The Reaper Realm: Threads of Compassion

by K. A. Lentz

  No longer conscious of her vow of silence, Thistle blurted, “What are you? That’s incredible.”

  Miach remained quiet, simply applying himself to his next task of fitting a spit over the fire and affixing large portions of meat. Taking the cue from his not-so-subtle hint, Thistle sat down and grabbed a stick to ceaselessly taunt the fire as she slowly became entranced by its dancing flames. They sat this way for the better part of an hour when—without warning—he sprung from his spot and charged her with the care of dinner. No further instructions or explanations were given before the laconic swordsman disappeared into the woods. His departure was shortly succeeded by a loud crack followed by a rustling of branches. A few minutes later he walked back into camp with a large knot of tree limbs balanced across his shoulders as if Atlas carrying a leafy world. Hopping up into a nearby tree with his newly formed creation, Miach preceded to ruthlessly wedge the ball between a cluster of broad, sturdy branches. Feeling satisfied with the job, he jumped down and returned to his original post beside the fire. Much to her annoyance he failed to explain as he quietly sat tending their meal.

  Thistle’s mind wandered through the events of the day as she tried making sense of everything that had happened. Was she really in some magical alternate “realm” from her own? She had seen enough strange things today to warrant such an explanation. Was she even still on earth? A short while later Thistle was startled back to reality when Miach stated that dinner was cooked. Grabbing the spit straight from the fire he broke off an end with a hefty chuck of sizzling meat and handed it over. Thistle blankly stared down at the chicken sized portion of mystery meat. Intent on informing him this was way too much food, her words shied from the exit as he commenced eating the remaining roast as if a massive kebab.

  In total disbelief, Thistle ejected her quarry without thought, “Are you seriously going to eat all of that?”

  Swallowing a barely chewed bite, Miach replied with annoyance, “Again with the questions? Is your meal not sufficient to satisfy you?”

  Thistle answered in a rush, “Oh no, this will be more than enough!” Growing a bit bolder, she continued, “I just can’t imagine anyone eating that much food. Not even for an eating contest.”

  Disgusted by her last statement, he spat, “Your people eat food for sport? You sound like a greedy people, wie Römer.”

  Ignoring his switch to a foreign language, she defended, “Well, some people do. I wouldn’t go so far as to call them my people, but yes… they do.”

  A fierce expression dominated his features as the swordsman demanded, “Are your people descendants of the Romans?”

  Briefly snagged by his change in subject, Thistle quickly recovered and retorted, “No, well I suppose you could say in a way yes, but… wait… why am I answering questions when you said you’d explain to me while we ate?”

  Wincing over her remembrance, Miach surrendered and said, “You are correct I did say I would explain over our meal. However, answer my question first if you please?”

  A little shocked by his adamant need to hear her answer, Thistle stuttered a little upon her reply, “N-no, I’m not. There are, however, bits of their culture that wormed into the daily lives of many modern societies.”

  Seemingly soothed by her response, he encouraged, “Thank you. Now, where would you like me to start?”

  Tapping a finger to her chin as she looked up at the stars, Thistle hummed a long hmm before saying, “Well, I suppose you could start with… where the heck am I?”

  Taking a deep breath, he began, “You are in a created realm of existence, fashioned by what we call Reapers for their greedy purposes. These Reapers chose to begin their newly created plane of existence from our planet’s energy, more to the point, the souls inhabiting all but two of the dimensions; the highest and lowest planes. Our planet has eight realms of existence, all connected by realm-gates, and each is more magical than the last. They are layered one atop the other. My little gnome-friend Pyhe hails from the highest; their magical abilities allow them to shield each of their race from outside interferences. The lowest level is devoid of all life—plant, animal, and energy—making it useless to Reapers. Ours’—my original home—is deemed the fifth-realm.”

  Thistle unabashedly slipped a question into his story, “What’s a realm-gate?”

  Opening his mouth to start another statement, Miach effortlessly jumped tracks to answer his curious charge, “Each realm harbors a single gate that links it to all the others. Essentially they focus traveling energy from one realm to the next… as I understand it. Every being in existence must travel through these gates to reach other realms.”

