Of Sleeping Dolls, Old Houses, and Runaway Soldiers

Status
Not open for further replies.
The forest around him was bright, hot, and humid-- and, most importantly, empty as he ran through it. Had anyone been about, they would have heard him crashing through as he was. Roots seemed to try to snag him, and branches flew at his face as though with their own will as he fled, scraping at him as he ran.

When he finally stopped, he was at the edge of a small clearing with thankfully nothing in it. The wind blew peacefully, and the sun seemed bright in the afternoon sky. The sounds of battle were gone-- too distant to hear, and instead, he could hear birds and insects, and the sounds of leaves-- living, soft leaves as they whispered wordlessly. The quiet, even interrupted by mosquitoes, was serene in this clearing, where a fallen tree had cleared the forest's leaves enough that he could see the sky, with only a few gentle, thin clouds slowly easing across its vast, but contained expanse.

A tiny sound came from somewhere nearby, though its direction was hard to discern, and nothing happened to indicate it was anything but perhaps a tiny mouse nearby. The doll's dress and hair was snagged with twigs and leaves, and a gnat trapped in the strands of her white hair wriggled uselessly.
 
Tolliver's lungs and throat burned, his stomach cramped. He stopped in that clearing and stumbled toward the fallen tree, as good a spot to rest as he might have hoped for given the circumstances. A small, clear steam with cool water would not have gone amiss, but he was thankful for what there was. His limbs ached like lead. Fear had given wings to his heels, and he had crashed through the woods for quite some time before the rush had left him, and it wasn't until he came upon the peaceful little grove that he felt safe again.

He collapsed against the fallen tree, his back against the rough bark and his sweating forehead raised to the bright blue sky to better enjoy the sweet breeze that cooled him. The air was perfumed with pine and loam, the enticing aroma of wet, rich earth. The grass was soft as it yielded to his weight, and Tolliver thought it to be the very best of beds that he had had in some time.

Even with the gentle wisps of air that carried away his sweat, the day was hot. With a groan, Tolliver set the rifle to his right and the doll to his left before he began to struggle out of his belt and the crossed shoulder straps of his cartridge box and haversack. The latter had gotten heavier and heavier, he had found, and Tolliver was quite sure he would have a heavy bruise along right shoulder from where it had hung at his left hip. The lot of it was dumped at his feet. The woolen jacket followed to leave him in his stained and yellowed linen shirt. The former soldier glared at his own boots for a moment, debating whether or not to air his swollen feet, before deciding against it. Once those boots were off, it would be damned hard to get them back on again in a hurry, and besides that he knew he smelled quite enough as it was. The last thing he needed was to unleash the stench of unwashed socks!

Leaning forward, he did dig out his canteen. It was barely a third full. That did not prevent him from downing half of his reservers in a desperate, thirsty effort to relieve the scratched rawness in his throat. Another sip after that, and Tolliver reluctantly capped it again to look over at the doll.

She was in quite the state. He could almost imagine distress in those colorful glass eyes, and he felt sorry for the toy. "Sorry, Pretty," he chuckled through cracked lips. "Welcome to life on the run. Here now, no need for that look, let me see to you." With fingers that bore chewed and cracked nails, Tolliver neatly plucked the debris from her dress and evicted the unwanted guest from her hair. Not a scrap of lace was torn nor fabric ripped. Once his ministrations were complete and the doll was free from the evidence of his panicked flight, Tolliver spread out his jacket next to him and set her down upon it as though it were a picnic blanket.

"Now then, Pretty," he asked as he voiced his own thoughts. "Where shall we go, eh?" Tolliver looked about, gaining a rough idea of direction from the position of the sun. "We're in the south. Bunch of Hildi lovers around, won't take to kindly to a man in a brown uniform, no matter which way he'd marching. We go east from here? That'll just bring us back to the army. Lots of food, lots of water, lots of shade… and lots of rope around my neck. So that's out, if I beg your pardon. Not much of a life, but I'm rather fond of it. So north or west, there's the question! Folk'll be asking a lot of questions they see a soldier wandering about without his mates if we go north, but north there's cities where I can sell this lot for hard coin, and at a better price. West? Fewer folks, fewer questions, more farms but further apart…"

Tolliver stole another swig of water from his canteen to wet his lips. "Could just bury the lot of it, I suppose," he mused. "Tuck this all under the tree, nice and safe, leave you to watch it for me, Pretty?" He rejected the idea with a shake of his head. "No. No way knowing if I can find my way back here, is there? And I'll be damned if I take one step closer towards the direction of that house ever again! So what do you think, Pretty? Which way, eh?"

That was when he checked himself. There he was, a grown man, a fighting man, in flight for both his life and liberty… and he was talking to a doll. He was running away from some childish terror his mind had dreamed up, fleeing from a bogeyman his own imagination had devised out of his fear of being caught and his exhaustion, and he was converting with a toy as though it were some bosom comrade of his.

"Deus, what the devil am I doing?" he grumbled in a pout. "Talking to a doll like it's going to answer me. A clever wench would be more to my liking right now. Not just any wench, but one like you see in the cities, pale skin and big eyes, yeah, but with soft flesh and a smile on her lips, smelling like strawberries and brining me a flagon of cold cider…" Tolliver's voice dropped to something sad and wistful. "Likes of that never happens for Tolliver Wrye, though. Nothing but whores and doxies for old Tolliver, never anything sweet like that, never a lass who likes Tolliver for his smile and not for his coin…"

He sighed, and even his sigh was lack luster.

