Reaper: Undertake

This is my first attempt at a short story because why the hell not, right? The beginning is a little shaky seeing as I'm still trying to find my bearings with this story. Welcome Chapter 1: Walk

Chapter 1

Walk

 

The air had a bite to it that would make jaws jitter, and the wind would cause arms to wrap around one another in an attempt to keep warm. That is what the people did, and though they thought they could fight off the blizzard; no one expected an avalanche to collapse onto the unsuspecting village.

Where I stood now, peeking out of a pile of snow was a little blue hand clutching the corner of on old worn away blanket. I frowned and pulled my staff closer to me, twisting my wrist until a long curved silver blade pierced from the black wood and wrapped around me, from my shoulder to my knee. Curved in such a way, it looked like a crescent moon. I lifted my staff and swiped the snow pile.

Though the pile had no cut, three shimmering blue white orbs slowly rose from the snow, whispering and the smallest of the three giggled like any child would. I let go of my staff and clung to it with one hand, while the other reached out towards the orbs and they floated towards me, the child’s one bouncing up and down. They rested in the palm of my hand and I clenched my fist around them. When I opened my hand, they were small specs. Specs that resembled snowflakes.

They glowed once more before they sank into my skin. I looked around the rooftops of the village houses that were buried in snow. So many have perished…I held my Scythe with both hands and continued my reaping, slicing the snow and collecting the souls.

It took me a few hours to complete my task but when I was sure I collected all the souls of the village’s inhabitants, I counted them: thirteen animals perished, forty-five humans perished and the grand total is fifty-eight. Fifty-six went to heaven, the others sank below the snow to hell""

“You forgot one, Grimmy…”

I sensed it, the last soul to survive in this community. I rose to my feet and decided to take a walk to the soul I had missed. I stopped before the house, and noticed it was the one completely buried in snow. Obviously it was the first house hit by the avalanche and yet, one soul survived. Barely…

Then I heard the coughing, the soft heartbeat. I turned an ear, and it confirmed my suspicion: there was one more community member alive. I placed my hand on the snow and felt his body, buried deep beneath. I sighed and grabbed my scythe and plunged it deep into the snow, I hooked the person and fished him out of the snow pile. His blue body hung by his shirt on my scythe and his glazed green eyes met mine and they grew wide.

“A-A-Ankou,” the well dead man managed to say.

I cocked my head to the side, “Hello, Companion. How fare thee in this frightful weather?” The well dead man did not answer me, instead he stared as his blue lips tried to form words, and I spoke, “You are the last one alive in your Community, Companion.”

“I-I-I-I am n-n-n-not dead-d-d-d yet-t-t-t,” he managed to say. His feet dangled beneath him, bare and blue, his skin almost black.

I listened to his heart, soft and faded. I met his gaze, “Not yet, Companion. Your heart is fading, your skin turns black. You have a strong soul, but that will not save you from death.”

“I-I-I-I r-r-r-re-refuse you, Ankou!” he attempted to shout, but his voice squeaked as if he screamed for hours and hours for someone to rescue him.

I sighed, “Many people fear death""”

“I do not fear death,” he said perfectly clear. I could tell from his soul he was not afraid to die and he was not ready to die, “I do not fear you, Ankou…”

I nodded, “I can tell, Companion,” I rested my scythe in the crook of my arm, “Hmmm, you are a strong soul, however your heart is fading quickly.”

“I do-do-do-do not want to d-d-d-d-d-die,” he pleaded. “Perhaps we-we-we-we can compromise, A-A-A-Ankou.”

“Perhaps we can,” I plucked him from my scythe and he fell down, his legs unable to bear his weight. His arms unable to push him to his knees to face me. I crouched down, “Does a life in the afterlife sound promising?”

His eyes dimmed even though his cheeks were wet with tears, “That is still death.”

“Yes,” I raised my scythe high above my head and put all my force into my reaping, “But you do not fear death, Ankou.”

