Good Blood

by Billy Ketch Allen

  “Who is Hemo?” the boy asked.

  One of Briton’s eyebrows rose into a bush white arch. “You’ve never heard of Hemo before?”

  “I’ve heard the word used around the castle but—”

  “But not before.”

  “Not that I remember.”

  “Interesting,” Briton scratched at his chin, his eyes fixed on a point on the boy’s bed. Finally, he snapped his attention back. “Hemo is said to be the Lord of all. An invisible ruler who created man and Descendant and who watches over us all. According to the Faith’s doctrine, he created the Descendants as vessels to heal his people. And only the worthy among us will receive the “good blood.” And since the blood is controlled by those in power, their high placement must be a reward from Hemo.”

  “You sound like you don’t believe it.”

  “Faith is a tricky business. Especially when it is distilled by those in power.” Briton’s words hung in the air as the boy tried to make sense of it all. Gods and the Faith and different kinds of blood. It was all so confusing, but if everyone believed it, from the Highfather who ruled to the Descendants in the castle’s kitchen, it must be true. Right?

  The boy was about to ask Briton more when the old man’s blue eyes shot wide in sudden surprise. “Oh!” he exclaimed. “I almost forgot.” He reached into a pocket of his blue robes. “I brought you a gift.”

  The boy’s eyes darted to the pocket as Briton pulled out a long scroll and handed it to the boy. The boy carefully unrolled the stiff paper to find pictures drawn in tiny detail over the length of the scroll. It took him a moment to recognize symbols for mountains and rivers, and there were castles and villages with names beneath them.

  “Now, I know you already have some basic reading ability, but I thought it best to start with—”

  “It’s a map,” the boy said, his eyes scanning the image. There was so much to take in. And everything seemed to have a name. Not just the cities, but the mountains and forests.

  “Yes, it is a map of all the known world.”

  “And this is us,” the boy exclaimed, pointing to an area on the upper left side of the picture.

  Briton leaned over the map. “How did you know that?” he asked.

  The boy pointed below the square drawing of a castle. “It says House Carmine.”

  “And this?” Briton asked, pointing to the far right of the scroll to a circle symbol with lines crossing through its center.

  “North, East, South, West,” the boy said.

  “Where’d you learn to read?”

  “I…I don’t remember.” Like the rest of his memories, it was lost in the fog of his past. He could recognize written words like he was able to speak them; he thought nothing of it. But from the look on Briton’s face, this must be unusual.

  “What’s wrong?” the boy asked.

  “Few men outside noble houses are taught to read,” Briton said. “And I’ve never heard of a Descendant who could read.” The old man’s eyes looked to the window and some invisible distance as if his mind were a thousand miles away. When he came back he looked directly at the boy, his voice hushed. “Tell no one else of this. Do you understand?”

  “Yes,” the boy said. Like he had casual conversations with the guards stationed outside his door. “What does it mean?”

  “Something I suspected since the moment I saw you,” Briton said, his face alive with excitement. Or was it fear? “That you are special.”

  The boy looked down at the map. The large world of land and oceans and cities. “But where am I from?”

  “I don’t know,” Briton said, his eyes falling on the map as well. “Perhaps one day we’ll find out.”

  Briton stood up, his bones cracking from the sudden movement.

  “I must go now,” Briton said. “Study this map. I will bring you more books when I can.”

  Before Briton got to the door, the boy called out to him. “You said knowledge is the most powerful thing in the world. But what if the problem is too big. What if it’s impossible to solve?”

  Briton’s eyes moved around the tower room, taking in the chair, the barred window, the brick ceiling. Then his gaze fell on the boy. “Every problem has a solution. Whether we are wise enough to discover it or not.”

  And so the boy’s lessons began.

