush of potential. Her body felt capable of anything; had she wished to run a mile without breaking a sweat… the energy humming within promised she could. There was something else, a sort of crackling sensation tingling with purpose down her arms. It didn’t last long, yet she still felt its presence even after the sensation ebbed. A fountain of joy washed over her heart as she affirmed within; it’s true, we are guardians! We’re meant to be a pair, and so we shall!