The Reaper Realm: Threads of Compassion

by K. A. Lentz

  Miach remained silent, his face hidden behind a curtain of hair falling around his tilted head. His master’s eyes flared with fiery anger as she glared down at the patio’s growing number of occupants. Upon seeing Syheran standing among the crowd, she laughed with happy surprise and immediately bore down upon the hale-elf. Standing his ground, Syheran refused to retreat. Lesdaeonna’s eyes flashed from the smoldering-red of her unbridled fury to a crackling shade of predatory yellow. Her tone was high and shrill as she sneered at her prey, “You fool!! You bound them and that is how I found you! The ceremony called to me… ah-ha-ha! Existence is MINE!”

  The overjoyed reaper turned to an unseen individual and said, “Take Ceanntis and retrieve my prize.” Pointing at Syheran, she continued on with jubilant disgust, “Kill him! Do this and I shall bestow upon you lands and powers of your loftiest dreams. Go… now!!”

  Eager for her quarry, she once again addressed the crowd, “Harbor not these few, weak souls and I shall pass over your homes like a gentle breeze. I find any sheltering or aiding them and you shall pay for your misdeeds as long as the sweetness of your suffering keeps my attention!”

  With an ominous cackle Lesdaeonna quit the scene and allowed reality to bend back to its original position. Miach sprang from the ground with a furious roar, yet it was worry, not anger, that plagued his mind. He stood transfixed watching the flurry of events unfolding across the way. How would an ever growing crowd, flooding like a river into Japake’s festival square, react to our continued presence threatening their innocent village? Should we run now? Leave without a word and fade into the forest? The elder hale-elf caught Miach’s attention and lessened his fear by waving the pair over to join the evacuation. Oddly trusting his newfound friend, Miach led Thistle across the river and quietly hovered along the edge of an ever-thickening crowd.

  Syheran was immediate in action and direction. One of his first orders of business was to call a young hale-elf, hiding un-noticed on the edge of the woods, and task him with heralding news of the village’s impending evacuation. Turning toward his amassing audience, Syheran pronounced, “As I warned you all before the arrival of our guests, some of what we feared has come to pass and now it is time for the remainder of our village to travel to the winter retreat. For our newcomers, I warn you we must travel on foot; we only had enough pollen to transport our infants to the city and a small group of young caretakers bearing news of what was to transpire this day, as well as fears of possible outcomes. Go now to gather your most precious belongs and a large supply of food, take as much as you can comfortably carry. We leave in an hour’s time.”

  The elder hale-elf gently pat a nearby villager on the shoulder before swiftly ascending the steps leading to Japake’s center. Miach turned to take action with the rest but was stopped short by Aginaeus patiently waiting at his back. The storm-slave knew she would eventually find her moment and had simply waited for her to come to him. Apprehensively glancing from Miach to Thistle and back again, the customarily confident commander hesitantly expressed her intent, “I will not ask—nor say it all now—as it seems we have a bit of a journey ahead of us, however I cannot hold back this one question burning within my soul.” Akin to the fall of a hammer, Aginaeus’s weighty gaze came to rest exclusively upon Miach. Taking in a steadying breath she demanded, “I must know; why did you choose me?”

  Thistle’s eyes bounded like tennis balls between both reluctant figures. The commander looked insistent yet nervous while Miach hung with an expression of guilt tugging at his hardened features once more. Forced to recount unpleasant events from his past yet again, the storm-slave inhaled a steadying breath of his own before replying, “Pyhe… it was he who made the choice. I was being drawn toward your village when he stopped my flight and introduced himself for the first time. Gaining my trust, he spoke with understanding over the travesty of my reaping mere hours before. The panic and shock in my soul ebbed a little by his reassurance… by his sorrow. The little gnome knew me for what I was—though of course he didn’t tell me that at the time—and explained why neither he nor I were able to halt my wrenched course. He cautioned that should I refuse to carry out what I had been sent to do… the pain of my refusal would be beyond bearing. Then, before disappearing in his usual fashion, Pyhe warned of other consequences to my possible disobedience; my master would surely torture me while sending another, more bloodthirsty slave in my place. I easily believed his words for I keenly felt the pain of which he spoke mounting to nearly intolerable heights as we conversed. Today I’ve learned to endure—for a time—the pull my master drives within me, then I had no such skill and was forced to bear down upon your village without delay.”