In a complete reversal of moods, he suddenly apologized to the doll. "Sorry, Pretty, sorry. Shouldn't bring my woes down on you. Not fair to you when all you've done is give me some company. Can't ask for a better traveling companion, I suppose neither, you not being one to argue. Some lucky little girl's going to give you a warmth hearth and clean your clothes and pet your hair, soon, I should think. She'll tell you all her secrets, I'd think, you being her best of friends. Sooner I decide north or west, the sooner that's happening."

His guts knotted in a familiar sensation, and Tolliver winced. He leaned forward to dig out the tome that he had swiped from the desk, and then stood. "First thing, though? Call of nature." He grinned at the doll and hefted the book in one hand as he made for the treeline. "Thank Deus I found me some mighty soft paper to wipe me own arse with, eh?"
 
Had she been one of those sweet and soft city girls he so desired, she would have surely been disgusted. Given she was a doll, she remained in her place on his jacket, seated so she stared forward. She looked almost like a forlorn and former virgin, with how her dress and hair were so out of place, despite his best minstrations.

As Tolliver went to do his busines, he found a quiet place behind a tree easily-- away from wherever he might later decide to walk. When he cracked open the book, it was to find a drawing of a massive canine, and beside it "Lise has been having nightmares lately. She described a thing chasing her, but it looks only like a great hound. She said my drawing was wrong when I showed it to her, and said it wasn't dark enough around it. I told her if it was dark around it, she wouldn't know what it looked like and dismissed the whole thing. I did start putting a shaded lamp into her room, and she began to have nightmares much less often."

If that caught his interest, the next page was dated several days later. "I've begun hearing strange noises at night. I don't know their source, and I don't want to worry my family. I have chosen to ignore them the best I am able. No sense causing my family worry. I'm certain our chaplain will instruct me."

Dated a few days later. "The chaplain looked horrified when I told him. He began to pack frantically. He plans to leave, and says that if I can detect it, it will be able to affect us all soon. I worry for his mind. He did look very tired, though-- I wonder if he needs a lantern, as well."

"After the chaplain left, my wife began to hear the sounds as well. I worry they are more than just rats."

"A dark shadow passed by the door. When I called out, nobody answered. I hurried to look, and nobody was outside. The hallway felt chilled."

"A slash appeared on my Lise's door. I had it replaced immediately. She said it was the hound, and that the light at night was working, and it was getting angry."

"I have replaced six doors and two window panes. The serving staff are becoming frightened. None will go into my daughter's room. My wife and I have kept it clean when she goes outside, so Lise doesn't notice that the maids avoid her. They think she's cursed. Only one will approach her at all now. My poor Lise. I've sent for a new chaplain. This may require an exorcism. Whatever the cost, I will see my daughter freed of this living nightmare."

"The exorcism did not work. The chaplain is dead. I fear for our lives. Lise doesn't know. I worried hurrying out will frighten her all the more, especially with a dead body in the entryway. Half of the serving staff left after I had them take the body back out to the chaplain's wagon. They avoid me now, as well."

The following pages detailled an increase in the being's violence and disruption. The servant who was still kind to Lise was attacked and left bleeding out. She was saved, but the rest left, and Lise's father sent her away as well.

Several weeks of torments later, a frantically-scribbled page was written.

"I bought a doll for Lise, hoping it would cheer her up. She woke up the next morning feeling refreshed and cheerful until she remembered the shadow beast. She keeps the doll with her always, and I am thankful for its presence. It seems to lessen her fear. Were the doll alive, I would give her anything she wished in thanks."

The next page proved impossible to read. There were only indents, and the ink was robbed of pigment by sunlight over many years. The whole last half of the book was empty, providing ample paper for Tolliver's ass.

Once finished and returned, Tolliver found the clearing quiet-- no birds chirped, but insects did buzz. A cloud overhead covered the sun, giving it an eerie shadow. After a few moments, the shadow passed, and a bird chirped. A quick inspection found nothing amiss.

The doll seemed slightly slumped, though that was likely just gravity pulling down on her.

Had he keen eyes, he might spot that her cheeks seemed slightly more shiny.
 
There wasn't much time for reading as he squatted and attended to his needs, but the illustration did catch his eye. The book was left open some feet away from him, and Tolliver had the uncanny sensation that the hungry eyes of that great beast were staring back at him from the page. A sheet from the very back of the journal did the trick, but some defiant bravado in him wanted to wipe that leering and drooling grin from off the paper, literally. And yet, he was quite certain that if did so, it would come back to bite him in the arse. Literally.

Business concluded and hands wiped clean on dry grass, he picked up the book and began to read. He was by no means a fast reader. The sergeant's lips moved silently as he worked his way through the elegant, flowing script. Sounding out some of the less common words, he began to put the image together in his head: a little girl cursed by a nightmare that became more and more real over time until it could kill, her father desperate for anything that might have been of help, Deus; own priests helpless against whatever it might have been. Only the story remained incomplete. The final pages were far too faded for him to make head or tail of, and whatever final solution the father must have come up with (if he had) was lost to the ages.

