Reaper (Lightbringer)

by K. D. McEntire

  “As you should, as well,” Piotr agreed, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. He was dizzy now, from blood-loss, he suspected, and every inch of his skin felt as if it were on fire. “I…need to see my mother. She waits for me by the fire.”

  “Come, take my hand,” the Reaper said, offering a slim cluster of bones loosely held together, the remains of her hands bleached white by the centuries. “I will take you to her.”

  “But Wendy?” Piotr asked. “I cannot leave her alone. She needs me.”

  “Does she? Does she really?” The Reaper leaned forward and Piotr smelled the liquor thick amid the folds of cloak, saturated in the fabric, damp against his cheek. He shuddered—there had been ice and mead spilling across the floor, he remembered, and the red of spreading blood, the hair of his youngest sister fluttering on the floor as the wind blew the long shorn curls across the floor. His sister had bled but she had not begged.

  Their mother had been so proud.

  In the distance a bird cawed.

  “Wake up, Piotr,” the Reaper said, and jammed her fist into his side, the bones of her forearm jutting out like a sword. The pain was immediate and debilitating; Piotr gasped and sagged against her, letting the Reaper support his entire weight as she lifted him higher and higher until his toes only barely brushed the top of the snow. He felt the scrape of her fingers grabbing his spine, the sharp edges gouging into his guts as she twisted and wrung him from the inside out.

  “Wake up, Piotr,” she said again and twisted. “Wendy's in trouble. Wake up!”

  “You know, between the two of them, I'm not sure which one is worse off,” Piotr heard as, shivering, he drifted up from the depths of his dream.

  Piotr could feel everything—the burning of the flesh that had touched Wendy, the pull of the wound in his side, and the sick thump of a blooming headache, the product of his unrestful sleep.

  Grudgingly, Piotr opened his eyes to find Eddie kneeling beside the bed and the room filled with thin, damp steam and saturated with rainbows and glittering, shimmering light. Piotr blinked and the shifting light vanished—some kind of mirage, he was certain—but the fog remained. His eyes watered and his head protested the sparkles of light.

  “What is going on?” Piotr croaked, sitting up painfully and squinting against the glare, trying not to concentrate on the world shivering at the edge of his vision. The Never and the living lands were rapidly shifting back and forth, like a twitch, and there were dark and shadowy figures in the instant between the two realms, like the Reaper's eyes watching him, fading in and out with each twitch and pulse. He forced himself to close his eyes, an attempt to stop the hallucinations cold, but when he opened them again the visions were still there. Instead he concentrated on the clock hanging on the far wall. The cat's tail wagged, the eyes tick-tocking back and forth, and Piotr was dismayed to realize that he'd slept only half an hour at most. It had seemed like so much longer in the dream.

  Ada might have been right, Piotr realized as he tried to swing his legs off the bed. His organs might have been healed by their intervention but the hook had deposited its poison and the seed so deep within him that Piotr wasn't sure he'd ever be healed. They had to get to Alcatraz quickly. If Elle didn't succeed in finding a Lost, then Ada might be his only hope.

  The short sleep had done nothing for him; moving was tugging deeply at his gut, and the hole in his side was stiff and painful to the touch, but the pain wasn't the worst part. It took all his concentration to keep his vision of the Never and the living lands from swinging wildly back and forth; Piotr wasn't sure where to look to not see those dark, angry eyes that watched from the in-between spaces.

  He'd been able to see into the living lands for nearly a month now, since before their encounter with the White Lady, but the malevolent eyes were new and more than a little unnerving. However they weren't doing anything, merely watching, and Piotr was willing to ignore the staring for the time being. With any luck, they were just another hallucination.

  “I think it's a thunderstorm,” Eddie said, holding out a hand and waving it through the mist. Piotr tried not to notice how the tips of Eddie's fingers were nearly as faded as the fog. “It started building right after you guys conked out.” He swung his hand about the room. “I don't know if you two should be so close together, after all. Her heat plus your cold is just creating a storm front in Wendy's bedroom.”

  Piotr edged off the bed and sagged against the wall, blinking heavily and forcing his eyes to focus on the Never. “I had…such a dream,” he murmured.

