Good Blood

by Billy Ketch Allen

  “My name is Taro Kine,” the man said, bowing his head. “We mean you no harm.”

  Ara fumed. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

  “I apologize for the crack on the head. We were in a bit of a hurry and didn’t have time for explanations.”

  “In a hurry to kidnap me, you mean.”

  Taro Kine stepped closer.

  “I know this must be hard for you to understand, but we are here to help you.”

  “Help me?” Ara looked around at the faces of the rebels. He recognized one of the men. It was one of the Descendant prisoners traveling with the bandits. They had set the man free, and now he had returned the favor by kidnapping Ara.

  “Spade sent us to find you,” said Taro Kine.

  Spade? The rebel leader. Ara had heard Descendants in Castle Carmine tell stories of the great Descendant rebel. Recounting his attacks on dry bloods.

  “What does he want with me?” Ara asked. “To take my blood for himself?”

  A soft chuckle broke out among the rebels. Taro Kine smiled. “To bring you home.”

  Home? Ara looked around at the faces of the Descendants. Did they know about his past? Who he was? Where he was from?

  The mountain path stretched into the distance without cover. Ara couldn’t outrun them, especially on foot. And now, his fear of being captured by the outlaws was fading behind the opportunity to learn what they knew.

  Ara narrowed his eyes at Taro Kine. “You know what I am?”

  “You’re a gift,” Taro Kine said. He held Ara’s gaze for a long time and then turned to the other Descendants. “Let’s stop here.”

  “But there are Temple guards in the area,” a woman said. Her blonde hair was cut short like a man’s, and she had a grimace that rivaled Cambria’s. “We should keep moving.”

  “We’ll be slowed if we have to keep chasing after the boy. He’s entitled to some answers.”

  “It would be easier if I cracked him on the head again.”

  Taro Kine smiled and approached Ara. “Come, you must be thirsty. Let us rest and I will answer what I can.”

  The company moved into a covered part of the forest and tied their horses. Without discussion, two men took their place at the perimeter with eyes on the road while the rest sat and ate from their packs. Taro Kine offered Ara his waterskin, and Ara drank liberally, surprised by his thirst.

  “You are the Descendant rebels,” Ara said after he drank his fill.

  “So we are called by the Faith,” Taro Kine said. “Those who seek freedom from oppression are called outlaws and rebels by their oppressors.”

  “How long have you been free?” Ara asked.

  “Many of us have been free for years. Others, like Dais Mald here, were released more recently.” Taro Kine gave Ara a knowing grin.

  Ara looked to the Descendant they had released from the bandits. He had a fresh scar on the right side of his face where his tattoo had been. He must have reported me to this Spade.

  “Why do you still have scars?” Ara asked Taro Kine. “Wouldn’t they have healed by now?”

  “We recut the scars to remind us why we fight. We will keep the mark until all Descendants are freed.”

  “But isn’t it harder to pass as one of them?”

  “We don’t want to be one of them,” the woman said. She sat behind Taro Kine, a bow in her hands; a quiver of arrows on her back. “They are monsters.”

  “But you kill people, too. I’ve heard of rebel raids, the slaughter of villagers.”

  “Faith lies used to drive hatred against our cause.”

  “Okay, Bree Sai,” Taro Kine said, waving her to quiet. He turned back to Ara. “We have done violent things in the name of the cause. But we are in a war, with a very powerful enemy.”

  “Bree Sai, Taro Kine,” Ara said, something sounded familiar about the rhythm of the words. He’d heard names like that before. “Those names…”

  “Are taken from the time of the Royals. Once a Descendant is freed, he chooses his own name, after the Royals of old.”

  “I see,” Ara said, remembering the list of Royal names in Briton’s book. So much of what the rebels did was modeled after their ancestors. Ancestors they held up as gods. Would they think differently if they really knew them and what they did?

  “What is your plan?” Ara asked. “I mean, what does the rebellion hope to accomplish?”

  “To free our people from tyranny,” Taro Kine said. “We will not rest until every last Descendant is released and allowed to live by his own blood.”

