Tears of the Reaper

by Charlotte Boyett-Compo

  “Lord Glyn?”

  Glyn flinched as the High Lord’s voice intruded. “Aye, your grace?”

  “Where is it you go?”

  “To a place called the Electorate,” Glyn replied.

  After a brief pause, Lord Kheelan informed him it was near the settlement of New Allendale and that they were roughly six miles from the fortress.

  “Fortress?” Glyn questioned.

  “There are tall iron fences around the stronghold. Those gates are heavily guarded and locked to all outsiders not of the Communalist faith. You will need to shift to avian form to get inside.”

  “Do you know exactly where it is?” Glyn asked, already having figured that out in his head.

  “Aye.”

  “Can you direct the drone there?”

  Another pause that lasted a bit longer. “Aye, Lord Glyn. We will.”

  “Then take out a section of the gates because we’ve not had our tenerse yet this morning or any Sustenance. If we shift, we’ll be at a disadvantage and I think you know what is about to happen inside that place.”

  Lord Kheelan’s tone was one of sharp rebuke. “And risk the censure of the Bastion for doing so? Do you know what you ask?”

  “I know gods-be-damned well what I’m asking,” Glyn snapped, and could have groaned for he knew he’d be in the con cell next to Owen’s before this was all over.

  “Two months, Lord Glyn,” the High Lord stated. “Is it worth it?”

  Glyn didn’t hesitate. “Aye, your grace. It’ll be worth every second of it.”

  “Myr shen dy row eh,” Lord Kheelan. So be it.

  Owen was bent low in the saddle as his horse chewed up the miles. He could see a large stonework complex high on a steep hill with a winding roadway leading up to a solid barrier the color of bright rust circling it. Rising above the barrier were four guard towers ranged at the four corners. As soon as he felt the prickling of his hair on the back of his neck he knew the drone was nearby. When the staccato bursts of red pulsed down from the heavens to hammer at the huge double gates of the complex, he smiled grimly.

  “Thank you,” he managed to send.

  “Four months, Lord Owen,” came the stiff reply.

  That wouldn’t matter, he thought, if he wasn’t in time to save his wife.

  In a fiery blast of sustained bombardment, a large section of the iron wall imploded and one guard tower flanking the main gate began to fall outward, the men inside screaming as it fell. Through the destroyed opening, people began scattering across the interior of the compound, men pushing women aside, trampling over them to get to safety.

  A bullet whizzed by Owen’s ear as he jumped Céierseach over fallen rubble in the opening. Another flew past his shoulder, ripping a gash in his silk shirt. He felt the sting of the lead creasing his flesh but paid no attention to it. His eyes were on a fallen figure lying still amidst a scattering of red rocks. “Rachel!” he shouted as another bullet spun past his cheek, gouging a thin line along the bone.

  “I didn’t think your people believed in guns!” Glyn yelled at Edward as they raced into the compound behind Owen. Drawing his gun, he took down two shooters aiming their rifles at Owen. From beside him, Iden punched bullets into another three guards.

  “Only the poleen have weapons,” Edward shouted at him.

  Amidst the shrieking of the men and the screaming of the women as they stampeded out the ruined gateway, the crack of the guards’ rifles, the return fire of the two Reapers, chaos reigned within the Electorate. Figures in dark blue robes were running for the doorways of the buildings, slamming the doors shut behind them.

  Owen knew it was Rachel lying so still on the ground amid the rocks. Even with the scarlet of her dress, he could see darker stains he knew were blood. Her fair hair was caked with it and his heart was pounding so furiously, his mouth had gone bone dry as he sawed on Céierseach’s reins and the laboring horse’s back legs buckled as Owen threw himself off its back. Running low to avoid the bullets zinging over his head, it never occurred to him to return the deadly fire. All he cared about was reaching Rachel, doing all he could to save her from the fate her people had decreed. Sliding onto his knees on the rough, rock-strewn ground beside her, he ignored the slashes of the sharp rocks, the cuts that tore open his leather uniform pants and gouged his knees. He slid his arm beneath her and turned her, howling like a mad man when he saw her eyes wide open, staring, blood trickling down her oh-so-pale face.