  “Looks like you're not alone there,” Eddie said, jerking a thumb in Wendy's direction. Wendy, flushed and frowning, twitched on the bed, hair matted down with sleep-sweat. “She's not exactly talking in her sleep, but that face isn't one I'd say is blissfully resting.”

  “Why have you not woken her?” Piotr asked, straightening as best he could and reaching for her.

  “Tried it,” Eddie interrupted him, flashing his burned palm in front of Piotr's face. “I wouldn't try if I were you, buddy. She's running a little hot right now.”

  The cat-shaped phone on Wendy's desk suddenly rang, startling them all. The sound should have been dim in the Never, distant and couched in the spaces between worlds, but instead was sharp and shrill, cutting through the air with great force. On the bed, Wendy stirred slightly but did not rouse; instead she tugged a pillow over her head and pulled into a ball, curling her free arm around her knees.

  “Wow, I thought Wendy would've cut her landline ages ago,” Eddie mused to Piotr as the phone jangled again. “Two more rings and then the machine'll kick in. If she hasn't shut that one off, that is. She might've.”

  She hadn't. The answering machine kicked on, but it wasn't Wendy's voice that greeted the caller and, laughing, told them to leave a message. It was her mother's.

  “Wendy?” asked a smooth, cool voice over the line. “This is Emmaline.”

  “Fascinating,” Ada said, moving to the desk and hovering over it, closely examining the distinct shape of the answering machine that was growing more solid by the second in the Never. “Look what just a Reaper's voice is doing to this machine!”

  Piotr shushed her.

  “I tried your cell phone and you have apparently turned it off, hopefully I have this backup number to your room correct,” Emma was saying. “I know this is intrusive, especially after your long morning, but Jane is on her way to visit you. Grandmother insisted that we give you the first book of Reaper rules and regulations, and she would not take no for an answer. You are to study it and be prepared with any questions by this evening. Grandmother intends to speak with you as soon as possible.”

  The line clicked, the machine wound down, and in the Never Eddie punched the play button on the newly created answering machine on Wendy's desk. It didn't play; the hunk of plastic sat there, mocking them with its solid ineptitude.

  “Typical Wendy,” Eddie muttered. “Keeping something ancient around just because it was her mom's.”

  “The machine is fascinating,” Ada said again.

  “Come,” Lily said when Wendy stirred. “Let us continue this conversation elsewhere. We do not wish to wake the Lightbringer.” She glared at Wendy. “She needs her rest and none of us wish to be here when her family arrives.”

  “No kidding. I'm still alive and they know it, but you three'd probably get reaped into oblivion on the spot,” Eddie said, frowning. “Man, you know, before I actually came over, I'd have been all for that too, but now…? It's sort of uncool.”

  “‘Sort of’?” Ada snorted. “So nice to learn that you can see our side of things.”

  “Yeah, fine, I'm a changed soul or whatever. Anyway, Wendy set her alarm, right?” Eddie glanced at the clock on Wendy's desk before grabbing a pen off the desk and a piece of paper, glad that Wendy had taken to salvaging spiritual office supplies along with medical supplies.

  He flipped past several charcoal sketches of trees, of a young man with large, round glasses, and
a small, tubby boy with his thumb jammed in his mouth until he found a blank sheet right at the end of the pad.

  REAPERS ON THEIR WAY, WE HAVE TO BAIL IN CASE THEY COME UPSTAIRS. HEADING TO MY HOUSE, I THINK, Eddie wrote, pushing hard on the Prismacolor pencil, not noticing Piotr wincing behind him, the way he watched to make sure Eddie wasn't damaging the other pictures in the sketchpad. CHECK THE ANSWERING MACHINE ASAP. MSG FOR YOU. LUV EDS!

  “Okay, done,” Eddie said, tossing the sketchpad on the floor where Wendy would certainly notice it, before following Ada and Lily through the door.

  Piotr lingered a moment, wondering when and why Wendy had gone back to Elle's bookshop and retrieved Dora's sketchbook. He traced the spiral spine of the pad with one hand and sighed. Dora was gone into the Light, along with Specs, and Tubs was so far away that he might as well have joined them. Still, Wendy had gone, found this memory for him, and had kept it safe. Piotr was touched.

