Chapter 28 – The Mirror
Author's Note: It's been over fifteen years since I started writing Sang. To be honest, for a number of years (a decade at least) I assumed that I would never finish this story as the demands of life took me far from writing. However, I recently found that my life has settled into something resembling quiet and comfortable which has allowed me to revisit my old passions.
You may notice from each chapter's author note that I have re-written and re-uploaded this story in its entirety, which was done to improve the quality/consistency of writing, and so I could tie together the plot once and for all. I strongly suggest starting from Chapter 1 and working your way through to the new chapters, given the heavy edits.
This reimagined version of Sang is dedicated to all the kind people who've left reviews on this silly little story over the years, especially those special few who sent me messages years after my last update to check in. It may seem odd to describe something as mundane as fanfiction reviews like this, but those comments meant the world to me when I was younger. I suppose they were their own kind of magic.
Jacob paced restlessly around the circular tower room. Having long since finished his breakfast, he now searched for something to keep his mind occupied. Bright afternoon light streamed in through the high tower windows, illuminating the room's dusty contents. Recalling the peculiar cloak he'd found during his previous attempt at exploring the room's odds and ends, Jake cautiously began lifting up the old sheets of linen draped across the furniture to peak underneath. Frustrated as his efforts largely produced old mildewy leatherbound books and dead bugs, Jacob inspected an intricately carved wooden desk and pulled on the drawer's handle, nearly falling over as the drawer slid open with a sharp, grating noise.
"Seems promising," the younger Grimm commented dryly to the empty room. Peering into the desk drawer, Jacob cautiously pulled out a silver hand mirror. Trying to dispel the nagging voice in the back of his head that grew louder and louder as it reminded him of his last frightful encounter with a magic mirror, Jake sat down on the bed and gingerly examined the item's beautiful craftsmanship. The mirror's dainty silver handle was engraved with detailed depictions of apple blossoms trailing upward to wrap around the mirror's rim. Turning the delicate object over in his hands with care, the younger Grimm noticed a verse inscribed across the back.
Overcome with curiosity, and against his better judgement, Jacob read the verse aloud, "Mirror, mirror, with surface brilliant and sleek; show me the missing truth I seek." Turning the item over in his hands, he noticed faint shapes beginning to take form across the crystal clear surface. Jacob examined the scene unfolding before him in the glass as a familiar town square took shape in front of his eyes. Suddenly overcome by an overwhelming feeling of sleepiness, the younger Grimm slumped over on the bed, the mirror still clutched in his hand.
Townspeople gathered in the square as a dark cloud of smoke hung heavily in the sky. Stifled whispers and hushed murmurs occasionally broke the still morning air. Roused from their beds in the early hours by a loud clamouring of alarmed neighbours and the strong stench of burning, the people of Hameln waited anxiously to hear news of how far the fire had spread. Seeing their Mayor approach the town square, the murmuring grew in volume; theories, anxieties, and questions proliferating until the Mayor held up a hand sharply, commanding silence.
"Herr Lied and Frau Lied are dead," he announced coldly to the still crowd. Murmurs turned to whispers, bubbling up into shouts and accusations. "How had it happened to such an upstanding family?" The crowd demanded to know. "Why had the Mayor not organized a response to the fire before it got so large and out of control, where was he?" They accused, growing louder with each passing moment.
Taking a step back from the crowd in fear, the Mayor balked at the accusations thrown at him. He had been asleep, he retorted, exhausted by a night of entertaining merchants in an effort to entice traders to the small town. He was not at fault; he had been doing his duty to Hameln. The crowd bellowed in response, surging forward towards him.
"Herr Lied was our town's doctor," they shouted. "He set their broken bones and treated their illnesses," their accusations rang out, smothering the man's excuses. "And Frau Lied had such skill with herbs! She had treated their coughs, gotten their newborns to feed and sleep soundly," they pressed, moving towards the Mayor menacingly. "And where had he been?" the angry chorus exclaimed, "Sleeping off the drinks from entertaining his business partners!" Yelling began to erupt from the crowd as angry fists punched the air.
Trapped and cornered by the mob's shouts, the Mayor held up his hands to petition them. As the crowd quieted, he began weaving a wicked tale to avoid any further blame. "What if this fire is a sign?" He exclaimed, "The houses on either side are untouched by the flames, what if Herr and Frau Lied had become too engrossed in scholarly pursuits and healing herbs, and this was their punishment, having strayed too far from the Lord?"
The townspeople hadn't considered that. They paused their advance on the Mayor, as murmurs began flitting across the square. "Frau Lied had kept a laurel wreath on their door, was that a sign of witchcraft?" A voice asked, uncertainty fuelling the crowd's whispers. Emboldened by the crowd's response to his deception, the Mayor of Hameln continued loudly: "What if the fire was a punishment? A reminder for good folk not to waiver in their righteousness? Besides," the Mayor continued, "Who would take care of their boy? Could anyone afford an extra mouth to feed? You can't be too careful, maybe the boy's silver hair and eyes are an omen of misfortune."
