“If I am chosen Highfather someday, I pray I have your confidence.”
“Hemo rewards the prayer of the humble. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have much work to do.” Haemon’s muscles threatened to cramp after sitting so long on the hard stone but he got them moving. He headed towards his guards, wishing Edmund would go so he could have them carry him to his study and the bottle of good blood that waited for him there. His muscles tightened at the thought of the precious relief.
“Highfather,” Edmund’s voice rang through the courtyard. Haemon turned his head toward the still sitting Father. “My summons. There was a matter you wanted to see me about?”
Haemon groaned softly. He had sent for Edmund Turney. He must be tired from the work with Vorrel. The blood replicant was taking up all his energy. It had allowed the young Father to control their conversation.
Haemon gave Edmund a dismissive wave. “We’ll speak another time, Father Turney.”
“I look forward to it. Highfather.”
Haemon turned his back to Father Turney and walked through the courtyard. The pain in his body dimmed as his mind worked. If he didn’t know before, it was clear now. Edmund was dangerous.
The knife sliced Ara at the waist. He screamed and stumbled to the ground. He grabbed his side where blood had already formed. His attacker stood over him, shaking his head.
“Good thing you went shirtless,” Geyer said. “Or we would have torn up that pretty new shirt Briton bought for you.”
“You would have torn it up, you mean!” Ara yelled. Holding his side together. The wounds healed faster now. Sometimes it only took a minute for the blood to stop and the skin to start knitting itself back together again. But it still hurt.
“With lazy blocks like that, you’re asking for it. Keep the knife raised and your eyes on your opponent’s shoulder. That’s where the attack comes from first, not the blade in his hands.”
“Who taught you to fight, Geyer?” Ara asked. He was both genuinely curious and trying to stall long enough for the wound to heal.
“I had many teachers,” Geyer said. “And even more opponents. A swordsman can learn as much from one as the other.”
“When did you start studying the sword?”
Geyer laughed. “Studying? You make it sound like a school subject. One does not choose the sword for recreation, Ara. One learns how to fight to survive.”
“And how does one become a knight?”
“You have a lot of questions. Are you that winded from some simple sparring?”
“I’m tired of being stabbed.”
“Well, learn to deal with it. Healing blood is useless if your opponent does not give you time to recover.” Geyer leaped forward swinging his knife down on Ara. Ara blocked the first blow, the metal clang vibrated through the bones in his hand and arm. He rolled away from the second onslaught and popped up in a crouched position, knife outstretched.
“Watch the shoulder now,” Geyer said. He bobbed his head left and then struck to Ara’s right. Ara flinched right but recovered from the feint in time to block the attack. He countered with a low swipe at Geyer’s leg. Geyer raised the leg over the slashing knife and kicked Ara in the stomach, sending him back to the ground once again.
“That blow didn’t come from your shoulder,” Ara groaned, the wind knocked out of him.
“No, it did not. Remember the knife is not the only weapon. Use it to gain your opponent’s attention then strike where he does not expect.”
Ara pulled himself to his feet and spit into the dirt. “You know you can give me the lesson before you use it on me.” He was tired of being cut and knocked down. He thought some sparring with Geyer during the caravan’s break would take his mind off the previous day in Dal Doran, but the guilt still ate at his mind. Made it hard to focus.
“It’s easier to remember this way,” Geyer said. “I know you have trouble with that memory of yours.”
Blood rushed through Ara’s body, attacking the pain points. His body healed, but his strength spilled out like water from a barrel full of holes.
“What’s the point?” Ara scoffed. “I’ll never beat you.”
Geyer sheathed his knife. “Is that the goal of your training?”
The old knight pulled a water-skin from his bag, took a gulp and tossed it to Ara. Ara caught it in one hand and drank, sheathing his own knife. The water felt cool and refreshing. He stopped before he drank too much.
“No,” Ara said, bending at the waist to catch his breath.
“Then what’s the goal?”
“To become a better fighter.”
“And are you better than when we started?”
“Yes, it just comes so slow. No matter how much I learn, you still outmatch me.”
“And how did I get better than you?”
Ara sighed. Teaching through questions. Geyer sounded like Briton. “You’ve been training a lot longer than I have, so if I want to get better I have to put in the time.” Ara rolled his eyes as he repeated the mantra.
Geyer nodded. “Yes. That is true. But I’m also much smarter than you are.” The old knight smiled, and Ara couldn’t help but chuckle.
Ara was about to say something when Geyer’s straightened up. He drew his knife and looked around the forest.
“What is it?” Ara asked.
“We’re not alone.”
Ara drew his own knife and ran to Geyer’s side, following his gaze into the thick forest. Ara hadn’t heard whatever sound alerted Geyer. He scanned the green brush, looking for movement.
“Could it have been an animal?” Ara whispered.
Geyer frowned. “Better to be certain. Go back to the wagon. I’ll take a look.”
“I can help.”
“If someone is following us, they won’t be friendly.”
“All the more reason for you not to go alone.”
Geyer kept his eyes on the trees as he moved forward with silent steps. “Stay within eyesight.”
