Black Angus – Chapter 5
This is a working draft and not a final product.
Content Warnings: Gore, Open Wounds, DIY Home Surgery, Blood Drinking
In which Angus performs a surgery.
Esther spent two hours washing their clothes, boiling water over the hearth and pouring it into the washtub with several spoonfuls of washing soda. She wrung out the clothes meant for Angus first, then hung them out in their tiny yard behind the house so the articles could catch the sun’s rays while the three of them slept.
Edwina and Angus were put to the task of reorganizing the wardrobe. The experience of having Angus witness the disarray of their garments had haunted Esther during the entire outing. It was an embarrassment which she sought to rectify immediately. The two neophytes were instructed to weed out any pieces that were no longer useful, set aside anything that might benefit Angus, and neatly hang the rest.
Being particularly eager to retire Angus’s putrescent burlap sack to the roll of storing vegetables, Edwina fished out a cracked, worn, leather saddle-backpack and an aumônière pouch embroidered on one side with the image of a swan encircled by silver chains, and three crescent moons on the other. She folded a pile of threadbare woven blankets, each which were pitifully useless on their own, but if layered could provide emergency shelter from the sun between destinations. The last items found were a faded, ivy jerkin and a dark gray gambeson with its padded elbows blown out, and two notable slashes exposing the quilting within. They fit Angus loosely, the gambeson hanging all the way to his calves. Neither Esther nor Edwina remembered where these weathered, masculine articles had come from. Angus transferred his few belongings into the backpack, strapping the rolled blankets on the outside. He transfered his pilfered coins into the aumônière and hooped the drawstring over his belt on the opposite side of his knife harness.
“We’re not letting you just have these, you know,” Edwina said coyly, “I’m holding you to what I said before. You will write often and send me magic lessons.”
“I look forward to it,” Angus replied, offering her a gentle smile.
He crossed the hall to place the bags at the foot of the guest bed. A few hours remained in the night. He stepped softly to the front of the hall and poked his head past the door to spy into Esther’s office. Lit by only a pair of golden beeswax candles at either end of the room, Esther was in her element, scratching ink to paper. She had finished laundry and transitioned to her own peace without a word. Angus fondly elected not to disturb her. Instead, he returned to the master bedroom, where he stretched out on the ladies’ bed to watch Edwina try on all of the dresses she’d forgotten about over the past two decades. She prattled on to him about every surface-level thought she had. Barely contributing words of his own -only listening and observing- Angus took in and cherished every moment until, without realizing, he drifted away on the foot of the ladies’ bed.
Sunset arrived the next evening and hit Angus’s nervous system like a sixth sense, alerting him to wake in the pure darkness, out from what had a moment ago been a deep slumber. The girls were curled blissfully in their sheets, yet to be disturbed by the daily anxieties of the waking world. Looking upon her peaceful face, Angus remembered how young Esther could look sometimes. Though she was several centuries older than he, her body had stopped aging at just around the same time as his own. In a strictly corporeal sense, Edwina was the eldest of all three of them. What a funny thought. He wasn’t ready to leave them yet. Angus knew he couldn’t stay forever, that his jagged edges didn’t fit into whatever space there might have been in the pair’s lives. But their time together had still felt forced to end too soon, due to the uncomfortable link that connected him to Esther. Angus sensed in his gut that they needed him in the exact same way that he needed them —not here, but close enough, within reaching distance. Quietly, he walked from the neck of the hall to the office, and out through the backyard exit. Angus unpinned the clothes outside. He changed into the clothes he had been hung in, and folded the newer acquisitions -those that had belonged to the corpse from two nights ago- to take along for his upcoming travels. Running his hand up his jaw, Angus felt sprouts of hair spread about his face. He went to the washroom to shave, working with no guide other than touch and practiced muscle memory. Life began to stir in the master bedroom across the hall as he secured the last of his preparations. When Esther opened the door, Angus was sitting in the dark on the edge of the guest bed, staring into his folded hands. Her mousy hair hung loose around her neck and shoulders, and she was still in her nightgown.
