Black Angus – Chapter 14

This is a working draft and not a final product.

Content Warnings: Force feeding, Child death, Cannibalism, Blood-drinking, also Regular Murder

In which Angus drinks the blood of an innocent.

Ulvenkeep

Angus sighed as he stirred from a dreamless sleep, tilting his head back into the fingers combing his hair, luring him from the deep, black void back into woeful reality with their false promises of comfort.

“Rex tells me you were up walking earlier. That’s wonderful,” Friedolf said when he saw Angus’s eyes flutter open. “This can be the last night we feed you in bed. To-morrow, you can join us at the table.”

Angus didn’t remember the previous nights. He could barely recall the visions he’d experienced after Mikael had dosed him, and even then, he wasn’t sure what had actually happened and what had been the malformed products of his imagination. Foolishly, he’d hoped that being carried away by Friedolf had been one of them. He didn’t speak. His eyes slid across the room, observing Rex curled up asleep beside him on his right. On his left -Friedolf- dressed in simple clothes, stroking Angus’s hair with one hand, and in the other—

Angus pursed his lips and shook his head. “I’m not hungry.”

Friedolf tsked. “My boy, you’re not well. You must drink to get better. Ordinary blood won’t be good enough—,” he urged, observing the intensifying protest in Angus’s face. “The mother was a whore; she didn’t even want it! She was going to drown it in the river! Just behave and drink —like you did the nights before.”

Angus held his eyes shut. Arching his neck away, he covered the lower half of his face with his hands. The fingers in his hair grasped tightly at the scalp, lifting him so he was sitting upright. He writhed and pawed at Friedolf’s hand to release him.

“Do you think acting like a child will spare you from having to eat one?” Friedolf scolded. “It wasn’t a problem last night —or the night before that.” The infant in his other arm was startled by all of the noise and struggling, and it began to wail. Its shrill cries were like needles in Angus’s ears.

The commotion stirred Rex awake, which made him awfully sour. He launched into action, climbing on top of Angus, straddling him, and pinning him down by the wrists.

“He was complaining t’ me earlier about bein’ hungry. He’ll eat,” Rex told Friedolf firmly.

The baby would not stop screaming.

“Rex, please—,” Angus begged. As much as he tried, he couldn’t remember if Friedolf was telling the truth about the previous nights. He didn’t want to believe it, but it wasn’t entirely implausible that he may have been in such a wretched state during his recovery that the thirst had entirely taken him over and stripped him of his humanity. Angus had let it take control of him before —with far less at stake.

Rex’s grip on Angus’s wrists tightened, his sharp nails digging to his bones. Angus kept his eyes closed -so he didn’t see what happened next- but he heard the squelching sound that abruptly stopped the infant’s piercing cries. Hot, wet liquid dribbled onto his chin. His teeth unclenched and his tongue lolled out to catch the spill. Some of the blood trailed down his neck, but Rex dropped his head down to lick it off, sucking the leftovers clean off Angus’s skin.

“Good Boy. —Hold him steady, Rex,” Friedolf encouraged as he held the tiny, bleeding body above them. As the trickle slowed, he lowered the slit neck to Angus’s lips. Angus lifted his hands to brush the body away, but Rex took hold of them again, freeing Angus’s mouth to do as it pleased. Teeth sought out flesh, tearing it free with no trouble, as tender and delicate as an omelet —but much, much richer. Rex moaned as he lapped up all the waste Angus let get away, his tongue gliding up Angus’s stubbled chin. Soon enough, the liquid was depleted from its small vessel, at which time Friedolf laid the ragged white corpse down on the bedside table. Angus nipped at it once more as he pulled it away, then immediately broke into tears while Rex continued to clean up after him.

Friedolf ran a clawed thumb under Angus’s eye, brushing away a tear. “Don’t dwell too much on it, dear. Like I told you, it was going to die either way, and you needed it.”

Angus couldn’t keep his tongue from greedily running over his teeth and gums, and realized the child had the same pure taste as the blood he’d drank from the bowl not long before. It was with this realization that he understood Friedolf had been telling the truth after all. Angus continued to sniffle and sob. He didn’t want to think about how many others there might have been.

Finishing all the spill he could find, Rex crawled off of Angus, shaking his copper head. “Whining, spoiled brat,” he cursed at Angus. He received a chaste swat on the cheek from Friedolf.

“Play nice with your brother. He’s dealt with much these past few days,” Friedolf lectured. His massive hand took hold of Angus’s jaw, wet with Rex’s saliva, lifting him as he continued to whine. “Angus. That’s enough. I need to ask you some questions.”

