Charlotte Boyett-Compo - BlackMoon Reaper

An Elloras Cave RomanticaPublication

www.ellorascave.com

BlackMoon Reaper

ISBN 9781419916205

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

BlackMoon Reaper Copyright 2008 Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Edited by Mary Moran.

Photography and cover art by Les Byerley.

Electronic book Publication August 2008

With the exception of quotes used in reviews, this book may notbe reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without writtenpermission from the publisher, Elloras Cave Publishing, Inc. 1056 Home Avenue,Akron OH 44310-3502.

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This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons,living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. Thecharacters are productions of the authors imagination and used fictitiously.

WesternWind:

BlackMoon Reaper

Charlotte Boyett-Compo

Prologue

On the agricultural world of Ildathach

A horned owl swooped across the blood-red moon, field mousestruggling in its brutal talons. The giant span of its wings cast an elongatedshadow upon the frost-laden ground as it spread over the ragged peaks of dryingcorn bundles. White tails twitching, a herd of deer moved slowly, gracefullythrough the field in search of the stray ear of corn. Raccoons and foxesscavenged, causing the dried leaves to rustle eerily in the midnight stillnessof the late October night. Little gray mice scurried among the debris left fromthe harvesting and Phelan Kiel was dying.

His body lay crushed beneath the weight of boulderspiledone by one upon him until his ribs had cracked and his bones broke. In agonyfrom the judicial torture under which he had been sentenced, the breath slowlyleaching from his wrecked body, blood trickling from ears, nose and mouth, Kielprayed for the death coming to take him. No longer able to make even a singlesighing sound, he silently begged for release, for an end to the agony.

Die, Phelan. Die!

Able only to turn his head, he gave in to the need to takeone last look at his accuser. Standing a few yards away, Truian Sayle was theonly villager who had stayed to see the execution to its end. That was onlybecause Truian had a vested interest in making gods-be-damned sure Phelan methis fate, that no last-minute words were spoken so the sentence would bestopped. Truian wanted Phelan gone beyond this world.

Their eyes mettormented amber and triumphant gray. Onceupon a time those amber eyes had gazed into the gray with lovedeep abidinglove and rampant desire. Now they revealed only sadness and regret, and thelight was fading in the golden orbs.

Die, Phelan heard Truian whisper again. Let go your lifeand leave me in peace!

Though no words could be spoken, Phelan struggled to mouththree last words then the light faded from his eyes. He stilled with his deadgaze locked eternally on his accuser. One final hiss of airthe death rattlehis watcher had been waiting to hearpressed from his body and he was gone.

Truian Sayle released a long, ragged breath, turned andbegan walking away from the body of a man who had once been friend. At dawntomorrow the village priest would come to lay the final stones over Phelansfacea face believed to be the most handsome in the Province. Hopefully thepredators would not destroy that glorious visage before it could be sealedforever beneath the canopy of stone.

Cresting the hill, Truian heard the loud whomp-whomp-whompof mighty wings and stopped. It was a struggle not to turn and look back as theGatherer winged to the body to pluck Phelans immortal soul from the remainsand carry him either to Sheidaghan or IurinHeaven or Hell. Forjust one wild moment Truian started to turn, to gain a look at the Transporterof the Dead, but that moment passed and the one responsible for Phelan Kielsdeath continued on over the hill.

Chapter One

That had to have hurt like hell, Reaper Second Class IdenBelial commented. Sure trumps my freezing to death in an ice cavern on Othar.

Phelan and Iden were sitting on Phelans back porch in theVircars Territory, watching the sun go down and listening to the cicadaswhistling through the trees. Their conversation was unusual for Reapers rarelydiscussed among themselves how they had come into being. Death was theirconstant companion, but talk of it was avoided if at all possible. Once havingexperienced it, none wanted to repeat the ordeal.

But this late afternoon was different and the Reapers hadopened old wounds, old memories, putting voice to things that bothered them.

Aye, it did, Phelan agreed, but not as much as Truiansbetrayal. He pushed his bare feet against the porch rail, causing his chair torock as he sipped the remaining whiskey in his glass.

Betrayal always hurts more than physical pain, Idenobserved. He too was bootless, sitting with his ankles crossed over the rail,relaxing in the rocking chair, the cool breeze ruffling his dark hair.

Do you think Owen has forgiven Eanan for his betrayal?Phelan asked.

Iden laced his fingers together over his flat belly. Aye, Ibelieve so. Being a father has mellowed Owen.

Poor Eanan with three women, Phelan said, shaking hishead. How does a man keep his sanity about him being lover to three women atonce?

His fellow Reaper chuckled. I still cant believe any manwould be so foolish, yet Eanan is a bit different, he said. But, there again,it was Morrigunia who put his feet on that slippery slope. He wiggled his baretoes. Just as She put our feet on every slick slant weve ever known.

Sometimes at night I wake in a cold sweat thinking aboutwhen I died, Phelan said. I remember the pain searing through my back whenShe transferred the hellion into me. I often wonder if Truian saw Her thatnight.

Hard to miss a huge copper-scaled dragon bearing down onyou, Iden said. I well remember watching Her approach me in the cavern,hearing Her claws scratching against the ice and thinking Boy, youre toast.

Phelan nodded. She came to me as the Old Woman of theTriune, he said. I never saw Her as the dragon until much later. In that formShe is something to behold.

Aye, She is. Iden swiveled his head on the back of therocker. How came you to be pressed to death instead of hanged? Isnt hangingthe prescribed sentence on Ildathach for what was considered your crime?It is on Othar and every other world I know except this one.

A slow smile formed on Phelans lips. They could not hangthe son of the king, Belial. That punishment is reserved for commoners.

You were a prince? Iden queried, shock making his eyebrowsshoot up into the thick thatch of black hair hanging low over his forehead.

For what it was worth, Phelan said, and finished off hiswhiskey. Firstborn son, ill-conceived child, the blackest sheep our clan hadever known because I declined the Teiyt.

The Chosen One, Iden translated.

Phelans voice was regretful. Aye. Never in the longhistory of the Kiel Clan had such a thing been done. My parents were shamed bymy actions and could not understand why I had done such a thing until the day Iwas brought before the