The Reaper Realm: Threads of Compassion

by K. A. Lentz

  The ground beneath Thistle’s feet had turned solid in a wide circle around the newborn plants, easing her flight. Alerted to the jailbreak of its meal, every plant attempted to stop their prey by pursuing her with a large host of free tendrils. Thistle dodged their clumsy grabs as she ran hard for the seemingly distant tree-line. Glancing over her shoulder, she keenly saw the crowd of vines in hot pursuit as Miach fended off others with furious tornadoes. Fear coursed through her veins with every passing second, her emotions digging deeper to awaken a bit of slumbering magic. She was entirely oblivious to what took place next. Unable to see the changes upon her own body, Thistle was unaware that delicate, crystalline spider-webs tattooed both fisted hands as the same shimmering threads framed the edges of her face. Turning back toward the sanctuary of trees ahead she missed the specter of energy that lashed out from her aura, cocooning each pursuer long enough for her to safely elude their grasp. Miach, however, saw it all.

  A seriatim of thunderous cracks sounded through the clearing, followed by a roar of freedom. Dropped into a thicket of growing shrubs, Miach dashed for the exit as he routed around their increasing numbers. None of the plants sought to hinder his escape; they simply attempted flogging him as he passed by. Once clear of their budding labyrinth, he took off like a shot toward Thistle when, quite suddenly, she dropped from view. His charge had nearly made it to the tree-line when a thin spot in the bog’s spongy surface gave way beneath her feet and she was plunged into a watery pocket. Her feet threatening to stick into the mucky bottom, she clawed for the water’s surface shimmering through the small hole her fall had created. Again her protector was there pulling her free. Without pause he scooped her up and sped away from the mounting crowd of pitcher-plants screaming in the distance.

  Miach ran through the night and well past dawn trying to put a goodly bit of distance between them and the bog. He paused twice trying to accommodate his charge’s needs, yet refused to stop for anything else. By mid-afternoon the following day Thistle’s mind was thoroughly preoccupied by mild starvation and an endless string of questions. Miach had collapsed barely two days ago, could his body handle this kind of strain so soon? How much power did he need to do his magical feats? Where did the power come from in the first place? Her mind was swimming with these questions and more when—without warning—the grueling pace abruptly ended. Thistle breathed a sigh of relief seconds before Miach vaulted them into a nearby tree. The swordsman didn’t deposit his charge as usual, but instead situated himself beside her on the branch.

  Concern in her voice, Thistle blurted, “Are you okay?”

  Exhausted and burdened by his own fears, Miach nervously replied, “I’ve never pushed myself this far… so I cannot say how bad this will be. I do apologize. I know you’re starving, but you’re going to have to wait a little while longer.”

  With that he leaned against the tree trunk and collapsed. She sat gawking at his softly breathing form, worry pulling her features this way and that. Coming to the conclusion she might be there a while, Thistle figured she would make the best of her situation by drying out her damp sac. Lifting the top flap, she found her equally damp cloak rolled up and stuffed into the opening like an ineffectual cork. She tugged the musty garment free and was draping it over a nearby branch when she remembered her journals. Plunging her hand into the water-rigid bag she hastily rummaged through its moist contents, worrying all the while. Finding one, her hand came to rest on its oddly dry form. Thistle pulled the book free and lifted its cover to reveal an equally dry front page, each letter crisp as the moment she had written them. Huh, it seems the soggy homework excuse has been universally employed. I wonder if it was an elvish school or human school he stole these from? Thistle gave a small giggle and smiled to herself. Impressed by her gift all the more she decided to settle in and log an entry about her encounter with the bog-beast.

  Journal in hand she shifted and wiggled, endeavoring in vain to get comfortable on the knobby branch. Sick of trying, she was nearly startled off her perch when dirt at the tree’s base began mounding up alarmingly fast. Pyhe sprang from the ground like a cheerful daisy with a smile. Looking around it took him barely a moment to locate his friends in the trees. The little gnome greeted them with his usual light-hearted tone, “Tree-dwellers I bring hellos!” Without pause he blinked himself onto the branch between Thistle and Miach. Dangling both paw-like feet from one side, Pyhe worried as he looked up at Miach, “Oh my, my, my, too tired. Never run as today. Worries adding time when there is little to spare.” Pyhe paused to look between them before stating in a high tone, “Ask me one and I will tell the answer. Only one, time flows and other waits.”