Angus obediently restrained himself from weeping, coaxing his body down to a shivering whimper as Friedolf held his throat in his firm hand. He trembled like a hare caught in a trap, too scared to save itself.

“Relax,” Friedolf instructed, “Look at me.” He softened his grip so that the pads of his fingers merely held Angus’s chin upright. They looked into one another’s faces. Angus’s brown eyes stayed wide and unblinking. Reaching into his pocket, Friedolf produced a note.

“For at least the next few days, I’ll be settled in a quaint room at an inn on the countryside. I met someone really nice who I’m staying with right now. I might really like him, Eddie. Nothing has happened, though I tasted him just a little bit,” Friedolf recited off the paper, adding a flourish of distaste. Angus flinched and tried to dart his eyes away, but Friedolf caught him in his gaze, his sharp, golden eyes glowing like lit candles in a dusty study. “Who is this man, Angus?”

Angus’s jaw trembled as he fought to keep his mouth closed, but Friedolf’s hypnotic spell was too strong. “Ah-Ah— Anatoliy. His name is Anatoliy,” Angus sobbed, “Friedolf, please don’t—”

“Last name?”

“I don’t know,” Angus answered, thankful he did not.

“Where’s he from?”

“Rodina.”

“Occupation?”

“He’s a sell-sword. He traded me to Mikael Gallagher, the man you found me with.”

Friedolf scoffed. “Really. A perfidious immigrant brute. I thought I raised you better, Angus. —And you love him?”

Angus’s face crumpled. “Yes. I do.”

Allowing him to look away, Friedolf released Angus’s face. Rex had straightened where he sat, looking genuinely aghast at the revelation, though Friedolf showed little surprise.

“Listen, my child, I want to make something clear between us,” Friedolf said. “I may have brought you here, but I am not forcing you to stay. You are free to leave Ulvenkeep whenever you like.” He turned and motioned to the door. “Come along, Rex. It’s time for our supper.”

Rex looked over his shoulder as he followed Friedolf, his expression difficult to read. At the edge of the queen-sized bed, sunk into its ivy-green duvet, Angus sat, quivering, with his feet folded behind him and his head hanging into his outstretched hands.

Gryllcrosse

Esther’s dim office was washed over by the glow of a pair of pink glass lanterns. Anatoliy had forsaken manners and laid out on the loveseat with his boots still on. Given his host had brought him into her home and might attempt to kill him at any time, he felt inclined to do as he pleased for what could be his last moments. This ambivalence was a familiar mood for him. If he was raiding and his throat was parched, of course, he would grab the water-skin off a corpse —he too could soon be the dead fellow on the ground with a drink he was not using.

Esther had led him through the drizzle and the difficult-to-ignore odors of the city’s streets to her modest front door with little more conversation than sternly enforced small talk: ‘How long have you lived in Ériusíde?’, ‘Have you visited Gryllcrosse before?’, ‘Do you have any family?’ They had left the other woman behind to continue her work. Esther had said nothing when she opened the door for him, and now she was fidgeting with boxes on shelves, with her back turned to him. Anatoliy wondered if it was a symptom of living beyond human life; this fussing about as if time were not a precious thing always slipping away. Angus didn’t seem fussy, but he was only seventy years old. Only. What a thought. ‘Only seventy years old.’

“Do you have money, Mr— um, sorry, what was your name?” Esther asked, swiveling around where she stood. Her nose wrinkled.

“Vlahović. But Anatoliy is fine,” the man said with a causal lift of his chin so he could project his voice across the room without sitting up.

“You can call me Esther. I work in names sometimes. Paperwork and legal things, primarily.” In her hands was a compressed paper hat box. Her face twisted into a complex, thinking expression. “‘Rising from the East’; ‘Sunrise’?”

Anatoliy raised himself a bit higher this time. “That is correct. —What is ‘Esther’?”

“‘Star,’” she answered. “You shouldn’t involve yourself with gifted folk, Anatoliy. Go to another city, meet another man, forget about Angus, and live out the rest of your days in the sun.”

“I have a little bit of money, not much,” Anatoliy said, disregarding her words. He sat up fully this time, planting his boots on the carpeted floor. He reached into his bag -retrieving not a purse- but the carved wooden idol of Khors-Dazhbog, which he set on the coffee table in front of him. “I had a large sum of coin before, but then fate reunited me with my god. I realized then that the gold I carried was only weighing me down from my true task. I lit a candle and left behind a very large, very expensive offering —far more than I have ever been able to in my whole life.

