Rescue

"What in the Hell is that?!"

"It's your child, Michael.  And it looks just like you!"

Screaming and cursing and crying, then darkness.

~~*~~

Akthanath woke with a gasp, flailing about with its tentacles.  It hated that dream, but it kept having it…what it wanted right now was its mother, but she had been burned the morning before because Father Michael claimed she was a witch.  But she wasn't, hadn't been, and now she was gone, and Father Michael didn't want to keep Akthanath, did so only because other priests had seen it, because its mother had insisted on it being baptized.

So Akthanath was permitted to stay in the church, but in the smallest, rudest, coldest room.  Barely more than a broom closet…actually, a broom closet would have been warmer.  But Father Michael became angry when it stayed in one.  It shivered at the memory and rolled itself out of bed to pull on the uncomfortable, overlarge, brown robe that was all the clothing Father Michael allowed it.  Even though it was two sizes too large, there was still not enough room for all its extra tentacles, but it dared not rip it to make room.  Because Father Michael would be even more angry at it for that than he had been when he found it sleeping in the broom closet.  The idea was to hide it from the rest of the village after all…no one thought much of the crippled, hunchbacked monk that staggered to the forest every morning and returned each evening with an armload of firewood.  But they would make quite the ruckus about a creature with too many tentacles and a misshapen body, if only because it looked like a demon.

Akthanath, however, knew that much of what was said about demons was nothing more than superstition, as it had met one named Lousaper in the forest while gathering firewood.  Not that it ever said anything to Father Michael; it knew that he would have the village up in arms over it.  Would punish Akthanath for speaking to the demon, for looking at it.

It was already beaten every night because it never brought back enough firewood for Father Michael's desire.  So it only ever took an hour to gather an armload and took the beatings without comment, spending the rest of the day in the forest far away from anyone.  Where it couldn't be hurt.  Where it could eat without being glared at, where no one would comment over the fact that God had cursed it for being the child of an alleged witch.

It waited until it heard the rustle of feet pass by its door before opening it and creeping silently and as swiftly as it could without stumbling all over itself towards the back door of the church.  It paused before the last turn to make sure that nothing of its flesh could be seen, pulling the hood of its robe a bit lower just to be sure and rounded the turn.

Father Michael was waiting for it, glowering down at it, and it was sure it had done something more wrong than simply existing.  It looked at the floor--cleaned recently, it noted--and waited in silence.  "Don't bother coming back tonight; the bishop is coming by today, and I don't want him to know about the witch's unfortunate legacy," meaning Akthanath, who nodded in silence.  "You may return the night after, if you must.  Otherwise, don't bother," he continued, then with one last curl of his lip, he left Akthanath.

Akthanath was quick to clear out after that, and to head for the forest as quickly as he might; he took a shortcut across Goodwife Baker's wheat field so as to get there faster.  He went a little deeper into the forest than usual, wanting to stay as far away from the bishop and Father Michael--whose temper towards Akthanath always worsened during such trips--and to thus avoid as much punishment as possible.

There was a certain den of wolves that had all but accepted him into their pack near to where Akthanath had decided to sit for a while, and a brook full of quick, darting fish.  Trusting that no one would be venturing into the forest today--it was Sunday and the bishop was visiting to boot--Akthanath shucked off its robe and folded the ugly thing high atop a nearby branch before stumbling over to the river to lie down on its belly and catch the fish with its tentacles.  The one thing they allowed him to do better than real humans.  It never ate the fish, but rather shared them with the animals in the forest.  When the mother bear had broken her leg, Akthanath had set it and brought her food until she was well.  And then he had discovered the wolf pack, and had brought them fish first as a peace offering and later because the pups loved fish.

There was also a tribe of Indians in the woods, but it avoided them out of instinct.  It didn't know whether they would hurt him like the villagers did, but it had long ago decided that it was best not to risk it.  They had, however, seen each other a few times.

Once it was holding as many fish as it could comfortably carry, it started towards the wolves, but it ran into someone's leg as it tried to stand, scattering most of them.  The person behind him started and turned around to see Akthanath hurriedly gathering them up again, then to its surprise, bent down to help him.  "Sorry about that," the man said; his voice was pleasant, soothing to Akthanath's ears.  "I didn't see you there…" he continued, handing Akthanath the fish he had gathered.

Akthanath just nodded and turned to go.  The man let him do so, but Akthanath could hear him following.  But maybe he was letting it know that.  It didn't matter…he was a real human, and as such was likely to hurt it.  The wolves, however, were more than happy to see it there with the fish, for their hunting had not gone well, with so many trappers about.

It stayed until the sun was highest in the sky before it turned to go; the man was still there, but Akthanath decided to ignore him in the hopes he would leave.  "So you're not interested in who I am, Akthanath?" he finally said, causing it to stop its rummaging for mushrooms inside a rotted log.

"How do you know my name?" it asked, or tried to ask.  Speaking was always hard for it because of its misshapen mouth and jaws.

"I know your mother.  She wants you to know she loves you, by the way.  Wouldn't let me let her die until I'd promised to tell you that."

"How…but she burned just yesterday!  How could you have--!" Akthanath started, turning away from the possible mushrooms to stare at the man.  He had soft, feathery-looking, red-gold hair, chocolate brown eyes, and pale skin covered with scars.  His clothes looked very odd to Akthanath, who didn't know what sort of thread could have been used to make a cloth so smooth.

"I am called many things, most of them not complementary.  My current favorite is LP, so…you can call me that.  And…well, don't take this the wrong way, because I'm not like him at all, but I'm the twin brother of Michael."  There was a long silence as Akthanath didn't know what to make of this information.

"So…what?" Akthanath tested; such a sentence would earn him a stiff beating from Father Michael.

"Um," the man called LP answered eloquently, and ran a hand nervously through his hair.  "Well, mostly I wanted to know if you wanted to come back with me…I have a place you could stay."

"Where is it?" Akthanath was interested despite himself.

"A long way away from here, for a start.  And there's nothing out there even remotely like this…" his gesture encompassed both the forest and the village beyond; all the world that meant anything to Akthanath.  "You could do anything you liked there, and I'd take care of you…if you wanted.  If not, well…I wouldn't understand why you want to stay around him, but it's your decision and I won't stop you."

"I want to go," Akthanath answered before it realized the truth of it.  "I don't want to be around Father Michael, and I don't want to have to live like this…if you can…" he couldn't make himself finish.

"Do you have anything you need back there?  I can get it for you…"

"No, there's nothing…just a Bible and a candle and a robe…and Father Michael doesn't know about the candle."

LP smiled.  "I expect not," he muttered, then again surprising Akthanath, extended a hand to help it up and through a rent in the world to another, darker version of the same place.