  Carmine stood to address the table, the formal dress cape of House Carmine hanging from him like a flag. The seven noble lords of the west stared back at him. Some faces held interest, others bitterness at having been convinced to meet by someone they still considered a boy. Even Briton couldn’t say when the seven houses had last gathered in one place. But Jonathan Carmine had done it. And all it took was a small sample of the boy’s blood.

  “Thank you all for coming,” Carmine said. “I know many of you have traveled a great distance, so I extend my deepest gratitude on this historic day. For generations now, the western houses have been beset by—”

  “Get on with it, Carmine,” Lord Chamberlain called, twisting in his seat. The old lord’s rock of a face stretched into a frown. Carmine could forgive the lord’s impatience; the great house Chamberlain was not used to being at someone else’s bidding. Still, Carmine had played this meeting out in his head and was annoyed to have his rehearsed speech interrupted. “Are the stories true?”

  “I can’t imagine you would have made the journey yourself, Lord Chamberlain, had the blood not proven that of the highest quality.”

  “Too high to be believed,” Lord Fautus interjected. “Blood alchemy is a dangerous game, Carmine. Whatever trick you managed with that sample will bring the interest of the Temple. And the last thing we need is the Faith’s eyes in the west.”

  Grumbles of agreement filled the room. The western realms had lived for generations under their own system and laws. As long as they sent their tithes to the Temple Fathers, the Faith stayed out of their affairs. Carmine knew that the presence of the boy would upset that peace. That is why he needed to bring the lords of the west together.

  “It is not alchemy or magic,” Carmine said. “I have found a source of the purest blood on record.”

  Carmine waited as the lords looked around at one another. Each had been sent a vial to test as they pleased. The glances around confirmed that each one had come to the same conclusion.

  “I’ll admit it was like no blood I had ever seen,” Lord Gorgen said, folding his hands over his mountainous belly. Briton had ordered a special chair brought in for the enormous lord. Carmine smiled, thinking it was now worth the effort.

  “But why have you summoned us all here?” asked Chamberlain. “To gloat?”

  “To unite,” Carmine said. “I will offer you, my neighboring lords, first opportunity to buy the pure blood. And yes, the price will be high, and House Carmine stands to grow very, very rich, but it will be worth the cost to strengthen the western realm. For if we remain loyal to each other, we can stand against any threat from the Faith. With this blood and a united front, the Highfather himself cannot stand in our way.”

  That was the part of his speech Carmine had practiced again and again, and judging from the silence in the room, he pulled it off perfectly.

  After a prolonged silence, Lord Severen spoke. “Going against the Faith? What you speak can be considered blasphemy.”

  Carmine’s jaw clenched as he held the thin lord’s gaze. Carmine could understand how a rich lord like Gorgen could succumb to gluttony. But Severen was a bitter man whose contempt must extend to food as well. Seated beside Gorgen, Severen was practically a skeleton.

  “No, Lord Severen,” Carmine said. “We will keep the peace, even continue our tithe as our duty requires. But with a unified north, the Faith would think twice before seizing what is ours with unlawful acts of force.”

  “The Faith makes the laws, therefore what action they take is lawful.”

  “But it isn’t right,” Lady Rune spoke up. “How many times have the Faith bent the law to serve themselves? Taken what they wish and claimi
ng it Hemo’s will? We may rule our lands, but we are not free.”

  “I see no reason to make enemies of the Highfather,” Lord Fautus said. “We are alive and wealthy.”

  “We may rule our lands but we are not free,” Lady Rune said, her voice confident. Lord Rune had died over a decade ago and since then Lady Rune has not even considered marriage proposals. The last thing she seemed interested in was another man in her way.

  “That is why I call upon your support,” Carmine said. He clapped twice. At the signal, the hall doors opened, and servants entered carrying bottles of blood. They set a single bottle on the table before each lord; the vibrant red blood shifted inside. What sat on the table was a week’s worth of draining the boy. It was the entire supply of his blood.