Low discussions broke out amongst the townspeople. It was hard enough to feed their own family, the voices said, in an effort to dispel their guilty consciences. They could not afford to feed another and no one wanted to invite such misfortune into their house. No, perhaps it was best to keep their thoughts to themselves and not get involved. The crowd slowly began to disperse across the square, the townspeople shaking their heads in disbelief. A witch in their town, they muttered. Maybe the fire had not been such ill fortune.
The town square emptied, save for the silhouettes of two boys. One boy, with glistening silver hair, wore clothes that were blackened with soot, while the other boy was finely dressed with short dark hair. "Why didn't you say anything, Lukas? You know as well as I do that my mother wasn't a witch," the silver-haired boy sobbed. "And my papa, he would always help your father when he'd had too much to drink. Why did he lie? Why didn't you stop him?"
The dark-haired boy lowered his head in shame, putting a hand on his friend's arm. "I'm sorry, Gram, you know I couldn't have stopped him. I don't understand why he said that about your parents, they were always kind to me," he added, pulling the silver-haired boy into a tight hug.
"Lukas!" a voice screamed from the other end of the square, "What in God's name are you doing? Get away from that boy." The Mayor appeared at the door of the town's inn, stalking towards the two boys. "What will the people think? You moron, get over here," he commanded.
"Say something," the silver-haired boy pleaded, tears tracing paths through the soot on his cheeks as the Mayor's son took a step back from him.
"I- I'm sorry, Gram," Lukas replied softly, taking another step back, "I can't." The dark-haired boy turned away from his best friend and walked towards his father without a backward glance.
The silver-haired boy crumpled in the deserted town square, crying as he had lost everything dear to him in the world.
The orphaned boy left the burned ruins of his life in Hameln, walking aimlessly east. He recalled the townsfolk had talked about a prosperous town on the other side of the great forest. Maybe if he could reach that town, he would be able to start a new life. After all, there was nothing left for him here.
The silver-haired boy walked the long, winding road through the twisted old forest for many days; sleeping alone under the stars and waking as the sun rose, foraging what berries and mushrooms he recognized from his mother's lessons. He did not feel the cold, nor the rain, for the emptiness in his heart had numbed him to all the world's pain.
Following the road deeper into the woods, the boy came upon the ruins of a castle hidden amongst the trees. Eager to rest under shelter, he made his way towards the crumbling walls.
"Who goes there?" A voice boomed from the ruined stone walls as a hunched figure emerged from the stones. The silver-haired boy froze, deciding whether to remain or flee.
Seeing the young boy, the voice softened, "Don't run child, I didn't mean to frighten you. I was sorting through the ruins looking for old artifacts. Outlaws and all sorts of riffraff use this place to hide. Goodness me, are you alone out here?"
The silver-haired boy paused, hearing the warmth and kindness in the old man's voice.
"Do you want some food? You must not have anywhere to go, I imagine," The old man offered, coming closer to the boy. "Interesting hair and eyes you have too," he continued, "I bet your mother was a very wise woman. Can you read, boy?"
The silver-haired boy nodded solemnly in response. "Yes, Mein Herr, I can read well enough," he replied.
"Goodness then, I'm in luck! Would you learn the art of theurgy and be my apprentice, young lad?" The wizened old man asked with a kind grin.
"Learn what?" The silver-haired boy replied with blossoming curiosity. He had always loved to learn new things from his parents' books.
"Theurgy, lad. Magic!" The old magician exclaimed gleefully, "I am a theurgist to the nobleman whose keep is east of the forest, but as you can see my years are dwindling. I see that the past has not been kind to you, and I'm sorry but I cannot change that. I can offer you a good future if you promise to work hard and learn all you can. I'd wager my last good teeth that you have the knack for it."
The silver-haired boy hesitated for a moment, before replying with a slow nod of acceptance.
"What a blissfully quiet morning!" the young nobleman exclaimed to the silver-haired man from across the breakfast table. The magician raised his mug in agreement, glancing sidelong at his employer's eldest son. "Now you've gone and jynxed it, Schwarz," Gram replied with a laugh.
"Come on now, leave it to a theurgist to be so superstitious," the dark-haired man replied with a teasing grin. "Nothing exciting ever happens here, we just live our lives in quiet monotony."
"It's peaceful," the magician retorted with a chuckle, "I could happily grow old here if every day was as tranquil as this morning's breakfast."
The nobleman's glib reply was cut short by a bloodcurdling scream.
The magician greeted his employer with a solemn bow of his head, before anxiously inquiring: "My lord, has your eldest son returned yet?"
Sighing, the old nobleman shook his head in weary disappointment. "Schwarz has not returned. Go now, theurgist. Retrieve our stolen heirlooms and find my son."
The silver-haired magician hesitated at the entrance to the town, long-buried hurt and misgivings coiled tightly around his heart as he walked the familiar cobblestone street. Crossing the threshold into the town he disguised himself with a glamour, unwilling to experience his childhood home as himself. Hameln had grown since his youth he noticed, it had become prosperous and the town square bustled with activity. 'Perhaps the thief passed through here after all,' he mused to himself.