 

Throughout the Centuries, I have collected souls alone. And though it was an endless task, it was tedious sometimes. As the world populated, I got permission from Father to create more Reapers so more souls could be reaped. But each time I created a reaper, I abandoned them to do my bidding. Though I appreciated the extra help, I enjoyed being alone. I had enough company with all the souls I was reaping, and with my staff.

Our paths would cross often, and they seemed to enjoy their new jobs.

It seemed like I was the only one who found a fault in immortality…

 

July 14^th 1789

 

“Something is starting…”

The red tendrils swirled around my fingers, entwining and enchanting as they swirled and curled around my fingertips. The tendrils pulled my hand close, brushing up against my fingers, shimmering in an enchanting dance that pulled me in. It was strange the blood was so enticing and teasing, especially after being murdered so violently. A gurgle brought my head up from the beautiful red. And like a velvet red ribbon, I followed the stream to a soldier laying almost lifeless on the ground, a dark red liquid spilling from his mouth as a hand stabbed his chest over and over again in slow motion. His eyes finally met mine and widened in fear.

“D-d-d-d-d-d-d,” was all the solider could spit out.

I stood up to my full height, his eyes following me despite the fact that the woman sitting on his chest was slashing away at his skin repeatedly. From my robe, I presented my staff. A long black staff that wasn’t made of wood, or any human material and perched on top was a pure white skull that had a grin on its jaw. My bony fingers tapped on the staff and curving from it, endless and dangerous, a curved blade wrapped around me. Shiny and sharp as it encircled me from my shoulder, curved from my back and coming back to my knee. The soldier coughed up more blood but did not move, and the woman did not stop slashing him. Her stabs getting deeper and deeper with each plunge.

“Hello, soldier…,” His eyes widened as the skull atop my staff peered down at him. The ground around him was drenched in his blood, and yet he still held on. My skull cocked an eyebrow ridge and spoke, “Have you suffered enough?” The solider blinked and tears began to fall as he nodded. My skull looked ahead, “Very well. Rest in peace, solider.”

I grabbed my staff with my other hand and raised my Scythe above my head, the solider closed his eyes just as I brought my blade down. Without a mark on his skin, a blue orb erupted from his chest and clung to me, sinking into my bones and emerging smaller as it floated up to the sky. I gazed around, fires were burning and soldiers were being beaten mercilessly by peasants who had armed themselves with pikes, blades and muskets. Other peasants started digging into the walls with their weapons, then prying the bricks free with their bare hands. Every action around me seemed to be moving in slow motion, and I moved through the bloody corridors unnoticed as I brought my Scythe down again, and again, and again. The orbs attached themselves to my cloak, absorbed into my bones and then shooting up to the sky or down below the earth. The little orbs burned red like the embers of the fires around me, unnoticed by the public as they moved towards the sky, or below the fortress’ floors.

“Release me! Release me at once!”

I had reaped my last soul within the walls of the fortress when I heard the cries, and witnessed a man being carried away by a group of men. His white wig was discarded on the ground below him, his socks and coat were unravelled from fighting off his abductors. I followed silently, using my Scythe as a walking stick as I witnessed the group of men holding the well-dressed man before the crowd. The well-dressed man struggled as one man emerged from the crowd. The man was tall, dark haired and dressed almost as well as the other. In his hand he held a large axe. I strode forward, invisible to the spectators as I appeared beside the well-dressed man. Ever the observer, I watched as the dark-haired man handed his axe to another and then slam his fist into the well-dressed man’s jaw. Another captor kicked the well-dressed man in the ribs, another produced a small dagger and stabbed him in his shoulder.

This continued for a while before the dark haired man spoke, “Governor Marquis Bernard deLaunay. You stand accused of not giving the people what they want. We want to save our country, crawl out of our situation. Why did you stop us? Why do you fire cannons at your people?” the dark haired man demanded, “Do you not wish to save us? Do you not choose the side of the people?”

The Governor was released, and as he stood slowly he fixed his coat and stared at the dark haired man. His lip was split and blood covered his chin as he glared at his opponent, “You think you do this for the good of the people?”

