by K. A. Lentz
Thistle interrupted, “Wait, why would the shadow-elves agree to the exclusion of their own race?”
Syheran smiled as he replied, “A just question kind lady. Why did we invite them at all you may ask?” Thistle nodded as the hale-elf continued on, “The light-elves allowed for the inclusion of a single diplomat, they thought it fair on account that they also belonged to the seventh-realm. Now, as to the representative… he had personal reasons for his ready agreement. You see, the shadow-elf was a game hunter and owned a lucrative meat business dominating his home metropolis. The abundant availability of free, easy to hunt prey within the lower realms cut into his profits and so he elected to be their representative in hopes of saving his business. Had they sent anyone else… it is unlikely they would have agreed to such a fate. As is their custom, however, their diplomat made a contract and thus their race was unable to claim the affront as reason for war. Over the years to come they diligently sought ways around the agreement.”
“Factions of shadow-elves began scheming and plotting the future of recently supplanted humans. Having watched their villages, the calculating shadow-elves knew the human population would blossom into unprotected settlements due to sheer, overwhelming numbers. In less than a century new hamlets began springing up throughout each of the elvish territories. Yet another century quietly passed without a hint of shadow-elf subterfuge—human expansion continuing all the while—before hunting parties began discreetly luring humans away from their protected settlements. Using these newly acquired slaves for various roles within their culture, the nefarious elves forwarded their oppressive institution of dominance across the realm. Easy to corrupt with the promise of riches and glory, yet smart and curious, many of the captured humans quickly bent to their master’s will. Less than twenty years passed before the struggle between shadow-elves, their allies, and the remaining races became grossly unbalanced.”
“Seeing all of this unfold, the fey devised a fate to change the course of our realm’s un-natural path. Two from their ranks descended into existence and bonded with males of the opposing sides. One was a provincial dictator for the shadow-elf empire, and the other a wood-elf king from a prosperous grove.” Picking up Thistle’s journal still resting at his side, Syheran smiled with a knowing look as he suggested, “Curious lady, you may wish to write this next part down… beneath your untested heading regarding elves.”
Thistle blushed as she smiled and said, “I’ll remember. I enjoy it better this way, please continue. I can’t wait to hear more!”
Nodding his understanding, Syheran resumed his tale, “Both males had been carefully selected for the simple fact that their mates had yet to be born into the world. The fey sent both unborn souls into distant and joyous lifetimes while borrowing the signature of each destined mate to accomplish their goal. You see, even the self-serving shadow-elves are blessed with a soul mate and neither of these elvish mortals would accept anything less than their intended. So the twin fey, armed with a plan and disguised by the signature of another being, took mortal form and remained with their chosen mate until his passing. Each fey bore a son who grew to become the most powerful rulers my realm had ever known.”
Pausing a moment, Syheran took a sip from his goblet before clearing his throat to continue on, “The Gaia merely watched on as the fey interfered, understanding their willingness to aid something they had once created. The Gaia, however, knew it was unwise to overly assist the progress lower souls must undertake, and so simply continued their work of being existence. One among them did not turn back. One… and then four more… became interested in all the fey did; growing increasingly jealous of the lower race’s freedom and creative spark. Gathered together these five traveled down from the high plane of Lleyfce and brought into being a gate of their own, rooted in the middle layer between realms known as limbo. Violent was the gate’s intrusion into our world, cataclysms plagued every layer of the planet… often devastating entire cities and cultures. It took nearly two elvish generations before anyone knew what had caused such upheaval in our world. Once we knew it was already too late; abductions and killings had already begun populating the newly created existence. It was the ancestors of this realm, aided by Moshe, whom stopped these kidnappings by sealing the gate at the end of the first war. When the reapers’ realm is finally on its last days, the gate will reopen for us to return home, but only when… or if… the reaper realm is at its end. The key will appear at the gate when certainty is met.”
Syheran paused on that pleasant thought before reigning in his wandering mind, “Now then where was I? Ah, yes well, the reapers created the gate and began this existence. At the heart of this existence there sits a round, void-steel table crafted by Reapers. It has sat in that very spot since they descended into limbo so many thousands of years ago. Sitting at their table of power, they gathered enough energy to grow their version of existence. It took thousands of years to collect enough power and when they had achieved their goal the land began spreading out from beneath their very feet. In those days the reapers respected one another enough to divide the world equally with their five peers. No, I didn’t miss count, by this late point another had joined their ranks. Lesdaeonna, attracted by the emotion and plot of the original five, arrived just a couple hundred years before the formations began. Despite her late arrival, the other reapers included her equally in the division of land.”
Syheran was taking a breath when Thistle took the opportunity to let a question slip out, “What does her name mean… Lesdaeonna that is?”
“It’s hard to translate, about the only comparison I can make is ‘I Will Invade’ in high gnomish. It was a promise as to the location of her next target of conquest. She and Zombie are the two worst reapers. Each controls one of the two largest domains; Lesdaeonna’s now being the larger after Zombie’s crippling. Following the death of the other four, excess energy from their crumbling domains was reaped by Zombie, but mostly Lesdaeonna, to expand their lands. A few newly descended reapers scavenged what scrapes they could to hastily wedge domains between the two competing overlords.”