  Relieved to see a friendly wakeful face, Thistle beamed, “Hello, Pyhe! I’m so glad to see you!”

  The little gnome continued to smile as he bowed his head and said directly, “Time shortens, ask what curiosities.”

  Only one thought weighed on her mind without mercy, so she let it fly, “Do you have any food? Sorry, I wouldn’t ask however I’ve only eaten berries over the last few days, and few at that.”

  Without pause the little gnome handed over a small, velvety pouch shortly followed by a woody gourd sloshing with liquid. Pyhe beamed another wide smile and said, “Help is happiness! Run much, fed little. Now to ask as to eat.”

  Her stomach was instantly aware offered food lurked in the vicinity and growled in protest over the untested bag. Eagerly she untied its simple bow and spread the opening wide. Resting in the shadows at the bottom was an elaborately iced cupcake decorated with intricate multi-colored shapes and swirls. Carefully she pulled the elegant pastry free, depositing it on her other hand as a makeshift plate. I wonder if I can eat it. The caution lingering from her old life warned against it, but her protesting stomach decided hunger was hunger and food was food. Excitement and apprehension churning within her, she tentatively took a bite. It tasted like strawberry shortcake… fresh strawberry shortcake at that. An appreciative smile spread across her face as Thistle closed both eyes to savor the delicious melody in her mouth. Gaining her attention Pyhe sounded off with a simple ‘Ahem’ to remind her once more of the time.

  “Oh yea, sorry, Pyhe,” Thistle apologized through another bite of cake. “Umm… yes, right. Why the heck is an animated plant trying to eat people in the middle of a bog as a trap? And why did Miach push himself so very hard?”

  Pyhe knew she would ask such questions and was ready with the answers, “Ahh, curious mind, two for one. A trap yes, reaper made, fights the alliance at war. Elvish Keystone sneakily within its tap, roots forbid those to seek it. Not of Gaia world, only of reaper woven to service. Wrong, malformed, mind spells it casts luring meals. Long, long distance stretches illusions to seek untested minds. Fullness of the moon gains influence, control lost and hazards plenty. Race the moon and chase the mind risky as Tall-One knows. Better push than fail, also known. Elves, sprites, and plant-folk alike quest to its end, time can only conquest.” Pyhe paused for a breath and then his mouth was racing faster than before, “Never to perish, death with its reaper. Feed it not for sleep to fall. Other calls… visit spent. Farewell!”

  The little gnome bowed and then dove with a flourish into the dirt below. Thistle was left bewildered by his statements as usual, yet this time she lacked Miach’s answers to her ready questions. Nibbling on the remains of her pastry, she sat deep in thought pondering the bog-plant and what types of “plant-folk” Pyhe had been talking about. Mourning the last swallow of cupcake, she finally remembered the other half of Pyhe’s gift. Without hesitation she licked the crumbs from her hands and picked up the strange looking gourd. Excited over what could be in it, she hastily uncorked the top and cautioned a sip. Sweetened lemon water! She leaned back onto the palm of her hand and savored the refreshing liquid, enjoying the peace her small repast had brought.

  The day slowly ebbed as night began stretching its waking arms over the dimming sky. All around her birds were engaged in sunset chatter, each adding to the
offbeat chorus of the forest’s song. Rounding out this symphony was a large bovine creature grazing along the forest floor. Its heavy build added a sporadic, thundering note—felt more than heard—to the din of woodland fauna. For a short while she felt released from the press of time, enjoying the calming melody, and then the forest grew quiet as a nearly full moon illuminated the dense canopy of the trees sheltering her and Miach.