“I was so worried you left without saying goodbye.” Esther swept him into a hug, kneeling to embrace him before Angus could rise to receive her.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Angus answered her. He glanced up. From the other side of the door, he noticed the rosy reflection of Edwina’s tapetum. “Walk me out, won’t you?”
The ladies led Angus to the front door, where the three of them lingered in the comforting darkness of the house’s vestibule. Angus touched Esther’s shoulder.
“Wait for me outside. I want a moment alone with the girl.”
Esther held his eyes curiously for a moment, but she nodded and went through the door.
Angus took Edwina’s hand, giving her a firm squeeze. “Eddie, do you know what happened to the others? —To Georgette and every other woman before you?”
Edwina didn’t speak, only shaking her head; her brown eyes wide, doe-like, and innocent. Her jaw twitched with an unspoken fear.
“They left, and then shortly after -I mean it, Eddie- only a few years later, they all wound up dead. They didn’t make it.” Angus drew a difficult breath in, waiting for Edwina to respond, but she continued to remain silent.
“I’m not telling you not to leave. I would never tell you that. I . . . —I guess I’m just asking that if you do decide to go, that it’s because of something important to you. Something worth dying for.”
Edwina gave him a firm, sincere nod. They hugged quickly, an empty embrace that knew it couldn’t be enough and wouldn’t bother trying to be.
“Get going now,” Edwina whispered wetly into his ear, “You’re about to leave me unbearably lonely.”
Angus exited. Esther was waiting with her back against the layered stone of her home’s exterior, her hands resting on her thighs.
“That was quick,” she observed.
Angus shifted his pack’s weight on his shoulder. He pressed a dry kiss onto her cheek. It almost felt warm. The tips of his fingers brushed the hair around her neck, appealing to the human emotions that still haunted her protective shell.
“She needs a sister, Es. Please. Give her that, and she won’t disappear like the rest,” he breathed against her cheek.
Esther gasped as he broke away, his determined walk pointed in the same direction as the last amethystine ribbon of dusk lingering on the horizon. Somewhere beyond view, a dog started howling.
Around the fourth hour past mid-night, Angus had cleared enough road that he was now notably distant from civilization. The trail itself was barely defined, long blades of grass rising where absent feet had failed to trample them. He had been traveling on foot from Gryllcrosse for nearly nine hours at this point, with the intent of putting as much distance between himself and Ulvenkeep as he could. The area was lightly forested and populated with plenty of animal life. It had been easy to spot and pin down a deer when Angus had started to feel fatigued by the travel. Several of the trees’ leaves were marked with shades of brown and orange —a welcome sight, signaling the arrival of harvest.
Angus loved this time of year. He had little use for grain or vegetables, but the beginning of harvest meant the conclusion of war season, and the return of brutish, succulent soldiers bound in muscle and healthy veins. The diminutive young vampire had a particular farm town in mind as he navigated the pastoral roads, where plenty of men would flock, seeking work and the comforts of the countryside. As long as Angus kept his pace, with few breaks on his journey, he could reach his destination before morning. He had two more hours of night remaining for travel —three if he dared to really push it.
There had been few people to be seen, already so late at night, in an area this lightly tread. Yet a party of four swords appeared down the road, soon to pass Angus on their horses. On the chance they might be bandits, Angus slipped into the shade of the nearby trees before the men could notice the path was being shared. He wouldn’t have minded a taste of bandit’s blood to keep his stamina up, but he wasn’t foolish enough to take on four armored men by himself. They cleared past briskly, allowing Angus to return to the road with little interruption. It was a grand sign. He was headed in the right direction.
The road narrowed and the trees began to thicken. Dry grass crinkled under the worn soles of Angus’s pointed shoes, and jagged rocks peppered the outer edges of the path where short clusters of light purple aster showed their round blooms, accompanied by fat, aromatic bursts of rosemary shrubs, and the paler, shyer, hooded blossoms of fuzzed sage. Frogs trilled amidst the branches, lulling Angus’s mind into a miscellany of meditations. He’d spent nearly the past decade trying to establish himself as a capable, independent individual —and failing, wasting his time away on petty thievery and making meals of humans no better than he, who had all but given up. Their blood had tasted of foul poison, tainted with whatever substances they could come into possession of. Yet Angus had continued to drink them himself, accepting the voice that said it was what he deserved until he’d proved that he could do better. He needed a better approach this time, but he couldn’t even fathom how to start.