“I know I do this for the people, Governor,” the man replied. He poked at the Governor, “What do you do? You hide behind the fortress walls and give orders. You eat like a pig while others die of starvation. You choose not the people, Governor. You choose yourself. And now I give you the choice…join the other soldiers and join us in our greatest cause, or join the Bastille and fall.”

The Governor glared at the man and spat at his feet and then with one swift lift of his leg, he kicked the dark haired man in the groin and was pulled back by the people, screaming, “I choose death! I will fall with the Bastille""!”

“Kill him!” the dark haired man ordered.

The Governor was tackled to the ground and held down as another man grabbed the axe and lifted it above his head. The Governor’s eyes widened and met my gaze as I stood at his feet. He did not speak, though I knew he wanted an answer.

The skull atop my staff looked at me as I spoke, “Governor Marquis Bernard de Launay. This is not a war,” The axe started it descend, aimed at the Governor’s neck, “This is a revolution.”

I raised my own staff just as the axe met its mark and I brought my Scythe down, taking his soul and sending it to its designated location. I watched at the people took the head of the Governor and a few other soldiers and put their heads on pikes. With delicate hands, they put make-up on the dead faces and around Paris, the people paraded the heads of the Governor and his people as celebration broke out and the people of Paris began tearing away at the Bastille with their bare hands as the fire burned all through the night.

“That escalated quickly…,” my skull said to me. I nodded in agreement, “The other Reapers will come soon, and perhaps you should finish up your collecting.”

I looked at my skull, “I wanted to witness the start of a Revolution. I had no idea so many would die.”

“You’re not complaining,” the skull grinned. “Besides, we haven’t reaped like this in a long, long time.”

I turned from the people, leaving the massacre and the celebration. And no one would miss me, no one would notice. To these humans, I was invisible, “It messed with my nap…”

 

*~*~*

 

“I don’t know if I like this one.”

“Oh, I think it’s beautiful.”

“Well, of course you would! What do you think, darling?”

The sky was particularly dark tonight and the stars weren’t as bright. The moon was absent from the night sky but there was an eerie feeling hanging in the air, but at the same time it was inspirational.

“Marie?”

She jumped a little and turned to look at her friends, “Sorry. I was daydreaming. What’s the matter?”

Her friend stood up, flashing the diamond ring that was on her middle finger. Gold and extravagant with intricate carvings on the band of the ring and the diamond was a bright blue, almost the same colour as Marie Antoinette’s eyes.

“Oh, it’s lovely,” she replied half-heartedly. Of course she didn’t like the blue, but she wouldn’t tell her friend that. She turned from her friend and stared at the window, trying to force this feeling down into her stomach.

She turned to the door when she heard footsteps coming towards them. A maid appeared and bowed before she spoke, as per usual, and she clasped her hands in front of her, “The King has returned from his Hunting trip, my Queen.”

“Oh, wonderful. Where is he now?” Marie asked, walking towards her, skirt in hand as her friends stood up to follow her.

“He is with the children in his study,” the maid replied.

“Lovely,” Marie Antoinette passed the maid, “Thank you, Elise.”

The maid bowed and she left the parlour and walked towards Louis’ study with haste. Perhaps her beloved husband could ease this distressing feeling building within her. She pushed open the doors and smiled when she saw her husband pick up his youngest son. Their daughter smiling at his feet. Their eyes met and Marie Antoinette smiled widely.

“Welcome home, dear,” she walked into his study which contained sturdy heavy wood furniture, pretty portraits, overly decorated wallpaper and a chandelier. She walked into her husband’s arms and kissed his cheek, “How was your trip?”

“Read it in my journal, love,” Louis said jokingly, bending down to kiss his daughter. He struggled, his stomach making it difficult to bend down.

