Page 12 of The Sanguine Selection
A rotten stench fills my nose, a putrid odor unlike anything I’ve ever come across before. Staring down at the shredded vestiges of skin, I confirm the wound is definitely a bite. It festers, weeping not only blood but a yellowish, milky liquid, and then there’s the smell. Gods above, it smells of something awful, like death itself. There’s no time to waste. If I don’t do something now, Papa is going to die.
“Papa?” I grip his hand, squeezing lightly as a frantic sense of urgency courses through my veins. “It’s me, Oxana. I’m going out to find help. There are a few coins left in the space hidden in the floorboards. I’ll use it to buy medicine or a tonic to get you all better. I’ll be back soon, I promise. And Papa? I love you.”
He doesn’t react to my words, his face wincing in pain even in his sleep. Fever dreams no doubt. This is not good. I swallow down the tears that threaten to fall at the possibility of losing him, but I refuse to think that into existence. Papa is strong—a fighter. He’ll come through this just as he has through every other injury.Only this one feels different.
Back in my room, I open a dresser drawer and pull out a thick garment made from furs. Mother sewed the dress together herself years ago, and Papa told me she’d wear it when taking me outside to play in the snow. I thread myself through it, shoving my arms down the sleeves.
As I adjust the dress, thinking mother and I must have been about the same size, a waft of something floral invades my nose, a smell so foreign yet so familiar.It’s her.Mother’s scent is embedded in the fur, and a wisp of a memory flits through my mind. Her laugh, joyous and full of life, and her bright blue eyes blazing with love as she smiled down on me.
Then it’s gone, the image foiled by another cry from my father. His agony threatens to collapse me, my body weak with worry, but I will myself to remain strong for Papa’s sake. I snuggle deeper in my mother’s dress, tightening it around my curves, pretending she’s embracing me from beyond—from wherever she is now—anything to make me feel less alone.
I pull on a worn pair of stockings and then slip my feet into shabby leather boots. The strings have broken many times over the years and are tied back together in several different spots. Finally, I reach for Papa’s coat since I don’t have one of my own. Father has never let me leave the house, so wasting the scarce resources we had to make myself one seemed foolish.
The dark fabric hangs over my small frame like large curtains draped across a tiny window. The hem drags along the floor as I walk, but at least the coat is warm—and smells like Papa.
This comforts me for a moment as I take the knife which pricked my finger only hours ago and slip it inside my pocket. If the animal who attacked Papa is still out there, then I had better be prepared to face it. My father always said that once an animal tastes the flesh of man, it will crave it for the rest of its life.
I tighten Papa’s coat with a length of leather belt threaded through loops and turn towards the door. So many times over the years have I pictured this moment—anticipating the sense of freedom—but as I grip the cool handle and push the door open, all I feel is trepidation.
I’m aware of how unprepared I am and how truly vulnerable I really am. All I’ve ever known are the four walls of this very small house, and as I step across the threshold taking in my surroundings, I’m unable to conceive how vast the world really is. Even this sliver of reality overloads my mind, overwhelming me with how unlikely I am to find what I need to save Papa.
But I must try.
Stepping onto the broken cobble steps, I quietly shut the door behind me and look around at the land I've only really seen through dirty glass windows. Surrounded by trees, naked and swaying against the winter winds, everything looks taller. A quiet blankets the land thanks to a fresh powdering of snow, already thick enough to cover my father’s footprints from earlier.
Tears brim in my eyes as a sense of powerlessness washes over me once more. I don’t know where to go or what to do, and once I leave this place I don’t know if I’ll be able to find my way back. With so many unanswered questions, like my entire existence is one giant guessing game with no possible way to win,
When father heads into town to the place where my tonic is made, he always turns right. So that’s where I begin my journey. Forcing one foot in front of the other, a bitter cold wrapping around my legs, even with my father's coat wrapped around me. Snow crunches under my footfalls, the only other sound besides my thumping heart beating loudly in my ears.