Esther had suggested he find companionship. Esther also believed the majority of humans were not worth speaking to. There was the possibility of discovering other Gifted Folk, but quite often vampires could be territorial about their food supply, and were very often set in their ways —rather than in between states like Angus was. He could at least buy time over harvest, eating well for a brief period, with the season ending before he could grow lethargic like the last time he’d set out on his own. —What did he want out of life? Did he even know? Surviving wasn’t enough, not even when he was a young man. There had to be something out there for Angus that could be worth living for. Though for the time being, the crisp stillness of the calm autumn night felt like it could be almost enough.
Twenty minutes passed, bringing another rider trailing behind. Angus’s stomach clenched at the sight of him. Strands of silver glimmered through the mercenary’s long oily walnut hair, and sweat dripped down his cheek into his beard, which appeared to be about three months grown. Hoping the man would accost him, Angus remained in view. The rider slowed when he caught sight of Angus, causing his serrated mouth to water in anticipation.
Cautiously, the stranger bade his horse to approach.
“You there, traveler. Where are you headed on foot at such an hour?” he called. His voice was throaty and foreign —a Rodinian.
“Closest town where I can find a warm meal and a soft bed,” Angus answered vaguely.
The stranger stopped his horse at a fair distance for civil conversation. He regarded Angus a moment longer. A curious look flashed over his face, widening his eyes. The mercenary gave Angus a relaxed and cordial smile.
“Then you and I are of the same mind. Hop on. I can take you the rest of the way.” The rider offered Angus his haggard hand.
An odd disappointment passed over Angus —the fellow appeared to be friendly. But Angus’s legs ached from travel and the prospect of a ride offered sure relief. He accepted the man’s hand and hoisted himself onto the horse’s back. If the stranger turned out to not be as kind as he presented himself, then Angus would eat him.
“I’m Anatoliy. What is your name, druzhok?”
“Angus. —You’re awfully trusting of a stranger traveling alone at night. I could be a bandit or a murderer.”
Anatoliy chucked, “You forget I’m the one with the sword, armor, and horse. But never you mind. It’s the strong’s responsibility to help the weak.” “A pleasant thought, but I’ve witnessed plenty of acts of abuse motivated by benevolence; acts justified because the powerful believed they had the right answers and thought they should impose their will on everyone else.”
“Fair enough,” Anatoliy responded contemplatively, “But the difference here is that I gave you the choice to accept my help. You could have refused, yet you chose to trust me, even though I might also be a bandit or a murderer.”
“Which brings me back to my query. Why stop for me? You’ll have me believe it’s simply because you thought it was the right thing to do?”
Anatoliy laughed deeply. His core vibrated against Angus’s chest where he gripped the rider.
“You’ve caught me! —Krasavchik, do you know what it is that men like me do out in the field when we aren’t fighting enemies, drinking, or gambling?”
“Ahh— I don’t know. You sharpen your weapons?” Angus answered impatiently.
Anatoliy was greatly humored by this. He keeled over, choking on his laughter, as if Angus had just said something devilishly clever. Angus soured at how Anatoliy seemed to be in on some joke that he was not.
“Aha-haha, the answer would be each other. —I confess the reason I stopped my horse was because, even in the dark of night, I can see that you are gorgeous. When we arrive at our destination, it is my intention to offer you a drink so I may get to know you better.”
Caught off guard, Angus merely responded, “I wouldn’t mind that.” He eyed the corded muscle that joined the mercenary’s collar to his throat, laced with veins pronounced under his skin from dehydration.
Even through Anatoliy’s leathers, Angus felt suddenly aware of how their bodies were touching; of his hands resting on Anatoliy’s hips. His fingers dangled close to the soldier’s thighs, which Angus’s own legs were already pressed snuggly against. If Angus tried to rearrange now, Anatoliy would surely notice and realize it was because he’d successfully flustered him. The thought irritated Angus. He then noticed that Anatoliy was unusually warm, even for a human. His temperature was too high to be dismissed as lust. —The man was suffering a fever. Angus turned to glance over Anatoliy’s shoulder, only somehow just now noticing the soldier’s right arm. It gripped the saddle weakly, swollen with unnatural colors tinting the skin. Planted gruesomely in the flesh of his forearm was the broken-off head of an arrow.