As Tolliver slowly entered the clearing, absorbed in his reading, he frowned. So he hadn't been imagining anything then. There had been something in that house, some sort of ethereal animal, and the more he thought on it the more it made sense. Something about the encounters had reminded him of a wolf or wild dog stalking its prey, and both the illustration and the father's accounts matched that impression. There was some satisfaction in knowing that, at least on that score, Tolliver was not going mad.

The only problem was that it made no sense whatsoever.

Ghostly demon dogs?? One surrounded by darkness and hated light?? Dolls that protected little girls?? This was the stuff of old wives tales! No one in their right mind believed in such things! After all, what was a demonic hound compared to the horror of children losing their fingers and hands in the big factories? How fearsome were the shades of Deus' Hells compared to the rifled guns that spat out hundreds of rounds a minute into oncoming man, cutting them to ribbons? Who was going to bother believing in the fires of the afterlife when they were too busy choking on the yellow coal-smog of the rookeries? Humans no longer needed such terrors, not when they had invented so banal and mundane ones that were so much more efficient.

Only what if one of those ancient phantasms was loose in the world again, a world unprepared for it? The man who had written the entries in the journal clearly believed. There were some recourses to be had, even if they had proved ineffectual. But in this day and age? Tolliver doubted any of the priests or chaplains truly believed anymore.

Tolliver sat back down, the book in his lap. Moodily, he stared at nothing for sometime, and not even the sound of the cicadas buzzing sharply disturbed him. Eventually, he looked down at the doll. As carefully as he could, he righted her wig and dress, setting her upright so that she no longer slumped. Then he continued to sit and stare off into space, thinking.

An hour passed. Perhaps two. But finally, he reluctantly rose to his feet, hoisted his bags and belongings back over his shoulders, and scooped up the doll, still wrapped up in the protection of his coat. His back turned from the direction he had come, Tolliver tried very hard not to think of the house behind them as they headed west.
 
Once righted, if he looked, he could see that she had wetness on her cheeks. Once wrapped in the coat, she shifted slightly, but remained still against his chest. As he began to walk to the west, the sun was a mere sliver beyond the forest. In the darkness, the forest became quieter, and each sound seemed so much louder. His own boots, especially, sounded more and more deafening. His breathing sounded like it was some being that wasn't him, despite how it paused if he held his breath.

In that deafening quiet, where every sound was amplified, darkness fell quickly, and it was near-impossible to see in that almost supernatural darkness of a night near no cities or homes, no farms or battle.

As he walked, the night was peaceful, despite its eerie qualities.

In his distracted state, it was easy to notice the lack of wind, the lack of insects near him, and even the lack of frog-calls.

It was as if he was the only living thing in the forest.

In that silence, it eas easy to lose track of time, and dawn came both eternally late and impressively early. The dew clung to Tolliver's boots, and the grey light diffused the shadows just enough for the man to see that, at some point in the night, the doll's head had come free of the coat, poking out like she was a swaddled babe. Those red eyes stared upward at him, and her neutral expression seemed to carry some level of worry.

The forest was thinning only now, and beyond it, he could make out the green and brown of a field.
 
The wetness upon the doll's porcelain cheek was just another thing for him not to think about, but it did not go unnoticed. Given the heaviness of his thoughts regarding the house and whatever evil hound had been within, that a drop of moisture appearing out of nowhere on a hot and arid day was too little of note to worry about and too easily explained. It had been humid within the forest, after all. Perhaps there had been some condensation inside of the doll's hollow head that leaked out through the eyes? Or maybe some insect had left a trail or some bird a dropping from on high? Even if he had thought on it more, it still would have remained only second to his desire to keep moving away from the house and whatever troubles there abided.

Night descended, and Tolliver continued to trudge onwards with his bundle and his bags. The silence around him and the strange echoing of his boots and breathing un-nerved him to the point where he didn't dare stop walking. The night was peaceful, yes. Only it was the peace of graveyards, the silence of cemeteries, and Tolliver wanted nothing more than for some friendly face to speak with and keep him company. As it was, he made do with the doll, holding Pretty closer to him both for the protection of her frail body and of his own sanity. His stomach growled for want of food. The last of the hardtack was gone, and his canteen was emptied during the self-imposed march. Tolliver's too dry throat made even breathing painful, the slightest cough or attempt to clear his pipes making it all the worse.

So he let his mind go blank.

It was an old soldiers' trick. In an army where a man might be expected to hike twenty, sometimes thirty miles a day on forced march while carrying a full pack and gear? There was only one way to maintain your sanity, and that was ti simply shut down and not think. Tolliver numbed himself. In a dreamlike state, his eyes half-open, he merely continued on straight ahead with only the vaguest notion of where he might be headed. Tolliver didn't talk now. That required thought, conscious choices, and that was the worst thing he could have done, was to think. Easier instead to simply plow on until morning, to leave the growing fear and unsettling atmosphere behind him as he plodded along.

When he stumbled out of the forest, the bright and unbroken light of the early morning sun brought him slowly to his senses. Tolliver blinked several times as he realized that he stood now in the middle of rutted dirt road, heavy cart tracks gouged deep into either side. The forest was behind him now, and behind him by a goodly distance. Looking over his shoulder, the soldier wondered at how he must have travelled close to a mile away from the wood's closest tree before he woke. He slowly turned his head about to take in his new surroundings.

