Young Writers Society

"There's no need to be such a crankpot," Rep said, rolling his cane between his palms, and Jacob saw that it was topped with a ruby-red skull. Rep had always carried that around with him, for as long as he could remember. "Tell me," the Reaper continued, "have you had your middle-age crisis yet?"

"What do you want, Rep?" Jacob repeated tersely. He was beginning to wish he had never come to the lake, but he knew that Rep wouldn't be here if it wasn't important. Reapers and humans avoided each other, as was a general rule, but Rep seemed to be breaking a lot of rules by meeting up with him.

"Jeez, we are in a hurry, aren't we? Can't an old friend--"

"We were never friends, Rep!" Jacob was seething as he spoke, nails digging into the dirt; he tore at blades of grass and tried to calm himself. "You've ruined my life countless times, ever since the beginning of one world and the dying of the next--and you know it!"

"Steady there," Rep said, but he sounded more amused then gentle. "You know that neither I nor you have any say in how this world runs, Grimm. Death must swoop down unto us all, and we are but marionettes being played with on the burning sand." He laid a gloved hand on Jacob's shoulder, and Jacob flinched. Rep, however, seemed to be unperturbed as he continued. "'Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean. Tears from the depth of some divine despair ...'"

"Don't quote Tennyson at me," Jacob mumbled, attempting to stifle a sob and failing, so that he sounded as if he was choking. Tennyson had been Wilhelm's favorite poet, and hearing Rep recite his poetry was just another reminder that he would never see his brother again. Jacob wiped his face on his trouser leg, feeling more like a child than the almost-eighty-year-old man he was.

"Tennyson's all the rage in Casteria these days, haven't you heard?" Rep said cheerily, patting Jacob on the back. "But that's not why I came here. No."

"Then why did you come here," Jacob pressed, getting annoyed now, "if it wasn't to mock me? Or do you still intend to do that?"

"I'm sorry about Wilhelm, Jacob, but his time had come. Anyway, it's not because of him that I'm here." Rep flicked at the jeweled skull on his cane as he spoke, and removed his hat, placing it on the ground beside him. "Bother, but it is humid here," he said.

Jacob gritted his teeth. Rep was one of the most irritating people he had ever met, always trying his patience. He had never understood the man. He was much more than mortal and yet it was as if he was several people in one body. He didn't belong anywhere, yet he was everwhere. What was worse was the fact that he knew it, and quite enjoyed testing Jacob's nerves. His dark eyes glinted at Jacob almost mischeviosly, but darkened as he spoke:

"Durthnor's dead."

"What?" Shock sprinted down Jacob's spine; his mouth fell open and he found it rather hard to speak. Durthnor--invincible, the legendary king--was dead?

"How?" Jacob spluttered, raking a hand through his gray curls. "It's been--so long, but--I'd never have expected--" He was on his feet now, pacing, though he couldn't remember just when he'd managed to stand up. The woods seemed to whisper about this revelation and as Jacob tried to collect himself, his scattered thoughts, he felt that even the moon might be listening.

"We all were just as surprised when we heard," Rep said, and for the first time that night, Jacob thought he heard a trace of exhaustion in his voice. He looked at the Reaper sharply.

"You didn't know about this?" he demanded. "How couldn't you? I mean, you're a Reaper, for God's sake! You know when and where and how to bottle souls. He can't just've died without you knowing."

"But he did," Rep replied. "There are more powerful Reapers than me, Jacob, and don't you forget it." Getting to his feet, he brushed the dust off his tailcoat and picked up his hat, and walked over to Jacob until the old man's withered face was level with his ageless one. All was silent as he peered into Jacob's eyes, taking in the lines etched into his skin, like folds in an old cloak that'd been tucked away into an attic and left to gather dust. He looked moth-eaten, if it were possible for people to look moth-eaten, and purple bruises hung like broken wings below his eyes; but his glance was as steely, and the brown as clear as it had been at thirteen. It was a rather strange sight: Two men--one old and decrepit, the other tall and youthful--standing on the bank of a lake in the dead of the night, studying each other closely.

