Good Blood

by Billy Ketch Allen

  Curor. Ara flinched at the sound of the word. All those nights with Carmine’s Curor came back to his mind, along with the sickening feeling of his blood being drained.

  “Don’t worry,” Gorgen said. “He’ll only tend to your arm.”

  Why was Gorgen was being so hospitable? Ara was in his possession. He could throw Ara in a cell and drain of all his blood and there’s nothing Ara could do about it. What was his game?

  “You are my guest in this castle, Ara,” Gorgen said, moving to the door. “Get some rest. I’ll come to see you when you’re healed.”

  With that, Gorgen left. A moment later the guard, Duncan, returned. “Come with me, boy.”

  Ara followed Duncan through a long hallway. A wide stairway rose up to the floors higher up the cliffside, but Duncan stopped at a door on the first floor. The room they entered was the farthest thing from a dungeon Ara could imagine. A large four-poster bed sat against the back wall; drapery of purple silk hung from its spiral wooden posts. Light shone through the stained glass window, bathing the room with a warm purple glow. Through the window, he could see the outline of the waterfall.

  “You are to stay here and rest until Lord Gorgen calls on you,” Duncan said, and Ara could see the disapproval in the man’s face. Descendants were not supposed to be treated this well.

  “Do not get the sheets dirty,” he added looking at Ara with an upturned nose.

  “How am I supposed to do that?” Ara asked, gesturing to his filthy, bloodstained garments.

  Duncan did not answer, only pivoted and stormed out the door. Ara looked around the elegant room. There was a second door that led into a private washroom with a wooden bathing tub. After all his time on the road, sleeping on the forest floor, this felt like a palace all his own.

  Ara curled up on the rug at the foot of the bed and drifted to sleep. He was asleep only a few minutes when there was a knock on the door. A man in red robes stepped into the room. Ara jumped up and backed away at the sight of the Curor. The Curor was tall with round owl-eyes. He took in Ara with a couple blinks then set his bag on the bed and opened it to reveal a large assortment of tools. Some were the blades and tubing of Carmine’s Curor, but others matched some of the instruments the doctors had carried in their bags.

  “Alright, let’s take a look at this arm of yours,” the Curor said.

  Ara reluctantly held out his arm. The pain had subsided a great deal, but when the Curor peeled back the cloth strips, the full scope of the wound was apparent. Bite marks were circled with red skin and yellow pus. From his days with the doctors, Ara could see it was badly infected.

  “That was quite the animal that got you,” the Curor said, poking at his arm. “You’re lucky he didn’t tear it completely off. Your kind doesn’t heal from that, you know. I’ve seen it.”

  The Curor released his arm and zipped up his bag. “Before I bother wrapping the wound, it needs to be cleaned.” He looked Ara up and down. “All of you does.”

  The Curor picked up his bag and left the room. Ara was confused. Since passing through the gates, everything was backward. Ara was so turned around he almost wondered if he had hit his head in the river and was just imagining all this.

  But the pain in his arm told him otherwise.

  There came another knock on the door, this one soft. Ara waited but nothing happened. The knock came again, only slightly louder this time.

  “Oh,” Ara said. “Come in.”

  The door creaked open, and a young girl stepped into the room. Her hair, straight and golden as sunshine, fell down her back almost to the floor. The girl carried a bucket of steaming water that must have weighed close to as much as she did. Ara ran to help with the bucket, his right hand grabbing the handle alongside hers.

  The girl looked up timidly. Her hair fell back from her cheek, revealing a small “G” tattoo. What kind of monster could do that to a young girl?

  “I am to draw you a bath, sir,” the girl said. Her voice was what a frightened finch would sound like if it could speak.

  “Let me help you,” Ara said. The two of them carried the bucket through the room and dumped the hot water into the bathing tub. It filled only a few inches of the wooden tub.

  The girl took the bucket and left the room to get more. Ara followed but the girl stopped him at the door.

  “Please,” she said.

  “I can help you,” Ara said.