Fields. Full fields! The crops were still tall and green in their rows, the first hinds of gold just beginning to show. It would be time for the first harvest in just a couple of weeks! Tolliver frowned to himself, wondering if he had lost all sense of time in his journey. How long had he been in that forest anyway? Was it supposed to be just about time for the first harvest of the summer? He couldn't recall.

Down the road he went, forcing one foot before another. He thought he could see a structure in the distance, a house or a small barn shimmering in the dry, early morning heat as the dew evaporated off from the long grasses. The sight made Tolliver lick his lips. A house mean a well. Or a spring, or a stream, or a pond! People settled where there was water, and if there was ever at a time that he needed water, it was then!

Tolliver broke into a half-shuffling jog towards the building, his throat too dry to call out but with one arm waving in such a way that he could only hope someone would see him in need.
 
Around the farm, he could see people already hurrying about their chores. There were four young people. A small boy with a bucket was struggling with the well. A girl was spreading seed from her apron for some hens. One young man was leading a cow out of a small barn, and another was walking towards the fields on the far side of the house. The heat of the day was a slight edge to the cool morning air, and as he approached, waving wildly, for a time nobody noticed him.

Only when he reached the edge of the property did someone look up-- the girl feeding the hens. She stared a few moments, mouth agape as he continued his approach.

"Pa!" She turned toward the house, screaming. "Pa, it's a soldier!" She ran towards the house. "Pa!"

"What?" An irate, coarse voice called back, and a giant of a man peered from the doorway, scowling under heavy, thick eyebrows. He looked like he was more at home at battle than on a farm, and as he spotted Tolliver, his eyebrows rose. For a moment, he ducked into the house, then emerged with a bucket before he approached Tolliver and shoved the bucket to him. It was filled with water. "You look like hell, boy. You carrying some sort of message?" Up close, he was scarred, with a constant shadow over his eyes from his thick brow.

He had a chest that looked like it was made out of a barrel. His arms were thick, bare, and hairy as he crossed them in front of himself. "Well? Drink up and speak up."
 
Tolliver never felt so glad to see other people! A ragged smile was his only greeting as he half-stumbled and half-ran into the homestead's fenced yard, a smile that only grew at the sight of the water bucket. With one hand, Tolliver grasped at it to bring its rough wooden edge to his face. The water flowed down the front of his shirt and throat as he gulped greedily, the doll kept off from his body at an angle so as not to soak either it or his jacket. It was with reluctance but gratitude that he handed the bucket back towards the huge farmer.

"No message," he admitted ruefully as he found his voice. "Got me a month's furlough, but I got lost in the forest just as the Hildi attacked our lines. Couldn't go back, couldn't go forward, ended up wandering around and wasting two days of my leave." Tolliver wiped the sopping wetness from his chin with the back of his shirt sleeve. "Headed for Piquay. I know it's a good week's march from hereabouts, but which way to go, eh?" The sergeant shrugged helplessly.

Piquay was a good choice for the sheer fact that it was completely unbelievable that anyone would want to visit it unless they had ties to the place. It was a small hamlet not far from the village he had grown up, and it had the virtue of having absolutely nothing that would be of interest. A bit of fishing, a bit of farming, some few apple orchards, and that was about it. It was also located along the same road that led to Vervey, a northern Ruvan fortress that no deserter would dare go near. It was also useful because almost no one had ever heard of it. The sergeant was cunning enough, however, to have a fallback plan in case he was asked about it. It was easy enough to claim that his 'wife' had family in Piquay and had gone there after he enlisted, and then to shift his own tale of origin to some other place no one would ever have come across.

Tolliver continued spinning his story, laughing like a man who never expected to see his home and family ever again. "Deus, I can't tell you the last time I saw my wife and daughter! I'll barely have time to get my boots off before I have to turn myself about again at this rate!" The doll was hefted in his arm like a prized possession. "Got this for my little Lisette. Only hope she remembers me!"

Hoping his story sounded plausible enough, he coughed a little as though to indicate his embarrassment for having to ask for help. "If you've a bit food and water to spare, I'm be right grateful, goodman. I can pay," he added hastily, "no fear for that! I've no cause to be trouble to you or yours."

Even as he chatted with the man ('A former soldier,' Tolliver thought to himself shrewdly, 'I'm sure of it.'), Tolliver wondered why he had declared the doll that he carried as a gift to his non-existent daughter. True, it made the story more plausible! A man on the run was scarcely likely to carry a large child's toy with him! Only he had promised himself that he would leave the doll with the first little girl he could find, and here was the farmer with a lovely little dear of his own, a child who would no doubt love and covet such a perfect companion. Strangely, however, Tolliver found himself reluctant to part with her company himself. Perhaps it gave him something to focus on, something to distract him from the horrors that he had encountered and the nightmares of what would happen if he were caught. Whatever the reason, Tolliver found he couldn't simply set Miss Pretty aside so callously.

"Sergeant Vaughn. Benjamin Vaughn. Thirty-Third Rifles, Light Company. At your service," he added as he extended his hand.
 
The large man stared at Tolliver as the man spoke and spoke... and spoke. "Sergeant, huh? Come. Sit. Tell me what's going on last you saw the front." He pointed toward the house. "You can have a meal for the price of news, and then we can discuss anything else we might offer." He turned, then headed toward the house with a distinct limp. His right foot didn't seem to quite fit in his shoe-- though it was the same size as the well-fitting left.

