A historical story avaioable to read? Don't mind if I do...
Chapter 3
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Maurice Le Marquand covered his eyes with one hand as he looked up at the sun. They had around four hours until twilight. He looked the rocky landmark ahead of them, sighing as he did so. He didn't wish to stay another night in the forest, but it didn't seem like they would have a choice. It would take some time for them to set camp for the night, and to make a fire.
He shook the little girl awake who'd fallen asleep in his lap. "Wake up, princess."
Her light-brown eyelashes fluttered cutely as she returned to consciousness. "Dad…?"
"We're stopping for the night, Margaret!" Maurice turned to look over his shoulder, shouting towards the carriage behind them. Protesting sounds could quickly be heard from both carriages. The children were even less eager to spend one more night huddled around a campfire in the dark woods.
"Were almost there, can't we keep going?" Nagged a boyish voice from behind. Agreeing shouts could be heard from many of the other children, especially the boys. They wanted their custard, and they wanted it now!
"I'm afraid not. We'll be in real trouble if it gets dark and we still haven't reached the town." Mourice said with a firm voice while shaking his head.
"The monsters come out when it gets dark!" Belle shouted from her father's lap, her shrill little voice rising above the cacophony of her siblings' quarreling.
The second eldest daughter, a redhead, scoffed at her little sister. "Monsters? How childish." She sent a glance at Anastasia sitting next to her, looking for her approval.
The blonde maiden in question ignored this, instead moving to get out of the carriage. "I am tired. We will travel no further today." The other girls immediately clammed up, deferring to her decision. It wasn't wise to get on Anastasia's bad side. Even the boys only grumbled a little in dissatisfaction, but not loudly enough to single themselves out.
Maurice watched this with a bitter expression. He felt his position as head of the family being threatened, and by his own daughter no less. Well, he supposed that her bossiness was somewhat helpful in this case.
"Be careful, darling. Wait for the horses to halt first." Maurice said, wary of having her get out while the carriage was still moving.
The angelic girl ignored his, opening the door and getting out with a light hop. They were travelling so slowly that it was impossible for her to even so much as stumble from her landing. She started patting her thin legs over her white dress. They were sore from sitting for such a prolonged period of time.
Maurice sighed as they stopped moving. His children were becoming more and more disobedient because of her example. However, scolding them was of no use. They only became sullen and more unruly.
His oldest daughter made no move to help them as they tied up the horses, unpacked their belongings and started setting their camp. Instead, she waited for one of her sisters to set a blanket for her on the ground before folding her legs beneath her and taking a seat in a patch of sunlight.
This area was rather heavily forested, with large trees reaching into the sky high above their heads. The road itself was almost overgrown, and it was difficult for them to clear a suitably large space for a camp. Consequently, it was no surprise that they took so long to notice the two approaching riders.
Maurice jumped to his feet from where he'd been hammering a wooden stake into the ground. He prayed to God that the arrivals weren't bandits. The children stopped what they were doing as well and started whispering amongst each other, pointing towards the direction of the sound.
His oldest son, Bertrand, ran over to Anastasia's side with a large stick clasped tightly in his hands.
"Don't worry Anna, I'll protect you!" He said, his gaze firm. The girl rolled her eyes at her younger brother's antics.
Two horses burst through the underbrush, only to come to a halt somewhere down the overgrown trail, snapping branches and scattering leaves in the air.
The group of children froze as they looked at the large figure in front. The man was ridiculously big, with a scarred face and a braided, greying beard. He sat on top of a massive brown horse, his thick, gnarled fingers holding tightly onto the leather reins.
They watched with dry throats as he trotted over to their father, Maurice. If this man wasn't there very image of a scoundrel, then they didn't know who was.
Bertrand's knees started shaking when the giant dismounted, hitting the ground with such force that the dry earth cracked under his feet. The axe at his waist jangled, hitting against the buckles of his leather vest. The thing was big enough that even the most experienced woodsman would need to wield it with two hands, yet he wore it at his side like a shortsword.
The stick dropped from his numb hands as the man advanced, coming to a stop some distance away from his father.
Maurice looked at Margaret, who was currently standing protectively in front of the children. One hand had gone to her side where she clutched at something hidden in her clothes. Her stance was remarkably disciplined for a simple maid.
Maurice motioned her to stand down before turning back to the man. Of course, he'd recognized Claude the moment he laid eyes on him. The man's powerful features, and the jagged scar running across his cheek, were hard to forget.
"Maurice Le Maruand, please accept my greetings." Claude's face was serious as he leaned forward to grip the smaller man's hand while speaking in a booming voice.
Maurice took his hat off, clasping the other man's hand in a firm handshake. His palm was practically swallowed in Claude's bear-like paw.
"Lord La Fayette, it is my great pleasure. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I find myself incapable of offering you proper hospitality out here." Maurice said, surprised by the baron's arrival and ashamed at his own destitute state.
Claude patted his shoulder in understanding. "There is no need for that. In any case, I barely qualify as a noble. Feel free to address me comfortably."
Maurice shook his head. "I am a common merchant with no title, and am at your mercy today. Any less would be disrespectful."
Claude showed an understanding expression. When a man was at his lowest, he would cling even more desperately to his pride. "As you will."
He turned his head to Gaston, who had gone largely unnoticed do to his father's powerful presence. "This is my son, Gaston. He and I will be staying with you and your family tonight." Claude said, introducing the boy who looked a little ridiculous on his monster of a horse.
Gears started turning in Maurice's head as he looked at the strappingly handsome young lad with a pleasantly surprised expression.
"It is impolite to remain mounted while the other party is on foot, Gaston." Claude said, speaking over his shoulder at his son.
Gaston nodded, removing his feet from his stirrups and sliding down from the horse's back in an agile motion. Maurice raised his eyebrows, impressed at the child's skill. He certainly wasn't any older than ten, yet he seemed perfectly comfortable riding a horse that was taller than a grown man at the shoulder. In fact, the beast was so large that he worried for the boy when he fell down - the height was so significant that his journey to the ground could no longer be described as 'jumping'.
Gaston bent his knees upon impact with the ground for a graceful landing. He stood up straight, perfectly fine, and went to exchange polite greetings with the merchant.
The other children, seeing that the barbarian-looking man was in fact their benefactor, drew closer. A boy with sandy blonde hair, looking around ten years old, looked at the horse with awe and envy.
He moved over to tug at his father's sleeve. "Dad, I want a horse too." He said, whispering so his brothers wouldn't hear.
Maurice ignored his son's request, instead turning to speak to his children. "Children, greet baron La Fayette. His lordship is the one who so graciously offered his aid during our time of need."
The boys and girls lined up next to each other at Margaret's behest. They curtsied and bowed, displaying some of the etiquette they'd been made to learn for interacting with nobility.
Maurice stroked his moustache as he watched the lot of them. He was pleased to note that Anastasia hadn't been obstinate about this. At least she had the sense to show some manners in front of other people.
Claude nodded at the lot of them, before turning to Maurice. "You have many children. My wife will be envious."
Maurice's expression suddenly became somewhat sorrowful. "Becoming a mother was my wife's greatest joy. She loved every last one of her children dearly."
Claude became silent for a moment, out of respect for the other man's grief. Aside from Gaston, there was nobody who he loved more than his wife. He didn't know what he would've done had he lost her.
Eventually, Maurice managed to return from his stupor. "I am mortified that you travelled all this way for our sakes, lord La Fayette. Yet, I am also extremely grateful for it; your presence will set my mind at ease tonight."
Claude nodded before leaning forward to whisper the next sentence to Maurice so the children wouldn't hear. "While Gaston and I were eager to meet your Le Marquand family, the true reason for our arrival is more… serious."
Claude fixed Maurice with a somber gaze. "There have been reports of beasts roaming this area."
Maurice's eyes widened. "What manner of beasts are they? Wolves? Bears?"
Claude nodded, but his expression seemed uncertain. "One of those, most likely. I am well used to dealing with wild animals, so there is no need for concern.
Maurice looked unsettled, but he took Claude at his word. "Please continue with tonight's preparations." Mourice said, turning to Margaret.
The woman nodded. "'Yer lordship." She said, cutseying to Claude as she walked past.
Claude nodded politely to the woman before turning to speak to Gaston. "Why don't you go introduce yourself to the other children? You'll be seeing a lot of each other in the years to come."
Gaston didn't seem overly enthused at the idea.
Claude huffed. His son was too anti-social.
He nudged the boy with his elbow, surreptitiously motioning him towards the peerlessly beautiful fairy in their midst.
Gaston rolled his eyes, but did as his father bade him.
Maurice noticed the exchange. He ran his fingers over the hat in his hand thoughtfully. If any individual from Villeneuve had a chance at stealing Anastasia's affection away from Louis, then it would be this boy. She would never so much as glance at a commoner. Gaston was a little young for her, but Maurice wasn't exactly spoiled for choice when it came to suitable suitors.
The old merchant grabbed the boy's upper-arm before whispering in his ear. "That is my oldest daughter, Anastasia. If you wish to pursue her, then I won't stop you. However, be aware that she's had no shortage of attention from boys, so she's rather prideful."
Gaston glanced up at the old man, his bronze eyes twinkling. Smirking, he nodded.
'Hmph, at least he has confidence.' Maurice noted, as he looked at the boy's departing back. 'He'll need it.'
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Gaston strode into the midst of the children, most of whom were currently busy helping with preparations for the night.
Eleven pairs of eyes turned to him at his arrival. Some stared openly, while others were more shy.
The person in question came to a halt in the middle of the twelve individuals, his posture casual. His eyes swept through the camp, glancing at every boy and every girl in turn. Finally, his gaze stopped on a picturesque girl wearing a simple, snow-white dress.
Anastasia paid no attention to the intruder. Getting leered at was a daily occurrence for her.
Gaston's gaze roamed from her exposed ankles, to her snow-white arms and then to her slender neck. He was so blatant that some of the others started getting embarrassed just from watching him.
The oldest son, Bertrand, silently fumed as he watched this invader ogle his sister. He'd been getting into fights with other boys constantly ever since he could remember for this exact reason.
Unable to restrain himself, he advanced on the fellow who was still silently staring at his beautiful sibling.
"Will you not introduce yourself?" He said, practically shoving his face into Gaston's.
Gaston finally drew his gaze away from Anastasia to look at Bertrand standing in front of him. He smiled charmingly, running his hand through his long, curly hair.
"Who else could I be, other than Gaston himself?" The boy clasped his leather vest, pulling it downwards in a sharp adjusting motion.
Bertrand looked at the kid in front of him with a slightly confused expression on his face. He wasn't sure how to handle that introduction.
"Well… I am Bertrand. I don't think your manner of staring was very polite." He said, regaining his composure towards the end.
"If your sister was displeased, then surely she would have said something." Gaston said, fiddling in his pocket as if he were looking for something. His eyes brightened as he found it - a small ferrous rock with golden crystals growing out of it.
He promptly ignored Bertrand and started walking to Anastasia who reclined comfortably on the grass. She was busy digging through the jewellery box she'd inherited from her mother.
Bertrand's face turned red from being ignored. He stormed after Gaston, using every bit of willpower to keep himself from strangling the other boy. If it wasn't for the fact that Sir Claude was their benefactor, he'd surely done it.
Arriving in front of the golden-haired teen, he buffed the rock against his linen pants before handing it to her. "A golden bauble to match your hair, maiden Anastasia."
The girl glanced at the rock without looking at Gaston. After considering for a moment, she reached forward to take it from his hands. She took a golden ring from the jewellery box, holding it next to the rock. She turned them this way and that, analysing and comparing the gift.
"It isn't gold." She said decisively before flinging the rock over her shoulder into the woods, never to be found again.
The surrounding kids looked in the direction of where the golden rock had disappeared. If she didn't want it, then surely she could have given it to one of them?
Gaston's brow twitched a little, his face a mix between irritation and intrigue. "Indeed. It isn't real gold, it's fool's gold."
Anastasia flicked her hair over her shoulder, unimpressed. "I know what fool's gold is. I'm a merchant's daughter."
Gaston opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by a red-haired girl.
"Anna's already rejected you. You don't need to say any more" Her freckled face looked cross as she stood in front of her sister like a bodyguard, arms crossed in front of her chest.
Bertrand naturally wouldn't miss this opportunity. "Instead of bothering Anastasia, you should help us gather some dry wood for tonight's fire." He spoke authoritatively, like someone who was used to having their commands obeyed.
Gaston didn't take any heed of his words. "I believe I'll go for a hunt instead. I'm sure lady Anastasia has become tired of road-rations." He turned on his heel, heading towards where his horse stood tied to a tree.
Bertrand's face was cross, but inwardly he sneered. This kid was going to make a fool of himself. There were perhaps two hours left until twilight – how was he planning to hunt in that little time?
"The fire is important for all our safety, Gaston. I'm sure Anastasia appreciates your intentions, but it would be better if you assisted us instead." Bertrand said in a reasonable tone. However, his thoughts on the inside were venomous.
'Go ahead, you pretentious brat. Show Anastasia your incompetence.'
Gaston took a shortbow and a bundle of arrows from where they were stashed near the magnificent beast before heading in the direction of the forest.
However, before he could leave the little clearing, he was cornered by a boy around six years old.
"Does your horse have a name?" The child asked, a little shyly.
Gaston looked down at him. Despite being only a year younger than him, the boy was much smaller. Though, rather than the boy being short, Gaston was just freakishly tall. He was almost on eye-level with Bertrand, who happened to be five years older than him.