  “And then what?” Ara asked. “You live in peace with the dry bloods?”

  “Never,” Bree Sai said.

  “It is hard to see peace when feelings are strong,” Taro Kine said. “But the world is big. I believe there is room enough for both of us. I hope one day we face that problem.”

  Ara looked down at the empty waterskin. The water and rest already working in his body. Sitting still, he became mindful of his blood flowing through his veins, strengthening his muscles.

  “And what does Spade want?” Ara asked.

  “Peace,” Taro Kine said.

  But Ara knew there was more to it than that. Even if Descendants were freed, the two people could not coexist in the same lands under the same laws. The divide was too great. Then he thought of Cambria’s words from the previous night, how the world is filled with individuals. Maybe it is possible for people to choose peace.

  “Our blood does not define us,” Ara repeated her words aloud.

  “It certainly does,” Bree Sai said, her lip curling into a snarl. “It is what makes us special.”

  They rested for another few minutes then Taro Kine agreed it was time to move on. It felt good to get some answers, even if it wasn’t about his own past.

  They loaded Ara onto a horse behind a young Descendant. His hands were no longer bound, and his eyes were left uncovered. They traveled away from the main road down a narrower path that led up towards the mountains ahead.

  Ara and the young Descendant rode in the middle of the other six rebels. He didn’t know if that was to protect him or keep him hostage. Ara realized that his desire to escape had lost its urgency. A part of him wanted to continue with these rebels, to meet the one called Spade and learn what he could about these people and the source of his powers.

  But another, larger part of him, thought of his friends. Briton and Geyer and the doctors. His friends who had all risked their lives to help him. And not because they wanted what he had. Ara might not be one of them, but they were more his people than these warriors—despite what his blood said.

  They traveled through the day, riding single file as the path narrowed up the mountainside. A single scout rode ahead of the others while the group kept a steady pace. Few words were said among the Descendant rebels, hand gestures and nods were sufficient communication. These people were used to moving with speed and stealth.

  Ara held onto the belt of the young Descendant rebel in front of him. To his left, the ground ended with a steep vertical cliff. A river snaked alongside the mountain far below. Rivers connected Terene, flowing from region to region, sometimes rough, sometimes placid. Here, where the land was steep, the rapids pounded angrily.

  As they rode higher into the mountain lands of the north, Ara could see the hazy blue wall of the northern boundary. The Ghost Mountains spanned sea to sea. Ara had studied the mountain wall on maps, but neither the drawings nor Briton’s lessons could prepare him for what he saw. In the distance, the blue mountain walls rose into the clouds with no end. These mountains marked the edge of the world.

  Gazing at them, the troubles of one boy felt small and insignificant.

  The horses slowed. The lead scout stopped ahead. Tension spilled through the group of rebels. Hands adjusted belts, bringing weapons within reach.

  “What is it Solvan Ra?” Taro Kine asked as they approached the scout.

  The scout nodded ahead to the next ridge. Ara followed his gaze up the path
ahead. There was movement. White armor sparkled in the sun.

  “Temple guards,” said Solvan Ra.

  Taro Kine waved his hand in a small arch, and the rebels pulled their horses into a small alcove where the path widened. They waited in silence behind the rocks, watching the movement up ahead.

  Four Temple guards waited idly atop the next ridge, their horses searching the rocky ground for grass. There was movement below the horses. Ara stiffened at the sight of a bloodhound. The large beast paced between the horses, its snout dragging on the ground.

  “Steady,” Taro Kine said.

  “There’s only four of them,” Bree Sai said. “And we have the element of surprise.”

  “It needn’t come to that. We wait for them to pass.”

  Bree Sai shook her head in disgust. Her hand gripped her bow.

  Ara looked down to the knife holstered on the hip of the Descendant rider before him. It sat loosely in the sheath for quick pulling.

  “They’re leaving,” Solvan Ra whispered.

  Up ahead, the Temple guards were turning away down the other side of the mountain. Soon they would be gone.