  Drawing near the bed, Piotr had to force himself to close the distance between them. Unconscious, Wendy's control was lax; the heat baked off her in visible waves and standing so near was like going toe-to-toe with a banked bonfire. Despite his immense cold, Piotr broke out in a sweat.

  Was he going to let something like a little discomfort keep him from doing the right thing? No, not this time. Ignoring the heat, Piotr staggered to the bed and settled on the edge beside Wendy. Then, uncaring if the others peeked in on them, Piotr leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the hollow of Wendy's temple. His chill lips blistered from the touch—the sting was immediate and intense and faded the instant he pulled away—but he didn't wish to leave her again without this simple, quiet goodbye.

  She stirred, opened her eyes, and licked her lips, clearly not fully awake. “Piotr?”

  “Shhh,” he replied, brushing her hair off her forehead. “We must leave for a time. Rest. Join us when you can, we will wait for you.”

  “Hmmm,” Wendy breathed. “I had a dream…”

  “Da? And of what did you dream?”

  “Ravens,” Wendy whispered, already drifting off again. “Or crows. A sky filled with black feathers. And my mom.”

  A sharp shiver raced down Piotr's spine. A sky filled with black feathers. It had to be coincidence that they had both dreamed of the same thing. It could be nothing else.

  Wendy was asleep again, this time resting much more peacefully, he noted. Piotr rose and laboriously made his way through her door and into the hallway, brooding on feathers the entire way. He was dizzy again, so much so that once he was in the hallway he had to lean against the wall and rest. The world felt strange and airy around him, as if he'd drunk copiously and then spun himself around.

  In the hall, Lily gestured for them to go downstairs, offering Piotr an arm for support. They were only halfway down when Jon rounded the corner going up. Jon had barely taken two steps before he abruptly about-faced and hurried back the way he came, darting into the kitchen and scurrying out of sight.

  “Lucky for us, Jon must've forgotten his soda,” Eddie said and pointed. “If we go right through the wall we can miss him going back up and not get burned walking through him. There's a nice firm bench out there in the side yard. It's so solid in the Never even I have no problems sitting on it. Piotr can rest there while we figure out what to do next.”

  It took some maneuvering, but Lily and Ada escorted Piotr to the peaceful backyard and the wrought iron bench. The bench was old, carefully maintained and oiled, and painted on a regular basis. It sat in a bed of silver-streaked white marble chips, cool to the touch even in the Never, and the fence was overgrown with lush, decadent honeysuckle, still thriving in the dead of winter. Settling himself carefully down, Piotr turned to follow movement in the bushes; a young raccoon with bright eyes and a curious face peered out at him from behind the shed before vanishing with a tail flick into the bushes between the yards.

  “This is one of the few yards I've ever seen that looks as nice here as it does in the living land,” Piotr said, chuckling and holding his aching head. “Some nights, waiting for Wendy to return from her rounds, I would sit here and look up at the moon. She smiled down at me, reminding me that I have so much left to do.” He shivered. Beneath him, in the Never, a rime of frost was creeping across the bench.

  “Did I ever tell you I can see in both places now?” Piotr asked Lily, see-sawing his hand back and forth. “I am beginning to be able to control it. If I squint just right I can see into the living lands.” He patted the bench lovingly. “Like a reverse Reaper.”

  “Truly?” Ada asked excitedly. “That is amazing! Oh, when this is all over, we really must talk! Is it in color like we remember the living world to be, or is the vision washed out as ours is? Can you make yourself seen to the living, as the Reapers are able to make themselves visible to us? And what of animals? Are you able to communicate with them in the living lands as we can here? The possibilities of being able to see into the living lands are just endless!” Spotting Lily's glare, Ada coughed quietly and crossed her arms over her stomach. “My apologies, Piotr. I grew overexcited for a moment.”

  “There is time for such extensive questioning later,” Lily said, enunciating each word so that Ada could not misunderstand how she had erred. “For the time being, it is to be but one foot before the other.”

  “Right. Yes. You have an excellent point.” But Ada's eyes glinted and Piotr knew that the moment Lily's back was turned she'd be pestering him about the world of the living.

  “So,” Eddie said, kneeling beside Piotr and looking him in the eye, “my house is only a few blocks over and my mom is a bit overprotective, so chances are that she's hanging out at the hospital right now, bugging the doctors about waking me up.”