"His name is Charbonneau Archambault Babineaux IX." Gaston said, staring the younger boy in the eyes with seriousness.
Everyone listening froze at that declaration, unsure of how to react.
The boy in front of Gaston furrowed his brows in confusion. "Why is his name so long?"
"He likes it that way." Gaston said, slinging his quiver over his shoulder.
Charbonneau Archambault Babineaux IX made a neighing sound in affirmation.
The other kids were a little stunned. They didn't know whether they should be scoffing or laughing at the crazy situation.
Claude looked up from where he was speaking softly to Mourice. "You are going hunting?"
Gaston nodded. "I wish to bag a few birds for tonight's pot."
"Be back before sundown." Claude said, providing his son with unspoken permission.
Maurice's gaze followed the lad as he disappeared into the forest. "You have much confidence in your son." He said, levelling Claude with a serious gaze.
"Gaston grew up in these forests. He spends more time in there than in town, or even at his own home." Claude's gaze grew a little conflicted as he said this.
It sounded to Maurice that there was a story there somewhere.
"Regardless, I was asking you about the roads." Claude said, emerging from his thoughts.
Maurice's expression grew morose. "The road itself was safe, as you guaranteed. We encountered no banditry or anything of the sort, it's just that…" Maurice hesitated, his expression growing a little ill.
Claude looked at the man questioningly.
"France seems to be falling apart. The people in some of the towns we passed… God! I worry that the world may be coming to an end." Maurice raised both hands to rub at his face as he said this.
Claude remained silent. He had his ways of gathering information, so he knew much of what was going on. "You kept the children in the carriages?" He asked, looking at Maurice out of the corner of his eye.
"Dear Lord, yes! I would never subject them to such a thing. I naturally closed and locked the shutters as well. We needed to resupply; fortunately, Margaret was capable of handling the task by herself. The rest of us didn't come close to… that." Maurice shook his head morbidly once he finished talking.
"I wonder how I will raise my children in a world like this…" He took out a locket from his coat pocket as he spoke, opening it to reveal a drawing of his late wife. He turned to look at Claude with moistening eyes. "No place is safe, aside from a few select noble estates. For your aid… I will be eternally grateful. For saving me, for saving my children…" Mourice rubbed the tears from his eyes with a sleeve, careful not to let his children see his state.
He looked Claude with resolve in his gaze. "I am at the La Fayette family's service. Whenever you give the order, I will be ready."
Claude reached over to pat the merchant on his shoulder. "Jeanne and I want nothing more than for Gaston to be hale and happy. My wife in particular is set on finding a wife for him to marry. If one of your daughters would be willing, I think that would be enough."
Maurice smiled. "He is a handsome lad. Out of my six daughters, I'm sure at least one would be honoured to wed him."
However, the happiness didn't last. A depressed mood soon fell over the two men. They looked at the children who chatted happily amongst themselves as they tended to the camp. In their hearts, they knew scenes like this would be scarce in the future.
The world was changing, and not for the better.
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Maurice Le Marquand covered his eyes with one hand as he looked up at the sun. They had around four hours until twilight. He looked the rocky landmark ahead of them, sighing as he did so. He didn't wish to stay another night in the forest, but it didn't seem like they would have a choice. It would take some time for them to set camp for the night, and to make a fire.
He shook the little girl awake who'd fallen asleep in his lap. "Wake up, princess."
Her light-brown eyelashes fluttered cutely as she returned to consciousness. "Dad…?"
"We're stopping for the night, Margaret!" Maurice turned to look over his shoulder, shouting towards the carriage behind them. Protesting sounds could quickly be heard from both carriages. The children were even less eager to spend one more night huddled around a campfire in the dark woods.
"Were almost there, can't we keep going?" Nagged a boyish voice from behind. Agreeing shouts could be heard from many of the other children, especially the boys. They wanted their custard, and they wanted it now!
"I'm afraid not. We'll be in real trouble if it gets dark and we still haven't reached the town." Mourice said with a firm voice while shaking his head.
"The monsters come out when it gets dark!" Belle shouted from her father's lap, her shrill little voice rising above the cacophony of her siblings' quarreling.
The second eldest daughter, a redhead, scoffed at her little sister. "Monsters? How childish." She sent a glance at Anastasia sitting next to her, looking for her approval.
The blonde maiden in question ignored this, instead moving to get out of the carriage. "I am tired. We will travel no further today." The other girls immediately clammed up, deferring to her decision. It wasn't wise to get on Anastasia's bad side. Even the boys only grumbled a little in dissatisfaction, but not loudly enough to single themselves out.
Maurice watched this with a bitter expression. He felt his position as head of the family being threatened, and by his own daughter no less. Well, he supposed that her bossiness was somewhat helpful in this case.
"Be careful, darling. Wait for the horses to halt first." Maurice said, wary of having her get out while the carriage was still moving.
The angelic girl ignored his, opening the door and getting out with a light hop. They were travelling so slowly that it was impossible for her to even so much as stumble from her landing. She started patting her thin legs over her white dress. They were sore from sitting for such a prolonged period of time.
Maurice sighed as they stopped moving. His children were becoming more and more disobedient because of her example. However, scolding them was of no use. They only became sullen and more unruly.
His oldest daughter made no move to help them as they tied up the horses, unpacked their belongings and started setting their camp. Instead, she waited for one of her sisters to set a blanket for her on the ground before folding her legs beneath her and taking a seat in a patch of sunlight.
This area was rather heavily forested, with large trees reaching into the sky high above their heads. The road itself was almost overgrown, and it was difficult for them to clear a suitably large space for a camp. Consequently, it was no surprise that they took so long to notice the two approaching riders.
Maurice jumped to his feet from where he'd been hammering a wooden stake into the ground. He prayed to God that the arrivals weren't bandits. The children stopped what they were doing as well and started whispering amongst each other, pointing towards the direction of the sound.
His oldest son, Bertrand, ran over to Anastasia's side with a large stick clasped tightly in his hands.
"Don't worry Anna, I'll protect you!" He said, his gaze firm. The girl rolled her eyes at her younger brother's antics.
Two horses burst through the underbrush, only to come to a halt somewhere down the overgrown trail, snapping branches and scattering leaves in the air.
The group of children froze as they looked at the large figure in front. The man was ridiculously big, with a scarred face and a braided, greying beard. He sat on top of a massive brown horse, his thick, gnarled fingers holding tightly onto the leather reins.
They watched with dry throats as he trotted over to their father, Maurice. If this man wasn't there very image of a scoundrel, then they didn't know who was.
Bertrand's knees started shaking when the giant dismounted, hitting the ground with such force that the dry earth cracked under his feet. The axe at his waist jangled, hitting against the buckles of his leather vest. The thing was big enough that even the most experienced woodsman would need to wield it with two hands, yet he wore it at his side like a shortsword.
The stick dropped from his numb hands as the man advanced, coming to a stop some distance away from his father.
Maurice looked at Margaret, who was currently standing protectively in front of the children. One hand had gone to her side where she clutched at something hidden in her clothes. Her stance was remarkably disciplined for a simple maid.
Maurice motioned her to stand down before turning back to the man. Of course, he'd recognized Claude the moment he laid eyes on him. The man's powerful features, and the jagged scar running across his cheek, were hard to forget.
"Maurice Le Maruand, please accept my greetings." Claude's face was serious as he leaned forward to grip the smaller man's hand while speaking in a booming voice.
Maurice took his hat off, clasping the other man's hand in a firm handshake. His palm was practically swallowed in Claude's bear-like paw.
"Lord La Fayette, it is my great pleasure. I'm embarrassed to admit it, but I find myself incapable of offering you proper hospitality out here." Maurice said, surprised by the baron's arrival and ashamed at his own destitute state.
Claude patted his shoulder in understanding. "There is no need for that. In any case, I barely qualify as a noble. Feel free to address me comfortably."
Maurice shook his head. "I am a common merchant with no title, and am at your mercy today. Any less would be disrespectful."
Claude showed an understanding expression. When a man was at his lowest, he would cling even more desperately to his pride. "As you will."
He turned his head to Gaston, who had gone largely unnoticed do to his father's powerful presence. "This is my son, Gaston. He and I will be staying with you and your family tonight." Claude said, introducing the boy who looked a little ridiculous on his monster of a horse.
Gears started turning in Maurice's head as he looked at the strappingly handsome young lad with a pleasantly surprised expression.
"It is impolite to remain mounted while the other party is on foot, Gaston." Claude said, speaking over his shoulder at his son.
Gaston nodded, removing his feet from his stirrups and sliding down from the horse's back in an agile motion. Maurice raised his eyebrows, impressed at the child's skill. He certainly wasn't any older than ten, yet he seemed perfectly comfortable riding a horse that was taller than a grown man at the shoulder. In fact, the beast was so large that he worried for the boy when he fell down - the height was so significant that his journey to the ground could no longer be described as 'jumping'.
Gaston bent his knees upon impact with the ground for a graceful landing. He stood up straight, perfectly fine, and went to exchange polite greetings with the merchant.
The other children, seeing that the barbarian-looking man was in fact their benefactor, drew closer. A boy with sandy blonde hair, looking around ten years old, looked at the horse with awe and envy.
He moved over to tug at his father's sleeve. "Dad, I want a horse too." He said, whispering so his brothers wouldn't hear.
Maurice ignored his son's request, instead turning to speak to his children. "Children, greet baron La Fayette. His lordship is the one who so graciously offered his aid during our time of need."
The boys and girls lined up next to each other at Margaret's behest. They curtsied and bowed, displaying some of the etiquette they'd been made to learn for interacting with nobility.
Maurice stroked his moustache as he watched the lot of them. He was pleased to note that Anastasia hadn't been obstinate about this. At least she had the sense to show some manners in front of other people.
Claude nodded at the lot of them, before turning to Maurice. "You have many children. My wife will be envious."
Maurice's expression suddenly became somewhat sorrowful. "Becoming a mother was my wife's greatest joy. She loved every last one of her children dearly."
Claude became silent for a moment, out of respect for the other man's grief. Aside from Gaston, there was nobody who he loved more than his wife. He didn't know what he would've done had he lost her.
Eventually, Maurice managed to return from his stupor. "I am mortified that you travelled all this way for our sakes, lord La Fayette. Yet, I am also extremely grateful for it; your presence will set my mind at ease tonight."
Claude nodded before leaning forward to whisper the next sentence to Maurice so the children wouldn't hear. "While Gaston and I were eager to meet your Le Marquand family, the true reason for our arrival is more… serious."
Claude fixed Maurice with a somber gaze. "There have been reports of beasts roaming this area."
Maurice's eyes widened. "What manner of beasts are they? Wolves? Bears?"
Claude nodded, but his expression seemed uncertain. "One of those, most likely. I am well used to dealing with wild animals, so there is no need for concern.
Maurice looked unsettled, but he took Claude at his word. "Please continue with tonight's preparations." Mourice said, turning to Margaret.
The woman nodded. "'Yer lordship." She said, cutseying to Claude as she walked past.
Claude nodded politely to the woman before turning to speak to Gaston. "Why don't you go introduce yourself to the other children? You'll be seeing a lot of each other in the years to come."
Gaston didn't seem overly enthused at the idea.
Claude huffed. His son was too anti-social.
He nudged the boy with his elbow, surreptitiously motioning him towards the peerlessly beautiful fairy in their midst.
Gaston rolled his eyes, but did as his father bade him.
Maurice noticed the exchange. He ran his fingers over the hat in his hand thoughtfully. If any individual from Villeneuve had a chance at stealing Anastasia's affection away from Louis, then it would be this boy. She would never so much as glance at a commoner. Gaston was a little young for her, but Maurice wasn't exactly spoiled for choice when it came to suitable suitors.
The old merchant grabbed the boy's upper-arm before whispering in his ear. "That is my oldest daughter, Anastasia. If you wish to pursue her, then I won't stop you. However, be aware that she's had no shortage of attention from boys, so she's rather prideful."
Gaston glanced up at the old man, his bronze eyes twinkling. Smirking, he nodded.
'Hmph, at least he has confidence.' Maurice noted, as he looked at the boy's departing back. 'He'll need it.'
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Gaston strode into the midst of the children, most of whom were currently busy helping with preparations for the night.
Eleven pairs of eyes turned to him at his arrival. Some stared openly, while others were more shy.
The person in question came to a halt in the middle of the twelve individuals, his posture casual. His eyes swept through the camp, glancing at every boy and every girl in turn. Finally, his gaze stopped on a picturesque girl wearing a simple, snow-white dress.
Anastasia paid no attention to the intruder. Getting leered at was a daily occurrence for her.
Gaston's gaze roamed from her exposed ankles, to her snow-white arms and then to her slender neck. He was so blatant that some of the others started getting embarrassed just from watching him.
The oldest son, Bertrand, silently fumed as he watched this invader ogle his sister. He'd been getting into fights with other boys constantly ever since he could remember for this exact reason.
Unable to restrain himself, he advanced on the fellow who was still silently staring at his beautiful sibling.
"Will you not introduce yourself?" He said, practically shoving his face into Gaston's.
Gaston finally drew his gaze away from Anastasia to look at Bertrand standing in front of him. He smiled charmingly, running his hand through his long, curly hair.
"Who else could I be, other than Gaston himself?" The boy clasped his leather vest, pulling it downwards in a sharp adjusting motion.
Bertrand looked at the kid in front of him with a slightly confused expression on his face. He wasn't sure how to handle that introduction.