  “It would be better if you didn’t.” Something in the girl’s voice made him step back. She disappeared out the door and returned minutes later. Ara helped her once she reached the doorway. It took six trips until the water was high enough to bathe in.

  “Is there anything else, sir?” the girl asked, her eyes at Ara’s feet.

  “Are you…okay?”

  The girl looked up, confused. “Of course, sir.” She bowed and turned for the door.

  “Wait,” Ara called as the girl slipped from the washroom. “What is your name?”

  The girl looked at him as if he spoke Sanstat. Without another word, she slipped out the door.

  Ara wished he could have gotten more out of her; some clue as to what was going on at Castle Gorgen.

  His eyes grew heavy. Standing upright was taking all his effort. He closed the door to the washroom and undressed. The stiff clothes came off like layers of skin. The hot water stung as he stepped inside, and lowered himself down in segments. The water was already brown when he dipped his injured arm in. Ara’s muscles soon relaxed, and he lay in the warm water for a long time, feeling months of grime crumble from his body. He dunked his head underwater and held his breath. He wasn’t sure what new troubles awaited him, but for that moment in the warm water of the bathing tub, Ara allowed himself to forget about the future.

  28

  They searched for three days with little sleep and no sign of Ara. Cambria had gone over that night again and again in her head trying to come up with details that could give them a clue on where to look. The men hadn’t been armored, and though it was dark, Cambria had seen the scars on their faces.

  “Descendant rebels most likely,” Briton had said upon hearing Cambria’s account.

  “You’re sure they weren’t Temple guards?” Aaron asked.

  “If they were guards, she’d be dead,” Geyer said.

  But at least if it had been Temple guards, they’d know where to look. No one knew where to find the Descendant rebels; the full weight of the Faith had been trying for years.

  On the night of the attack, they scrambled through the forest blindly, searching for Ara. Eventually, they were forced to wait until daylight to look for tracks. Cambria hadn’t slept. She kept picturing Ara in the hands of those cutthroats. Ara, who had saved her life. Ara, who she had grown close to these past months. Ara, who she had spoken to about her parents, and who she felt…what? Indebted? Friendship?

  Ara.

  Then morning had greeted them with more disappointment. Cambria was up at dawn. She found Briton and Geyer already at the site of the attack on the cliff’s edge. Even in their hurry, the Descendant rebels had masked their tracks. Footprints led in multiple directions then backtracked on each other, then appeared to fade into the normal shape of the forest.

  Geyer cursed and stomped the rock with such force that it tumbled off the cliff and crashed like a cannonball through the trees below.

  The group had moved on in a direction from Farmount, but as the day wore on and there was no sign of Ara or the Descendant rebels on the road, the futility of their quest settled in. At first, everyone had the decency to leave it unspoken. A small hope remained in Cambria that they would get lucky and turn a corner to find Ara waiting for them. That embarrassed smirk on his face.

  But with each corner they turned, only empty forest awaited them.

  Little was spoken at night. Briton went over a map by firelight, straining as if it was a puzzle to unlock. Geyer took Ara’s abduction even harder. He sat away from the fire, keeping watch; he wouldn’t let anyone relieve him.
Cambria knew he felt guilty for not watching after Ara the night before. In a rage, Geyer had smashed his jug of ale until every last piece was buried in the ground.

  Cambria brought Geyer some bread and set it on a cloth beside him. Unlike the others, she did not try telling him to get some sleep.

  “We will find him,” Cambria said. “I’m sure of it.”

  Geyer didn’t nod or even acknowledge the bread. He kept his eyes on the shadows of the forest.

  Later that night, as Cambria settled into bed, she overheard whispers from Hannah and Petar’s tent.

  “How much longer can we go on?” Hannah asked. “The boy is gone.”

  “I don’t know,” Petar said. “It’s not for us to say.”

  “But it is, Petar. These are our wagons, our horses. I feel terrible for Ara, but we have lives to think about as well. What if we did catch up to these rebels. Then what? You’ve heard stories of what they do to our kind.”