  Exhaustion became the victor of fear as she started slowly drifting in and out of sleep, constantly jerking awake by her lolling head. Grumpy and desperate for rest, she looked around in search of a place to lodge herself. Each available spot was surveyed with worry and skepticism over their suitability, so in the end she came to the awkward conclusion that Miach appeared to be the only reliable source of stability. Feeling odd and embarrassed at the thought, she looked around once again to reassess her options. No good. His was the only spot she could trust in the dark. Sighing with red faced resignation, she closed the space between them and tried decorously cuddling up to her protector. Finding him seductively warm it wasn’t long before Thistle was snuggled up, contentedly sighing as she nodded off to sleep.

  Miach slept like a stone. Refreshed by a lengthy and uninterrupted rest, he was first to wake sometime around dawn. This time there was no male voice screaming for him to get up. Instead, he had been pleasantly roused by the bewildering sensation of warm breath evenly grazing the front of his neck. Gazing down at its source, a heart-warming rush filled his body at the sight of Thistle’s sleeping face tilted toward him. One of her hands had been anchored through the night to his tunic, evident by the fist shaped crumple beneath her lax palm, while the other was tucked into his armpit for warmth. Feeling bold and unobserved, he reached around her placid face to smooth the usual wayward wisps of hair swaying in the morning breeze. A determined ray of sun charged through the canopy above to illuminate her mane like a shimmering crown. Lingering along her skin he caressed the gentle curve of her jaw with the flat of his thumb. Thistle’s eyes fluttered open, roused by his tender gestures. At first a lazy smile crossed her face, yet as realization set in; her smile was hastily replaced by an embarrassed flush of social horror. Miach snatched his hand back, but was forced to reach out and catch her as she tried putting some distance between them. Blushing all the more, Thistle mumbled a thank you and felt the need to excuse her behavior. Her voice raised a pitch as she explained in a nervous tone, “I’m sorry, I kept jerking awake trying not to fall, and well I really had nowhere else to sleep. I didn’t mean to…”

  Miach was so caught up in her reaction that he barely heard a thing she said. Muttering an automated response he replied, “Think nothing of it, I’m glad to be of service.” In the next moment he brought them to the ground with a stinging thud. Thistle, however, paid no attention and ran off without a word to attend her morning needs. Miach stood morose on the spot, churning her horrified look over in his mind. After the sprites, he had begun to feel more alone than ever and she was making it worse. Somehow he felt close to her, something about her drew him in, yet these feelings scared him more than anything he had faced before. Compelled by the threat of loss, he reassessed the last five months and all that had happened. Why was he running? Eventually his master would win… no matter how long they ran, and he knew it. So what was the point of making his life worse until then? Yet that was the thing, she hadn’t made his life worse. Quite the contrary, she made it better. No longer alone, his life had purpose now… purpose of his choosing, not that of his master’s. Still his feelings frightened him all the more.

  Thistle came trotting back into view saying, “Pyhe came to visit yesterday after you collapsed. He gave me the most delicious…” She quickly abandoned her train of thought when she saw Miach’s face. He was staring at the horizon with a sad, yet determined expression dominating his features. Worried, she rushed to his side and asked, “Are you alright? How do you feel today? No lasting effects I hope…”

  Miach cut her off with a curt answer hoping to stem the growing queue of questions, “I’m fine, thank you.”

  Thistle didn’t believe him and pressed further, “You don’t look fine, you look more upset and still a bit tired. You didn’t suffer any…”

  “Please, heckle me not with your incessant questions, woman. Why must you be curious about everything?” The swordsman cut in once more.

  Stung by his words she retorted in kind, “Sorry for caring enough to worry about your miserable life… Sir!”

  Miach’s sorrow blinded his reasonable mind as he parried her anger with more of his own, “I’ve never needed caring before all of this, and you can keep your pity and worry to yourself! I shall be glad to be rid of your unending questions when this is all over.”

  Thistle began feeling guilty of a crime she hadn’t thought possible. Pain and logic tumbled around her mind like sparring cats. It seemed so much was being expended to keep her safe and although she hadn’t started this whole adventure, she did have the power to end it. With a stern tone she asked, “Why go to all this trouble for me? It would be easier—and safer for many I’m sure—if you just took me to her and be done with it.”