"Well… I am Bertrand. I don't think your manner of staring was very polite." He said, regaining his composure towards the end.
"If your sister was displeased, then surely she would have said something." Gaston said, fiddling in his pocket as if he were looking for something. His eyes brightened as he found it - a small ferrous rock with golden crystals growing out of it.
He promptly ignored Bertrand and started walking to Anastasia who reclined comfortably on the grass. She was busy digging through the jewellery box she'd inherited from her mother.
Bertrand's face turned red from being ignored. He stormed after Gaston, using every bit of willpower to keep himself from strangling the other boy. If it wasn't for the fact that Sir Claude was their benefactor, he'd surely done it.
Arriving in front of the golden-haired teen, he buffed the rock against his linen pants before handing it to her. "A golden bauble to match your hair, maiden Anastasia."
The girl glanced at the rock without looking at Gaston. After considering for a moment, she reached forward to take it from his hands. She took a golden ring from the jewellery box, holding it next to the rock. She turned them this way and that, analysing and comparing the gift.
"It isn't gold." She said decisively before flinging the rock over her shoulder into the woods, never to be found again.
The surrounding kids looked in the direction of where the golden rock had disappeared. If she didn't want it, then surely she could have given it to one of them?
Gaston's brow twitched a little, his face a mix between irritation and intrigue. "Indeed. It isn't real gold, it's fool's gold."
Anastasia flicked her hair over her shoulder, unimpressed. "I know what fool's gold is. I'm a merchant's daughter."
Gaston opened his mouth to say something, but he was interrupted by a red-haired girl.
"Anna's already rejected you. You don't need to say any more" Her freckled face looked cross as she stood in front of her sister like a bodyguard, arms crossed in front of her chest.
Bertrand naturally wouldn't miss this opportunity. "Instead of bothering Anastasia, you should help us gather some dry wood for tonight's fire." He spoke authoritatively, like someone who was used to having their commands obeyed.
Gaston didn't take any heed of his words. "I believe I'll go for a hunt instead. I'm sure lady Anastasia has become tired of road-rations." He turned on his heel, heading towards where his horse stood tied to a tree.
Bertrand's face was cross, but inwardly he sneered. This kid was going to make a fool of himself. There were perhaps two hours left until twilight – how was he planning to hunt in that little time?
"The fire is important for all our safety, Gaston. I'm sure Anastasia appreciates your intentions, but it would be better if you assisted us instead." Bertrand said in a reasonable tone. However, his thoughts on the inside were venomous.
'Go ahead, you pretentious brat. Show Anastasia your incompetence.'
Gaston took a shortbow and a bundle of arrows from where they were stashed near the magnificent beast before heading in the direction of the forest.
However, before he could leave the little clearing, he was cornered by a boy around six years old.
"Does your horse have a name?" The child asked, a little shyly.
Gaston looked down at him. Despite being only a year younger than him, the boy was much smaller. Though, rather than the boy being short, Gaston was just freakishly tall. He was almost on eye-level with Bertrand, who happened to be five years older than him.
"His name is Charbonneau Archambault Babineaux IX." Gaston said, staring the younger boy in the eyes with seriousness.
Everyone listening froze at that declaration, unsure of how to react.
The boy in front of Gaston furrowed his brows in confusion. "Why is his name so long?"
"He likes it that way." Gaston said, slinging his quiver over his shoulder.
Charbonneau Archambault Babineaux IX made a neighing sound in affirmation.
The other kids were a little stunned. They didn't know whether they should be scoffing or laughing at the crazy situation.
Claude looked up from where he was speaking softly to Mourice. "You are going hunting?"
Gaston nodded. "I wish to bag a few birds for tonight's pot."
"Be back before sundown." Claude said, providing his son with unspoken permission.
Maurice's gaze followed the lad as he disappeared into the forest. "You have much confidence in your son." He said, levelling Claude with a serious gaze.
"Gaston grew up in these forests. He spends more time in there than in town, or even at his own home." Claude's gaze grew a little conflicted as he said this.
It sounded to Maurice that there was a story there somewhere.
"Regardless, I was asking you about the roads." Claude said, emerging from his thoughts.
Maurice's expression grew morose. "The road itself was safe, as you guaranteed. We encountered no banditry or anything of the sort, it's just that…" Maurice hesitated, his expression growing a little ill.
Claude looked at the man questioningly.
"France seems to be falling apart. The people in some of the towns we passed… God! I worry that the world may be coming to an end." Maurice raised both hands to rub at his face as he said this.
Claude remained silent. He had his ways of gathering information, so he knew much of what was going on. "You kept the children in the carriages?" He asked, looking at Maurice out of the corner of his eye.
"Dear Lord, yes! I would never subject them to such a thing. I naturally closed and locked the shutters as well. We needed to resupply; fortunately, Margaret was capable of handling the task by herself. The rest of us didn't come close to… that." Maurice shook his head morbidly once he finished talking.
"I wonder how I will raise my children in a world like this…" He took out a locket from his coat pocket as he spoke, opening it to reveal a drawing of his late wife. He turned to look at Claude with moistening eyes. "No place is safe, aside from a few select noble estates. For your aid… I will be eternally grateful. For saving me, for saving my children…" Mourice rubbed the tears from his eyes with a sleeve, careful not to let his children see his state.
He looked Claude with resolve in his gaze. "I am at the La Fayette family's service. Whenever you give the order, I will be ready."
Claude reached over to pat the merchant on his shoulder. "Jeanne and I want nothing more than for Gaston to be hale and happy. My wife in particular is set on finding a wife for him to marry. If one of your daughters would be willing, I think that would be enough."
Maurice smiled. "He is a handsome lad. Out of my six daughters, I'm sure at least one would be honoured to wed him."
However, the happiness didn't last. A depressed mood soon fell over the two men. They looked at the children who chatted happily amongst themselves as they tended to the camp. In their hearts, they knew scenes like this would be scarce in the future.
The world was changing, and not for the better.
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Chapter 4
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Orange sunlight filtered through the leafy canopy that sheltered the little camp of three adults and twelve children. A large pot had been set over the roaring fire and a pleasant meaty smell filled the air. The cook, Margaret, had tossed their hard, dry leftovers into some water along with any wild vegetables and herbs they'd managed to gather during their journey. Fortunately, they still had some dried meats to provide the pot with some substance.
A certain pimply boy was currently stirring the fire with his stick. It hadn't needed to serve as a weapon today, so he thought to use it as a fire-poker. Their duties were finished, so Bertrand sat with his brothers around the fire, enjoying his rest after a long day of travelling and labor.
His thoughts were pleasant as he contemplated Gaston's return: he thought of how the younger boy would enter the camp with hands empty of any prey and with a sheepish expression on his face. Bertrand had seen it all before; how other boys would try to pull some stunt to impress Anastasia. They had made fools of themselves every time.
His brow furrowed a little in distaste as he thought of the exception. Louis had been disturbingly competent at wooing the Marquand princess. If there was one good thing that came out of this whole mess, it would be the fact that the pretty-boy noble was no longer able to interact with Anna.
Bertrand's thoughts were interrupted by an exclamation from his father: "Ah, Gaston! That's quite the catch you have there. It seems your father wasn't exaggerating about your skill with the bow."
The twelve-year-old leap to his feet, his eyes staring unbelievingly at Gaston who'd quietly entered the clearing without him noticing. Every part of Gaston's body had some type of bird tied to it - it looked like he'd tried to disguise himself as a pile of fowl corpses.
Margaret walked over to help him as he started untying the knots, dropping kill after kill on a vacant spot of grass. She looked at the boy with consideration before speaking: "You've brought us quite a bounty for tonight's dinner. I'll admit, I thought you were full of bluster, but it seems you were just confident in your own skill."
She took a handful of birds and carried them over to a pot of boiling water they'd prepared for their other needs. "Come girls, I'll be needing some help with the plucking. Be careful not to scald yourselves."
Some of the younger girls went, but Margaret sent them away. This duty was for the older sisters. "You too, Anastasia. I would be happy to care for all, but I am only one servant." She took a smaller pigeon, setting it aside for the older girl to prepare. "It will be over quickly. Many hands make for light work, after all."
Margaret had known every one of the children since the day they were born, and she'd cared for them like her own. Even Anastasia had a measure of respect for her.
However, the blonde goddess didn't look up from where she was sitting. She daintily took a sip from the brothy appetizer in her hands before addressing Bertrand: "Bertrand, go pluck that bird."
The boy in question showed a confused expression. Why was he being singled out? He looked at his sister with a wronged expression. "Why are you asking me?"
Anastasia looked at him with a regal expression before straightening her legs, smoothing her pretty dress with one hand as she did so. "You don't have to do it if you don't want to." Her free hand went to the hem of her dress, adjusting it.
Bertrand felt a chill on the back of his neck. Whenever Anna took this kind of attitude, it usually meant that she had some kind of leverage over one of them. Given how pointedly she was playing with her dress, it could only mean one thing… she knew.
Bertrand waved his hands back and forth with and awkward laugh. "No, I want to!"
He had a smile on his face as he walked over to the pigeon, but inwardly he was clenching his teeth.
The boys had started helping with the laundry sometime during their journey. Margaret had insisted that it was a woman's duty and that she and the girls were more than capable of handling the chore, but his father had insisted the boys provide help. Apparently, they needed to 'get used to working', or something like that.
Of course, they were only responsible for dealing with their own clothes. It wasn't proper for a man to touch a woman's clothes, even if they belonged to one's own sisters. However, out of curiosity, Bertrand had touched one of Anna's blue dresses when everyone was taking an afternoon nap. He didn't know why he did what he did, but he'd raised it to his nose and taken a deep breath. It had smelled incredibly good. He was mortified by his own behavior, but at least no one had been awake to see it.
Anastasia had never worn that blue dress again. Bertrand had persuaded himself that the piece of clothing simply wasn't fit for travel since his eldest sister had never even so much as hinted at knowing about the incident.
However, she had noticed, and now she was blackmailing him.
He was beyond embarrassed. He had no idea how her opinion of him had changed. He'd always been the one in her corner since they were children, so surely she would forgive him?
He started plucking the bird's feathers as if they were the teeth of his most mortal enemy. His expression was placid, but his pupils fixed themselves on Gaston murderously. The other boy had nothing to do with the situation, but he was nearby and a convenient outlet for Bertrand's anger.
'So what if you shot a couple of pigeons? It's not like we would have gone hungry tonight anyway.'
The younger children, both boys and girls, gathered around Gaston as he regaled them with the tale of hunting his first stag. He stood straight, with his arms raised in the motion of drawing a bow. "…carefully aimed for the liver. Then, I shot it from behind! The beast immediately collapsed, and I was able to end its life with my knife." Gaston released an imaginary bowstring before miming the action of drawing a dagger from his waist and slicing at a carotid artery.
The little children inhaled in unison; their gazes were both frightened and intrigued. "Why did you shoot it in the liver?" A younger girl asked, her eyes wide.
"A critical liver shot is enough to incapacitate any beast." Gaston explained, wagging one finger in the air with a scholarly expression.
The little girl nodded knowingly before turning to her older brother, whispering a question: "What's a liver?"
"I think it's the neck part of an animal, Mirabelle." The boy whispered back quietly, one finger stroking his lower lip in thought.
After finishing with his story, Gaston went back to plucking a few birds he'd kept for himself. He wasn't too fond of having his meat boiled, so he planned to roast them over the fire separately.
Bertrand saw an opportunity. He wanted to smear Gaston by pointing out his selfishness at keeping some of the meat for himself, but he wasn't sure how to go about it. After all, didn't he hunt everything himself? Even Bertrand could see that avenue of attack was a stupid idea.
Fortunately, he was saved when his twin sister, Celia stepped in. "Aren't you being a little selfish, Gaston? I don't mind, but my little brothers and sisters haven't gotten much opportunity to eat roast meat recently."
'Bless your empty little head, Celia.' Bertrand thought.
They were indeed twins, as evidenced by their freckled faces and red hair, but Celia lacked his brains and social tact. He was grateful for that fact. It meant she was stupid enough to attract the negative attention to herself, allowing him to put himself in a favourable position.
"Don't be like that, Celia." Bertrand said, stepping in. "I'm sure our siblings don't mind stew. Isn't that right?" He asked, looking on as the little kids stared longingly at the golden fat that dripped from Gaston's roast.
The young hunter was busy spit-roasting the fowls on wooden stakes he'd fashioned from a few straight-ish sticks. He said nothing, instead taking a few dried herbs from a small leather pouch and sprinkling them over the meat. They crackled and popped from the fire, emitting a mouth-watering scent.
The kids' expressions were conflicted as they looked on. They felt it was the right thing to agree with what Bertrand said, yet at the same time they couldn't deny how delicious the cooking birds looked.
Unfortunately for them, and for Bertrand's scheme, Gaston paid them no attention. He continued carefully cooking his dinner, taking small nibbling bites from the roasting skin as he did so.
Celia's face scrunched up from being ignored. "How rude." She took two of her siblings by their hands while nudging the rest with her leg. "Let's leave this glutton to his dinner. Margaret's soup would taste better, in any case."
She led the children over to where Margaret had started scooping the soupy stew into wooden bowls with a large ladle. A few dry pieces of bread were placed on a table nearby for everyone to eat from as they wished.
Gaston cooked his meat close to the fire – he was simply too hungry to wait much longer. Finally, it was done. He took a bird from the fire and chomped down on the scalding-hot meat, causing drops of grease and meat juices to flow down his chin.