  “I know. I know.”

  “We must do something, Petar. Say something.”

  “Tomorrow. Let’s give it one more day. Maybe we’ll get lucky yet.”

  But luck had never been on Cambria’s side. Days of searching proved fruitless, and the defeat showed openly on their faces. Even the horses trudged slower with their heads low as if they could sense the futility of their quest. Despite Briton’s best guess, no one knew if they were traveling closer or farther away from Ara.

  On the fourth day, as the sun began to dip behind the forest’s canopy, the caravan stopped to let the horses graze. It was Petar who finally gave voice to what many were thinking.

  “We can’t keep going like this,” Petar said to Briton. “You can’t keep up this pace.”

  “I must,” Briton said.

  “We don’t even know if we’re going the right way.”

  “North,” Briton said. “They must have gone north towards the Ghost Mountains. It is the least charted area, farthest from the eyes of the Faith. That is where the rebels will be. That is where we’ll find Ara.”

  “You don’t know that,” Hannah said. “We don’t know where they took him.”

  “I must keep looking,” Briton said, pain scratched his voice. He looked as if he’d aged much these last few days; the thin strands of white hair hung limply from the sides of his head. “I have to.”

  “But they don’t,” Geyer said. He stepped off the wagon and approached the gathered circle. “This isn’t their fight.”

  “We’re not saying that,” Petar said. “Of course we care about Ara. But what can we do?”

  “I didn’t mean it as an insult, Petar,” Geyer said. “You and your people have done more than enough for us and for the boy.”

  “Well…perhaps…we can give it one more day,” Petar stammered. He looked at Hannah, head bent.

  “No,” Briton said. “I’m sorry. Geyer’s right. It would be foolish for you to keep going.”

  “We can’t just leave you.”

  “You’ve already done so much. Without you, the Temple guards would have had us long ago.”

  Petar kicked at the dirt at his feet. The finality of the decision settling in on everyone.

  “What are you going to do now?” he asked.

  “I’m going to continue north,” Briton said. He put his hand on Petar’s shoulder. “Thank you, my friend. All of you.”

  Farewells were said, and despite Briton’s refusal, the shrines were divided evenly between them and the doctors. It was enough to fund the doctors work for months without collections.

  “It makes me happy knowing you will be out there helping people,” Briton said. “This world certainly needs you.”

  “Maybe we’ll meet you on the road again someday,” Petar said.

  “Maybe,” Briton agreed.

  As they readied to go, Cambria did not board the wagon. She had remained silent during the whole discussion. Logic told her Petar was right: they couldn’t find Ara; Terene was too big. They weren’t trackers or soldiers, they were doctors. But she couldn't bring herself to board the wagons.

  “Cambria,” Aaron called.

  Cambria’s feet remained on the ground as if pulled down by some unseen weight. Helping had been her life. Even before she met the doctors, her parents had raised her to aid others. To apply her knowledge and training to save those who suffered. The doctors were leaving to do just that, but everything in her heart told her to stay.

  “I’m not going with you,” she said, finally. “I’m going to look for Ara.”

  The doctors were stunned.

  “No Cambria,” Hannah said. “It’s too dangerous.”

  “I can’t leave him behind. He needs my help.”

  “I know it’s hard. We can’t bear to think of Ara suffering either. But we have a mission. Think of all the good you can still do.”

  “I am,” Cambria said.

  They each tried to talk her out of it, but when her mind was made up. No one could convince her otherwise.

  Petar suggested they all continue looking another day or so, but Cambria refused. She said this was best for everyone. She thanked them for the years of looking after her; it felt silly to say. They were her family when she needed family the most. How could words possibly be enough? Tears streamed down Hannah’s face as she hugged Cambria.

  “I can’t believe this is the same little girl we found in the streets of Caldesh,” she said, her face a mix of worry and pride. “You take every precaution, you hear?”

  Cambria nodded. “I will.”