Clear concern in her voice, Thistle asked, “How many reapers are there? Will many more come to this realm; in that I mean… can… they just keep coming?”
It was at this point Amy decided to check-in on the events across the river and snorkeled around Thistle’s feet. Taking another sip from his glass, Syheran watched the tenacious dog as he plainly stated, “I wish I had answers to your questions however I have no knowledge on either front.”
Miach suddenly spoke again, “There are nine main reapers and five demies, as they have come to be called by their kind. Two are harbored by Typhon. None dare seek sanctuary with Zombie or my master. Neither will tolerate them as they see the new reapers as upstarts to their dominion.”
With obvious surprise, Syheran stared at Miach as though he had just been struck by the shock of a lifetime. The hale-elf broadly smiled and happily responded to Miach’s declaration, “Brother, I do believe you are the key to this war! Thank you for the information; it will go a long way toward helping us win our cause.”
Giving his new ally a word of caution, Miach warned, “I will be of help where I can, but I cannot promise all I know, she has forbade me.”
Syheran smiled anew and said with equal joy, “We shall take, with everlasting gratitude, whatever knowledge you can provide. There will be time for that later in our visit, for now I must continue on with the story vital to both your futures.”
Gulping down the remainder of his drink, Syheran took in a thought-gathering breath and started once more, “Since the creation of this existence the reapers have suffered for residing in, what is for them, an un-natural habitat. They are slowly vanishing… without the help of your fine swords. Lesdaeonna and Zombie know what the others do not yet realize; they need a body to exist in existence. Even in limbo their type of energy cannot sustain, they decay as with everything else over time. Luckily, it was not until after the gate was seale
d that the reapers came to understand this crucial fact.”
Thistle took this opportunity to pause his story with another question, “Why don’t they just hop into a dead body?”
Syheran smiled again, “Another fair question my lady. Reapers cannot inhabit the dead; their form lacks the proper spark needed to inhabit a lifeless body. You see, the dead body is missing its proper type of soul containing the necessary thread of life needed to link a reaper’s fading energy to existence. This life-spark is endemic to lower plane souls which is why we are able to inhabit the recently dead… as such is the case with Miach inhabiting Tahlen’s husk. The odd twist of fate is when the life-bond was placed on all living beings within this abhorrent creation, designed to protect us from rampant reaper possession during the first war, none then knew how well their defensive magic would aid in the fight toward final victory. This is the part where you two come in. Upon meeting you, our suspicions are confirmed; Lesdaeonna brought you here to save her life.”
Thistle reacted impassively as she waited for the hale-elf to resume his tale. Sensing she lacked her customary barrage of questions he decided to continue on, “An interesting trait of the reapers… when they went through their gate, it was by their choice alone where and when they went. As Lesdaeonna crossed into the fifth-realm to acquire another soul, she was able to see—by powers I cannot comprehend in this form—the fate of Miach and the purpose of his soul. It was during this visit she cast an event not intended by the normal laws of fate and balance. This is why you died and found yourself enslaved Miach.”
Like Thistle, Miach impassively sat staring up at the gently swaying tree-tops. Somehow, he had known all along she was his original and true murderer… it’s just that… he had never actually thought it before now. Syheran didn’t pause in his story for Miach’s response; he knew well enough by now that the man would talk when ready. Shaking his head the hale-elf stated with obvious curiosity, “Somehow she was a step ahead of the others by knowing the gate was destined to be sealed. It is the only reason she would curse you, rather than acquiring you in person. Her mortality, we have come to believe, was not yet known to her. We guess—had she been aware—the acquisition of a host would’ve been an immediate priority… not to mention she’d likely have braved a higher realm in the hopes of attaining a more powerful race. This is all educated guesswork on the part of many a mind, but we do know for certain Lesdaeonna never again tried to go through the gate.”
Syheran awkwardly paused a moment before bluntly stating, “There is another, extremely important reason she chose you both. There’s no easy way to say this… so I’ll simply out it… you’re a guardian pair from the fifth-realm. Now I can see by your look, Thistle, that you have some thoughts on the matter… however you must allow me to continue. You’re a witch, the witch of compassion to be precise, and Miach is your familiar. You are mated in soul and meant to be two halves of a whole. This is why he could retrieve you through a sealed gate, you’re linked. Linked souls die all the time on earth, yet guardians are different, their link is much stronger and infinitely more magical. It can break through such boundaries—as you see for yourself—however guardians rarely die since they are immortal. Now she has within her grasp the most powerful slave in the realm and a guardian body to inhabit without a soul-bond on it.” Mournfully looking Thistle in the eye, he spoke as one tasked with the burden of relaying bad news to a friend, “I am sorry for your lot Thistle, but there is nothing we can do to change this. Since the language barrier we haven’t been able to perform that level of guardian magic. We have had no need up till now; our children are born with the bond. I believe your fate and salvation lies in actualizing who you are.”