A few pairs of eyes fixed themselves incredulously on the boy as he voraciously devoured his dinned. His own body seemed too small to be able to accommodate such a large quantity of food.
In a less crowded part of the little clearing, Maurice went to wipe his spectacles on reflex as he watched, only to find that he wasn't wearing them. He turned to look at Claude's large form which loomed silently outside the circle of firelight. The man in question was currently staring into the bowls of the forest with an unreadable expression.
"Your boy sure can eat, can't he?" Maurice said, attempting to bring some levity to the serious atmosphere. They'd been discussing the current happenings in France, as well as Maurice's suspicions of the crown's involvement in his family's downfall.
Eventually, the conversation had died down. Claude had been staring into the darkening woods with the same expression for what felt like hours, barely even paying attention to Gaston's return.
Claude's face was hidden in shadow, but Maurice could hear the smile in his tone. "Indeed, no-one eats like Gaston."
Maurice nodded dumbly. He himself would perhaps have been able to make it through two birds at most, yet Gaston had already swallowed five and was now leisurely considering the sixth as he held it by its stake. It was incredible.
Before Gaston could sink his teeth into his final portion, a melodious voice sounded from the other side of the fire: "I would like that one."
Gaston turned to look at Anastasia. She was sitting on a pile of pillows with a blanket spread underneath them. Her lady-like legs were gracefully folded underneath her with an empty wooden bowl placed next to them. She stretched out one hand, making no effort to stand up.
Gaston looked at her with a critical eye. His gaze lingered on the neckline of her dress, which had slipped down enough to expose one collarbone due to her reclining posture.
He looked down, considering the piece of meat in his hands thoughtfully. "I would, but I'm not sure if you will toss it over your shoulder also."
The lovely girl raised her perfect eyebrows at him. "It would attract animals. I am not daft."
Nodding in satisfaction, Gaston stood and walked over to her. He impaled the meat on his knife, allowing her to grasp the wooden stick that protruded from it.
Anastasia took it carefully, leaning forward so as not to drip anything on her clothes or the bedding. She looked at it for a moment, as if unsure how to eat it without cutlery.
Seeing her predicament, a brown-haired sister at her side handed over a flat wooden board as well as a dull knife. "Here, Anna. It should be easier to eat with these." Anastasia nodded in thanks and started cutting the meat against the wooden plate, her fingers daintily holding on to the stick as leverage.
Gaston stood watchfully over her as she ate. After seeing that she wasn't planning on tossing the food into the woods, he relaxed and sat down again.
The charming girl ate about half of the fowl before she was satisfied. She handed to wooden board back to her sister while speaking: "Here Lancy, why don't you have the rest."
The girl took it gratefully with a smile on her face. "Thanks Anna!" She said, digging into the remaining half.
Anastasia wetted a handkerchief in a bowl of warm, scented water to wipe her mouth with before soaking her hands in it as well. She looked over at Gaston. "I would enjoy sharing more of your catch in the future." She stated, her full lips curving into a mesmerizing smile.
Gaston looked at her with a pensive expression, his eyes glowing like two orange coals in the light of the fire. Finally, his mouth curled into a little smirk as he nodded his head.
Bertrand couldn't help sneering as he watched this.
'You've just turned yourself into her personal cook, fool. You've accomplished nothing!'
Meanwhile, Margaret's face showed a concerned look as she stared at her employer. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the pot and a pile of inconspicuous leaves she'd been made to add at his behest. Maurice nodded to her, motioning with his hand for her not to worry.
However, he himself felt this was rather strange. He looked over at Claude with an uncomfortable look. "I don't understand the purpose of this, but I will concede to your requests. If you wished to harm us, you wouldn't need to take such a roundabout manner."
Claude's hand went to rub at his brow. "The herb is called 'Henbane'. It will cause the children to fall into a deep sleep. It is no poison."
Maurice frowned. "I don't understand. If some threat did happen upon us tonight, wouldn't it be better if everyone were awake? What if we have to flee?"
Claude shook his head. "They are only children. If they panic, things will only become worse. It will be easier for me to protect them if they are all asleep close together."
Now Maurice was really getting worried. He raised his hands to bite at his nails, only to catch himself and fold them in his lap instead. "Far be it from me to question you, but if things are so drastic then, why…?"
Claude smiled bitterly. "Why did I not bring any men with me from the village?" He questioned, finishing Mourice's sentence for him. "They would not come if I asked, and if they did, I'm unsure if they would be of any help." Claude shook his head. Naturally, he'd considered the option.
Maurice was confused. Why on earth would the village's men refuse the request of baron La Fayette? He didn't seem like the tyrannical type in the least. The opposite, in fact – he was rather likeable for a noble and without any pretentiousness.
After the pot had been cleaned, towards which Gaston contributed significantly despite already having swallowed half-a-dozen birds, the children set to washing the dishware under Margaret's direction.
After they finished up for the night, they placed down their bedrolls on the cleared-out ground. The carriages, which had been drawn around the little camp in a protective semi-circle, were too small to serve as sleeping accommodations.
The camp was quiet as Gaston and Claude circled the perimeter, double-checking the traps they'd set up. If anything large tried to approach them at night, they would be warned.
Things were unusually quiet. Ordinarily, the children would have whispered to each other before falling asleep. Things were different tonight. They fell asleep practically as soon as their heads hit their pillows. They were packed tightly around the fire, boys on one side and girls on the other.
Gaston did not sleep with the other children. He leaned comfortable against a tree close by, already dead asleep as soon as he rested his head. He'd gotten the largest dose of Hensbane out of everyone, with how much he'd eaten.
After thirty minutes, everyone except for the three adults were asleep. They'd forgone eating from the pot, instead partaking from the remaining road-rations.
"Sir Claude, I wonder if you can tell us your purpose, now that the children can't hear." Margaret said skeptically as she watched the giant of a man.
Claude raised his open pals towards the other two people. "I don't have a specific purpose. I'm just acting according to my instincts."
Margaret wasn't buying it. "Sit Claude, are instincts really…?" She started, intending to probe a bit more.
"I trust Claude's… instincts, Margaret." Maurice spoke, interrupting his servant. "He is most qualified to deal with this kind of thing out of all of us." With those words said, he looked pointedly at Margaret. Maurice thought back to that 'request' he'd done for Claude, all those years ago.
He looked at Claude. "Are you anticipating something like that?"
Claude's mouth turned into a frown. "No, I've dealt with the issue long ago. Besides, I wouldn't have invited you if that sword of Damocles were still hanging over my head."
Maurice rubbed his temples with his palms frustratedly. If 'that' wasn't the problem, then he didn't understand what in God's great name had this strong man so worked up.
Claude himself seemed to have some trouble expressing his thoughts. "Look, Maurice. Let's not concern ourselves too much with this issue. With everything that's been going on, my imagination may be getting the best of me. Why don't you go tend to the fire while Margaret and I take watch?" Claude glanced at the wiry woman, his eyes resting on her scarred forearms.
After a moment, the woman nodded. She went to the opposite side of the fire and sat down. She took a blade from somewhere beneath her skirts, somewhere between a sword and a dagger in length. This whole business felt ridiculous to her, but she seen some things and she knew the value of 'better safe than sorry'.
The three of them settled down.
Hopefully, this would just be another night spent underneath the stars.
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Orange sunlight filtered through the leafy canopy that sheltered the little camp of three adults and twelve children. A large pot had been set over the roaring fire and a pleasant meaty smell filled the air. The cook, Margaret, had tossed their hard, dry leftovers into some water along with any wild vegetables and herbs they'd managed to gather during their journey. Fortunately, they still had some dried meats to provide the pot with some substance.
A certain pimply boy was currently stirring the fire with his stick. It hadn't needed to serve as a weapon today, so he thought to use it as a fire-poker. Their duties were finished, so Bertrand sat with his brothers around the fire, enjoying his rest after a long day of travelling and labor.
His thoughts were pleasant as he contemplated Gaston's return: he thought of how the younger boy would enter the camp with hands empty of any prey and with a sheepish expression on his face. Bertrand had seen it all before; how other boys would try to pull some stunt to impress Anastasia. They had made fools of themselves every time.
His brow furrowed a little in distaste as he thought of the exception. Louis had been disturbingly competent at wooing the Marquand princess. If there was one good thing that came out of this whole mess, it would be the fact that the pretty-boy noble was no longer able to interact with Anna.
Bertrand's thoughts were interrupted by an exclamation from his father: "Ah, Gaston! That's quite the catch you have there. It seems your father wasn't exaggerating about your skill with the bow."
The twelve-year-old leap to his feet, his eyes staring unbelievingly at Gaston who'd quietly entered the clearing without him noticing. Every part of Gaston's body had some type of bird tied to it - it looked like he'd tried to disguise himself as a pile of fowl corpses.
Margaret walked over to help him as he started untying the knots, dropping kill after kill on a vacant spot of grass. She looked at the boy with consideration before speaking: "You've brought us quite a bounty for tonight's dinner. I'll admit, I thought you were full of bluster, but it seems you were just confident in your own skill."
She took a handful of birds and carried them over to a pot of boiling water they'd prepared for their other needs. "Come girls, I'll be needing some help with the plucking. Be careful not to scald yourselves."
Some of the younger girls went, but Margaret sent them away. This duty was for the older sisters. "You too, Anastasia. I would be happy to care for all, but I am only one servant." She took a smaller pigeon, setting it aside for the older girl to prepare. "It will be over quickly. Many hands make for light work, after all."
Margaret had known every one of the children since the day they were born, and she'd cared for them like her own. Even Anastasia had a measure of respect for her.
However, the blonde goddess didn't look up from where she was sitting. She daintily took a sip from the brothy appetizer in her hands before addressing Bertrand: "Bertrand, go pluck that bird."
The boy in question showed a confused expression. Why was he being singled out? He looked at his sister with a wronged expression. "Why are you asking me?"
Anastasia looked at him with a regal expression before straightening her legs, smoothing her pretty dress with one hand as she did so. "You don't have to do it if you don't want to." Her free hand went to the hem of her dress, adjusting it.
Bertrand felt a chill on the back of his neck. Whenever Anna took this kind of attitude, it usually meant that she had some kind of leverage over one of them. Given how pointedly she was playing with her dress, it could only mean one thing… she knew.
Bertrand waved his hands back and forth with and awkward laugh. "No, I want to!"
He had a smile on his face as he walked over to the pigeon, but inwardly he was clenching his teeth.
The boys had started helping with the laundry sometime during their journey. Margaret had insisted that it was a woman's duty and that she and the girls were more than capable of handling the chore, but his father had insisted the boys provide help. Apparently, they needed to 'get used to working', or something like that.
Of course, they were only responsible for dealing with their own clothes. It wasn't proper for a man to touch a woman's clothes, even if they belonged to one's own sisters. However, out of curiosity, Bertrand had touched one of Anna's blue dresses when everyone was taking an afternoon nap. He didn't know why he did what he did, but he'd raised it to his nose and taken a deep breath. It had smelled incredibly good. He was mortified by his own behavior, but at least no one had been awake to see it.
Anastasia had never worn that blue dress again. Bertrand had persuaded himself that the piece of clothing simply wasn't fit for travel since his eldest sister had never even so much as hinted at knowing about the incident.
However, she had noticed, and now she was blackmailing him.
He was beyond embarrassed. He had no idea how her opinion of him had changed. He'd always been the one in her corner since they were children, so surely she would forgive him?
He started plucking the bird's feathers as if they were the teeth of his most mortal enemy. His expression was placid, but his pupils fixed themselves on Gaston murderously. The other boy had nothing to do with the situation, but he was nearby and a convenient outlet for Bertrand's anger.
'So what if you shot a couple of pigeons? It's not like we would have gone hungry tonight anyway.'
The younger children, both boys and girls, gathered around Gaston as he regaled them with the tale of hunting his first stag. He stood straight, with his arms raised in the motion of drawing a bow. "…carefully aimed for the liver. Then, I shot it from behind! The beast immediately collapsed, and I was able to end its life with my knife." Gaston released an imaginary bowstring before miming the action of drawing a dagger from his waist and slicing at a carotid artery.
The little children inhaled in unison; their gazes were both frightened and intrigued. "Why did you shoot it in the liver?" A younger girl asked, her eyes wide.
"A critical liver shot is enough to incapacitate any beast." Gaston explained, wagging one finger in the air with a scholarly expression.
The little girl nodded knowingly before turning to her older brother, whispering a question: "What's a liver?"
"I think it's the neck part of an animal, Mirabelle." The boy whispered back quietly, one finger stroking his lower lip in thought.
After finishing with his story, Gaston went back to plucking a few birds he'd kept for himself. He wasn't too fond of having his meat boiled, so he planned to roast them over the fire separately.
Bertrand saw an opportunity. He wanted to smear Gaston by pointing out his selfishness at keeping some of the meat for himself, but he wasn't sure how to go about it. After all, didn't he hunt everything himself? Even Bertrand could see that avenue of attack was a stupid idea.
Fortunately, he was saved when his twin sister, Celia stepped in. "Aren't you being a little selfish, Gaston? I don't mind, but my little brothers and sisters haven't gotten much opportunity to eat roast meat recently."
'Bless your empty little head, Celia.' Bertrand thought.
They were indeed twins, as evidenced by their freckled faces and red hair, but Celia lacked his brains and social tact. He was grateful for that fact. It meant she was stupid enough to attract the negative attention to herself, allowing him to put himself in a favourable position.