“I have what’s left of my war wages, a small amount of treasure Angus stowed away for us, and a single gold coin that I’m not giving up until I can place it in Angus’s tiny hand.”

Esther shook her head. “Edwina said it already, but I’m going to tell you again. Gods, fairytales, heroes —none of those things are real. You are going to die, and you are going to die for no reason.”

The pink lanterns sitting on their twin side tables rattled with Anatoliy’s laughter. He smacked the coffee table in front of him, and the whites of his eyes glistened as he said to Esther, “Vampires are not real.”

Esther sat in the armchair where Angus had sat when he had visited. She set the hat box on the coffee table, then placed its lid to one side. Undoing the patterned cloth within, she revealed a stash of silver coins, trinkets, and jewelry items.

“I’ve been setting these aside for the past fifteen years or so. I keep meaning to trade them for coin, but you know how life gets away from you,” she said, pulling a leather glove over her main hand so she could sift through the contents of the box. The way she was speaking, Anatoliy was unsure whether she was conversing with him or merely talking to herself, but then she glanced up at his face and continued, “There ought to be more than enough here to smelt down and coat your sword with. I was going to let you buy it off me for a lot price —it’d save me the errand. But, seeing as it’s something you can’t afford, why don’t you just take the silver, and we’ll consider it a deposit on the bounty for bringing my cousin back safely?”

It felt like a mosquito buzzing near her ear the way Esther could practically see the wheels turning inside the man’s head. His hairy eyebrows knit together, and when he raised his hand up to scratch the back of his neck, it made her want to scream. This was the man who -by a stroke of dumb luck and no true merit of his own- had captured her and sealed her in a jar earlier that night. This was the oaf she was choosing to trust.

“You believe me then? That Angus isn’t safe?” Anatoliy asked her. “You’ve changed your mind?”

“He trusted you. A man he’d know only a few days,” Esther replied, her voice cracking, “Angus has known me since he was gifted. I don’t understand why he wouldn’t have told me . . .” A pained noise got caught in her throat.

Anatoliy had secretly hoped from the very moment he first met Esther that he would have the opportunity to tell her that she was a cold bitch. However, now that the opportunity presented itself, he found himself pitying the woman and unsure of what to say. It felt sort of like how it was when he’d say something humorous, and Angus would take it too seriously to understand. He didn’t even fully disagree with Esther’s thought process. There was nothing special about him, yet Angus treated him like he was special. That, in itself, made Anatoliy want to live up to the person Angus saw him as.

He brushed his hair out of his face and reasoned, “I got the feeling when he opened up to me that Angus himself had only recently started to understand what he’s been through. There were certain parts that I suspect he still hasn’t determined to be wrong, as obvious of a conclusion that may be to an outsider. Based on what he told me, you were the first person he went searching for when he was in trouble. I believe he places enormous trust in you. That’s why I came searching for you ladies.”

Esther folded the patterned cloth back over the silver trinkets, replaced the lid of the hat box, then slid the box in Anatoliy’s direction. If she had been close to tears a second ago, then now she was squinting to hold them inside.

“Strike my brother with a weapon coated in silver, and you will have injured him as if he were an ordinary man. He will not be able to simply sup on the spirit of man to recover his wounds, but will be forced to heal over many days, as you do.”

Anatoliy accepted the box in front of him, then looked to Esther and asked, “What else?”

“Vampires as old as Friedolf and I can change our shape into animals, or even several small animals if we wish, but we do tend to stick to our favorites. Friedolf prefers a wolf, usually keeping the color of his red hair, but he can just as easily appear as an ordinary gray wolf if he wishes to hide his identity amongst a pack. Older vampires can take on an ethereal form, appearing as a cloud of mist and slipping through small spaces unseen, but Friedolf hasn’t reached that age yet.”

“Have you?” Anatoliy asked with a tilt of his head.

Esther smiled. “You’re not hunting me, dear.” She reached over and gave his knee a condescending pat. “Do you have a map on you?”

Anatoliy pulled a heavy but worn piece of folded parchment from his bag and handed it to her. Esther adjusted in her seat to politely subdue her surprise when she unfolded the paper before her.

“It’s been a bit of time since I last practiced your alphabet. —Sorry,” she commented as she traced capillary river lines with her closely trimmed fingernail. Esther marked a small, wet ‘X’ with her pen on the western territory of Ériusíde. “The location is quite out-of-the-way and may not be worthwhile, but this spot is what we’d formally refer to as Friedolf’s ‘resting place’. He obviously doesn’t rest there; it’s just what we call the location of where we received our gift. If you’re able to get your hands on a close personal item of his, or -better yet- a part of his body, you can greatly restrict his power by pinning it into the ground with a wooden stake. Oak or ash is preferable, but really any kind will do. If you do this, he won’t be able to heal himself, transform, or compel you with his gaze.”