  Miach paused a moment before continuing on, “As to why, my master imprinted within her heinous mission the requirement to leave one alive and her cruel intent was to force the dreadful choice upon me. Pyhe made it easy that day… he was adamant over you; he framed an image of your face within my mind. I am truly sorry with all my heart and wish equally so that I could undo every evil she has forced me to carry out.”

  Betrayal stinging her soul, Aginaeus fumed, “It was Pyhe? Why me? Why hasn’t he explained anything… to me? Eight hundred years I’ve tracked you and wondered how the choice came to be made upon my life, and it turns out that cryptic little gnome is the answer.”

  She fell silent for a short time, and then asked almost absentmindedly, “Did the queen of cruelty say how long my… sentence is to be? Am I to wander alone and immortal until the end of this realm?”

  Thistle’s heart broke for the poor woman, yet she knew there was nothing to be done. Miach didn’t have the answer to either of Aginaeus’s questions. With a heavy heart he replied, “I’m sorry, Leeandra, I do not know the duration of your curse. However, I feel in my heart that Pyhe must have had good reason to name you the lone survivor. I know that is of little comfort after what you’ve lost, yet maybe there is something in the fight that will redeem your hope. I promise you this, dear lady; if ever I gain information regarding your curse, I will find you as soon as duty allows.”

  A flood of memories churned within Aginaeus as she straightened to full height and sincerely stated, “Thank you, Miach. Thank you for your patience.” Haunted by a pained smile, the laconic commander turned and exited the square alone. Miach wished to go after her and offer what comfort he could, but instead remained motionless as he watched her depart.

  Each feeling the intense need to push back the day’s sorrow and be of some use, the newlyweds wandered up into the city’s center and approached a much harassed Syheran. As they stood listening to his directives, both guardians noticed another stranger casually descending the village’s high-path. Kaiyssa and Tahlan both had their backs to their king as he made his way down the walkway toward the bustling crowd. Syheran spotted his friend right off and called to the wood-elf with a broad smile; Tahlan and Kaiyssa rounded on the newcomer with guilty surprise. Gracing Elvor with a welcoming thump on the back, the elder hale-elf exclaimed, “It has been too long! What brings you to Japake, dear friend?”

  With an expression of gratitude the king replied, “I do sincerely apologize for my long absence, Syheran!” Elvor glanced at the activity around him and added with a sober expression, “The entire realm was privy to Zombie and Lesdaeonna’s announcement. What cause did they have to threaten your village, is it true you harbor a reaper’s slave?”

  The question fell upon occupied ears as Syheran had turned his attentions to one of the townsfolk rushing up for guidance. Redirecting his focus back to the king, he responded in an overtaxed tone, “Yes, their proclamation was directed at our new ally.” Scanning the hurried crowd to find his topic, he settled on Miach and continued, “May I present Familiar Miach and his Witch of Compassion, Thistle. Thistle and Miach, this is King Elvor of the wood-elves.”

  The introduction was entirely unnecessary for Elvor, given the fact that Miach’s host had been the king’s best friend growing up, yet not to do so would hav
e made Syheran appear rude. Offering his congratulations, the wood-elf walked forward with a board smile and an extended hand of welcome. Pumping the familiar’s hand up and down he stated honestly, “It is good to finally meet you both. May your life be blessed in every way. I must say, it’s good to see Tahlan in your company sir and… seemingly at peace. Oh do tell me, how did this come to pass?”