"Don't be like that, Celia." Bertrand said, stepping in. "I'm sure our siblings don't mind stew. Isn't that right?" He asked, looking on as the little kids stared longingly at the golden fat that dripped from Gaston's roast.
The young hunter was busy spit-roasting the fowls on wooden stakes he'd fashioned from a few straight-ish sticks. He said nothing, instead taking a few dried herbs from a small leather pouch and sprinkling them over the meat. They crackled and popped from the fire, emitting a mouth-watering scent.
The kids' expressions were conflicted as they looked on. They felt it was the right thing to agree with what Bertrand said, yet at the same time they couldn't deny how delicious the cooking birds looked.
Unfortunately for them, and for Bertrand's scheme, Gaston paid them no attention. He continued carefully cooking his dinner, taking small nibbling bites from the roasting skin as he did so.
Celia's face scrunched up from being ignored. "How rude." She took two of her siblings by their hands while nudging the rest with her leg. "Let's leave this glutton to his dinner. Margaret's soup would taste better, in any case."
She led the children over to where Margaret had started scooping the soupy stew into wooden bowls with a large ladle. A few dry pieces of bread were placed on a table nearby for everyone to eat from as they wished.
Gaston cooked his meat close to the fire – he was simply too hungry to wait much longer. Finally, it was done. He took a bird from the fire and chomped down on the scalding-hot meat, causing drops of grease and meat juices to flow down his chin.
A few pairs of eyes fixed themselves incredulously on the boy as he voraciously devoured his dinned. His own body seemed too small to be able to accommodate such a large quantity of food.
In a less crowded part of the little clearing, Maurice went to wipe his spectacles on reflex as he watched, only to find that he wasn't wearing them. He turned to look at Claude's large form which loomed silently outside the circle of firelight. The man in question was currently staring into the bowls of the forest with an unreadable expression.
"Your boy sure can eat, can't he?" Maurice said, attempting to bring some levity to the serious atmosphere. They'd been discussing the current happenings in France, as well as Maurice's suspicions of the crown's involvement in his family's downfall.
Eventually, the conversation had died down. Claude had been staring into the darkening woods with the same expression for what felt like hours, barely even paying attention to Gaston's return.
Claude's face was hidden in shadow, but Maurice could hear the smile in his tone. "Indeed, no-one eats like Gaston."
Maurice nodded dumbly. He himself would perhaps have been able to make it through two birds at most, yet Gaston had already swallowed five and was now leisurely considering the sixth as he held it by its stake. It was incredible.
Before Gaston could sink his teeth into his final portion, a melodious voice sounded from the other side of the fire: "I would like that one."
Gaston turned to look at Anastasia. She was sitting on a pile of pillows with a blanket spread underneath them. Her lady-like legs were gracefully folded underneath her with an empty wooden bowl placed next to them. She stretched out one hand, making no effort to stand up.
Gaston looked at her with a critical eye. His gaze lingered on the neckline of her dress, which had slipped down enough to expose one collarbone due to her reclining posture.
He looked down, considering the piece of meat in his hands thoughtfully. "I would, but I'm not sure if you will toss it over your shoulder also."
The lovely girl raised her perfect eyebrows at him. "It would attract animals. I am not daft."
Nodding in satisfaction, Gaston stood and walked over to her. He impaled the meat on his knife, allowing her to grasp the wooden stick that protruded from it.
Anastasia took it carefully, leaning forward so as not to drip anything on her clothes or the bedding. She looked at it for a moment, as if unsure how to eat it without cutlery.
Seeing her predicament, a brown-haired sister at her side handed over a flat wooden board as well as a dull knife. "Here, Anna. It should be easier to eat with these." Anastasia nodded in thanks and started cutting the meat against the wooden plate, her fingers daintily holding on to the stick as leverage.
Gaston stood watchfully over her as she ate. After seeing that she wasn't planning on tossing the food into the woods, he relaxed and sat down again.
The charming girl ate about half of the fowl before she was satisfied. She handed to wooden board back to her sister while speaking: "Here Lancy, why don't you have the rest."
The girl took it gratefully with a smile on her face. "Thanks Anna!" She said, digging into the remaining half.
Anastasia wetted a handkerchief in a bowl of warm, scented water to wipe her mouth with before soaking her hands in it as well. She looked over at Gaston. "I would enjoy sharing more of your catch in the future." She stated, her full lips curving into a mesmerizing smile.
Gaston looked at her with a pensive expression, his eyes glowing like two orange coals in the light of the fire. Finally, his mouth curled into a little smirk as he nodded his head.
Bertrand couldn't help sneering as he watched this.
'You've just turned yourself into her personal cook, fool. You've accomplished nothing!'
Meanwhile, Margaret's face showed a concerned look as she stared at her employer. Her eyes flicked back and forth between the pot and a pile of inconspicuous leaves she'd been made to add at his behest. Maurice nodded to her, motioning with his hand for her not to worry.
However, he himself felt this was rather strange. He looked over at Claude with an uncomfortable look. "I don't understand the purpose of this, but I will concede to your requests. If you wished to harm us, you wouldn't need to take such a roundabout manner."
Claude's hand went to rub at his brow. "The herb is called 'Henbane'. It will cause the children to fall into a deep sleep. It is no poison."
Maurice frowned. "I don't understand. If some threat did happen upon us tonight, wouldn't it be better if everyone were awake? What if we have to flee?"
Claude shook his head. "They are only children. If they panic, things will only become worse. It will be easier for me to protect them if they are all asleep close together."
Now Maurice was really getting worried. He raised his hands to bite at his nails, only to catch himself and fold them in his lap instead. "Far be it from me to question you, but if things are so drastic then, why…?"
Claude smiled bitterly. "Why did I not bring any men with me from the village?" He questioned, finishing Mourice's sentence for him. "They would not come if I asked, and if they did, I'm unsure if they would be of any help." Claude shook his head. Naturally, he'd considered the option.
Maurice was confused. Why on earth would the village's men refuse the request of baron La Fayette? He didn't seem like the tyrannical type in the least. The opposite, in fact – he was rather likeable for a noble and without any pretentiousness.
After the pot had been cleaned, towards which Gaston contributed significantly despite already having swallowed half-a-dozen birds, the children set to washing the dishware under Margaret's direction.
After they finished up for the night, they placed down their bedrolls on the cleared-out ground. The carriages, which had been drawn around the little camp in a protective semi-circle, were too small to serve as sleeping accommodations.
The camp was quiet as Gaston and Claude circled the perimeter, double-checking the traps they'd set up. If anything large tried to approach them at night, they would be warned.
Things were unusually quiet. Ordinarily, the children would have whispered to each other before falling asleep. Things were different tonight. They fell asleep practically as soon as their heads hit their pillows. They were packed tightly around the fire, boys on one side and girls on the other.
Gaston did not sleep with the other children. He leaned comfortable against a tree close by, already dead asleep as soon as he rested his head. He'd gotten the largest dose of Hensbane out of everyone, with how much he'd eaten.
After thirty minutes, everyone except for the three adults were asleep. They'd forgone eating from the pot, instead partaking from the remaining road-rations.
"Sir Claude, I wonder if you can tell us your purpose, now that the children can't hear." Margaret said skeptically as she watched the giant of a man.
Claude raised his open pals towards the other two people. "I don't have a specific purpose. I'm just acting according to my instincts."
Margaret wasn't buying it. "Sit Claude, are instincts really…?" She started, intending to probe a bit more.
"I trust Claude's… instincts, Margaret." Maurice spoke, interrupting his servant. "He is most qualified to deal with this kind of thing out of all of us." With those words said, he looked pointedly at Margaret. Maurice thought back to that 'request' he'd done for Claude, all those years ago.
He looked at Claude. "Are you anticipating something like that?"
Claude's mouth turned into a frown. "No, I've dealt with the issue long ago. Besides, I wouldn't have invited you if that sword of Damocles were still hanging over my head."
Maurice rubbed his temples with his palms frustratedly. If 'that' wasn't the problem, then he didn't understand what in God's great name had this strong man so worked up.
Claude himself seemed to have some trouble expressing his thoughts. "Look, Maurice. Let's not concern ourselves too much with this issue. With everything that's been going on, my imagination may be getting the best of me. Why don't you go tend to the fire while Margaret and I take watch?" Claude glanced at the wiry woman, his eyes resting on her scarred forearms.
After a moment, the woman nodded. She went to the opposite side of the fire and sat down. She took a blade from somewhere beneath her skirts, somewhere between a sword and a dagger in length. This whole business felt ridiculous to her, but she seen some things and she knew the value of 'better safe than sorry'.
The three of them settled down.
Hopefully, this would just be another night spent underneath the stars.
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Will you be more explicit in what is going on in France? I don't remember what is going on in this time period. What did the demonic ritual did to Gaston other than making him a SI? If you can explain all these plot points that would be excellent. Otherwise great to see so many stories of yours on this site. I would not know of them if you did not post them. BTW what site did you crosspost from and are we caught up to what you have written yet?
You guys are caught up
I guess QQ is the main site since I have pictures of characters 'nd stuff over there
Mostly the hundred year war between england and france was going on at the time
The church was also busy prosecuting pagans, where before the time period the church was mostly indifferent to pagans
This is AU so these events will be different and also mostly in the background
What exactly the ritual did is secret for now
Chapter 5
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It had been hours since the sun set. The three individuals sat in comfortable silence, barely speaking amongst themselves. They had resolved themselves to remain awake through the night. The journey to the town of Villeneuve would take little more than half a day. Tomorrow, they'd be able to rest us much as they wanted after they'd arrived.
Margaret in particular had recovered a lot of her earlier ease. If it where up to her, she'd have called off this stakeout. The weather wasn't even suitable for an ambush, it was simply too clear outside. She was currently staring up at the moon, which had journeyed halfway through the night sky. The stars flickered brightly, lighting the space above their heads like God's great chandelier.
Maurice and Claude were talking softly amongst themselves. Margaret was a little interested, but it wouldn't be professional of her to eavesdrop. Instead, she occupied herself by softly stroking the nearby sleeping children's heads one by one.
When she'd first been hired over thirteen years ago, she'd not been too enthused about the idea of being a nanny. They had grown on her. So much, in fact, that she couldn't bear to part with them even when it became extremely disadvantageous for her to stick with the Le Marquand family.
Now, here she was, a trained professional acting as a maid for children. She'd thought about returning to her previous manner of employment, but it held no appeal for her. She enjoyed this more. She was content.
She looked over at where the baron's young son was sleeping. He had an interesting personality. Margaret disliked the fact that she'd gotten used to using Anastasia as a way of measuring a boy's worth, but what could she say? The method worked. While Gaston was clearly lusting after the girl, he kept his composure while doing so. That alone was a tick in his favor.
Margaret returned her gaze to the shadowy forest. An amateur would have been spooked by the slowly swaying branches and the snapping of twigs, but she knew these to be nothing more than the normal sounds of nature.
"It will get misty soon." Claude suddenly said, his deep voice easily reaching her ears where she sat some distance away, despite how softly he said it.
Margaret furrowed her brows. "I don't see any mist."
Claude glanced over at her while tapping his nose. "I can smell it. Old woodsman's nose."
Margaret softly inhaled through her nose. Now that he mentioned it, she could detect a hint of moisture in the air. "Is there a lake nearby?"
Claude shook his head.
Margaret thought that was strange. Mist didn't usually just appear on a clear night like this.
Claude spoke as he looked up at the night sky: "Midnight has passed."
Margaret rolled her eyes. She wasn't a superstitious person. She'd been all over the world, and had never seen anything that could be interpreted as supernatural. The time between midnight and early morning held no special meaning to her.
She continued to stare into the forest, keeping an eye out for any mist. And indeed, as time passed, she could see a thin layer of vapor emerge outside the circle of firelight.
She heard a scraping sound. She looked over her shoulder to see Claude picking up his large axe from where it leaned against his leg to place it on his lap. She opened her mouth to say something, only to close it again. She eyed the blade near her before picking it up and placing it in her lap as well.
They sat in silence as they watched the rising fog. It drifted slowly between the tree trunks and brush leaves, the individual particles of moisture shining silvery in the starlight.
Margaret felt a soft breeze against her cheeks, the vapor carried within wetting her face. The fog kept building, almost sneakily. If she stared at a single spot for a long time, she wouldn't notice much change. However, if she turned her head, she'd notice how the areas at her periphery had become opaque much more rapidly than expected. Every time she returned her gaze to a previous spot after looking somewhere else, it would suddenly be covered in mist.
Her tired mind was playing tricks on her. She'd been travelling and working the whole day, and the idea of sleep was becoming more and more appealing. Her eyelids fluttered closed for a moment.
When she came to, it was because of a sharp sensation against her neck. She opened her eyes to see Claude holding her own knife against her throat. Blood rushed to her face in outrage. She opened her mouth to say something.
However, before she could speak, she was interrupted by Maurice's concerned voice: "Margaret, what… are you doing?"
Her face showed her confusion. "Sir, what do you mean?" She turned her head carefully to look at him, making sure not to cut herself on the blade at her neck.
Maurice's white-faced expression became even more disconcerted at her question. "Margaret, where were you planning on taking Mirabelle?" His eyes travelled downwards to look at her arms.
Margaret's gaze followed him only to find she was cradling the sleeping girl in her bosom. She looked around, her face contorting into bafflement and a hint of fright as she noticed her position. She was standing at the edge of their camp, a hair's breath away from walking into the mist.
She shook her head dumbly, unable to comprehend her situation.
"Give me the child, Margaret." Maurice said placatingly, in the same tone of voice one would use on a spooked animal.