  “Join the western alliance and this blood is yours,” Carmine said. He watched as each lord studied the bottles of blood before him, each of their minds filled with visions of what they could do with blood that healed any wound or sickness—that made their soldiers invincible. Carmine saw the hunger in their eyes and smiled. Greed outweighed any fears of the Faith.

  “For the simple price of one thousand shrines,” Carmine said.

  “For a single bottle of blood?” Lord Chamberlain scoffed. “You’re mad.”

  “As I said, you get first choice. If you refuse your share, I will simply offer it to the lord seated next to you. If there is no alliance, think of what it will be like knowing the noble house that borders your own has the power of this blood in their hands.”

  “And if we all refuse your price?” Severen asked, but his voice was without its bite as he eyed the bottle before him.

  “Then I will offer the blood up to the lords of others realms,” Carmine said. “Once they discover how powerful it is, the blood will sell. Even at double your price.”

  “You wouldn’t,” Fautus said. “Not to those eastern barbarians.”

  The room filled with murmurs as the lords conferred with each other. Carmine leaned back in his chair, feeling suddenly taller. His plan was working. How could one of them refuse when their neighbor would gladly take their share? Carmine suddenly saw the future of House Carmine laid out before him. A future that was brighter than any his father could have imagined. With the descendant boy, Carmine held the most valuable thing in all of Terene. And that boy was going to make Carmine a very wealthy man.

  “So, my lords,” Carmine said with a smile. “What’ll it be?”

  9

  The table at the boy’s bedside was stacked with books left by Briton. Over the past week, the boy had read a great deal on a wide variety of subjects, but nothing interested him as much as history. How could he remember math and science, and yet so much about culture and history felt new? It was like his memory loss had extended to not just his identity but particular areas of study as well. When he was awake and recovered from his blood draws enough for the room to stop spinning, the boy read through stories of the Descendants in Terene and mankind’s Blood War with the Royals.

  Although Briton’s lessons were a welcome distraction, escape was never far from the Boy’s mind. While feeling the weight of a particularly thick book, Foundations of the Faith, he fantasized about knocking out the Curor with the old tome. If he hid behind the door, standing up on the bedside table, the book could do some damage. But then there was the matter of getting through the guards at the door and however many guarded the tower.

  This was followed by the scaling of the castle walls and outrunning an army of Carmine guards through a land he only knew from a map and the view out the tower window. With the heavy clouds, that view consisted mostly of the thick treetops of the Hidden Wood. The boy imagined roaming through the forest, far from the reaches of the Curor and Carmine guards. If he thought of anything more than his lessons with Briton, it was escaping this place.

  There was a quick knock, and then the door swung open. Briton stepped in carrying two new books under his robed arm. He stopped when he saw the boy standing by the window, then closed the door behind him.

  “You’re up,” Briton said. “That’s good. Your body needs the exercise. It’ll deteriorate stuck in bed all day.”

  “I haven’t much choice,” the boy said, nodding his head to the tiny tower room. “Can’t exactly run laps in here, even if I did feel up to it.”

  The boy placed the Foundations of the Faith back on the bedside table and sat down, resting.

  “I’ve brought you a book on the Royals, as you requested.” Briton placed the book on the bed. “It’s from my own personal collection. So be careful with it.”

  Briton gave the boy a look as if he knew the boy contemplated using books as bludgeons. The boy dismissed this; he was being paranoid. The old man was wise but he couldn’t see into his mind. The boy had spent a lot of time with the teacher over the past weeks. He’d learned a great deal and had grown to look forward to their time together. Still, the boy could not trust him. As friendly as he acted, Briton served Lord Carmine.

  The boy picked up the book and examined its cover. The book was so old its title was too faded to read. He gently flipped through its first few pages, once again lost in the upside down world of the past.

  Long ago, mankind once lived as slaves and servants while the world was controlled by the Royals, the powerful ruling class of Terene. Men outside the Temple lands lived lives as peasants and farmers, never able to rise above a certain class because of their inferior blood. Now, centuries later, everything had changed.

