Drip drip drip
Deep within a vast evergreen forest, sat a small meadow of pristine nature. The drops of dew quaked upon the blades of grass, the hues of a dawning sky held deep inside the glassy reflection. The wind blew quaint as it sang and traipsed between the trees; merrily the trees danced in reply. Through the meadow ran a rough trail. Evidently used only on occasion.
Down it's muddy length ran a streak of muddled crimson. A signature of blood steadily fading from the mist of rainfall. It's very author lay sprawled on their side, their face pointed skyward.
It was a young woman, little more than seventeen. At a glance she seemed like the most natural sense of perfect. She had a rustic quaker beauty, as if nature itself had molded her. However, she held one fatal flaw: her protruding stomach had been slit, slashed open just above the navel. The contents of her innards all but forced upon the world.
As the rain pattered rhythmically upon her skin, a faint breathing could be heard. Although, it was not her own. Her eyes were lifeless, pale from the grasp of death. Her skin was cool to the touch, a shade too grey for life.
Rather, the breathing came from beside her. Somewhere within the mess of intestines and innards and gore. With a deliberate hum, the rainfall washed away the fil. Revealing a baby boy underneath it. A tender life.
The child was oddly malformed: thick knees bowed outwards, shoulders wider than his frame, a skull too large for his body, large birthmarks, and splotches of lighter tone skin. Oddest of all however, was a set of miniscule arms that sat just above his middle row of ribs.
Suddenly the baby's breath halted. Minutes passed as he lay there, now drowned by the faintest of drops. His skin too, began to cool and tint grey.
Yet, just as quickly as the baby stopped breathing, it cried. Water and placenta and gore vacated from his orifices. His skin had once again grown warm, saturated back to the warmth of bole brown. His enlarged head sported coarse smokey black hair. It was then his eyes opened, perceiving the world around him; a deep shade of bistre brown gleamed from behind his lids.
Minutes turned to hours, as the evergreens struggled to contain the light of the morning suns. The clouds had expended their water, thinning as they dissipated. Still the baby cried, his mother now solidified, held taut by rigor mortis.
Time flowed ever onwards, as morning turned to noon. The universe seemed not to care for the baby's pleas. Even the overtly large raven, which had settled on his mother's body, cared not for the boy. Enraptured in the feast of flesh and guts before it.
Soon enough, noon turned to evening. The sun uninterruptedly waned, a threat of nightfall soon to come. Still the baby cried out, his voice thinner than before, but nonetheless often. The scavengers multiplied, the corpse of the woman played host to a grand conspiracy of ravens. The ravens had nearly picked the cadaver clean, only trace amounts of flesh and sinew remained.
Time passed once more, as darkness fell. The gift of vision granted only to the select few worthy; the blessed of the night - the nocturnal caste. Still the baby cried, his utterances now raspy, barely audible to even the sharpest of ears.
The conspiracy had completed their meal, sated and content they retreated back into the night - their visage disappeared into the forest.
Fwip
As the ravens vanished into the trees, a lumbering silhouette appeared on the evergreen outskirts. Atop the silhouette, three sets of eyes pierced through the darkness. Instinctively the baby stopped, his wails dying inside his throat.
An instant later the silhouette stood above the babe; all six eyes trained upon him.
Although the creature stood directly above him, the depth of night proved greater than his vision. Only six gleaming eyes were visible, silvered by the wash of the moon.
"An oddity... you are... but why... has fate... bestowed you... before me?" The creature chortled, in a silent mind-piercing shriek. "Child... will you... show me... what reality... you see?"
The babe lay there, his eyes wavered as he gazed upon the creature. The night grew silent, as sound no longer reached the boy. It seemed as if time itself turned to silence, the beat of father time halted. With an aloof grip, the creature snatched up the babe.
An instant passed, and the pair dissappeared from the meadow. As the sounds of the night returned, a bright flash streaked across the sky - perhaps the universe had heard the boy's pleas.
Perhaps.
*****
Huff huff huff
A drop of sweat fell onto the iridescent journal, the tarry ink settling deeper into the pages. The pages read as thus:
'I... don't truly know how best to start this. I... was dead. I can remember it as vivid as a moving photo. We were lead astray, our command post had been compromised. We were knowingly sent to our graves. I remember my men fled. They left me to die. We were supposed to be bound to each other, our bond forged in the fire of death. We fought, and won, through the most ruthless hardships. Even still... they offered my soul to death with no qualms.
And then... I was here. A boy marred by the disfortune of fate. But, I wasn't reborn, I didn't reincarnate - nor did I transmigrate; at least I don't feel that's the case. The boy is me and I, him. Almost like, like I lived parallel to this life. I have to think on this. I... just... I don't know.
It's been, say, four or so years since my birth. (Maybe I should call it my awakening?) Since the day that... creature, snatched me up. It wills me to call it Gol, some form of mental speech I suspect. It feels most sinister a being, worse than any of the many horrors I've seen before. Oddly enough however, it appears to hold no malice towards me. At the very least the creature, Gol, leaves me to my own devices often enough. I thin-'
A mind-melting shriek pierced out from behind the boy, hunched over his journal, quill in hand. An instant later the boy turned, as the journal and quill seemed to vanish from his grasp.
"So... fated child... this is... where you have... fled to..."
A towering creature stood behind the boy. Five virulent eyes locked on the child's back, a sixth trained upon his hands; or rather on the journal and quill that were in them.
"I-I was jus-" the boy tried to speak, before his voice was taken from him.
"Silence now... fated child... you have... fared competently..." Gol stated in it's clipped speech. "It would seem... you have... attained some... comprehension regarding your... uniqueness..."
The boy unconsciously shivered. He felt as though Gol had seen his journal, in spite of his attempt to hide it. His skin began to crawl, as goosebumps creeped up towards his throat.