He glanced back at the door to see if Tolliver was coming. The house itself was plain, though large enough for the man's family to live comfortably if they were friendly with each other.

The farmer's eyes wandered briefly to the doll. Hadn't her eyes been a different color a moment ago? Her paleness was frightening, and she was too high quality for any soldier to afford to buy.

He pulled his eyes away. The man was likely a deserter, despite his story. The doll was probably stolen-- he wouldn't want it for his own girls, that was for certain. Those eyes... they seemed to hold their own horror, to the man.

The girl from earlier peeked out the door, frightened, only for a look from her father to send her scurrying back to her chores.

She glanced at Tolliver with fear in her eyes-- the fear of a child fed horror stories about strangers-- a natural enough thing for the pretty little daughter of a big and frightening-- and probably protective-- former soldier.
 
Tolliver followed the man into the house and gratefully so! The more he watched the farmer, the more he was sure that he probably had been a solider or a guard at some point; something about the way he carried himself, despite his limp, triggered the sergeant's instincts for such things. But inside the farmer's croft, he'd be out of the sun and heat. With any luck, he'd have walls between him and whatever hound of hell might have followed him, at least for a little while. The idea that it might be better to travel at night, when it was cooler and there was less chance of being seen, suddenly appealed to him.

That the little girl was scared of him was actually reassuring to Tolliver. It showed good sense on both her part and the part of her parents in his opinion. He'd been a soldier long enough to see the depravity of men upon the innocent, and those impressions were backed by the xenophobia that tended to arise in small, rural communities. He did't even bother to try and smile at the urchin. A respectful nod of acknowledgement was all before he passed into the croft.

Taking a seat by the fire, Tolliver gave his host a genuine smile. "Thank you kindly for this, thank you, indeed! My feet are sore tired! As for the news from the front…?"

The grin fell from his face as he heaved a sigh. There was no point in hiding the truth of that matter; it was going to be known throughout the countryside soon enough anyway.

"It's not going good. I'll be honest. If it weren't for all my years and the captain owing me a favor of sorts, I doubt they'd have let me go. We ran up against the Hildi just south of the Bellarue Forest, and they'd skirmishers and light cavalry all throughout the woods to pick us off bit by bit. Last I heard, they were bringing up those new-fangled cannons, the one you load from the breech instead of the muzzle, and it was hard going. We were holding the line at the forest when I left, but only just." Tolliver glanced towards the door where the little girl had vanished, then turned back towards the farmer with a serious expression. He dropped his voice so that only his host would hear both the words and the note of warning. "Won't be long before they start heading this way, I think. A few days at best, They'll start foraging for food the further north they go. And I'm guessing you know what I mean by 'foraging.'"

What soldier didn't? Foraging was little more than stealing, when it came down to it. If farmers and merchants were lucky, they might get paid in promissory notes or military script that they could try and trade for actual coin later with some quarter master or another. 'Try' was often the operative word. And if the army was in enemy territory, even one they were trying to conquer, it was sometimes better to leave no witnesses.
 
The man's expression turned sour. "You think we're going to lose land again." it wasn't a question. The man swore and shook his head. "I may have to move my family, in that case." He shook his head. "I don't want my children to be anywhere near the fighting, if I can help it. He scowled and shook his head. "You'll sit with us for your meal." He jerked a thumb toward a doorway. "I'll let the wife know." With that, he turned and walked away from Tolliver.

Just being around the sergeant made him feel uneasy, and as he crossed into the kitchen, the uneasiness faded. He looked toward his wife-- a woman whose youthful beauty had matured into a lovely motherly charm. "We have a guest for breakfast. Brought news from the front." He wrapped his arms around her as she turned her head to him questioningly. "We may need to move. Things aren't going well." He kissed her neck briefly, then pulled away. "Do you want any help here, darling?"

"Could you set the table and butter the toast?" She smiled at him.

"Of course." He found a spot and began spreading butter on the toast. They didn't have much, but on toast, it was a good treat for the children once they finished their chores.

Who wanted dry toast, after all? He put out the toast on a small plate, then set out a jar of apple preserves before he began to set the table.

"I think our guest is a deserter." He said after a few long moments. "Not that I blame him, if what he's saying is truth about the front." He spoke those words quietly, and heard his wife pause.

"Are we safe with him here?"

"I think so. Says he has a kid, even has a doll for her. Family men... they don't hurt families, I think."

"If you're certain." He heard her return to her cooking.

Eventually, the children began to file in, all save the one that was walking to the fields, and Tolliver was called into the kitchen. "Sergeant Vaughn. Come eat."

The kitchen was easily the best room in the house. It was spotlessly clean, and there was a shiny new stove-- a beautiful, gas-burning stove that shone spotlessly. There was a sink with a faucet and plumbing, a door in the floor, and sturdy table and chairs with enough room for six people to sit without too much crowding. Though the cutlery was mere steel, it was kept spotless, and the plates matched perfectly.
 
Tolliver was left to his own thoughts in the living area of the croft, and he had sat uneasily. The farmer seemed a good sort, realistic, too. And their home was little different from what his family had owned back in the north; people like them never had much, but they made do with what they had, and they were proud of it. It made him a little homesick and a little envious.