Ara split to the left, moving softly through the forest, knife ready as he rounded each tree. Geyer moved ahead, but Ara stayed close enough to come to his aid if someone attacked. Briton and Geyer had told him about the bounty put on his head. Now they not only had to worry about the Temple guards but every lowlife with a sword seeking to make a fortune. It felt like the whole world was after him now.
Something on the ground caught Ara’s eye. He bent low and pushed back a green fern branch. There in the dark soil was a footprint. A small footprint. Ara almost thought it was his own until he saw the tread was different than the shoes Briton had bought him. Someone had been close, watching them. Ara was about to call Geyer but Geyer was now far ahead. He didn’t want to yell and give away his position if the person following them was nearby. He tightened his grip on the knife and followed the footsteps deeper into the forest.
The mistake Ara made was in focusing so much on the trail of footprints that he did not look up to see where they were leading him. Something hard hit Ara just above the right eye. At first, he thought he’d run into a branch, then, when the forest stopped spinning, he saw the rock at his feet. Ara’s cry of pain was delayed, but it came all the same. “Owww.” He grabbed his brow that had already begun to swell. A figure sprinted from a nearby bush and raced away. Anger rushed through Ara; he gave chase without thinking.
“Ara!” Geyer’s voice rang through the forest. “Ara stop!”
But Ara didn’t stop. He charged after the figure, his knife in hand.
An assassin had found him. He’d put the doctors’ lives in danger. Ara couldn’t let him get away.
He caught glimpses of his attacker as he weaved through the trees ahead. The figure was small and moved quickly through the forest, but Ara was gaining ground. Blood pumped to his legs, giving him speed.
The figure tripped on something and fell out of sight with a high yelp. Ara charged ahead recklessly.
Could he kill a man? If it meant saving his friends—yes.
The figure was u
p and running again as the forest began to slope downward. Ara was now close enough to see the figure’s red hair. Long red hair.
The figure stopped. If Ara had taken the time to think, he might have realized there was a reason for his prey to stop suddenly. If he had been thinking he might have recognized the freckled face that looked back at him. But at this point, Ara was not thinking, and by the time he recognized Cambria’s wide green eyes, he was already flying through the air towards the girl with arms outstretched.
Neither had time to speak before Ara crashed into her and sent them both flying off the cliff. They fell through the air. Then the ground came at them fast and hard. They rolled together down the cliff and through branches, narrowly dodging tree trunks as they tumbled down. Ara let go of his knife and held onto Cambria unsure if the instinct was for his own protection or hers.
Then the ground gave out again, and Ara let go. They fell through the air for a moment and then smacked into cold water. The sudden submersion caused Ara to panic even more. Images of slimy black leaches filled his mind, and he swung his limbs wildly until he broke the surface of the water. Still, he didn’t breathe. He kicked and kicked until he was on dry land and frantically slapping at his body to rid himself of the evil blood-suckers.
“Get them off, get them off.” But there were no leeches on the ground or on Ara’s body. He looked over both shoulders, feeling his back. There was nothing there.
Cambria crawled out of the pool and coughed up water. “What is wrong with you?” Cambria climbed to her feet and wiped away the red hair matted to her face.
“What’s wrong with me?” Ara gasped. “What’s wrong with you? You hit me with a rock.”
“You were chasing me. With a knife.”
“I didn’t know it was you. I thought it was…” Ara stopped himself before he said more. How much had Cambria seen? “Why were you spying on us?”
“Because I don’t trust you,” Cambria said. “And it looks like I was right not to. Who are you guys really?”
“I told you my name is Ara and—”
“Enough with the stories. You’re definitely not just poor travelers. I saw what you were doing. You were training to kill.”
“No, I was learning to defend myself.”
“Yeah? Defend yourself from whom?”
“Carmine guards, Temple guards, Bounty Hunters. Everyone!”
Cambria stepped back, holding his gaze to see if he was telling the truth. “You’re them, aren’t you? The ones the Faith is looking for.”
Ara knew he should deny it, but he couldn’t. He’d given it away already, and Cambria’s eyes seemed to look through him and see everything. Besides, they deserved to know the truth.
“Yes,” Ara said. He fell to the ground in exhaustion. The sand clung to his wet pants. “I’m sorry we lied to you.”
Cambria narrowed her eyes at him. “Why are they after you? What did you do?”
“Nothing,” Ara started. “I…I escaped.”
“Prison?”
“I was being held at Castle Carmine. Briton and Geyer helped me escape.”
“Briton and Geyer,” Cambria repeated. “I knew their names sounded fake.” She shook her head. “Why were you being held? Are you a thief? A murderer?”
“I’m a Descendant.”
Ara waited for the shock and disgust to form on Cambria’s face. But she just stared at him, weighing his words.
“So you’re a runaway Descendant. That doesn’t explain why the Temple guards are after you.”
“Because they want my blood.”
Cambria shook her head. “You northerners and your magic blood. They tear up a village and hurt people all because of a myth.”
“It’s not a myth. It’s true.”
