High above the clouds, twin suns danced with one another. The larger, dimmer orange star played more solitary a role. The smaller, brighter, and noticeably whiter star held no qualms of its orbit; almost buzzing with glee as it moved around its better.
The dense forest canopy, despite being luscious and full, could not completely block the sky from the forest floor. The trees were as tall as any Achre had ever seen; Achre guessed the shortest spanned a hundred metres or more. He also estimated at least five hours had passed - by simply applying his pre-death understanding of his old world.
The walk had been uneventful, as Achre methodically studied what knowledge he'd obtained thus far. Sorting through his first few years under Gol allowed Achre a small font of knowledge. The majority of which pertained to various topics about the world he now lived. A small portion contained different understandings, things he could not comprehend. Things like the iridescent journal he had hidden from Gol; perhaps the only thing Achre had deciphered, as of late.
The burying of his mother had taken a deep toll on Achre. The walking, especially at the speed and breadth Achre had gone, sapped the absolute remainder of his stamina. Only his mental fortitude and willpower carried him, his four year old body burning under the stress.
'Another hour or so, then I have to find a suitable rest spot. The best case would be near a water source, preferably running water. I also don't know the limits of my current body. And then, I'll wri-'
Schick Schick, Schick Schick
Achre immediately dropped down and rolled off the path, placing himself squarely in a mass of brush. He closed his eyes and listened, his ears sharp as he attempted to pinpoint the location of the sound. In a forest so dense and lush, it would be difficult to locate the sound's origin.
To Achre's ears, it resembled a more resonant woodpecker; although its rhythm was in two beats of two. A handful of seconds passed before Achre roughed out the location.
'Right around two to four o'clock. Can't quite make out if there's a singular source, or multiple - what to do, what to do...'
As he sat there in contemplation, Achre's body nearly gave out. Being in a prone position gave his body all the authority needed to slip into sleep. His only check and balance against it, being his mind and will.
In a groggy movement Achre forced himself into a squat, a trick he learned during his time with the military; the move may have exposed him. Yet, Achre suspected falling asleep with an unknown variable nearby was far worse, than potentially being caught moving by said variable.
As his brush settled once more, a dull trundling came from behind him. Although Achre believed there was a chance the variable in front caught him, he was certain the variable behind did not. The trundling noise moved nearer to Achre's spot. It stopped dead in its tracks the moment it paralleled the boy.
"One survived; the black tongue will certainly weep!" Screamed out a shrill, weepy voice. "Heed us child, we grow sick of our own impatience!"
Hearing those words, Achre cautiously backed out of the bush. Before him was a distinct visage. An elongated carriage, laden in silver and gold trim, highlighted with royal purple and pewter-blue baubles. It was not a troop of horses that pulled it, rather there were seven short man-like creatures. The yokes were attached to their throats, a vibrant red bag atop each of their heads as it blocked any hope of vision.
'Similar in appearance to gnomes or halflings from my old worlds pop-culture. Yet, they seem demented, almost twisted in a way.'
As Achre looked up to take the driver's appearance in, he felt a tap on the base of his brain stem. As if something reached through his spine and poked directly at his mind; the driver was gone.
"No, no, no! Not gnomes or halflings impetuous child, but toadies; these ones are unique to us of course." The shrill weepy voice was now hushed, a direct whisper in Achre's ear. "We've seen stranger things than a child of four, with thoughts at this level of... sentience. Haven't we?"
As the driver finished speaking, the jab into Achre's mind halted. Achre suddenly turned, a hope to witness the driver behind him.
"A fool you are boy. If you had seen the Imp, you'd have experienced a fate far crueler than death." Again, a voice came from the top of the carriage - sonorous and monotone. "From the Imp's prattling, we take it you are not of this world originally."
Achre turned once more, slower now. His gaze landed upon the driver. A creature that was both stout and lithe in appearance, both tidy and disorganized in apparel. An expressionless grey mask sat where a face should be - not on top of a face, but in place of one. Vibrant red eyes pierced through it. The body was split vertically down the middle; half a pewter-blue and half a royal purple. Gold and silver bells hung from the driver's head, quite similar to a jesters cap from Achre's old world.
"I am... you are indeed correct, sir." Achre replied in a deeply cautioned tone.
"Interesting. Interesting indeed. However, we are no sir. We are they who are... or is it whom?" The sonorous and monotone voice echoed behind the mask. Upon the final utterance the voice changed again, as the mask washed into an eggshell brown. "Hah Hah Hah Hah... ever the unknowing. The Goliath was correct, runt."
"Apologies for the fingering of the Imp, runt. Now! Enter our humble abode! We bid it of you..." The voice was soft and soothing, a hollow presence of invitation apparent. "You certainly don't want be stuck out here, with a monster of such demented nature."
Achre's mind felt weak, the constant change in voice wreaked havoc upon his already drained mentality. The mental prod snapped his final nerve, as his mind entered the first stages of a crash. He grounded himself and clutched the cloak tight to his skin. Any semblance of normalcy was much needed.
