With his world spinning, Angus stumbled into his room. His legs wobbled as he directed them to the bed where he collapsed face first and fully clothed. Angus had no idea who had 'won' the drinking contest, but he had the feeling it was the taking part that mattered most. Snores erupted from his prone form almost instantly. Sleep had its way within moments, leaving him oblivious to the changes happening around him. Not that he really needed sleep to make him oblivious, the intoxication was doing more than enough. He hadn't even noticed that his precious vial had returned. It now stood on the table next to his bed emitting a slight glow.
A mist descended upon the room, covering all it could, muting colours and hiding details. Angus continued to sleep deeply, inhaling the mist. The strange substance travelled inside him, burying itself deep in his lungs and appearing in his dreams like a phantom.
Groaning as he slept, Angus dreamed visions of violence. The scenes in his subconscious felt vivid and real. Decapitations and cannibalism featured in abundance. Blood splattered against his skin, and he could feel its warmth. In fact, he reveled in it. He woke with a start, his member straining against his breeches. Shame filled him. Had he enjoyed the dream that much?
But the memory of the dream was already starting to fade.
Ignoring the dribble linking his face to the pillow, Angus got up. The world continued to spin.
"Ugh," he said as he waited for it to slow. He stood next to the bed. Morning hadn't arrived properly yet; everything was still dark and the birds hadn't even started their dawn chorus. Angus wondered what he was doing. "Need sleep," he muttered, climbing back into the bed, this time managing to put the blanket over him.
"Drink me..." a voice said. Angus didn't recognise it, but it sounded close. Not only that but - despite the hiss that hid in its words - he felt like he could trust it. He knew he could trust it, just like he knew that everyone would want his vial if he told them about it.
The vial.
For the second time, his eyes snapped open. His gaze was drawn to the bedside table. He knew it would be there even before he saw it. The vial glowed just like the night he had first seen it. The night when he'd known he had to have it.
It wasn't lost. Relief covered him, cocooning him like a blanket or one of his mother's embraces. Everything was going to be alright; he was rich beyond his imagination and the vial was safe. But who had put it on the table? Angus decided it didn't matter. Happy now that he'd been reunited with the object, Angus settled back down to sleep.
"Drink me..." the voice repeated as Angus drifted off.
*****
Once the sun rose, the dreams and thoughts from the night before had all but disappeared. The only thing that remained was Angus's connection to the vial. But it was a connection that felt so natural and normal, that he didn't give it a second thought. He just pocketed the vial and went to join his parents for breakfast.
"Morning, dear," his mother said as he entered the kitchen. A strong woman, Mildred Rutland had always worked to earn her keep. Not only did she work as a cook in the castle kitchens, but she also made sure her family was well-fed. She put a bowl on the table and Angus took a seat opposite his father. During the simple meal of porridge, it became clear that normal life had returned with gusto. It seemed a hero's welcome only lasted for one night. Now Angus was to return to his chores and almost revert back to the boy he had once been, unless he was considering joining the Queen's Guard full time, of course. He thought about telling his parents about his newfound wealth, but he had the feeling they wouldn't approve of how he got it. Despite living in The Hole, the Rutlands were simple, honest folk. Such folk did not loot the houses of those under attack. Angus would have to broach this subject with great care.
"You'll be joining me in the shop today, won't you?" his father asked. Stanley Rutland was a cordwainer by trade, mending and making footwear for all in Red Fern. He worked hard - harder than most - but he had no wealth to show for it. "We should be busy now that the army is back. I'm sure we'll have plenty of pairs of boots to fix."
"My boots need fixing," Angus said, thinking about how the sole had almost completely pulled away from the rest of the boot.
"I imagine they do," his father said between mouthfuls, "but we have to serve the army first, then you'll have time to work on your own."
"I'm part of that army too!"
"Yes, you were. But that's in the past now. You need to know your place. Hopefully, your wage earned over the last couple of months will be enough to get you somewhere else to live - or at least buy some food for a while - but the army isn't a career for people like us. We mend shoes. Or we cook. Or clean. Occasionally, when those in power see it's necessary, we're battle fodder. But we're nothing more than that, Angus. This is a harsh truth, but the sooner you make your peace with it, the better." Stanley got to his feet. "I need to get to work. Finish up and meet me there."