Cambria looked at him skeptically. “I’ve heard the stories, Ara. About a once powerful race of warriors in the north. Warriors that couldn’t be killed. Chop off an arm, and it would grow back. And somehow the people rose up and defeated them and now generations later, use their Descendants’ blood as a magic healing potion. But that’s all it is, a story. A lie people tell to justify slavery and to keep the Faith in power through dependence on false hope.”
“You’re wrong.”
“Am I? I have traveled with doctors for years. I have seen what happens to people who wait for blood to cure them. They die. The only thing that helps is medicine and doctors like Petar and Hannah. And my parents.”
Ara picked himself off the wet ground. He was sick of running. Sick of hiding.
Cambria stepped back. “Don’t come any closer,” she warned.
Ara walked towards her. He held out his hand, palm up.
“What are you doing?” Cambria asked.
“Showing you the truth. Cut me.”
“What?”
“The knife in your belt. Cut my hand.”
Cambria pulled the small knife. “I’m warning you.”
“Do it,” he said.
She was about to object, but something in Ara’s face told her how serious he was. The small metal glinted in the sunlight. Ara did not lower his hand.
The move was quick and caught Ara by surprise. The blade stung his palm and returned to Cambria’s side in a flash. Both of them looked at the red line along Ara’s palm. The cut was done with precision. Deep enough to bleed but not to do any real damage. Ara tightened his hand into a fist and squeezed the pain away. Then he walked around the small pool they had fallen in and held his hand up to the dribbling waterfall. The water splashed away the blood. Ara looked at the separated skin and thought of his side and the wound from Geyer’s knife. It had already healed. Leaving only a light scar behind.
Could it heal faster if I focused on the wound, drawing my blood to the spot?
“Ara!” Geyer’s voice called from above.
Both Ara and Cambria looked up to the slope they had fallen down. They couldn’t see Geyer through the thick trees and bushes. The cliff was high above. How had they not cracked their heads?
“I’m down here,” Ara called back. “I’m alright.”
“Fates! What are you doing down there?” Geyer called.
“Uhh, I kind of fell.”
“Clumsy fool. I told you to stay within eyesight. I thought you had been taken.”
“We’ll be up in a minute.”
“We?!”
Ara looked to the girl Cambria and then shrugged. “Don’t worry. It was just a friend.”
Cambria raised an eyebrow at this, perhaps objecting to the label. Ara walked from the waterfall along the side of the pool. He came to her side. “You may not trust me, Cambria, but I trust you. You and the others are good people. I promise you we will tell them the truth from now on and whatever you guys decide to do we will accept. You have my word.”
Ara held out his hand. There wasn’t a scratch on it.
Cambria gasped. “How?”
Everyone sat around the unlit fire pit as Briton’s relayed the entire story: finding Ara, the escape from Castle Carmine, hiding in the forest, fleeing the Temple guards. The doctors fell silent, taking in Briton’s account. Geyer watched the faces of the doctors. His hand close to his knife. Whatever trouble it caused, whether it got them sent away or even turned in, Ara did not regret what he did. Telling them felt right.
“When you found us we were desperate,” Briton said. “We wouldn’t have lasted much longer. We owe you our lives.”
“The Temple guards are hunting for you?” Aaron stammered. “They’ll kill us if they find out we harbored you, knowingly or not.”
“We put you all in danger. I’m sorry we didn’t tell you the truth.”
Silence fell as the group considered the implications. The truth was like a weight Briton had passed onto the doctors’ shoulders. Ara could see them weighted down by the news.
All eyes turned to Petar, who sat on the other end of the fire pit from Briton. Petar scratched at his chin, mulling the information over. Finally, he looked up at the three of them and spoke.
“You don’t owe us for saving your lives. That’s what we do. It doesn’t matter who is after you or what you have done, we help those in need.”
“But they are outlaws,” Aaron said.
Aaron looked to Cambria for support. But she said nothing. She glanced at Ara, then looked away. She had not spoken since they left the pool of water. They had climbed the cliff in silence, and before Ara could tell Geyer what he had done, Cambria ran off back to camp.
“And what laws have they broken?” Hannah asked. “They were rescuing the boy.”
“We’re in the north! The Faith makes the laws.”
“Aaron,” Petar said in a calm voice. “We’ve seen firsthand the atrocities brought on by the cruel religious practices of the Faith. We have nothing against the Descendants.”
“But how can we believe them? They lied to us about their names and who they are, and now they’re claiming the boy has magic powers. It’s ludicrous. Cambria, tell him.”
Cambria bit her lip. A war waged behind her green eyes. “I don’t know what to believe,” she finally said. “I’ve never believed in the legends of Royals and good and bad blood. I believe in science and what I can judge for myself with my own eyes.”
Her head stayed down, her eyes on the cold fire pit. “But what I know of science has no explanation for what I saw him do.”
The group fell silent. Ara did not object or offer any defense. They were told the truth, it was up to them to decide what to do. As much as he dreaded being back on foot, fleeing through the forest with Briton and Geyer, he would accept whatever decision they made.
“We won’t turn you in,” Petar said at last. “But we cannot travel together. We will take you as far as the next town. From there you will have to make it on your own.”
Briton nodded. “We understand.”
Petar took a heavy breath. “I’m sorry we can’t do more.”
Good Blood Page 23