  Miach briefly paused, but then noticed Thistle was on the precipice of flooding him with questions and quickly resumed his previous thought, “Now to continue on, between existence and the land of the dead there is a limbo where our souls migrate from one to the next. While in this… limbo, we are all vulnerable to their abilities, especially if we suffer a violent death. The reapers in turn use this energy for various purposes, the main of which is expansion of this world.”

  Miach went quiet and supplied no hint of continuing. Instead, he leisurely resumed his meal. Nibbling on her roasted beast, Thistle excitedly waited for him to keep going. Waiting overly long in her opinion, she inhaled to speak but then let it go. She repeated this action two more times before quietly sitting, chewing in thought. When she couldn’t take it any longer, she tested his willingness to resume, “I have… a few more questions I’d like to ask.”

  Without taking his focus off his food the storm-slave returned, “You may ask, though I shall not always be free to give you the answers you seek.”

  Nodding her agreement, she conceded, “Fair enough. Why me? Why have you brought me here?”

  This time Miach paused to earnestly gaze into her eyes before replying, “That I cannot say, she has never divulged the extent of her plans to me. If I were able… I would tell you.”

  Loosing a sigh of disappointment, Thistle moved on to her next question, “Okay then, what or who was that man… thing… chasing us?”

  Swallowing hard, Miach responded with reserve, “He is one such as me; a slave to another Reaper, bound by the element of fire and the power of lava.”

  “He looked human… I thought. You’re an elf are you not? Wait does that mean there were elves on earth… during the time of the Romans?”

  Miach paused before responding, “To your last question, I do not know. They once traveled the lower dimensions of our planet, but not anymore. Yes, my body is that of an elf, but my soul originally inhabited human form. The reaper I serve trapped my soul in this body to attend her will.”

  Thistle stopped chewing the mouth-full she had taken and swallowed it, much to her regret as the lump painfully traveled down. Worrying aloud she tried to clarify, “Wait, you said is… don’t you mean was? It looked to me as though you did a very good job of… uh, ending him.”

  Miach shook his head while explaining, “No, he is not dead. To kill him you would need to kill his master. It is the same for all of us… one of the many curses of our servitude.”

  Thistle’s fear began rising like a phoenix from the ashes of her previous worries. Oh no. if that thing wasn’t dead then it must be in pursuit. That thought rapidly shot to speech, “Is he following us? Will he attack us again?”

  His expression mirrored a doctor with grave news as Miach replied, “Yes, he was sent to retrieve you. There is no concern, we will keep on the move and stay ahead of him. His head wound should take at least half a day to heal; his heart much, much less. All combined with my superior speed will easily afford us a full day’s lead.”

  Thistle suddenly lost her appetite. Without giving him an offer to accept, she thrust the large remainder of meat his direction. She wished anew that all this was a nightmare. Overcome by a strange need to test this theory—in the traditional sense—she pinched herself and was dismayed by the expected pain accompanying it. Miach looked at her with mil
d curiosity stamped across his chewing face. Thistle just shook her head, waved a hand, and continued to stare off into space mulling over her current lot.

  Feeling a pang of regret for his crass bluntness, Miach tried to soothe her, “Do not fear, I shall keep you safe as long as you are in my charge. I did not mean to upset you, yet I will not hide the truth.”

  Now trying to soothe him, Thistle rushed, “I respect you for that, telling the truth is something one should always strive to do. And on the other hand, omissions are also a part of life.” She felt a terrible need to change the subject, and so she turned the conversation on him, “So how did you end up here?”

  Miach had just finished his supper when her question fell like an axe between them. Exhaling a large, steadying sigh he flatly stated, “Romans.” Standing, he hurled the empty spit over the tree tops far into the distance before saying, “My people allied themselves with our enemies long enough to ambush and defeat them in a forest not far from my village. A trap was carefully laid and they stumbled like prey right into our grasp. The battle cost me an eye and the need to brood afterwards cost me my life. An enraged group of deserters caught up with me. They were seeking revenge on behalf of those they had so easily abandoned at the start of battle.”