  “I still don’t understand,” the boy said. “If the Royals were so powerful, how were they defeated by normal men?”

  “Because it was Hemo’s will,” Briton said. “That is what you will find in the history books at least. The Royals grew prideful and unworthy. So Hemo chose Drusas and mankind who, despite their suffering, still held to their faith.”

  “But that’s not what you believe,” the boy said.

  “I agree that it took brave, heroic men, to go up against the Royals.”

  “But how did they win?” The boy held up the book. “If it’s true what the accounts say about the Royals. That they were stronger and faster than mortal men. That they could be cut down in battle and rise to fight moments later.”

  “We had the numbers,” Briton said, his blue eyes turned to gaze out the window, to the land beyond. “Mankind spread all over Terene, growing to keep up with the workload demanded by the Royals. Generations later, the workers found there were ten times as many of them as there were masters.”

  The boy imagined the Temple siege during the Blood War, pictured thousands of people flooding the Temple walls. He saw the farmers and servants falling at the hands of the trained Royal soldiers, yet still coming.

  “The stories of the Blood War never sat right with me, either,” Briton said. “But I’m starting to understand that the Royal king was conflicted on how to handle mankind. Division among the Royals may have proved their weakness.” Briton sighed. “After the victory, the Faith killed every Royal they found. They were afraid to let any live.”

  “But some did live,” the boy said.

  “A few Royals were eventually found and rounded up. Imprisoned in the Temple dungeons and drained of their blood. Once people saw what the blood could do, it became the most valuable substance in the world. The demand was so high that the Royals were bred with common servants in order to create more blood vessels. The blood of the half-breeds wasn’t as strong, but it still healed. Eventually, the Royal line disappeared altogether, and what we have left now, centuries later, are only the pale glimmer of the bloodline that once was.”

  “The Descendants of the Royals.”

  Briton nodded. “Until you.”

  “What about me?”

  “Yours is the purest blood we’ve encountered.”

  The boy shook his head. “But how can that be? I don’t feel any stronger. I can barely stand up without passing out.”

  “We don’t know how the blood works, exactly. We don’t even know wh
ere the Royal blood came from. There’s nothing on the surface different between our two people. It’s just your blood.”

  Special blood. That explained why Lord Carmine kept him locked away in this tower—why the blood draws had increased. And because of his blood, he would never get out of this place.

  The boy’s eyes dropped down to the second book, still cradled in Briton’s arm. “What’s that book?”

  Briton looked down as if he had forgotten the book was there. “Oh, this. This is today’s assignment.”

  The boy groaned. With the image of himself trapped in this tower for the rest of his days, his appetite for lessons vanished. Briton, however, continued unbothered.

  “Today you have an important assignment,” he said, a smile breaking out as he set the book beside the boy. “Today, you will pick a name.”

  “A name?”

  “It’s a little impractical to keep calling you ‘boy’ forever.” Briton’s eyes twinkled. “Most men have no choice in their names, but you do. Your assignment is to find one that calls to you.”

  “But,” the boy stammered, caught off guard. “How will I know I’ve picked the right one?”

  “A great man defines a name, not the other way around. This book and all these others are filled with stories of great men whose names will be remembered throughout history. Maybe one day, yours will be, too.”

  The boy flipped open the book. Listed inside were genealogies of the different houses, names upon names stretching far back in time. The boy glanced at the names—given names and house names. He didn’t know exactly what he was looking for, but he knew the name couldn’t be common. He also didn’t want the name of a famous king or knight. He wanted the name to be his own.

  He turned to the back of the book and flipped through the lineage of lesser noble houses, but few jumped out at him. And any that did, he’d soon find the person’s life was riddled with either feuds or scandals, even incest. Under Briton’s patient eye, the boy moved on from the house genealogy to other books on the bedside table, playing with names in his head and combinations of words. But nothing called to him.