She did as he asked her, uncaring of the weapon placed against her neck. Her veins were ice cold and her entire body buzzed with a numb sensation as she stepped forward to carefully deposit the sleeping girl in her father's arms.
Seeing that she'd returned to her senses, Claude removed the knife from her neck.
"What were you thinking, Margaret?" Maurice asked in a loud whisper. He found her behavior tonight incredibly disturbing. She'd not responded to their pleas at all, and had only snapped out of it when Claude wrested the blade from her grip and set it to her own neck.
Margaret was still shaking her head slowly from side to side incredulously. She hadn't thought of doing anything like this! She'd just dozed off for a moment.
Claude kept his gaze on her as he removed a pouch of something from his vest. He opened it while handing it to her. "Take a whiff of that. It should wake your right up."
Margaret brought it to her nose only to be assaulted by the strong smell of ammonia. Her face scrunched up in distaste.
Claude's mouth twitched a little before he once again became dead serious. "Give it a good smell. Trust me, it's not piss."
Margaret only contemplated it for a moment before she did as he bade her. She didn't want a repeat of… whatever it was that happened tonight. Immediately, she felt as if someone had shoved a pick of ice into her brain. She recoiled from the pouch in shock as blood started seeping from her nose.
Claude snatched his smelling-salts from her before she could drop it, putting it back in his vest. "If you feel like you might doze off again, just tell me."
The woman carefully nodded her head as she wiped at her bloody nose. She'd never felt this awake in her entire life!
They took their seats again, but closer to the fire this time. Maurice had laid Belle down on her bed. The herb was proving to be very effective, as none of the children had even so much as stirred despite the commotion.
The mist had become so thick in the meantime that it was no longer possible to see much of anything beyond the camp perimeter. Only the heat of the fire was keeping the mist at bay.
"Don't let the fire go out." Claude said, his voice grave. The bad feeling from earlier was getting stronger. "I'll keep an eye on our surroundings. And don't fall asleep."
Maurice and Margaret looked at each other, nodding.
For a long time, no one said anything. At this point they were just desperately praying for the night to pass as soon as possible.
The fog grew thicker and thicker until neither the moon nor stars were visible any longer. The trees had become no more than a gathering of dancing shadows, hiding and being revealed as the mist moved and the firelight flickered over them.
Claude gripped the handle of his axe more tightly. Something suddenly felt off to him. "Does anyone else feel that?" He asked, his voice quiet.
Maurice and Margaret stilled at his question, trying to sense whatever it was he was talking about. Margaret in particular was paying rapt attention, having left her skepticism behind.
She was still not a superstitious person, but that didn't mean that she couldn't see the strangeness in what had happened to her earlier. She almost hoped that she'd accidentally eaten a dangerous mushroom or herb earlier in the day. It was preferrable to the… alternative.
"Yes, I do feel something…" Maurice said, his voice so quiet as to be almost inaudible.
Suddenly, Margaret noticed the problem. "It's too quiet." The forest's nighttime sounds had all but disappeared. No branches creaked, no twigs snapped and no leaves rustled. It had become as still as a graveyard.
Claude nodded. Still, there was something else bothering him. He looked over to where Gaston was, suddenly feeling that the boy was situated too far away. He went over, easily picking him up with one arm and laying him down closer to the fire. Satisfied, he returned to his post.
The more Claude stared into the mist, the stronger the disconcerting feeling became. His brows furrowed as he tried to think of what it could be. A twig scraped against the back of his neck. He absentmindedly brushed it away before freezing.
He'd noticed the problem.
There was something wrong with the forest. It was hard to notice due to the thickness of the fog, but it had become clear to him now. A cold sweat broke out over his entire body.
He needed to confirm whether what he was seeing was real or not.
"Maurice, was there a stump in that spot when you arrived?" Claude asked the old merchant, pointing towards a dark, squat shape outlined by the mist.
Maurice's brows furrowed in thought. "I-I don't remember." He said, wiping the cold sweat from his brow.
In fact, he did remember. That was where he'd sat with Claude earlier in the day. There was no stump there.
Claude's head stilled as his eyes flicked furtively back and forth. "How about that brush? Was it there earlier?" Claude asked, his voice so soft that Maurice had to strain his ears to catch the words.
Maurice followed Claude's gaze over towards a leafless, dry shrub that rose from the ground. He shook his head, his mouth gaping open speechlessly. That was where Anastasia had rested when they'd just stopped for the day. There had been no such bush there.
Claud nodded, the movement almost imperceptible. "One last thing. Margaret, Maurice… where are the horses?"
The two individuals' eyes went as wide as saucers. Their heads practically snapped from their necks as they looked to find that, not only were the horses gone, but the tree they'd been tied to had disappeared as well!
It was as if they were deep underwater, with the pressure coming down so strongly on their chests that they couldn't breathe.
Not one of them knew what to do. They were terrified.
Suddenly, a noise could be heard just outside the ring of firelight. It sounded like… the dying wheeze of an old man. One final breath to send him on his way to heaven… or hell.
They all froze.
Claude's grip on his axe became so tight that the wooden handle started creaking under the strain.
They stood silently like that, unwilling or unable to tear their gazes from the direction of the sound.
Ten seconds passed.
Twenty seconds.
Thirty seconds.
Finally, a full minute passed.
Margaret was the first to break free of her terrified stupor. "W-What was th-…"
Before she could finish, Claude suddenly swung his axe!
His spin was so powerful that it disturbed the air around him, causing the fire to flicker and dance with the force of the gust. Sparks flew as the coals where buffeted by the displaced air. Margaret shut her eyes on reflex as most of the sparks were sent into her face.
Maurice opened his mouth to yell, but not even that movement wasn't fast enough to keep up with the speed of the axe. The hunk of sharpened metal sliced through the air, making a sound somewhere between a whistle and a whir.
Maurice's eyes tracked its path with horror. Claude seemed about to cut through his second-youngest son's neck!
He wanted to tell him to stop, to say something, but his body was too slow to keep up with his overstimulated mind.
Yet, Claude's axe didn't strike the boy, but something beyond it. When Claude struck the thing, a pained scream rung loudly in the air.
That voice belonged to none other than Claude himself.
Maurice could practically see Claude's bones bend from the rebound of his own strike. His blow seemed to hang in the air for an indeterminate amount of time before whatever was under his axe finally gave way with a crack.
A shadow disappeared back into the forest as silently as it arrived.
Claude dropped the axe to the ground, grunting in pain as he clutched at his sprained wrist. Maurice was shocked to note that the thick, robust axe handle had cracked and the solid hunk of black-iron that constituted the blade now had a large chip taken out of it.
Whatever Claude had struck had been impossibly tough.
"Maurice… look at… your son." Claude said, managing to huff out a sentence through his teeth, clenched as they were because of the pain.
Maurice and Margaret both turned to the sleeping boy, only to notice something… disturbing.
He, and the bedroll he'd been sleeping on, had been dragged some distance away from the fire. The fact that they hadn't noticed it at all could only mean one thing: whatever had dragged him had done it so slowly and carefully that the movement didn't even register in their peripheral vision.
Margaret raised her hand to her mouth in realization. The child had almost been stolen from right under their noses. Tears welled in her eyes: she felt both overwhelmed and numb at the same time.
She grabbed Claude with both hands, hard enough for her nails to dig into his skin. "To what damned place have you led us, you evil man?"
Surprisingly, it was the harmless looking merchant that seemed most able to retain his calm. He grabbed Margaret by her upper-arm, dragging her away from Claude. "Now is not the time to panic, Margaret. We must remain calm if we wish to protect the children. Anything else can be discussed after the night is over."
With that, the three of them managed to rally their spirits, though not without the liberal application of Claude's smelling salts. Their eyes were peeled wide as they retook their positions. With Claude out of action, and with Margaret practically incapacitated by fear, things didn't look good for the three of them.
They old saying did indeed prove to be true: only in the most trying of times would man reveal his true nature. Maurice, who looked to be the most incapable of all of them, had a fearless expression on his face as he clutched the battered axe in his hands.
Fortunately for them, the witching hour soon passed. The mist retreated and the forest returned to normalcy once more. As soon as the bright, shining stars were revealed in the sky, seemingly twinkling with joy at seeing them again, Margaret broke down and started sobbing. Tears ran down her cheeks as she cried silently. The traumatic experience had proven to be too much for her.
Whatever evil had stalked the forest was now departed.
Maurice dropped into a sitting position, the beat-up weapon falling from his hands to thump against the ground. He turned his eyes to look at Claude. They met each other's gazes, finding relief there, and… questions.
"I take it you have no idea what we encountered tonight?" Maurice asked quietly.
Claude shook his head. "I understand if you have doubts, given the way I spoke, but I'm just as clueless as you are." Claude tenderly held his wrist, which had now swollen and was in the process of turning blue.
The two men sat quietly, each deeply immersed in their own thoughts. They didn't discuss the auspicious timing of the fog's appearance, nor its departure. It was as if there were some unspoken agreement between them.
Maurice watched tiredly as the Le Marquands' servant finally stopped sobbing. She now sat with her arms folded around herself, staring listlessly into the fire. He desperately hoped she would be able to regain her composure by the time the children awoke…
Suddenly, a rustling noise could be heard from the forest.
Maurice immediately leapt to his feet, fumbling with the axe as he did so. Claude still had Margaret's blade, which he held with his good hand. The woman in question buried her head deep between her knees, too frightened to do much else.
However, what emerged from the dark bowls of the forest was not the monster they were expecting.
They watched as a large black stallion entered the clearing, followed by five other horses.
The horse at the front bobbed its head up and down while pawing at the ground with one of its front hooves, almost as if it were trying to tell them something
The two men snapped out of their stupor, hurrying to quickly tie down the beasts to prevent them from disappearing again. In their relief, they'd almost forgotten about their problematic lack of horsepower.
It would truly have been too cruel, for them to have to spend another night in these accursed woods with no means of transporting the children or their luggage to Villeneuve.
Claude looked at the leading horse with a strange expression. He shook his head. With everything that had happened tonight, this was perhaps the least strange of all of them.
"Good job, Charbon." Claude said, stroking the horse's powerful neck.
The beast turned its head aside in displeasure.
Claude huffed in amusement. "Good job, Charbonneau Archambault Babineaux IX."
In response, Charbonneau Archambault Babineaux IX neighed happily.
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It had been hours since the sun set. The three individuals sat in comfortable silence, barely speaking amongst themselves. They had resolved themselves to remain awake through the night. The journey to the town of Villeneuve would take little more than half a day. Tomorrow, they'd be able to rest us much as they wanted after they'd arrived.
Margaret in particular had recovered a lot of her earlier ease. If it where up to her, she'd have called off this stakeout. The weather wasn't even suitable for an ambush, it was simply too clear outside. She was currently staring up at the moon, which had journeyed halfway through the night sky. The stars flickered brightly, lighting the space above their heads like God's great chandelier.
Maurice and Claude were talking softly amongst themselves. Margaret was a little interested, but it wouldn't be professional of her to eavesdrop. Instead, she occupied herself by softly stroking the nearby sleeping children's heads one by one.
When she'd first been hired over thirteen years ago, she'd not been too enthused about the idea of being a nanny. They had grown on her. So much, in fact, that she couldn't bear to part with them even when it became extremely disadvantageous for her to stick with the Le Marquand family.
Now, here she was, a trained professional acting as a maid for children. She'd thought about returning to her previous manner of employment, but it held no appeal for her. She enjoyed this more. She was content.
She looked over at where the baron's young son was sleeping. He had an interesting personality. Margaret disliked the fact that she'd gotten used to using Anastasia as a way of measuring a boy's worth, but what could she say? The method worked. While Gaston was clearly lusting after the girl, he kept his composure while doing so. That alone was a tick in his favor.
Margaret returned her gaze to the shadowy forest. An amateur would have been spooked by the slowly swaying branches and the snapping of twigs, but she knew these to be nothing more than the normal sounds of nature.
"It will get misty soon." Claude suddenly said, his deep voice easily reaching her ears where she sat some distance away, despite how softly he said it.
Margaret furrowed her brows. "I don't see any mist."
Claude glanced over at her while tapping his nose. "I can smell it. Old woodsman's nose."
Margaret softly inhaled through her nose. Now that he mentioned it, she could detect a hint of moisture in the air. "Is there a lake nearby?"
Claude shook his head.
Margaret thought that was strange. Mist didn't usually just appear on a clear night like this.
Claude spoke as he looked up at the night sky: "Midnight has passed."
Margaret rolled her eyes. She wasn't a superstitious person. She'd been all over the world, and had never seen anything that could be interpreted as supernatural. The time between midnight and early morning held no special meaning to her.
She continued to stare into the forest, keeping an eye out for any mist. And indeed, as time passed, she could see a thin layer of vapor emerge outside the circle of firelight.
She heard a scraping sound. She looked over her shoulder to see Claude picking up his large axe from where it leaned against his leg to place it on his lap. She opened her mouth to say something, only to close it again. She eyed the blade near her before picking it up and placing it in her lap as well.
They sat in silence as they watched the rising fog. It drifted slowly between the tree trunks and brush leaves, the individual particles of moisture shining silvery in the starlight.
Margaret felt a soft breeze against her cheeks, the vapor carried within wetting her face. The fog kept building, almost sneakily. If she stared at a single spot for a long time, she wouldn't notice much change. However, if she turned her head, she'd notice how the areas at her periphery had become opaque much more rapidly than expected. Every time she returned her gaze to a previous spot after looking somewhere else, it would suddenly be covered in mist.