“You’re injured.”
“Ah, yes. It may have also crossed my mind that it would be good to have someone around in the event I fall off my horse.”
“Are you insane? You could die.” —Not that Angus would let that happen. If Anatoliy’s fever took over and started to take his life, Angus would take it first. The scent of the yellow-green pus and the man’s unwashed musk had masked the bleeding when Angus had first joined him, but now that Angus knew of the injury, the smell was gradually making him go mad.
“We’re an hour and a half from Blithe-Rock,” Anatoliy answered, unphased, “There’s a trick to getting these barbed points out. I can’t do it with one hand.”
“You might have to get used to doing things one-handed. —If you’re lucky,” Angus spat.
Anatoliy keeled over with laughter again, the vibrant sound sending hidden animals lurking behind trees deeper into the brush. Angus froze, more stunned at his own lack of foresight than anything else. Then, against his better judgment, he started chuckling along with him. The two of them became possessed by humorous spirits, twisting and curling inwards as cackles escaped their bodies. Momentarily, Angus forgot his hunger, a new madness gripping his insides, straining at his rib cage. He braced his forehead against the base of Anatoliy’s neck, straining to even his breaths.
Trees cleared away to dense crop fields. Insects darted above, catching flickers of moonlight in their gauzy wings. The flat, wide farmlands cleared the view for the entire celestial sphere to glimmer above them. Only the feint, orange glow of the approaching town’s lamplights from miles away interrupted the deep expanse of the night sky. Nearly identical stretches of crops and pastures passed them by until the outline of an unknown form appeared in the distance. As they got closer, it was revealed to be a giant boulder nearly 20 feet high, dressed in a thick sheet of moss on one side. Adorning its base were a variety of marked stones and other trinkets laid out like offerings. Anatoliy stopped his horse, drew a coin from his purse, kissed it, and tossed it amongst the other offerings. He murmured a phrase to himself using words Angus did not understand. Beyond, man-made structures came into view, and in little more time they had entered town. The only place of lodging in Blithe-Rock was Green Side Inn. Along its white, stoned perimeter, the same tiny white flowers that had grown outside The Devil’s Plaything sprouted about. Angus plucked a couple of the yarrow sprigs, pocketing them. No one was in the still-unlit common area yet, but the smells and sounds of breakfast being prepared could be traced from the concealed kitchen area behind the bar on the structure’s right half. Angus had already taken a seat at one of the wooden stools at the bar when Anatoliy arrived from stabling his horse outside. Anatoliy walked straight to the job board near the foot of the stairs at the back of the building, where he reached out and tore off one of the posters, which he crumpled into a tight ball and stuffed into one of his pockets. Then, he joined Angus sitting at the far end of the bar. He cleared his throat.
“I don’t wish to put any pressure on you, but you give me the impression of someone short on coin. If you’re comfortable with it, I wouldn’t mind sharing a room and splitting the cost half-way. I won’t expect anything from you for it.”
Angus tongued his teeth. The man had read him correctly; he did not have much money. But there was one unsaid detail that was still more awkward than Anatoliy’s already voiced interests.
“That works for me,” Angus replied, “But first, you ought to know I have particular habits. I prefer to sleep during the daytime, and I require total darkness. Light from the door or candlelight is fine if you need to enter the room, but I plan to block out the windows wherever I stay. If I find you let even a single ray of sunlight in, I will never forgive you.”
Wrinkles creased over Anatoliy’s nose as he smiled, “How very serious you are. But perhaps this is preferable. This way we won’t have to share a bed.” Despite Anatoliy’s promise of no expectations, a hint of disappointment lurked in the corners of his eyes. He shook out his shoulders, rolling his neck. Matted locks of unwashed hair draped down his back. “Although, a nap this morning would work in my favor —if you think you can tolerate my snoring,” Anatoliy added, chuckling.