Several minutes passed before Tolliver realized that he was sitting there with all of his gear still about him and the doll in the crook of his arm. Laughing at himself, he gently set the doll down and divested himself off his pouches and haversack, the rifle being sent easily in one corner of the room. With the children around, the sergeant was glad he had never gotten around to loading it! He'd hate to think of it falling and going off if some rambunctious youth crashed into it. Tolliver placed the rest of his treasure and bags about the rifle's butt. The two pistols he placed up upon a mantle out of harm's way, not willing to take for granted that this ex-soldier had taught his children any sort of safety around firearms. A couple of the gold ingots were moved from his haversack to his pocket, the better to hide how much he really had with him.

Finally, there only remained the doll. Tolliver placed her into the chair where he had been sitting, the nut brown jacket spread beneath her like a blanket. She would have a command view of the room, although why he felt that was important instead of simply dumping her with the rest of his possessions was beyond him. It just didn't seem right to leave her facing some dark corner.

"Well, here we are, Miss Pretty," he whispered as he straightened out her dress and smoothed her hair. "We'll stay for a short spell and then be on our way, I think. Better we put a bit more distance between us and… well, whatever… Oh, don't you look at me like that. We'll find a decent enough place soon enough." A wistful gaze came over Tolliver's features as he took in the pleasant air of domesticity around him. "Maybe find me a wife, some lovely thing with a pleasing tongue but a sharp wit. Have a daughter of our own. What do you think, Miss Pretty? You've been waiting around for some time anyway. Would you wait a few more years for my own girl?"

The children began to filter in then, and Tolliver held his tongue. No need for them to think him a mad man in addition to whatever else they might have decided. He nodded pleasantly at them each in turn, thankful for when the farmer called for him in the kitchen.

The sight of the kitchen made Tolliver's heart fail a bit. This was a home. The family had put time and effort into it, and if the Hidli army did come this far west as he believed they would, the farmer's wife and children would have nothing left at all. It felt painful to know that they could well lose everything.

Sitting at the table with them, and prayers being said, dinner was served to all in silence. Following the laws of hospitality, Tolliver was served first, though guilt made him keep his portion small. He said little throughout the meal, but he watched the interactions between the man and his wife, between the parents and the children. Again, he started to yearn for something he'd seen as a child, but never truly had for himself.

'Deus, what is happening to me?' he wondered,'Why should I give a toss about one small family? How many others have been scattered to the winds or destroyed outright, and yet here I am wondering what they'll do and where they'll go. I wouldn't have cared a year ago. Maybe I am loosing my edge. Maybe it was time to leave the army anyway.'

Fingering one of the ingots in his pocket, Tolliver came to a decision towards the end of the meal. "Now… I should be thanking you for such a meal. It's been some time since I had so much as buttered bread, and I swear that's the truth of it. But here I am and all I've brought you is bad news." A moment's more hesitation, and then he pulled one of the ingots out of his pocket to lay it upon the table besides the farmer's plate. One of those ingots would be worth a small fortune to such a family, no matter how successful their farm. "No one died for that," he murmured humbly "and you couldn't say it was ever stolen, cause it wasn't, not really. So… knowing what you know… you take this and you… you do what you see best for you and yours…"
 
The lull in the conversation had just been threatening to hang over them when Tolliver spoke up and laid a bar of gold the size of a man's thumb on the table.

"Vaughn, this is too much." The man said as he stared at the gold, He pushed it back, but his wife snapped him across the knuckles.

"Dear, he's clearly military looking out for ex-military. Set your pride aside." She turned to look at Tolliver. "Thank you, Sergeant. This should be more than enough to get a freash start somewhere further from the front.

"We're moving?" The smallest child, the little boy, stared with large eyes. "Why?"

The woman smiled at her son. "Things are going to get dangerous here, so the nice soldier is helping us even though he can't stay to help us pack."

"Dangerous why?"

"People who disagree with us about who needs the land more are winning in a fight, so they're going to come up here."

"Mean."

"Yes." She smiled at him, then looked at Vaughn. "Thank you again."

Yes, she absolutely felt greedy taking his gold, but at the same time... They had to move to keep their children safe.
 
Tolliver nodded sheepishly. He knew the news that he had brought meant more hardships for a working family, but at least with his warning and his payment of gold, the hardships would not be as so terrible as those they might have faced. The man and his wife would probably have been killed, the sons pressed into service, and the daughters… Tolliver didn't want to think on what might happen to the daughters. He didn't want thanking for it, any of it. He wanted to be away, to be moving, to put as much distance between himself and… and… everything.

"No, I can't stay. I shouldn't stay. I'll just… bring you more trouble if I'm here too long." And wasn't that the truth! If either the Ravan or the HIldi army found him here, in uniform and carrying a soldier's weapons, it would go bad for the family. Their own military would accuse the farmer of harboring a deserter while the Hildi would take retribution upon them for hiding a Ravan soldier. And if there was still something following him… if there was still some nightmare Hound come out of that abandoned mansion to chase at his heels… "They might not come this way at all, but…"

He gave a helpless shrug.

"Thanks for sharing your food with me," he murmured as he rose. "If I could have just a few minutes to air my feet, refill my canteen, maybe a little something to travel on, then… then I'll be off." Tolliver managed a wane smile. "Long way to Piquay, after all. Can't keep Lisette waiting for her doll."