Her tired mind was playing tricks on her. She'd been travelling and working the whole day, and the idea of sleep was becoming more and more appealing. Her eyelids fluttered closed for a moment.
When she came to, it was because of a sharp sensation against her neck. She opened her eyes to see Claude holding her own knife against her throat. Blood rushed to her face in outrage. She opened her mouth to say something.
However, before she could speak, she was interrupted by Maurice's concerned voice: "Margaret, what… are you doing?"
Her face showed her confusion. "Sir, what do you mean?" She turned her head carefully to look at him, making sure not to cut herself on the blade at her neck.
Maurice's white-faced expression became even more disconcerted at her question. "Margaret, where were you planning on taking Mirabelle?" His eyes travelled downwards to look at her arms.
Margaret's gaze followed him only to find she was cradling the sleeping girl in her bosom. She looked around, her face contorting into bafflement and a hint of fright as she noticed her position. She was standing at the edge of their camp, a hair's breath away from walking into the mist.
She shook her head dumbly, unable to comprehend her situation.
"Give me the child, Margaret." Maurice said placatingly, in the same tone of voice one would use on a spooked animal.
She did as he asked her, uncaring of the weapon placed against her neck. Her veins were ice cold and her entire body buzzed with a numb sensation as she stepped forward to carefully deposit the sleeping girl in her father's arms.
Seeing that she'd returned to her senses, Claude removed the knife from her neck.
"What were you thinking, Margaret?" Maurice asked in a loud whisper. He found her behavior tonight incredibly disturbing. She'd not responded to their pleas at all, and had only snapped out of it when Claude wrested the blade from her grip and set it to her own neck.
Margaret was still shaking her head slowly from side to side incredulously. She hadn't thought of doing anything like this! She'd just dozed off for a moment.
Claude kept his gaze on her as he removed a pouch of something from his vest. He opened it while handing it to her. "Take a whiff of that. It should wake your right up."
Margaret brought it to her nose only to be assaulted by the strong smell of ammonia. Her face scrunched up in distaste.
Claude's mouth twitched a little before he once again became dead serious. "Give it a good smell. Trust me, it's not piss."
Margaret only contemplated it for a moment before she did as he bade her. She didn't want a repeat of… whatever it was that happened tonight. Immediately, she felt as if someone had shoved a pick of ice into her brain. She recoiled from the pouch in shock as blood started seeping from her nose.
Claude snatched his smelling-salts from her before she could drop it, putting it back in his vest. "If you feel like you might doze off again, just tell me."
The woman carefully nodded her head as she wiped at her bloody nose. She'd never felt this awake in her entire life!
They took their seats again, but closer to the fire this time. Maurice had laid Belle down on her bed. The herb was proving to be very effective, as none of the children had even so much as stirred despite the commotion.
The mist had become so thick in the meantime that it was no longer possible to see much of anything beyond the camp perimeter. Only the heat of the fire was keeping the mist at bay.
"Don't let the fire go out." Claude said, his voice grave. The bad feeling from earlier was getting stronger. "I'll keep an eye on our surroundings. And don't fall asleep."
Maurice and Margaret looked at each other, nodding.
For a long time, no one said anything. At this point they were just desperately praying for the night to pass as soon as possible.
The fog grew thicker and thicker until neither the moon nor stars were visible any longer. The trees had become no more than a gathering of dancing shadows, hiding and being revealed as the mist moved and the firelight flickered over them.
Claude gripped the handle of his axe more tightly. Something suddenly felt off to him. "Does anyone else feel that?" He asked, his voice quiet.
Maurice and Margaret stilled at his question, trying to sense whatever it was he was talking about. Margaret in particular was paying rapt attention, having left her skepticism behind.
She was still not a superstitious person, but that didn't mean that she couldn't see the strangeness in what had happened to her earlier. She almost hoped that she'd accidentally eaten a dangerous mushroom or herb earlier in the day. It was preferrable to the… alternative.
"Yes, I do feel something…" Maurice said, his voice so quiet as to be almost inaudible.
Suddenly, Margaret noticed the problem. "It's too quiet." The forest's nighttime sounds had all but disappeared. No branches creaked, no twigs snapped and no leaves rustled. It had become as still as a graveyard.
Claude nodded. Still, there was something else bothering him. He looked over to where Gaston was, suddenly feeling that the boy was situated too far away. He went over, easily picking him up with one arm and laying him down closer to the fire. Satisfied, he returned to his post.
The more Claude stared into the mist, the stronger the disconcerting feeling became. His brows furrowed as he tried to think of what it could be. A twig scraped against the back of his neck. He absentmindedly brushed it away before freezing.
He'd noticed the problem.
There was something wrong with the forest. It was hard to notice due to the thickness of the fog, but it had become clear to him now. A cold sweat broke out over his entire body.
He needed to confirm whether what he was seeing was real or not.
"Maurice, was there a stump in that spot when you arrived?" Claude asked the old merchant, pointing towards a dark, squat shape outlined by the mist.
Maurice's brows furrowed in thought. "I-I don't remember." He said, wiping the cold sweat from his brow.
In fact, he did remember. That was where he'd sat with Claude earlier in the day. There was no stump there.
Claude's head stilled as his eyes flicked furtively back and forth. "How about that brush? Was it there earlier?" Claude asked, his voice so soft that Maurice had to strain his ears to catch the words.
Maurice followed Claude's gaze over towards a leafless, dry shrub that rose from the ground. He shook his head, his mouth gaping open speechlessly. That was where Anastasia had rested when they'd just stopped for the day. There had been no such bush there.
Claud nodded, the movement almost imperceptible. "One last thing. Margaret, Maurice… where are the horses?"
The two individuals' eyes went as wide as saucers. Their heads practically snapped from their necks as they looked to find that, not only were the horses gone, but the tree they'd been tied to had disappeared as well!
It was as if they were deep underwater, with the pressure coming down so strongly on their chests that they couldn't breathe.
Not one of them knew what to do. They were terrified.
Suddenly, a noise could be heard just outside the ring of firelight. It sounded like… the dying wheeze of an old man. One final breath to send him on his way to heaven… or hell.
They all froze.
Claude's grip on his axe became so tight that the wooden handle started creaking under the strain.
They stood silently like that, unwilling or unable to tear their gazes from the direction of the sound.
Ten seconds passed.
Twenty seconds.
Thirty seconds.
Finally, a full minute passed.
Margaret was the first to break free of her terrified stupor. "W-What was th-…"
Before she could finish, Claude suddenly swung his axe!
His spin was so powerful that it disturbed the air around him, causing the fire to flicker and dance with the force of the gust. Sparks flew as the coals where buffeted by the displaced air. Margaret shut her eyes on reflex as most of the sparks were sent into her face.
Maurice opened his mouth to yell, but not even that movement wasn't fast enough to keep up with the speed of the axe. The hunk of sharpened metal sliced through the air, making a sound somewhere between a whistle and a whir.
Maurice's eyes tracked its path with horror. Claude seemed about to cut through his second-youngest son's neck!
He wanted to tell him to stop, to say something, but his body was too slow to keep up with his overstimulated mind.
Yet, Claude's axe didn't strike the boy, but something beyond it. When Claude struck the thing, a pained scream rung loudly in the air.
That voice belonged to none other than Claude himself.
Maurice could practically see Claude's bones bend from the rebound of his own strike. His blow seemed to hang in the air for an indeterminate amount of time before whatever was under his axe finally gave way with a crack.
A shadow disappeared back into the forest as silently as it arrived.
Claude dropped the axe to the ground, grunting in pain as he clutched at his sprained wrist. Maurice was shocked to note that the thick, robust axe handle had cracked and the solid hunk of black-iron that constituted the blade now had a large chip taken out of it.
Whatever Claude had struck had been impossibly tough.
"Maurice… look at… your son." Claude said, managing to huff out a sentence through his teeth, clenched as they were because of the pain.
Maurice and Margaret both turned to the sleeping boy, only to notice something… disturbing.
He, and the bedroll he'd been sleeping on, had been dragged some distance away from the fire. The fact that they hadn't noticed it at all could only mean one thing: whatever had dragged him had done it so slowly and carefully that the movement didn't even register in their peripheral vision.
Margaret raised her hand to her mouth in realization. The child had almost been stolen from right under their noses. Tears welled in her eyes: she felt both overwhelmed and numb at the same time.
She grabbed Claude with both hands, hard enough for her nails to dig into his skin. "To what damned place have you led us, you evil man?"
Surprisingly, it was the harmless looking merchant that seemed most able to retain his calm. He grabbed Margaret by her upper-arm, dragging her away from Claude. "Now is not the time to panic, Margaret. We must remain calm if we wish to protect the children. Anything else can be discussed after the night is over."
With that, the three of them managed to rally their spirits, though not without the liberal application of Claude's smelling salts. Their eyes were peeled wide as they retook their positions. With Claude out of action, and with Margaret practically incapacitated by fear, things didn't look good for the three of them.
They old saying did indeed prove to be true: only in the most trying of times would man reveal his true nature. Maurice, who looked to be the most incapable of all of them, had a fearless expression on his face as he clutched the battered axe in his hands.
Fortunately for them, the witching hour soon passed. The mist retreated and the forest returned to normalcy once more. As soon as the bright, shining stars were revealed in the sky, seemingly twinkling with joy at seeing them again, Margaret broke down and started sobbing. Tears ran down her cheeks as she cried silently. The traumatic experience had proven to be too much for her.
Whatever evil had stalked the forest was now departed.
Maurice dropped into a sitting position, the beat-up weapon falling from his hands to thump against the ground. He turned his eyes to look at Claude. They met each other's gazes, finding relief there, and… questions.
"I take it you have no idea what we encountered tonight?" Maurice asked quietly.
Claude shook his head. "I understand if you have doubts, given the way I spoke, but I'm just as clueless as you are." Claude tenderly held his wrist, which had now swollen and was in the process of turning blue.
The two men sat quietly, each deeply immersed in their own thoughts. They didn't discuss the auspicious timing of the fog's appearance, nor its departure. It was as if there were some unspoken agreement between them.
Maurice watched tiredly as the Le Marquands' servant finally stopped sobbing. She now sat with her arms folded around herself, staring listlessly into the fire. He desperately hoped she would be able to regain her composure by the time the children awoke…
Suddenly, a rustling noise could be heard from the forest.
Maurice immediately leapt to his feet, fumbling with the axe as he did so. Claude still had Margaret's blade, which he held with his good hand. The woman in question buried her head deep between her knees, too frightened to do much else.
However, what emerged from the dark bowls of the forest was not the monster they were expecting.
They watched as a large black stallion entered the clearing, followed by five other horses.
The horse at the front bobbed its head up and down while pawing at the ground with one of its front hooves, almost as if it were trying to tell them something
The two men snapped out of their stupor, hurrying to quickly tie down the beasts to prevent them from disappearing again. In their relief, they'd almost forgotten about their problematic lack of horsepower.
It would truly have been too cruel, for them to have to spend another night in these accursed woods with no means of transporting the children or their luggage to Villeneuve.
Claude looked at the leading horse with a strange expression. He shook his head. With everything that had happened tonight, this was perhaps the least strange of all of them.
"Good job, Charbon." Claude said, stroking the horse's powerful neck.
The beast turned its head aside in displeasure.
Claude huffed in amusement. "Good job, Charbonneau Archambault Babineaux IX."
In response, Charbonneau Archambault Babineaux IX neighed happily.
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And that is how you write a proper spook.
Chapter 6
The next morning, the lot of children woke up to three very weary-looking adults.
Maurice and Claude simply looked tired, but Margaret in particular truly looked as if she was a walking corpse. Her eyes were the most noticeable – beyond simply having dark circles underneath, they were opened a little too wide like a startled animal. She attended to her morning duties unblinkingly, disturbing the children as she went about her business.
"What's wrong with her, dad?" Mirabelle asked as she tugged on an exhausted-looking Maurice's sleeve.
The old merchant was currently doing his best not to look tired by wiping his face down with a cold rag.
"She didn't sleep very well." He turned to look at the other children before speaking a little more loudly. "According to lord Claude, we are only a couple of hours away from reaching Villeneuve. We'll all be able to get some proper rest then." His eyes went to Anastasia who looked similarly exhausted. Her skin somehow seemed even paler – almost translucent as the veins beneath could be seen.
Maurice looked at her with concern. For a moment he felt terrified, thinking that she'd been awake for the events of last night, but her facial expression didn't look particularly perturbed. She just looked tired. He sighed in relief.
"Why don't you go help your big sister, Belle?" Maurice spoke to his youngest, motioning with his chin over to where Anastasia was folding her clothes with an absentminded expression. In her tiredness, she'd refolded the same garment twice. The other children were busy taking care of their own business or assisting Margaret.
The two La Fayettes watched the morning hustle and bustle with detached expressions. They had made to assist for propriety's sake, but had naturally been refused by Maurice. They had travelled so lightly they barely had anything to prepare.
Gaston had naturally slept in, as was his habit. Claude felt somewhat ashamed of how early the other children had woken compared to his own. Not even the early morning clamor had caused him to wake. Eventually, Claude had to shake him where he lay, still wrapped in a stiff animal hide. Claude had no idea how he slept, wrapped in that prickly thing. Personally, he preferred to just dress warmly and sleep in his clothes.