  Faces filled Ara’s head. Briton…Geyer…Cambria…Petar and Hannah. He even missed Aaron’s worrying and Brim’s gruff silence. Despite the chance the Descendant leader could have the answers Ara longed for, he couldn’t shake the faces of his friends. Images of the time spent on the road—reading with Briton, sparring with Geyer, arguing with Cambria.

  These were real memories. And they were more valuable to Ara than any he could have lost.

  Ara’s fingers touched the knife on the Descendant’s belt. He raised it slowly from its scabbard, just enough for the blade to show. A glint of silver steel.

  Then he ran his wrist across the blade.

  Blood came instantly.

  “What are you doing?” The young Descendant twisted around. Ara held his wrist into the air. It was deeper than he meant to cut. The blood ran down his arm.

  Taro Kine’s brow wrinkled in confusion.

  Up on the ridge, the Temple guards rode down the other side of the mountain path, out of sight.

  Ara held his arm high though it ached to be let down. The blood in his body surged upward to the open wound, spilling out into the air and Ara’s strength with it.

  Then it came. Echoing through the mountains as if crying out to all the world—a high blood-curdling howl.

  “Stars!” Taro Kine cursed.

  The bloodhound shot down the mountain ridge, kicking up a cloud of dust. Behind it rode the four Temple guards.

  “Arm yourselves,” Taro Kine yelled. The Descendants drew swords and knives. Bree Sai nocked an arrow and took aim, pulling back the bowstring with a steady hand even atop her horse.

  The bloodhound tore down the path towards them, drool streaming from jagged fangs. Bree Sai released her arrow. It flew just wide of the dog, snapping on the dirt. The beast snarled and charged ahead.

  The young Descendant in front of Ara raised his sword. Ara covered his wrist with his hand and squeezed to stop the bleeding that had colored his shirt red.

  Shouts from the Temple guards could be heard now as they drew closer, their own swords out and ready. Ara didn’t know how the Descendants would hold up to the training and armor of the Temple guards. But he was about to find out.

  The bloodhound’s barks shook Ara’s bones; he gripped the horse’s saddle. Bree Sai let fly another arrow. This one found its mark lodging in the bloodhound’s shoulder. The bloodhound slid sideways then continued on, hardly breaking stride.

  The animal charged through the Descendant’s horses and leaped straight for Ara. Ara barely got his hands up. The beast struck him like a boulder. They flew off the horse, crashing onto the ground. The bloodhound’s jaws clamped on Ara’s arm.

  “Aaahhh,” Ara screamed as the bloodhound chomped, ravenous for his blood. Fangs grew closer as the hound tore through Ara’s arm, reaching for his throat. Ara’s arm was mangled to nothing; he couldn’t hold the beast off anymore.

  There was a loud yelp, and the bloodhound released him. Ara kicked on the ground, separating himself from the beast. The young Descendant pulled his sword out of the hound’s dead body. “You asked for this.”

  “Attack,” Taro Kine shouted.

  Bree Sai had time to fire one more arrow that unseated the lead guard. Then the Descendant rebels charged out of the rocks and met the guards’ swords. Clashing of metal and armor echoed through the mountains, louder than Ara imagined. The clamor was intensified by the cry of the colliding horses.

  Knocked to the ground, the guards fought the rebels on foot. All the elegant fighting and footwork of Ara’s lessons were gone as the warriors fought for their lives in frantic bursts. But the Descendant Rebels were too fast. Taro Kine wielded two swords at once. He swung his sword low and lopped off a guard’s leg at the knee and driving the other one through his back. Bree Sai took a sword to the shoulder, letting out a scream before bringing her dagger up, finding unguarded flesh at the armpit of her attacker.

  Though the pain was excruciating, Ara dragged his mangled arm up and held it tight to his chest. He stumbled to his feet and ran from the melee.

  “The boy,” one of the guards shouted. “Get the boy.”

  Ara ran up the mountain path without looking back. He didn’t care who won, he wouldn’t be the prize for either side.

