A creature of habit

The turbulent river showed no signs of relenting. It violently made its way downstream, smashing itself with vengeful intent against the banks that confined it and the rocks that had the misfortune of being in its way. The crowd that had gathered under the shade of the apple tree by the riverbank had their eyes fixed at a spot. Some of them pointed animatedly towards something particular along the course of the water-body; others spoke in ominous hushes that betrayed signs of anxiety.

A man, curiously drawn towards the large gathering, came by to inspect the cause. He was known to be of noble descent, bred with strong, unbending morals and of athletic finesse. He surveyed the landscape ahead and he could make nothing of it.. until he saw it too!

The gruesome spectacle was unmistakable. Caught in the clutches of the current was a definitive, writhing mass of life that appeared to be bleeding. Its vain struggle against the downstream current was futile.

“Is it a man?” remarked a bystander. “What difference does it make? He is a goner he is!” muttered another. “How about we cast a line of sorts?” suggested a third. “Nay, it’d drag the whole lot of us along!” hushed a fourth.

The man had heard enough. After having shot the most despicable and condescending of stares at the throng, he began to strip to his waist-cloth; all of it in an attempt to fight the tide and save the person heading to his certain death. Exclamations of alarm went up among the people – “Lad, you don’t have to do this!” “You cannot save him. The water Gods will not relent.” “Certainly, you value your life more than this absurdity!?” The man silenced them all with a gesture and spoke in an earthy baritone – “His death will not be by my inaction”. Having said thus, he took a mighty, precise plunge into the cold river.

The audience gradually grew in number as word got around the hamlet about a certain aristocrat who was off his chump. The river banks flooded with people, both young and old alike, to watch a daring act of bravery, the likes of which they had never witnessed in a long time. They were quite fearful yet fascinated by the strokes his sinewy body made – not a breath wasted, he covered almost three quarters of the distance towards the being held against its own will in a vile flow.

The man entered red waters. The bleeding was rather profound as the clear streams were now murky. Upon gaining proximity, he realized two things with a rather compelling sense of horror – firstly, the prey was much larger than its rescuer. Secondly, the creature was a wounded bear! 

The folly of his bravado dawned late on him.The shocked creature clung onto the man in a state of panic and desperation, sinking its claws into his back and arms in the hopes of getting a foothold to secure lands... the man screamed in agony!

The bear was agitated beyond reason by now. In a flash, it chewed off the man’s face and climbed onto his limp corpse momentarily as his form spouted more blood. Within moments, the bear saw the end of the stream at a waterfall. In its final moments, it grabbed the dead body in a tight hug and soon disappeared with a long and distant growl. A distinct thud signaled the ending of the growl.

The multitude were too stunned to react. For a few minutes, nobody spoke until one of them broke the uneasy silence – "He was a good lad he was. Valour was his vice."

“Ah well, he didn’t know any better than what could get him killed. May he find peace.” Having muttered thus, the crowd disappeared into a sunset haze of melancholy.    

(This story was narrated to me by my Grandmother when I was rather little. Never quite understood it back then but as with all good things in life, it made better sense with time. She remarked that all vices of the world were synonymous with the bear and that fools have always found it hard to resist the challenge it presented to them. 

Damn!)   

A Grimm Harvest (Part #1)

"Ms. Kohler, Mr. Grimm will see you now." the harried housekeeper announced softly. Mr. Grimm's visitor, a dark haired woman in her mid fifties, stiffened slightly at the announcement that had interrupted her carriages of thought. She got up authoritatively from her chair and walked with small, swift yet sure steps towards the door held ajar by Alma, the housekeeper. Ms. Kohler had her hair drawn back in a pleated bun, held together by an intricate bronze hairpin, an heirloom from her Grandmother - Freifrau Erzengelein Hohenzollern, Baroness of the West. Her visage bore many fine lines yet none definite enough to diminish what was once the envy of men; somehow the face now seemed more hard-set and impassive from the rigors of having spent the last three decades as a diplomat for Europe's banking capital, her Motherland. At a casual glance, many may conclude callously that age had been kind to her given that she seemed to have not more than a few extra pounds on her. Dressed in a sober ashen black dress that did not cling onto her needily, none of it held relevance anymore. She was here to finish what should have been wound up a long long time ago.
"Patricia.." the Housekeeper's eyes bore into Ms. Kohler's eyes, "you should not have come." she said with a meek defiance. "You will destroy him."
"It does not matter now." the icy tones in Ms. Kohler's unusually calm voice had its desired effect. With a final look at Alma's pale face, Mr. Grimm's bedroom door was slid shut.