  “No!” he screamed as he saw the livid red brand burned into her forehead. “No!” He cradled her to him, her limp body feeling as weightless as a feather against him. He rocked her as bullets thudded beside him and skittered off the rocks. He was oblivious to the danger in which he had been thrust.

  Glyn had emptied his six-shooter and not having time to reload, drew his laser whip and raced his horse toward three guards. He took one’s head with the forward snap of the whip and the other two heads with a snick of the backswing. A fourth he nearly cut in half at the waist as the man made to throw a knife at him.

  Between his gun and his whip, Iden killed the last five guards then looked around for someone else to slay. The bloodlust was riding high within him and his lips were skinned back from his teeth, his eyes more red than brown. “Come on, you motherfuckers!” he bellowed.

  Edward sat a few feet away, his right hand pressed tightly to his shoulder as Benjamin ripped his own dark blue shirt to bind his friend’s wound. Both men were trembling and neither dared to look across the compound where Owen Tohre rocked his wife in his arms.

  “Glyn!” Owen shouted, and Kullen came running, holstering his gun and whip as he went. He went down on his knees beside Owen who was shrugging out of the duster while still trying to hold on to Rachel’s limp body.

  “Take one,” Owen snarled. “Take one now!”

  Glyn didn’t question the order though he knew another week or two would be added to his sentence in the con cell. He took out his knife, leaned behind Owen and jerked up his shirt. Cutting a six-inch gash over his friend’s kidney, he thrust his fingers inside.

  Iden backed toward Owen and Glyn, keeping an eye out for any more guards. He had reloaded his gun and snatched up a rifle from one of the dead men.

  “Give me the knife,” Owen ordered. He was panting from the pain as Glyn withdrew a parasite from Owen’s back. He grasped the bloodied weapon Glyn slapped into his hand then turned Rachel so he could slit the back of her gown from neck to waist.

  “Let me do it, Owen,” Glyn offered.

  “No.” He took a deep breath before making a similar cut across Rachel’s back. “Drop it,” he snapped.

  Glyn moved around Owen to lay the wriggling parasite on Rachel’s wound.

  Iden glanced behind him, still keeping a lookout for guards. He saw the parasite just lying on Rachel’s back and lifted his eyes to Glyn.

  Glyn shook his head slightly then closed his eyes.

  “Do it,” Owen said, and prodded the parasite who lashed its barbed tail to cut a vicious swath across the Reaper’s finger. “Damn it, burrow down into her!”

  The revenant worm whipped back and forth over the wound but made no move to wriggle into the cut.

  “Damn you!” Owen shouted, his face nearly as pale as Rachel’s. He snapped his head up and glared at Glyn. “Take another one.”

  Glyn opened his eyes. “Owen, it’s no use. She’s gone, my friend. She’s…”

  “Take another one!” Owen screamed at him, thrusting the knife at him.

  Iden and Glyn exchanged a look as Benjamin and Edward came over to them.

  “Maybe you injured that one, Glyn,” Iden suggested softly.

  Glyn’s jaw flexed and he took the knife to make another cut for Owen’s hellion had already closed the first wound. Cutting his friend once more, he winced when Owen did but thrust his fingers inside Tohre’s back to pull out another parasite. The evil thing raked its barbed spine across Kullen’s fingers and he cursed. He dropped it beside the other o
ne but it did not slither down into Rachel’s wound.

  Owen was shuddering. His face was a mask of such intense grief anyone who saw it felt the prickle of tears in his eyes. When he threw back his head and howled to the heavens, all four men had to look away.

  “Morrigunia, please,” they heard him say, his voice breaking. “Don’t do this to me. Please don’t do this.” Tears were spilling down his ashen cheeks. “You gave her to me, don’t take her away. Not like this. Please, not like this.”

  From above them a streak of red shot groundward and a man’s agonized scream rent the air. The drone had obviously dispatched someone with a bead on the men. The Reapers doubted there would be another such sneak attack.

  “Please,” Owen whispered. He lifted Rachel against him, not noticing the parasites had dug their barbs into her flesh. “Morrigunia, please. I’ll do anything you want.”

  “Owen!” Glyn hissed a warning. “Be careful what you say, man!”