He paused then, looking at the domestic bliss that he so craved but would never admit. There was a lump in his throat. The information he had was confidential, a military secret that he had learned by accident. It would compounding his betrayal to speak of it, but at the same time how could he not? "The army's fallback line is the north bank of Panner's River. If you can get north of there, keeping to the west but avoiding the coast, you should be good."

With nothing more to say, he turned to head out of the kitchen and into the parlour. As he moved from one room to the other, he caught sight of the doll. If Tolliver didn't know better, he swore it was looking right at him with the strangest expression upon its painted face.
 
(( Sorry it took so long-- I was away from my computer all day thanks to a flat tire and two service men who didn't know how to deal with our car model. ))

"You're welcome, and thank you." The woman nodded briefly, eyes slowly lowering to the table before they flicked back up to watch him leave the kitchen and walk back into the main room. She closed her hands into fists, the knuckles white as they rested on the table. Much as she was loathe to take money from a guest—one that offered them what was likely classified information—she was even more loathe to decline an offer that would help her family remain together, remain safe, and remain comfortable.

The gold he had was enough for a large wagon and a new home, and a year of what they would earn selling crops.

They could start over somewhere safer—well beyond that pullback point, far enough that they would be relatively safe for a long time.

The family around her remained silent, unsure what else to say or do for the man who both uprooted them with his words, and then gave them hope and a chance to survive the coming trials. The daughter could only stare at the pretty ingot

In the main room, the doll's expression was slightly different than when he went to eat. When he blinked, she returned to her usual, neutral and slightly pouty expression, eyes forward. Just in time for someone in the kitchen to finally speak—the young boy. "I don't like his doggy anyway."

"Dog?" The boy's father asked gruffly. The large man didn't recall seeing a dog at all.

"The dog. It's waiting outside. It's big and black, and it was staring at the door when I came in and it was drooling lots."
 
  • Love
Reactions: Justric
The boy's words sent a sudden chill down Tolliver's spine, and he knew fear again. Only this time it wasn't simply fear for his own life and sanity; it was also the fear that the spectral hound from the house might prey upon these innocents who had given him shelter! While he would be glad to rid of the thing, he could all too easily imagine the terror it might wreck upon this idyllic family setting. Tolliver was not the most literate of men, but the journal in his pack told him all too clearly of the rising horror that the family in the mansion had suffered. How much better would this family fare? The need to flee, to run, was strong. Tolliver was on the verge of running for the door with the doll, leaving all of his possessions behind in the process in an effort to both flee the monsters and to lead it away from the innocent children whose parents had succored him.

Even in his fear, a moment of clarity struck. It was the quiet voice that had always been in the back of his head, calmly suggesting to him in the heat of battle to go just that much further to the left or to look for the mined explosives in the shadow of the glacis before jumping. This time, that inner voice asked a question instead of advising him.

'Why didn't the thing follow me inside?'

The lad had clearly stated that it was waiting outside, yet there was no reason that Tolliver could think of that might bar it from entry. Why would it wait? It made no sense at all, unless… unless…

"Unless there's something stopping it…" he murmured under his breath. Tolliver tried to think of anything he'd ever heard of like that, anything at all. But what did a former poacher and soldier know of nightmarish monsters that, according the book, could not only terrorize but kill? Nothing! Nothing at all, because there were not supposed to be such creatures! Things like this weren't supposed to exist out side of children's… fairy… tales…

Tolliver carefully sat down in a chair close to the living room hearth. It was cool now, the summer making extra heat unheedful, but he found that staring into the depths of the empty fire pits gave him something to focus on as he let his memories drift. There were things that kept the monsters at bay, weren't there? He vaguely remembered his great-granddam, longest lived of his family, telling him stories back when he was little, a lad of no more than four or five. The old crone had had a severity to her that added to the fright of each story she related, entertaining as they were to a little boy and his sister as they cowed in the family bed. Now that he looked back on it with a man's experience, Tolliver had to wonder if she had not been amusing them but warning them. Was there something to those ancient tales after all? He wracked his brain as he tried to think back to those earliest days, but his brain had been too clouded by blackpowder smoke and the stench of blood over the decades.

The family was still in the kitchen. Glancing towards the doll, his eyes suddenly narrowed. The doll… How did she fit into all of this? The diary entries had stated that the doll had calmed its original owner for a time. Did it do so now? Who cared how, if it did? There were no answers there, none at all, not unless they were sewn into the dolls' clothing or written across its body; Tolliver wondered at that notion. Was there something hidden about it that might give him a clue? He decided that once he was alone and away the house, he would do such a search for clues.

For some reason, the decision made him feel slightly disgusted with himself.

Tolliver raised his eyes then from where he sat, scrutinizing what he could see of the doors and windows in case there was anything of note that might be barring spectral forces from invading the family's home.
 
Tolliver was left alone for a few more minutes before the family began to leave the house to do their chores, each filing out through the front door, where Tolliver could glimpse nothing amiss out where the boy said the dog was waiting.

In fact, it seemed a normal and sunny day outside, free of horrible nightmare beasts, ghosts, or even signs of fighting. Birds sang, clouds scuttled across the lightening blue sky, and the grass waved in the breeze. Nothing seemed like it could be amiss, though the small boy hesitated at the door before he exited, eyes on something the others didn't see. He walked out, then moved slowly, before he could be heard running across the creaky wooden porch.