With that, he left, leaving Angus and his mother in the kitchen in silence.
"He means well," she said, resting a hand on his shoulder. "He just wants you to be realistic."
"I know," Angus said and, in a way, he understood. No-one in the family had ever risen very far. Sure, they worked hard, but ambition wasn't something that ran through their blood. Angus, on the other hand, was different. The heroes' welcome from the night before had shown him what life could be like and he had the means to make at least some of that a permanent reality.
*****
In the shop, Angus did as his father told him, but he hid out the back so that the men and women he'd served with couldn't see him. They all knew his name, so they all knew where his father worked, but he still didn't want to enter into a conversation with any of them about it. Most of them were from a higher class than him and he couldn't deal with their pity.
The day was busy and Angus preferred it that way, it made the time pass faster. By the time closing time rolled around, both he and his father were exhausted. They walked back to the house in silence. There was no doubt about it, things had definitely returned to normal.
Almost.
*****
Unlike Angus, Ivonor's role within the Queen's Army was not temporary and, now that the celebrations were over, he was back to patrolling Red Fern's walls on the night shift. As usual, he'd been partnered up with Borin. The man was nice enough, but a bit of a bore. He was so dull, Ivonor and some of the others had taken to calling him Borin the Boring. At least when he'd been working with Angus, they could have a laugh and a joke. Instead of banter, the shifts with Borin passed in something close to silence. Slow, seemingly endless silence.
Standing on top of the wall at the front of the city, it was possible to see for miles. Ivonor looked out at the road that led to the next settlement and the woods Queen Elsbeth had protected from poachers. Apparently, there were regiments who patrolled the Woods of Waiting, but he'd never been given that duty. Given the sounds he'd heard coming from those trees at night, Ivonor was more than a little glad.
As he looked out, he saw movement coming from the treeline.
"What are you looking at?" Borin asked, breaking the silence.
"Oh... er... nothin'," Ivonor replied, turning to face his colleague. "You know me, just staring into space."
"Yeah, I know what you mean. It's a bit slow here tonight, isn't it? Especially after all the action in Moonwich... not that I'd know much about that... I had to stay 'ere, didn't I? But, I s'pose someone's gotta watch the wall," Borin said and cleared his throat like he was getting ready to say something else.
"Something on your mind?"
"Well... it's just..." Borin said, struggling with his words.
"Spit it out!" Ivonor said.
"I was just hopin'... y'know, as it's so quiet an' all, that I might disappear early. Got myself a girl now, ya see. I reckon I could get lucky."
"So, let me get this straight. You want to go get your end away and leave me up 'ere on my own to freeze my nuts off?" Ivonor asked, faking anger. A smile had planted itself firmly on his face by the time he'd finished speaking.
"Well... yeah..." Borin said, not completely trusting the smile. "I'll cover for you next time."
"Sure, go have fun," Ivonor said and Borin clapped him on the shoulder.
"Thank you! I owe ya!" Borin said.
Within moments, he was racing along the wall with thoughts of his girlfriend clouding his head. Ivonor continued to smile; his next task was about to get much easier. Borin's carnal desires would save Ivonor from needing to bribe him or spill any blood. Looking back out to the forest, he searched for the movement he'd seen earlier. A shadow broke away from the other shadows. They were here. Ivonor gave a small wave to let the visitors know he'd seen them before setting off back down the wall himself.
*****
After checking there was no-one else around, Ivonor left his post and headed outside the wall. The night was cold, so he rubbed his hands together to generate some warmth. Usually, he would have worn gloves, but his mind had been elsewhere when he'd been getting ready for his shift. He knew he had dark work to do and it was all he could think about. His feet crunched on the frozen ground. No matter what time of year it was, nights were always cold in Red Fern; something that was quite different from Ivonor's childhood. He was used to warm, almost balmy nights in the summer and chilly nights in the winter. It was something that he didn't really think about, but now that he had he found he missed it. Good job he wouldn't have to miss it for much longer.
Other than the sound of his feet against the ground and his own breathing, the night was silent. Ivonor had expected to hear voices or at least movement, but there was nothing. For the first time, he started to wonder if he was making a mistake. 'No,' he thought, 'This is right. I need to go home.'