  “Anything,” Owen repeated. “I’ll do anything just don’t do this. Please don’t take her from me.”

  Dark black clouds rolled across the heavens and the wind came at the men with a vengeance. Ice pellets the size of peas rained down from the sky and struck glancing blows on heads and shoulders.

  “Morrigunia!” Owen screamed in a long, agonized plea as the force of the storm increased.

  Iden shoved Benjamin and Edward toward an overhang as the pea-size pellets became walnut-size. Glyn tried to take Rachel from Owen’s arms but the Reaper would not allow it. He did manage to force Owen up and together they sprinted for the overhang not because Owen feared or even felt the brutal punch of the hail but because he did not want Rachel hurt.

  Squatting down with her, rocking her as he would a child, Owen’s keening was almost more than Glyn could bear. He started to speak to the grieving man but at the moment he opened his mouth, the two parasites shot down into Rachel’s wounds and began to buckle beneath her flesh.

  “Oh shit!” Iden said, shoving Benjamin and Edward out from under the overhang. “Go, go, go!” he yelled at them as they stumbled out into the pelting hail.

  Glyn’s eyes widened for he saw Rachel blink, watched the light that had faded from her eyes begin to glow red. “Merciful Alel, Owen,” he whispered. “What have you done?”

  Owen looked down at Rachel and saw her begin to Transition in his arms. He felt the coarse pelt rippling down her arms and legs, across her lacerated back, tightened his grip as her muscles and sinews and bones began to elongate and pop and shift and crack within her. He held her head against his shoulder as her nose pressed outward and became a muzzle as her screaming mouth became a snarling maw of wickedly sharp fangs that snapped at him, as her fingers curled into claws and she raked them down his chest in an attempt to break free. Her snarls and howls were wild as she fought him but he held on even when her claws dragged down the side of his face. She was alive. She was gasping in breaths. Her red eyes were snapping lethal fire at him but she was alive!

  He lifted one arm to his mouth, sank his fangs into his flesh to open it, ripped his own flesh, and then pressed the bloody wound to her mouth. “Drink, milady,” he said softly. “Drink.”

  A rough tongue shot out to lap at the blood flowing from Owen’s veins. The long, graceful throat gulped hungrily as the Sustenance was taken in.

  “There,” he said, crooning to her, soothing her. “See, that’s better, isn’t it?”

  The golden she-wolf held against him was docile as she flicked her tongue to lap at the red liquid. Her pretty violet eyes closed and her breathing slowed. She laid her head against his chest and her lovely tail thumped against the ground a few times before she finally stopped licking at his wound.

  “Sweet little she-wolf,” he whispered to her, bending his head toward her to place a kiss on her silky fur. “Beautiful little she-wolf.”

  She lapped her tongue over his stubbled chin and he smiled until he noticed the ugly brand that marred the perfection of her silken fur. The letter W left its vileness upon her even in Transition.

  “Owen,” Glyn called to him from where he stood with Iden and the two Communalists who had helped them. “We need to get out of here.”

  The hail had stopped but the wind was still skirling like a banshee, blowing debris about the compound. The doors of the buildings were still sealed.

  Making sure he had his lady firmly in his grip, Owen struggled to his feet with her, carrying her with one arm beneath her chest and the other under her flanks, her tail draped lovingly over the wound from which she’d fed that was closing on his arm.

  “Take Céierseach,” he told Glyn. “Head back for New Junction. We’ll join you there.”

  “You are going to Transition?” Glyn asked, his look incredulous. “Owen, you haven’t had any tenerse today or Sustenance and you just fed her from your own blood. You can’t…”

  “Give me the tenerse,” Owen interrupted him. “Don’t worry.”

  “Owen,” Glyn said, “you are weak. You won’t be able to protect her and what will you do without tenerse for her when she shifts back?”

  “Morrigunia will see to it,” Owen told him. “Just go and take care of our friends here.” He looked at Benjamin and Edward. “You know you won’t be able to go back to New Towne.”

  “We will have to,” Edward said. “My wife and children are still there. I’ll not leave them so the high elder can Join her to another once I’m cast out.”

  “I have no one there,” Benjamin said, “but I will aid Edward in taking his family.”