  Miach, having been addressed, started to reply at the same time Tahlan spoke up to answer his king. Both looked upset to find themselves talking in chorus. The king simply laughed and exclaimed, “It would seem you two share a similar drive! We can talk more on this later. Syheran, we must also speak on the road. I shall accompany your village to the winter retreat, however I must return to my people shortly after we arrive. There have been more attacks than usual by Zelrahk this past month; he took down half of Varmount but we were able to save the rest. It is why I have come bearing less pollen-of-return than I would have liked. We have another tree in growth however it will not be ready for at least another two weeks. I have enough to transport most of the children and elderly, yet I fear the rest will be forced to travel overland.”

  At once Syheran ordered up the town’s remaining children for immediate departure. Elvor turned and surveyed the gathering. Resting his gaze on Tahlan he saw for the first time his friend’s threatening wound and the patch of rock still fused to his eye, yet said nothing as he moved on to scan the rest of the crowd. Seeing Aginaeus lingering at the top of the steps, the regal wood-elf bowed his head before speaking above the din, “I assume, Commander, that you will be in accompaniment? Miach, Thistle, I hope you shall join us as well?”

  Aginaeus responded to the question with nothing more than a simple nod of agreement. Miach paused in thought before answering, “Yes… we’ll go to this retreat with you, however there is where we must part company. The sooner we are on the move again the sooner we’ll be able to protect you from the wrath of both reapers, not to mention two slaves and a powerful minion on our trail. We cannot stay but to help you arrive safely. Thistle and I will…”

  With a charming smile Elvor cut through the storm-slave’s worried intent, “There is no need to fear, my friends, they know not of this place. It was set up long before the magical block was placed upon this world. It is the safest location this realm has to offer; the legend of its creation speaks of a fey traveling here to assist in its construction. I assure you, you may stay a while when we arrive.”

  Syheran nodded his agreement as Miach stood silent, a bit taken aback by this statement. Worry pouring through his words he replied, “It has been safe all this time. Do you think my arrival within your sanctuary will change its secrecy? I doubt the slave of a reaper, or even a lowly minion has set foot within its safety since creation.”

  “You are right.” The wood-elf king conceded, but he refused to let it end there, “None but elf and friend have entered the great retreat, and that is the magic of it. I believe it will shield you too. Long years of life have taught me that fate is cast and will not be held back… it will inevitably flow. We are not a people to passively watch the world go by, we will fight and lend aid where needed… and right now that aid is needed by you.”

  With a cautious smile and a weighty sigh, Miach pronounced, “I promise to go as far as I can. I’ll give you my trust and assuredly remain when we arrive, but for how long… as you say… fate will decide.”

  Thistle felt the pressing need to answer Elvor’s question on her own and eagerly added, “I agree with Miach, we’ll stay as long as we can.”

  Looking down at Thistle, Elvor bowed in deep respect and said, “My lady, we would be honored to have your presence within our walls. I am unsure, however I think you will be the first guardians to enter the city and that is cause to celebrate when we arrive!”

  Receiving news that the last occupant was ready to depart, Syheran rallied the nearby group to order, “I am sending what remains of the village ahead of us, along with our city-guard.” Looking up into the canopy of trees he added, “Hiheran my son, go with the village. We shall catch up no later than supper time.”

  The quiet elfling—always skulking unseen along the fringe of vision—once again made his stealthy presence known by dropping down from a nearby tree. The young elf ran off without a word, or even mere acknowledgement for that matter, but his father seemed to understand. Turning to his next task, Syheran raised his voice to reach Thistle’s obviously wandering mind, “Miach, Thistle, I request a fraction of your time to present you with some long awaited gifts… once you have changed into traveling attire. Thistle, I also suggest you entrust your satchel to Kaiyssa, she will kindly fill it with provisions as she bolsters her own supplies.”

  Thistle’s eyes widened as her mind worked through every thought aloud, “Oh, no, that’s not necessary at all! Thank you! How very kind of you to think of us, but really there’s no need for gifts. I can…”

  Syheran smiled with understanding and then politely cut through her refusal, “My Lady Compassion, allow me to quell any further worry by plainly stating; to decline what I offer shames a long line of beings who tirelessly worked through the years in hopes that one day these gifts would be given to you. Now please, go change and meet me down by the river in festival square.”