  “I had decided to separate from my kinsman and hunt along the return journey home. The thought of facing life with one eye caused me to push away from the safety my kin provided. That night I had begun to setup camp when they attacked. I was in so much pain I could barely focus on my task, and so failed to hear their approach. They hung me from a tree and tortured me, talking all the while. When the moon was high in the sky they left me there to die alone. However I was lucky; in their eagerness for blood they had damaged me so badly… I did not live long. The last thing my dimming eyes gazed upon were the shrinking backs of my departing murderers. I awoke in the next moment to my master looming over my new body. I know not what took place in the space between.” He trailed off and stared at the starry night above.

  Thistle felt deep the pain of this trapped and lost soul. Hoping to change the topic away from his death she asked, “Why did you go to that church in Germany before you came for me? And why did you attack those four police officers?”

  Miach furrowed his brow, “I did not attack those men. One tried to grab the swords from my back while yelling that I surrender myself into their custody; after which he was struck by massive surge of energy emanating from my swords. The other three rushed to defend their comrade, I simply fended them off as politely as I could. As for the visit, I took advantage of the one chance I would ever get to see the home of my birth before returning with you to the one in which I now reside. That was a sacred site to my people, there grew the great tree of Donar. I went inside to see if some fool had built the building around it, but the tree was not within. I suspect the romans cut it down in retaliation for our deception and victory. Do you know?”

  Thistle could see this troubled Miach despite his impassive look; a child-like sadness hung in his eyes. Strangely wanting to comfort him she offered, “You’re lucky I am who I am, I do know a little of that history. I think the battle you’re talking about… well… it crippled the romans for future campaigns into the lands of your people. It is said they never fully recovered from the defeat, though they did try.” Thistle hesitated a moment before giving him the bad news, “As for your tree… I do not know what happened to it. My interest in the past is a bit more toward the pre-history department, and I’m not exceptionally schooled in that either. Rome is an easy one; they dominate the forum of history.”

  Miach looked a bit disappointed. Staring at the crackling fire he sighed and said, “You may ask one more question, but then you must rest. We are breaking camp at dawn and will not be stopping until nightfall.”

  Racing an unseen clock she now felt ticking, Thistle quickly worked it out, “One more? Okay… well then… yesterday I had a vision of you kneeling in front of a woman, then a vision of blurriness. Oh, and the first made me lose consciousness. Why did that happen? Oh my goodness, you made it all the way to me… from Germany?!”

  Miach looked puzzled for a moment before answering with a tone of uncertainty, “As my master prepared me for your retrieval I was forced to kneel, as I always must before a mission. Shortly thereafter she sent me into your realm. As I am bound by storms that is how I entered. I fell like rain into our world. How and why you saw me, I have no answer. You should not have been able to see either event. As to your… second question, I took an a-i-r-o-plane; I… stowed away as my master instructed. It was not pleasant. Now are you ready for sleep?”

  Again he changed the topic before her mind was finished with the first. Thistle shrugged and said, “Ha-ha-ha, wow! That must have been an interesting flight. And… not really… but if I must, then yes.”

  Wasting no time, he scooped her into his arms and jumped onto the branch where his creation remained wedged. Taking off his simple woolen cloak, Miach draped the thick garment over Thistle’s shoulders and tucked it under her chin. He had not been jesting when he said these woods would get cold at night. Thistle could easily see her breath now and worried his cloak would be a paltry defense against the chill creeping into her bones. Miach held aside a loosened branch and urged her to go in. Hesitating, she stared into the ball’s dark interior. Harboring a fear of bugs—especially the biting kind—Thistle didn’t relish the idea of willingly entering a known bug habitat. Instinctively she started to back away, but Miach blocked her exit.

  A note of concern ringing in his voice, Miach impressed upon her, “You must go in. The longer you are away from the fire, the colder you will get. Even elves do not wander this forest at night, and they have a high tolerance to temperature extremes. Please… go in.”