  Glimpsing where this line of thinking was carrying them, the storm-slave’s anger ebbed along with the anguish gripping his heart. Another leveling sigh escaped his lips before he confessed, “I would be lying if I said I had not thought it myself however I cannot bring you to her. I don’t know why but… I can’t do it… not yet! I must at least know what your true fate will be before I take you. Eventually her command on me will likely force this mission to be fulfilled… and you will go to her, but not yet, not now. I cannot! You must know… my hurtful words were spoken in anger; I ask that you please forgive me.”

  Thistle was unaccustomed to such impassioned declarations on her behalf and blushed a light pink in response. With a shy tone she whispered, “Of course I forgive you and also thank you for caring that much… however if you’re doing this all with the eventual outcome of…”

  A note of finality entered his voice as he declared, “No! Allow me to take you to Japake, to see what they know… or if they’re able to aid you in a way. The elves there can provide us with some rest—to say the least—before moving on.”

  Thistle stood silent for a short time as the swordsman awaited her agreement. Without warning she suddenly stated authoritatively, “Okay… but I get a say in where I go too. You may be the master of my life right now, but as always… so am I. Agreed?”

  Miach bowed his head before replying, “I’ve no wish for slaves. If you had truly wanted to be taken to my master… I would have reluctantly obliged you. I, however, hope you listen to me and allow us some time to figure this out.”

  “Thank you, I can respect every word of that,” Thistle said with a pleased smile. “I shall definitely listen to your advice.”

  The storm-slave smiled back before plainly stating, “It’s time for breakfast, and then we’re due to be off again. Wait here, I’ll be back soon.”

  Miach took off into the woods leaving Thistle alone with her thoughts. Questions sprang up like weeds within her mind. What is my fate; why would a reaper want me? It had to be something of great importance to send her slave all the way to another realm just for little ole me. Maybe I’m not that special though. Maybe it’s like visiting a grocery store when you’re running low on garlic. Has he taken others to her before? All of these questions and more were zooming through her brain like an express train when Miach returned. Shoving them back for now, she cleared a spot for the fire ring. As per the norm he carried an arm-load of wood over one shoulder, yet this time, instead of some unknown creature he typically brought back, two, large rabbits dangled at his side. It was a happy occasion in her new life when Thistle was treated to a meal appearing native to the earth she knew. Things here were often odd, a bit off, or sometimes downright wrong; it felt good when life seemed normal again… even if only for a short time.

  “Yay, rabbits! Now them I understand!” Thistl
e eagerly declared.

  Smiling, Miach answered with a strangely more talkative air than his usual laconic responses, “Yes, they use to be a staple of my people. They cook best into a stew. Sadly, however, roasting isn’t the finest way to prepare such a bland meat; it dries out rather quickly.”

  Curious as ever Thistle replied, “I’ve never had rabbit before now.” Her mind changing tracks like a speeding train, she blurted a hasty question, “What happened at the bog?”

  Miach knew this conversation was bound to take place sooner or later and was ready with a response, “Over tired is what happened to me, and lured in by a carnivorous plant is what happened to you. By the way, what was it you saw?”

  Feeling a little sheepish over being duped by an over grown fern, Thistle blushed a rosy pink and admitted, “A beautiful unicorn and a band of fairies playing music. Oh and well then you.”

  “Me?” Miach asked a little shocked.

  Thistle fiddled with a fallen leaf as she explained, “Yea, umm, things didn’t feel right after a while; a kind of un-suppressible dread when I was riding the unicorn. As I got off and turned to leave you were there telling me it was time to go. Why didn’t you mention it could do that?”

  The storm-slave shifted a little in his seat as he turned the spitted rabbits. Shrugging he confessed with a sheepish expression of his own, “I didn’t want to frighten you further with things I hoped you would never experience. I truly thought I could make it across without incident.”

  Nodding with a shrug of her own, Thistle smiled and replied, “Fair enough. So… which of the rumors you heard turned out to be true?”

  Miach laughed and said, “It would seem the rumor regarding its name was accurate; it is commonly called hydra root. Very apt I’d say. Umm, let’s see, there was the fact that it’s just as big as people claimed and casts mind spells as we both saw. I assumed the last to be true by Pyhe’s insistence regarding the full moon…”