'Hopefully it didn't catch me. Please.' The boy internally pleaded, his thoughts raced, as he tried to think of what best to say. 'This is a learnable moment, at least.'
"I... I suppose, yeah." The boy responded in the most composed tone he could muster. "Might it also have to do with why you've kept me here? In this d-"
Gol flicked one of his numerous eyes, and once more the boy felt his voice taken.
"You are... to be... named... and more... critically... developed..." In a deliberate movement, Gol placed a hand over half it's face.
The boy could only watch as three foreboding eyes looked upon him.
"The Twins... have decided... upon it..."
The eyes seemed to twist and morph in the boy's perspective. The three eyeballs undulated in unknowable patterns. Gradually they grew and shrank, infintesimally close and infinitely far. His voice had been taken, but now his breath had as well. The boy felt his brain swell against it's boney cage. His organs shifted, revolting against his own skin.
Until only nothing was present; simultaneously dark and light surrounded him. The boy sensed nothing, felt and heard nothing, thought nothing.
"Welcome... Achre..."
*****
Arche opened his eyes, faint colorless patterns outlined his vision. Before him lie a vast evergreen forest, the light of dawn some way off. As he looked around, he realized he was in a clearing. A meadow of sorts.
He noticed not only his sight had returned to him, but the outlandish effects had stopped. The colorless patterns listlessly faded from his sight. He felt dew on his bare feet, a light misting of rain on his skin, and tasted a hint of iron in the air.
Achre looked towards the grass beneath his soles and recognized where he was: his birthsite.
Achre estimated at least four years had passed, from his birth until now. His body certainly resembled that of a malformed four year old; albeit with four arms instead of two.
The sight before him proved otherwise. It was his mother's corpse. Fresh blood slowly leaked from her belly, her innards splayed across the ground beside her.
Yet within those innards was nothing. No babe or fetus. Not even a sign his mother looked pregnant.
'This is... precisely the moment I awoke here. Everything seems the same, except for her.'
As the thought crossed Achre's mind, he reached towards his mother, hoping to find any personal affects or identifiers. Anything to help him know who this woman was. To know who his mother was. To know who he is.
A short search of her person concluded with Achre finding two things: a necklace bearing a cross eerily similar to his before his death, and a deeply worn envelope.
He quickly inspected the cross necklace. From it's bindings, to it's material, to it's clasp - every surface was thoroughly examined. Achre noticed a faint greenish patina on the right side of the cross; something gained only after years of rubbing his right-hand thumb across it. Even the slight chip along the front, a testament of his protection from an errant enemy saber, was present.
Achre stared at the cross with solemn eyes, deep in thought.
'I can only think of four possibilities from what I know thus far. Firstly, this is an incredible coincidence - this cross has gone through the same things mine has. Secondly, this is in some form, a perfect copy of my own. Thirdly, when I died my cross came with me, and somehow managed to work it's way to my mother. Fourthly, is that this is my cross, and the time and place I'm in now... is further along from my own death.'
Creases appeared on Achre's four year old forehead. His eyebrows and face formed a deep scowl, uncharacteristic of his juvenile body.
'While I can't rule any of them out at this point, I suspect the first, third, and fourth theory the least. A coincidence of this nature is incredibly improbable - and if it did come with me, why hadn't my locket made the journey as well? As for the fourth, my world only revolved around a singular sun during my lifetime. '
'The second would be the most plausible, especially considering my circumstances. Not to mention that Gol, and potentially others similar to it exist. Hmm, I'll mentally note this for the future.'
As he finished up his thoughts on the cross, Achre stuffed it into his shoe, as he had no pockets on his current linen wear. He also did this for the envelope, as he surmised the rain would almost certainly damage whatever contents may be inside. A risk not worth taking.
Achre sighed, quiet contemplation about his next step written across his face. He moved to grab the only thing of use remaining on her: her waxed woolen cloak.
Having acquired some protection from the rain, Achre immediately put it on - oversized as it may be. Then he searched nearby for any form of digging tool, before stumbling on a suitable stone.
It took hours of swinging away at the earth before a deep enough hole was dug. Even with his extra set of arms, Achre felt the fatigue pile up. His juvenile body and poor digging implement only serving to exacerbate the issue.
After a great deal of struggle to lower her down, Achre looked upon his mother for what he felt was the first and final time. Her gentle disposition clear across her face, even through the torment she must have faced in her final moments. A single, silent tear marked Achre's state.
'You look barely more than a girl... younger than some of my brats even. You never got to truly live as a woman, or a mother. I will never meet you, but it seems you died struggling so I could survive. At least that's how I'll look at it. I won't let some God-forsaken birds feast on you.'
Achre bent down and placed his hand over her eyes, as he recited a short prayer before closing her eyelids.
Half an hour later and Achre had finished her burial site; a small pyre of stones her final marker. The suns had risen considerably, nearing mid-morning by Achre's best guess. The rain still misted in a neat shower, as thin clouds walked across the sky.
'I can't promise you'll be avenged. This world holds far too many unknowns. I feel as though I'm somehow failing you and I'm sorry; call it selfishness if you want. It's just that... I want to live...'
Achre stood for a few minutes, contemplating. His exhaustion now gnawed at the back of his neck, as it moved to drain his mental fortitude. But Achre was a boy of mental resilience, and pushed the fog of fatigue from his mind.
Having exhausted all his options with the meadow, Achre looked down both directions of the path. He had to decide now: to either trace back where his mother had fled or to follow where she was going.
With a flick of his upper arms, Achre threw on the cloaks hood as he came to a conclusion. His feet began to move as he started down the trail.
Onwards Achre walked, his fate uncertain.