  Aaron approached her, but they didn’t embrace. He kept a few feet distance digging his foot into the soft ground. “You know how boring travel is going to be without you? Plus, there will be nobody to threaten our patients.”

  “Goodbye, Aaron,” she said. “Don’t eat too much sweet bread.”

  “I never liked the stuff. I just bought it for you.”

  Brim lifted Cambria up in a big hug and squeezed so hard Cambria thought she’d snap a rib.

  “Okay, okay,” she said, gasping. “I’ll miss you too.”

  Lastly, Petar put his hand on her shoulder. “You’re one of the strongest people I’ve ever met. And you’re a great doctor.” Petar’s face was grave, as if he were delivering a terminal diagnosis to a patient. “We’ll never save enough. But we do all we can.” He squeezed her shoulder and forced a smile. “One life may make all the difference.”

  After a few more goodbyes, the company split ways. The wagon rolled off; faces peered out the back to catch one last glimpse. This had been her family. She might never see them again. Cambria felt the urge to run after the wagon. But she stood in place, watching her old life disappear down the road.

  When the wagons were gone, Cambria took a deep breath and turned to Geyer.

  “What’s our plan?” she asked.

  “Plan?” Geyer snorted, spinning the wheel on the hilt of his sword. “He’s the thinker. I just sort of wing it.”

  Cambria rolled her eyes. Briton gave a faint smile and patted the white horse. It shook its head and snorted softly. “First, I’d suggest we purchase some horses. We won’t get far with just the one.”

  “Well, what are we waiting for?” Cambria pushed past the two men. “Let’s get moving.”

  Cambria led the way north towards the next village. For Ara to have any chance, she’d have to take charge of this rescue party.

  “Hmph,” Geyer grunted behind her. “How do I always get stuck traveling with kids?”

  29

  Ara awoke to the smell of food. Breakfast sat waiting on his bedside table. He crawled out of the thick purple sheets and pulled the tray onto his lap. He was still starving, even after the previous night’s meal. He began devouring the boiled eggs, porridge, and peeled orange. His time in the forest had impressed upon him the uncertainty of a next meal.

  He was finishing up the last of the fruit when someone knocked on the door. Lord Gorgen squeezed into the room.

  “Good morning, Ara,” he said. “I hop
e you find the accommodations to your liking.”

  “Yes,” Ara said. “Thank you.”

  Gorgen smiled and took a seat at the foot of the bed, the frame creaking under his weight.

  “Good, good. I want you to feel at home here because I want you to stay as part of House Gorgen.”

  Ara looked at him, not understanding.

  “I can only imagine what you’ve been through, what you’ve had to endure. I can protect you here. Give you warm meals, even let you roam freely through the castle. If you like this room, it is yours.”

  Ara glanced at the giant bed. He had not slept like that for days. Sleep had come so easy that his arm was fully healed. Small marks of off-color skin were the only indication there had ever been a wound.

  “As payment, I ask for only a small measure of your blood each day.”

  There it was. Gorgen’s real agenda. Like everyone else, he wanted Ara’s blood.

  “You speak as if I have a choice in the matter,” Ara said.

  “You do. I want my Descendants to feel at home here, as much as can be. If you are unhappy then you will try to escape, the penalty for which is very high.” Gorgen frowned as if the matter was out of his hands. “But I want us to work together, Ara. Here you can live in relative luxury. A life safe from the outside world.”

  No more nights on the cold ground of the forest. No more empty gut, hoping for scraps of the occasional rabbit. No more running for his life.

  “You think you can fend off the Highfather and the Temple guards?” Ara asked.

  “This castle is one of the most fortified structures in Terene. There is only one point of access, and my men can hold it against any force. Plus, with your cooperation, your blood would help fund my realm, adding to your own protection. That is the deal I am offering. But if you have a better option…”

  Ara thought this over. He had dreaded life at Castle Carmine and had sworn to never allow his blood to be taken again. But so much had changed. And this, after all, would be his choice. Wasn’t giving a piece of himself a small price to pay?