Marie smiled and turned to his desk, and although she hated reading, she read his journal entry aloud, in her best impersonation, “July 14^th 1789. Nothing""”

She was cut short when a servant strode in, he was paled and sweat covered his brow. Louis stood up, his daughter and sons stopped calling for his attention as they listened to what news he brought, “Sire, the Bastille was attacked by the people of Paris this morning. Governor Marquis Bernard de Launay was slaughtered.”

Marie gasped but Louis just stared, and casually asked, “Is it a revolt?”

The news-bearer began quivering, head-to-toe and shook his head quickly from side to side, “No, Sire. It’s a revolution.”

Louis clenched his jaw and turned to Marie, “Don’t look so worried, love. Please, retire for the evening. It’s late,” he caressed her cheek.

Marie would never go to bed so early, but this news made her uneasy feeling grow. She cleared her throat, “Yes, dear,” she smiled at her children. “Come, time for bed.”

“But Mamma""”

“Now, now Marie-Thérèse. We have to do as your father says,” Marie smiled up at her husband. She kissed his cheek before she left, and grabbed the children’s’ hands and left Louis’ study.

After bidding each child goodnight, her maids helped her prepare for bed. She was dressed and tucked in but she could not sleep. She stared up at the canopy ceiling of her bed and played with the long blonde ends of her hair. Everything felt like it was going too fast but at the time it felt too slow. This uneasy feeling building in her body was making her nervous. Why would the people attack the Bastille? Why would the kill the Governor? She knew Louis was panicking about it because he didn’t know how to handle situations like this. She stared at the canopy, stress finally sinking into her bones until finally exhaustion claimed her and she drifted off to sleep.

 

 

It was easy seeing her thoughts, feeling her worry. I knew what would come for her, but I couldn’t prepare her for it. This was the difficult part of my job, watching people that were sort of decent fall into decay and death. I knew her pain was just beginning and I couldn’t stop it. In all honestly, I couldn’t wait for her and King Louis XVI’s monumental deaths but there was something about this woman.

As she slept, she looked so young and carefree but I knew she was worrying about a lot of things. All materialistic, because the Queen of France had nothing to worry about. I knew she knew that the attack on the Bastille was starting to bother her, it was answering the unease within her. With a bony hand, I caressed her cheek. I had been waiting a long, long time for her death, and this was the start of it.

“This is unusual. You never fancy anyone,” my skull whispered.

I nodded, staring at her beautiful face, the worry had vanished. Though she could not see me, I had a feeling she knew that I was there. I brushed her hair aside and she shivered under my touch. I leaned forward, her skin brushing against my lips. I breathed in her scent, though I could not breathe at all.

“You, Marie Antoinette,” I whispered to her, “Will be a beautiful death.”

I kissed her forehead and she frowned in her sleep, and I knew a nightmare was starting to plague her. I stood up straight, staring at the Queen as she began tossing and turning, muttering in her sleep. I didn’t wish I could prevent her death, it was necessary…

“If I didn’t know better, Grimmy. I’d say you were looking to bone her,” my skull said. Then he burst into loud, obnoxious laughter, “Bone! Get it!”

“I caught it,” I said, my face impassive. I could feel death all around me, casual for me. But it was intensified, “Some of the other Reapers are here.”

“There is going to be a lot of bloodshed, Grimmy. Of course they’d be here!” Bones chuckled.

I caressed Marie’s cheek, “I am not looking forward to their arrival.”

Bones stayed still, quiet as a mouse which was very out of character for him. I glanced at him, and he stared before him, eyebrow ridges moving as if he was listening to someone. Bones’ empty eye sockets finally turned to me, and a slow sadistic smile crept onto his jaw, “Oh, Grimmy. Have I got news for you! And you’re going to hate…every…word.”

Author's Note

A/N: So thank you so so much for the tips from my first Reviewer:Glen Yumang Manese, I really appreciate the advice.

Anyway, this is where my little story starts and I hope you enjoy it. It really is a little difficult to write I need to be accurate about the French Revolution, so I did a lot of research and I'm actually kind of sick of documentaries.

Anyway, I hope you like this chapter! Please review so I can know what's on your brain. Thank a million! :)