  Thistle had begun shivering and it was getting worse. Apprehensively she climbed into the ball. It was much warmer inside than she had guessed it would be. Freeing one of her frozen hands balled into an armpit, Thistle warily touched the exposed wood. To her great surprise it was very warm. Nestling herself into a thick tangle of leaves, she marveled at the cozy bundle of branches. It wasn’t long after the chill began to ebb that her mind stumbled onto the fact that she had not heard her captor jump down. Poking her head out to see, Thistle came face to face with Miach. Feeling as though she had been caught with her hand in the cookie jar, she rushed, “I didn’t hear you leave, so I was just wondering if you were still up here.”

  Miach responded by placing his hand on top of her head and gently pushing his charge back into the cocoon. Giggling a little over his reaction, Thistle wrapped herself tighter into the cloak and tried falling asleep.

  Chapter Five:

  To Make a Great Escape

  Throughout the night Thistle’s rest had been annoyingly disrupted by tossing and turning brought on by bedding down in a tangle of unyielding branches. Despite the chilly air outside her warm nest, there were still plenty of nocturnal creatures residing in the forest to further disturb her sleep with their strange noises and odd rustlings. Riding the coat-tails of each unsettling sound was Miach’s whispered assurances that she need not be alarmed and to resume sleeping, but after a night of repeated awakenings it had become harder and harder to fall back asleep. Come early morning, as the deep blue of night yielded to the warm glow of dawn, she was pleasantly roused by the peaceful notion that Amy was licking her face. Lifting her lids to a tide of reality crashing onto the shores of her waking mind, Thistle flinched as she came face-to-face with a small creature harvesting dried sweat along her hairline. Nearly jolting from her leafy cocoon she issued a verbal tantrum hoping to scare the animal away. Protesting her rude reaction to its kind attentions, the perturbed little beast screeched its displeasure as it fled from sight. Thistle vigorously rubbed her face on Miach’s cloak before desperately burrowing in hoping to snooze a little while longer.

  Miach had other plans. Abrupt as an alarm clock, he reached into her warm nest and proceeded to shake her into an unpar
alleled state of wakefulness. Trying to free herself from his grasp, Thistle announced in a groan, “I’m awake you can stop shaking me.”

  “We must leave now. Come out and climb onto my back, quickly if you please.” Miach stated with concern evident in his voice.

  The clear urgency in his tone prompted Thistle to take immediate action; lacking any hesitation she quickly climbed from her tangle of branches and onto his back as instructed. Without missing a step Miach swiftly threaded both forearms under her bent knees and shot from the spot like a bullet. Unprepared for such an abrupt take-off, Thistle fought hard the backwards draw of their pace while fumbling to catch a proper grasp on his shoulder. Feeling the ungainly pull of his charge’s predicament the storm-slave slowed long enough for Thistle to gain a firm hold. Tucking her face into his neck for a windshield, she hardened herself as Miach resumed his remarkable speed.

  Miach’s pace quickened and slowed repeatedly over the next few hours. Thistle quietly endured the pain of the ride, but as time wore on she had begun to squirm under the weight of severe discomfort. Her stomach’s morning protest over lack of expected nourishment had escalated from a dull roar to a full scream, and that wasn’t the only body part considering mutiny. Despite a parched throat, Thistle’s bladder was a stormy ocean ready to escalate into a tidal wave at the slightest encouragement. Deciding she couldn’t wait another second, she started petitioning barely loud enough to be heard. Miach was relentless in his course and ignored her. She tried again, adding a head nudge to convey the adamant nature of her request. He responded in the same tone as before; voiceless. Now the soul provider of her grip, Thistle decided to tempt pain’s wrath and let go. She issued a final warning, but when he failed to respond as before, she took a deep breath and let go. That gained his attention. A wave of dirt and its varied inhabitants sprayed into a cloud as Miach halted to catch her. Straightening to a stand he warned, “Please do not let go of me at the speed I was traveling. If I fail to catch you, it may seriously injure…”