With that thought in his head, he continued onward, wondering if he should unsheathe his sword.
Soon enough, he reached the area where he'd seen the figures. All that was left to suggest anyone had been there were some footprints in the mud.
"Where are you?" he whispered as loud as he dared. "It's me... Don't worry, I'm alone."
Some shadows broke away from the trees and two figures revealed themselves. Two men. Two soldiers.
"Ivonor," the closest one said with a nod. Ivonor nodded back. The other man just looked bored. "You're still up for this, aren't you? You still want to come back home?"
"Of course I want to come back home!" Ivonor replied, his whisper turning into a hiss. "I've been here far too long."
When he had been a ten-year-old boy, he - and some other children - had been taken to Red Fern and handed over to the orphanage, Ickne Noir's Home for Lost Children, where they were welcomed with open arms. None of them had been orphans. Each of them had been trained as a spy from a young age. Every month, each of the children would send updates back home. Over the years, Ivonor had watched all of his friends leave one way or another until he was the only 'orphan' left. It had to be his turn to go back home by now, didn't it? He was in his twenties, for crying out loud!
"You've done well," the soldier replied. "Moonwich is proud of you. The whole town sends its thanks. If it wasn't for you, our casualties would have been much higher during that raid."
"Just doing my job," Ivonor replied, neglecting to mention some of those casualties had been at his own hand. He'd had to spill blood, the rest of the Queen's Guard would have grown suspicious otherwise. Even so, spilling the blood of his own people had haunted him ever since.
"And you have one job left to do and then you can come home with us. Your parents are still in Moonwich. We kept them safe as you requested."
"Thank you," Ivonor said, thinking that keeping his family safe was the least Moonwich could do for him. "I know what I have to do."
"Just make sure it's done." The soldier replied. "'Gallons of ale will be waiting for you when you return. Everyone in Moonwich owes you a drink."
"Then I shall be very drunk soon," Ivonor said with a smile. With that, he left and the soldiers disappeared back into the darkness.
As he resumed his spot on the wall, Ivonor thought about what was to come. He'd be glad to see the back of Red Fern; he'd never felt like he'd belonged here and he'd never had any friends apart from the other 'orphans'. Until recently. His thoughts drifted to Angus Rutland, the young man he'd met on the Moonwich campaign. Angus had seemed like a nice enough lad and Ivonor had even considered talking him into going back to Moonwich with him, but his friend was tied down here, destined to spend his life as his mother and father had. Ivonor could only hope that he wouldn't have to kill his new friend. That would be a terrible shame.
*****
Corvir Slanmaw waited for the young soldier to return to his spot on the wall. Corvir hadn't been seen and he was more than used to that. Dressed in drab, dirty rags he seemed to fade into the background, either that or people just didn't want to acknowledge he existed. Most of the time, it suited him. He didn't want people looking down at him with pity or disgust in their eyes, he just wanted to get on with his life.
Despite it being against the rules, Corvir often came to the other side of the wall at night to hunt. He may have looked wrecked and perhaps useless to some, but there were few better than him with a bow and arrow, and most nights he was able to catch a rabbit or bird to get him through the following day. Money was something that was as alien to him as flying, so buying food just wasn't an option. He'd even been privy to a few of the woodland's secrets; not that he had anyone to share them with.
Corvir recognised the soldier as one of those returning from Moonwich. He'd thought the young man was a hero when he'd seen him along with his comrades, but now that feeling had all but disappeared. Unless he was very much mistaken, he'd been talking to folks from Moonwich. He'd recognised that crescent moon symbol on the chest of their plated armour. And these were not just any folks; those were the fighting kind. The worst kind.
Corvir had only heard snippets of their conversation, but it had been enough to convince him that a dark plan was afoot. He had to let someone know what was going on, but who? Who would listen to a man like him?
Not wanting to be out in the forest while the Moonwich soldiers were around, Corvir headed back to the wall empty handed.
*****
Angus fell into a deep sleep almost as soon as his head hit the pillow.
"Drink me..." a voice said as he drifted away, a fog covering his room once more. The scent of putrid apples filled his nostrils. "Drink me..."