  “In other words, she is not home,” Ada said.

  “Yep. And, even if she is, my basement is empty and pretty comfy. And Wendy told me ages ago that my place is pretty solid in the Never so, really, it's a good spot to lay low until the Reapers have come and gone.” He glanced at Ada. “Then we can all pack up and go to Alcatraz together. Maybe Elle will be back by then.”

  “This plan has merit, but what of Wendy?” Lily asked.

  “Already told her that's where we were heading,” Eddie said with a shrug. “If you need me to, I can run upstairs and change the note. Either way, we have to get Piotr out of here. Just look at him.”

  “Are you worried for me or for you?” Piotr asked, staring at the dark men in the walls. They were crowding around him now, shadowy and colder than anything he'd ever felt in his life, some standing half in and half out of the others, the rest hovering in a circle over Piotr like athletes in a huddle.

  Eddie nervously glanced over his shoulder, where the tallest of the dark shadows loomed. “Man, I really hope you're tripping out right now, because if that's how you look at people normally, I really need to stop hanging out with you.”

  “You did not answer the question,” Piotr slurred, trying to concentrate on Eddie and not the black hands curling over his shoulders, the spaces between his thinning particles. It was like he was watching tiny universes beneath Eddie's essence wink out one at a time. “Is it my skin that concerns you, or your own?”

  Irritated, Eddie shook his head and forcibly kept himself from glancing over his shoulder again. “Suspicious much?”

  “It is the poison,” Ada murmured. “It occasionally interferes with logical cognitive ability.” She leaned forward, examining Piotr's face closely. “And I do believe he is, in fact—how did you say—tripping.”

  “Right. Pete's been so bloody nice lately that I plumb forgot,” Eddie grumbled. He threw up his hands and more tiny universes faded away as Piotr watched. “I just can't win with you, can I? Just when I think we're on our way to being bros, too.”

  “Be calm, Piotr,” Lily said softly, kneeling down so that her face was level with his. Piotr could see how earnest she was, how intent that he should trust her and follow her lead. The creature behind her lifted a strand of her hair but Lily ne
ver noticed.

  Piotr forced himself to meet her eyes as she spoke. “For all our safety, Piotr, we must heed Eddie's advice and accept this generous offer. We must leave Wendy, but only for a time.”

  The beast closest to Piotr cupped his elbow, and for a brief, painful moment, Piotr felt the fury from before wash through him. He bit his lip until it bled to keep from berating Lily for her arrogance.

  How dare she, he thought wildly. How dare she persist, even now, in telling me what to do?

  Piotr felt the hands recede, the low, hissing chuckle as the fury slowly abated, the swell passing but leaving the bitter taste of wormwood and ash in his mouth, the tang of dirt and ice and blood against his lips.

  It took Piotr several seconds of struggling with the perfect put down to remember that Lily was his oldest and wisest friend; so long as he'd known her, Lily had always, always had his best intentions at heart. And he wished to wound her for daring to contradict his silly worries about Eddie and his feelings for Wendy? Insanity!

  Ada was right; the poison was doing terrible things to his mind.

  “I trust you, Lily,” Piotr said seriously. “So be it, I shall do as you wish.” His vision steadied. The shadows faded, but the living lands and the Never were back in the forefront—he didn't have that disconcerting space between them to contend with for the moment, but the way they shifted around was giving him a headache.

  Gritting his teeth and willing the world to stop wobbling so, Piotr sat up. “Let us go.”

  As they stood to leave, Piotr quietly struggled with how to tell the others that his vision was growing worse by the second, see-sawing rapidly back and forth. With the space between temporarily abated, the Never and the living world had begun to merge into something he could only describe as a hellscape. Terrible trees with faces like screaming men loomed in the distance. One shake of their branches and their leaves tumbled down into piles like rust and crumbled paper.

  The sky was red then black then red again, orange-fire and speckled with weeping stars that bled against the sky in green rivulets. He turned his head, and at the top of the hill, near the apartment complex, there waited a trio of horses with a woman astride each. They wore dresses of blood and black bile, streaming over their naked bodies in rivers. One lifted a great horn to her lips and the scarlet clouds themselves parted under the silent onslaught of her long and undulating note.