“Angus was able to do that one. He could draw me in without even trying. That trick I am especially fearful of,” Anatoliy cut in. He appeared to realize mid-sentence that he was looking Esther in the face as they were speaking and averted his eyes.

“So I heard. It’s new to him. He’ll get better at controlling himself in time,” Esther responded, “But you’re right to fear my brother for this. He can channel his will onto you with only a look. He need not even speak. What he can’t do is force you to do anything too outrageous or out of your character. He can’t make you deliberately hurt yourself or people you care about, though there are ways around that. You may not fling yourself off the side of a cliff, but you could be suggestible to walking forward without looking in front of yourself.”

Anatoliy nodded.

“The remaining advantages he has are fairly straightforward,” Esther continued. “We can climb unusual surfaces like an insect. We’re strong. And quick. And we can move so silently you may never hear us coming. We can command animals as easily as we can with humans -for there is no true difference to us- and we may even form strong bonds with those animals and make them our familiars. Our senses are stronger than yours, particularly our sense of smell; even if a vampire cannot hear or see you, she can probably detect your exact location by your scent. We can see things during the night better even than your kind can during the day.”

Esther waved her hand at Anatoliy’s wooden idol. “Now this next part is tricky. It is possible for sacred items to have some effect, but you cannot rely on them. That kind of thing all depends on the vampire you’re hunting, what relationship they have with religion, and how much credibility they’re willing to lend it in their minds. Your typical aged and experienced vampire knows better than to grant others’ ideals such fortitude. That mindset is reserved for the folly of the young; those who may have well determined their premature fates. Religion is useless against Friedolf. I can see that it’s valuable to you, but don’t even consider it if you plan to live.”

“Noted,” Anatoliy replied. “Ah . . . And what about, uh,” he pantomimed a small object in his hands, “Chesnok? Little spicy bulb? Is that any use?”

Esther cleared her throat. “For your purposes, not that much. They’re better for warding us off. It might not be a bad idea to keep some as repellent where you’re staying, should you have to retreat and need to deter being followed. Mind you, if he chooses to pursue you, he will find a way,” she cautioned.

“It’s difficult for us to cross bodies of water, at least not without help. We fall unconscious until we’re back on land. So, if you do need to make that retreat, let garlic be a temporary solution until you can hail a ship back to your homeland. That will save you. And of course, there is daylight. Utilize every minute of full sun while you can.

“Fire is the next best thing to hurt us with. You’ll have more control burning one us with fire than hoping to expose us to the sun. Beheading is also an option. It’s best if you can both remove the head and burn the remains to be especially sure. I know how easy it must sound to you, sitting there, listening to me talk about it, but it’s not. If you do this wrong, Anatoliy, you will be looking over your shoulder for the rest of your short, forgettable life.”

She then paused to think for a moment, chewing her thin lower lip and running her fingers erratically over the creases in her plum wool skirt. Anatoliy did not seem to be not paying attention to her, nor afraid, nor too relaxed, and Esther could not think to name how he should be behaving just then if he was to indeed see his task through to the end —regardless of whose end that was.

“There’s something else of which I lack knowledge; I can only give you a warning,” Esther finally added. “I’m not well-versed in magic. I find it to be too self-serving, and my priorities are directed towards how I might be able to serve my community. My brother, however, is a brilliant sorcerer. For all I have told you to-night, there I much I cannot prepare you for, as it is outside of my knowledge. The best I can do is to pay heed to the dangers of the unknown. There are powers that are beyond your understanding or anticipation which you will have to learn to adapt to. Expect to be taken off guard, and even then, do not fully trust your instincts.”

Whatever reaction Esther had been looking for in Anatoliy before, she recognized it then. It was still a countenance without name, this paranoia only felt by sane, this calm only possessed by the ruminating. It was like a graceful black swan whose feet thrashed underwater, violent and unseen.

The front door opened behind Esther’s back. Comforting murmurs and light sobs echoed past the vestibule. Anatoliy watched the dark passageway, waiting for figures to reveal themselves. And Esther watched Anatoliy -his face, his expression- but he stayed cool and did not lose his composure as Edwina led the crying man from the club into the office.

“Stay right there and do not look away, Anatoliy. I want you to see this,” Esther instructed, rising from the chair.