There were a few old stories, if he could recall them. One of a big black dog that signalled doom to those that saw it, that could only be warded off by the death of the person it haunted. There was another story of using light to ward of horrors, and about how hope and love weakened spooks. There was a story where a horse lured people in with its beauty, and then dragged them into the water to drown them. There were elves who, when fed, helped on farms. Rabbits that played dead and devoured those who approached. Dead children that rose from the dead to cause misfortune; a white woman whose song brought death, beautiful fae who had holes in their backs and tried to marry humans to become human themselves; immortal angels that drank blood and preyed on the young and beautiful to steal those qualities; and a story about a family who fled their home in fear after the child's mother was eaten by a beast.

That story didn't have a clever solution when his grandmother told it—only a warning that running had been all that saved the father and daughter from harm.
 
  • Love
Reactions: Justric
Tolliver took the time to remove his boots and socks, airing out his abused feet as he sat in the chair and wracked his brain. The flagstones of the floor were blessedly hot against his hot skin. It helped ease him from the fact that while he could recall those ancient tales of his grandmother's mother, none of them seemed particularly comforting. Light? Love? Hope? This family might well have all of those, and Tolliver prayed it would be enough for them, but for himself? He'd been a soldier too long. The only love he felt that he had left for was his own life, and the only hope was that he could far enough and fast enough to restart his life. Nor did the burly farmer seem the sort to feed invisible elves. There were cleve solutions aplenty save for the last, but none of them truly seemed to apply to this situation save for the one that involved running. The trouble was that in that particular story, the beast hadn't followed the father and daughter. Tolliver had the definite feeling that the Hound was following him.

The day passed, and at some point Tolliver drifted off into a dreamless sleep. The chair was comfortable, far more so than any army barracks cot or tent floor, and the deserter felt rested when he awoke. Regretfully he stood, changed his stinking socks out for a clean pair from his overstuffed haversack, and tugged his boots back on again. The light was low and orange as the sun hung near the horizon. Night was coming on fast, and Tolliver needed to be on his way both for his sake and for the family's as well. Gathering his possessions, he paused to look at where the doll was sitting in the other chair.

"Time for the road, Miss Pretty," he sighed regretfully. Reaching out, he stroked the doll's hard cheek with one knuckle with a tender caress. "Long way to go yet. That book mentioned priests and the like. Maybe we'll find ourselves a church or monastery along the road, see if they ever heard any of the like." Tolliver snorted then in self-derision. "Me. In a church. That'll be the sight, wouldn't just now? 'S'cuse me, yer honor, don't believe in yer god but what can ye tell me about big black dogs come right out of some girl's head that can kill people?' Don't see that ending well. Don't see what much choice we've got, though."

He hadn't forgotten his intentions to more throughly examine the doll. 'In the morning,' he promised himself, stalling. 'Light'll be better, no one around to ask why a lone man is taking the clothes off a doll in the middle of nowhere. Yeah, wait til morning.'

Waiting for the farmer and his family to return from their labors, he hoped he might be able to purchase some travel food and perhaps a small lantern to light his way along the road. Tolliver could remember that if he went far enough west and north, he should be able to reach another section of woodland near the streams that fed into the River Mulve. A day's… night's… march should just about put him within spitting distance of the forest's edge if his suspicions were correct.
 
Slowly, the family filtered in, with the father last. He looked at Tolliver as though surprised to see him there. "You slept the whole day away, sergeant." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Must have needed it. We saved you some of the noon meal." One look at the soldier's readied belongings told him the younger man was going to leave shortly. "You wanted to buy supplies from us earlier, right?" He motioned him to follow into the kitchen, then rapped the table and sat, waiting for Tolliver to sit as well. "I'm not going to drive too hard for profit, since you're already helping us pay our way to safety. I can offer two days worth of food, including a little meat, a jar of beans, and some cheese, a spare canteen, and a hooded lamp from my old kit. Is there anything else you need before we figure on a price?" He narrowed his eyes, though not out of distaste for the deserter.
 
"No," Tolliver murmured listlessly. He still felt a guilt for having to have been the messenger, especially when the family was being so kind. The urge to just finally be on his way and put it all behind him throbbed in his chest, just so he wouldn't have to deal with the wide, innocent eyes of the children or the gratitude of the parents. "No, that'll be more than enough, and all the more thanks you'll have of me for it."

He laid out twenty Marks, roughly a quarter of what he had left in terms of actual cash; it was a little more than what the offered items were currently worth, but the price of food would rapidly increase once the armies got into the countryside. 'Damned southerners,' he thought unkindly as he counted out the bills, 'stirred up a hornets nest just because they don't want to pay extra taxes. Now everyone is going to suffer for it.'

"I'll leave you one of the pistols, too," and in saying so gently laid the unfired revolver on the table, the muzzle carefully pointed away towards the outside wall of the house. "She's loaded, though there's no spare ammo or powder that I have for her. Might come in handy, I suppose."

'Should I say something?' Tolliver wrestled with himself. 'And is so, then what? What can I tell the fine fellow with his loving wife and his good children that won't make me sound like a madman?'
 
Status
Not open for further replies.
Top Bottom
Back