The boy in question was leisurely feeding Char-… Charbonneau Archambault Babineaux IX some roots he'd brought along as animal feed. The horse was rather picky, only accepting the softest and most tender of the vegetables. The others, perfectly fine starches that any peasant would be happy to have, were discarded on the ground after a single sampling bite judged them to be… unsatisfactory.
Claude felt a little uncomfortable by how Gaston had pointedly not asked him about the terrible states of the three adults. Claude had done his best to make himself presentable, but Gaston was nothing if not observant.
There was also the fact that Claude's axe, which had been extremely robust, was now practically scrapped. What was he supposed to tell the boy? 'I cracked the blade when I struck a wild animal last night' was hardly believable. He wanted Gaston to just ask so some of the tension could be relieved, even if he wasn't sure how he was supposed to answer.
"I'll go look for some fresh shoots." Gaston spoke, throwing the last dry root into the woods. He started walking off in to the forest, likely planning to occupy himself until the time of departure.
"Wait."
Claude stopped his son. He didn't want him going into the forest, no matter if it was daytime or not. However, when Gaston sent him a questioning look, he wasn't sure how to explain himself.
"I think it's better if you wait until we depart."
'Am I not his father?' Claude thought to himself. I don't need to explain everything to him. As long as he listens, all will be well. His hand unconsciously went to grip at his cracked axe handle. It was a nervous tick he'd developed back when he was still involved in… more unsavoury things.
Gaston's eyes went from where Claude's hand gripped the handle to his stoic face. "What's the matter, Father? You look like you've seen… a ghost." Gaston asked, his eyebrows raising slightly in interest as he played with his shirt with one hand.
Slap!
The camp stilled, their heads turning to see Gaston toppling over. Before he lost his balance, he managed to grab a branch to steady himself with. His free hand went up to his lip, lightly dabbing his ring finger there. He looked dumbly at the spot of red that colored it.
Everyone was quiet as they looked at Claude who stood with one hand raised. It was clear what happened: he'd been hit by his father.
Claude looked at his own hand with incomprehension. He couldn't believe it – he had never hit Gaston once in his whole life. Something in the moment had caused his hand to move, almost by its own. The fear of last night and his own feelings of helplessness had been building beneath the surface. Gaston's clever tongue had been the spark to set him off and his own tiredness had not allowed him to exercise self-control. It was unreasonable, and he regretted it the second his hand moved.
He watched as Gaston raised his head a little to look at him out of the corner of his eye. A normal seven-year-old child would undoubtedly have started crying or, at the very least, would be cowering in fear. The boy calmly wiped his bleeding lip. The honey-brown color of his had eyes turned a shade darker due to the shadow cast by his curtain of hair.
Claude did not apologize. He wanted to, but his pride as a father prevented him from doing so while in the company of others. He would to do so once they were alone back home. He extended his hand to Gaston. The boy looked at it for a moment, his lip twitching downwards as if he wanted to frown. He almost looked like he would refuse, but noticing the tense surroundings, he took Claude's hand and let himself be pulled up,
"I apologize, father." Gaston stated despite knowing he did nothing wrong. The apology was for the audience's benefit alone. After that, he wandered off into the woods, completely ignoring Claude's earlier request.
The giant of a man clenched his teeth as he watched the boy leave, half in anger and half in worry. He didn't say anything, as he didn't want to disturb the atmosphere which had started settling down.
Anastasia surreptitiously watched Gaston leave. She took in a slow, silent breath through her nose.
'Was last night a dream, or… a nightmare?'
She'd always had a keen eye for things, one which she'd further developed in her dealings with people. She'd noticed when Margaret slipped something strange into last night's dinner. She also noticed the silent conversation between the maid, her father and Lord Claude. She doubted that her father would allow anything dangerous to be fed to them, but at the same time she wasn't too fond of the idea of ingesting something unknown. That was why she'd requested some of the La Fayette heir's catch – so she could have something else to eat besides the soup. She'd had someone scoop a bowl for her, but had given it away when none of the adults were paying attention.
When everyone, including the blabbermouth Celia, had quickly fallen asleep Anastasia guessed the purpose of the mysterious ingredient – to induce sleep. It wasn't too hard for her to pretend, since she frequently eavesdropped on others' conversations using this same method. One would be surprised how easily people dropped their guard when in the presence of a 'sleeping' maiden.
She rolled her eyes inwardly as she lay on her cushy bedroll, keeping her breathing steady as a sleeping person would. She'd once seen Louis bring back three wolf pelts when he returned from a solo hunt. These next few years would be a complete waste of her time. She was meant for better things than to spend her adolescent years with a bunch of dolts who treated a few wild wolves with this level of superstition.
Such were her thoughts as she lay near the fire, listening to the quiet conversation happening near her as well as the sounds of the nighttime forest. She had almost decided to drift off to sleep, as hours had passed without anything like an attack happening.
However, that was when the fog arrived.
Anastasia immediately felt something in the air change. The hairs on her arms and the back of her neck stood up. She felt a strange sensation bubbling within her chest.
A mania welled up from inside her. It flowed through her veins and into the tips of her fingers, causing a buzzing, pins-and-needles sensation. It was both foreign and familiar, like remembered fragments of a dream she'd had a long time ago. In this trance-like state, she'd barely noticed the passage of time.
She realized too late that she'd lost control of her body. She'd straightened into a ramrod-straight posture on her side and her eyes were wide open. She was laying with her back to the campfire, looking off in the direction of the mist. The three adults where behind her; if they noticed her situation then they didn't comment on it.
Before she could close her eyes to pretend at sleep and to try and control this overwhelming, mysterious sensation, she spotted something in the fog. The… shape was slowly, very slowly, drawing closer. Something about it reminded her of an old man. Its posture was hunched over, its hands almost touching the ground as it noiselessly sailed over the misty ground.
She couldn't make out any details, concealed as it was by the mist and the darkness of the night.
Then, part of it was revealed.
A grotesque hand crawled out of the darkness. The first thing one would notice was just how long the nails were. Indeed, they were nails – not claws like an animal. Long, yellow human nails that started curling inwards due to their unkempt state.
Next, the fingers showed themselves: the were bony, gnarled and bent in the wrong directions, like a very elderly person suffering from a terrible case of arthritis. The palm they were attached to wasn't much better – it was wrinkled and papery with grey, mottled skin. Thick sinews ran underneath, hinting at the wiry strength the hand possessed.
It continued creeping forward, showing first its forearm, then upper arm and finally its torso and head. It was dreadfully quiet the entire time.
The rest of its body was the same corpse-like gray color, although some areas were darker than others. Its anatomy wasn't outlandish, but in fact very much that of a human. Still, there was something… other about it. No body part made that clearer than the things head, which fixed Anastasia with a glassy eyed stare.
Nothing was covering its teeth – it had no lips or cheeks. There was nothing but jaw and blackened denticles to be seen. It also had no nose. The spot was simply empty of anything except two black slits. Its vacant gaze, milky and pupil-less, stared towards Anastasia.
The girl uncomprehendingly watched the thing in a state of utter shock. It held the position for a while, simply looking at her through its tangled, matted and thin hair that fell over its face like rotting seaweed.
Its unblinking 'gaze', finally roused some emotion within Anastasia: a sensation of mind-numbing, all-consuming terror. She couldn't even scream as it slid over the soil on its endlessly long ribcage, crawling over the dirt and rocks with its corpse-like digits. It drew closer towards her – no, towards one of her little brothers.
All she could do was stare at this nightmare-come-to-life as an insurmountable sense of fear gripped her body like a vice.
As she watched its long, dirty nails gently grip the peacefully sleeping little boy's bedroll, Anastasia felt something… else inside her. It was a dark and evil feeling that sprouted within the overwhelming fear like a cancer, turning it into something completely unexpected: a sense of horrid fascination.
She wanted to know more about whatever the thing was. She wanted to see what it planned to do with her brother. She wanted something... dark.
Her face showed an expression of wonder as these new feelings washed over her. She didn't understand it: it was wrong, wicked, vile, evil; yet… she couldn't deny the truth of what she was feeling right now. It was a transformative moment like nothing else she'd ever experienced. Her whole word was shifting around her and hanging on for dear life was all she could do.
Finally, like a membrane snapping, something gave way inside her feet and she fell into herself, into an unfathomably deep pit that she didn't even know was there.
She hit the bottom with a splash.
Her first instinct was to draw a breath – but that was a mistake. The watery-black substance all around her flowed into her mouth almost as if it had a life of its own. In fact, it wriggled and pressed against every orifice of hers: her ears, her nose and even her tightly closed eyelids.
She couldn't stop it.
She wailed inwardly as she felt the liquid gush madly up into her head. She thrashed and struggled, but no matter what she did, she couldn't reach the surface. Instead, it felt as if she were sinking deeper and deeper into the darkness.
Her veins pulsed and pounded in her skull as if her very blood was being replaced by the thick, cloying and dark substance that filled the bottom of that ancient well.
Yet, there was no pain.
Instead, she felt herself growing, transforming, changing into something foreign, something alien, something… other. She was sure that this premonition was true.
At the pinnacle, the climax of that metamorphosis, Anastasia suddenly became hyper-aware of a pair of eyes in the corner of her vision that glowed with a fiery light.
She turned towards them.
Her own eyes, which had completely turned inky-black, froze in their sockets. The moment she met that gaze, she experienced a powerful sucking sensation as if the orbs had become two twisting, glowing vortices. Her arms flailed madly as she fell upwards, out of the deep darkness.
Those two slitted eyes, burning with an unholy yellow fire continued to stare at her. They had expanded to fill her vision until it was as if they had consumed all of existence.
The black blood which had flowed within her ceased and, at once, disappeared. It was as if a blade had been placed against her neck – no, it was as if the tip of a dagger was being held against her heart: so closely that she could practically feel the pain of that deadly, phantom stab.
Every moment that oppressive, lethal pressure grew. For the first time in her privileged life, Anastasia felt death. That was the feeling she was experiencing: pure, concentrated mortal danger.
Under that executioner's gaze, the dark water drained from her body, seeping back into that well which soon became sealed and hidden once more. A few moments later, it was as if it had never been there in the first place.
Neither she nor the pair of eyes paid any attention to the creature or to the commotion it caused.
The moment both that feeling of 'change' induced by the mysterious well, as well as the… bladed intent of those peering coals disappeared, Anastasia snapped out of her frozen state to look at the owner of those unfathomable eyes.
The young Gaston stared quietly at her in the darkness. Those demonic apertures had disappeared as if they were never there, replaced by two honey-brown, perfectly normal human eyes.
Her eyes whirled in their sockets as she remembered the creature from earlier and tried to catch a glimpse of it, but it was gone.
"Maurice… look at… your son."
Hearing these words, Anastasia quickly snapped her eyes shut, not wanting to be discovered now of all moments. She felt so utterly confused with everything that had happened this night – the last thing she needed now was the pestering attentions of the rest of the camp.
Her fake sleep quickly turned into the real thing, exhausted by the events and emotions of the past few witching hours as she was. Her thoughts where conflicted as she considered the corrupting mutation that would have completed were not for the… devilish interference. Yet, she could sense that its… inhuman influence still clung resiliently to her psyche.
She was… changed.
Anastasia had moved a little away from the hustle-and-bustle of the Le Marquands and their entourage. She'd left the four-year-old Belle to attend to her things along with Celia. The red-haired twin wasn't really fond of the youngest daughter, something she'd mimicked from Anna's own behaviour.
Her siblings weren't the smartest lot. It's not that she hated them, they simply weren't that interesting to her. Celia and Bertrand were not so childish as the rest due to their age, but they were still not the type of people she'd prefer to interact with.
The twins were too… sycophantic. They did have their uses, but they weren't the type of people she could respect.
Anastasia had wandered off a little to the side. She had a slight headache, and the noisy lot over there certainly weren't making it any better.
Suddenly, she heard a soft voice some distance away from her.
"If it isn't the fetching Miss Anastasia Le Marquand."
She looked over in that direction to see Gaston sitting up in an old tree.
He smiled at her, looking boyishly handsome with his messy long hair tied and stuffed under a leather cap.
"Perfect timing: I have another gift for you."
He dropped down from the tree while reaching around to fetch something stored in his woven pouch.
"Another bauble? I'm not interested." She tossed her long hair over her shoulder casually as she watched the approaching boy. He was acting very naturally, as if nothing extraordinary had happened between them.
Had Anastasia been a different person, she would have thought of those events as a nightmare or the figments of an over active imagination. However, there was nothing she had more faith in than the soundness of her own mind – not even God, even if she would never say it out loud.
All of it had happened. She was completely sure about that fact. If nothing else, Margaret's state today was proof that she'd laid eyes on that same creature. She was planning on dragging the truth out of the boy in front of her, one way or another.
"Close your eyes." Gaston said as he gripped the thing behind his back so she couldn't see it.
Anastasia played with the plain golden bracelet on her wrist with an unamused expression. "You can just give it to me. I don't like surprises."
Gaston rolled his eyes with a smile. "Boring. But have it your way." He looked at her with a mischievous expression. "Regardless, I'm sure you'll like it."
In a smooth motion, he stepped close to her and held one of her wrists.
Before she could say something, she felt something dry and leathery being shoved into her palm.
She looked down, only to recoil in shock at what he gave her, dropping it in the process. Gaston watched with keen interest as her gaze became nailed to that mysterious object:
On the ground, covered by dirt and leaves, was a gnarled, dry and greying hand.
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When he hunts, he sneaks up with his quiver –
beasts of the field say a prayer!
I am loving this! Gaston is a monster hunter like I guessed and now that she had become part other she fall under his jurisdiction.