That night the dreams returned. Unlike the nightmares he'd had before, in this one there was no-one out to get him. Nobody was trying to hunt him down. He was the one doing the hunting and he was damn good at it.
He could do nothing but watch as he drilled his hand into his father's chest and removed his heart. It pulsed once in his hand before giving up and becoming nothing more than a piece of meat. Something for Angus to enjoy later. A voice in the back of his head told him hearts were to be savoured. Wide, shocked eyes stared at him in disbelief. Somewhere in the distance, he could hear screams. He knew who they belonged to. He knew it was his mother. But, he didn't care. He licked the blood from his hand and smiled.
Only it wasn't quite his hand. It was attached to him, but it looked different. It was muscled and scaly and ended in sharp claws. It looked like something belonging to a creature from the depths of Abyssus. Something that had no business being in Angus's world. The sight initially jarred him, but something about it felt right. It was a natural evolution.
This time he didn't wake with a start; he woke slowly feeling refreshed. He pulled his hand from under the blanket, half expecting it to look as it had in his dream. Disappointment tugged at him when he caught sight of his normal-looking arm. But perhaps it was for the best.
"Drink me..."
Angus rubbed the sleep from his eyes and forced himself to listen carefully. Remnants from the dream must have still been clinging to him.
"Drink me..."
Now that definitely didn't have a dreamlike quality to it. It felt real like someone was in the room with him, but as far as he could tell, he was alone. Angus looked around for the source of the voice, but it seemed to be coming from everywhere at once. The most discomforting part was that it seemed to also be coming from inside his head.
"Drink me..." This time it felt like the voice came from behind him. There was no doubt about it, there was someone in the room with him. Someone had been watching him sleep. The thought of being so vulnerable in the presence of the unknown visitor sent a tremor down his spine. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end and Angus thought he could feel someone's breath flutter against his skin. Turning quickly, he tried to face whoever was tormenting him, but the space behind him was empty.
"Who's there?" Angus whispered, feeling equal parts ridiculous and scared. This time, the voice remained silent, but the vial rattled slightly on his bedside table like someone had given it a gentle knock. He picked up the vial and examined it. He carried it everywhere with him since finding it again, but he'd never really taken a good look at it. It only just occurred to him that was a bit weird. Angus was curious by nature. As a child, he'd taken great delight in looking into things he probably shouldn't. Taking things apart to see how they functioned and watching people from a distance to see how they interacted had been normal activities for him. The Angus of just a few years ago wouldn't have carried an object like that around without first giving it his full attention.
Holding it close to his eyes, he twisted the vial, watching how the early morning light bounced through its contents. Just as it had when he'd found it, the substance within the glass looked a lot like blood. But, it couldn't be, could it? Blood didn't talk to you. It didn't command you to do things.
Angus popped off the cork stopper and brought the vial even closer. Breathing deeply, he inhaled the aroma emanating from the object. Even though he had almost convinced himself that the vial didn't actually hold blood, he still expected to be breathing in the familiar coppery smell. It was a smell he'd become accustomed to over the last few months. Life with the army was full of blood. Blood, walking, and waiting.
But instead of copper, he breathed in another scent he'd come to live with. The stench of rotten fruit. It was bizarre and overpowering, and it made his head spin. Water streamed from his eyes and his vision struggled to focus. Angus swayed on the spot, feeling like he was going to collapse at any moment. Using great effort and concentration, he put the cork stopper back into the vial. The stench receded but didn't disappear completely. Instead, it hung around, clinging to his skin and clothing. Clinging to the room itself. Whatever was in his prized treasure wasn't normal.
In spite of the strange feeling it left him with, Angus popped the vial into his pocket, just as he had the day before. Today would be different, though. Today he would take the vial to someone who may be able to identify the vial's contents. If anyone knew what it contained, Wylie Airaldii, Red Fern's resident apothecary would. Under normal circumstances, someone like Angus would never be able to afford her services, but Wylie had always had a soft spot for him. He hoped that would work in his favour. Excusing himself from breakfast and from working with his father for that day, Angus went in search of answers.
*****
Thank you for reading!
I hope you're all falling deeper under the vial's spell!
If you're enjoying the story so far, please give it a little vote. Please feel free to leave a comment if that tickles your fancy!