I wonder how many more hours until morning as I move through the trees. When suddenly the entire world lights up as if a hundred candles were lit at once. The fresh snow glitters like jewels as I look upwards to find the source of the light. Hanging high in the dark, night sky, the moon shines brightly, basking the world in a soft glow. I’m awed standing below such an object, wondering how it hangs there and doesn’t come crashing down to the ground. I feel small, useless, a tiny spec on the earth, unworthy of this moon and its guiding light.
I’ve only walked for a moment or two when I turn back to see the house in the distance, almost out of sight. Fear winds through me, an icy grip squeezing my insides. Thinking quickly, I use my knife and pluck a chunk of bark off the nearest tree, marking my path in case I find myself lost as more snow falls, threatening to cover my impressed footsteps.
A cracking noise sounds behind me and I twist my body, not daring to breathe lest I be discovered. When it doesn’t come again, I continue. Step by step, doing my best to ignore the chill seeping into my poor, frozen feet, I head towards an unknown, marking trees as I go. The moon illuminates my pathway and after what feels like an hour, I finally see signs of life. Well, not life exactly but evidence other people besides Papa and me do exist.
Having been forbidden to ever leave my own home, I often thought maybe there were no other people on the earth. Just Papa and me. Through books, I’ve read stories of kingdoms lost, battles won, and felt the throbbing ache of love, but never have I met another real person. Suddenly I feel embarrassed, walking through the dark, in the dead of night, an oversized coat weighing down my thin frame, my hair dirty, and blood still staining father’s coat. What if they’re afraid of me, or worse, I’m afraid of them? What if they won't help me? Then what will I do?
I shake the thought from my mind because standing here in my own fear isn’t going to help Papa. I’d sacrifice anything for him, even my own life.
Marching through the snow, I come upon a clearing of sorts. Six small homes face the very center of town marked by a tall, wooden structure. I know it’s the center because Papa told me of this very thing in one of his stories. Murdered for any wrongdoings, people are hung from the top for the rest of the townspeople to see. A warning to behave. Yet I still do not understand who is in charge of our lands if not the people.
I thought Papa only told me that story to scare me into being good when I misbehaved, yet here it is, looming in the dark, a rope swinging in the breeze bound to the topmost tresses. I shiver at the connotations as an icy sensation skates down my spine. I need to get this over with and hurry back to father.
Moving towards the first home, feeling more determined than ever, a sudden sound rings out, a noise I can’t describe though it causes anxiety to press inside my chest. It rings out again, echoing across the darkness, like the clang of a drum if it were made from metal. It crashes through my ears like a warning. It makes me want to cower and hide, to run.
That’s when I see my first two humans. Coming out from behind the farthest house, the pair, huddled under coats of their own, rush into the house closest to me. I take a breath to cry out for them when something snaps behind me. Terror grips me as a shadow passes in my peripheral and I swallow down the words in my throat.
As I watch, frozen behind the trunk of a thick tree, the lights in every house extinguish and locks click into place, leaving the windows dark, the homes appearing deserted.
Drum…
It thrums loudly and seems to come from everywhere all at once. I think that’s what the people were running from—the sound of something ominous, of something to be feared. The hairs on the back of my neck rise, and sweat drips between my breasts. Never have I known such fear as this and it only worsens as a new figure emerges from the darkness, following the same path those people took.
Only… it doesn’t look anything like them. It’s taller, bulkier, moving with more grace than a person, almost animal-like in countenance. It pauses by the wooden tower, head lifted to the moon, long hair waving in the cool breeze. The howl that emits from its lungs has me smashing my hands to my ears. It’s haunting, nightmarish, and brutal, a predator’s call warning its prey as it prepares to hunt.
I’ve lingered too long.
Another howl breaks the silence, this one farther away but no less terrifying. I back away into the shadows, praying to the gods that I’m not seen.