Achre looked to the woods, his mind drifting back to the sound he originally heard. He then looked towards the driver and it's eggshell brown mask. Although it's words seemed magically enticing, he withdrew even further into caution. All his life's experiences had trained him enough that he could tell, the creature before him was mortally dangerous. Alarms and bells rang out via his instincts - every fibre of his body and mind screamed at him to run.
Achre took a step forward. He understood this creature had somehow read his thoughts, and any chance of escape was now long gone.
"Thank you kind... sirs? I shall take you up on your gracious invitation." Achre mustered up the courage to step closer to the carriage. As he neared, the driver waved his hand and the door disappeared. A pure blackness stood behind its breach.
"Enter quickly, runt; before the worst of us arrives." The soft soothing voice stated, before it bursted out in a haunting laughter. "Pray to whatever foreign beings you must - and do... enjoy... your time within our humble abode."
Achre grabbed the exterior handle, as he stepped up towards the darkness. He knew whatever happened would be terrible, or at least he suspected it. Achre entered into the black breach.
*****
Achre awoke to the sound of a grand organ. It's tune bouncing around him. The room was covered floor to ceiling in black and white polygons; no shape matching another. It smelt dank, of mildew. Achre sat up and looked around, a row of balconies looked down upon him. They were disjointed and sporadic, yet formed a complete link encircling the floor where he sat.
"Aha! It has awoken, everyone!"
Just as Achre heard the all-encompassing boom, he witnessed sets of eyes and mouths alight from the balconies. With the exception of the eye color, a vibrant red, the mouths were of all sorts. Some were massive and smiled, others bared teeth and fangs, others were hateful and frowned.
"Why has the driver picked up this one?"
"My son! My son!"
"Who cares for the insignificant creature?"
"Where is my supper? I can't wait!"
"Unlike that other one, this little one's soul looks absolutely delectable!"
A chaotic mess of voices and cries and shrieks exploded like violent cacophony in Achre's ears. Achre could no longer last. With everything he experienced since he had been transported to his birthsite, and now this rave, he dropped to the floor and writhed in pain.
His body did the only thing it could instinctually do to protect itself - it forcibly cut Achre from any form of coherence. As he sank deeply into unconsciousness, a final thought floated to the surface of his mind.
'Cunts're worse than the brats.'
*****
The faint crackling of fire and logs being stoked shocked Achre from his slumber. Once again, he was in a different place. This time it was a large family room, with dark-brown leather furniture and log cabin walls.
'This shit was annoying at first, but it's really starting to piss me off.'
As he looked towards the hearth fireplace, he saw a girl in plaid nightwear stoke the flames. From his own estimate she was roughly fourteen or fifteen years old.
"You're lucky, you know." She said with a tender hum. Her auburn double french braids hung to her shoulder blades. She turned and looked at Achre. The girl's soft, moss green eyes settling on Achre's face. "You can call me Odessa."
"Uhm... hi. I'm Achre... I think?" He replied in kind.
"Would you mind telling me why a small boy would be wandering the trails of Quailoon?"
"Quailoon?" Achre said almost backhanded, as his thoughts quickly deepened. In a short mutter, he stated, "so that's where I am."
With a practiced hand, the girl placed the stoker back on its rack. Before making her way to the leather sofa Achre sat on. Up close and in the light, Achre could make out the finer parts of her face: she had sun-kissed skin, light freckles smattered across her nose bridge, faint dimples that highlighted her smile. He thought she was cute, in the sense a father thinks a daughter - like how he was with his younger siblings.
"Not only lucky, but also very smart for your age. No, not even that. You are just smart outright." Odessa stated, her hand gingerly cupped his jaw and turned it to see the back of his head. "That bruise seems to be going down."
As if on cue, the base of Achre's skull stung with a burning pain. Despite his best effort, a clear but quick grimace highlighted across his face. Odessa noticed it, and just as gingerly let go.
"Here, turn again and let me apply this." Odessa exclaimed, as she reached to the sofa's side table, a small jar of salve in reach.
Achre did as told, a true sense of safety beamed from the girl. The first and perhaps only sense of safety - at least since his original parents had died. The salve soothed the harsh burn he felt, and relief overcame him.
Perhaps it was the soothing of the salve, or perhaps it was due to his relief, or perhaps even due to his juvenile body- whatever the case was- Achre began to shed silent tears. Achre himself didn't expect it, a faint sound of shock sprung from his lips.
"Why am I... why am I crying?" He relented, his childish voice frail. It was rhetorical, or that's how it sounded to Achre.
"Hush now Achre, hush. You're safe now. I won't let anything bad happen to you, you're safe with me." Odessa whispered, her arms wrapped gently around Achre's misshapen body. It was as if her whole being had enveloped him.
Despite knowing he was mentally older than her, and despite having done this exact thing for his own siblings; Achre nestled into her grasp.
He had remembered the feeling from when he first awoke; this life and the life he had died were both true experiences. Achre truly was just a four year old boy, a boy that had experienced far too much in far too little time. Regardless of how mentally tough he was, or what he experienced in his life as a soldier- at least in this moment- Achre was four.
And Achre felt happy.