"You've changed," Rep said quietly, to break the silence.

"You haven't," Jacob countered, and Rep laughed. He stopped quickly, though, and let his breath out slowly before continuing.

"I was supposed to carry your soul away tonight," he said, turning his gaze towards the moon as it dipped over their heads. "But I had to tell you about Durthnor and--" he hesitated, fingering the brim of his hat nervously. "Casteria needs you, Grimm. You're old and a ruin, but Casteria needs you."

Jacob threw his head back and laughed, letting his bitterness soak into the sound. "Casteria may have needed me forty-five years ago, Rep, but it doesn't need me now. Let death take me, because it'll probably hurt less. Besides," he said, lowering his voice 'til it was almost a whisper, "Wilhelm probably misses me."

Rep tapped his cane on the ground, driving the pointed end into the dying autumn leaves that were scattering around them. It seemed as if he was debating with himself over the matter.

"No, Jacob. I'm not taking you away tonight." Rep averted his eyes from the old man's as he spoke, knowing very well the glare he would encounter if he were to meet them. Rep was a Reaper, but even he'd never liked looking at despair in the face.

"I knew you were a selfish, spiteful pig, Rep," Jacob whispered, voice trembling with rage and suppressed emotion. "But you cannot deny death to me! Reunite me with Wilhelm." Desperation entered his voice, obvious in every word that spilled from his lips. "Please, Rep!" Jacob said. "Please!"

"You've gotten weak with age, Grimm. Are you willing to turn your back on the one story you never put to words? Come with me. Come to Casteria and use your gifts one last time." Rep was adamant and Jacob could see as much, but this was a story that Jacob had sworn not to tell the world. It was entirely too painful--too dark for the page to capture. Darker than all the other stories they had told.

"I can't," Jacob said, wringing his arms uselessly. "I don't remember half the details and besides, I haven't tried painting in ages. I wouldn't know what words to use or how to--"

"Quit blabbering." Rep poked a finger in his ear and rubbed it hard. "Gosh, humans are difficult to deal with. I'll show you everything, okay?"

"From the beginning?"

"Not exactly," Rep shrugged. "We're aiming for sometime after our first meeting. 'Course you didn't see me then, but ..." he trailed away as Jacob paled, and he knew he was remembering. Before the old man had a chance to say anything, Rep had grasped his frail hand and pulled him into the lake after him, not even pausing as Jacob let out an "Oh!" of surprise. They waded into the muddy water until it was up to their chests, Jacob shivering slightly; but Rep was grinning as if he was having the time of his life.

"Now, remember, it's kind of like being dead in the fact that your consciousness won't be working at all--but no need to worry; you'll remember everything as clear as a ..." His forehead crinkled as he tried to remember. "As a whistle, I think. That's what you say, right?"

"It's actually as clear as crystal," Jacob said weakly, teeth chattering from the cold.

"Ah, as clear as a chrysalis, then!" Rep chirped, right before taking Jacob by the arm and dragging him underwater.

The surface of the lake gurgled as the two men dove into its turbid depths. The sky was lightening overhead, streaking the horizon with lines of purple and gold; they twisted and carved a path through the stars like a mosaic, until they had disappeared. The moon gave way to the sun.

Below, the lake stilled, its swarthy surface a jet-black sheen, mellowing to a brown as the sun rose. There was nothing to suggest that anyone had been there the night before, being swallowed by the squalid water.

Nothing except a cane that hung by the branch of a tree, jeweled skull glinting slyly in the sun.

~End of Chapter One~

Chapter 2.1: https://www.youngwriterssociety.com/work/GoldFlame/Grimm-21-112808

Chapter 2.2: https://www.youngwriterssociety.com/work.php?id=120639#c538348