  Humbled and broaching no further argument, Thistle silently handed her satchel to Kaiyssa before following Miach back to their guesthouse. Once inside she realized the room afforded no place to change in privacy and shyly suggested they take turns using the hut. Miach nodded and took his clothes outside to unabashedly change before the prying eyes of vacant houses and empty streets. Some fifteen minutes later they trotted through the village and up to Syheran patiently leaning against the square’s grandest table, surveying his village for the last time. Without a word the elder hale-elf pushed away from the table and walked over to his beloved stream. Crouching low along its grassy riverbank, he confidently addressed the water in a whisper, “Friend, I have need of a ferryman… it is time.”

  Standing tall, the satisfied elf watched as a small rumble of bubbles preceded the buoyant appearance of an exceedingly large orb floating to shore. Bobbing across the river’s eddy to its would-be passengers, the magnificent bubble began unexpectedly taking the shape of its fishy creator. Waiting for the translucent fish to tragically—yet inevitably—pop, Thistle was amazed when Friend’s creation continued to keep form pressed against the short grass lining each side of the lazy waterway. Syheran held out a hand and requested, “My lady, if you would board our transport.”

  Thistle walked forward, a bit unsure, and gripped Syheran’s hand as she nervously poked one foot through the bubble’s pearlescent wall. Its rubbery barrier broached no resistance to her step, and yet remained intact despite the forceful intrusion. The amazed witch could hardly believe her eyes as she stared at her wiggling foot on the other side. Egged on by a rush of excitement, she confidently stepped aboard. Miach followed close on her tail, his own feelings of apprehension hiding along the fringe of an otherwise calm expression.

  Syheran casually followed the couple into the transport, tapped the bubble’s sidewall with a knuckle, and inwardly chuckled at the expression of wonder on Thistle’s face. Slowly their fishy submarine pushed off from the bank and began descending into the river’s watery depths. Compassion’s inquisitive eyes were darting in every direction when she caught sight of Friend lurking along the mucky river-bottom. The astonishing elemental was deftly commanding his watery environment by using fin and tail to create currents against the stream’s flow, aiding his creation’s swim. Irresistible curiosity washed over Thistle as she turned in hasty expectation toward their destination.

  Before them loomed a dark and intriguing tunnel, tucked in the shadow of a tall ledge. The trio were plunged into darkness as a rush of current flushed their bubble into the mysterious passageway. Nervous anticipation compelled Thistle’s hand to seek out Miach’s when a faint, golden light incipiently danced through the watery black. Bright
er and brighter the alluring glow blazed as their magical submarine exited the long tunnel and burst through the water’s surface into a cavern beyond.

  Syheran and Miach squinted against the onslaught of brilliantly shimmering scales covering the cavern’s dome. Thistle, however, gawked with wide eyes at a grassy island dominating the chamber’s center. Fostered by an abundance of light, small flowers flourished along its banks and even a tree blossomed atop its crest. Cradled unassumingly beneath flower laden branches rested a decoratively carved post partially shrouded in a seemingly simple garment. Again Thistle’s eyes wandered untamed across the cavernous landscape as she breathed, “What is this place? Where does this light come from?”

  Syheran also took a moment to admire the marvelous cavern while answering her question, “You are in the belly of an ancient—and long dead—dragon.” Thistle’s speechless jaw dropped on cue as the laughing elf continued, “The glow from her scales is residual energy harnessed during a lifetime under the sun, for the purpose of fueling her dragon-fire. She came from Pyhe’s realm to guard two relics the fey mother had long ago bestowed upon her wood-elf son and his mate.”

  Sadness crinkled Thistle’s brow as she asked, “How did she die?”

  Touched by the witch’s compassionate nature, the elder hale-elf kindly answered her flow of questions, “Being an exceedingly old dragon, she chose this spot—after traveling the realm over in search of the perfect place—to guard her charges through the slumber of death. Now, come along. We must not lose track of the hour.”