Angus pointed at the wound inches below Anatoliy’s wrist, “What concerns me is that. —You implied I could help you remove it?” The entry point was swollen and red, and dark pink spots blotted the area around it.
“When we have access to some warm water,” Anatoliy responded calmly, “And I’ve gotten a drink in me.”
Angus scowled. “No alcohol. It will thin your blood. I won’t stand you making a mess if you want my help.”
Anatoliy released a dramatic sigh, “To-night then. I will buy drinks for both of us, as promised.”
His chest fluttered for a pause, but Angus kept his face unexpressive. Anatoliy wasn’t unattractive —his large, aquiline nose particularly suited him, but he was lacking in subtlety or decorum. He also made money by killing other people, which for the time being put him more in the category of food than person. Anatoliy had demonstrated himself enough for Angus to give him a chance -for now- but if he slipped, Angus would show him no mercy. Until then, he would stomach the man’s crude jokes and strong advances.
“It occurs to me,” Anatoliy continued as he withdrew a brown leather trifold from his pack, “that I asked you where you heading without ever asking why. I doubt a skinny krasavchik is seeking farm work with the rest of us soldiers.”
Angus faltered, trying to improvise an answer, as he had not yet prepared one. “Harvest. The grand selection,” he answered clumsily. Despite his honesty, it sounded like a lie. The scoff Anatoliy made confirmed as much.
“Vegetables! Of course!” Anatoliy answered sarcastically. Inside the trifold, which he’d laid out on the table, was a horn pipe, a crisp box of matches, three thin metal instruments, and a sachet of tobacco that smelled of cherry. Anatoliy took a pinch of tobacco and packed it into the pipe with his fingers.
Angus swiftly changed the subject. “Speaking of work, what was that flier you grabbed just now?”
Anatoliy sniffed sharply, then rolled his jaw. “Just weeding out the competition for a job I have already taken. Don’t want to risk being under-bid.” He wet the stem of his pipe with his lips as he lit its contents with a match.
“Folks would actually do that?” Angus asked, raising his eyebrows, “Labor already pays poorly enough.”
“If the work is good, sure.” Anatoliy shrugged, then motioned his better hand to Angus. “What do you do, anyway?” His limb quivered.
“You, my friend, are in quite a bit of luck,” Angus answered with some amusement, “I’m no doctor, but I did briefly study medicine in my youth. I get by well enough from that.”
“And you come to this tiny settlement, of all places,” Anatoliy said to himself mostly, shaking his head as he stared into the distance in front of him. His mind seemed to drift else where as he sucked sweet plumes of smoke through the pipe.
Dawn came, lighting up the common area through its wide windows on the left half of the building, illuminating the cobwebs in the high corners. From the furthest seat at the bar, Angus watched the beams grow longer and brighter as they stretched across the wooden floor. Anatoliy purchased himself a coffee, a link of sausage, and a bowl of porridge. He asked Angus what he’d like, but Angus insisted he’d wait to eat until after he had rested. Speaking no more, the mercenary grunted and groaned as he ate his breakfast with haste.
Angus watched him with quiet fascination. Sometimes, usually if a dish was lovingly presented, feint parts of him would remember how appetizing certain foods could be. Anatoliy’s meal inspired no envy in him, and yet the man ate with a radiant gratitude about him.
When he was done, they paid for their room together and requested a pot of hot water to be sent up to them. Upstairs, Angus loitered outside of the room’s door with his pack at his feet as he grabbed the layers of threadbare blankets Edwina had given him. Anatoliy laughed when he entered the room with the blankets draped over his head. Angus felt his way to the bed, climbed upon it, and tacked the layered blankets into a corner of the window. Then, significantly less handicapped, he secured the other three corners, pulling them tight across the frame. A weak glow of light still escaped through, but the room was dark enough for Angus to exist comfortably.
Having not helped at all, and only laughing instead as he watched Angus struggle, Anatoliy remarked, “By Rod. What a queer creature you are.”
The scales were tipped slightly in favor of him being food.
The water arrived. Angus lit a candle, then gathered washcloths and a shallow bowl on the small table in the corner of their room. The scent of smoke and melting wax masked most of the stale, moist atmosphere the room had come with. The light flickered distorted shadows as Anatoliy retrieved a pair of large feathers from his pack then sat on the left side of the table, outstretching his mutilated arm.