The crying man glanced around the room as Edwina unbuttoned his shirt. “Miss? Who are these people? What’s going on?” he stammered. He took a single step back, but Esther was already positioned behind him, ready to wrap her arms around his waist.

“Why are you here? What are you looking at?” the man said, addressing Anatoliy directly and ignoring the two women caressing him.

Edwina finished removing his shirt, which then fell to the floor.

Frustrated by Anatoliy’s non-address, the fellow shouted, “STOP LOOKING AT ME!” His tear-blotched face flushed completely purple.

The women bit down on either side of his neck. He attempted to shout again, but Edwina’s teeth had already turned his throat ragged. The noises that came out reminded Anatoliy of the ethereal notes he used to pluck from his mother’s ivory comb when he was a child. His chest looked like it had been used by a painter to mix linseed oil with alizarin, the liquid bib trailing longer and wider across his sparsely-haired chest. He jerked and spasmed between the two women, whose delicate, articulated movements seemed all the more fluid by comparison to their victim, though there was no mistaking their faces for anything remotely human. The image of these three figures would live on always in Anatoliy’s mind -posed like a sculpture out of marble, the details too fine for reality itself- but within his skull the image would find plenty of company. Anatoliy already held a museum of human horrors inside his head. This vision was terrible, but it was still not the worst of them.

The corpse collapsed onto the dark lacquered wood floor as the ladies simultaneously released their hold. Edwina arranged various accents of her dress so that they were straightened and draped to her liking. She was the exact sort of girl men fawned over back at camp, claiming they were in love after just one day. Anatoliy had a mother and sister back home, but women -especially women like Edwina- felt like another species to him. His mother looked like she had been crafted out of old, worn leather, and his sister’s chest was flatter even than his own. Although -according to letters- she’d recently been married and had her first child; making Anatoliy an uncle now —so perhaps her features had changed.

Esther’s inexplicably clean hand wove through a coil of Edwina’s tight curls. “You arrived right on time. I just finished betraying our kind’s secrets to this human man. —How does that make you feel?” She stared deeply into Edwina’s eyes. It was like Anatoliy wasn’t even there.

Again, Anatoliy reached into his pocket to lay a hand on his insurance. He had peered at the disgusting, misshapen hand once -and only once- not understanding how it could help if it was lit, but Angus had promised it would.

“Hmm,” Edwina said, swaying her head from side to side as she pretended to think out loud. Her pupils were blown wide so that her eyes appeared more black than brown. “I know I haven’t been part of this family for long, Esther. So I hope you don’t think I’m out of line for saying: If there’s a vampire among us who’s hurting other vampires, then I don’t believe he deserves to be part of our family.”

Esther smiled and patted her on the cheek. “That’s my girl.”

They circled around the sofa to take a seat on either side of Anatoliy. Though the creeping feeling of danger was waning, Anatoliy still positioned himself shyly, narrowing his broad shoulders and pulling his knees close together. Edwina plucked his right hand up and placed it flat in her lap.

“I’ve been learning palm reading,” she announced, running her thumb across the map of his hand. “This mark at the bottom corner means you’ll be well-traveled. And this line, of course, is your life line. It has a wide curve, showing you have lots of energy, but it stops short, meaning you will encounter significant trouble with your health.” Edwina traced the curve by his thumb.

“Next, your head line. This gap between the life line shows me you’re rebellious, independent, and foolish. The way it stretches far across your hand means you’re ambitious, perhaps even selfish. And this next one, my favorite,” she said touching the line at the top, “The heart line. It points to your middle finger, instead of your index, so you’re passionate and fall in love quickly, which explains all of the crosses passing through it, signifying heartbreak. However, there’s plenty of space away from your head line, so at least you have realistic expectations of a partner. What’s really interesting to me is how it intersects with your fate line. See how it breaks, curving wildly in one way, then continuing, but off in a completely different direction? That break into a new line represents a significant change in your life path. But the crease is shallow, meaning your path is not guided by some great destiny or predetermined chain of events, but by the result of the choices you make.”

Esther sighed. “Total nonsense. She told me that I’m sentimental and resistant to reason.” She then drew Anatoliy’s left hand into her own lap. “What you do have are nice veins. That’s what matters.” Esther then lifted his hand to her face, touching the cold end of her nose to the soft skin of his wrist to take in his scent. Edwina followed her example, waiting.

“Do it, already,” Anatoliy commanded, wincing as he spoke.

Esther bit down hard, and Edwina slipped her teeth into his skin shortly after. Anatoliy felt his temperature drop, and a moment later, he was passed out on their loveseat, his head dipping to one side.