Thistle took this moment to cut in, “What do you mean witch of compassion, what does that even mean? Witches aren’t normally seen as a good thing in the fifth-realm, what is it you’re calling me?”
Quick to respond, Syheran soothed her as best he could, “You are the physical representation of the emotion compassion. Emotions themselves are like magic and the deep currents of feeling running through your race necessitated the creation of guardians to help foster humanity through the stages of spiritual evolution. You’re one of their guardians and do the works of compassion as you move through time. Without your presence within the fifth-realm, the emotion struggles along lacking guidance and direction; it is given where it shouldn’t and not given to those in need. It is the same for all witches and their familiars.”
Elf or no, Thistle continued cutting in with her objections, “The witch of compassion? Me? Okay… I don’t see it! I’m not always a kind person you know; I’ve snapped at people, walked by needy and homeless on the street. If I were this witch you say I am, well then wouldn’t I be constantly feeding the hungry and… well… just saving people in general?”
Syheran laughed aloud, drawing the river’s unusual occupant to the surface. Thistle nearly jumped into Miach’s lap as a large fish head emerged from the depths of the pool. Earthy green and blue scales shimmered upon its long sloping head, ending abruptly at the start of wide, full lips trimmed at the corners by pearlescent whiskers. Smiling, it opened its mouth to speak, “Syheran… guests… the ones… we spoke?”
Thistle could smell its oddly cool breath cascading over her like a rotten waterfall; each uttered word smelled of dead fish and pond scum. Her eyes watered from the overpowering odor, yet she politely smiled back at the obviously welcoming creature. Standing tall, Syheran bowed to the newcomer prompting both guests to quickly jump up and mirror his actions. Returning to his seat, Syheran waved a stiff hand toward his guests and answered, “My dear friend these two are indeed the ones of whom I spoke. I was just giving them the information we talked about… well nearly the complete of it.” Syheran trailed off with a laugh, but then remembered something and spoke suddenly, “I do apologize. Where are my manners, Thistle… Miach… this is Friend, as he wishes to be called.”
Friend took up the conversation from there, “I am… an elemental… alone in… this realm. The forest is… loved… and… nourished… by me. Syheran I followed… nemesis once… friend now. My magic… needed… to … aid. I will… help… to… bond.”
Miach’s look of instant recognition made Syheran wince. Cutting in, the hale-elf hastily soothed the storm-slave, “I know what you must think Miach however it is the only way. You can only truly know the benefits after it is done.”
Miach stood and paced around for less than a minute before he abruptly turned to Syheran. In a low menacing tone he responded, “If you mean bonding, like elf bonding, then no.” Turning to Thistle, his tone and expression changed to one of disbelief, “Bonding to elves means a joining of our houses, I hope that meaning transcends time for you.”
Thistle took a second to puzzle out what he had said and soon the full meaning hit her hard enough to eject the thought right back out again, “Do you mean MARRIAGE? Is that what you mean? Husband… and wife?”
Syheran lit up at her last words just as Miach groaned in time. It took Thistle only a second to judge and decipher each look before voicing her conclusions with equal sternness, “No, no and, um noooo! We don’t work like that in… my… our realm, it’s different today than it was even in Miach’s time. Sorry, but no… no I cannot.”
In support of his future mate, Miach piped up with a somewhat more pleading note in his voice, “Yes, I agree with Thistle, there isn’t a need. How can that be the case? Bonding? What purpose does that serve… especially with me as I am!?”
Syheran was ready for this fight, coached by Pyhe and his own long education regarding humans. The crafty elf adjusted his seat and then moved his next words into play, “You will both be a lot stronger against any adversary you meet. You’ll gain abilities none of your kind could dream of possessing and Thistle will have a greater ability to protect herself from much of what you’ll run into in this world.”
Miach eyes darted to the ground as he remembered what Thistle had done in the bog. Th
istle was about to say no once more for good measure, when friend spoke up, “Not… a choice… but… your path.”
Thistle looked at the fish and raised an eyebrow. A thread of courage tied her nervous string of words together, “I mean no disrespect… wise friend… but I must say… I don’t see what difference this will make in the end. The reapers can create worlds and their slaves are phenomenally powerful. There are many of these monsters… and they seem to keep coming! What will me… marrying a man I don’t know… do to make that any different?”
Syheran took a second before responding to Thistle’s question, for he was not fully sure how bonding would help either. Pyhe had been the one to assure him it was the right course; despite his own voiced concerns. He knew Pyhe wasn’t sharing something, yet still… he trusted the little gnome… even though he tended to agree with the humans. Deciding upon that approach he confidently said, “I cannot tell you the full meaning of those actions. There are few who can and only two who may tell, yet neither will… not even to me. Pyhe and Old Grandma are the ones insistent upon your bonding. I had hoped they would tell you themselves, instead he charged me with the task… and… so… here we are. There are many of us that don’t entirely agree with such a course, but gnomes are pure and noble souls endowed with an understanding far beyond our comprehension; not to mention they have never led my people astray. I can do no more than trust a very dear friend, knowing it is the right course.”