Walking the familiar streets, the magician began to notice movement in the alleyway shadows, masses of dark shapes moving against each other. Intrigued, he took a step closer, until he realized that the dark moving masses were made up of rats. Taking a step back in disgust, he saw that the scattered rodents had been feeding on a cat. Alarmed, the silver-haired man continued traversing the streets. There must have been thousands of rats, he realized with growing horror, their numbers were beyond counting.
Stepping into the town square, the magician felt his legs become heavy. He could remember the day he left Hameln as clearly as if it had happened yesterday, and he realized that he should not have returned. The silver-haired man leaned against a nearby building, his chest constricted. Taking slow breathes to regain control of his breathing, he steadied himself to continue searching the town.
As he straightened, he noticed a curious symbol that had been carved into the inn's wooden door. Although the magician had not seen this particular symbol before, he recognized its curves and spiralling characters as a curse, one which was uniquely powerful in that it required exchanging an item of equivalent value to be removed. He theorized that someone had been seriously harmed or wronged by whoever owned the building.
A dark-haired man exited the inn, freshly shaved and immaculately dressed. The magician recognized his sharp features at once and felt the blood leave his face. "Lukas?" he asked breathlessly, taking a step towards the man.
Not recognizing Gram through the glamour, the man looked him up and down disapprovingly before replying coldly, "I don't think we've met before, it's Herr Stahl to you. I'm the Mayor of Hameln, I own this inn."
Saddened by how his childhood friend had changed over the years, seeming to fully embody his father's callous character, the magician paused, uncertain how to proceed.
"Hold on, are you the person we sent for to take care of our rat problem?" Lukas questioned with renewed interest. "You're late. There are hundreds more appearing by the day, so you'd better reduce your fees for the inconvenience," he snapped.
"Rat problem?" the magician echoed, thinking back to the symbol carved into the inn door and wondering whether someone had intentionally cursed the town.
"God, yes, the rat problem, are you daft? Isn't that why you're here? We've been plagued by these rats for weeks," he exclaimed in exasperation.
"Indeed. Do you have any enemies, Herr Stahl? Have you done anything to make someone upset with you lately?" the magician questioned uneasily.
"What does that have to do with anything? Of course not. I just take care of business for the town, and if something's bad for business, I take care of that as well," he replied smoothly.
The magician was divided. He saw that the kind boy he had once known no longer remained, but Gram also held out hope that perhaps if he showed the man some kindness, it may soften his callous nature. He did not owe the townspeople his help, either, but his conscience could not let him leave without doing something to help.
"I see, Mein Herr," the silver-haired man replied slowly, "I can rid you of your rodent infestation, but it will come at a cost."
"Are you trying to swindle me?" the Mayor replied, eyes narrowing as he took a step towards the Magician.
"No, certainly not. I suspect that your town had been cursed, and lifting the curse permanently will require something of equal value to be paid," the magician replied.
"No need to bring nonsense like curses into it, I understand you want to be paid, name your price," the Mayor responded with a dismissive wave of his hand.
"The price is five hundred gold marks. The rats will be gone by sun up, and I will remain here for three days. If on the third day, the rats have not returned, I will take my payment then," the silver-haired man offered, extending a hand to seal the agreement.
"Five hundred gold marks is robbery," the Mayor spat, but noticing the magician's outstretched hand waiver, he quickly continued, "Hameln will pay it. No price is too high to be rid of these vermin. Meet me in front of the inn on the third day and I will pay you."
The magician grasped his outstretched hand and shuddered at its lack of warmth.
When the town square had fallen quiet in the long hours of the morning, the magician took a dagger to the symbol on the inn's door, defacing it and temporarily removing its power; however, he knew that the curse was too strong to be lifted by such a mundane thing, and it would reshape itself over the next few days if nothing of value was offered in exchange.
"Good evening, Herr Stahl," the magician spoke softly to the dark-haired man, as he approached the inn, "I was worried you had forgotten our promise, do you have the payment? I trust that you have not seen any more rats."
The Mayor flinched in response, noticing the other man. "What payment?" he retorted, raising his voice, "I don't recall making any deals with you, do you have a written and signed contract?"
The magician hesitated, taken aback by the other man's brash response and bold-faced lie. Suddenly, he understood exactly why the people of Hameln had turned their backs on his family. "Lukas, you fool," he muttered, angered and saddened at how the other man had changed. "We made a deal. I require something of value in exchange for lifting the curse. You will ruin Hameln if you continue down this path," the magician warned, searching for a hint of remorse or guilt in the other man's eyes.
"Are you threatening me?" The Mayor interjected angrily, "I can have you thrown out of this town if you refuse to leave."
"You've become your father, Lukas," the magician answered sadly, "Hameln will never prosper under someone so prideful with such a cold heart."
At that, the silver-haired man turned away from the Mayor and headed towards the town's east gate, pausing to snap a small branch from a hawthorn tree. Blowing gently on the branch, it transformed into a fine wooden flute. Examining the instrument thoughtfully, the magician considered whether such a drastic gambit would be enough to deter Lukas from his wretched path and convince him to pay what was owed to lift the curse.
Drawing the pipe to his lips and playing the first note, the magician hoped for the sake of Hameln's children, and the town's future, that he was not wrong.