The bedroom was reminiscent of another era altogether with the walls swathed in black and grey while the occasional presence of wood in the form of panels and flooring served as surfaces to ensure that light had not lost its way in the melancholic setting. In spite of the enormous size of the room, adorned with a large crystal chandelier depicting a multitude of Nereids attracted towards a central source of light as well numerous lamps that were concealed well throughout the bedroom, Mr. Grimm insisted that the lanterns be lit instead. Over the past few months, he had acquired a penchant for odd requests and Alma had always quietly complied. "Need more flames.. candelabra over there.." he would say in between wheezes with a labored hand gesture in the general direction. As a result, the Grimm's bedroom, over two centuries old, still seemed to mourn the memory of its inhabitants with a dance of shadows amidst an eerie silence. The Grimm Ancestry, mostly peasants and fisher folk who had acquired a massive fortune among questionable circumstances, stood watch in elaborate portraits along these walls, dressed in the regalia of Counts, while some of them were even made Lords. Their rule over the Island had been a dark one, marred with many years of poverty and famine, in what was once a bountiful land. It was Lord Marcus Grimm, the Estate heir's predecessor, who vowed to bring about reforms on the Island, losing over three quarters of the Family fortune in the process. His numerous titles ranging from formal ones like "Lord of Light" to more informal ones loosely translated as "One Among Us", seemed to be a paltry exchange to the Youngest of his Sons, who watched on quietly as his family was reduced to the brink of bankruptcy. As fate would have it, he inherited the Estate over his brothers, and with calculated conviction, he began to expand the Grimm's fortune back to its former glory. He was largely successful except..
"Richard.." Ms. Kohler spoke, her eyes fixed upon the only other human presence in the room.She did not require an accommodation to the limited visibility the room had to offer. "It is time."
The ventilator in the room hissed a little more sharply than usual. A rasp, almost human, pervaded the pause that followed.
Ms. Kohler, casually lifted the closest lantern and strode towards the far side of the room. She made her way past two large cylindrical glass chambers that seemed to contain pistons in a constant, alternating rhythm, surrounded by a murky fluid environment. A pair of hoses snaked their way from outlets situated at the base of the cylinders, alongside a blood red Persian rug, towards the dull golden railing of a bed. No glances of curiosity were made. She held the lantern up and the flame cast its light far and wide up to a massive headboard, depicting a Lion that was valiantly lashing out at a throng of men, some of whom fought with pikes while most fled. The slain were carved in a macabre heap behind the Beast.
She smiled. Propped up beside the bed in a rocking chair was the small, frail figure of a man Ms. Kohler knew a little too well. Dressed in dark satin pyjamas, he seemed to be wearing sunglasses that concealed a good third of his face. His nose and mouth were covered by a translucent mask to which the hoses from the glass cylinders were attached. His arms lay motionless beside him. Tempting as it may seem to call the silhouette lifeless, a 'heave' along with the rise and collapse of his chest conveyed otherwise.
Richard grunted. He turned his neck to survey the movements of his visitor, the lantern in her hand was quite distracting.
She smiled. "Before we proceed, I want you to think back... I want you to think back to a time where you believed in God & Magic." Ms. Kohler's voice began to emanate from multiple sources. "Think back to a time when you believed in Love and Desire. I want you to think back to a time... when you would easily smudge the line between right and wrong."
The man squirmed. Her voice was making him uncomfortable. The pistons pumped faster and the hissing presented itself in shorter intervals.
"Good." She said without looking at him. She kept the Lantern aside and undid the neat pleats of her hair, letting it fall along her shoulders in thick locks of black.
Richard began to feel a tingle in his lifeless arms. It was not a pleasant experience. A searing pain began to spread to his chest.
"Now I want you to think of all the people you have deceived and manipulated. All the people you have killed in the name of serving your country."
The spasms had started. The wrinkles on the Old Man's face pronounced itself in a mask of agony.
"And finally, I want you to recollect..." Ms. Kohler stole a glance at Richard and continued, "the woman you had betrayed."
The serpentine runes in the design of the bronze hair pin gleamed as Ms. Kohler ran her right thumb along its shaft. The lantern's flame now licked the gentle arc of a dual faceted blade.. one that was notched with letters of a long lost language, snaking in smooth, gentle waves along the arc.. The blade joined a doubly curved shaft forged of a metal, alien to discovered science, that held the sheen of bronze. Together, the blade and the shaft made a formidable symbol of peasants - The Scythe. 
A symbol of harvest.


(End of Part 1)