  Far below, Ara could see the roaring rapids foam white as they beat against outcropping rocks. His body was spent, but fear granted his legs flight. He tried not to think about his mutilated arm and if it would ever heal.

  Where am I going?

  Ara stopped, catching his breath. He couldn’t outrun either party. They were on horses, and he was a small weak boy. And he was alone.

  As brutal as the fight had been, it was over in minutes. Taro Kine struck both swords into the final guard who crawled for his life. Then all eyes turned up the path to Ara. These were not the faces of friends. Ara didn’t know what the rebels were going to do to him for bringing this fight upon them, and he didn’t want to find out.

  Taro Kine sheathed his swords and leaped on his horse. He rode after Ara.

  Ara turned around, searching around him for an answer. The narrow mountain path continued up the hill along the cliff’s edge. There was nowhere to run. He couldn’t escape them.

  “Ara,” Taro Kine called and brought his horse to a stop. He no longer wore the easy smile from before. “Get on the horse. We’re leaving.”

  “I’m not going with you,” Ara said.

  “Yes, you are. You may not see it yet, but you belong with us. The Highfather won’t stop until he has your blood. And when he does, there will be no stopping him.”

  Taro Kine believed what he said, Ara could see that. He looked at the blood running down his fingers, dripping in the dirt. Wasted. Each drop meant power for someone and pain for someone else. If the Faith got his blood, they could strengthen their army of guards, ending any chance the rebellion had. But Ara couldn’t let the Descendant rebels have his blood either.

  He was nobody’s weapon.

  Briton’s words came to him once again. There’s always an answer. But he never said anything about liking it.

  Ara took a deep breath and faced Taro Kine. “Then I must make sure the Highfather doesn’t get it,” Ara said. Then he stepped off the mountain cliff.

  “Nooooo!” Taro Kine’s voice faded as Ara sailed down through the air. He knew this was suicide. If he didn’t crack his head open on a rock and bleed out, he’d drown in the river. But for once, he didn’t care.

  Let this blood spill from my body and wash away. Let me be rid of it.

  Ara lifted his arms out as the wind whipped against him. For a moment it felt like he was flying. Ara closed his eyes and once more faces flashed through his mind. Briton…Geyer…Cambria…and then…another. A man with a neatly trimmed gray beard and bronze eyes that matched Ara’s own. It was a face from his past. In that instant, Ara felt the f
og of his memory begin to clear as if parted by a great wind. Who…?

  Then he hit the water.

  26

  “No side is innocent; it is clear to me now. We fight enemies of our own creation.”

  It had been three weeks since the boy escaped Bale at Castle Carmine. Three weeks for the boy to disappear farther into the many shadows of Terene. The trail was now cold. Bale had pushed so hard he was hardly able to stay atop his horse. The blood poisoning had spread its deadly tentacles ever wider across his body; he could feel it eating away at his insides. It would not be long now.

  He gave his Blood Knights orders to spread out and continue the hunt, but he knew it was feeble. Bale leaned Smoke west and hung on as the great horse carried him back to the Temple.

  The journey was long, and Bale took it at a slow but steady pace. His skin burned from his neck down his left shoulder to the bicep. When it became too much to bear he stopped at a river and waded out until the cold water lapped over him. But the relief was only momentary. Bale rode the rest of the way without his armor and at the greatest speed he could stand. He wouldn’t allow himself to die on the road; for some traveling peasants to find Bale the Blood Knight fallen from his horse, lying dead in the dirt.

  He craved a worthy end as much as he craved healing blood.

  The ride was long and Bale had time to go over his final mission again and again. How he and the great forces at his command had failed to find one simple Descendant boy. They tore every western town apart, and still, they found nothing but rumors and false leads. The Descendant rebels must have gotten a hold of the boy. That’s the only thing that could explain his disappearance. Rats hiding underground.

  Not that it mattered anymore. It was too late. Bale could feel his damaged heart held together by a string on the brink of snapping. He had been dying since the Carmine guard stabbed him all those years ago. He was living on borrowed time thanks to the Highfather’s blood supply, but that time was over.