Angus dampened a cloth with the hot water, using it to wipe away chartreuse pus to reveal the pale, pink flesh encasing the broken-off tip of the arrow. Anatoliy steadied himself, taking a heavy breath. He held one of the feathers up with his left hand.
“Alright, what you do is take the hollow end of the feather’s shaft. You cover the barb with the shaft. Do the same on the opposite side. Holding it from both ends, you can lift the arrowhead out. The feathers keep the barbs from catching the skin so it can slide free smoothly.”
Angus tested his finger on the swollen, reddened skin surrounding the wound. The spot paled to white where he’d touched before it flushed with color again. Anatoliy winced in response. Angus gave him the yarrow he’d stowed in his pocket.
“Chew on this.”
“Will it help with the pain?”
“It will slow your bleeding.”
The infected arm radiated with heat. Using two fingers to spread the wound open a touch wider, Angus picked up the first feather and, as gently as he could, poked its calamus into Anatoliy’s wrist. Anatoliy drew a fist, struggling in his seat. He shuddered an aching moan through bared teeth. Angus glanced up to his face.
“Do you have a belt?”
Anatoliy gave him a stiff nod, pulled his belt loose with his free hand, and folded it over on itself. With the hand not grasping the feather, Angus took one of the washcloths and held it out for him to spit the masticated yarrow into. Anatoliy bit down on the belt in its stead, and Angus resumed prodding the wound with little more concern. He twirled the feather in a circular motion as he searched for the first barb. Anatoliy shivered, but stayed otherwise still. His eyes watered as he watched Angus work, but he did not look away. Then, like a key finding its place in a lock, the shaft fixed over the first barb.
“Got it!” Angus murmured under his breath, a small smile twitching in the corner of his mouth. Anatoliy held the first feather in place for him as Angus picked up the second.
This time, Angus angled the calamus diagonally, entering the wound less painfully than before. In his gathering confidence, he over-reached and jabbed flesh, forcing Anatoliy to emit a vulnerable, airy yelp. Angus apologized. He tilted the feather upright, trying to make it parallel with the first one. The second feather slid right into place. The two men exchanged euphoric looks
Angus counted to three, and the two took a deep, simultaneous breath as he lifted the feathers from the opening. Anatoliy bit as deep as he could into the belt, clasping his eyes shut and releasing strained gasps —but the arrowhead came free. He spat the belt out with a loud sob, panting heavily.
Bright red blood pooled forth from the two-inch wide gash. Before he had time to think, Angus lifted Anatoliy’s arm to his face, placed his lips over the injury, and pressed his tongue over the gathering liquid. The wound tasted like a tarnished, copper coin chased with the sour, unappetizing aftertaste of infection and necrosis. It only lasted a moment before Angus caught himself. His cheeks tinted rose, Anatoliy stared at him, stunned. Angus lowered Anatoliy’s arm and pressed the chewed-up yarrow into the wound.
“S-sorry. I was trying to keep it from spilling,” Angus lied.
Anatoliy scoffed, an easy smile working its way across his face, “I’ve never had anyone do that to me before.”
Angus did not respond. He folded one washcloth into a padded square and tore another into strips, which he used to secure the folded cloth over the injury.
“Keep that clean. Wash it out with salt, if you can stand it,” he instructed, “I’m going to sleep now.” He rose and pulled off his layers at the foot of the bed. Anatoliy watched him.
“You’re smaller than I realized underneath that quilted armor.”
Angus shrugged. His oversized, jade shirt hung down to his thin thighs, and he was still wearing women’s undergarments. Anatoliy’s eyes moved all ways across him, but Angus was too tired to care. Angus pulled Esther’s old raincoat over his short limbs, using it as a blanket in lieu of the ones tucked into the crisply made bed as he crawled on top.
Embarrassed at having been ignored and by his own shameless staring, Anatoliy rose from the seat. “I’ll leave you to your rest. Thank you for the —uh,” he lifted his bandaged arm. Angus waived his wrist in the air. Whether it was meant as ‘you’re welcome’ or ‘go away’, Anatoliy was unsure.