  “Let’s do it now,” Iden said. “I don’t think your elders want to mess with me and Glyn.” A muscle ground in his jaw. “Not considering the mood I’m in.”

  “Then go take care of it,” Owen said. “My lady and I will meet you in New Junction.”

  Glyn would have protested but he knew Owen so well he knew it would do him no good. If his friend said the Triune Goddess would aid him, She would. He stalked over to his horse, fumbled in the saddlebags for the vac-syringe—mumbling the entire time—filled it and came back. “For the record,” he said as he plunged the needle into Owen’s neck, “I am against this.”

  “Give Iden and yourself a dose of that hellish brew,” Owen said as he bent over to put his she-wolf on the ground. She looked up at him, wagging her tail weakly as he took off his gun belt and handed it to Glyn.

  In the blink of an eye, he had shifted into a great black wolf that nipped at his lady’s flanks to set her running after him. She hesitated. He nipped her again. She snarled at him then barked, looking surprised that such a noise had come from her mouth. He ran a little ways ahead of her, turned and gave her a soul-searing look. She wagged her tail then took out after him, her delicate paws digging into the snow. Together they raced through the gaping hole in the gate and disappeared.

  “That man drives me crazy sometimes,” Glyn mumbled. He motioned Edward and Benjamin toward the horses. “Let’s get out of here before they drum up enough courage to shoot at us again.”

  Iden glanced up at the boiling skies above them. “They’d best not,” he said loud enough for those inside the buildings to hear. “The Shadowlords still have an eye in the heavens.”

  Mounting up, Glyn leading Owen’s horse, the four men galloped away from the compound and set out for New Junction.

  * * * * *

  The black wolf led his mate toward New Junction but soon began to tire. He had expelled as much energy as his body would allow and his thirst for Sustenance was weakening him. It took the last of his strength to run a jackrabbit to ground, pin it and feed until the edge was off his hunger. His mate had hunkered down beside him, watching from between her paws as she lay there with her pretty head between her front legs.

  Owen garnered just enough energy to change back into human form, clothe himself and fashion a loaded gun for protection then lift his lady into his arms to carry her to a sheltered area. Sitting down with her in his lap, he stroked her head, knowing her initial
Transition could last anywhere from an hour to several. He spoke quietly to her until she shifted more comfortably—moving to lie beside him with her body pressed up against his hip and legs—and went to sleep, her tail curled over his thigh.

  The Reaper laid his head back on the rock behind and closed his eyes. His hand was buried in the lush fur of his lady’s ruff. He knew he had to find more Sustenance but at that moment he was depleted, drained, his energy exhausted.

  It was Her hand between his legs that awoke him and when he opened his eyes, he found Her in Her crone form squatting down before him, one withered hand kneading his privates. She smiled at him with discolored, rotted teeth gaping between thin, bloodless lips. He didn’t move, just allowed Her to grope him though the action sent chills of disgust through his body.

  She tsked at him then shifted to the form in which he was most accustomed to seeing Her. Her vibrant red hair draped over naked breasts tipped with large dusky nipples that drew the eye. She squeezed him one last time then withdrew Her hand.

  “You bargained with me, Reaper,” She reminded him.

  “Aye, mo Regina,” he said tiredly. “That I did.”

  “Walk with me, Reaper,” She ordered, and got to her feet. Her long red hair curled around her like a living cape. As She walked, he caught tantalizing sights of her shapely legs behind the ankle-length hair.

  He looked down at his lady who slept so peacefully in her lupine form. Her paws were flexing, her muzzle trembling, and he wondered what it was she was chasing in her dream. Getting to his feet, he wavered a moment, weary and lightheaded from his need for Sustenance.

  She waited until he stood beside Her then lifted Her arm. “Drink,” She said.

  He had no strength to deny Her command and took that silky arm in his hands, bringing the unblemished white flesh to his lips. His fangs shot out and he sank them into Her, closing his eyes to the delicious, intoxicating taste of Her potent blood. He barely felt Her fingers threading through his hair, Her nails lightly scratching his scalp. He fed for a long time until the empty reservoir within him was full. Sweeping his tongue over the puncture wounds, he stepped back, waiting to learn of the payment he’d be asked to make.